(Thus endeth year 3. Coming up: horcrux hunt light! The Flamels make an entrance! Harry gets mad AND gets even! And a tetra-wizard tournament that isn't covered at all! I don't do action. Seriously, though, this is the end. Hope you enjoyed this ramble. If you did or didn't you can let me know over in the reviews bar, where you can munch on stale oyster crackers while you type.)

From the Express, Lupin (who had taken the time to apologize to Harry and started to get to know him) took Harry to number 12 Grimmauld Place. This was, apparently, a Black property and was warded to the teeth. Sirius, newly given a clean bill of health from Astrid, knew he needed a safe place to hide Harry, from Dumbledore if no one else.

Sirius greeted Remus and Harry at the curb. After a manly handshake with the elder wizard and a hug and head-rub to Harry, Sirius waved his wand then gestured to the front door.

"Just added you both to the house welcome book. The place is a pile, but it's relatively safe. It's warded to China and back; we just need to clean it up. Up side? Don't care if you ruin anything, and you can use as much magic as you want."

Sirius then bellowed for his elf, a crotchety old thing by the name of Kreacher. The mad elf popped into the room. Upon seeing Kreacher, Harry immediately had a sense of déjà vu. "Hold on, Sirius. Just wait a mo."

Flipping through his mental files, Harry finally reconciled that Kreacher was the elf that Regulus Black – must be some relation to Sirius – had ordered to help Voldemort. The same elf that Voldemort left on an island in the middle of a lake of inferi. How could that elf be alive, let alone in house Black?

"Sirius, order Kreacher to explain everything that happened the last time Kreacher saw Voldemort."

"Kreacher promised good master Regulus to tell no one in his family. Kreacher cannot do."

Sirius sighed and ordered Kreacher to follow Harry's orders and left the room. Remus and Harry listened then as Kreacher told of taking boat in cave. Of drinking a vile potion. Of being left to die, but being required by elf magic to return to Master Regulus. Of Master Regulus's anger at Voldemort.

And then he spoke no more. His order had been to tell of Voldemort, but Harry honestly thought the emotion would not allow the elf to say more.

"What happened to Regulus?" Sirius had come back into the room, having eaves-dropped on the monologue through the doorway. His voice, never really recovered from Azkaban, cracked with sadness. "Kreacher. I order you to tell me."

"Master Regulus made me take him to the cave. We went back, through the lake of dead wizards and witches. Master Regulus drank evil potion. Ordered me to bring back locket and destroy it.," the elf stopped speaking. Harry was impressed with the loyalty of Kreacher, but he knew now why the elf was so bitter. With the protections on the horcrux, there was no way that any light-blooded creature, like an elf, would be able to destroy it.

"Sirius, order him to bring the locket," Harry stated quietly. Sirius looked at Harry with a question in his eyes – wouldn't the elf have destroyed it? And why would this boy want it? But Harry had saved him. He trusted James's boy with his life. He would do as Harry asked.

"Kreacher, bring the locket." The elf looked as though he wanted to murder someone, but Sirius had already given orders that Kreacher could not physically or magically harm anyone that had been declared friend in the house.

Kreacher popped out of the room, then popped back in, ready to kill the filthy halfblood in his house. Then the boy looked at Kreacher. "Would you mind getting some help in destroying the evil locket?"

Kreacher would not trust, but his master told him to obey.

"Just hold it still, and be careful," the hateful boy said calmly. Harry pulled out a little knife and Kreacher wanted to laugh. But Master has ordered him to hold still as filthy halfblood asked. Then halfblood started speaking in language of snakes and the locket opened in his hands. Only the command from his master, ordering stillness, kept him from dropping the thing. It spoke. It whispered horrors even Kreacher's bent mind were scared of. But the filthy boy cut his own finger and bled three drops onto the open locket. By the first drop, it had stopped whispering; by the second it was screaming and smoking. By the third, it was silent and felt clean.

"OK, Kreacher, it's done. You can move. And I think Sirius would agree with me when I say, Regulus would be proud, and you should keep the necklace, in his honor." Harry vanished what was left of his own blood while Kreacher stood, stunned.

Kreacher held in a cry and battled for composure. As his master dismissed him, he bowed stiffly then popped to his bed. He had much to think on.

Meanwhile, Sirius and Remus cornered Harry. "What on Earth was that?" Remus asked.

"Long story. Drinks? I could really use something stronger than water." Harry sighed.

So they sat: the men with firewhiskey, Harry with a butterbeer. "OK, so when Voldemort died, he didn't die. His body died, but his spirit stayed. I know this because, well, I've fought his spirit twice now. My first year at Hogwarts, the defense professor, Quirrel, was possessed by Voldemort. He kidnapped me at year-end, after trying to kill me a few times, but in the end, my mere touch vaporized his body."

Lupin's eyes narrowed. "I heard something of this in the staff room. Something about Flamel's philosopher's stone?"

"Yes. Dumbledore had hidden it in the school as bait for a Voldie trap. It worked. Anyway.

"Last year, someone opened the Chamber of Secrets. Its monster started petrifying kids. Students and staff alike blamed me because I'm a parselmouth. But it wasn't me. It ended up, once again, being Voldemort. He had possessed a student this time, using a diary. The monster in question was a frigging huge basilisk. And I killed it. But it bit me first." At this point, he pulled the collar of his shirt aside and showed the bite mark. "The basilisk venom coursed through my veins. The only reasons I'm alive? Well, first off, I have pieces of the philosopher's stone in my blood, since the confrontation in my first year. This lets me heal pretty quickly. Second, Fawkes the phoenix cried a whole BUNCH of tears into the wound. They heal anything. But he had waited a bit. And the venom got around just about my whole body. Some of it reached my scar.

"And then a battle occurred. I don't know how else to say it. You see, there was a part of Voldemort IN MY STINKING HEAD. In my scar. My healer knew it was the blackest of magics, but she couldn't tell what it was, exactly. The basilisk venom started to kill it – so it woke up and tried to possess me. Luckily for me, I'm pretty stubborn, and I don't like being controlled. So I fought. I won. I now have a copy of most of the memories of Voldemort in my head, and I got a good amount of his magic. I've been organizing his memories and I found what he did. He made something called horcruxes – vile things – that allow you to put parts of your torn off soul into objects. I know what objects he used and how he hid them.

"The other thing that happened was, once the battle was over, I sat up. The Ghost Riddle stood there, smirking, thinking I was dead. I picked up the diary that had been the horcrux that had possessed little Ginny Weasley. I was going to stick the sword through it, but the sword was stuck in the snake. Then I remembered the fang I'd pulled from my own shoulder, and figured I'd skewer the diary with that, since there was basilisk venom it still, and I figured it couldn't hurt. But my own blood smeared on the book, and it started to scream and smoke. My own blood is Voldemort bane," he paused, taking a sip of his butterbeer, and smiled. The two men in the room just gaped, trying to process what he'd told them.

"Oh, by the way, did you know Voldemort is really an anagram? His real name is Tom Marvolo Riddle, and he told me his mom was a witch – probably a squib, since there's no record of her being on the rolls at Hoggy Hoggy Hogwarts – and his dad was a muggle. Pretty ironic, yeah?" Sirius chuckled without humor while Lupin just shook his head.

"So, anyway. I've spent the last year searching his memories for where these soul pieces are. That one," he pointed toward the door where the elf had gone, "really worried me, because the protections are completely insane. A lake of inferi is the nicest one of them."

"How many more are there?" Remus asked

"Well, there were five, that he purposefully made before that Halloween. And then me. So that's six. The diary was the first. That's done. The diadem of Ravenclaw was at Hogwarts, and I got that one this year. This locket of Slytherin was the last one he made. And of course the one in my head is done. There's two left: Hufflepuff's cup – and I think you can get that one, Sirius – and there's the Slytherin ring. We'll need help with that one. But I think I have someone that can help."

"Dumbledore will be watching your moves," Sirius stated flatly.

"Dumbledore will be busy. Back in March, after you were officially listed as my guardian, I sent a note to Robbie to evict my tenants. That's the Dursleys and Arabella Figg." Harry didn't smile. He wasn't glad. He was simply determined. Those who had profited from his misery would no longer do so. They wouldn't have to pay him back, but they would be forced to own their actions, or lack of action. Arabella Figg, when questioned, had apparently had the same attitude toward magical kids as Argus Filch. She was quite happy that she'd lived off the fat of the Potter fortune for years while the Potter heir starved.

Her hearing was set for a week's time in front of the wizengamot. They would almost certainly not be pleased.

The Dursleys had, at first, protested loud and strong at the loss of property. Robbie was told that if they gave any trouble, he was to let loose the hounds of war.

The truth rang out in the streets of Little Whinging: the Dursleys had never paid rent, never paid taxes, never paid utilities. The estate of the "delinquent" they'd housed had done so. Suddenly, the stories in the neighborhood changed. The kids told how Dudley Dursley ran a gang that beat smaller children, especially Potter. People remarked on how Harry had always been quiet and polite and certainly, now that they really thought about it, looked mistreated. One of Petunia's "friends" even told stories of how Petunia bragged that kept the child in a boot cupboard. She couldn't say why she'd never talked about it before, but the bobbies had collected evidence supporting the tale.

Robbie had gone to town removing the memory blocks and curses and hexes on the locals, and the Dursleys paid the price. Now, gossip was the least of their concerns. They were headed to prison, and prison for child abusers was a special kind of hell. Harry told Sirius and Remus of the updates, and how Dumbledore would be the next target of inquiry. "Dumbledore will be facing charges for misappropriations of funds and abetting child abuse in front of the Wizengamot, right after his pal, Figg. I think that should keep him busy."

The evening closed and the trio went to bed, ready to start their summer with the air cleared.

The three men – two men and a not quite man – worked non-stop, cleaning and banishing. Harry's elves helped and eventually Kreacher did the same. The lady of the house was shocked to hear from her elf what had happened to her younger son, though she still hated the older one. Not knowing how to reconcile it, she remained silent for the rest of the summer.

When the Flamels came by in July to meet Harry, Harry was very glad to meet them but felt guilty still about the whole philosopher's stone thing. They smiled, saying that it was not his fault, and at least his little hunt would bring some excitement. Harry went on to tell them the good news about the ones he'd already broken. He brought out his magic-null box, which contained the tiara and the diary. Kreacher brought the locket. Flamel felt them and nodded, feeling the scar on Harry's head. He looked directly into Harry's eyes.

"You know where the others are?" He asked, seriously.

"Yep," Harry deadpanned. Flamel indicated that he should elaborate.

"Sirius is going to have to work through the ministry and Gringotts, quietly, to claim the Lestrange vault. The cup of Hufflepuff is in there. Maybe he can just work it so that he gets into the vault to 'look for' Black family heirlooms. He just has to drop my blood into it. That will kill the horcrux.

"But the last one is the hard one. The Gaunt family ring is buried under the Gaunt family shack. It has parselmagic guarding it and extensive traps, including a compulsion hex and a withering curse. Nasty stuff."

The four adults planned for the raid on the shack, arguing the pros and cons of simply burning it up with fiendfyre versus possibly alerting Voldemort's allies as to their actions. In the end, Harry convinced them to simply break the wards, using his help, as he knew what was there and he was a parslemouth. When they got the ring, finally, and broke all the curses and compulsions, Sirius placed a drop of Harry's blood on it, testing to see if that would be enough to kill a horcrux.

It was.

Sirius handed Harry the ring, joking that he could probably claim the Gaunt legacy, such as it was, due to conquest. Seven times over.

Harry smiled and took the ring. Then, looking more deeply at the stone, he seemed to recognize something about it, innately. He placed it with the family invisibility cloak in a mokeskin bag he'd picked up at the second-hand store that summer and put it out of his mind.

The adults decided that, even though they still had one more horcrux to go, they wanted to celebrate. The Flamels stated that they hadn't had so much fun in decades and invited the other three to their chateau in France for the Christmas holidays.

The high couldn't last, of course. Death Eaters caused a ruckus at the quiddich world cup; though they didn't know it, Harry, Sirius and Remus were in a race with someone who was desperately trying to bring Voldemort back. The son of Bartemius Crouch – unrepentant death eater that the hypocritical Crouch had freed from Azkaban only to imprison him under imperius in his own home, was searching for and eventually found Voldemort's roving spirit. Just days after the shard from the ring was exorcised, Barty Junior was able to tie his master's spirit to the Earthly plane in a homunculus formed from the body of a toddler whose identical twin had been slaughtered in the black, sacrificial ritual.

Once in this body, Voldemort struggled to make one last horcrux, having felt the destruction of one or more of his treasures. The process was not at all what it had been before, and it was then Voldemort realized he could not complete the process. His remaining soul was too small to fraction; any more destruction and the remaining part would dissipate. Frustrated, he stewed in his weak, humanoid body, wondering at the awful truth that he was just one short step from eternal damnation. The snake would still be necessary for its venom and its sheer fear factor, but it would not be his last horcrux.

Plans had to be made, and Voldemort, no matter his form, was a master planner. He heard from Barty of the tri-wizard tournament that was to take place at Hogwarts and that his turncoat follower, Karkaroff, would be on Hogwarts grounds. Ordering the slavish Crouch to return to Britain, Voldemort planned, plotted, and thrived.

Harry spent the last few weeks of summer in his last treatment. It was harder to be patient this time because he was so close to being well, and also because he has a family that he wanted to spend time with now. But this treatment was, potentially, the most important. Bones that he would need to be placed in a magical coma to replace, such as those in his skull, would be done. It wouldn't take days, but it was potentially very dangerous. Harry went in determined, and he was not disappointed.

In the end, he was whole, healthy, and hearty. His magic was mastering the talents that original dose of liquid luck had primed him for. His family, though odd, was large and nurturing.

Harry, for the first time in his life, was truly content. He really didn't even want to go back to Hogwarts. Even though Dumbledore had been hamstrung, he was still at Hogwarts. Granted, he was headmaster in name only. The governors would be taking a VERY active stance this year, and Dumbledore was only in place still due to his ardent self-defense. He'd exposed many of his secrets in his self-justification, and some who remembered the days after the war understood that Dumbledore was truly trying to protect the magical world. However, no headmaster could truly justify child abuse. If it weren't for a special circumstance occurring at the school that year, Dumbledore would have been dismissed. Sirius and Remus turned Harry loose on the Hogwarts express, promising to keep in touch and pull Harry from the school at the first hint of trouble.

The school year started, for Harry, much as the others (always excepting the dreaded second year) had. Silly sorting song, endless sorting, blathering from the bearded weirdo. The only difference was the addition of Madame Longbottom to the head table. She was watching Dumbledore's every move like a hawk, and the whole school knew it.

The announcement of the Tri-Wizard tournament was met with excitement on the part of most students and dread on the part of Harry. He just knew, no matter what the "protections" were, he'd be shanghaied into the competition.

When his name flew out of the goblet, he looked angrily resigned. So much for a normal year. He'd had both Sirius and Remus investigating the tournament since it was announced, so he had an idea of what he was up for. His fellow students, always eager to get their exercise through leaping to conclusions, instantly condemned him for cheating to get his name into the goblet. He simply put on his charm and avoided them all, all of the time. The only students he ever spoke to were those in his study group, and they commiserated with his forced participation. Even Susan and Ernie, proud Hufflepuffs, knew that Harry hadn't entered himself. But they weren't vocal in this belief, and he didn't blame them.

Gryffindor was the one house that didn't openly condemn him. Between the stalwart support of Neville (whose grandmother was now headmistress in all but name) and Hermione and the vocal backing of all of the Weasleys (who'd learned from their own experiences two years prior), any loud lions who would have given Harry trouble were silenced.

As in his second year, the staff was divided as to his intents. In the faculty room one afternoon soon after the drawing, there was a discussion about the situation while the members of faculty were waiting for Dumbledore to arrive.

"Remember when he forced you to change his schedule at the beginning of last year?" Flitwick said to McGonagall.

"Yes, he forced my hand like a Slytherin," she almost sneered. Flitwick ignored the disdain in her voice.

"I can't see him being in this tournament without it being a real problem. He didn't put his own name in, certainly," Flitwick continued.

"He loves the attention, just like his father," Snape grimaced. He had thought he was wrong about Potter, but apparently the genes were strong.

"He wears a notice me not charm," Bathsheba babbling stated. Snape asked what she was talking about. "Oh, I have mage sight. I started monitoring him, as the behavior of those around him is different in class than outside of it. He wears a notice me not, and turns it off only in class."

"That would explain why the students don't stalk him. Wore it first year too I'll bet," Madame Hooch interjected.

"That must be what the house elf magic was," McGonagall said, and at the questioning looks she got, she explained. "Part of the writ was suing for house elf magic on one of his possessions. It must have broken his notice-me-not charm."

"So that he was noticed his second year," Babbling concluded.

"Yes," Flitwick said. "He asked me why it wouldn't work, and I didn't know. Dumbledore asked me to get him to give it up his first year and I wouldn't. I thought the headmaster had talked Mr. Potter into it until he asked me about it. After how he was treated his second year… I doubt he'll ever walk in the wizarding world without it again."

"We were all guilty there," said Sinistra.

"He's a decent boy and a decent student, though with his planning, and with his not-so-secret study group I'd think he'd be better," Sprout injected.

Flitwick laughed.

"Why are you laughing?" She asked

"The boy is a solid E student. Correct?" At the nods from the other faculty, he continued, "Has he ever gotten an O?" Furrowed brows and shakes of heads revealed the answer to be no. "Has he ever gotten an A?" Again, the answer was no. "What are the chances, Professor Vector, of a student ALWAYS earning EXACTLY E grades?" Flitwick asked finally with a smile on his face.

"A normal E grade would be an average. If he's always earning E's, he knows, easily, what makes an O and takes it… down," she stumbled to the conclusion.

"He's playing down his performance," McGonagall was aghast and at the same time, had grudging respect for the thought the boy had put into this act.

"Again, in a totally Slytherin manner," Snape sighed.

"He wants nothing more than to learn and leave. I'm sure of that. He wants nothing to do with this tournament. I'd go so far as to say he isn't even all that interested in magic. He was raised in the muggle world, which he still calls the 'normal' world. We've denied him access to Hogsmeade, last year because of the dementors, and now this year, because of the tournament," Flitwick went on.

"I think the Headmaster has plans for him," McGonagall said.

"I think he'll be disappointed," Snape replied sourly.

And then, Dumbledore and Longbottom entered the room and the conversation ended, though none of the teachers forgot the conclusions drawn. They watched the Potter boy, and they noted all of the conclusions held. He knew the material, easily. He simply wanted to draw absolutely no attention to himself. With the way some in the school were gunning for him due to his entry into the tournament (no matter that all of the faculty, at the command of the governors, had confirmed that Potter had not entered his own name), it was easy to understand why he wanted to remain below notice.

One place he could not underplay his performance, though, was the tournament. As he sat in the tent waiting for the first task to begin, he reviewed his strategy. Hagrid, the repentant giant, had revealed to Harry that Norbert, now known as Norberta, had returned to Hogwarts for the tournament. This meant Harry would be doing something with a dragon. He reviewed his arsenal and decided that, really, being unnoticed always worked best for him. So, in this "fight" he would be going for (and had practiced until he perfected) full disillusionment – sight, scent, sound, pressure, heat. A conjured distraction in the form of a tasty-looking stag finished the package. That the stag was a patronus shouldn't matter, he didn't think. He was right. He finished the task in moments, and only the clock stopping told the audience that Harry'd retrieved his prize: a golden egg from Norberta's nest.

He didn't bother taking off the camouflage charms as he stalked out of the arena and back to the castle. The audience cheered to an empty stadium, and they didn't know it. When he never showed up for his score, they were disappointed and angry. But Harry couldn't care less.

Between tasks, Harry took to wearing elder wand all the time. He had scheduled his GCSE exams in December, and was planning on taking the International O levels for magic in June. Nicholas was setting it up for him.

Under great protest from Dumbledore via Flitwick, Harry left the castle for Christmas. The very morning of the leaving train, Flitwick attempted to stop Harry.

"The Headmaster believes you should stay here; your presence is, after all, required for the Yule Ball," Flitwick stated, one again towing the party line instead of standing up for his student.

Harry had had enough. "Look, I've done your tournament requirements. But there is nothing in the rules that says I have to attend a ball. I deserve to spend Christmas as I like. I am NOT a prisoner. Hogwarts administration has NO RIGHT to hold me here over break. I'm not asking for special privileges. I'm not asking for preferential treatment. I'm asking to be left alone, as is my RIGHT." He said no more, simply walked out the door with his trunk and cat. Flitwick was stunned that his student had talked back – no matter the crazy interactions they'd had in the past, Harry had been respectful – and he lost sight, literally, of the young wizard. Dumbledore ordered the train stopped, but Harry was not to be found.

He'd known Dumbledore would pull a stunt like this, and had planned accordingly with a portkey. As soon as he'd cleared the castle's wards, he'd portkeyed to London.

After taking his GCSE's, he, along with Sirius and Remus, went to spend Christmas with the Flamels, as they had been invited. There, the ancient couple showed the British wizards around Paris and Marseille. Though the marauders had been to both cities, it was different to be guided by such knowledgeable denizens. It was rare for anyone to be able to tell stories of Napoleon's action first hand.

While they were in France, the Flamels asked if they could test Harry's magic, as it had, as Nicholas stated, a "familiar flavor" to it. It seemed that the incorporation of the stone into Harry's person had made him a magical heir to the Flamels. Though Harry was embarrassed and not a little worried about their reactions, the ancient couple reassured him. They were proud to have such an heir, and they were reassured that, when they finally passed in a few years, they would have someone to leave their effects (and memories) to made them somehow more content with the inevitable. They would die in a few years, but now they knew they would be remembered.

Sirius was able, after some fancy "head of house Black" politicking, to get into the LeStrange Gringotts vault sometime before the second task. Though he was not able to take the cup of Hufflepuff out of the vault, he dropped blood on it, and it screamed. The goblin with him made no comment, but Sirius thought he saw grudging approval on the creature's face.

Unfortunately, it was all for not. Dumbledore, trying to get Sirius to cooperate with him in regards to Harry, revealed that Snape had been complaining that his mark continued to darken. That meant Voldemort was returning. To Sirius, it meant the dork lord had found another way to anchor his spirit. He may have made another horcrux.

Harry couldn't find it within himself to worry. He had a tournament to survive and O levels to study for.

The second task went by quickly. Harry was required to save Ginny Weasley, again, and had no problem doing so with his use of gilly weed. He had made a point of asking the judges just exactly what or who he was supposed to save, since there were very few people in the castle that he would miss. The disdain in his voice was not at all masked, and though he handily won the task, he lost more admirers.

To him, it was no great loss.

In the last task, Harry again excelled. He had gotten to the point, with his practical training, that he could have passed NEWTs. The theory wasn't quite there, but he was silent casting with the best of them. When he got to the end of the maze, he noticed the cup was a portkey. He refused to touch it, but instead sent off sparks. The judges noticed that he was in the center and lowered the maze. The other contestants had barely entered the maze. None were near the center. But Harry refused to touch the cup. It was clear who had won, and it was clear that he refused to win.

Karkaroff managed, through the judicious use of banishing charms, to push the cup into Harry, anyhow. It meant revealing that he had been the one working against the Boy Who Lived, and giving up his treachery-won freedom, but he had little choice. Better alive in Azkaban than plaything for the Dark Lord's enforcers.

Harry was transported to a place unknown, but this was a tactic he had heard of and prepared for. Apparently, death eaters had liked to do this in the war, and Sirius had portkeyed him a number of times to get him used to the tactic.

Harry landed and hit the ground rolling. Prepared. He pulled out the elder wand in his left hand to match the holly in his right. First, he ducked out of the way of a stunner, returning fire and killing Crouch. Jr. with a severing charm. Next, he slaughtered a charging, gargantuan snake with a reducto. All that was left was an evil baby-thing.

Harry could see, somehow, that it was Voldemort.

"You're done," Harry sneered at the baby-thing who was trying to hit him with legilimency. "You're over. Your horcruxes have been eliminated, and now, you're going to be, too."

Harry sat and waited patiently until someone traced the portkey. Aurors showed up, astonished to see dead snake and dead Crouch. They were stymied by the evil baby thing. Unspeakables were called to the scene. Those men? Women? Took the baby thing, ostensibly to study it. They did so for a day, then decided to throw it through the veil, over Dumbledore's protests. He wished to study the baby thing, himself, as he was convinced it was Voldemort. All the more reason, the unspeakables argued, to kill it. And so they did.

Across the country, dark-marks disappeared. The faithful in Azkaban saw this as the final loss, and many gave up any hope at that point. Most died quickly, dreams of freedom, so recently shored up with the strengthening dark mark, turned to ash with their blemish-free forearms. Most were quick to die; Bellatrix LeStrange held on the longest, but she, too, eventually succumbed to the loss of hope.

The dark marks were not the only thing to disappear. Harry Potter disappeared, also.

He took his international O levels, acing them all. A note of withdrawal was sent to Hogwarts with the grade report.

Dumbledore, perusing the withdrawal in the office he was packing to prepare for his "retirement" refused to believe that the fight was over. He sat with his spy, Severus Snape. That potions master had spent many evenings that summer in silent thanks to the Boy Who Lived for giving Severus Snape a second chance at life. He never knew how dirty the mark made him until he finally felt clean.

"I am troubled, Severus. The dark marks might be gone, but the prophecy is unfulfilled."

Snape laughed, and the sound was not as foreign as it had been previously.

"How many times does that child have to defeat the dark lord for you to believe? It's done, sir. It's done, and he's gone."

"I'll force him back."

"You cannot. You are still under direction to leave him alone. It's time to bow out of the game, sir, while you still have some clout."

Snape left Dumbledore's office while the man himself moved to a window. "Where are you, young Mr. Potter?"

That young man was enjoying a well-earned holiday. Though Master Lee still had him working daily, the setting of the work was different each week. He'd camped in forests, on the beach, and even in downtown London. When summer ended, Harry moved to his finally-refurbished manor and took on tutors. He would go on to study for international A levels and regular A levels through those tutors, his godfather and honorary uncle, and of course Master Lee.

Eventually, when Dumbledore's influence (including his lackeys) was completely gone from Hogwarts, Harry would return the diadem of Ravenclaw and the sword of Gryffindor to the school. Sirius, who had inherited the LeStrange vault upon Bella's death, donated the chalice of Hufflepuff and the locket of Slytherin (that enabled the bearer to speak parsletongue) along with copies of the books on healing parselmagic to the school also.

Harry destroyed the diary, but the ring he studied. And studied some more.

Evientuallly, he studied the ring, the cloak and the wand together. And he recalled that wizarding child's tale of the Wizards Three and Death. And he somehow just knew.

"Am I now the master of death?" Harry asked, wearing the three Peverell heirlooms.

Master Lee laughed. "You never cease to amuse, Mr. Potter. Truly, it means little, just that you have a bit more power over ghosts. For example, if a ghost is stuck on the Earthly plane, you can free him."

"Master Lee, do you want to be free?" Harry asked, though it would rip out a part of his very heart to lose his first true friend and guide.

Master Lee looked at Harry and smiled. "When you have finished your education, when you are a master of your own, Harry Potter, I will move on. You can help me then. You can help others – there are others who want to move on but are trapped. You can help them, if they wish. But until then, I think it is time you get back to your studies, no?"

Harry grinned. "That sounds like a plan."

Holy Cow. I finished it.

Hope you enjoyed. Thus ends my current foray into fanfic. There are some things in the hopper... but they are far from polished and so will remain in the dark for a while.

Thanks for reading!