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"A lifetime of discipline and training Miss Granger." The Master of Sinanju explained. "I understand that you are leaving this school at the end of the term."

"I am," she said sadly. "I have loved my time here, but the since the Headmaster refuses to hold some of the students responsible for their behavior, my staying here has become impossible."

"It is important to have standards," the old man agreed. "That means that you will have a fair amount of free time over the next year."

"Well, I will need to research whatever school I end up going to..."

"Perhaps you could spend the year working for me,"

Hermione blinked. "Working for you? But Master Chiun, what could I possibly do for you that would be worth your money?"

They had reached the guest quarters where Chiun had been provided with a room. The door opened at his touch and he paused in the doorway. "My son is the first magical to be taught the secrets of Sinanju. I took him in as an experiment to see what his talents would add to the sum that is Sinanju. I have been quite pleased with his progress and his performance, though I would ask that you not tell him this."

Hermione nodded. "I've noticed how close the two of you are, though you both pretend not to be in your own ways. But how does a job for me work into your family situation."

"Harry's encounter with the emotion demons almost lost him to Sinanju. It became clear to me that I was risking more than my son by allowing him to work. I was also risking the prospect of establishing a line of magical practitioners of Sinanju. Therefore, I propose that you bear Harry's son. Adding the potential of your mind to Harry's work ethic would quite possibly produce the most powerful future Master of Sinanju in all of the House's history. I am willing to pay one hundred thousand pounds sterling for a healthy male child."

Hermione's mouth worked for several seconds, but no sound passed her lips, until she managed to gasp, "One hundred thousand pounds?"

"Fine. I am willing to go to one hundred fifty thousand. Let me know in the morning."

___---oooOOOooo---___

Hermione stood staring at the closed door for almost thirty seconds before she raised her hand to knock. The door opened before her knuckle had struck the wood, as if the old man knew she was going to knock and had prevented her from doing so.

"Yes Miss Granger? Have you reached your decision already?"

"Master Chiun," she began hesitantly, not wanting to hurt the old man's feelings, "I don't really believe that Harry and I know each other well enough to entertain the idea of a marriage."

The old man's wispy eyebrows arched toward his hairline. "Marriage? Oh, no Miss Granger, you misunderstood me, I am not proposing a marriage between you and my son, rather I simply want a healthy male child from the pair of you."

"What?" she asked.

"Oh, no, a marriage between the two of you would most certainly be interesting, and more than likely entertaining to me as well as Harry's older brother, however, I could not do that to my son."

"What?" Hermione repeated.

"Forgive me Miss Granger," the old man said, clearly enjoying himself. "But you seem to be a young lady of strong feelings ."

"Well.... Yes I am," she admitted.

"And given time, those feelings would lead you to making suggestions would they not?"

"Well, if I could possibly be of help," Hermione answered wondering what the ancient man was talking about.

"And no doubt, given time, you would form firm opinions , would you not?" Chiun asked.

“Yes sir, I always have."

"And your mother... is she still living?"

"Yes sir, she is," Hermione said becoming more confused with each question asked of her.

"Well there you have it. No, Harry has done nothing to deserve such a fate, especially since there is no guarantee that you would start taking strolls along the beach just after high tide, is there?"

"Well..." what the hell was this old man going on about? ”No sir, I've never really enjoyed walking along the beach, I prefer reading, so it's not really likely that I will start doing anything like that in the future."

"So," the old man smiled, "you can see that my son hasn't done anything to deserve marriage to you, though I'm sure you would both be very happy. Day after day, month after month and year after year. Happy. Just consider my offer for a healthy male child, would you? Sleep on it and let me know in the morning."

Chiun closed the door, leaving Hermione standing there wondering if she had just been insulted.

___---oooOOOooo---___

Harry flashed into being at the gates of Malfoy Manor just as the moon was rising. The second apprentice of Sinanju was more than slightly annoyed with himself. In his excitement at finally being allowed to do his job, he had entirely forgotten to ask Rowle just where the Parkinson estate might be.

Going back was problematic, not only because Rowle was dead, but because his widow and children would probably take offense.

Bother.

Returning to Hogwarts so ask Pansy where her home was would likely bring his mistake to his father's attention. Still, Harry had at least one other contact among the Moneyed set of Magical Britain, so there probably was not any harm in asking Narcissa. She would know where the Parkinson estate was, surely.

Harry reached out and took hold of the bell cord, giving it two soft pulls.

A small elf appeared with a Pop. "Welcome to Malfoy Manor," the small being said, bowing. "How can Dobby be helping youse?"

"Harry Potter to see Mrs. Malfoy."

"Youse still has no card for Dobby to give to Mistress?" Dobby asked, blinking his huge eyes.

"Sorry," Harry smiled. "Still no card."

"Dobby will announce youse," the elf said with a sigh before starting to mutter about how 'proper wizards do things' and vanishing with a pop.

The gate opened almost immediately, allowing him passage. Harry continued to smile as he made his way to the front door.

___---oooOOOooo---___

When Harry reached the door, it was opened by Dobby, a disapproving look on the elf's face.

Framed in the now open doorway was Narcissa Malfoy, clad in a near transparent wisp of blue silk rather than the stylish cream-colored robes she had worn before. The woman offered Harry a hopeful smile.

"Harry, I was hoping you would come back for me."

"Hello Narcissa. I was wondering if you could tell me where the Parkinson family lives?"

The blond woman took Harry by the arm and led him into the house, bypassing the Manor's sitting room and going directly to the stairs leading up to her suite. "And why would you want to know where those horrible people live?"

"Oh," Harry said, seeing no reason to lie, "I'm on my way to kill Voldemort."

"How exciting," she purred while pulling him into her bedchamber.

"Uh, yeah, so, where do the Parkinson's live?" Harry asked wondering if he should not have gone to Hogwarts and asked Pansy after all.

"Oh, Harry," Narcissa said reclining on her bed. "I could just tell you, but where is the fun in that? I have something you want, and you have something I need..." she looked at him with heavily lidded eyes. "Come convince me to tell you what you want to know, just like last time."

Harry sighed and once again started pulling his clothing off. Pansy would probably have made the same demand, he reflected. First Aurora and now Narcissa... Were all older witches so clingy?

___---oooOOOooo---___

Hermione Granger rampaged into the classroom the Outsiders had claimed as their own, throwing her book-bag to the floor, and then herself onto her favorite chair.

"Problem Hermione?" Neville asked.

"Nothing," the brunette said in a manner that left no one in the room doubting that she was being something less than truthful.

"So, what did Harry do?" Luna asked.

"Potter didn't do anything. I don't think he's even in the castle."

"He's not," Millicent said, looking up from her book. "He came by to tell me he was leaving the castle 'to kill Voldemort' and that we needed to talk when he got back."

"His father," Hermione hissed, "seems to think I'm a broodmare. He just offered me one hundred fifty thousand pounds to produce a 'healthy male child'. Nothing else, just produce a child."

"What?" Millicent asked with a look of distress on her face, "but Harry said... We were..."

"We warned you about Harry," Hannah pointed out from her place on Neville's lap. "He's just here for his job."

"I know, I know. I'm pretty sure Harry doesn't know a thing about this. It's his father," Hermione said, seeing how her revelation was hurting Millie. "He said that when he found Harry being attacked by the Dementors it reminded him that in his line of work, Harry could be killed at any time. Harry is the first of his family to have magic, and Master Chiun thinks that bringing Harry's son into the clan as a magic user would ensure that magic would be around for at least another generation."

"But..." Millicent asked, "why not... me?"

"I don't know," Hermione said. "Master Chiun complimented my intellect and study habits, maybe that's it."

"Of course, it doesn't really matter," Millie huffed. "Harry goes out of his way to 'practice his technique' with practically every witch in the castle. I don' t know why I'm even surprised that he wants a baby with you."

"Millie, Harry doesn't want to have a baby with me," Hermione blushed before continuing. "He doesn't even like me. I made a horribly bad first impression."

"Well, if it's not you, then it will likely be one of the Ravenclaws," Millicent hung her head. "Are you on the list Luna?"

"Oh, no," the blonde said with a shake of her head. "When my father interviewed him in his home village, Daddy extracted a promise from Harry to always treat me with the utmost of respect and reverence... That's Daddy talk for 'don't touch my daughter'."

"And Harry went along with that?" Hermione asked.

"Well, yes, and so did I, we did it with an Unbreakable Vow. It was very dramatic. Harry is spectacularly powerful." The blonde noticed how the rest of the Outcasts were staring at her over her casual announcement of having made an Unbreakable Vow. "What? I was twelve and my only exposure to wizards my own age to that point had been Ronald Weasley, so I can be excused for still being in the 'Boys are Icky' stage, and Harry was 13 and all arms and legs. If I'd known what a tasty biscuit he was going to grow up to be I might have kicked up more of a fuss..."

"Oh yeah," Colin said with a wistful expression, "Harry does have a spectacular arse..."

The Outsiders launched into an in depth discussion of the Potter scion's physical attributes while a horrified Neville Longbottom eased himself out of the room as stealthily as he could, privately reflecting that he really needed to find a few more straight male friends.

___---oooOOOooo---___

Harry pulled on his shirt, standing from the bed to tuck the tails into his trousers. "Thanks for the information Narcissa," He smiled down at his most recent bed partner. Narcissa had made it to step six this time, a new record for her. "I don't know what I'd have done without you."

"My pleasure Harry," the woman said while stretching languidly. "I do hope that's the right house."

Harry froze. "What do you mean 'right house'?"

"Well, they have four you know," she seemed to contemplate matters for a moment. "I'm sure it's the right house. You go on now."

"Why don’t you tell me where the other houses are Narcissa?"

"Now Harry," she purred, "you know we set up a rate of exchange. One address, one of those wonderful orgasm filled sessions of yours. If you want three more addresses..."

Harry toed off his shoes while allowing his trousers to fall the floor and sighed. As he returned to the blonde woman's arms, he wondered if these things ever happened to Remo.

He did not end up leaving the Malfoy estate until sun rise.

___---oooOOOooo---___

"Master," the minion said quietly, keeping his eyes focused on the floor. "I bring news. Thorfinn Rowle is dead."

"I am well aware of that, seeing how I killed him myself," the Dark Lord responded.

"I'm sorry Master, but not the Spanish Potions Master," the cowering minion said, wishing he was anywhere but here seeming to be correcting his master. "His cousin My Lord, one of your representatives on the Wizengamot. His wife reports that he was visited by a representative of Cornelius Fudge prior to being found dead."

"Fudge had one of my followers killed?" The dark lord thundered. "What dead man dared do such a thing?"

"Lady Rowle identified the villain as Odoriferous Crotchsniff from Minister Fudge's Reelection Campaign, Master."

"Odoriferous Crotchsniff must die!" Voldemort declared before breaking into girlish laughter.

"Odoriferous Crotchsniff?" The dark lord asked with a most feminine giggle. "Really?"

"Damn you girl!" Voldemort screamed. "I will kill every one you have ever cared about!"

The minion started backing from the room hoping that his raving master would be too tied up in his argument with himself to notice. He was not fast enough.

"You, boy!" The Dark Lord screamed. "Stay where you are! I have need of you!"

Voldemort swept across the room, and cupped the boy's jaw in his left hand. "Yes... You will do. You will do nicely!"

___---oooOOOooo---___

The door was locked, both physically and by charm.

Harry was starting to suspect that the Parkinson family was far from the most trusting family around. He made a quiet lap around the rather impressive manor house and found all the entrances to be similarly protected.

How to do this... For a few moments, he contemplated entering through the roof... no one put all that much protection into his or her roof, it should be easy... But, was the easy way really what he was looking for? He recalled a technique Remo had used once, something that Harry had always wanted to try on his own. Since there did not appear to be anyone at home…

With the index finger of his left hand, Harry began softly tapping on the oaken door, slowly building in the intensity of the tap. After thirty seconds, he added a tap with the index finger of his right hand, just slightly out of rhythm with his left. Over the next minute, the intensity of the tapping continued to build while the rhythm never varied. The door started to vibrate in its jam, and Harry stopped the tapping with both hands and placed the palm of his right hand firmly against the center of the door.

Wood splintered and metal shrieked as the oaken door instantly stopped its vibrations, but the metal parts of the hinges and locking mechanisms did not. With a light push, the door fell into the manor's entry hall with a loud bang.

The noise did not bring anyone running in defense of the manor house, so Harry immediately knew that this was a dry hole.

Well, one down , Harry thought as he began a search of the house. He was positive that there was no one home, but his father would expect an efficient search anyway. One never knew when one would need to return to a building on another contract. Isn't it always the way? Harry asked himself, the guy you need to kill is always in the last place you look.

___---oooOOOooo---___

"Master Chiun," Hermione Granger began hesitantly, still not sure of the proper way of responding to the old man's offer. "I do not believe that I can accept your offer in good faith. I cannot imagine myself giving birth to a child and not being his or her mother. Since you were so clear on your plans not having your son and me be together, I assume that you only wish me to give the child to you in exchange for your money. I could never do such a thing."

The old man nodded magnanimously. "I suspected that might be your answer Miss Granger, you are, after all, a product of your culture."

Again, Hermione suspected that she had just been insulted, but she did not pursue that thought. "Harry has begun something of a relationship with Millicent Bulstrode," she ventured, still feeling more than a little guilty over how she had ended up interjected into Millie's romance with Potter. "Perhaps she..."

"Ah, the beauty," Chiun sighed. "It is never good for a man to tie himself to such a woman, for her beauty will cloud his judgment and cause him distraction when he should be focused."

"Of course..." Hermione said cautiously, wondering what sort of society would hold Millie up as a beauty... Millie was a sweet girl, but seriously...

"I fear my son would want to establish a more permanent relationship with Miss Bulstrode if I were to permit such a bonding," the old man mused, more to himself than to Hermione. ”His life will be one of roaming the world plying his trade. It would be unfair to both of them. His long absences would lead her into loneliness and temptation, and her beauty would lead to many opportunities to stray…”

“I don’t really think…” Hermione said trying to change the subject before she learned more about the old man than she really wanted to know.

“Of course you don’t,” Chiun sighed as he walked away, already plotting a different way to get his magical child, “that is the curse of your gender.”

Hermione stood opened mouthed, staring at the old man’s back as he glided away. There was no mistaking it that time; she had most definitely been insulted.

___---oooOOOooo---___

"The Ritual My Lord?" Billius Morely asked.

"Yes," Voldemort commanded as he fought to keep the Veela from emerging. "I need it soon. Today. Now.”

“And the sacrifice?” Morely asked.

The Dark Lord looked purposefully at his minion who stood at the door, nearly delirious with pride that his Master told him he would stand in a place of honor among the Death Eaters.

“Ah,” Morely murmured. “Young. Healthy.”

“And far too stupid to put up much of a fight during the possession,” Voldemort nodded. “In short, the perfect candidate. For the short term anyway, once I have defeated Potter, it is his body I will wear in my conquest of the world.”

“The ritual will be ready within the hour My Lord,” Morely promised.

“Soon girl,” Voldemort said to himself as he watched his Runesmaster hurry away to his preparations, “Soon you will pay for your insults and resistance. I will let you live long enough to see everyone you love tortured to death… Oh, you will pay!”

___---oooOOOooo---___

Harry popped back into reality at the second house and surveyed his surroundings. His eyebrows rose a bit. He had spotted movement through the windows. Someone was home!

The presence of someone in the house would necessitate a change of tactics, Harry decided. If Voldemort was here, there was no sense in announcing his entrance like some kind of movie cop. Harry ghost stepped through the perimeter wards and approached the house. This one was smaller than the first, but still large for a single family. Harry looked up the wall. Four stories high, brick. Yes, this time he would enter through the roof.

Harry pressed his left hand against the brick wall and leaned into the surface to gain traction. His right knee pressed into the wall and he began his ascent. As he passed a second floor window, he began contemplating his entrance to the house. A glance at the window told him that the owners of the house took some level of security seriously; they actually had wards protecting the windows above the ground floor. But then, they were probably expecting someone approaching on a broom.

Brooms, Harry smiled to himself as he passed the third floor heading toward the roof. Why not just paint a bull’s-eye on your back? Even the fastest brooms were slow compared to the forces that could be raised against them.

Harry’s musings were interrupted when he reached the eaves of the manor house. Making a horizontal move from one vertical position to another always took some concentration. Pausing to ensure his breathing was in rhythm with his body’s functions, Harry’s left hand shot out taking hold of the closest slate roofing tile and using that motion, flipped his body out and over the overhang, landing silently on his toes atop the roof.

Harry paused again, making sure that no one had noticed his ascent, and then he surveyed the roof for the easiest point of access. There. A slate tile, lifted slightly out of position. Someone had not been concerned about home maintenance. That would be his point of entry.

___---oooOOOooo---___

Dagbert Perkins was a worried wizard.

Life as a Death Eater was most specifically NOT turning out the way he had imagined it. And not in a good way either.

The young wizard, only two years out of Hogwarts, tossed and turned in his bed, trying to get comfortable. It was not working. He was to join in on a raid in a few hours and had been unable to get any sleep.

Fear did that.

His first job in the service of the Dark Lord was as an attendant to the Dementors. Dagbert had thought at one point that he could get used to anything, no matter how unpleasant. The former Ravenclaw had been most dismayed to learn that no one ever ‘got used’ to exposure to Dementors.

Then the minor demons were suddenly gone, and memories of the punishment for their desertion still haunted the Death Eater’s dreams.

Now Perkins and was one of a dozen Death Eaters assigned to maintain this house, in case the Dark Lord ever needed to abandon his current headquarters. Why would the Dark Lord ever need to abandon his headquarters? He had just fled his established place at the Malfoy estate, and now plans were in place to abandon the second choice?

Perkins knew the Dark Lord routinely examined the thoughts of his followers. What would happen if his master ever discovered these unworthy thoughts?

Perkins turned a corner into the darkened hallway he was patrolling and felt a pair of hands grab onto his shoulders. Before he could call out, he was pulled into a small cupboard.

“Hi there,” a voice said from the darkness. “I’m looking for your boss. I was hoping you could help me.”

___---oooOOOooo---___

Voldemort looked at the wand in his hand and expressed his will. As the fire whip manifested, the Dark Lord laughed. A new body. A body without a woman’s voice yammering in his mind. It was time. Time to end this. First, the girl had to pay for how she had defied him.

He turned his attention to the girl chained to the wall in front of him. “I’m free of you now,” Voldemort proclaimed as he swung the fire whip through the air between them, causing the flaming strands to wrap around the flawless body.

“Where are your taunts girl? Where is your arrogance?” He asked as he struck her again. She did not cry out until the third strike. Voldemort smiled, and fought to assert his will over the magic. He did not want to kill her, not yet. “Don’t worry girl, you don’t die today. No, you don’t die until everyone you’ve ever loved is tortured to death in front of you.”

The Dark Lord caught a movement at the edge of his peripheral vision. He stopped his motion with the whip and turned in time to see one of his Death Eaters crumple to the ground, his head lolling free, his mask askew, showing the blood gushing from the man’s mouth.

A gasp of surprise echoed throughout the room as his Death Eaters were suddenly on guard, their wands in their hands as they rallied to defend their master against whatever had caused one of their own to fall.

Silence reigned in the chamber for several seconds before the twelve masked Death Eaters all collapsed, seemingly for no reason and began emulating their fallen comrade.

“Damn it,” A voice said from immediately behind Voldemort’s left ear. “He was the third one. I always have problems with synchronizing the third one. He always dies early. It spoils the surprise and the whole dramatic effect.”

The Dark Lord whirled to face the speaker, raising his wand to the ready, and was shocked to find he was looking into the amused face of Harry Potter. Potter was so close that Voldemort’s wand extended past his body. Nimble fingers plucked the wand from the Dark Lord’s hand, snapping the yew and phoenix feather with casual ease.

“Hi there,” the boy said, still smiling. “My name’s Harry, and I’ll be your assassin tonight.”

“Potter,” Voldemort hissed.

“You’ve heard of me?” the boy laughed. “Excellent, then this shouldn’t take long at all. Let’s get you out of this cloak so I can see what I’m working with.”

The boy’s hands flowed over the Dark Lord’s upper body; shredding the heavy cloak Voldemort had covered himself with upon his latest rebirth. As the heavy fabric fell away, the boy’s expression darkened. “Malfoy?” he asked. “You’ve possessed Draco Malfoy? You bastard! Do you have any idea what you’ve done? You asshole!”

___---oooOOOooo---___

“Hello Neville,” Hermione said as she seated herself at the base of the tree. This was the spot that she and Neville had staked out as their own in the spring of their first year. Whenever one of them wanted to speak privately with the other this is where they would meet.

“I’m glad you could make it. Gran is a bit put out with me, but she understands.”

“Understands what?” the brunette asked.

“The need to get out of here,” Neville grinned as he extended a large packet of parchment to his friend.

Hermione frowned as she broke the wax seals and opened the package. “Neville,” she said quietly, “this is an acceptance letter to Beauxbatons.”

“It is,” he agreed. “I’ve got one just like it, and so does Hannah.”

“I was planning on spending next year researching what school to finish at,” she pointed out.

“And waste a year. Beauxbatons is a world class school, one that could use a little of that old fashioned Granger shaking up. You speak French, you’ll be running the place before Christmas. Madam Maxime jumped at the chance to steal away Hogwarts’ top student.”

“Neville,” Hermione said in a quiet dangerous tone, “why does this say my tuition is already paid?”

“Oh, you noticed that did you?”

“Yes,” she answered in that ‘tell me before I hurt you’ tone he had come to know over the years.

“Well, you speak French, as I noted before. Hannah speaks French, and I, well I don’t. I figure I’m going to need quite a bit of help to survive amongst the Frenchies. So I thought I’d hire myself a pair of translators to keep me from hurting myself.”

“Neville…”

“Hermione, let me do this for you. You forget I’ve spent a fair amount of time with your father, and I know he’s just been able to cover Hogwarts’ tuition each year, and probably wouldn’t be able to cover the extra 30 percent the Beauxbatons charges. I on the other hand can cover it without any strain on my finances at all. If it truly bothers you, you can pay me back after we leave school and get established in your career.”

“Neville…”

“Hermione, you accepted a timid little fat boy when no one else would. If not for you, I doubt I’d have ever had the courage to speak to Hannah, much less ask her out, and I’d still be spending every living moment not at this school hiding in my green house at home.” Neville reached out and took her hand. “You are the big sister I always needed and wanted. For all the help you’ve given me, let me give you some help this time, alright?”

Hemione looked deeply into his eyes for a moment. “This,” she said gesturing with the parchment, “will be a loan, with interest, a payment schedule and penalties.”

“Whatever you want Hermione. My solicitor will draw up the documents.”

___---oooOOOooo---___

The boy’s reaction puzzled Voldemort. “I have all the boy’s memories of you,” the Dark Lord whispered as he stealthily reached for his backup wand still secured in the sleeve of the shirt he wore. “This level of concern for his survival is perplexing.”

“What?” the Potter boy asked distractedly as he shredded the sleeve in question and destroyed the wand before Voldemort would even put his fingers on it. “Have you got any idea how much people were going to be willing to pay me to kill him in a few years? The bastard you’re wearing now was a walking goldmine for my village,” the boy moved back a pace and examined the Dark Lord carefully. “Now I’ve got to kill him for free.”

“You might kill this body, but you cannot kill me!” Voldemort declared.

“What? You mean your soul jars?” Potter asked as he drove a thumb into the Dark Lord’s left armpit, causing him to fall to the stone floor in agony. “Nah, that’s not a surprise. I’ve known about them since the elders of Kumsilu pulled the soul fragment out of my head. Well, not really, I mean I was only two at the time, but as soon as they started teaching me magic. Besides, a soul jar isn’t really immortality.”

“What do you mean?” Voldemort gasped as he struggled to his knees.

“Well, like most things in life, this is best explained by a story,” the boy said, lifting the Dark Lord to his feet, only to drive a thumb into the blond’s right arm pit, again sending the man to the floor in spasms of agony. “In 2723 BC Pharaoh Banetjer of the second Kingdom had a problem with an influential priest named Ni-Ruab. Ni-Ruab was too important for Banetjer to just have his official forces to deal with so he contracted the hit out to the House of Sinanju. Master Pha the younger traveled to Egypt, that land having been discovered by his Grandfather Pha the Elder, and dealt with the foolish priest. The contract fulfilled, Banetjer made his payment and Pha the younger returned to Sinanju. At this time, it was a long journey, many weeks in length. Once Pha the Younger arrived in Sinanju he received notice that Ni-Ruab had risen from his grave and was again terrorizing the Banetjer’s people.”

Potter paused for a moment and drove his thumbs into either side of Voldemort’s groin, throwing the Dark Lord into agony once again. “Off topic for a minute, who is the girl?” he asked gesturing to the young woman still chained to the wall.

“Fr…Fr… French school girl.” Voldemort panted, willing to do anything to avoid the agony of what Potter was doing to him. “Used for my resurrection.”

“You possessed her?” Potter asked glancing at the chained woman as he hauled the Dark Lord to his feet. “Why is she still alive? You were threatening her.”

“Not human,” Voldemort gasped. “Veela.”

“That’s Fleur Delacour?” Potter asked incredulously before a smile spread across his face. “You’re forgiven for possessing Malfoy. This is much better.”

“What do you mean?”

“The Delacour family paid me a metric buttload of money to kill you, because they blamed you for killing their daughter,” Potter explained. “Imagine what they will pay me when I deliver their lost daughter to them whole and alive? Back to my story then. Pha the younger returned to Abydos and found someone wearing Ni-Ruab’s death mask attempting to over throw his rightful Pharoah, this person wearing Ni-Ruab’s mask had memories of how Master Pha the younger had killed the original Ni-Ruab and thought that gave him a chance against a Master of Sinanju. He died of course, but Master Pha was puzzled by the whole incident, so he decided to stick around for a while, taking a smaller commission in Bagdad. Once Master Pha returned to Abydos, he found yet another Ni-Ruab attempting rebellion.”

“Master Pha took this as a direct insult to the purity of Sinanju, so this time rather than killing the renegade priest, he took the man captive to learn what was happening.” Potter casually crushed the former Malfoy’s sternum and waited for the screaming to stop. “What Master Pha discovered is that Ni-Ruab was using soul jars. The priest would simply possess one of his followers and start up again whenever the body he was using was killed. It turns out that for a soul jar to work, the soul fragment must tether itself to the body via one of six points on the body. You strike me as the type of person to have more than one soul jar, just in case someone found one of them, and lots of magicals have taken this path since the time of Master Pha.”

“It doesn’t matter how many soul jars you have, there are only six anchor points, and I’ve closed five of them.”

“Damn you Potter!” The Dark Lord gasped.

“Yeah, I get that a whole lot,” the boy said with a smile. “I’ll leave you with a little something to reflect on in your next existence. I would strongly advise you not to return this time. If you were to do so, my father would be angry with me for fouling up a fairly simple exercise and make my life a living hell. Once he got though with me, he would snuff you himself. You see, Chiun believes that when Sinanju kills you, you stay dead.”

With a flick of his wrist, Potter drove the knuckle of his right index finger into the ridge of bone between Voldemort’s eyes, crushing the final point of linkage and driving the bone into the possessed body’s brain.

___---oooOOOooo---___

Harry approached the unconscious girl; surveying the damage Voldemort’s firewhip had done to her body. Not good. He would need to get her to medical attention if she was to recover any time soon. Those burns where horrific.

Given time, her magic would deal with the injuries, but there would be quite a bit of pain in the meantime, and even witches were susceptible to infection. Drawing his wand, Harry vanished the chains securing the woman to the wall, and then levitated her to a nearby table. Satisfied that she was not likely to hurt herself, Harry left the former Dark Lord’s chambers to search for something to be used to stabilize the injured witch.

Clean sheets came from a storage cupboard on the second floor, but the real prize of the search was the crock of sunflower oil found in the kitchen.

Returning to the girl, Harry carefully coated her burns with the oil, charming it to pull the heat from her wounds. Carefully wrapping the girl in the sheet, he exited the manor house and apparated to the gates of Hogwarts.

___---oooOOOooo---___

“You’re back.”

“I am, Ms. Granger,” Harry nodded to the young woman. “Have you seen Millie?”

“She should be out with Professor Hagrid’s class,” Colin Creevy suggested. “Did you do it? Is… is…”

“Is You-Know-Who dead?” Neville Longbottom asked.

“Yes,” Harry confirmed. “And the Delacour girl he had kidnapped for his resurrection is still alive. She was kind of messed up, but the School Nurse seems to have her injuries in hand.”

A palpable wave of relief washed over the residents of the room.

Hermione glanced at the other Outsiders in the room and murmured. “I think we need to talk about a few things.”

“Do we?” The annoyingly cheerful boy asked.

“Your father offered me one hundred and fifty thousand pounds to have your child,” she explained.

Harry blinked. He certainly had not been expecting that. “I see. Ok, I’ve got time now, have you got a place in mind?”

“What?” Hermione sputtered.

“He wants a boy, right?” Harry asked reviewing the steps needed to ensure a male child. “Where are you in your fertility cycle? Were you planning on using a potion to speed up conception?”

“I told him no!” she shouted.

Silence filled the room for several seconds.

“You told my father ‘no’?” Harry asked incredulously.

“Yes,” the brunette confirmed.

“Oh, I get it, you’re making a joke,” Harry laughed. “Ok, when is the best time to get together for the conception?”

Hermione stood up and stomped her left foot at Potter. “I am not joking. I told him no.”

Potter crossed the room and placing his hands upon her shoulders turned her around several times, his eyes scanning her entire body.

“What are you doing?” She demanded while struggling in his grip.

“You aren’t injured,” Harry said in a distracted tone. “Are you sure you told him no?”

“Yes,” she responded testily.

“You told my father no,” Harry demanded. “Chiun of Sinanju. You told him no, and he understood you?”

“Yes.”

“Wow,” Harry said, sinking into the chair that Hermione had vacated. “You told him no?”

“Yes.”

“I didn’t know that was even possible,” Harry said in amazement.

“Of course it’s possible,” Hermione huffed.

“Wow,” Harry repeated. “So, no conception?”

“No,” the brunette confirmed. “See? I can say it to you as well.”

“Ok,” Harry nodded. “Good…” He started nodding to himself. “Ok, you said no to Chiun of Sinanju and he just accepted it?”

“Yes,” Hermione said, becoming more annoyed by the moment. “I told him no, he insulted me saying I am a product of my society, and dismissed me.”

“Ok,” Harry nodded again. “You just said no?”

“Yes,” the girl all but screamed. “I bloody well said No, alright?”

“Yes. You told Chiun of Sinanju no, and survived,” Harry said to himself, no longer paying much attention to those in the room, until he looked up into Hermione’s eyes with an expression of wonder on his face. “What was it like?”

___---oooOOOooo---___

"Hello Millie," Harry said as he entered the room that he had come to think of as 'theirs' to find the girl standing alone staring out the window.

"Harry," she said in a very quiet voice. "So you've actually done it? Voldemort is dead?"

"Yes," He admitted. "The hit wasn't all that hard, really. The problem was finding the idiot."

"So, you'll be going then?"

"In a couple of days, yeah," Harry nodded. "I need to collect my wages from the people who hired me, and then my father has another job lined up, real money this time. We're going somewhere in the Middle East."

"So this is goodbye?" she asked still facing away from him.

“It has to be Millie, as much as I wish it didn’t.”

“Why? Why can’t you stay?” the large girl turned to face him, tear streaming down her face.

“And do what?” Harry asked. “I’m an assassin Millie; I only know how to do three things. Train, hunt people, and kill them."

"I could come with you," the girls said wistfully.

Harry frowned, more than a little ashamed of himself and his actions concerning this wonderful girl. He had not wanted to hurt her, but it was very clear that he had. "You can't Millie. I live and work mostly in the Muggle world. Could you actually give up your magic to live the life of a camp follower?"

Millicent Bulstrode turned back to the window. "Alright then. You came to say goodbye. You've said goodbye. You can go now.”

“Millie,” Harry said plaintively. This was not the way he had wanted things to go between them. Why did it have to be so hard?

“Just go," she thundered as she pushed past him to leave the room.

___---oooOOOooo---___

“Did you see her?” a whispered voice asked.

“How could I not see her?” another responded. “They said she was with the Dark Lord for two years. I wonder what she was doing for him?”

“What do you think a Veela was doing for him?” the first laughed.

Fleur lay in the hospital bed pretending to sleep. She was being left alone for once without her mother or the school nurse hovering and making her life unbearable. So of course, now the gossiping fools of this damned school would seek her out. It had been bad during that thrice damned tournament, but now the things they were accusing her of…

“I remember her from the Triwizard Tournament two years ago,” yet another voice whispered from beyond the privacy screen. “Always so snooty and full of herself, and the awful way she treated Roger…”

“Oh, Roger,” the first voice whispered. “He was just so… perfect before she got her hooks into him. He was never quite the same again…”

Roger Davies had made the mistake of trying to touch her breasts uninvited. Prior to that incident, she had almost decided to take him back to her room on the carriage and see what kind of stamina he had. His clumsy grab at her breasts had caused her to hit him with her full allure, leaving him groping himself for several hours in search of a release that would not come.

Fleur lay still, giving no sign that she had heard the whispers. It was a struggle not to react to the little bitches, a struggle made no easier by the burning need in her loins. It had been so long, and the charogne had not been diligent about the needs of the body he had usurped. The nurse had promised that she would be released in time for lunch. Fleur was ravenous, but not for food. Perhaps she should keep her promise to the charogne and sate her needs with the Potter boy…

She should probably reward him properly anyway.

___---oooOOOooo---___

Harry made his way toward the Great Hall, the sooner he found his father the sooner they could be out of this castle.

“You! Englishman!”

He appeared to be the only one in the general vicinity so Harry turned to see who was calling for him. Ah, the French girl. “Korean actually,” He corrected her gently.

“Whatever. I do not remember much after the ritual that removed the charogne from my body. I do know that he and his followers were frightened of you, and that my mother tells me that you saved me.”

Harry bowed slightly. “I was tasked with ending his life. Finding you alive was a happy accident.”

“Hmm,” the girl said. “The whole time you were killing the charogne’s people I tormented him as often as I could. I promised him that should you kill him, I would reward you, even though you are an Englishman.”

“I’m Korean,” Harry corrected her again. “And your family has already rewarded me handsomely.”

“As if there is a difference. You are not French,” The girl said with an airy wave of her left hand.

Harry fought against smiling at having finally met someone who shared his father’s ‘you are a foreigner, you don’t count’ opinion of the world.

“I,” the young woman continued, “intend to reward you as only a Veela can.”

“Well, thanks,” Harry said smiling widely. “But I have to go. My father and I have appointments to keep.”

His declining her offer seemingly shocked the girl. “In the short time I have been in this horrible castle, I have heard many stories of your prowess… and you refuse me ? No man refuses a Veela, we are passion. We are sex.” With her left hand, she gathered a fist full of Harry tee shirt. “Come with me. You will be rewarded whether you like it or not!”

This was a first. He had encountered a few aggressive women since coming to Hogwarts, but he had never been accosted like this… Oh, what the hell? If Veela were everything their reputations claimed they were, maybe he would finally finish the exercise.

___---oooOOOooo---___

Fleur sealed the door behind the Potter boy and smiled as she covertly cast an amplification charm on the door. The sounds of her conquest over Potter would be heard through out this horrid castle.

This should shut those gossiping harridans up. They would know without a doubt that no man could conquer a Veela.

“So, here we are…” She said, unleashing her allure. She carefully held her power back of course, if she reduced the boy to a drooling comatose state that would serve no purpose after all.

“Yeah,” the boy said pulling his shirt off. “There’s a technique I’m working on. It has thirty seven steps, but I’ve never made it past 20.”

“You have a technique?” Fleur asked with a smile, while disrobing as well. She was a bit surprised to find herself very interested in his physique. “How interesting.”

“Yeah,” the boy said allowing his trousers to pool at his feet before stepping out of them. “But I’ve been having some real problems completing it. Do you mind if I practice?”

This boy was nothing if not amusing. Did he actually imagine that he would be making any decisions once she started? She pushed her allure to approximately half her maximum. “Oh, of course, anything for you…”

He smiled, Fleur was somewhat shocked that he was seemingly unaffected by her allure. He reached out and pulled her naked body against his own. His left hand began tracing an odd figure eight pattern in the small of her back. “This is step one,” he said simply.

___---oooOOOooo---___

“This is step one,” echoed throughout the Great Hall.

“My daughter is showing off again,” Apolline Delacour said in an apologetic tone to Minerva McGonagall who was sitting next to her for the midday meal.

“You mean, they are… With Potter?”

“Yes,” the amazingly beautiful woman said, reaching for her goblet of wine. “He is an marvelously virile young man,” the Veela paused for a moment. “Pardon me, I forget that so few know much of the Veela. We are an extremely carnal people. We need it to survive. That Voldemort creature did not understand the body he had possessed, but the monster knew that his sexual desires had risen to previously unimagined levels. Rrather than do what he needed to do, he attempted to satiate himself using women. This gave the body the monster shared with my daughter enough to survive, but nowhere enough to flourish. Essentially, my daughter is a starving woman. To regain her full health, Fleur will need to couple with three, perhaps as many as five young men over the next two days.”

"Comment fais-tu ça?" Fleur’s voice echoed in the Hall. "c'est boooon!" she moaned.

“And this,” Potter’s voice responded, “Is step two.”

“UUHH!” the young woman moaned. “Je te veux! S'il te plait, j'ai envie de toi! Mets-la moi…bien profond…remplis-moi!”

Everyone in the Great Hall had stopped eating by this time. “The poor girl must have really been suffering,” Madam Delacour noted. “Losing control like that. Perhaps she is worried the boy will not last.”

“No,” the high-pitched voice of Chiun of Sinanju spoke up, an expression of shame upon his features. “Sadly it is my son who is showing off. He has not taken into account the effect of the Thirty Seven Steps of Female Ecstasy might have on as sexual a being as a Veela. My apologies Madam Delacour.”

“Are you alright?” Potter asked.

"Mon bel amour, comme tu as une belle queue!"

“Thanks,” Potter laughed. “Step three.”

There was a short pause until Fleur’s gasp echoed through the castle. "Bravo, la Queue!” she screamed. “Gonflée, gorge-toi, fais ton chemin et mon bonheur!"

“Easy,” Potter said. “You’re going to need to slow down or…”

“Ca c'est du peu comme j'aime ! Vas-y, défonce-moi !

“Ok,” the boy muttered. “Let’s just slow down a bit, ok?”

“Fais marcher ta bite et enfonce-la moi jusqu'aux couilles, ouvre moi à fond!” Then the girl screamed incoherently.

“So, ready to keep going?” He asked.

"Oui,” she panted. “Oui plus profound!"

“Ok, step four.”

Again the girl screamed.

“Fleur?” Potter’s voice asked. “Fleur?”

Silence was his only answer.

“You have got to be kidding me!” The boy exclaimed. “Step four? Step freaking four? God damn it!”

Apolline Delacour raised a sculpted eyebrow for a moment, and then patted her mouth with a napkin. Nodding to McGonagall, she rose from the table and exited the Great Hall.

___---oooOOOooo---___

In the silence that followed Potter exclamation, few people took notice when Millie Bulstrode ran from the Great Hall with tears in her eyes, nor did anyone notice similar reactions from Pansy Parkinson and Aurora Sinestra.

Hermione Granger sat quietly at the Gryffindor table trying to understand what she was feeling and fighting against the urge to hunt down the French Witch and do something evil to her for what she had demanded of Harry...

“Oi, Hermione,” Luna called from the Ravenclaw table.

Hermione looked up and caught her zany friend’s eye.

“You said no, huh?” the somewhat spacy blonde asked with an evil grin.

“Luna!” Hermione protested, a blush flooding her face.

“Madam Delacour?” Harry’s voice started again.

“Mr. Potter,” the woman’s cultured voice rang out. “I have come to apologize to you, it seems my daughter felt the need to publicize your affair, she cast a charm that amplified the sound from this room and broadcast it throughout the castle.”

“You mean… You mean my father heard all that?”

“Indeed.”

“Oh, crap.”

“Mr. Potter,” the woman’s voice fully carried the smile on her lips. “There is no reason for you to feel shame for my daughter’s actions.”

“What?” Harry asked. “No, not that. My father will be disappointed that I couldn’t complete the exercise.”

Hermione shot a glance toward the Staff table where Master Chiun sat shaking his head sadly.

There was short pause before Harry spoke again. “Madam Delacour?”

“I find I must uphold the honor of the Veela flocks,” the woman’s voice was deeper now, radiating sex.

Hermione looked about the Great Hall to see how others were reacting to what was happening. Most of the girls were flushed, and most of the boys seemed to be having difficulties sitting still. “Show me your steps.”

“Oh, ok.” Harry responded. “That amplifying charm is off, right?”

“But of course,” Apolline lied.

“Ok,” Potter said. “This is step one.”

___---oooOOOooo---___

“I have never been so embarrassed in my life.” Chiun sniffed.

“Father, I had no idea that she put that broadcast charm on the room,” Harry grinned as the father and son pair of assassins left Hogwarts castle for the last time. “Hell, I have no idea why she would do something like that.”

“The looks all those young cows were giving you, you are just like your brother, only interest in the udders.”

“Her mother came to me remember. I didn’t go looking for her, and she lied to me. Besides, you would think that a person practically made of sexual magic would last longer than step twelve.”

“They are too used to being in control of the act,” Chiun pointed out in his extolling the wisdom of Sinanju voice. “Not being in control is like an aphrodisiac to them.”

“There is that,” Harry admitted.

“Every single one of them wanted you, except the one I wanted to want you,” the old man kvetched.

“Yeah, she told you ‘No’.”

“You did nothing to convince her.” Chiun said accusingly.

“By the time I knew about it, she had already said no. I didn’t believe her at first when she told me. She wasn’t injured or anything. I didn’t think that was possible.”

“Of course it is possible,” Chiun said in an offended tone. “You make me sound like some kind of dangerous monster rather than the man of peace that I am.”

“Man of peace,” Harry scoffed. “More like the most dangerous man alive. And none of that changes the fact that she told you no. And survived.”

“She did,” Chiun admitted. “She was a young woman with whom I had attempted a business negotiation; it was only polite to accept her refusal as it was offered. You on the other hand are my apprentice. You don’t have that protection.”

“I figured as much,” the boy paused for a moment, and then he grinned again. “Did you see Dumbledore’s face when I gave him my expense report?”

“Truly, that is the most wonderful addition to our standard contract since Master Van the Unloved added the unfaithful client clause,” the old man agreed as the pair passed through the school’s gates.

“We’re outside the wards now Father, where too?”

“Heathrow,” the old man said simply. “An assassin’s work is never done, and we have a living to earn.”

___---oooOOOooo---___

A Thoughtful Review Of Harry Potter and the Sun Source

Don't Read This Pile of Ox Droppings

This is an improper story, which one could expect from an improper person, such as the fat lazy hack currently hunched over his keyboard.

So of course, it was decided that the only review of this example of white centric idiocy that really matters would not be published until after the end of the so-called story.

In all these chapters of this epic tale of lies and dishonesty, not one properly colored person has been allowed to write a single word. Not one. Only this fat lazy white man is to blame for the lies you have been reading. These pages, littered as they are with his inanities, exaggerations and the deliberate ignoring of persons of the proper color, are wasted. However, that is not surprising considering that the foolish white idiot who scribbled these falsehoods tends to favor his own ilk.

Dedications to the Dead. White Dead

Back in the fifth of what could be laughingly called 'chapters' honor was offered to a dead man. Yes, one of the chapters was dedicated to a dead man who was evidently masquerading as some sort of wolf, but not one properly colored person, living or dead, has been so honored. Where is the justice in this?

Why I Don't Care

It does not matter that I, Chiun, Master of Sinanju, who has made Sapir, Murphy, and the seemingly endless parade of ghost writers, hacks, and editors from the original series of books rich beyond their wildest imaginings. It does not matter that I have delivered to the scribbler of this particular heresy most of his ideas for what has become one of his most popular wastes of time. It does not matter that I, the gentle flower of humanity, has never been so honored.

Nor has any other properly colored person been so honored, not even a Japanese or Thai, let alone a Korean or anyone from north of the 38th Parallel. I do not mind. Having dealt with ungrateful writers for most of fifty years, I am well accustomed to basic ingratitude.

I do not want a dedication.

A Simple Demand

What I do want is to review this final chapter of twaddle, always on guard against anti-Koreanism, virulent anti-Koreanism, that this fat white fool has routinely allowed to slip its ugly tentacles into these very pages that should honor the House of Sinanju, on the beautiful West Korea Bay, sometimes described as cold and bleak and rocky by those infected with anti-Koreanism.

Blot Not Korean

For this, the final chapter of this collection of lies about the gentle beauty that is Sinanju, a trio of names was submitted to me for evaluation of their worthiness of being the subject of the Writer's Dedication. Those names are Rorschach’s Blot, Bobmin357 and Doghead13.

The first is clear. A foolish person, known for the messes he makes and is therefore called Blot. On top of his apparent general messiness, I understand that he is supposedly a 'guy on vacation' whatever that means.

The second is confusing even to me, even when I parse the name carefully. To a white, to Bob is to pop up and down in a mindless manner, while 'min' has no real meaning in English, though it might be an oblique reference to Min, the Egyptian fertility god. The 357 is obvious if you understand the white mind, a reference to an unnecessarily large pistol. Therefore, this 'Bobmin357' is a person who desires to shoot an Egyptian fertility god while said god is hopping in place. Madness, but that is the white race for you.

The third reference is some sort of survivor of the Dynastic Egyptians. Those people had several living gods, which inexplicably had the heads of animals on the bodies of men. At one time, there were many of these unusual beings, but then one of them hired Master Pha the Elder to deal with a usurper and stiffed Pha out of his honest wage. Pha must have missed this Doghead person. Sloppy of him.

Precisely why the fat lazy white scribbler would want to dedicate his work to a surviving ancient Egyptian god is a mystery, even to one such as I, who is quite used to the insane workings of the lazy white mind and my vast knowledge of the absurd white cultural naming systems.

Why They Are to Blame

The fat lazy white who consistently understates my overall importance to this story claims that these three purported 'writers' inspired him to add his so called 'work' to the universe that seemingly worships my youngest apprentice, and as such he wished to dedicate the completion of this collection of lies to them. Blot for the inspiration to actually make his scribblings available to the public at large, Bobmin357 for carping like a fishwife until the fat one started producing works of a ‘more reasonable length’, and Doghead13 because of some incident he reported that involved my tour guide at Hogwarts being spanked with a codfish, making the lazy scribbler laugh as he rarely had before.

- I am still at a loss to explain just how such a thing could be humorous, or how an abomination with the head of a dog (or would that be the heads of thirteen dogs?) could be thought to be a 'writer'.

Published?

The list of dedications came with a note that someone called Jim Bernheimer had helped bring Clell65619 into the world of an actual published author of an original story, somehow validating all the other pathetic scribbling this fool has wasted his time producing over his long and wasted non-Korean life.

Moreover, this brings up one of the many problems of so-called Western World. Many of you have suffered from junk mail, useless information that causes you to waste your time reading it. That note about the lazy white fool being a published author was junk information. There are few things less important in this world than the writers of short stories not about Korea and that wonderful village on the West Korea Bay, and I have neither time nor inclination to ferret them out.

However, on reflection, I think the truffle season in the Loir Valley might be slightly less important than Clell65619's career as a writer.

Then again, there are people who like truffles. As far as I know, no one really likes Clell65619 or his pathetic stories.

In my awesome magnificence,

I am, with moderate tolerance for you and your continued existence,

Chiun, Master of Sinanju.