Harry Potter: A Tale of Revenge

Jacob stood again, walked over and shook the man's hand. "Andrew. Good to see you again."

Lord Andrew Ogden beamed around the room. "Good to see you again, old boy. Xeno. Slytherin. I see you've got the whisky out."

Harry and Xeno greeted the older man.

Jacob lead the man over to the last chair and poured him a glass. Andrew had mentored him in the Wizengamot after the death of his father and he'd held the man in high regard ever since.

The four of them shared pleasantries for a moment before Andrew got right down to what he seemed itching to get off his chest. "So, Slytherin. Just saw the memory of you beating the living snot out of Volf's boy. I must say that was terrifying. Almost wet myself, hah!"

Harry picked up his un-drunk glass and brought it to the masks lips. The mask enveloped the glass almost like a real mouth. He took a drink. "Yes." He lowered the glass again. "I've said for years that I have no intention of allowing that kind of behaviour in my name and now that Daphne and Hermione are at Hogwarts, it stops."

Andrew sat back in his chair. "Ah, yes. The muggleborn girl. Impressive casting on that one. Wandless even. You trained her?"

Harry inclined his head. "Indirectly."

"Well, good show, I say." Andrew smacked his lips. "Always thought the muggleborns could do better for themselves. I employ a good number of them, but it's hard getting much out of them with the education most of them receive outside of Hogwarts, and runes can only do so much by themselves."

Jacob nodded. The status of the three much smaller British schools outside of Hogwarts had been a subject of much discussion for their little group over the years.

"I also saw this." Andrew thumped something down on the table. The latest edition of Witch Weekly stared up at him. "Congratulations are in order, I think, Slytherin, eh?"

Jacob raised an eyebrow, picked up the magazine, and flipped to the table of contents. His other eyebrow joined his first in its climb up his forehead. "The 1991 highest incomes list?"

Andrew pointed with his glass. "That's the puppy."

He flipped through to the relevant page, loudly titled 'The Witch Rich List', to find Harry right at the top with a 1990 income of 20,200 Galleons (£1,010,000), beating out Malfoy for first place by a chunky 1,400 Galleons (£70,000). In the column after Harry's name of Lord Slytherin, the table listed the source of Harry's income as 'Slytherin's treasure'.

He flipped the magazine to Xeno who started reading with great interest. He tilted his head. "Slytherin's treasure?"

Harry coughed. "You know I still don't know what we're actually talking about, right?"

Andrew barked a laugh. "You've finally been added to this year's rich list. Seems that even the journalistic gossips at Witch Weekly couldn't figure out what you actually do, so they've just gone with 'Slytherin's treasure' as your source of wealth."

Xeno folded the magazine up and threw it to Harry. "Welcome to the tax paying community, Lord Slytherin."

The assembled wizards chuckled.

Jacob smirked. "You'll probably be receiving a lot more requests now from the unofficial tax collecting departments of the ministry and associated institutions."

Andrew laughed. "You up for upping your donations now, eh? Slytherin?"

Harry chuckled under his mask. "Most of my profits will be going towards the construction of Slytherin Hall for the next few years, but I do plan to set aside an amount for political contributions, maybe 5% raising to 15% over three years."

Xeno nodded. "Well, that would bring you in line with what most of us pay. Pretty sure 15% is what most of the Dark and Light dole out too. Except Malfoy of course. That man likes to throw around money like confetti."

Jacob sat back in his chair and knocked back his drink. Malfoy wasn't going to like being kicked off first place. The man seemed to take an unhealthy obsession in being the richest wizard in Britain. Of course, income wasn't net worth, but the ministry didn't tax wealth, only income, and the rate was so low that people like Malfoy didn't even try dodging Gringotts reporting procedures. They just wanted to be high on the list.

Harry ran his finger down the list. "Slytherin, Malfoy, Potter, Greengrass, Parkinson, Ogden, Westbrook, Yaxley, Lovegood, Flume. That's a pretty damn good mix of factions. Four Gray, three Light, and three Dark in the top ten."

Andrew sniffed. "Yeah, but the top twenty is full of the Light."

Jacob pointed his own finger at the list. "Yes, but most of them have incomes under 8,000 Galleons (£400,000)."

Andrew shrugged. "It adds up."

Harry folded the magazine up and threw it back to Andrew. "It does. But power is often best concentrated at a point for best effect…"

Jacob could hear the smile in Harry's voice.

"… And the wealth of the Gray is nothing if not concentrated."

...

The next Monday, Harry woke in his Slytherin dorm four poster, threw on his workout gear and trotted down to the grounds for his daily workout.

He wanted to get a better place to train together but the options were limited. The chamber would be the ideal place, but so long as Voldemort was around he wasn't going near the place with a ten foot staff.

The room for hiding things was another option, but that would take a long time to set up, and, again, he didn't want to do it while Voldemort was here, in case the Dark wanker wanted to check on his prized immortality trinket. A prized trinket, which he'd already swiped.

His feet led him out across the grounds, still wet from morning dew, and down to the lake. He started jogging.

Two laps of the lake later he'd built up a good solid sweat. He pulled in at a junction into a clearing in the forest. From here, he could see the lake path, but people would have difficulty seeing him in the trees.

He pulled his wand and conjured an assortment of dumbbells, barbells, hammers and what could only be described as big ass stones.

Forty minutes later he collapsed on the ground, well and truly done. Sweat covered him like a second skin, pooling and running down his arms and legs, which burned from his efforts.

He vaguely waved his wand towards the conjured equipment, vanishing it back into thin air.

He lay on his back, breathing hard.

Gradually, his breathing slowed, only to be replaced by the panting of another.

He sat up.

The panting came from towards the lake path and seemed to be getting closer.

He disillusioned himself and crept to the edge of the tree line, eyes peeled.

The out of breath form of his brother passed him, wearing a t-shirt and shorts, heading up the lake path towards the loop that would bring him back around to the castle.

Huh. Harry pursed his lips and watched his brother's form grow smaller as it jogged away. That was different. Time traveller John never took morning exercise in the second timeline… did he? Of course, he could be mistaken…

He leaned on the tree next to him and tapped on the bark.

....

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