14.

Harry was up with the gray light of dawn. He moved as if in a daze, his body knowing what to do with his morning ritual, his mind far away, planning even as he showered.

The Ministry was full of ineffective fools that did not listen or care for its people.

Voldemort was the dark wizard who killed people due to blood status.

Dumbledore seemed to want to keep the status quo and stop maniacs.

But that, Harry knew, seemed to be as far as the Headmaster would go.

Albus Dumbledore had influence and power but did not use it. As a result, people like Fudge had control. People like Voldemort had control.

Harry Potter had been raised in the Muggle world. All of his life, he had been told he was an ungrateful freak. He had been lied to about his parents. Had been bullied by others. The community lied to about him too...

"That Potter boy is a hardened hooligan and attends St. Brutus's Secure Center for Incurably Criminal Boys..."

The cold inside him filled him at these thoughts and memories.

Yes. He understood how the goblins and Veela and countless others must feel. To never be equal. To be called monsters and freaks, to never ever be believed.

The world had never been fair to Harry Potter. Neither world had been. Look at what the magical world had made him resort to, after all, when he had tried to help them, had tried to do the right thing.

This was the result.

No one had listened. He had acted, doing what others had not dared, and he was being condemned for it by people he had once admired.

He left the shower and was soon ready for the day. He walked with Fleur to Gringotts, quiet. It was all instinct. He was not really aware of anything, lost in his thoughts even as the portkey activated, sending him to the Isle of Drear in a whirlwind of sound and color.

Where they landed was the ruins of a town. There was a cold wind and rain was falling, making them drenched rather quickly. Once fine buildings and cobbled roads that reminded Harry instantly of Diagon Alley were overgrown with plants. The buildings were long defeated by nature, leaving only the cracked stones that made the foundations. He turned, seeing the rubble of an old castle down the end of the overgrown and cracked cobblestone path.

"Bah," Ragnok said, glowering at everything around them. The goblins nodded in agreement.

The sound made something rustle in the ruins. A beast with five legs, each ending in a clubfoot, and is covered with thick, red-brown hair.

"Oh this is lovely," Harry murmured as more beasts appeared. "Quintapeds." As the creatures rushed, Harry attempted a spell. It didn't work. The beast, much like a dragon, obviously had some sort of magical resistance.

He frowned and moved a bit away, running and climbing the ruins of a building. The area was clear. Fleur had Apparated to the top of a ruin too and the goblins were attempting to fight with axes and swords.

Harry took out his rifle and quickly prepared it, steadying himself. He was calm. There. He shot and a quintaped fell. The young man calmly aimed for another one of the beasts and fired. He continued this, and between his shooting and the Goblins fighting, the quintapeds that had rushed in to devour them were gone or fleeing.

Ragnok looked back to see the young wizard with his strange weapon. He had seen some of the quintaped fall. He had thought the wizard had left them, but the goblin saw now that wasn't the case. The wizard had needed space to use his weapon.

He was a fighter.

Not like those dark wizards, who only took and wanted aid but would not assist them.

Not like the light wizards, who wanted aid but would not speak up for them.

Harry Potter was different. He didn't just speak about allies and acceptance. He acted on it. He, like the goblins, had not used magic on these creatures.

He was an equal. He fought with them, without and with magic.

Any doubts about the side Ragnok had chosen for his people faded.

Others began to arrive as Harry returned to the group. The Dementors were there, the Veela were too. But others had shown up on this dark, dreary day, others Harry had not seen or spoken to, therefore had not expected.

Vampires, obvious by how pale they were and how hidden they kept every bit of their skin, even having smoked spectacles for their eyes. It was interesting, Harry noted: they wore all white. He knew vampires were famed for wearing black but, now that he thought of it, dark colors were known for attracting sunlight. White would reflect the sun. Even on a dreary day, the sun was still there, behind the clouds.

Hags, who looked around with glee at the dead beasts. They were rather gruesome to look at, and Harry could see that some of their long fingernails really could be called talons instead. And under those nails and on the rags they called clothes, he knew that it wasn't just dirt, but blood.

Trolls, huge massive creatures each holding a blunt weapon and grunting. For a moment, Harry was reminded of his cousin and the boy's gang. That wasn't exactly a lovely thought.

All of these non-human beings were looking directly at Harry.

"This is him, then?" one of the vampires inquired, looking at Ragnok. "The wizard?"

"Yes," Ragnok replied. "This is Harry Potter-"

"Harry Potter," the vampire said politely. "I am Vlad Drakul."

Harry moved forward to shake the vampire's hand, who accepted it. "I am honored to meet such a legend," Harry said politely.

"As am I," the vampire replied, amusement evident in the voice.

The young wizard moved from being to being, shaking their hands and even grunting loudly to get the trolls' attention to greet them.

A crack sounded, revealing Alastor Moody, who looked around, silent. Fleur made sure to move near him, obviously keeping an eye on him.

"We are here," Harry said calmly, ignoring the rain drenching them, ignoring the ruins and the loud wind, "because we have no one. Because we are sick and tired of being sick and tired. We are the outcast. The freaks. The monsters. When we speak, we are ignored or scoffed at."

Grunts and nods of agreement. No one disputed this.

Even Moody seemed to agree.

"But to change things, there must be trust. I must be able to trust all of you to control your natures and you must trust me, a wizard and not of age. It is a lot to ask of everyone, but we are all the same here."

The young man turned, seeming to look everyone in the eye as he did so, as he spoke, "We will be fighting Voldemort. And then, from the response my actions have gotten, we will be facing the Ministry and possibly even Albus Dumbledore."

Silence for a long time followed that statement before everyone turned, weapons and hands pointed at newcomers.

Newcomers that Harry had not been expecting.

The frizzy brown hair, the warm brown eyes that shone with intelligence. Someone Harry knew would obey authority. But why was Hermione Granger there, standing there in the rain, looking at him?

And with her, a very familiar young man who seemed, like Harry, to have the somewhat unhealthy look of having grown in a short amount of time, who had shed the roundness he had been so well known for, his warm eyes focused on Harry's.

"Professor Moody told us you'd be here," he said, not looking away from Harry.

Harry looked towards the ex-Auror, not showing his confusion before turning back to the other wizard. Why had Moody told him but not Ron Weasley?

"Here I am," Harry confirmed, staring at them.

"Harry..." Hermione looked pained.

"Are you going to attempt to stop me, Hermione?" Harry asked, looking at the most intelligent witch he knew. "Going to tell us how wrong we are for trying to change an indifferent world? For taking action when no one else will?"

"N-No..." Hermione said quietly, shaking from the cold and the rain.

Harry turned to the other wizard. He was curious. Very curious. The other boy did not look nervous like Hermione. He did not look resigned like Moody.

He looked... determined.

It was a familiar look, one Harry had seen in the mirror.

"... Why did you come here, Neville?" Harry asked, quietly, somehow heard over the rain and wind.

The other boy was silent for a while, looking away, obviously thinking before looking back at Harry. "Twelve years ago, Death Eaters came into my home and, using the Cruciactus Curse, tortured my parents into insanity."

Hermione gasped softly while no one else reacted except to fixate on Neville as he spoke.

"For years," Neville said quietly, "I was told I would be nothing. A Squib. Even at Hogwarts, it continued with scum like Malfoy encouraging it. And you stopped it. Stopped them. And you are changing things." The boy looked directly at Harry, "No one is worthless to you. You need the assistance. And you'll ensure what happened to us... will never happen again."

He was right. Harry could use another wizard. This was simple fact and logic and his past...

It was easy to see why Moody had selected him, despite Neville Longbottom being known for being clumsy.

Harry looked at Hermione, "And you?" He asked.

"We're friends," Hermione said, wiping at her face. Rain or tears, Harry did not know. "And... and with how Muggleborns are treated... my parents could have been killed, Harry. What if the Dementors had been sent to us? And the Order... the Ministry... no one would have done anything."

It was very true as well.

"And you need all the help you can get," the girl said quietly, swallowing hard, looking resolute. "I... I made my parents forget me. I'll be able to stay indefinitely."

"And Moody covered for me with my grandmother," Neville said calmly.

"We may have to kill people we know," Harry said.

Hermione wrung her hands at the hem of her shirt.

Neville nodded solemnly. "Yes. But you tried all summer, Harry. You and Dumbledore did try to do the right thing. And got insulted. You tried to stop Death Eaters and now the papers are slandering you more." The boy looked all around, "I don't want anyone to be scoffed at for being worthless anymore and have problems ignored. We tried the right way. It failed."

Harry nodded.

"So you're doing all that we can do," Neville said. "You're the only logical choice. For all of us. For anyone who has ever been an outcast or worthless or ignored..."

And then Harry's best friend, the most brilliant witch of their generation, spoke up bravely, holding her head high, and those words became the foundation of everything. Ten words that summarized everything for Harry, ten words that even the trolls understood.

Ten words that told all gathered there that they had just committed to a war, had just made a new side that would be fighting together against any enemy, be it Ministry or Order.

"If I cannot move heaven, then I will raise hell."

The words rang clearly and seared themselves into everyone's minds.

Harry waved his friends over and after charms were cast to keep away the rain and dry them off, plans began to be made. Plans to rebuild the village on the Isle of Drear. Plans to have the goblins make weapons like what Harry had. Plans to storm the Ministry, to take down the Wizengamot and any who would stand in their way.

Plans to make education available to all beings, to destroy the biased laws.

Plans to defeat Voldemort once and for all.

The Revolution began to be planned on a rainy summer day on the Isle of Drear and after a few hours, they immediately moved to begin to repair the village, using magic and non-magic techniques to move as quick as possible.

And while they did this, Ragnok gave the orders for the weapons to be built. All was running smoothly... for now.

But Harry knew better than to count his chickens before they hatched. Preparation and training was one thing, but actual conflict would be something entirely different.

It was odd though. With Moody helping, with beings there showing they could work together and two of his friends who, like Fleur, agreed with him...

Harry knew war was brewing, knew he would be insanely busy, knew he would be insulted and hated but despite all of that, right now, he felt almost... happy.

He pushed the thought aside and continued to work on repairing the village.