Summary: Staring death in the face, a young boy makes a rash decision that alters his life and future, leading him to take part in an event 50,000 years in the making. And it all starts with a mirror and a blood red stone. A Mass Effect/Harry Potter Crossover. The very first!

Disclaimer: I own neither Harry Potter nor Mass Effect. They are own respectively by J.K. Rowling and Warner Bros. and BioWare and EA Games. I'm just borrowing them to create an epic piece of fiction. (Insert Maniacal Laughter)

/-/Author Note/-/

CursedAndTorn here and welcome back to A Magical Effect! I know it's been a long time since I updated, but I am happy by all the reviews and helpful advice everyone has given me. So as a treat of sorts, not only have I updated by story, but I have also redone the prologue. I've added a few pieces of information that I neglected to cover that a few readers were generous enough to bring up, and clarified a few points that I somewhat glossed over. Aside from that, I have also posted few new works, one another Mass Effect/Harry Potter crossover. It would be in the rated M section. Remember to kickback, read, and review.

Prologue

It was hard to believe that he had lived this long, this far. It was the year 2183, and he was still kicking. At his physical prime, a mere twenty-eight years of age, he marveled at the technological boundaries and leaps humanity has crossed in less than two hundred years. During his time and youth, the ability to space travel was a relatively new concept, and things such as aliens, light speed, or any other such nonsense was merely the work of fiction. Good fiction in some cases, (Merlin be praised for George Lucas), and others not so much.

Hell, upon his introduction to the magical aspect of the world, such thoughts as planet traveling was simply scoffed at by the Pureblood community, and most muggleborn children who attended Hogwarts neglected such achievements as unimportant in comparison to the near unfathomably energies that was magic.

Ignorant fools.

He was ashamed to have to admit he was just like them at the time.

Now, two hundred years later, he had learned the errors of such naivety. Now, in a world of space travel, galactic conflicts, advanced weaponry, and alien species, Harry James Potter, Boy-Who-Lived, the Chosen One learned the errors of his previous misconceptions.

He smiled slightly as he imagined the looks on those unfortunate enough to learn his dark little secret. Immortality, something that at one point was so preciously sought after by many men and women, now a fleeting thought or association to the Asari or Krogen.

He snorted at the comparison. True, both species had spectacular longevity, but for the war mongrels that were the Krogan, it more or less was a mute point as the majority of them died off fairly young in the ongoing Clan Wars present on their home world Tuchanka or their mercenary work in the Blood Pack. As for the Asari, it was more or like a human life span in terms of maturity, just takes them a few centuries longer to, as he so eloquently told one such Asari, "Grow up."

Bitch tried to tear him a new one with a Singularity before he blasted her head off with his 22c Katana. God he hated Eclipse, more so the Eclipse Sisters, particularly Wasea on Illium then that bastard Jaroth on Omega.

…

On second thought, he hated both equally and would make it a point to kill them at some point down the line. For the moment they were useful contacts and nice leverage in the unlikely event he'd ever get caught with his pants down as the saying goes.

More to the point, how he had gained the power of being labeled 'immortal' was a very large and complicated tale, that took place somewhere close to one hundred and ninety-one years, give or take a few weeks.

June 19th, 1992 was the day that changed his life forever. He had made it passed the black fire that lead to the inner chamber that held the Mirror of Erised. Granger had run off to retrieve Weasely and to hopefully contact a Professor and warn them about the breach in the defenses that protected the Stone. He snorted into his drink, rylton he vaguely recalled, as he associated the words defenses with the pendulant traps that the Headmaster designed as the 'ultimate protection.'

He preferred the use of an M-4 Shuriken or his trusty M-3 Predator for 'protection' any day in any century.

He recalled facing against Thomas Marvolo Riddle, nothing but a bodiless husk, leaching off the energy of those significantly weak willed then himself. His latest victim being Hogwart's Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor, Professor Quirrell. He had recovered the fabled Sorcerer's Stone that by historical documentation provided the Elixir of Life and could turn any metal into solid pure gold.

Though on a separate note, facing the murderer of his parent's didn't fill Harry at the time with false bravado or a drive to slay the man.

To be perfectly honest, he nearly pissed his pants in fear when he realized he wasn't dealing with a Potions Master with a bad temperament and having the ability to hold a grudge like it was nobody's business. He shuddered at the time as he recalled the imminent fear that filled him at the sight of the deformed face of what was once a handsome young man and Head boy some fifty years before.

Part of him actually considered taking the possessed man's offer to relinquish the stone and as he so eloquently put it, live.

Of course, thoughts of what his parents would do, and by extension, what the great Albus Dumbledore would do gave him the courage to stand his ground.

A stupid mistake, one in which if Harry was given the option to repeat, would do so again, except perhaps with less embarrassment and a more confident demeanor.

As it were, he merely shouted "NEVER!" and was thrown harshly onto the stone steps, a hand wrapped tightly around his throat. The stone, which had been in his hand, rolled away from him, and in a desperate act of fear and self preservation, ignored his constricting windpipe and reached for the stone.

He shuddered to think of what would have happened to him if he hadn't reached for the stone and instead attempted to remove the former Defense Professor's hand from his throat.

The possibly scenarios were not…pleasant to say the least.

Fortunately, he didn't have to worry about that. Instead, he had reached the stone, touching it barely with his finger tips before his magic reacted with it. The results were…both damaging and explosive, to both himself and Lord Voldemort.

His possessed servant's body damaged beyond repair and dying, the spirit fled, leaving a ruined underground chamber in flames, a shattered stone, and unconscious eleven year old boy who had gained the one thing that Voldemort always wanted.

Immortality.

Actually, he thought with a dry chuckle as he adjusted the scope of his M-92 Mantis, his drink put to the side, he wasn't immortal. What he got was eternal youth. He could die just like any other, being, human or otherwise.

Of course, that was until his second year at Hogwarts anyway. Having Basilisk venom, one of the most potent poisons in the world running through your veins, adding the magical properties of Phoenix Tears, and Harry had a natural immunity to almost any poison and the ability to heal himself from various wounds. He could still die, and do so painfully if his would be killer was creative enough, but against most magical curses and inflected wounds at the time, he could easily shake off and continue on as if he hadn't suffered in the least.

Of course that still didn't stop a few people from trying at least.

He had awakened two days later in the Hospital Wing, and for all intents and purposes, felt like shit. He could barely move, let alone talk, but remembering the events in the underground chamber and seeing Dumbledore sitting beside him, Harry had pushed through the pain and asked what had happened.

Dumbledore had given him the short an uninformed version. Harry fought a possessed Professor Qurriell, and killed him through a burst of magic. His mother's protection he had said. He had arrived in time to witness the event before destroying the stone and taking Harry to the Hospital Wing.

He didn't find out until years later that the old man had lied to him. But, being young and naïve, he believed the Headmaster and asked the million pound question.

Why did Voldemort target him? Why was he after him? Why did he try to kill both his parents and himself that night on Halloween?

He wasn't given an answer aside from the, "You are too young to know so just forget about it" rubbish.

It annoyed him then, and still did now.

Regardless, he went back to his hateful relatives come the 25th of June of that year and spent the entire time locked in his cousin's old room.

The funny thing now that he thought about it…he couldn't actually remember what his relatives looked like now. He could barely recall their names either. Dursley, wasn't it?

It wasn't until his fourth year did Harry truly discover his potential and what happened that night in front of the Mirror of Erised.

But he was getting rather ahead of himself, wasn't he?

Second year was more or less the same shit he had started to come to expect whenever magic and he himself were involved. A deranged house elf, Dobby, stole all his letters and had a letter of underage magic being sent to him, taking away his only defense against his magic hating relatives, which lead him to a miserable two weeks alone in his room, bars placed on his window and his faithful companion Hedwig locked in her cage.

A slight throb ran through his two century old heart at the thought of his oldest and first friend aside from the Hogwarts Groundskeeper. He missed that bird more than he was willing to admit, but then again, who wouldn't? She was beautiful, as white and pure as snow, with an intelligence and diligence that seemed almost human. It was agonizing watching her die, flying in front of the dagger aimed for him by Bellatrix LeStrange.

Her screams when he caught her were brutal as he made her feel every bit of rage and sadness that he stilled carried today when she died.

Granted, he ended up regaining his familiar through means that would leave most Light Wizards and Witches, Dumbledore for the most part, appalled at his carelessness, but at the time, it was more or less a fair deal. Besides, the witch he sacrificed in question agreed to it readily, and the ritual had a more…lasting impression then originally believed.

Again, another story for another time.

Shaking his thoughts from such a depressing and personal matter, he refocused his attention back on his target, watching as he droned on about his political agenda and how he was so grateful for this opportunity and other such nonsense.

Didn't really matter, he was going to be dead in a few minutes anyway. Turians were bastards after all, especially the racist ones, but damn if they didn't have such a nice signing bonus!

Following his rescue or lack thereof from the Weasely children, he arrived at their humble abode, humble being the key word, and was properly introduced to the Weasely Matriarch Molly Weasely. He came to care for the woman through her constant smothering and wondered briefly at the time if the way she treated him was a way a mother would treat a son. He snorted now as he thought about it. A mother, nurturing and kind, knew instinctively when to back off and knew when to approach their child. They shared a special bond that could be held for a great many years, even beyond the child in question own childhood and into their adult years. What Molly Weasely had was an overbearing attitude and control complex where she had to know every little tidbit of information about her children's lives and dictate what they could and couldn't do.

After a 'glorious' summer, (note the sarcasm), he arrived back at Hogwarts to be whispered and mocked for being the Heir of Slytherin, have a raging house elf, (Dobby once again) try and crack his skull open with a rampant bludger, and a giant forty to sixty foot Basilisk try to swallow him whole.

Fun times, no?

Let's not forget to mention the incompetent Defense Professor he had that year as well, or the fact he almost got eaten by a swarm of giant flesh eating spiders, or that he had to face Voldemort a second time in less than a year. To round it all off, he now had the affections of a young eleven year old girl with a severe case of hero-worship.

Oh, and he was poisoned by the aforementioned forty to sixty foot snake. He mentioned that already didn't he?

Following that relatively disastrous year, he had hoped for a clear summer with little to no trouble. A promise to be able to communicate with his friends in exchange for no more daring rescue attempts or flying cars had at the time sealed the deal.

And then Marge showed up.

While he couldn't remember his relatives all that clearly, that bitch's face was printed quite clearly in his mind, if only to visualize the look of terror on her face as he snuffed the life out of her repeatedly in his sleep. Harry had only hated a few people in his life where he wanted to not only see them dead, but be the one to do the job. His Aunt Marge was one of them. It was something he had known since he was nine years old, though at the time he had wished nothing but bad to happen to the woman.

With magic at his disposal, he could only imagine the things he would do to that woman in vengeance for the years of torment that she put him through with her monstrous dog.

It goes without saying that summer didn't end very well for all parties involved. It was around that time that he started to realize something…off about himself. While he knew his injuries healed themselves, (a broken arm as a child and having it repaired and back to normal in less than eight hours will convince you) they almost closed up instantly. A cut on his finger, scrap on his arm, and within seconds the blood coagulated before the wound sealed itself up, almost as if it hadn't been there in the first place.

He pondered it before disregarding it as another magic thing. He cursed himself today for taking up Weasely's lazy attitude, wishing more and more that he had been more like Granger. At the very least he would have dubbed his odd ability interesting and read about it the following year.

A screaming match followed by a completely intentional curse (though if asked he would deny it and say it was accidental), he had stormed out of the Dursley household, more than ready to go out and make the world his dwelling.

Merlin he was such a brat at that age. Though he had to admit, that had to have been his best childhood summer as far as he could recollect. Childhood being the keyword especially once he turned eighteen and became a legal adult in the muggle world, as well as an eligible bachelor. The women, especially the French European! Summer of 1999. Best. Summer. Ever.

Ridding himself of the stupid self-satisfied grin on his face, he pulled his Mantis-92 from the back of his custom made Medium Colossus Armor X, inserting the recently adapted thermal clips, courtesy of the Geth that invaded the Citadel a few months prior. If anything of relative importance or significance came about from the Geth invasion, it was the fact that guns had been adapted to take in thermal clips instead of overheating, an improvement Harry was only to happy to work with.

Following that summer was a sequence of what he could only describe as the worst years of his life. Hormones, crushes, psychotic killers and pseudo parental guardians, it was a wonder he didn't lose himself after the first initial month.

And Dementors. He hated Dementors.

The year itself was uneventful otherwise. Met his slightly insane godfather, unjustly imprisoned for a crime he didn't commit. Found out the real traitor of his parents was sleeping in the same dormitory as him for the past three years, and that his best friend had been going to classes all year through use of a Time-Turner, an hourglass encased by a gold plate with a gold chain that could adjust its size accordingly through use of a expansion charm.

Like he said before, nothing unusual in his day to day life.

Fourth year however, brought luscious Veela, quarter Veela, bushy haired bookworm friend turned to hot bushy haired bookworm friend, Quidditch, arrogant prats for friends, a crazed reporter who Harry would later feed to a frog…

No lie and he didn't even feed her in her Animagus form. He just used an enlargement charm on the frog itself and left her tied up dressed like a beetle.

Bitch didn't even get to scream. Or at least he thought so. He gagged her mouth so he couldn't tell.

More to the point, this was when he truly discovered the potential that his scuffle back in his second year truly came in handy. When he had been called upon, as a Fourth Champion, he had been mildly upset, tantrum and all, before he resigned himself to his fate. He seriously wondered if he ever did have a backbone but dismissed the thought. He'd rather have a set of steel any day.

Though that pair of steel would have been incredibly useful during the first task of that damn tournament now that he thought about it.

After he had his ass handed to him by the dragon, (because let's face it, no amount of fancy flying can out do a two thousand pound fire breathing lizard) Harry discovered his wounds, particularly the bleeding gash on his shoulder where the dragon was able to nick him, were already coagulating, when he landed on the ground.

After the task was over and he made up with Ron, Harry had done a bit of experimentation with his newfound ability. Self-mutilation worked well, and he even kept a logbook on the day he injured himself, the time, and amount of time it took to heal. It worked until Hermione started questioning why he always had his cutting knife on hand, and he reluctantly stopped his experiment. It wasn't like he was a got some sick pleasure from doing it, but it was the only way for him to actually get some concrete data on his healing abilities. He was sure if he explained it in that context Hermione would surely understand.

Didn't mean he was stupid enough to try though.

The Yule Ball came and went, and Harry would later regret ever attempting to find Ron a date as he spent the majority of the evening glaring at one Hermione Granger for being insanely beautiful and catching the eye of one Victor Krum. Mind filled with the possibilities of his self healing ability, Harry ignored him for the most point, which in turn caused him to ignore his date for the evening, Pavarti Patil. The eventual blowout was…unpleasant, though he did make it up to her a few weeks later alongside her sister when his mind finally caught up to him.

That day in Hogsmeade was probably the only highlight he had that entire year.

Following that was what could be considered laziness by some and sheer stupidity by others.

He never solved the clue in the egg. Sure, Cedric Diggory, coming Head boy and heartthrob of the entire female population in school, as well as thick as brick wall in mental prowess, may have told him in passing in return for the tip about the dragon, (completely fair you know. He tells him of a raging fire breathing beast and in return gets a simple "you might want to take a bath when solving the egg". Among being insanely clever, it made Harry question his sexual preference, but he digressed) but he never actually attempted to solve the damn thing himself.

He had a damn adversity to the thing after it wailed at him as soon as he opened it during the celebration party in Gryffindor Tower, and upon the discovery of his healing abilities, he flat out ignored it, even with Hermione's constant nagging. A feat that he patted himself on the back for.

The second task came and went, and he was given extra points for being stupid apparently, but facing life threatening situations since you were a year old tends to make anyone paranoid. Constant Vigilance and all that rut.

On the plus side, Fleur had smothered him with kisses for saving her sister, as did Hermione out of sheer exhilaration, though the freezing cold didn't allow him to enjoy it as much as wanted. He also took pride in that both girls respectively blew off Victor and Ron, both whom had been trying to get, subtly in their minds, both girls' attention.

Months went by and the Third Task had arrived, and Harry, wanting to please the masses and thinking with nobility rather than with his brain, shared the victory with Cedric. In all honesty, the whole reason he participated at all during the Tournament and tried to win it was to impress the aforementioned Hufflepuff's girlfriend and Harry's crush since his third year, Cho Chang.

He shook his head in exasperation at the thought of impressing that shallow child. The girl had control issues as well as problems with letting go. The whole reason she even went out with him fifth year was to try and get closer to Cedric and hold onto him. She had no regards to how he felt about the incident in the graveyard, and went on ranting tangents about what she and Cedric used to do or how she didn't like how he and Hermione were so close. If she wanted to be so close to Cedric, and if had the actual guts to do so, he would have sent a Killing Curse in her direction and be done with it.

Man he was stupid as a teenager.

Regardless, that fight in the graveyard didn't play out as he had told it. He may have been gone for somewhere between fifteen to twenty minutes, but in that small time slot, he was tortured and cursed to hell and back.

He was lucky enough during his pseudo duel with Voldemort to even fling out that one Disarming spell before their wands locked; otherwise he would have been killed. He saw his parents, a rather tearful reunion before Cedric and others arrived, allowing him to escape. It was only on sheer chance that he had stumbled over Cedric's body on the way to the cup, and was forced to summon it towards him as several killing curses flew over head.

His thoughts were broken from an all too familiar voice, bossiness included.

"I really don't approve of this Harry."

Rolling his eyes and keeping his sight trained on his target, his voice drowning out all sound from the area, he muttered, "Yeah, what else is new?"

The female's voice 'hmphed' in reply, but still kept her eyes on him, watching him line up his shot once more.

Standing behind him was a virtual holographic representation of a young girl, no older then seventeen, with a bushy mane of curls dressed in a schoolgirl uniform and flowing robes. Her entire form was transparent, orange in color, a symbolization of being a VI.

A VI of a long since dead Hermione Granger.

Call him introspective, but he realized a longtime ago the reason he survived most of his wayward adventures was because of this one woman, who proved herself time and time again to be one of the few constants in his life. Cliché, he knew, but very true nonetheless.

He had paid a lot of money to have her constructed, and due to the pensive that he had stolen from Dumbledore's office following his death, (the bastard owed him more then a shiny gold ball) had stored various memories of his time at Hogwarts.

Using that, he was able to recreate her almost exactly as she was, and with quite a bit of freedom in her programming, more so then normal VI's. Typically, they would only work within the confines of their programming, most used for tour guides on such locations as the Citadel while others were used on for search inquires on the extranet or used to file military reports in the case of the Alliance.

Hermione was a lot more sophisticated then that.

For all intents and purposes, she was a lot closer to an AI then a VI in programming, and only clever ingenuity and superior tech skills in mentioned programming was she still considered a VI. She had enough freedom and thinking process to formulate her own ideas and opinions, could make inquires and question his current work or motives, but it all was linked to the very baseline of her programming.

To help and ensure his survival, no matter the cost. Similar to what the real Hermione Granger had done since the moment they had meet on that bright red locomotive close to two hundred years ago. Minus the whole spiel on homework, O.W.L's and proper respect for authority of course. That he could have done without.

There were some obvious upgrades however. She was linked directly to his Omni-Tool and had various copies of her implanted in various systems ranging from the Alliance, to the Citadel, all the way down to Special Task Groups. She was built into a portable VI interface, and could shut herself down at will. She could process information at a much faster rate than most computer systems, a little something he picked up from a derelict Geth Dropship following their attack on the Citadel. There were a few more, but he couldn't recall them at the present moment, distracted as he was.

"I strongly request that you reconsider this Harry. Have you even thought this through?"

He snorted, his rifle leveled as he continued to gaze at his target, unmoving as he zoomed in his scope, bringing his next kill in closer to his line of sight.

"Hermione, do I ever jump into the fray with a halfcocked plan of action? Without any regard to the impacts that my decision may have on the galactic community as a whole?"

Her answer was quick, decisive, and dry of all emotion, indicating the truth of her next statement.

"Yes."

"Then you should already know the answer to that question."

She gave an irritated huff in response, and deactivated her physical representation and began hacking into the various security cameras located in the surrounding area, feeding false images. Whether she agreed with him or not, she would make this job as easy as possible for him. No physical evidence or recordings of the event would make it harder for C-Sec to solve the case, and rid all possible links to Harry.

Ignoring her agitated response, Harry reminisced further, recalling the events following his abrupt return from the graveyard.

For starters, he was a wreck. Finding himself back in the Quidditch Pitch at Hogwarts and recalling and feeling the effects of the last twenty to thirty minutes, his resolve broke and he started to cry. Facing death in the face, watching a fellow student killed in cold blood, and witnessing the return of your parents, so close, but unable to truly touch them, a cruel mockery of what he wanted but couldn't have, it was a miracle that he hadn't cracked during the events themselves.

He was lead away and learned that Alastor Moody, the real one anyway, was locked in a trunk for the majority of the school year and that an escaped Death Eater had been teaching him all year, needling him and leading him to the events that had passed this fortnight.

Understandably, he was scared out of his mind, and that made way to being pissed beyond reason. If Dumbledore hadn't blasted his way in at the time, Harry was sure he would have attacked the man with his bare hands.

The following two weeks was spent mourning the loss of Cedric, something that Harry felt guilty enough over, (which was irrational. He told the idiot to run but he stood there trying to put on brave front. He either had a brain lapse or thought he was a Gryffindor or being a Tri-Wizard Champion had gotten to his head) and he was being murmured about left and right. People assumed he had killed Cedric for the Cup and that Voldemort truly hadn't returned, and others thought that it was some freak accident and that Harry had simply made up Voldemort's return as a means of explanation.

The following summer wasn't much better, and probably the worst he ever had. Lies, secrets, wavering trust, it was a ground shaking year and Harry felt himself a better person for handling it as he did. Granted he would have handled it better now, like much of his life if given the chance to redo it, but still…

If there were only one highlight that came out of that year, it would have been meeting and befriending Luna Lovegood. The girl if nothing else, she never failed to break Harry out of his foreboding thoughts. The world grew that much darker after Luna died at the age of forty-five, leaving behind two seventh year students and a despondent husband. And even though her death was something she had done willingly, even somewhat happily, it gave him no reprieve from the guilt he still felt today, despite her rather still insistent reminders that she had willing chose her fate, and would gladly do it so again.

Still, he had honestly, he felt she could have done better in terms of a husband and life, and he will admit to toying with the idea of asking her out during his sixth year. Hermione wasn't an option with her fascination and near obsession with Ron, a leering fact that still made him want to go to the nearest toilet whenever it crossed his mind, and he only ever went out with Ginny because the girl showed some genuine interest in him, not just awe inspired fascination.

It was also the year he discovered the prophecy, a spiel spoken by a woman who spent most of her time drowned in sherry or red wine then anything else. How anyone could take what she said seriously was beyond him, but evidently it didn't matter in the end.

By sheer chance, he had a destiny forced upon his shoulders that he did not want. A life of abuse, neglect, and loneliness was he calling because an old man shy of ninety decided to take what the woman said at face value.

A lot of bridges burned that night in Dumbledore's office, and even though he had years to think on it, he never truly did forgive his old mentor.

He was getting ahead of himself.

After Hermione's brilliant idea to hold after class defense meetings under Umbridge's nose, or lack there of, (she really did look like a toad after all) Harry had been suffering from painful detentions from the bitch.

He was ever so thankful for the opportunity to get one over the woman and though he needed some convincing to actually be the one to teach, he had assumed Hermione would have taken the position, the DA was formed.

Dumbledore's Army. He should have made it the Defense Association or Devil's Advocate or something just as catchy that didn't look like damn hero worship.

The illegal gathering of students due to Education Degree number two hundred and something or other, he never really cared one way or another, went well until Marietta Edgecombe, Cho's right hand bitch, spilled the beans.

He felt vindictive and proud of Hermione's spell work as the words SNEAK were forever printed on the girl's face. And when he said forever, he meant it. The girl's mother had spent thousands of gallons to have it removed at St. Mungos, but all they could do was get the words faded to the point were a heavy use of makeup or powerful glamour charm could hid the disfigurement.

He was delighted to say that the girl never found a man who had the stomach to marry her.

Didn't stop her from having kids though.

He and Cho got into a…disagreement over the girl's treatment and the shallow woman more or less demanded that Hermione give a counter spell to remove the jinx.

Harry refused to be the medium between them and told the stupid girl, both actually, that he wouldn't do so, that Marietta deserved what she got, and that she's lucky that all Hermione decided to do to her.

The ensuing fight was less glorious and spectacular then many of the school's populace was lead to believe, as Harry had simply stunned both girls as they raised their wands at him.

It was during that year he was plagued by nightmares, visions from Voldemort, which ultimately lead him to the Department of Mysteries where his godfather had fought and died by the hands of Bellatrix LeStrange.

Again he would gain his revenge, for both Hedwig and Sirius two years later.

The end of that horrible event lead the Ministry to announce Voldemort's rather late return, Fudge getting sacked, Umbridge mysteriously vanishing in the Forbidden Forest after Harry and Hermione led her to Grawp, Hagrid's half-brother, (body was never found) and Harry being hailed as the Chosen One. A leak courtesy of Dumbledore in his infinite wisdom.

His summer was spent mourning over a man he truly didn't know, with the lives of thousands, hundreds of thousands, possibly millions placed on his shoulders.

Fun right?

He had gone to the Burrow that summer, and met Fleur once more. She was engaged to Bill and Harry tried his best to be happy for her, but couldn't truly manage it. He wasn't even certain if he'd live long enough to see the wedding, and seeing such a beautiful woman close to marriage kind of made Harry realize how pathetic his love life was. Probably way he went nuts as soon as Voldemort was dead and become somewhat of a womanizer.

That following year was spent arguing with Hermione over a dumb book, butting heads with Snape, (both for being the new DA instructor and for the horrible Occulmancy lessons the previous year), and spending senseless hours with Dumbledore looking up a past of a boy who was no longer human. Time and resources that could have been better spent tracking down the Horcruxes that the self-proclaimed Dark Lord created and ending their struggle more then a year early.

Then again, he was only a child, so what did a child know?

What else happened that year was fairly obvious and could be looked up in any number of biographies written by his old classmates and friends.

Long story short, Dumbedore died, the Death Eater's invaded the castle, and Harry had a face to face confrontation with Snape. A humiliating loss, but he got back at the bastard. Especially when he learned who overheard the prophecy and reported it to Voldemort.

When he had found out the truth, that Snape had sold his family out to Voldemort when he had overheard the prophecy, and that Dumbledore knew, and allowed the man to patronize him ever coming year, he lost what little self-control he had left.

He vowed to kill him, one way or another.

His last summer at the Dursley's was quiet, his uncle and aunt moving away as soon as he had informed them of the danger, his fat cousin following only after a halfhearted attempt on redemption on his part. To ease a guilty conscious over what he assumed to be a dead family member.

The details on his rescue/escape involved polyjuice potion and broomsticks, and after releasing Hedwig from her cage, which he was thankful for as it had been struck by a wayward curse, Harry and his longtime friends and companions went forward on the journey left behind by Dumbledore.

Details weren't needed to describe how unspectacular the trip was, nor the betrayals, (again) or abandonment by Ron Weasely. When something broke between them, Harry meant their entire friendship. He tolerated his presence only for Herminoe's sake; otherwise he would've either killed him or cut him from his life. Evidently he did both options some fifty years later, but regardless.

He had found the Horcruxes, destroyed them, and returned to Hogwarts, where it all started and where it would all end.

He had followed Voldemort to the Shrieking Shack, watched as he cursed Snape for the Elder Wand and left him to die before returning to the surface to claim his victory.

When he discovered Severus Snape dying on the floor of the Shrieking Shack, pulling out years of memories and placing them in the vial hidden in his robes and handing it to him, Harry brandished Bellatrix's wand, shattering the vial before casting the Cruciatus Curse, making the man's last few moments of life hell.

He didn't care for his reasons, no matter what they were. None of it would have been good enough in his eyes.

After causing his much-hated Professor go cationic in pain before his ultimate death, he went back out into the grounds, making his way towards the surrounding forest as his mortal enemy broadcasted a deal if you will. Harry goes into the forest and become a martyr, which in reality would do nothing as Voldemort would still attack the students, and have a body to gloat over.

It was less of a battle and more of a slaughter as Harry killed every Death Eater he came across while in the forest. He even freed Hagrid, who went and crushed at least a few dozen of Voldemort's followers before a bright green bolt of light struck him in the face.

Harry in retaliation, shot a Confirgo at the half-giant's killer, and blew Lucius Malfoy's face clear off.

When he had faced Voldemort, face to face, the duel was less then fantastic and more along the lines of cheap shots thrown at each other.

Harry had gotten lucky as the wand Voldemort was using, the Elder Wand, was technically his, both by right of conquest, (disarming Draco Malfoy, true wielder of the Elder Wand) and by blood didn't work on him, and all curses and hexes sent his way missing or doing little damage, adding his healing ability.

One well placed Reducto and Voldemort was a headless corpse on the ground and the war waging for thirty plus years was finally over.

After his rather glorious and stunning defeat of the Dark Lord (according to the Daily Prophet), Harry had receded into the muggle world. He associated the wizardry world with nothing but lies and deceit, and he wasn't that far off from the truth. If the Lightest of all Wizards could easily lie to him for years towards something that could have potentially saved thousands of lives from this war, one in which neither he nor his generation had any part in, had to not only fight in it but finish it, then what hope did he have that any other witch or wizard in the country, the world perhaps, wouldn't do so as well?

He went back to the muggle world, hiring the best tutors money could buy and had himself reeducated. It was hard seeing as he allowed his education to lessen drastically upon his introduction to magic, but he had the time to waste.

He had moved all his money and had it transferred to muggle currency, something the Goblins were loath to do, but upon Harry's reminder of Griphook's betrayal (which he killed him for) and his defeat of Voldemort, they quickly agreed. That isn't to say they tried to take half of what he owned through fees and other such nonsense, and it isn't to say that he didn't kill a few dozen to make his point perfectly clear, but hey, he got his money, so what's a few dead ugly midgets?

Once properly situated into the muggle world, and making sure to keep a majority of his fortunate untouched (wasn't going to put all his money into stocks after all. Needed something to fall back on incase everything went to shit), Harry spent the next fifteen years or so traveling, visiting exotic cities, exploring exotic women, (God bless the women) and basically just enjoying life for once. It was around this time that he discovered that while he supposed to be age thirty-two, he looked not a day older over twenty.

He quickly realized something wasn't right, and did a little dabbling into ancient tomes in hopes of finding an answer. There was no way he was going to Granger as at the time, she was married to Ron, a stupid decision on her part, before taking a more direct approach and going to the foremost expert persons on the subject of longevity.

Mr. and Mrs. Flamel.

Against what he was led to believe by Dumbledore, both Flamels were still alive, and would remain so for another sixty years or so. What Harry had assumed would be a few months; maybe even years of life before they eventually passed on were a few decades to them. When you live as long as they have, time somewhat becomes blurred.

Regardless, after introducing himself and explaining his situation, a study was commenced on his body. Nothing invasive, depending on your definition of the word, but they had discovered that his magic, which ran through the blood of every magical being on the planet, was laced heavily with the magical properties of Flamels' Sorcerer Stone.

It also goes without saying that Nicholas, realizing he had another stone, or rather the blood to make one, went to work on trying to recreate it through Harry's blood.

He wouldn't have minded, but the fact that he had to bleed 12 pints of blood for a new stone to be created wasn't that all appealing, especially, when Nicholas had bound him to the table he was laying and removed a specially oriented knife for the occasion.

Apparently, he and his wife weren't so eager to enter the 'Next Great Adventure' as Dumbledore had led him to believe.

He was thankful however that he still had enough sense to keep his wand on his person in his holster, with a liberal use of Notice-Me-Not charms, and fired the Killing Curse, ending the senile old man's life. His wife quickly followed when she attempted to continue his work, despite seeing the results of such an attack first hand a few seconds prior.

It was after that little stunt that he had officially had it with the magical world, and officially severed ties with it. Publicly announcing his disgust with the world and waste of lives during that final confrontation with Voldemort, Harry had disappeared off the planet, his money able to hide his location for several decades, as he slowly took in the world that he had neglected since he turned eleven.

Science had revolutionized in the coming years, and diseases and sicknesses that were once incurable during his youth, were treated similarly to head colds.

Gene therapy had been just introduced, and became standard practice in the medical field. Mandatory for all citizens of all nations, Harry had found the procedure unpleasant, not to mention unnecessary, but had gone along with it. It helped that he had an official record.

And then soon came the discovery of the Prothean Ruins on Mars, and then the Mass Relays, followed closely by the First Contact War.

He had taken part in the war, seeing it as an opportunity to expand his horizons as it were, and discovered one thing that always sat with him, even now.

Turians were tough sons-of-bitches to take down.

After the Citadel Council called a ceasefire and humanity had a chance to explain themselves better, they were offered an embassy, much to the ire of several associate members, most who had been waiting for centuries to gain an embassy of their own, due to their own government and formidable military force. The newly formed System Alliance had taken the offer with grace, though they pushed heavily since to gain a seat on the Council, while also pushing for a human Spectre, as well as more human employees within C-Sec and other affiliates. More or less, the current Turian representative on the Council didn't like the decision that the his predecessor had made, willing to give humans an embassy so soon, a sentiment many Citadel species shared, especially when it was his people's fleet that was used to prove humanities front in the galaxy. It also didn't help that the Turian male was a bit of a racist.

This however led to another matter all together.

The discovery of biotics.

Magicals, at the time of the discovery of the Mass Relays, was already a dying race. Once in the high numbers of hundreds of thousands, was now dwindled down to barely a startling two thousand. Many had left Earth and headed for the unknown systems of the galaxies, joining the newly formed colonies and giving up on magic in favor of survival. A handful of a few hundred, mostly Pureblood descendents, fought against the truth.

Magic was dying.

Earth, the source of magic itself, was dying out. Less and less magical children were being born every year, to the point where Purebloods, in their own ignorance, cast out all non purebloods, blaming the lack of magical births on them. As such, monitoring devices on non magical children were stopped and inbreeding between families began anew. Decades of falling health, stillborns, and a great deal of other physical illness and diseases was soon a result of the magical communities ignorance, and by the time they learned this, it was far too late to change.

In reality, magical children had indeed been born, and still were, but horrible treatment from the community still bared fresh wounds and ill feelings, thus, most muggleborn magicals never knew their talents. Parents who received a magical education taught their children enough to hide their abilities, or in some cases, bound their talents altogether. It soon became a cycle of muggleborns to either hid or rid themselves of their abilities entirely to the point where such a discovery of their unique abilities, no matter how trite, was to be condemned and removed immediately.

While there may have been hundreds, maybe thousands of magical children out in the universe, there was no organization, no instructors to teach them how to use their talents. Whatever form of instruction there was remained firmly within the Purebloods, which they wouldn't pass on to any muggleborn. Half-bloods no longer remained, having either blended within muggle society or become intertwined with the Pureblood's limited gene pool. And with no new births, and mostly all Purebloods beyond childbearing years, it went without saying that the Magical world, its society, organizational structure, and its way of life, was well and truly over.

Which no doubt led to their desperate and near idiotic attempt to fuse biotics with magic.

Magic and biotics. Harry snorted at the thought that his kind had in regards to both. The fools from the Department of Mysteries, the only remnant of Magical Britain, in an act of desperation, thought that biotics and magic shared some sort of link. That it was a subdivision, a more reclusive, and primitive if you will, form of magic. The fools completely disregarded the muggle world, having stopped monitoring that world for more than a century, and had only discovered the use of biotics through sheer luck.

Of course, the idiots had no clue how biotics worked and merely kidnapped various individuals that showed cancerous growths due from element zero exposure and used magical experimentation and rituals. Bloodletting, sacrifices, sexual rituals, everything they had they used. It was 2158, and by then, less than one hundred trained magical witches and wizards existed on Earth. The actually count was around seventy or so, all of which were very old and way beyond child baring years.

They were already dead; they just refused to accept their fate.

And it was all for nothing. By the year 2159, Harry James Potter-Black, was the last living true magical in the entire galaxy. Granted, he had played a large part in that, having killed the majority of the remaining population from both his generation and beyond that, through use of modern day weapons and espionage. Whoever he didn't mark for death, was already very well on their way. No abundant magic in the area forced the body of a magical to decay and sicken like any other human. Already old by magical terms, and considered bedridden by the mundane, they died from failing health and disease.

It also didn't help that they contracted element zero from those they kidnapped, creating very…interesting effects. Painful from what he could see, but interesting. In fact, Harry himself at the time didn't care much for biotics. He usually dealt with the usual dregs of society, mostly small time gangs, sometimes going for the big time names like either the Blood Packs, Eclipse, or Blue Sun. Rarely did he every face anyone with biotic abilities, unless of course they were Asari, in which case Harry didn't even bother or he hit them hard and fast.

That was of course until he met one Arasi in particular twelve years later.

Samara, an Asari Justicar.

It goes without saying that Harry at the time was working as a mercenary, an assassin really, or, as he liked to refer to himself, 'a business man with standards.' It was pure coincidence that both he and the Asari both sought out the same target, though for different reasons.

Harry had assumed she was a hired gun, and while he didn't see an active shield anywhere on her from his Omni-tool, hoped she wasn't skilled in biotics to generate a Barrier. She had assumed likewise, though Harry's lack of a shield was more magic based, (shield charm was more dependable then) and merely batted him away like annoying fly.

He didn't take kindly to that, and retaliated through use of a Bombardment Hex. The fight that ensued was less of a fight and more of the most severe beating he had ever received in his life. To be fair, her outfit was rather distracting, something Harry was certain she knew and did deliberately. And he maintained that defense now seventeen years later.

It was only after the Batarain slaver had heard the ruckus and sent his men after them did they work together. Actually, it was more Samara did the fighting and Harry gave her covering fire. In reality, he was licking his wounds while shooting nasty looks at the blue skinned woman's back. After the fight was over, and the slaver dead, did she ask Harry to explain his presence, and offered him her 'sincere apologies' for any and all injuries he had suffered at her hands. He responded in kind.

"You broke my leg, dislocated my shoulder, shattered my pelvis, and nearly punctured my lungs with my own ribs. Piss off."

Did he mention that he was a bit of a sore loser?

Nonplussed by his words, she had taken him to the interior of the slaver camp, using the medical supplies and already prepared campsite for the slaver ring to heal the injured Potter, freeing whatever slaves that hadn't been killed in the firefight before contacting the nearest cruiser, Alliance as it turned out, for a pickup for survivors.

It was the beginning of a very odd companionship between the two near immortal individuals.

Through centuries of experience, she had been able to sense something 'off' about Harry. She had commented that he carried himself like a hardened solider, who had seen years, if not decades of combat and death. He made no comment to her claims, and she didn't pry into his affairs. He had tagged along with her for a while integrating himself into her life as only he could. (He pestered her with questions and prodded her with a stick on occasion until she answered his questions or threw him across the room.) Though he had years to grow out of it, he still had a 'saving people' thing as his long dead friend and brief flame Ginny had so eloquently put it, and it only worked to his advantage as he would still recklessly charge in at times to help those who needed it, which endeared him to the blue skinned woman. At least enough to the point that she overlooked his more…questionable habits. He still maintained that the red sand she found under his cot was for recreational use only!

Some odd years later, seven he believed, they had gone their separate ways. She, on a hunt almost four centuries in the making, which he was privy to surprisingly enough, and he off to do what he did best.

Work freelance.

Due to his own unique planning, he had long ago liquidated all his magical assets and properties in the standard pound and sterling of Great Britain. Through ingenuity and careful planning, he managed to upon humanity's integration to the Citadel to transfer all his funds to the standard Credit that had been established as the universal form of currency. Though his amount of money in total was slightly less than it once was beforehand, seeing as the sterling didn't amount to very much in comparison to Japanese yen or Indian rupees. Money wise, he was very well off, and could afford to live in the priciest hotels for the rest of his life at the most expensive suite ten lifetimes over and still have enough cash to burn.

Of course, Harry would never settle for simply laying back and doing nothing and living such a life of luxury. Sure, during his younger years he had enjoyed the daydreams of settling down and having a family, but by the time he had finished the Dark Lord Voldemort off, he lacked any real substance in his life. Instead, he arranged for all his money to be placed in several different accounts and Credit Chits before taking on life in the galaxy as a mercenary. He hired himself out to any number of individuals, Granted, he did have standards and morals, though if the assignment itself was paying enough or important enough, he could forgo a conscious for a few years. Hell, if it started to bother him more than necessary, he could simply kill the person who paid him for the job. Wonderful therapeutic exercise for those with excessive guilt problems like himself.

However, as more dangerous jobs made themselves available to his person, he was starting to slowly realize that the demand for more biotic soldiers started to rise as well. More and more Asari began joining the Eclipse, the number of Asari Commandos steadily rose, and more biotic potentials were getting bio-amps implants. Hell, even a few Krogen had begun to dabble into biotics. And when he thought Krogan couldn't get any more dangerous!

He finally conceded and realized that while his magic was good, it couldn't just compete with the power of biotics and its destructive capabilities. Granted, he could still function rather well with just his magic alone, but not if he wanted his talents to stay hidden.

It was because of his vast fortune that he was able to hire the best engineers and biochemists to work on him and succeed in implanting L3 bio-amps, in addition to other essential equipment necessary for him to utilize element zero, all made specifically to work just for him. Though he now had biotic abilities, they weren't much in comparison to those who had L2 implants, but he wasn't that concerned over it. On the contrary, he heard that the Alliance was developing a new bio-amp, which would hopefully be out in the market within the next two years or so. Being nearly over two centuries old, waiting two years wasn't much a problem for him. Until then however, he was content with his abilities to use whatever biotic attacks he could.

At least for now.

Another issue presented to him was the other forms of life in the universe.

His opinion on the various races of alien life was…varied. Harry wasn't a racist that much was for certain. He had nearly on occasion killed his former classmate and school rival Malfoy for his less then flattering comments about muggles and muggleborns. He wouldn't lie however, when asked about his opinions on the other intelligent life forms that often visited the Citadel, even if some found his opinions to be slightly…offensive.

For starters, there was the Volus. Short creatures that could only be sustained off world through use of pressure suits and breathers, they were known universally for their commerce skills and trade. Aside from that, the majority of them were often either cowards in the face of danger or overly pacifistic. It was only when money was involved or when they had a security force of mercenaries in front of them that showed some backbone. Harry had the disgusting pleasure to meet a few of less then impressive Volus while on the Citadel, and he was not impressed by what he saw. Hiding behind various hired guns, they flaunted their money around whenever they could, using the fact that they had helped establish the Unified Banking Act as an excuse. These ones in particular were drug dealers, efficient ones at that if he correctly recalled. One had the mordacity to threaten him through C-Sec, the police force of Citadel when Harry had refused to apologize for bumping in to him, which he hadn't. The little bastard hadn't been paying attention to where he was going, to busy ogling one of the asari dancers coming out of Chorea's Den and had crashed into his leg, tumbling arse over kettle. He had made it a point to mention that most of its members where Turian, and that they, the Volus, whom were a member of the Turian Hierarchy, meaning whatever claims that a Volus had would be looked into and handled to their satisfaction. He made it a point to kill the little bastard as soon as his back was turned, which then in turned lead him to having to fight and kill not only his partners but also their security.

Safe to say that he wasn't allowed near Chorea's Den after that, not that it was relevant anyway. The place was destroyed by the geth attack on the Citadel, and from what the rumors suggested, wasn't going to be rebuilt.

To make a long story short, he really didn't like Volus. Or at least those Volus in particular. He did like Dorin and those guys at the used ship dealers. He'd shoot anyone who messed with the nightclub owner, and still to this day, would highly recommend that ship dealership for any form of transport. There prices were honest and fair, something hard to see, especially in the Citadel.

Following that was the Turian themselves. As a whole, he believed the race was too militaristic and held themselves to high above society's standards. He also held a bit of grudge against them. Not from the First Contact War, that he couldn't fault them for that. They were simply doing their duty and following the laws of the Citadel Council, though he had issues with their tactics during the occupation of Shangxi. Bombardment of an entire city block to snuff out a few soliders? What the fuck?

No, what pissed him off was the genophage that they had used against the Krogan race. It reminded him of the horror stories of genocide during World War II and Hitler's destructive reign over Germany and its neighboring countries, and, disturbingly enough, the Pureblood agenda to rid the magical world of all muggleborns. Admittedly, Harry's opinion of the Krogan wasn't that much better, but he wasn't going to begrudge them. They were breed for the art of war. It was in their nature, and they did aid in the Rachni Wars, effectively ending the conflict in a matter of years in which the Citadel Council had been facing decades of battle.

Due however to their rapid population growth, the Citadel Council in all of its wisdom had the genophage created and administered. Granted, this was far beyond his time, in fact, he wouldn't have been born for a few more centuries at the time, but he believed firmly that the genophage caused more harm then good.

The Krogan effectively was a dying race. Most did not see the genophage as a form of population control, but rather as a powerful sterility virus meant to eliminate their entire race. Due to long levity, the Krogan would last a few centuries, so the decline of births slowly depleted the population from millions down to thousands. Most male Krogan took up piracy and mercenary work, no longer concerned about their race's continuous existence, already of the mind that they were going to die out. Others fought over breeding rights, slaughtering each other to gain a female Krogan and hopefully have children.

The status quo for being able to mate soon turned into a ritual of all things, which in retrospect slaughtered more Krogan than necessary. To make matters even worse, they were slowly overcoming the genophage before the Council yet again had a new modified version to be created. As top secret as it was, you could get anything, information included if you had enough credits.

If nothing else, the Turian at least still showed their pride and honor in their decision as even close to fifteen hundred years later, they still stood by their decision.

Asari he already met a few, and aside from a few Matriarchs he spoke to in passing, Samara not included in that count, felt the whole race was just a tad too arrogant. Living a thousand years tends to alleviate ones perception on things obviously. Then again, he was over two hundred, quite a few decades over a human's life span so it was a bit hypocritical for him to judge, especially with his current path on life.

That and their own prejudice against those of their own race for having pureblood children. They hadn't been able to space travel for tens of thousands of years, how do you think their people were able to reproduce and stay alive that long? Genetic diversity his arse…

All he could say was that they at least stayed faithful to whatever partner they had during said species lifespan. Not that it meant much seeing as they lived for a thousand years, but quite a few humans couldn't even stand to be married for more than a year, let alone a lifetime. That and they took to be considered sexual objects of desire pretty well considering the fact that most females of at least humanity anyway, wouldn't. He could almost hear the indigent shrills of his aunt at the scandalous attire asari often wore in public and nightclubs. Or was that McGonagall? For some reason he saw her possibly having a stroke if she were to walk in Chorea's Den…

Finally, there were the Batarains. He hated them, period. Slavers, murderers, rapists, he had made it a point to kill every Batarain he ever met while space traveling, but then found that counterproductive, as most of his clients were Batarain.

So he expanded his clientele and went ahead with his original idea until he reached Omega. Apparently shooting up Batarains wasn't all that frowned upon up until you shoot the personal guard of Omega's CEO, boss, Queen if you were feeling dramatic or wanting to quote one egotistical bitch with a lot of power and little hobbies, who took it as a personal slight against her character when anyone under her employee was shot at.

The bastard was a hired gun for Merlin's sake! He's meant to stand there and take shots if only for Aria herself not to be on the receiving end of them!

He had to admit though, that was probably one of the most exhilarating fights he had ever had, discounting the few scuffles he had with his old 'friend' Tom.

Aside from that, he had other more…personal reasons as to why he hated Batarians, none of which he wished to think of at the moment. The last thing he wanted to do was blow something up in anger and give away his position.

There were the Elcor and Hanar, but he never really interacted with them on any level. Hanar were too annoying with their random speech pattern, reminded him too much of the green trog from those Star Wars films, not to mention their 'worship the Enkindlers or die!' mentality (reminded him of the bloody Christians that his uncle had kept harkening about) and Elcor were just too…emotionally detached. Having heard of the Elcor serial killer back on the Citadel a few years back had nothing to do with his reluctance to interact with the species. Nope, not at all. There were also the Drell, of which were easily the most endangered species in the entire galaxy, their population barely big enough to fill a small city. He didn't have much contact with them, nor was he entirely interested in meeting them sense they lived on a planet full of Yoda wannabes.

Lastly were the ever-nomadic Quarians, a race of beings who lived on a fleet of fifty thousand ships and sealed within environmental suits due to a severely weakened immune system. He found himself compassionate to the Quarians, having being betrayed by their own creations and kicked off their home world, only then to be abandoned by the Council and kicked off the Citadel and having their embassy revoked. He could sympathize with them, having his own problems with betrayals in his long lifetime.

It was a wonder why they even remained anywhere near Council space anymore, and three hundred years of strife still did nothing to soften anyone's feelings for the Quarian race. Hell, humans who had only just joined the broader spectrum of the galaxy began hating Quarians on hearsay, something that Harry despised. It reminded too much of his time in Hogwarts when he was mocked for being the Heir of Slytherin, as a Triwizard Champion, or when he claimed Voldemort to have returned. Sheep, the lot of them, and he was slightly sickened to say that even in two hundred years, nothing had changed.

Breaking away from his thoughts, he aimed down his scope, watching as his target gave the crowd a charming political smile, waving to them as he wrapped up his speech, no doubt waiting for the crowd to quiet down before answering any concerns that some less then pleased individuals would no doubt share.

Too bad he would never get the chance to allay any of those concerns.

Fingering the trigger, Harry fired, the slug flying and landing squarely in the man's temple, killing him instantly. He ignored the screams coming from the surrounding crowd, skillfully reattaching his Mantis to his armor before calmly making his way through the panicked bodies of the citizens of the Citadel, a Notice-Me-Not Charm placed on the Time-Turner around his neck, allowing him to easily bypass C-Sec without even a second glance.

After all, he didn't want to miss the news on the 'tragic' death of the Council's newest seat, Donnel Udina, before he even took office, did he?