Two hundred years ago

The announcement came at noon. A grand stage had been set up in front of the Ministry of Magic, and hundreds of witches and wizards had gathered, chatting in amongst themselves, wondering what all the fuss was about. Sure, there were rumours, but nothing could have prepared them for what was about to occur.

Soon enough, people walked out onto the stage – most of them had become quite well-known, somewhat celebrities across the continent, even across the globe.

A huge round of applause was elicited for the Minister of Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour. The war had taken its toll on him, as had age. The proud, stern man was still that, but much more quiet and hushed, with wrinkled skin and gray hair, hobbling up, accompanied by his Aurors, he was still revered and respected for his quick-thinking and command during the war.

Following him were several others, such as Amelia Bones, earning even more thunderous applause. The woman had been granted more power in the Ministry to allow better management of the war efforts, and this showed – costs of defensive measures for personal homes and property were at an all time low, the standard of Auror recruitment was higher, yet despite this, the amount of applications were phenomenal, thanks in part to the increased funding offered to schools.

But there was still greater yet to come – striding powerfully onto the stage, the greatest applause was reserved for none other than Harry Potter.

He was strongly built, looking tall and incredibly athletic, a wizard and man at his prime. Dressed sleekly and sharply in a tailored black robe with silver embroidery, his signature, personal sword, legendary for bringing fear into the hearts of Death Eaters, was buckled in a sheath at his side, as always. His hair was long and wavy, losing the unkemptness that plagued it during his teenage years, coming down to his shoulders. The unique, emerald green eyes were more brilliant than ever, sparkling not with mischievousness as Dumbledore's once had, but with power.

He was Harry Potter – the chosen one, hero of the light, and one of the most powerful wizards in the world (and winner of Witch Weekly's awards for most eligible bachelor and most charming smile several years in a row).

But what the public did not know was that he was also Harry Potter – businessman, politician, master strategist, and… Dark Lord.

"Ladies and gentlemen," Rufus Scrimgeour began, in his strained voice, weary and fatigued from being Minister in time of war against such a foe. "I have come here today to make just one simple announcement: That Voldemort IS DEAD!"

There was a great response from the crowd – the shouts of joy were deafening, as well as the flashes from cameras to mark this incredible occasion. They all knew it was long-time coming – with Harry Potter, the hero of the wizarding world, they had been able to gradually push Voldemort's forces back. The fear of the name was even gone, thanks to him. And now, they had finally won!

What they did not know, of course, as did few others, including the Minister and many politicians, was that Voldemort had been dead for quite some while. Harry was able to capitalize on the war, selling merchandise and goods under a network of false companies and agents that had compiled a rather vast fortune. He was the only one that had eventually profited from the war. Of course, Voldemort needed to be alive and out killing, torturing and maiming, and he was – not the real one of course, and his true followers were all long dead. Harry did not enjoy it, but it needed to be done. The time spent in war helped to divert attention away from his schemes and gathering of his own, secret army.

Rufus Scrimgeour waited until the cheers had died down before continuing. "As you all might have guessed, it was our savior, Harry Potter, who was the one to end this threat…" there was another great roar, and this time, the feminine screams were more than distinctive. It was a trifle amusing for Harry to go out and get mobbed by a bunch of screaming witches, despite the fact he was married. "And thanks to him, this war is over. As you all know, I am long-due for retirement, and thus surrender my position as Minister of Magic, and all the powers that come with it." There was another round of applause as he made his way down. It would have been hard for poor Rufus – he was taking the brunt of the public spotlight, and really didn't have any true power. Harry was the one in charge all along. Of course, no one knew.

Harry then made his way up to the lectern, waiting patiently for the cheers to die out before beginning. "Thank you Minister for those kind words – you paint me in such a positive light I'm afraid I'm not sure I can live up to the image in these good people's minds." There was laughter at that – Harry Potter' trademark humility and humbleness were still in place after all this time. "But now, we must get to business. Although Voldemort is dead, meaning the war is over, there are still many things to do. I'm sure most of us agree that the war effort at first was quite shabby, especially under Rufus' predecessor Fudge. To be blunt, it was simply horrible. That is why I suggest that we need to revise Ministry Law and policies, as well as a great deal many other things in the political arena. Over the years, the Ministry of Magic has been used by politicians for selfish gain, and this must be put to an end, otherwise another Voldemort could rise. The Ministry of Magic must be united and look out for the best interests of the people! Because of this, I'm sure you agree that many things need to be changed. What else would stop another Dark Lord?"

The whole audience listened with interest as Harry continued, highlighting his points with proper references and sources and summing it up collectively. As he finished, there was brief silence before another huge round of applause, signifying their approval at what he said.

As the audience dispersed, Harry shook hands with each of the people he had worked with during the 'war'. "Happy retirement, Mr. Scrimgeour," Harry said with a smile. "You've certainly deserved it."

"Yes, well, I would like to enjoy what few years left I have," Rufus admitted as they shook hands. "Good luck in your endeavours, Mr. Potter."

Amelia however had no thought of retirement. "You will still see more of me, Mr. Potter," she stated bluntly, adjusting her monocle. Despite the pressures of her job, Madame Bones had aged much better than Rufus, and was in considerably better shape. "As you know, the war may have ended, but there is still more fighting to be done. I intend to stay on until I'm confident that the Ministry of Magic is sufficient to look out for the best interests of all the people."

"Of course, Madame Bones," Harry answered. "There are enough politicians retiring now anyway, and we've got our work cut out for us to make sure that the next generation are better than this lot."

"Yes, indeed," Amelia agreed. "Although now, I think there's someone who'd like to see you."

Harry turned around and smiled. "Of course. I'll see you at the private celebrations, then."

His wife embraced him warmly, kissing him softly on the lips and earning several jealous glares from some of his female fans still lingering around, as well as ogles from his male ones. "So it is finished, then," she said. Her accent was much crisper and cleaner, retaining just enough hint of French to be seductive and smooth, almost husky, at the same time. Fleur was also at her prime, more beautiful than ever, without even needing to tap into her Veela talents, which had grown considerably under Harry's tutelage. In the Muggle world, under a pseudonym as Harry had been, she had been the ire of even the most dazzling models, aiding her husband and softening up even the hardest businessman to allow Harry to subtly manipulate them.

"Yes, this part anyway," Harry said back in a similar hushed tone, nibbling on her ear. "There is still much work to be done, but we have all the time in the world."

Fleur smiled. "Yes. All the time in the world…" she reached down and gripped his crotch. "We make such an amazing couple, don't we?"

"Of course," Harry agreed with a smirk as he led her away. After many romances, in which Harry had been devoid of true emotion, he realized his mistake. He had only dated girls. What he needed was a woman.

And Fleur was utter perfection.

-HP-

Present

"…I took on the title of Dark Lord, that is correct, to make a mockery of it," the Emperor continued, pacing back and forth as explosions rocked the stronghold. "Did you know that in Greek times, a tyrant did not have the connotation it does now – instead, it simply meant an unconstitutional ruler. What if, then, the constitution, the law, was flawed? In some ways Voldemort was not a Dark Lord, as the meaning of Dark Lord is similar. He tried to establish pureblood supremacy, hating his own status as half-blood. In the deepest, darkest recesses of a wizard's heart, secretly they agreed with him. That purebloods ruled. Ministry law was rigged in favour of purebloods. So then…" the Emperor laughed. "He was really constitutional!"

After a moment's pause, he continued. "So therefore I am a Dark Lord. It took me many years, but eventually I saw the truth, after a hard journey where I stood atop Mount Everest, the highest mountain in the world. Suffering from oxygen deprivation, the only thing allowing me to survive my magic, I realized a revelation…" his hands curled into fists. "There is a race, above all others, that was destined to rule. Beings more brilliant, more powerful, than anything else. And I am one! I am a superior being, destined to rule! To lead the world into a new age of enlightenment, to guide the lost sheep, suffering from their own prejudice and bigotry! And we have come so far!"

The Emperor was lost in his own musings. "So far. The Empire we established was perfect, in unity, in knowledge, in law, everything. Its splendor is unsurpassed, so rich its treasure that it can be shared freely among the people. The greatest borders, encompassing the entire globe, a feat not even Alexander the Great could have accomplished, without complacency, without struggle. Our knowledge of magic is unlimited, and the technology at our disposal is endless, a perfect combination of muggle and wizard craft. But they do not want any part in it. Do they not understand?" The Emperor deactivated the crystal, levitating it back to its place as he exited, murmuring to himself. "Everything was all for their own good. Everything…"

He strode into the War Centre, where all his generals were gathered, watching on a large holographic screen the battle outside, in perfect 3-D. The Emperor swept his heavy cloak behind him. "I want an update."

"Your highness, the perimeter shield has fallen, as have the outer defenses. The remnants are still putting up a fight, but we don't know how much longer they can hold on," his best general reported. "They've completely disabled our mechanized craft. Should I deploy our reserve forces?"

The Emperor rubbed his chin in thought. "No. Make the order for the soldiers in the outer defenses to retreat, and close off all the gates. Activate the emergency power to re-deploy the barrier for the inner defenses, and detonate the explosives. Hopefully it'll take out some of the attacking rebel forces. Our soldiers are better trained, and they're attempting to get through via brute force. We may be able to repel them by exhausting their armies. The mountain is too barren for them to survive and siege indefinitely." They needed to be encouraged. To believe that they still had a fighting chance. But he knew that it was all over. "…Also, deploy the Centaur Legion to reinforce the East Wing, and the Goblin forces to the West."

"Of course, your highness."

"Dismissed."

His cloak dragging behind him, he made his way up to the highest part of the fortress. There was still a chance, small as it was, to fix this. To fix everything.

"It's over, isn't it?" The Empress stepped out of her grandiose study, unbuckling the mask that signified her status as an Empress. There seemed to be an Imperial Family. The graveyard outside would indicate that. But in reality, the long-line of Emperors and Empresses were there to disguise their immortality. "Everything is at an end."

Harry unbuckled his own mask, staring down at it. The mask was silver, with the proud gold emblem of the Empire.

It was nothing now. He let it drop to the polished marble ground with a clang. "Yes. Not yet though. There's still one contingency left."

Fleur's eyes were sad. "Yes. But then our love will not have existed. I will never have known you. All of our memories together…for nothing."

Harry kissed her. "We were always meant to be together, Fleur. Always. Whether in the future, the present or the past, we will always be together! Our time shared together? We will make new memories."

Tears like crystal fell from Fleur's eyes as she wept freely. "But… she is not me, Harry. She might look like me, but she will never be me. While I wait here, in this doomed future, to die?"

Harry held her even closer. "No, Fleur, she is not. But don't you remember the oaths we made, the bond we forged together?" He pulled off his glove and raised his hand to the identical scars on their palms. "You are the other half of my soul, Fleur. You complete me. No borders, whether they are of space or time, can separate us. We will be together always. I swear it."

Another sudden explosion, closer this time, shattered the moment. Harry pulled his glove back on and kissed her longingly, before reluctantly parting, making his way to the elevator.

She stood there, a vision of perfect beauty and love, frozen in age at her prime, dressed in a sparkling blue gown. She was clutching a pendant around her neck – Harry had made that for her using crystals he had personally retrieved from the ruins of Atlantis, as a wedding gift and a symbol of their eternal love and promise together.

He planned to keep it.

-HP-

Harry entered the highest part of the stronghold, a tower which possessed a large magical stone, one he had found during an excavation of Avalon. It provided light and signaled to passing planes which was useful in the thick foggy weather, but what people didn't know was of its unique powers.

He pulled off his diadem, more or less a jeweled trifle, and got to work.

The stone was connected via several wires to a monstrous orichalcum generator. Harry punched in the key code on the console, and there was a dull hum as it activated. Several sickly green beams fired into the centre of the pedestal, as a small orb began to form.

The Emperor watched the glowing digits forming on the screen as the computer began its calculations. Everything was done to utter-perfection, the runes weren't clashing with the complicated algorithms like they were originally, as long as it continued to siphon power…

"An interesting contraption you have built for yourself, Harry. But however, your track-record of experiments do have a tendency of going awry."

Harry stiffened. He didn't need to turn around. "Albus. So glad of you to come." Then he turned around.

The former Headmaster of Hogwarts was dressed in heavy, purple robes with various enchantments and charms on them. He was young once more, but his skin was not human flesh, being grey, smooth and almost alien, his blue eyes glassy and dead, like beads stuck into a teddy bear to pose for eyes. "You can't win, Harry. Surrender yourself now, and end this madness."

"Madness?" Harry laughed harshly. "You call this 'madness'? The greatest Empire the world has known? All the things we have accomplished, all the peace achieved, destroyed thanks to the efforts of a hypocritical and narrow-minded ex-school teacher. Many would call your resurrection 'madness' also."

"It was necessary!" Dumbledore barked, raising his wand and snapping out a powerful jet of white flame.

Harry simply raised a hand and slapped it away. "Your foolishness is mirrored in your reliance on your wand," he stated bluntly. "I have grown above such petty trinkets." He narrowed his eyes, as a ball of energy formed in front of him, splitting into hundreds of pieces, which then formed into sharp knives. Dumbledore quickly blocked them all by generating a shield, although he stumbled back with effort.

"You can't win, Harry," Albus said. "Even if I do not stop you, you cannot single-handedly stop an army."

"I would hardly call your ragtag mass of rebels an army," Harry remarked. He flicked his hand behind him as a lever pulled back, a timer starting on the console.

"What's this?" Dumbledore asked in humour. "Another secret weapon?"

"In a…manner of speaking," Harry said as he turned around, flinging off his cloak. His sleek plated black armour gleamed under the ghostly light as he gripped his sword tightly, activating the rune on its pommel. "You see, Dumbledore, you can't defeat me. I have conquered death, now I have conquered time."

Albus' eyes widened. "No…Harry, don't! It is against the very laws of nature to meddle with time!"

"It's against the laws of nature to bring someone back from the dead, but I don't see you complaining," Harry shot back as he punched in the final calculations for the generator, setting the time and destination – the green orb, already massive, warped into an ethereal vortex of sparkling energy. "So, old man, see you in the past! Too bad your past version can't stop me!"

With that, Harry stepped onto the platform, and into the vortex, form dissipating into particles as it was sucked in.

Just as his body disappeared completely, the timer stopped, and simultaneously the computer activated its self-destruct sequence.

-HP-

For a period of time, long or short Harry didn't know, he felt disembodied, like a spirit whirling through the cosmos. It could have lasted for a second or eternity.

Yet the feeling ended, as Harry felt himself being squeezed through a pipe, similar to that outdated method of teleportation, before landing down on something distinctly hard.

The first thing he did was reach up and feel himself – instead of the powerful, athletic muscles he had built up, his physique was wretched, skinny and undernourished. He felt the horrid chunky glasses back on his face again.

It had worked.

The musty inky-black darkness told Harry that he was back in the cupboard under the stairs. About four or five – his calculations were accurate then.

Reaching out, he gripped the reassuring weight of his sword, which shrunk and re-adjusted to his size. It was a unique weapon, so powerful it was not displaced by even time. It had taken Harry many years to just design and build the first incarnation, a weapon of war made purely for fighting, and another hundred years to truly perfect it. Now it would follow its master wherever it went, whether it be into the afterlife, another dimension, or in this case, the past. And he would need it.

Harry paused and took a moment to meditate, tracing the paths of magic in his body to his core. He still possessed the phenomenal power, as always, but the magical pathways within him were weak, undernourished and unused. It would take at least a day or two to focus himself enough to rebuild some of the pathways so he could perhaps be strong enough to wield some basic magic, but only with age would he be able to fully command his magic like he did at his prime.

Feeling around in the darkness, Harry pushed his hand against the door – locked, as he thought. Well, not for long…

Pointing his sword at it, he focused and fired off a Reductor curse – there was a boom as the door splintered and blew off its hinges, flying out to the other side.

Harry blinked. Uh oh. He needed to regain full control as well.

Before dear old Uncle Vernon could come down and beat him, Harry pulled himself out. Another Reductor curse shattered the front door, and he ran outside as quickly as possible, outside the blood wards. With a loud pop, he disapparated.

-HP-

Finding a hideout was easy enough. Harry had simply made his way to a mall, easily able to avoid the guards and security, making sure to eat properly and get plenty of sleep. He wasn't prepared for any strenuous exercise yet, his body simply couldn't be able to handle it and he needed to be at his best in case anyone came looking for him.

Nevertheless, hiding himself away, over two days Harry constantly meditated and focused, rebuilding as many of the magical pathways around his body as possible. He couldn't begin magic core building exercises, it was simply too exhausting as well. At the very least, Harry didn't get panted after casting a few silent spells.

Finally after Harry had done as much as he could have for his body, he disapparated away to begin the next part of his plan.

-HP-

"Dobby, fetch Draco another blanket," Lucius ordered as he set his son in bed. "And do make sure it is of the proper material this time. I would hate for you to be punished…again."

The house elf bowed shakily before disappearing.

"Father, tell me another story of the Dark Lord," the little Draco begged. "Please?"

Lucius smiled. "Perhaps another time. You are getting sleepy, aren't you?" He laughed as his son gave a fervent shake of the head. "Ah, there is one that might interest you. It is…" suddenly the schemer froze as he felt the Malfoy family ring warm up on his finger. An intruder! "Dear me, it seems there is a matter I need to attend to. Stay in your room," he ordered as he bolted out as fast as possible.

Narcissa met him in the atrium. "Over there, on the edge of the wards," she said, pointing out the window.

"There seems to only be one. I'll investigate, stay here," Lucius ordered as he walked outside, light glowing from his wand-tip.

The edge of the wards was just on the grounds, it was probably a nosy reporter trying to…

Lucius froze.

It was a young boy, dressed in tatty, horrid muggle clothing, but that was not what stopped him. What stopped him was the signature lightning scar, showing that he was Harry Potter, and those…red eyes…

"Lucius," the voice that came out of Potter was not that of a boy, but a man, smooth and slick, yet harsh and sinister. It was a voice he knew only too well. "It has been long."

The response was automatic as Lucius bowed. "My lord, you have returned!"

'Voldemort' cocked his head. "Returned? Come, Lucius, there is much to discuss. And my wand?"

"I retrieved it, my lord. Come, Malfoy Manor has remained unchanged since your last visit."

After sending Narcissa out, claiming it was an important visitor which it was, Lucius and Harry seated themselves in one of the rooms.

Dobby returned with the wand, handing it to Lucius who then handed it to Harry.

"Excellent," Harry stated in cold pleasure as he flicked his wand, conjuring for himself silky black acromantula robes. It was odd to use one of these after such a long time, but he remembered everything and Voldemort's wand was similar enough that it would do for now. "Now, my dear Lucius, even inhabiting the body of this muggle-raised weakling I still wield enough power to observe wizard affairs. I know of your…tricks, to avoid a sentence in Azkaban, while my loyal followers rot there, as of the numerous excuses made by my other followers. Close your mouth, there is no need to speak, as nothing you say can justify your actions. Crucio." After holding it for a short time, Harry released it – Lucius got back off the floor shakily and returned to the chair, realizing that even in a boy's body his lord still possessed immense power. "But Lord Voldemort is merciful, and this may be useful. For now, Lucius, I need your abundant resources. It must be completed in utter secrecy, and no one is to know of this outside your family, for I swear the consequences will be dire."

"Of course, my lord!" Lucius declared. "My resources are completely at your disposal, and my family will take vows on magic itself."

Harry smirked. "Good. I do not wish to involve the traitors until they beg to return. We work under the nose of the Ministry. I have observed the muggles over several years…" he leaned in. "Tell me, Lucius. Why should we waste the good lives of noble purebloods when we can waste half-bloods and mudbloods?"

Lucius' eyes widened at this prospect.

"Yes. An army of soldiers, brainwashed from an early age to be loyal to our cause and nothing else, trained harshly for the sole purpose of killing. And the purebloods will command them. The ultimate irony, is it not? Fighting against their own kin. From an early age, they could even be our secret agents amongst our foes when the war begins again in earnest."

"But my lord…that's brilliant!" Lucius spluttered. "An army of pawns… no need to waste the ranks of the purebloods."

Harry nodded. "We have plans to make. Many of the secrets I have uncovered over the years about magic will be put into play. They will never even suspect us until it is too late…"

He would use him. Use him and his resources and the Death Eaters, and then discard them when their use was up. There was no place for such bigotry in his world order.