Yo.

This is for Smile-Evily. It's hers, yo. It's probably the complete opposite of what she expected, but hey, it won't leave me alone. This and like, a few hundred other plot bunnies that have plagued me since waking up from a sleep that lasted a few months.

Hmm. This probably won't be very long like M&P was because I just simply don't have the time for it to be such, but then again, I have no idea. I guess it depends on the future. I hope it's not too shitty, because I have a feeling that it will never measure up to standards that I have placed myself under with M&P, but so be it. Fanfiction's for fun anyway. This is completely different than Martyrdom and Paradox. Harry's a bit different for obvious reasons, and quite frankly, I wanted to write something new.

So enjoy this unbeta'd thing, and the other one-shots that will pop up (in this fandom and otherwise), and don't review! (isn't that a change from FFdotNet norm! XD)

Ja ne!
UK.

Prologue
The Truth Behind the Talk

Harry James Potter, despite the heroic legends surrounding him, could be a vindictive bitch.

Harry James Potter, a twenty-one-year-old, war-hardened, kind-hearted wizard, had looked up vindictive in a thesaurus once, just out of curiosity, because he had been called that while on post with his current job with the Ministry.

Vindictive: showing or motivated by a desire for vengeance; syn revengeful, vengeful, wreakful; rel grim, implacable, merciless, relentless, unrelenting, malicious, malign, malignant, spiteful; con charitable, forgiving, merciful, relenting; ant unvindictive.

This had shocked Harry, because seriously? His vengeance had been wrought, honestly, because Voldemort was dead and most of his lackeys were either in Azkaban or dead themselves. He didn't have anything else to be vengeful for. Well, except for Mathers taking the last of the coffee without using a spell to refill the pot, forcing him to make a new one, or when Davenport had gotten the assignment that Harry had wanted, because fame didn't matter down in the bowels of the Ministry of Magic, United Kingdom Division.

He was admittedly relentless for the most part and implacable to enemies or wrong-doers, but he wasn't malicious or spiteful, not really, and even if he was it was always for good reason. He was charitable, forgiving, merciful, relenting, and unvindictive, and all of his friends and family could attest to that. He had died for them, protected them, and even though he had failed with some (Sirius, Dumbledore, Fred, Remus, Tonks, Colin, Snape, and more that he tried not to think about...), he was generally a kind-hearted person. He was hardened, but he was still the same carefree, loving, mischievous person with a knack for causing or inducing trouble that everyone had known for years upon years.

His friends and family had all confessed that he had his moments of being a prima donna and an all-around general douchebag when he worked himself up into a bitch fit, but they also confessed that such instances were rare, and rarely lasted longer than a few hours or days at the most (well, except when it came to Draco Malfoy, the arsehole...he was a special exception, but most of his friends joined him on this notion, so he didn't feel left out).

So, he ignored it when the comment was made through whispers and gossip, and didn't think about it again. They probably didn't even know what vindictive meant, and were shooting shite that they didn't understand.

However, on the second of August, two days after his twenty-first birthday (and consequent drinking party spanning over three continents that had ended up in every Magical newspaper from that ever existed, but fuck was it worth it), he had gotten the letter.

He had recognised the thick parchment and the wax seal on it immediately, and a bit puzzled on why Hogwarts was delivering him a letter, he had snatched it from the owl's leg and allowed the tawny bird to drink out of his goblet before flying out again.

"Why is Hogwarts sending you a letter?" Ginny had asked, gently pressing a petite finger to their newborn baby's nose and cooing, getting a vague look of interest from James Sirius Potter, three days old and starting to look a little less like a red-faced alien and more like a baby. Harry loved the child, of course, and thought he was the most magnificent human being on the face of the planet, but damn was he a funky-looking baby. Hermione had assured him that all newborns looked freakishly extraterrestrial, in less wording perhaps, and as the baby was growing (like a weed, weirdly enough), he was evening out.

"Dunno," Harry had said, his mouth full of toast and getting a reproachful look from his wife when crumbs littered the table. "McGonagall and the other teachers already offered their many congratulations, and since James is not old enough to attend Hogwarts himself, I'm guessing that she's trying to offer me the DADA position again." He swallowed, pulled out his wand, and charmed away all of the crumbs that were scattered.

"You should take it, Harry," she had said, cocking her head thoughtfully. "I know you like working at the Ministry but it'd be hilarious to see you teach your son and other kids to jinx you."

Harry had mock-gasped, his free hand flying to his heart, before he couldn't help breaking his façade of wounded pride and laughed. "Oh God, that would be terrible. Can you imagine it? I'd be a terrible teacher with a kid or kids running around, especially if they were in Gryffindor. Those Slytherins would be in a lot of trouble with Harry Potter on the loose."

Ginny had said wistfully, "Oh, the House rivalries...how I miss them so."

Harry had snickered. "Are you kidding? You hexed Malfoy just the other day just because he insulted Gryffindor."

"Please, that git deserved it. And don't act like you weren't itching to join the fight. You wouldn't be that bad with the favouritism though, would you? Honestly?"

Harry had given her a look. "It'd be such blatant favouritism that I'd probably get fired before the Slytherins had walked in the doors of the Great Hall. McGonagall knows that, because I've told her that."

"She has utmost faith in you, just like the rest of the sheep in this world," Ginny had commented, rolling her eyes. "Personally I think they're all mad—everyone who knows you understands that you are the most irresponsible person on the face of the globe."

"Not fair!" Harry had objected valiantly (and dramatically). "I'm a fantastic Unspeakable, and I've always tried to obey the rules."

"Trying to obey and obeying are two completely different things, my love," Ginny had said, giving him one of her patented looks that she used when Harry was being dense (or just being an honest-to-God idiot). "Besides, just last week, you were suspended for three days for jinxing Davenport when she had been assigned the task of experimenting with the Veil in the Death Chamber."

"But...but Sirius!" Harry had spluttered. "I'm—I could—"

Ginny had stopped playing with the baby, focussed all of her attention on Harry, and said thickly, "Sirius is dead, Harry. Finding out where that Veil goes isn't going to bring him back."

Harry had stared at his letter for a long time, the moment of light-heartedness gone, the front blank except his name, his wife's, and their address in Oxfordshire. The parchment was thick and coarse in-between his fingers, the green wax on the back end cool and slick as he caressed it, and he had said slowly and almost silently, "At least I'd have a body to bury, Ginny."

"I know," Ginny had whispered. They had sat in companionable but dreary silence for ages, before she finally continued, "Read your letter, Harry."

So he had. And had literally fallen off his barstool at what the letter had contained, his body all at once tense and boneless.

Dear Mr Potter,

This might come as a bit of a shock to you, so please sit down and steady yourself. It's pleasant news, but I have a feeling that with a newborn baby and a still-recovering wife, you shouldn't lose your temper. This letter contains rather sensitive material, and I pray that you keep as calm and clear-headed as I could hope for.

Now, to make an attempt to get this out as painlessly and effortlessly as possible, I have something of utmost importance to tell you. I know you are not very familiar to your father's side of the family except to the basics, but it recently has come to my attention that there was a loose end that we did not anticipate, we being Albus and myself. It has not been kept from you that your father had a sister by the name of Melanie Potter, who later remarried a Muggle named David River, and that both of them were killed by supporters of You-Know-Who in Nova Scotia, Canada in an attempt to find your family and yourself. This was made common knowledge to you right after the War, when you searched for genealogy records in an attempt to see if there was even distant family to engage yourself in.

When accepting new students to Hogwarts School, I look over the students to see how many will be attending. As you very well know, Hogwarts accepts students from the United Kingdom and children that have a lineage within our school and our country. What ever spaces are left over, we give them to students that will transfer or live relatively close. I go over the lists of names, and I don't recognise some, for various reasons. Perhaps the parents were recluses, or maybe they are of one of the families that moved away to another country or continent and yet still have roots within Hogwarts so are therefore immediately accepted.

I research all of the names I am not familiar with, and one of these names stood out to me.

Like I said, there was something that was overlooked by Albus and myself, and has just recently come to my attention. I do hope that you are sitting down, Potter, for this is going to come as a shock.

This young child's name is Nate River, son of David and Melanie River of Nova Scotia, Canada, and by extension your cousin from your father's side. He is eligible to attend Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry this September. He is currently living in an orphanage in Winchester, England, although I am disturbed to admit that I have not been able to find out much of anything about this orphanage. I cannot even find the slightest hint of a paper trail that he is a resident there, or that he was even born in Nova Scotia, and I dare not say what things my old mind suspects. I am positive that this orphanage is not of magical influence, but the effort that they have made to hide Nate River's existence from not only you but from the Wizarding world as well is outrageously thorough. Whoever did it is skilled, and if this wasn't such a sensitive matter, I would be impressed. I have never been aware of the existence of this child, and as far as I know, nor was Albus, although I think it's safe to assume that even if he had we wouldn't have known about it—Albus was a good man, but he had a tendency to hide things from the people who most needed to know, as you very well know.

I have enclosed another piece of parchment with the address of this orphanage, Wammy's House, and another envelope containing Nate River's letter of acceptance to Hogwarts. Since Wammy's House is a Muggle institution, you should be wary of showing your skills to the child or even the letter itself, especially in front of the Muggles in residence there. Judging by the extent of this orphanage's insistence to obliterate Nate River's existence from the face of the globe, which would've been completely successful had he not been immediately entered into my books naming the children accepted to Hogwarts, you should be on your toes. They could be very invested in him, for reasons unknown, and I am not sure what you should expect.

Oh yes, and even though I doubt this'll be the case, you have every right to owl me back and tell me to deal with this myself. I can go to the orphanage and deal with the child instead of you, and can give him his letter while explaining what he is. If you do not want that responsibility, then you have every right to tell me so.

However, I'm fairly confident that you'll steam-roll your merry way down to Winchester and demand to see your blood cousin. If I'm wrong, I shall happily admit it and will never take myself seriously ever again, but I doubt I am.

I know this is a lot to take in, more-so for you than for me, so please do not act rashly. This requires delicate precision, and even though you are renowned for being an impulsive and reckless sort-of man, I pray that you will use your training that you have acquired within your time as an Unspeakable (minus jinxing anyone that stands in your way like Davenport, and that was very foolish, Potter, very much so indeed).

I hope your newborn is doing well, and that your wife is recovering nicely. Give her my wishes and bring that child up to Hogwarts sometime so I can woe the loss of my youth (also, this might be bad timing, but the Defence Against the Dark Arts teaching position has not been filled yet, and I'm receiving applications currently; deadline is 21 August 2001).

Sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall

Headmistress of Hogwarts

The next day, Harry had realised that the stories of him being a vindictive bitch were so true that it was almost pathetic, because Harry James Potter was a vindictive bitch.

He had vindictive bitch in spades.