Mason had a life that's all you can say about him..... But now he was going to start a new life in Harry Potter living with new powers and activities.......

No set romance yet will decided that later as I get into it but there will be a lot of flirting going on......

Bax Life in Harry Potter.......

Only own original characters and story the rest is sole owner of creator

After losing Hedwig while escaping from Voldemort, Harry found it hard to come to terms with her death. Filled with grief, rage and hatred, Harry swears to take revenge on every single death eater and especially on Voldemort himself. Receiving power from unexpected sources, Harry sets out on his mission to bring the dark lord and his followers to their knees. ============ This Harry Potter fanfic was started based on a challenge set by manny0101 in his own fanfic, Harry Potter: Rise of the Spiral on Webnovel. Read Chapter 54 for the details. This novel has been posted on Webnovel, Scribblehub, Fanfiction and RoyalRoad.

After losing Hedwig while escaping from Voldemort, Harry found it hard to come to terms with her death. 

Filled with grief, rage and hatred, Harry swears to take revenge on every single death eater and especially on Voldemort himself.

Receiving power from unexpected sources, Harry sets out on his mission to bring the dark lord and his followers to their knees.

============

This novel has been posted on Webnovel, Scribblehub, Fanfiction and RoyalRoad.

As of 30th of October, 2021, this novel will still continue. I figured I should provide a little background.

I rewrote the story four times and didn't like any of it so dropped the story itself for a few months. Finally, a few months back, I got the idea to revamp the entire plot.

I spent quite a while to plot the entire story out and am now writing it. As soon as I'm done writing the first two volumes, I'll start posting again.

Current progress: Chapter 9 of Volume 1 (This volume will most probably have around 20-25 chapters)

I'll update the progress every week.

As a side note, thanks to all the supportive comments I've received even after I seemingly dropped this story. You have no idea how much it helps spur my determination along to continue writing!

"Harry, isn't it?" The boy spoke, after a long silence between them. "Harry Potter? I am Theodore Nott, I don't believe we've been formally introduced." He said, politely.

Harry's head snapped back around to stare at him. Of course, his creature inheritance had healed every single mark on his body except for the only one that he'd wished it had. That stupid cursed lightening bolt. It was probably the only thing that would haunt him for the rest of his life—at least, at present. He eyed the other boy warily, mentally making a running set of notes in his head. The Slytherin was watching him, but hadn't offered his hand or anything like that.

Not like Draco Malfoy had on that first day.

Something had always bothered him about that—as if he'd managed to somehow jinx himself and start their rivalry by ignoring the polite gesture that day on the train. Of course, there was no way he would've been able to take that hand—not after Malfoy had insulted the Weasleys, but Ron had actually had very little to do with it.

Harry just couldn't stand bullies—and Malfoy had all but physically cut Ron down to 'size'. He couldn't have ignored that.

The silence in the little compartment strained a bit longer than was strictly polite.

"Well, are you?" Theodore prompted, not seeming the least bit bothered by the silence.

Harry swallowed again. He didn't know too much about Nott, just that his father had been arrested and thrown in Azkaban and possibly scheduled for the Dementor's Kiss. Harry was rarely able to keep up with all the news in the wizarding world—especially during the summer when he lost contact with virtually everyone and everything the moment he returned to the Dursley's.

He reminded himself that Theodore was speaking—no, had spoken—and an answer was probably required. Harry mentally backtracked, something he had been working on over the summer and retrieved the last question. Oh, right. He did have to answer to that. A safe enough answer. 

Harry merely nodded, not quite trusting himself to speak just yet.

Theodore didn't seem to mind at all. "Wonderful. It is a pleasure to officially make your acquaintance." The honey-gold eyes softened and a faint smile touched his face. "Might I inquire as to how was your summer? I'm afraid mine was a bit of a headache. Lots of paperwork to set straight since…Father was arrested." He causally pushed up the sleeves of his uniform before he made a slight motion that seemed like a cross over his chest.

Harry took notice of the movement and realized what the boy had just shown. His wrists were bare and there was no trace of the dark mark—at least, not that Harry could tell. He didn't think the boy was under a glamour, but he wasn't about to check just yet and if he didn't know better, he'd swear the boy was Catholic and had just crossed himself for speaking ill of a parent. Harry had known a few muggle children like that—he'd gone with Dudley to school a few times—before the Dursley's had discovered the wondrous world of Smeltings and decided that he'd had education enough.

Something sounded off in the back of his mind and Harry immediately pounced on the mental distraction. His new instincts were screaming at him to be careful and alert. Out of habit, he took a cautious sniff of his own and his brow furrowed as he tried to puzzle out what his instincts were telling him.

He'd gotten a teeny bit of practice in the past week—once he'd figured out that he could distinguish most scents—and had been able to pick up when his relatives were lying through their teeth, when they were terrified of him and when he ought to run. At the moment, the reaction filtering through him after a good whiff of Theodore's scent had him relaxing. His Dragel body processed the scent as something familiar and soothing—something that he didn't have to be afraid of, regardless of whether Harry agreed with it or not. It also had a slightly sweet scent—one that Harry couldn't quite place. He really needed to find more information on this Dragel thing.

"Are you alright?"

The question was completely unexpected.

Really unexpected.

Harry blinked. "What?"

"Are. You. Alright?" Theodore repeated, this time with deliberate emphasis. There was no bite to the words though, only a genuine curiosity. "You seem a little…lost. Do excuse me for asking."

"I'm fine." Harry bit off, unable to help himself for giving the curt reply. He didn't like the fact that other boy might've picked up on his current state of confusion—nor did he think it was anyone's business how he was really feeling. Mr. Theodore Nott could take his nosy questions and jump out the train window if he liked—as far as Harry was concerned, no one but his circle had the right to know how he was really—oh Merlin!

The thought had Harry consciously digging his hands into his oversized jeans with a death grip. He was thinking of a circle—Merlin's beard! He hadn't even met any potential—no, he wasn't going to let his head go in that direction. It'd only been a few weeks—okay, a month—if he counted correctly and surely that wasn't enough time to leave him thinking of things like Dragel circles and mateships and—Harry swallowed hard. He was sixteen! Sixteen! That was not old enough for this kind of…thing.

A soft groan slipped through his lips. Harry mentally resisted the urge to bang his head against the back of the train seat.

"Good." Theodore said, neutrally. He didn't seem to notice the groan, or if he did, was too polite to call attention to it as he then directed his gaze elsewhere and reached for the little knapsack he'd brought with him and drew out a large, hardcover book with gilded pages and scripted writing on the cover.

A soft whoosh of energy seemed to roll off of the tome and Harry realized it as being a special protected book. He'd heard of those. Herimone had often indulged in daydreams of owning or being allowed to read one. Harry had only half-listened to her.

He squinted slightly, drawing on his new, enhanced sight to make out the title of the book. It was a giant encyclopedia of magical creatures. Harry felt his mouth grow dry. He didn't recall that title in all his searching through the bookstore catalogues. Though from the very feeling of old, ancient magic that radiated from it, he could guess that the book might be a family heirloom—after all, most protected books were—at least, according to Hermione anyway.

A slight tingle rippled through him and Harry wished he could read it. The magic already left a rather pleasant feeling behind and Harry knew that there would be nothing dark inside of it or nothing harmful anyway.

They sat in silence for a bit.

The snack trolley went by and Theodore didn't look up, obviously engrossed in his readings, honey-golden eyes roving across the page, his lips occasionally forming the words he read.

Harry's stomach rumbled and he stood up to purchase a few snacks. He wouldn't be able to wait until dinner in the Great Hall if he didn't get something now. The ache in his stomach reminded him that sweets weren't really what he wanted, but it was the only option he had right now. So Harry purchased quite an armful and carried the sweets back to his seat and proceeded to devour practically all of them, pushing away the thought that he was literally gorging himself of pure sugar.

"That's quite a bit of sugar." Theodore commented. He looked up from his book at last, an expression of amusement on his face. He reached into his knapsack and drew out a wrapped parcel that he unshrunk and then proceeded to unwrap.

Harry's mouth watered as he caught the scent of seasoned, dried meat. Jerky. Fresh jerky. Not the packaged, processed stuff. His head popped up and he found himself staring at the rich, dark colored strips of dark meat. His teeth and gums ached, a warning that his fangs were threatening to make and appearance. It took a supreme effort of self-control for Harry to will them away, but he couldn't help staring after the wonderfully smelling strips.

Theodore's dark brows arched upwards into his hairline as he took in the expression on Harry's face. "Trade you some for a chocolate frog." He prompted, when Harry simply stared and said nothing. It wasn't difficult to read the expression on the boy's open face and Theodore felt a slight pull to rescue the boy from what would be a socially awkward moment if there were others present. He was all too familiar with the little nuances of the wizarding world, especially the social games played in the pureblooded circles. Games that he'd played a little too much due to his position and prestige.

He could tell with a glance that Harry Potter didn't play those games—visual confirmation for those particular rumors had been wonderful—for that reason alone, he'd dropped the usual mask that his name all but demanded of him when he'd pulled down the blinds on the compartment windows. It was nice to know that the purported savior of their world didn't just take things at face value.

Harry blinked as the words registered and then looked at the scattering of empty wrappers. A soft whine of distress slipped through his lips as he rifled through the mess. There really weren't any real leftovers, except for maybe a few half-eaten bites that he'd overlooked in his haste to fill his stomach.

Theodore's eyes darkened by several degrees to a rich golden brown. The whine of distress from Harry prompted a response in the way of the soft sound he made in the back of his throat, that served to smooth over the furrow in Harry's brow.

Harry's head of messy hair snapped up and for a moment, he smiled, before the expression turned bewildered.

Theodore offered him two strips of the jerky.

Harry hesitated. "Would you take a rain check on the chocolate frogs?" He asked, even as he reached for the jerky. He had to have it—rain check or not.

"Rain check?"

"Er…it's a muggle expression."

"Ah."

"It means…that, I'll get it for you later?"

"That's fine." Theodore handed over the jerky. "Make it two frogs." He retrieved another book from his knapsack and began to flip through that one. He caught Harry's gaze lingering on the book, but didn't say anything else.

They arrived at Hogwarts and Theodore held him back as he reached for the compartment door.

"Just a moment." He said, in answer to Harry's unspoken question.

"Why?"

Theodore gave a little jerk of his head and a moment later, Harry could hear Malfoy's voice ordering Crabbe and Goyle to clear a pathway for him through the usual gaggle of students. Theodore frowned, his head bent down, as if he were listening a little harder.

Harry found himself subconsciously mimicking the actions and he flinched at the amplified voice of Draco Malfoy. The customary arrogance he was used to was rather subdued and almost non-existent as he directed his cronies past and followed in their wake. It seemed as if it were merely a matter of course than the pleasure pastime that Malfoy often indulged in.

Soon they were on the ground and making their way to the carriages. Harry sucked in a breath as he saw the thestrals. A painful stab in his chest reminded him of the reason why he could see the creatures in the first place and he sucked in a breath and blew it out forcefully.

He didn't need to dwell on that now. There were other things to be worrying and thinking about. He looked around, searching for the heads of red hair that always helped to center his world. When he didn't see Ron or Hermione's usual bushy head of brown hair, he frowned.

"Something wrong?" Theodore swung himself up into a carriage and then waved him over. "You're welcome to ride with me if you like. I do not mind in the least." 

Harry inherits a creature "thing" from both sides of his parents and somehow that leads to weird sleeping habits, conversations with Theodore Nott and finding himself caught up in a world of Dragons, elemental powers and new creatures he's never heard of before. Dragons? Mates? Very AU. Contains all kinds of slash.


Find the original here...support the original
https://www.archiveofourown.org/works/485605/chapters/854462#workskin

Hermione wandered wraithlike along the halls of her house, running her fingers over surfaces with an expression that was almost mournful. She had done this in varying degrees at the end of every holiday since starting at Hogwarts, but there seemed to be a finality to her goodbyes this time around: she lingered just a little too long at each spot, looked a little too long at each picture, hugged her parents just a little too long and too often. Not that Nathan or Helen found anything wrong with this - they simply enjoyed their daughter's affection. After all, she'd been drawing further and further away from them in the past few years. Moments of physical affection were few and far between, and they cherished every instance.


However, Hermione's wandering was not, as it appeared, mere sentiment. Every now and then, an object she had been fingering would disappear into a tiny beaded purse that she had slung over her shoulder. Her parents had figured it was some sort of wizard fashion statement and ignored it. It was not a fashion accessory: Hermione had spent the last few days of her sixth year in Hogwarts perfecting the Undetectable Extension Charm and the Featherlight Charm, and had (illegally) used the charms on the bag just before leaving for the train; she had been of age since just after the beginning of sixth year, being one of the oldest in their year, but Harry would not come of age for a few weeks yet and she had not wanted to risk the success of their mission on someone catching her for an illegal spell, when she could easily conceal it performing it a few days earlier, in the high magic concentration of Hogwarts. Harry had finally told her and Ron about his hunt for Horcruxes after Dumbledore's death, and - well, she had no idea what Harry or Ron were doing, but she was trying to prepare for their Grail Quest. Obviously, one could not just walk into Mordor, and as the person of intelligence in their mission, it fell to her to make sure they all got out alive.


Into the bag went first-aid kit she'd been given on her twelfth birthday. In went her father's much-neglected Combat and Survival coffee-table set. In went the non-stick pans that her mother had bought for Hermione last year, intending to teach her to cook, though Hermione never had progressed past the simple frying stage. In went some old sweaters, a thick woollen comforter, three old brollies, a tin of biscuits that actually contained a sewing kit, and a battered copy of Gaiman and Prachett's Good Omens. After a moment of indecision, she added in her father's precious The Lord of the Rings boxed set; he never let it out of his sight on normal days, but he'd not have a chance to miss it any more, and she wanted her memories of poring over the pages with her old man. She'd apologize to him someday, she thought.

Finally Hermione had gathered everything she needed from the Granger home. Without magic, with the Trace on her, she could not erase herself from her parents' life easily - but Hermione was a legal-age witch, even if she had not yet graduated from Hogwarts, and she was a dab hand at spells and research.

She cast a disillusionment spell on herself, and walked a circle around her parents' house, chanting as she went: "Hermione abscondam. Hermione abscondam. Hermione abscondam."
.
She watched as the initials she had carved on the old oak tree in their yard disappeared. In the house, she knew, her face would be disappoearing from pictures, her name and initials melting away from every surface, as anything related to her was wiped away. She didn't know how long the spell would last: area-effect spells were hard to hold, and this was an experimental modification on an old spell. She didn't need it to last very long, though... just for a few hours, or days at the most, while the plan she was currently putting into place went into motion. Just until her parents escaped without her.


And here came the hardest part.


Hermione's parents were sitting in the living room, watching a 12th-century monk solve mysteries (the show's name escaped her at the moment; it was Cadwallader, Cadmus, Cad-something). Hermione didn't remember her parents ever liking medieval TV shows when she was a tiny tot, but she'd noticed that they'd begun watching shows about dragons and wizards and knights around the time she got her Hogwarts letter, and they'd branched out from there. Perhaps it was a way for them to understand the alien world their daughter lived in. A pang of melancholia pierced through Hermione's heart.


"Mum? Dad?"

Her parents looked up and smiled at her. Her mother moved a little bit, freeing up a space between her and her husband for Hermione to sit in. Mr Granger patted the space for emphasis.

Hermione walked closer, but she didn't sit down. Instead, she threw her arms around her parents, and said, "I love you."

"Oh, we love you too, sweetie," her mum said immediately.

"Of course we love you, munchkin," her dad added. "You're planning to borrow money from us, aren't you?"

Hermione laughed a watery laugh. "No, dad. But I am planning something."

"Is it something you can tell us?"

"Someday, yes."

Without another word, she cast a pair of silent Stunners, and her parents slumped over unconscious.

"I'm doing this for you," Hermione whispered, and began the tedious process of cutting, pasting, and manipulating her parents' memories. It took four and a half hours, but when Hermione finally stood up, disillusioned herself, and released her parents from the stunning spell, they were no longer Nathan and Helen Granger, parents of Muggleborn witch Hermione Granger. They were Wendell and Monica Wilkins, a childless couple, who were migrating to Australia for a second honeymoon and then to open a dental practice. They were all packed and ready to go, including Monica's grizzly old cat Crookshanks, who was in his pet carrier.


As for Hermione, she was already out of the door, her things shrunk and packed away into a miniature model house that was the handmade pride of Wendell Wilkins; she was leaving with a heavy heart, but she knew that Crookshanks and her bedroom would go wherever her parents might settle, and so in a way, they were still taking a little bit of her with them. It was just that they didn't remember her.


Hermione had never realized, all the times she'd left to go to Hogwarts, just how lonely it felt to be forgotten. As she trudged down the street to the closest Apparition point, however, a tear rolled down her cheek. Sometimes she wondered what her life would have been like if she had never discovered her magic, had never made friends with Harry Potter. But theb again, it wasn't like she had any other choice.

"How old are you, exactly? In the town records, you seem to date all the way back before, you know, a lot of stuff."
Damon leaned back, staring out the window of Aria's beaten-down Toyota Corolla.
"I've lived for a long time. Seven hundred years and some other years. I was born around the time of the one-hundred-year war, the thirteen thirties. And let me tell you, it sucked, I killed a lot of people, met a lot of people. Most I don't remember but... I can only remember a feeling. Of my family."
"Cool..." She kept driving for another five minutes, "so you got any cool stories to pass the time?"
"Nope."
"Cool..."
He stared out the window, watching the morning sunshine shine, its stunning light passing through the pinewood trees. He turned back to Aria.
"I got a question for you. How did you use that magic type shit on me? The stuff where you crushed my limbs with your mind?" he asked.
"You don't know about... Oh, umm, ok, kinda weird, you are an Immortal right?" she asked back.
"I lived in a small town for the past one hundred years so I'm not very inclined to know about magic..."
"Yeah makes sense."
She pointed to a duffle bag in the back of the car.
"I guess I'll start off simple. I sold my soul to Satan."
"Huh? Satan?"
She held out her arm.
Damon leaned in close.
She rolled up her suited sleeve revealing the mark of a black hole, swirled and etched in three, it looked like a birthmark.
"The magic we use, we don't really call it magic. We're called Witches, we make contracts with Satan. I got a book in that duffle bag back there. Grab it for me," she pointed at the duffle bag again.
Damon slid between the two front seats, grabbing the black duffle bag and unzipping its tight zipper.
He then pulled out a heavy book, its fleshy hardcover, with a soft stretched face staring back at him.
"It's creepy," he said opening its skin frame.
Aria quickly held out her hand stopping him from going any further, "Whoa whoa whoa! Wait let me explain it first." She grabbed the book from his hands, flipping to a page in the middle, "this is all the names of all the Witches in my family. I don't want you doing anything weird with this, so you pinky-swear that you're honest about your ineptitude?"
She held out her pinky, Damon as well. They crossed at the fingertip.
"Good." She tossed the book back to him, "flip through the pages, it goes back centuries."
Damon kept flipping. The names, written in blood, inc, mysterious liquids spread across its oily skin pages.
"Is this book made of skin?" he asked flipping to the last page.
"Yeah, check it out." While still looking at the road ahead she grabbed the book and flipped to its back, "look it's even got hair on the back, like an actual head. I think the books called the... The... The Necronomicon. It's one of many."
As Damon flipped through the skin-wrapped pages, he started to feel a little disgusted and grossed out by its human-like appearance, with the face wrapped and stiched into the frame and spine. He then started to flip through the pages, the names, the centuries and decades, dating all the way back to the late sixteenth century.
"So how does this work? You sign your name, meet Satan, strike a deal? Is that how those Immortal Horse guys get their powers?" he asked.
"Nah, well sort of. There's only ten of these books known in the world right now. Each one belongs to a family of Witches, each holding a different power that Satan gives them. I have the Gravity Necronomicon, I stole it from my family. It's probably worth billions. And the Immortal Horses have the Immortal Necronomicon. But the Immortal Necronomicon is slightly different than mine. You see magic takes a sacrifice like my fingers." She showed her nailless fingers, "Immortality works differently. It takes that sacrifice from the souls of others, kinda like..." She thought of a good analogy, "think of like... It's like in Harry Potter. You ever read Harry Potter...? Actually don't answer that, of course you have, your seven hundred years old... Now remember Voldemort and his Horcruxes, it's basically like that. Except the Horcruxes are hundreds of human sacrifices."
Aria pulled off the highway. She headed straight through a farmland-type area. Fields and crops in all directions, cows and bulls, pigs and sheep.
"Where we heading?" asked Damon as he leaned out the half-open window.
She quickly glanced at a sticky note on her cracked windshield. She then looked out at a small farmhouse in the middle of nowhere.
"Yup this is the place."
SCREECH!
She stopped the car, drifting across the sandy dirt road, landing right outside the small two-story house, a puff of smoke in its wake.
"Get out the car, this is our first stop."
She swung open the door, the strong winds pulling her fancy suit back as she walked over to the trunk of her car.
Damon followed, his naked dried-up bloodied-up body also in the wind.
Aria opened up the trunk, "here's the job. We're gonna kill a Rogue Immortal from the Immortal Horses, who's in that house."
Damon looked over the rear side of the trunk's cabinets. Hundreds of weapons, cruxes, curses, bottles of liquids, guns, swords, daggers.
"Here!"
She tossed him some baggy clothes.
"Your naked, you'll get cold."
"I don't get cold."
"Uh... Ok, Mr. Immortal."
Damon covered up his nude body with tight blue jeans and a baggy grey sweatshirt.
He looked at himself through the window of the car.
"I look like a college white girl."
"Just shut up and wear it. It'll get bloody anyway. We just don't want to look suspicious when we get all up and personal with our target."
Aria unloaded then loaded up a pistol. She then attached it to the back of her belt, underneath her black suit jacket.
"Five bullets to the brain minimum will knock him out for a while. The guy might also have others in there, but you'll take care of em. Got it?" she said confirming Damon's dedication.
"Sure I guess."
She tossed him a sawed-off shotgun.
"Hide that under your sweatshirt and when I give you the signal, unload it into the house, no survivors."
"Yeah yeah. I got it... I got it! Let's go!" he tried to artificially syce himself up, so that he wouldn't get bored.
They walked across the dried fields of wheat. Past the evening sun as it slowly set into the horizon. They reached the small farmhouse, its two-story design with a small porch that sat out front.
Bark bark bark!
They stood silently outside as the dog from inside started to bark obnoxiously at them.
"You want me to kill a dog too?" he asked concerned for his own sanity.
"You said you were already going insane last night. You don't think just a little more will do any harm?"
Damon looked through the window, the dark barking and barking and barking, bouncing off the walls. His head spinning.
"Yeah, your right."
She knocked on the front door.
"Coming!" screamed an old raspy voice from far inside the house.
They waited patiently for the man to approach. His footsteps echoing closer and closer.
They waited until the door swung open.
"Sorry, what did you-"
Bang! Bang!
She fired two shots straight into the old man's brain.
Thump...
He fell over, blood slowly gushing from the two small holes in his head.
"Didn't you say five shots minimum?" Damon asked as he looked around the inside of the house.
"Yeah, but there doesn't seem to be anyone here. So why not just test the dude out a bit. See how strong his immortality is."
---
They waited for the guy to stand back up, to come back to life.
---
Six minutes later, still waiting.
Damon started to doubt Aria's authenticity.
"Are you sure this guy's immortal?"

Damon a Seven-Hundred-Year-old Immortal has lived his life trying to avoid the unnecessary and live in the shadows. But one day he is unearthed by a determined bloodthirsty young woman who has a plan to infiltrate the Immortal Horses, an organization comprised of Immortals, and kill them all in the name of revenge.

A collection of others work for my enjoyment

Harry apparated into Hogsmeade and made his way to Honeydukes so that he could make his way through the passage there. He had decided to use this passage instead of the one in the shack as it took straight to the fifth floor and much closer to where he needed to be. It didn't take him long to access the passageway as the shop was still busy so he slipped through the crowd with ease.

Upon reaching the end of the tunnel he removed the map from his jeans and consulted it to check that the coast was clear, it was. There were a few small groups dotted around but most of the students were either in the Great Hall with Umbridge and her goons or in their common rooms.

He exited the tunnel and followed the instructions that Pettigrew had given him. He reached the 7th floor and found the tapestry of Barnabus the barmy teaching some trolls how to dance, it was quite an amusing depiction.

He walked backwards and forwards thinking that he needed the room of hidden things and on his third pass a large very old oak door appeared.

He entered the room and was amazed at what he found. The room was stacked from floor to ceiling with various items of furniture, books and many other items. Instead of wasting an opportunity like this he called for Dobby who appeared instantly wearing what seemed to be a dragonhide jacket and matching trousers.

"Dobby" he addressed the elf. "I want you to go through this room and find anything that could be useful" he instructed. "If you find anything valuable then open up a new vault with Gringotts and place it in there, I'm sure the school could use the gold" he finished.

"Yes Harry Potter sir" Dobby answered with a salute and began the arduous task.

Harry went about his own task looking for the diadem and found it much quicker than he had anticipated, he felt it before he could see it. He could feel the strong wave of hatred coming from the item that was conveniently boxed for him.

"Dobby" he called again. "Could you take this to Baron Black please" he requested. "Do not touch the thing inside the box though it is very dangerous" he instructed firmly.

Dobby shuddered as he took the box but disappeared nonetheless. He appeared again a moment later and informed Harry that he had done as he asked to which Harry thanked him.

Harry left Dobby to his work and exited the room. He opened the map again to make sure the coast was clear for him to leave unencumbered. What he saw made him frown. The majority of the students were in their common rooms as before but there were around 40 people in the Great Hall, a strangely mixed group that Harry suspected would not be in such close proximity of each other voluntarily. He checked the time and saw that dinner had been finished some time ago. Harry was confused and looked at the other groups on the map. Nothing seemed particularly out of place. He recognised some of the names and they all seemed to be with people in their own houses, he shrugged.

He was making his way down the fifth floor corridor again when he heard a raised voice coming from a classroom on his right and paused to listen.

"I should of known you and your disgrace of a sister were fraternising with the enemy" the familiar voice shouted. "Hold her still I'm going to teach the whore… argh you dare hit me? Crucio" the voice finished with a roar.

this story belongs to RobSt and I'm just sharing it here because I enjoyed reading it 

What will happen when a goblin-raised Harry arrives at Hogwarts. A Harry who has received training, already knows the prophecy and has no scar. With the backing of the goblin nation and Hogwarts herself

have fun

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