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Chapter Nine: Alterations, Altercations, and Assorted Randomness.

Harry sat in his office, with a vial of swirling blue potion in his hand. He had pretty much recovered by overcharging his magic beyond the limits of his six year old body and was ready to start with the next phase of his plans. It was imperative that Harry steal the Philosopher’s Stone before Voldemort managed to get the same idea. With Pettigrew no doubt back at his side, it would be only a matter of time before Voldemort discovered that Harry had obliterated the bones of the dark wizard’s Muggle father. The next easiest way to return Voldemort to his body would be a dose of the Elixir of Life and Harry had a feeling that Voldemort might come to the same conclusion all too soon.

Antonio pushed Harry’s office door open, interrupting Harry’s thoughts about Voldemort.

“Harry, it wasn’t easy, but I managed to get you into school a bit late,” said Antonio. “Remus was a big help, but I still had to pull a few strings for some contacts I’ve had. Still you’ll be starting on Monday.”

“Excellent,” remarked Harry swiftly, as it allowed him to tie up a few more loose ends.

“It’ll be good for Hermione, having someone to relate to at school with her,” added Antonio, more to himself than to Harry. “Plus it’s just as well that she’s been talking about you nonstop since she met you, which quite frankly is something that has never happened with someone around her age group.”

Harry had a shadow of a smile on his face, but he was too busy making sure the potion was the exact texture it was supposed to be. The Boy-Who-Lived-Twice had mixed it himself, which wasn’t the best idea, but Harry found himself to be competent enough when Snape wasn’t hovering over his shoulder like the proverbial bat from hell.

“Good, considering that every other child I have met that was my age was scared off by my oafish cousin, having a friend is a welcomed change,” muttered Harry, as he examined the potion. “That’s about as perfect as I can make this thing.”

At the moment, Sirius and Remus entered Harry’s office.

“Harry, you’ve been up here working almost all day,” said Sirius.

“I’ve been working on a very delicate potion, one that I need to continue the next step of my plans to keep Voldemort from returning to a body to easily resume his reign of terror,” replied Harry calmly. “This potion is very rare, bordering on dark by some standards, but it will do the trick.”

“Exactly who do you tend to us that potion on Harry?” asked Remus calmly.

“Me,” replied Harry.

“Harry, last time you ingested a potion that was borderline dark…” started Sirius but Harry waved his hand.

“That potion was quite a bit more complex then this one and trust me, I made sure this potion was correct,” replied Harry dismissively. “The flaws should be eliminated, Merlin knows I’ve created this potion about four or five times before I was completely satisfied.”

“Well, if you say so Harry, but maybe you should test it first,” replied Sirius in a skeptical voice.

“Good idea,” said Harry calmly, before putting the vial towards his mouth and swallowing the potion.

“I meant on someone other then yourself,” declared Sirius in a bewildered voice but Harry sat there, unblinking.

“Nothing’s happening,” observed Remus.

“Nothing visible yet,” remarked Harry calmly before screwing his eyes shut in concentration and his body changed shape and size. His hair became greasier and his nose became exceedingly hook like.

Before then sat a perfect duplicate of one Severus Snape and Sirius and Remus looked shocked.

“Of all the bloody people you had to turn into Harry, why did you have to turn into Snape?” asked Sirius in a slightly disgusted tone of voice.

“Really, Black, your lack of sophistication astounds me, but I suppose it would be foolish of me to expect anything less from a mongrel mutt that does nothing but sniff its own posterior all day long,” replied Harry in a perfect imitation of Severus Snape.

“Okay, Harry, now you’re giving me the creeps,” replied Sirius with a shudder.

“Potter, ten points from Gryffindor for sitting in your chair improperly,” declared Harry once again. “Always pompously strutting around this place, like your arrogant father, you are nothing but a fool Potter.”

Harry screwed his eyes completely shut before turning back into his six year old form.

“With this potion, I can turn into anyone I want for the next twelve hours,” replied Harry. “And the people I turn into don’t even have to exist either. Tricky little potion to brew and quite obscure, but very useful.”

Harry didn’t elaborate much further, but in reality, it was Hermione who had managed to create the potion, modifying an earlier formula for the Polyjuice Potion. Polyjuice Potion had taken way too much time to brew and the ingredient of a part of the person used for the disguise was always quite troublesome to get a hold of. With this potion, disguises had become easier, without needing to swipe someone else’s hair. Granted, they still needed to track down the proper ingredients and the potion was extremely tricky to create, but it took less time to brew then Polyjuice, along with the effects lasting twelve times as long. The only copy of the recipe was etched in Harry’s memories and Harry wasn’t willing to give up the knowledge to anyone, except for Hermione when she was ready to know. After all, it was only fair, as she was the one who had helped with the modifications to create the potion in the previous timeline.

“Now, time is of the essence I’ve got to get my hands on the Philosopher’s Stone before Voldemort thinks of doing so,” said Harry, turning to Sirius, Remus, and Antonio. “Antonio, do not interfere unless I say so, this is something I need to do on my own. I wouldn’t want Dumbledore to put two and two together and figure out the truth.”

“Of course,” said Antonio. “I’ll tell the other members of our organization to keep a safe distance from your dealings with this Philosopher Stone deal, Boss Potter.”

“Harry, there’s just one flaw in your plan,” remarked Remus casually.

“And what’s that, Remus?” asked Harry.

“Wouldn’t something like the Philosopher’s Stone be in Gringotts?” asked Remus.

“Potentially yes, but Flamel might need to periodically remove the Philosopher’s Stone from his vault to replenish his stores of the Elixir of Life,” replied Harry. “I’m just hoping that I’m lucky enough to catch Flamel during one of those times.”

Harry paused, before a bit of a smirk appeared on his face.

“And if it isn’t, I’ll make him an offer that he’ll be dead wrong to oppose,” replied Harry calmly.

“And that’s why you have that machine gun,” said Sirius, eying the weapon that Harry had just hidden from view.

“No, that’s to scare off members of the Kentucky Fried Chicken Club er the Order of the Phoenix,” replied Harry calmly. “I’m rather curious to see whether or not magical shields will stop bullets.”

“And you do know how to work that thing without injuring yourself right Harry?” asked Sirius, eying Harry with a bit of an apprehensive look on his face.

“Yes,” answered Harry shortly. “It’s really a last resort, I have my wand here but it doesn’t hurt to have a backup defense ready. I just hope I won’t be forced to use it.”

Harry took a deep breath before setting out with Antonio, Sirius, and Remus following him from his office.

Under his leadership, Lord Voldemort had amassed quite a variety of skilled Death Eaters. If they had not chosen to follow Voldemort, they had the potential to be leaders in their own right. These Death Eaters had chosen to take the easy way out, ready to follow their master, the Dark Lord, for the chance to get a bit of his power. Yet, the Death Eaters were a major reason why Lord Voldemort had gotten so far then he did and was recognized as one of the foremost Dark Wizards of all time.

And then, there was Crabbe and Goyle.

Crabbe and Goyle had been pleasantly shocked to see that the Dark Lord had returned to power. Before they had felt their marks burn, they had been searching Diagon Alley for Harry Potter, hoping to find the boy and bring him to Lucius Malfoy. As it turned out, Lucius had taken a sabbatical that caused him to be put in a prison cell in Azkaban.

It was a shock, but Crabbe and Goyle had a new job that they had eagerly accepted. The Dark Lord had found a way to return partially but the master needed to undergo a ritual to regain his full power. Each of the Death Eaters had separate tasks to gather different items important to the ritual.

“All right, the Dark Lord wants us to collect these items and by Merlin’s beard, we will not let our beloved lord down,” said Goyle in a sophisticated tone of voice, before consulting the dirty piece of parchment that the Dark Lord had given the two bumbling Death Eaters. “All right, let’s see, we need to procure milk, cheese, bread, eggs, bacon…what is it now, Crabbe, old bean?”

Crabbe just stared at Goyle with a vacant look on his face, his tongue flopping out of his mouth

“What do you blooming mean this looks like the Dark Lord’s grocery list?” asked Goyle incredulously. “Honestly, Crabbe, do you really think an upstanding citizen like the Dark Lord would deceive us like that? Come on, the Dark Lord would never mislead us, old bean. These are essential items for his full blown resurrection and nothing else.”

Crabbe just rolled his eyes when Goyle turned his back.

“Come forth, we must not fail the Dark Lord or we might become supper for one of his many snakes,” declared Goyle in a boisterous voice. “Tally ho my good man and onward!”

With that, the two Death Eaters moved forward, with determination not to fail their Master as they knew the consequences for not collecting all the items on the list they were given would be most severe indeed.

Outside of the Wizengamont, Albus Dumbledore swept inside quickly. His attempts to keep Harry Potter safe had went up in smoke. Not only had young Harry renounced Number Four Privet Drive as his home, but the Ministry of Magic had pounced on the Dursleys within a matter of minutes. By the time Dumbledore had arrived at the home, a scared Dudley Dursley had just had his memory modified by a group of Ministry wizards. Dumbledore had requested information but the Ministry wizards had been less than forthcoming about any information.

Later that morning, Dumbledore had found out Vernon Dursley had been administered the Dementor’s Kiss and Petunia Dursley was being held inside Azkaban, the first Muggle ever to see the inside of the prison. Dumbledore had found out that there were rumors that the Wizengamot were going to hold a hearing about his handling of Harry.

The worst part of all of this was that Dumbledore had found out this distressing news through the Daily Prophet, through the venomous writings of Rita Skeeter. His duties had Hogwarts had caused Dumbledore a bit of a delay but now he had some extra time where to arrive at the Ministry of Magic and try to convince them that they were making a big mistake.

“Excuse me, Dumbledore, but you can’t go in there,” declared one of the two Aurors guarding the entrances to the courtroom.

“I’m the Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot,” declared Dumbledore in a kindly voice. “I see no reason why I shouldn’t be authorized to enter this courtroom.”

“You are determined to have a conflict of interest in the case of Harry Potter and are suspended from the Wizengamot pending further notice,” replied the second Auror causing Dumbledore to do a double take.

“I never received notification of the sort,” replied Dumbledore calmly, the twinkle in his eyes fading.

“Orders from Mr. Crouch, co-signed by Minister Bagnold, the owl may have just been sent out notifying you within the last hour,” declared the first Auror calmly. “Even if I wanted to let you inside, Dumbledore, it’s more then my job’s worth.”

Dumbledore stared at the two Aurors. They were skilled but Dumbledore felt he could have subdued them in a matter of minutes and forced his way inside the courtroom, but that wouldn’t have done Albus one bit of good. Harry needed to be liberated from these mobsters that had abducted both Remus and Harry. Mobsters that Dumbledore had a sinking suspicion that were working with Sirius Black and other Death Eaters that escaped from Azkaban around the time that Harry had disappeared, in an attempt to bring Voldemort back. It was a rather outlandish theory, but Dumbledore had lived for long enough to understand that even the most outlandish theory was sometimes the most plausible.

“What is the meaning of this?” demanded a curt voice and Dumbledore turned around to see Bartemius Crouch bounding down the hallway, to turn and face Dumbledore. “Dumbledore, I hope for your sake you’re not here attempting to meddle with the Wizengamot to get yourself seen in a better light with the Harry Potter case.”

“Mr. Crouch, I just came here to see if the rumors I heard from Rita Skeeter were true,” said Dumbledore calmly.

“Well, for once, most of everything that woman has written is not complete fabrication,” replied Crouch. “Even with our investigations only days old, we have verified some rather interesting things about the Potter will and the fact that you went over the head of the Ministry to put Potter in that home.”

“Now, Crouch, you must understand, I only wished to keep the boy safe and from undesirable elements,” declared Dumbledore calmly.

“I don’t know what you call magic loathing Muggles then, Dumbledore,” answered Crouch in a clipped tone of voice. “There are many who are quite interested in exactly how you took a personal interest to Harry Potter’s living arrangements after Lily and James Potter was murdered.”

“That is a matter that I cannot safely discuss here, Mr. Crouch,” responded Dumbledore.

“If I get my way Dumbledore, you’ll be discussing that matter in detail in the Wizengamot and others may weigh in on your shady dealings in great detail. Petunia Dursley is most willing to testify against you telling us the circumstances of her nephew being sent to her home, in exchange for being transferred from Azkaban into a regular Muggle prison,” replied Crouch curtly. “Right now, she remains in the highest security cells that we can manage.”

“Harry needed to be kept safe, surely the Wizengamot will be able to see that if this matter goes to court,” declared Dumbledore.

“That’s for the Wizengamot to decide,” replied Crouch shortly. “Now, I suggest you leave the Ministry of Magic immediately.”

Dumbledore nodded before turning but Crouch said one last thing.

“And Dumbledore, if I catch you in the Ministry again or having contact with anyone on the Wizengamot to attempt to sway their opinions, you’ll be arrested,” said Crouch in a dangerous tone of voice

Dumbledore walked off, the realization that he was being backed into a corner by Crouch. From his dealings with Crouch, Dumbledore knew of the man’s ability to pounce upon any weaknesses whatsoever. Even with the scandal with Crouch’s son as a Death Eater, the man still had a fair bit of power in the Ministry and many friends in high places. With the recent capture of the Dursleys, who had been painted in a very unfavorable light by Rita Skeeter, Crouch was in the position to move up in the Ministry, all the way to Minister of Magic. The only thing Dumbledore could think to save his reputation would be to track down Harry and save him from his mobster captures, bringing the child to safety. It was by chance that Dumbledore had found the mob representatives that had Harry last time and Dumbledore would be a fool if he had relied on chance twice in a row.

Dumbledore had no choice. He had to find Harry before the Ministry of Magic did. The Ministry would no doubt use the boy for their own gains, training him up to be their own personal attack dog against dark wizards. Harry would be nothing but a tool of the Ministry and Dumbledore could not allow that to happen.

The home of Nicolas and Perenelle Flamel gave the aura of being high class but cozy it it’s own right. Harry Potter walked through the gates which seemed to swing open on there own accord. The defeater of Lord Voldemort and the youngest mob boss ever moved towards the front door in his elaborate disguise. He gave off of a picture of a middle aged man, perhaps in his late forties or early fifties with dark red hair that was slightly graying. His face had some wrinkles but his brown eyes showed signs of determination. The thing that disguised his true identity the most of all was the fact that the lighting bolt scar was no longer prominent on his forehead.

Harry looked forward and raised his hand, before knocking three times on the door of the Flamel residence.

The door opened seconds later and the man standing greeting Harry looked to be quite the sight. He had long grey hair in dreadlocks, that we underneath a red and yellow bandanna, along with a multi colored tie-dyed t-shirt. He wore a striped kilt over a pair of zebra striped pants, along with wearing socks underneath a pair of sandals.

“Excuse me, I’m looking for Nicolas Flamel,” declared Harry with a complete straight face, which was rather difficult considering the man’s attire.

“You’re speaking to him, young man,” declared the eccentric looking man. “May I ask why you’re here?”

“I’m here to steal the Philosopher’s Stone,” declared Harry in a cheerful, nonchalant tone of voice.

“Well, you’re only the third person to try that this week,” replied Flamel calmly. “Why don’t you come in and have a cup of tea before we get down to business?”

“Of course,” said Harry calmly before following Flamel down the hallway.

“I thought you might have been that punk brat Dumbledore here, wanting me to give up the Stone for the so-called greater good,” remarked Flamel in a casual tone of voice. “It’s bad enough that the wife nags me about it, but no one forced the Elixir of Life down her throat. Besides, I have some rather ambitious goals in life that must be completed before I can comfortably rest in peace.”

“What would that be, Mr. Flamel?” asked Harry curiously. “World peace, ending world hunger, preventing corruption with the Ministry, stopping Malfoys from breeding any further and giving their offspring incredibly stupid names.”

“All the unfortunate plots and delusion plots of dreamers, I have a more logical and realistic aim in mind,” answered Flamel. “No, before I die, I wish to complete my collection of Chocolate Frog Cards.”
Harry knew because of Flamel’s attire he should have suspected something of the sort but it still took him by surprise, as they arrived in the kitchen where Flamel moved over to make both a cup of tea.

“I’m nearly completed with my quest, I just need to get my hands on that Morgana card that has eluded me for these many years,” said Flamel, continuing talking as he made the tea. “So you have decided to steal my Philosopher’s Stone Mr…”

“Evan Harold Jameson,” declared Harry quickly, mentally slapping himself for not thinking of a cover name before and scrambling for this sadly uncreative substitute. “Do people try and steal the Philosopher’s Stone that often?”

“Ah yes, everyone from dark lords to greedy vandals who just want extra gold, about eight hundred and twenty three attempts on the Stone so far in my life if I’m not mistaken,” replied Flamel . “Mr. Jameson, it isn’t so much the worry about losing the Philosopher’s Stone in this house, as they just come here to attempt to coerce me to lead them to the Gringotts vault.”

“So, the Stone isn’t in the Vault,” said Harry calmly.

“Oh dear me, did I let that slip out?” asked Flamel sheepishly. “Well that will make the game quite interesting but Mr. Jameson, I can confirm there is something in my Gringotts vault and since you would seem like to be an honest enough person if it wasn’t for the fact that you were after my stone.”

Flamel took a deep breath, before looking thoughtful.

“The Philosopher’s Stone inside my vault is a duplicate of the real thing,” continued Flamel. “And not a cheap duplicate mind you, but few have the knowledge to recognize the fake stone for what it truly is. It’s nearly the same, but there are alterations to the main properties of the stone.”

Flamel returned to the table with two cups of tea, sliding one towards Harry.

“Don’t worry, it’s not poisoned, if anything I am a sporting man and would like to play the game properly,” remarked Flamel. “Scan it for any foreign substances if you must but I don’t slip potions into other people’s tea. That’s more of a Dumbledore thing to do really.”

Harry did and found the tea to be clean so Harry put the cup up to his mouth and began sipping the liquid.

“What kind of alterations, exactly, Mr. Flamel?” asked Harry in a curious voice.

“Oh, nothing major,” replied Flamel. “The gold making properties of the stone make Leprechaun Gold as opposed to real gold. As for the Elixir of Life, well the Stone does create an Elixir but it turns a person to stone, instead of forestalling their death.”

Harry felt a flush of agony. He had gone to all the trouble of getting the Stone during his first year, all for a carefully elaborated fake. The thing was that Dumbledore was none the wiser that his mentor had given him a fake Stone to hide.

“So, exactly why do you want to steal the stone, Mr. Jameson?” questioned Flamel. “Just a bit of morbid curiosity if you don’t mind me asking.”

“I want to smash it to bits, to stop Lord Voldemort to return to his full power,” remarked Harry calmly.

“That’s the best damn reason I heard for attempting to steal my Stone ever,” replied Flamel in a pleased voice. “I’ll make you a deal, Mr. Jameson. If you can guess where I have the Stone hidden, then I will personally hand it to you and you will walk out of here without a scratch on you.”

“And if I don’t guess the location of the Stone?” asked Harry.

“Then you’ll be asked to leave empty handed and memory modified,” remarked Flamel. “Just guess the location of the Stone.”

“You’ve hidden the Philosopher’s Stone underneath your mattress,” suggested Harry, taking a stab in the dark.

“I applaud your efforts Mr. Jameson, that’s exactly where the Stone is,” replied Flamel. “Most people guess a secret underground chamber, a vault behind a painting, or they just attempt to curse me instead.”

“So, you’ll give it to me, no tricks,” prompted Harry in a slightly disbelieving voice.

“No tricks, Mr. Jameson,” declared Flamel and at that moment, a loud banging sound echoed from downstairs. “Excuse for a moment, I have another visitor and they didn’t have the decency to knock. Extremely rude of them.”

Flamel made his way from the kitchen, wand in hand. The curious nature of a six-year-old got the better of Harry, as he crept his way around the corner and peered around the corner.

“Listen here, Madam, if you’re here to steal the Philosopher’s Stone, I’m afraid someone has already done just that,” declared Flamel calmly to a woman who had a hood pulled over her face, obscuring her features.

“I don’t want your bloody stone, I’m interested in a very rare tome you have,” hissed the woman dangerously. “Now, I suggest you move out of the way…”

“Madam, with all respect, I really hope you don’t want to try and duel me,” declared Flamel. “I’ve forgotten more about magic then many will ever know.”

“Out of the way, you old windbag!” yelled the woman, sending a jagged jet of purple light from her wound, which Flamel quickly and expertly deflected. The woman seemed to not be denied and she jabbed her wand, causing every window in the bottom level of the Flamel residence to shatter.

Broken glass flew every which direction as the woman rushed up a set of stairs. Flamel staggered backwards, nearly losing his balance.

“Curse my hip,” declared Flamel in a pained voice. “Even with the Elixir, these centuries take their toll.”

Harry casually slipped, following the woman up the stairs with Flamel hobbling behind the both of them.

“Freeze,” declared Harry calmly, deciding to use the effects of the potion to make his features slightly more menacing.

“Out of the way!” yelled the woman, slashing her wand towards Harry like a sword. Harry’s eyes widened, recognizing this curse as the same one that Dolohov had used in the Department of Mysteries on Hermione. The Boy-Who-Lived managed to barely block it with a shield charm, but the amount of magic used to block the cursed caused Harry to become dizzy and fall to the side, barely hanging onto the wall to keep from collapsing to the ground.

The woman had broke doors of a large library open, before moving inside. She waved her wand, causing the doors to seal themselves shut. Another charm caused a protective spell to wrap itself around the doors.

Flamel made his way upstairs.

“She went into the library,” supplied Harry helpfully, wheezing slightly in weakness. He hoped he wouldn’t have been in a position to do any more spell work today and Flamel looked at Harry with a shocked look on his face, before turning towards the library door.

Flamel raised his wand, assessing the situation. It appeared this woman had warded the door in which it would take a normal wizard a matter of moments to break through. For Flamel, it only took maybe thirty seconds to bust the doors open and find his way into the room. Flamel walked inside but the woman had seemed to slip out just in the nick of time, breaking another window on her way out. Walking through the shelves, Flamel saw that nearly all of the books remained there. Only one tome was missing from his collection.

A large and rare book on complete sex change rituals, a practice that had been outlawed over four hundred years ago by the Ministry had been missing due to a decline of pureblood witches. It turned out that many young witches had been turned into wizards for zealous pureblood families to create a male heir for some twisted form of respect. Flamel was baffled about why someone would steal such a book, as the magic within was quite complex and the punishments for being caught even attempting the magic were quite severe by the Ministry.

Flamel exited the library, before turning to the pale looking wizard who was just regaining some form of composure.

“She just managed to escape before I reached her, Mr. Potter,” declared Flamel in a calm voice which caused Harry to look up at the old eccentrically dressed wizard in complete shock.