In case this sounds familiar to anyone, this was completely inspired by Exploiting Wizarding Antiquity by Wanda Ginny Greenleaf. I highly recommend it, it's a very good take on self-inserts. I love her stories. I did take the idea about wizarding currency, but I extended it and looked into the math. Anyway, this is my pragmatic, albeit optimistic, idea of how one should handle themself if they was inexplicably dropped into a magical, fictional world in the early 1990's. Hope you enjoy Kristen's entirely Slytherin way of handling things.

When I first wrote this, it was all a single document. I'm far too lazy to divide it up into chapters and I know how boring it is to wait for updates. So here we go!

-x-o-x-o-

I have no idea how I died, whether it was because some lunatic with a gun was on campus or if I got hit in the face with a dead chicken, à la Monty Python. Either way, it's all led to the same conclusion, hasn't it? What I knew before is now gone; it has kicked the bucket, it has shuffled off its mortal coil, it has- you know what? Never mind.

Then again, I could have just tripped and whacked my head on the floor. My mom was always laughing about how clumsiness is genetic and our family is cursed with it. I'm sure she would have gotten a good laugh out of that. If she isn't too busy still crying over her dead kid that is. I hope that doesn't go on the gravestone. 'Here Lies Kristen North: Victim of the Genetic Lottery'.

When I came to in a filthy puddle in a dingy alleyway, I was understandably confused. Wasn't I supposed to be on my college campus, just about to enter the library to cram frantically for a Spanish exam that I was doomed to fail? If I had just fallen, shouldn't I be picking myself off the floor, embarrassed as I gathered together my dropped books? Shouldn't I be heading to the solitary cubicles in the back of the library, quietly cursing when I found that my favorite seat was taken? Shouldn't I be having a normal, dreary life, devoid of any action and suspense?

So I pulled myself up, staggered out of the alley, and very quickly found myself across the street from a little pub called the Leaky Cauldron.

There was also a giant man talking loudly about muggles to a tiny boy with glasses and a familiar lightning bolt scar.

I was fairly certain God must have been laughing at my dumb-struck face.

-x-o-x-o-

Now, you don't know anything concrete about me beside the fact that I am a college student, I have a family that undoubtedly cares about me, and I suck at Spanish. Oh, and that I am enough of a Harry Potter fan to know that there isn't really a Leaky Cauldron in London.

I'm pretty smart, but I'm not a genius or a prodigy. I hate school, never want to try particularly hard, and in my opinion copy-and-paste is the greatest invention of all time. I'm lazy and I need to trick people into thinking that I'm not. What I actually try at is books and writing, but that doesn't make a lot of money unless you're J.K. Rowling.

I started to panic. I checked my cell phone with shaking hands; no coverage. I couldn't call home, I couldn't call anybody. What was happening was straight out of a science-fiction novel. What was going on? Why was this happening? Why was this happening to me? I was only nineteen years old, what the hell was I supposed to do? I didn't know anything about being an adult.

So I did the only thing that my barely developed mind could think of: I sat down on the nearest bench and burst into tears. I had never wanted my mom more in my entire life. It nearly took twenty minutes for me to calm down and wipe my nose on my sleeve so I could take a clear look at my surroundings. My eye caught the sign of the Leaky Cauldron and after scowling hatefully at it for a few minutes, I was able to make three deductions:

1. I am obviously in a Harry Potter fan fiction.

2. Muggles can't see the Cauldron. Therefore I am a witch. Side note: how the actual fuck would a portal mess with my genes?

3. Hagrid (Freaking HAGRID) is about to take Harry (Oh my God, HARRY POTTER) to Diagon Alley for the first time. Therefore the date is the thirty-first of July, 1991.

Followed by two more, once I had stopped freaking out:

1. Humanity had shit in the way of computers in the nineties. Fuck.

2. If I am a witch, then can't I use magic to get money, food, and all the necessities I need without ever having to work hard ever again?

Okay, that last point was a bit of a stretch. Wizards spent seven years learning magic, who says that some random muggle who came through a portal can automatically know how to perform a summoning charm? Obviously an experiment was in order after I checked myself over.

I was in pretty good condition, besides the fact that I had mud all over my pants and my eyes were red from crying. I still had all my possessions, namely my purse and wallet as well as my backpack and schoolbooks. As I checked my reflection in the window of a bookstore and wiped away the smudged mascara, I wondered how on Earth I was going to get away with the plan I had brewing. My gaze flicked away from my disheveled hair and settled on the window display. Sitting on the stand was a sign boasting a special offer on a beautiful leather-bound set of Shakespeare's classic plays and sonnets.

Another thing that you don't know about me is that I am an actress. As a lonely, pathetic little middle-school kid, I played Beatrice in Much Ado About Nothing and became a Shakespeare lunatic from that moment on. I was serious about being an actress and winning an Oscar for a few years, but I had to give it up due to even worse depression and pressures to focus on memorizing Spanish vocab rather than memorizing lines.

I had a little bit of fun convincing Tom the barkeep that I had just come from New York, having finished the traditional 'Grand Tour' wizards are encouraged to take after graduation. I found that it was surprisingly easy to lie. I was in a brand new world after all; nobody knew about my antisocial tendencies and my social anxiety. It was easy to pretend that I had been a witch all my life. The new magical me (blech, unintentional Lockhart reference) had an English uncle who had pulled some strings to get me an entry-level position in the Ministry. Sadly, the International Portkey I had come to England on had made me so dizzy that upon arrival, I had fallen over and snapped my wand clean in two. So wouldn't my new pal Tom be a dear and open the entrance to the Alley for me?

It's easier to be sweet to people and allow them to think that you're the idiot. People like coming to someone's rescue. Tom was even nice enough to give me advice on trading in my 'useless Muggle paper' for galleons. Less than fifteen minutes later, I had traded $40.76 cents for eight galleons, eight sickles, and two knuts. The goblin clerk hadn't even noticed that the bills were printed in the twenty-first century. I was tempted to try and convince him that my debit card had about a thousand dollars on it, but I knew it wouldn't do any good to get that much suspicion thrown my way. While waiting in line, I couldn't help but wonder why galleons are used. I suspect that gold is the currency because the goblins don't want the wizards to get the idea (and why they haven't by now speaks to the stupidity of wizards) that paper currency could be very easily printed by the Ministry. Paper currency destroys the strongest advantage that the goblins have against the wizards. If the goblins rebel, they can shut down Gringotts and cripple the economy.

I headed over to Ollivanders after I got out of the bank. The wand maker wasn't particularly impressed by the story of how I broke my wand. Especially since I didn't have any broken wand on me to show him.

"What can I say?" I laughed nervously, my heart thudding anxiously in my chest. "Clumsiness runs in the family. I have a cousin Dora who's just the same way, always tripping over thin air and her own two feet. Drives her mother crazy!"

"Hmm..." Ollivander muttered, a flicker of interest in his watery eyes. "Let's see if we can find you a match then, Miss-?"

"Watson. Emma Watson."

Another thing you don't know about me is that I like to think I'm funny. After I made a shower of silver and aqua sparks erupt from the eighth wand I tried, I turned a shy smile on Ollivander.

"Mind if I experiment a little?"

He waved his hand in an accommodating manner. "Be my guest."

I then proceeded to cast a perfect summoning charm, levitating charm, and memory charm. I emerged from the shop the proud owner of a springy, 10 ½ inch, hawthorn and dragon heartstring wand; Ollivander had no memory of having sold a wand. Correction: having given away a wand for free. Though I felt a little bad, I got over it eventually. I'm a cheapskate and don't have a fixed income, can you blame me?

But on the way out of shop, I saw Hagrid and Harry approach. I glanced down at my wand and forced myself to ponder the world-changing information the Harry Potter books had given me. The next seven years were mine to command. I could give Voldemort a run for his money if I wanted it. I now had a vital choice to make, one on which my very future hinged:

Did I want to screw over the goblins and Gringotts, or just Albus Dumbledore, self-proclaimed leader of the Light?

I decided to do both.

I stole the Philosopher's Stone. Which is ridiculous in and of itself, why the fuck would Dumbledore trust Hagrid to deliver the stone? I like Hagrid. He's sweet and I don't doubt that he's got one hell of a right hook, but I'd rather that it wasn't so easy to accio that unassuming little brown package out of that guy's pocket.

I have to wonder about my moral compass sometimes. Then again, there's a reason why Pottermore put me in Slytherin.

After pocketing the stone, I decided to do some exploring. Flourish and Blotts had a special deal on a fat volume of '1001 Useful Spells'. Considering I had just successfully performed a fourth year level spell on the first try while having had no prior magical training, I thought that it was a good idea to know a few more spells beyond basic charms and hexes. After paying two galleons for my purchase, I headed down to the ice cream shop and bought a large chocolate and mint ice cream to congratulate myself on a productive morning.

Of course, how was I to know that Narcissa Malfoy and her spawn were going to take the table next to me? Startled, I jumped up to use the bathroom. Once away from prying eyes, I paced the empty bathroom, trying to wonder how on Earth I was going to take on the next stage of my plan. I needed a house-elf and I imagined that they cost a lot more than the five galleons, six sickles, and two knuts in my pocket. So why not just free a house elf whom I knew deserved to be treated better, as well make sure that I spent nothing but my time and smarts in order to get him?

In the end, I simply decided to act like an asshole and spill my, now melted, ice cream all over Narcissa. After apologizing profusely and offering my handkerchief to the 'honorable Lady of the Black and Malfoy Houses', I subtly suggested that she had a house elf, she could call it to take care of the mess. She did, and then, when Dobby appeared with a crack, proceeded to throw the handkerchief in Dobby's face. Only it wasn't a handkerchief, it was the right sock I had pulled off in the bathroom and given a mild confundus charm. It was music to my ears to see Dobby dance about and sing, "Dobby is free, Dobby is free!"

Damn, but I am too good for Slytherin. Salazar Slytherin himself wishes he were me.

After throwing more over-the-top apologies and a bow at a mortified Narcissa and Draco, I quickly grabbed my things and left. I didn't want to find out what happened to those who had accidentally-on-purpose deprived a rich pureblood of their house elf in public. I walked a few blocks before turning into a thankfully abandoned alleyway. Time for another experiment. I cleared my throat.

"... Dobby?" I whispered cautiously, daring not to hope.

Pop. The dingy-looking elf appeared out of thin air and gazed at me with alarmingly large green eyes.

"Is the kind witch who ruined my former mistress' robes calling Dobby, Miss?"

I grinned. Speech impediments aside, he seemed rather funny.

"Yes, I am. I'd like to know if you'd want to work for someone who would treat you with respect and paid you for your work."

Dobby's eyes widened, if that was even possible. "You would pay Dobby for his work? And not cause Dobby harm?"

Damn wizards, what was the point in subjugating an entire magical race to abuse? It just made them look like the bunch of bastards they were. But I just nodded and smiled , not wanting to scare off Dobby by going into an angry rant.

In five minutes, I had a house elf. I wanted to pay him ten galleons a month with bonuses and sick leave, plus weekends and major holidays off, but he beat me down to five galleons a month and sick leave. Surprisingly, the process for a house elf becoming your servant doesn't require much more than the elf swearing that they are bound to you until either death or willing discharge by the master (aka 'clothes'). After he finished his little vow, I was quick to give him his first orders.

"Dobby, under no circumstances are you to reveal, indirectly reveal, or allow it to revealed by inaction, any of the things we are about to do. Is that understood?"

Dobby seemed a little anxious, but he agreed. I then ordered him to apparate us to the closest muggle hotel. Dobby, it turns out, can make himself unnoticeable to any non magical or magical persons. This way, no one started screaming when they noticed that a very otherworldly creature was following me around everyone. Gotta love house elf magic. Meanwhile, I cast a confundus on the woman behind the counter and got her to give me one of the nicer rooms in the hotel, free of charge. I'm sure the manager of the hotel might notice some discrepancy in the records, but I'll be gone in less than a week.

I gave Dobby some money and told him to fetch me a copy of the Daily Prophet and the New York Times. I also gave him two of the pillowcases from off my bed so he'd have something nicer to wear than the rags the Malfoys had put him in. He cried for a good minute about that.

While Dobby was out, I relaxed on the big queen size bed and my attention swung between intently watching the news program on the telly and writing notes in the margins of '1001 Useful Spells'. Occasionally I would scribble ideas for my 'To-Do-List' on the inside cover of the book. I needed to get caught up with current events in both the Muggle and Wizarding World to get an idea of the current political and economic climate. I also needed to study up on magical spells, seeing as I could only name twenty spells from the Harry Potter books, which wasn't bad for a beginner. I had no intention of living in a thoroughly magical environment and I knew that I planned to adopt if I wanted kids one day. There was no chance of my newfound abilities being passed down to my hypothetical kids. Magic was just fun to do, period. In fact, when Dobby came back with the latest Prophet and Times, he found me in the middle of casting the Patronus charm.

He gazed in wonder at the silvery cat leaping through the air; he set the newspaper and my change on the bedside table.

"It's lovely magic Mistress Krissy!"

"Thank you Dobby," I beamed at the compliment and flicked my wand to banish the patronus. I had always been curious about my animal form and I supposed that this meant that my animagus form would be a cat as well, if I chose to take that path. All I really knew was that it involved mandrake leaves. One step at a time.

The rest of the evening was just giving Dobby an advance on his monthly pay and ordering room service. Dobby nearly burst into tears again when I told him that I wanted him to eat with me. He kept going on about how he 'wasn't worthy to eat like an equal with a good and kind witch' such as myself. Goddamn wizards. I can see what Hermione meant when she was going on about house elf welfare. Luckily, I remembered to order him to never to harm himself as a punishment. No way in hell was he going to iron his own hands or hit himself on the head with a lamp. Not on my watch.

After hiding the stone in the closet, I sank into the plush mattress of my bed, pleased as punch. Wizards were such fools, and I was going to take advantage of them all. I fell asleep smiling.

-x-o-x-o-

Like I've said before, I am no genius. But when properly motivated, I can come up with some pretty brilliant ideas. For example, I am terrible at math. But after spending the morning doing some basic research as well as stealing a bulky calculator and scribbling and double-checking math problems like a madwoman, I think that I've come across the most insane scheme in the history of insane schemes.

I'm going to rob Gringotts.

Okay, I'm not… well… technically, it would be fraud on a massive scale. Now, I know what you're thinking. In the first Harry Potter book, Gringotts is broken into by Voldy-Quirrell because they think that the Stone is there. Which it no longer is because I've got it. Whoopee! The goblins are undoubtedly going to be on the look-out for more would-be-thieves after that incident. In the seventh book, the Golden Trio attempts to sneakily steal from Gringotts, only they fuck up and end up having to make a very public escape on a dragon. But I am not going to break into a vault and rob the Goblins blind, per say. I'm not going to take a glorious ride into the sunset on the back of a stolen dragon.

I'm going to use math against them. Oh, how my mom would laugh.

In the wizarding world in 1991, one solid gold galleon is £3.01 in British sterling. That sounds pretty normal, right? In addition, one solid gold galleon is equal to $4.81 in American currency, which is what I'm used to instead of these ridiculous solid gold galleons, which are the size of American half-dollars. Notice how I keep saying 'solid gold galleon'.

After breakfast, I decided to investigate a hunch. Dobby and I apparated to a pawn shop and had the guy behind the counter give me an accurate price for the four galleons I had leftover from yesterday's little adventure, giving the greasy-skinned man the idea that they were some special collector's items I had come across. Imagine my surprise when I learned their real value.

Now it's time for a quick math lesson. Don't worry, this will be fun and show you just how stupid the wizarding world really is! In the muggle world, gold costs a ridiculous amount of money and the price of it is very high. In 1991, the year I have been inexplicably transported to, the current price is £226.87 or $362.11. Again, I am no genius at math, but apparently neither are wizards. You would think at least the Goblins would make this illegal, but according to Dobby, they only have protections in place to keep people from melting down the coins. So in sum:

British currency: 4 coins x 226.87 = £907.48

And for you Americans: 4 coins x 362.11 = $1,448.44

You've got to be an idiot not to take advantage of that shit. I collected my money, obliviated the guy's memory of my face and deleted that day's surveillance footage from the security cameras. Dobby and I apparated out while his back was turned. We went to Gringotts.

Thanks to Dobby's magic, I was able to disguise myself as a variety of people, from a mousy-haired woman in her thirties with a limp to a balding man in his fifties. Dobby even pretended to be my rambunctious five-year old kid at some point, a role which he seemed to enjoy far too much. Why the disguises? Well, the Goblins would catch on if one teenage girl keeps walking in and out of the bank with more and more money each time. If several witches and wizards come in to exchange money, it's just another day at work. It's completely normal for the parents of muggleborn and muggle-raised children to exchange pounds for galleons, especially in August, the month in which Diagon Alley gets the biggest amount of customers due to back-to-school shopping for Hogwarts.

Still think I'm joking?

My £907.48 is 301 galleons, two sickles and 13 knuts in Wizarding currency

301 x 226.87= £68,827.87

301 x 362.11 = $108,995.11

I ended up staying at the hotel until the first of September, mainly because it would have been better for safety's sake that my exchanges occurred over a longer period of time and not an hour or so. Also, I felt more comfortable staying there after I realized that I could pay the bill without obliviating or confunding any more of the hotel staff. However, I did make sure that staff couldn't remember my face, only the fact that I had given the name 'Maggie Smith'.

I had over five million pounds. Every penny of it could be it could be doubled or tripled if I so wished.

Now that was a confidence booster.

-x-o-x-o-

I'm a girl with a big imagination, but I immediately fell prey to the idea of a makeover. Hey, when I was a kid, my parents bought over half my clothes at thrift stores. Can you really blame me?

After Dobby and I spent two days dumping my new money in various bank accounts (which were actually under my real name for once) I sat down in the chair of a high-end hair salon and started flipping through real estate magazines as my stylist turned my dishwater blonde, split-end infested hair into the golden mane of a Hollywood starlet. I paid the woman, Jackie, six-hundred pounds for a job well done and made a mental note to remember the address. Then I spent two days just buying high-end clothes. It was difficult to find anything wasn't so painfully nineties, but I managed. If you call blowing over ten thousand pounds on a new wardrobe 'managing'.

I bought a house as well. It was one of those old mansions in the middle of the English countryside with more land and forest than you know what you know what to do with. There was a big back yard with a messy flower garden that I fully intended on ripping up. I always liked working in the garden back home and I fully intended on planting a patch full of daffodils, my favorite flower. The master bedroom had enormous windows looking out over the back garden. I could easily fit six of my old childhood bedrooms in that room. The walk-in closet wasn't even close to being full when I finally finished putting away my purchases. Thanks to an enlightening conversation I had had while heavily disguised, the proprietor of Borgin and Burkes was able to point me towards a reliable ward caster who could set my new home up with extensive wards that shielded me from magical and non magical eyes. No one apparated, flooed, or stepped foot onto my property without my express permission. I wiped his mind of the job when he was done and left him dazed and confused on a corner of Knockturn Alley with two thousand galleons in his pocket.

The library was twice as big as the college library back home and I made sure to buy all of my favorites. First editions of the Lord of the Rings, signed by Tolkien? Hell yeah. That set of Shakespeare I had spied in the bookshop across from the Cauldron? Mine. I even bought 'Hogwarts, A History'. But '1001 Useful Spells' had been burned and its contents reduced to one-thousand and one alphabetized flashcards, organized by type of magic. I chose a stack at random every morning to go over and practice.

Dobby pointed out that a house this big needed more than one house elf to maintain it, so I bought three house elves: Totty, Binky, and Mippy. House elves were expensive, but it was hardly a dip in my savings account. I gave them the same instructions I had given to Dobby, that they weren't to ever 'punish' themselves or reveal their mistress' secrets. It took them a while to adjust the idea that I actually cared about their well-being and wanted to pay them, but I think they started to like me after a while.

Totty was an excellent cook and came highly recommended from the organization I bought the elves from. He was probably the most expensive of the lot, due to his cooking skills. I don't know how I survived before I was introduced to his home made blueberry muffins. Binky was a bit of a strange elf. He had been in trouble before for messing about with Muggle technology. After I let him loose on the slightly banged up 1962 red corvette I had just bought, it was clear to me that he was going to be my mechanic and handyman. I don't know how exactly he did it, but that corvette came out of the garage five days later looking brand-spanking-new. It also didn't need gas anymore and the interior was charmed to be naturally cool and refreshing. As much as I love vintage cars, I had always told myself that it was unrealistic to own one because old cars had poor gas mileage, no air conditioning, and required constant upkeep. Now that it was an option, I bought two more cars. Binky was delighted when I told him that the garage was now his private workshop.

Mippy was a more traditional house elf and kept trying to sneak her wages back into my wallet. She eventually stopped when I specifically ordered her to take the money. She mainly cleaned, did the laundry, ask when I was going to marry a nice wizard and have lots of children for her to look after. Dobby became more like a personal servant and his duties were divided between catering to me and helping out the other three around the house. He was the one who provided me with the most assistance with my special experiments and projects. I think that I was beginning to corrupt him, because he started looking less worried at all the barely-legal activities I was involved in and actually started to enjoy himself. It's not like I was a Death Eater or anything, I was just using magic to live a quiet, if luxurious lifestyle.

Speaking of which, I was now Dame Kristen of North Manor, as well as a dual citizen of America and Britain. The queen of England and the Home Office had nothing on confundus charms, especially when a girl is hell bent on bagging a knighthood and dual citizenship. Don't ask me why I was so inclined because I don't have a better reason than 'because I can' and 'magic, bitch!'.

I suppose I should elaborate on the phrase 'barely-legal activities': I'm a crook. There, I said it, mwua-ha-ha. I am evil now that I have money, servants, and more importantly, magic. Thing is, the Ministry doesn't have anything on the books about committing crimes in the Muggle World. Zip. Nada. Caput. Sure, there are some muggle protection acts to prevent a wizard from torturing and murdering Muggles left, right, and center (mainly due to the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy), but there is nothing to prevent a witch from, oh, I don't know, walking into a bank and confunding a bank teller to give her hundreds instead of tens.

There's also nothing to prevent a witch from disillusioning herself and robbing an armored truck. Or even accioing the money off the truck. Or just apparating inside the truck and apparating out with the money. British newspapers were full of stories about the famous Harrod's Heist of '91; the thieves made off with three-hundred thousand in cash and a hundred-thousand in jewelry. I reluctantly decided to lay low after the story went international. Other magical governments might be smarter than the British ministry. In the meantime, I occupied myself with having a safe built behind a mirror in my closet to hold my new jewelry collection and the Sorcerer's Stone. I had figured out how to make gold by now. I could just tap the stone against whatever I wanted to transfigure. I now had a set of solid gold fountain pens. The fact that the ink had turned golden was an added bonus.

When I wasn't spending time with the elves, gardening, writing in my private study, or stealing obscene amounts of money from Muggles and Wizards alike, I was planning for the future. My 'To-Do List' had grown and was now neatly written in one of my writing journals. I had already made a few notes about events that would happen in the future, such as the Quidditch World Cup, Second Wizarding War, the Battle of Hogwarts. But stuff like 9/11, school shootings, the war in the Middle East? I had no idea how to avert tragedy like that. However, I could make a serious killing off of certain events. Tim Berners-Lee had announced the World Wide Web project a couple of months ago. I was already making plans invest. Even though I already knew about the dot-com bubble, I also knew what companies and websites later became giants on the Internet, such as Google, Youtube, and Facebook. I could bet on the Lord of the Rings trilogy, the Hunger Games, and (shudder) Twilight. Since I didn't really need all of that money to lead a comfortable life, I could donate millions, even billions to charity. People needed money to fight cancer and political causes needed donors to fight unjust laws. Random, million-dollar checks to families in need and extensive scholarships could be given to students in poverty. I was set for life and I could bring a little bit of happiness to people along the way.

What I knew about the British wizarding community was that it was small and practically medieval in its structure. It was easy to take advantage of and easy to manipulate. Did I want to go wand-to-wand with Dumbledore or Voldemort? No, absolutely not. I liked my quiet life in the Muggle world, living in a mansion with servants and having plenty of time to work on my writing. I was about to buy a house in France, for god's sake! I was writing book one of the five-book series that I never thought I would write! Screw the Leader of the Light and the Dark Lord! Besides, I didn't technically exist in the Wizarding World because there was no record of my birth, purchase of wand, or education. Totty, Binky, and Mippy had been bought via an 'anonymous client' that Dobby had represented. I was the definition of anonymous.

But I wasn't a complete self-serving bitch. I was a Harry Potter fanatic. So I added a few more tasks to my 'To-Do List'. The complete version was rather terrifying and very incriminating. It would be subject to a bit of change over the next year, but it was a good list. Why the next year? I had vowed to take some time off from my writing, plotting, and yard work and spend this Christmas at home with the elves. I was having a family crest created and I planned to give Dobby, Totty, Binky, and Mippy uniforms with a badge sporting the design. I already knew what I wanted the motto to be.

'Audentes fortuna iuvat callidus' - 'Fortune favors the cunning'.

-x-o-x-o-

The plan went into motion on Boxing Day. I was planning to start on New Year's Day, but I had no idea when the students would get back. Striking during the holiday break was ideal, so I ordered Dobby to get a hold of blindfolds and a rooster. He and Binky would be accompanying me to Hogsmeade where I happened to know that a trapdoor in the cellar of Honeydukes led right up to the castle. Once inside, the elves and I disillusioned ourselves and made our way to Myrtle's bathroom. I had hoped that we could apparate directly into the Chamber, but apparently some sort of magical protection prevented even house elves from doing just that.

So while I seem to have an unnatural ability to fire off new spells with no training, I haven't been blessed with Parseltongue. But it is easy to fake it. In the second film, Harry nearly always said the same thing in Parseltongue every time: Sia hasiete, sia hasi. A few garbled words got the three of us into the Chamber, rooster in tow. Twenty minutes later found Binky carefully pulling teeth out of one very dead basilisk and me trying to calm down a frantic Dobby.

We couldn't scavenge the entire corpse for parts, but we did manage to rip out all the fangs and tear away some skin. I figured that we could either sell the skin in Knockturn Alley for a pretty penny and use the fangs on Horcruxes, the later of which we then did after accessing the Room of Requirement. The screams from the Diadem were not pleasant. One down, seven to go. Before we left, we went down to the first floor where there was a strangely menacing-looking black cabinet next to the staircase. Interesting. I ordered Dobby and Binky to take it home with us. You never know when a Vanishing Cabinet might come in handy. Or not, if you're a junior Death Eater with plans to kill Dumbledore and invade Hogwarts that is…

Finding the Gaunt Shack was one task I wasn't looking forward to. Luckily, Marvolo Gaunt's arrest was public record and the Gaunt's address had been put to paper. I took Dobby and Binky with me, just in case I felt some powerful compulsion to put the ring on. Luckily, I realized that I didn't even need to go inside the shack to get the job done. I had bought myself a disgustingly evil book on dark curses and the Dark Arts over the holidays and one of the featured spells was Fiendfyre.

As soon as the flames hit the shack, the elves and I apparated to a nearby hilltop to watch the chaos. I swear I could hear the distant wailing from the horcrux as it was turned to ash. The resulting forest fire made headlines in Britain and the authorities were convinced that it was arson, though they were stumped as to how the fire was started.

The diary was the easiest to get by far. I knew that Lucius Malfoy had to have it under the trap door in his drawing room, where he supposedly kept various other dark artifacts. Dobby, as it turns out, still had access to Malfoy Manor and could apparate in and out as he wished and take me along with him. Stupid wizards. We waited until the day of some Ministry fundraiser when Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy would be out of the house. Their new house elf was quickly dispatched with a stunner, a Dreamless Sleep potion (Knockturn Alley is my new favorite place) to insure she didn't wake up until the family got home, and a memory charm to make her think that she had decided to take a nap. It didn't take long to find the trapdoor (no security measures Lucius? Really?) and I soon pocketed the diary after shoving a fang into the front cover.

After that, well… okay, look, I was once a broke college student with barely enough money to buy a pencil. Now I have MAGIC and I live in a fictional world where that laws of magic and the law of the land is not well-defined. If you have a problem with me taking advantage of idiots, blame J.K. Rowling for making wizards so stupid! Anyway, Dobby and I took everything that wasn't nailed down. Literally. We snatched up all of Lucius' dark artifacts, the furniture, the persian rugs, Narcissa's jewelry and her set of silver brushes and combs, the clothing, the entire library with all its books on the Dark Arts, and Draco's broom and all of his toys. That last part was a bit petty on my part, but the little Death-Eater-in-training got what was coming.

Two days later the Daily Prophet had a full exclusive on the robbery and subsequent burning of Malfoy Manor. There were lovely pictures of the phrases, 'RACIST', 'BIGOT', and 'DEATH EATER', all of which had been burned into the once-immaculate lawn. I added the article cutting to my journal. I like to keep track of all my projects.

I took a quick little overseas trip to unload my treasure trove of antique furniture and dark artifacts onto anonymous buyers. Two and a half million went straight into my bank account. When I came back to England after an exhausting month, Dobby disguised me as a limping old woman so I could trade what few artifacts I had left at Borgin and Burkes. I also bought the second Vanishing Cabinet and an opal necklace. I sent that last item off as an early birthday present for a certain toad-faced monster. The next day, there was a short piece in the Daily Prophet about a Ministry Official being killed via cursed jewelry. Happy day. I celebrated with some of Lucius Malfoy's aged Firewhiskey.

However, I didn't sell everything. There was a nice silver jewelry box of Narcissa's that I decided to keep for myself. It had all the nice things a rich pureblood lady could want: emerald earrings, sapphire necklaces, bracelets encrusted with diamonds, a hideously large ruby ring, and a hidden compartment with a golden Gringotts key bearing the name 'Lestrange'.

Guess what I did next.

I knew about the waterfall in Gringotts that undid all magical enchantments, so I decided to contact my hair stylist, Jackie. Why? Once upon a time she had been a makeup artist that worked for the BBC; I gave her the impression that I was going to some fancy-dress party. Heavily disguised as Narcissa, I went to Gringotts, presented my key, and proceeded to grab the cup. I would have made off with a lovely gold crown as well, but the damn thing burned my hand and multiplied itself. I had to cast a quick memory charm on the goblin who was escorting me after he witnessed that. The cup, mangled as it was after stabbing it, was donated to the British Historical Society of Magic. I made up some story about a muggle not knowing what it was and throwing it into a trash compactor. Mippy made me a bowl of essence of murtlap to soothe the burns.

After my burns had healed, Dobby and I paid a visit to Number 12 Grimmauld Place. Kreacher kicked up quite the fuss and called my every name in the book. Dobby didn't really like that. As the two elves screamed at each other and wrestled on the floor, I just rolled my eyes, summoned the locket, and stabbed it with a Basilisk fang without opening it. I never quite got why Harry and Ron thought they needed to open it to destroy it. Kreacher was quick to stop insulting me after I completed his former master's work.

I knew that Nagini wasn't created until Harry's fourth year, and with the timeline that I had just created, she probably never will be made one. So that just left Chosen-Boy. By now it was the summer and Harry was back at the Dursleys. Because of the specifics of my plan, I didn't want to risk stepping even a toe over the boundaries of Number Four. I had no intention of seeing what the blood wards would do to me physically. I sent an anonymous letter to the house across from Privet Drive, informing the Withers family that they had won an all-expenses paid trip to Tahiti. A mild confundus charm on the letter convinced the family that they had actually entered into such a contest in the first place. As soon as the house was cleared out, Dobby and I set up watch on the Dursleys to get an idea of their movements. On one quiet evening a week later, the plan went into motion. While Harry was up in his bedroom, and while Vernon and Dudley were distracted by the telly, I cast the Imperius Curse on Petunia while she was walking back home from visiting a friend.

Yes, I performed an Unforgivable Curse, as much as I disliked the idea, and yes, before you ask, I had practiced it before on an unsuspecting businessman and a few drunks in a Muggle town. Don't get all offended, I only made them dance around and start singing 'Beer, Beer, Beer'. It wasn't that bad. Well, at least for the drunks. The businessman was rather confused.

Petunia came home as normal, greeted Vernon and 'Duddikins', and headed up to Harry's room. She led her, admittedly suspicious, nephew out the back door. I made her rant a bit about how Harry should be grateful that she even allowed him into her home, just to throw Harry off the trail a bit. They went across the street to the Withers' home. I made Petunia repeat some story about her having promised the Withers to check in on their house. The idea was to make Harry believe that he was just over here to clean up and be a general house elf, as usual.

I was hiding under a disillusionment charm at the top of the stairs, carefully building up enough hatred in order to perform the next task. I hated the fact that I was stuck here. I hated that I could never see my family again. I didn't want to be stuck in a fictional, nonsense world where some fool of an old man thought he could have any say in a child's well-being. Part of what makes me a good actor is that I can get into character very quickly. The way I see it, you have to convince even yourself that you are somebody else. It's the only way to insure a good performance. The role I was playing tonight was that of a smart evil villain. One that acted instead of prancing about, gloating over his supposed win. I was portraying the kind of person that Tom Riddle only dreamed of being: an actual, fucking winner.

As soon as the front door was closed, I cast the Killing Curse. It hit Harry square in the head and he crumpled. Petunia nearly screamed, but succumbed to a quick stunner. Dobby, under my orders, had apparated temporarily back home and would come when I called. There were many illegal things he had witnessed me do in the past, but I didn't want this to be one of them. So I just sat quietly on the bottom of the stairs, until Harry woke up, dazed and confused over what had just happened. I stunned him and proceeded to alter both of their memories. They would have no memory of ever having come to this house in the first place. The next morning, Harry would be convinced that he had had a wonderful dream about meeting his parents.

-x-o-x-o-

Now that the horcruxes had been dealt with and Voldemort was now officially dead, what to do about Harry's custody? I didn't really want to kill the Dursleys, I had already killed Umbridge and, only technically, Harry. As much as the toad had deserved it, and as much as Harry had needed to be rid of the horcrux, I didn't want a whole family on my conscience. So Dobby and I paid a trip to Ottery St. Catchpole and I accioed Scabbers/Pettigrew/Wormtail out of Ron's bedroom window. I disguised myself as a concerned citizen by the name of Rupert Grint and made an appointment with Amelia Bones to talk about an illegal animagus I had discovered.

Three days later, Sirius Black was a free man with twenty-thousand galleons of compensation money from the Ministry. Predictably, Dumbledore tried to convince Sirius that it was best for Harry to live with the Dursleys, as Petunia's blood kept him safe. I'm sure the old man wasn't deliberately evil, but someone as a stupid as that wizard should not be allowed to dictate a child's life.

Dumbledore didn't have his way. mainly because I imperiused Vernon and Petunia to go down to the local police station and confess to child abuse. Binky took several pictures of Harry's cupboard and the microscopic bedroom he was forced to live in. The cat flap, the excessive locks, and the window bars were all documented. Dobby sent copies off to the press. Rita Skeeter seemed delighted to have an actual, real scandalous event to report on for once.

The British wizarding world did not like the fact that their savior had grown up mistreated and abused, courtesy of the one man who could have made sure his real guardian had gotten a fair trial. Cornelius Fudge blamed the previous administration for putting an innocent man in prison and called for Dumbledore's head on a spike.

All of Dumbledore's positions were taken away, including his job as Headmaster. A few anonymous letters to parents of Hogwarts students informed them about a certain three-headed dog and a third floor corridor that could cause 'a most painful death'. Magical and non-magical parents alike were in an uproar. McGonagall was hired as Headmistress within an hour after Dumbledore was fired. It was reported that her ranting to Dumbledore about his treatment of Harry echoed throughout the halls of the school. A lovely letter of recommendation for Remus Lupin was provided and the werewolf became the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, as well as the new head of Gryffindor house. I think a few years from now Lupin will be pleasantly surprised to realise that the job is no longer jinxed. Sirius, Remus, and Harry were said to have a very touching reunion.

The Leader of the Light's reputation was up in flames, but unlike a phoenix, there was no rising from the ashes.

As to the matter of one Severus Snape, the man had no business teaching students. Now that Dumbledore wasn't around to protect the former Death Eater, McGonagall was able to contact Horace Slughorn to take over Snape's positions. Slughorn was also nice enough to brew Wolfsbane for Lupin. I sent a note to the new Potions teacher and directed him to a certain potions textbook in the back cupboard, encouraging him to publish the notes on the recipes into short, easy-to-use guide for prospective NEWT students. The name 'H.B. Prince' would go onto the cover, followed by the phrase, 'edited and compiled by Horace Slughorn'. To cap it all off, I awarded a certain former Death Eater with a shockingly generous grant to continue private research in New Zealand..

At the end of it all, I was pretty proud of myself. It had only taken a year to implement the correct changes. By Christmas, Harry was living out a happy, normal existence with his godfather and friends, no longer expected to take on a psychotic maniac in the near future. It's interesting how things turn out, isn't it?

-x-o-x-o-

"Mummy. Mummy. Mummy. Mummy."

I sighed and turned away from the collection of expensive Italian journals I had been looking at. Looking down somewhere around knee-level, I spied the face of Annie. Her big brown eyes gazed up at me imploringly, tiny hands tugging away at the sleeve of my pants.

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"Can we get chocolate? Please? Please?" She pointed to the counter; a large tin can with the label 'Free Sweets' sat next to the register. At the tender age of five, Annie could do little else but think of candy. I reached down and ran my fingers through the tiny curls on her head.

"The candy's going stay where it is, we can get a piece or two on the way out." I smiled down at her. "Don't you want to look at the books first, sweetie?"

"But chocolate." Her doe-like eyes widened as she emphasized the word. "We were with Greg all day and you were talking about your books at and that was forever and lunch was hours ago!"

I rolled my eyes. Annie could never sit still and she had no patience for 'grown-up talk'. Especially when her older sister kept making comments on how often we saw my publisher, Greg Greenwood, and how he always smiled when he saw me enter the room. My five-year-old was oblivious, but my thirteen-year-old wasn't. Smart-ass teenager.

Why had I gone back on my promise to never have kids? Oh, wait: maternal instinct.

I let out a theatrical sigh. "Oh well, I guess if you want chocolate now, we can't have pizza later."

"Pizza? Really?" Annie practically hopped where she stood, her ringlets bouncing like springs. Her enthusiasm for food was not unlike a hobbit's. "We're going to have pizza! Okay!"

With that, she shot off like a rocket for the children's section. I grinned as I picked one of the larger journals off the shelf. I didn't know about other parents, but my kids could be pretty easily manipulated if you just plied them with food and books.

The bell on the shop door jingled. I glanced away from my careful watch of Annie to see who had just entered the shop. Max waved at me cheerfully as he held the door for his older sister. Sam made a bee-line for me; several large cardboard tubes were wedged under her arm.

"I got posters! A bunch of them!" She said in delight, showing off a wide, toothy grin. "And I got a Lord of the Rings one for free!"

Max coughed into his elbow, the noise sounding suspiciously like 'Orlando Bloom'. I bit my lip to restrain myself from laughing. As funny as my daughter's obsession was, I could hardly say anything about it, considering that I had also been a little smitten with a certain elf once upon a time. It was better not to freak her out like that.

"That's great Sammy. You get anything, Max? No? Alright, Sammy, go collect your sister for me, please. She should be curled up in a corner reading Charlie and the Chocolate Factory if I know anything about her."

Max and I divided up the poster board tubes to carry while Sam went to go find her little sister. Max tapped his foot against the ground as we waited, biting the thumb of his free hand. I frowned at the motion, wondering what he might be thinking about. My eye caught sight of the corner of a piece of parchment sticking out of his pants pocket. Ah, so that's what it was. My daughters had never displayed magic and a letter had never arrived for Sam two years ago. But my son was another story. A week ago during our traditional Sunday pancake breakfast, a tawny brown owl had tapped on the window with it's beak, bearing a none-too-surprising acceptance letter for Max. The elves were close to weeping at the idea of a wizard in the family.

The reason that it wasn't surprising was that it had always been obvious from the start that Max had magic. His parents had been muggles and had died suddenly when he was six. With no family to take him in, he stayed a year at a children's home before the 'incidents' had started occurring. Books flying off of shelves, crayons dancing to tunes on the radio, a social worker's hair suddenly turning orange... it had been fairly lucky that I had shown up, looking to adopt a new sibling for Sam and Annie. Working with me had certainly gotten Max's abilities under control, but his accidental magic would flare up during times of emotional stress.

"Thinking about Hogwarts at all?"

He quickly pulled the thumb out of his mouth.

"No." He muttered.

"We've still got plenty of time to think about it, it's not like we can't hire a tutor full-time."

"I know." Max muttered, scratching the back of his head and ruffling his dark hair. "But I don't really like it."

"It?"

"I don't want to go away for a year." He said loudly. His voice was taking on a petulant tone. "I like our house and I like playing football after school and sleeping in my own bed and being with Sam and Annie. I don't want to go."

I sighed. This wasn't that unexpected either. I hadn't exactly been, well, supportive of the Wizarding World around my kids. Things had gotten better in the last ten years, but wizards still thought they could be adorably naive about Muggles and the efficiency of technology in the non-magical world. I had paid a trip to Diagon Alley for the first time in years a few months ago and was disheartened to see the same Flourish and Blott's display of quills and ink bottles that I had first seen at age nineteen. Nothing had changed. My kids were well aware of the magical world and my pragmatism seemed to have worn off on them, as well as my anti-stupidity views.

"Sweetheart, I would never make you do anything that you didn't want to do." I reached out and brushed some of his untidy hair out of his eyes, encouraging him to look at me. "If you don't want to leave home for school that is perfectly fine. You can just enroll at Sam's school. I'll look into a tutor for the weekends. You can decide again in a couple years."

"Okay," Max breathed out, the weight lifting from his shoulders. "Okay. Thanks mom."

Sam called out to me, her sister in tow. The doorbell on the shop rang. As my family made our way to the counter, a thin man with scruffy black hair and bottle green eyes entered the bookstore. A jagged scar like a bolt of lightning sat in the middle of his forehead. He was carrying a tiny toddler in his arms; a red-haired woman trailed behind him, gazing curiously at everything in the muggle store. I stopped dead in my tracks.

"Mum?" Sam asked, a look of concern on her face as she tugged on my sleeve. "You okay?"

"He looks familiar." Max narrowed his eyes at the Boy-Who-Lived. "Like I've seen him in a book or something."

"Mummy!" Annie pulled pleadingly on my hand. "We're gonna get pizza, right?"

I shook myself out of my stupor and smiled at each of my kids. It may have been important once, a long time ago, but it wasn't anymore.

"Nothing. I thought he might have looked familiar." I shook my head and smiled at my kids.

"Now, tonight's movie night. Who wants pizza?"

-x-o-x-o-

Constructive criticism is great. This was just meant to be something fun to write.

AR