Flashback:

Quirrel ran in looking like all the hounds of hell were after him as a juicy snack.

"TROLL! IN THE DUNGEON! TROLL IN THE DUNGEON!" he screamed; "Thought you ought to know." and then collapsed in a dead faint.

Harry frowned at the 'unconscious' professor, in his opinion the fall looked too well rehearsed. Everybody else around him were screaming and running around like headless chickens. Dumbledore launched a purple firecracker from his wand and thundered;

"SILENCE! Everyone will, please, not panic. Prefects will lead their houses back to the dormitories, teachers with me to the dungeons!"

Harry frowned and mimicked the wand movements for the amplification spell and yelled;

"ARE YOU MAD, THE SLYTHERIN DORMS ARE IN THE DUNGEONS AND THE HUFFLEPUFFS LIVE IN THE BASEMENT, YOU'RE LEADING THEM INTO A BLOODBATH! Keep everyone in the Great Hall with only one entrance! Bar the doors, ward them, whatever!"

Over the next few weeks, Harry never ceased giving Dumbledore a smug 'I am better than you and I know it' look.

"So Professor Quirrel, it was you all along." Harry commented aloud.

"You suspected p-p-poor st-stuttering p-professor Quirrel over Severus Snape, swooping around like an overgrown bat?" said the possessed teacher.

As soon as Harry was free of the ropes, he quickly grabbed his custom, untraceable wand from his pocket and drew the pistol underneath his zip-up jumper. One Smith and Wesson No. 3 reproduction chambering .45 Colt fired once. He then frowned, what to do. Fire was always a good way to dispose of bodies. And if he used it long enough, he'd end up exhausted for Dumbledore to 'rescue'. And the wand was enchanted to return to its holster if the user was incapacitated.

Glancing between the sword in his hand, still coated in basilisk blood and the small book on the desk.

"Sir, I wonder if I could have that little book?" Harry asked.

Dumbledore simply gave him a grandfatherly look and nodded, making Harry want to gouge out his eyeballs.

Racing after Lucius Malfoy, Harry yelled;

"Wait Mr. Malfoy, I have something of yours!" he called holding out the book.

"I don't know what you're talking about." growled Malfoy.

"Oh, I think you do, you do indeed." Harry said with a sickly smile; "This was placed in Ginevra Weasley's cauldron that day at Diagon Alley, when you picked it up and slipped it inside her transfiguration book. Have a look inside."

Malfoy took it and found one of Harry's handkerchiefs, this one spotted with basilisk blood and slime. Harry used a wandless levitation charm to 'assist' it making its way to Dobby, freeing the elf.

"YOU'VE LOST ME MY ELF BOY!" yelled the blond.

"Wait!" Harry yelled, making Malfoy pause from drawing his wand; "This is Gryffindor's sword, a school artefact, you're a member of the board of governors aren't you? Take it."

He'd used a cleaning charm on the sword to remove the blood, so Malfoy took it from him, still glaring. However, Harry slipped slightly, so the razor-sharp edge caught his hand, opening a shallow cut. Malfoy promptly healed it and walked off. Laughing internally, Harry watched as the man strutted off, collapsing before he got to the end of the corridor.

Nobody ever said that a Potter didn't know how to end a grudge. And make it look like an accident.

Now where was that book on semi-sentient blood-based golems. No way in hell was he wasting a summer at the Dursleys, especially when he owned the wizarding silk industry, most of the press and significant other investments.

"Dobby, would you like to be my elf... Rules are no punishments and you have to wear a smart uniform to show that you're the elf of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Potter..."

Then he needed to catch up on his sword-training. The reason he always wore baggy clothes was that he didn't want people to see his level of fitness and the number of weapons he had hidden on him. The art of the sword, the art of many different swords had been one of his great pursuits since he began fencing and kendo aged seven, a neighbour covering for him by having him off the Dursleys to do 'chores' when there were lessons.

And he was going to find out what the black mist leaving his scar when the basilisk bit him was.

Sat in the Infirmary, Harry stared down Dumbledore, whose eyes continued to twinkle, even as Harry felt him scanning what he allowed to bleed through the impenetrable Occlumency shields he'd accidentally built while meditating, learning the martial arts.

He'd nearly killed that little bastard Pettigrew, but getting clipped by a Cruciatus from a bundle lying on the ground had not been good. As Dumbledore finished watching that memory, Harry pushed forward an image of him ripping Dumbledore's twinkly eyes out and sticking them up his wrinkly ass before trailing off into some nonsensical imaginings including a Veela orgy and wondering if there was enough cheering potion in the world to make the greasy bastard happy.

Harry felt the Timeturner he'd nicked from McGonagall's office at the end of his third year in his pocket as Dumbledore turned to leave having given him some repentances which made Dumbledore sound wise but were in fact utterly moronic. Silently disillusioning himself as dog-Sirius looked questioningly at him, Harry turned the Timeturner over once and vanished.

Quickly setting to work, he conjured dozens of pigeons and transferred all of the various tracking charms on himself and his items before sending them, via Portkey, to several thousand feet above London. Then he waited until Dumbledore entered the Infirmary just under an hour later before laying a number of traps, delighting in the terrified squeal of a goat transfigured from a twinkle-eyed bastard as it was hung upside-down from the ceiling.

Calmly stunning it, Harry strode into the Infirmary, absently obliviating Madam Pomfrey who thought he should be in bed before stunning dog-Sirius. A few minutes later, he crossed the ward-lines in the tunnel to Honeydukes and activated something in the region of two-thousand Portkeys made from oak leaves.

"Oh yeah baby." Harry smirked upon seeing the Fidelius-charmed garage where a Ferrari Daytona, two fake passports and the tickets for a cross-channel ferry awaited them.