Harry Potter, Overlord 1. Chapter 1

Harry Potter And The Dark Throne

By ______

#Disclaimer#

All ideas, characters and locations are the property of their rightful owners, who will hopefully remain unaware of them being borrowed at all. As one may no doubt guess, this applies to things from the original universe's canon and the thoughts stolen from other fanfiction authors. Flattery, not theft.

#Prologue#

The young man with the lightning bolt shaped scar and profound green eyes gazed thoughtfully at the snake-motif sink before him.

On one hand the memories evoked from even this location were unhappy and somewhat terrifying, lingering deep in his nightmares. Odd, as he was in what appeared to be a disused lavatory but when put in combination with it being for those of the female persuasion and the fact that this was the second time he'd sneaked into it, perfectly reasonable. A potential source for others to suspect perversion or gynaphobia, but still reasonable.

Of course Harry Potter was slightly gynaphobic, but in the typical teen-aged male social anxiety way and not the life or death, flight or fight way the memories of this place were tainted with. Talking and relating to anyone, let alone a girl, was difficult after being deprived social interaction from a young age to the present, after all.

But then such trivialities were hardly of concern when threatened with a dragon breathing down your neck. In both a metaphoric and literal way.

For young Harry was but hours from facing down exactly such a beast in what was almost assured to be a life and death struggle, not to dismiss the possibility of surviving to face the next round of Tri-Wizard Torment he'd been shanghaied into. And then, looming beyond that threat in a more distant, nebulous point was the unavoidable conflict with the much feared, mostly deceased dark lord Voldermort... Or was it Voledmort?

With so few people mentioning him by name it got sort of hard to remember.

Voldemort. That's the one. Dark lord Voldemort, who, while it had as of yet to be explicitly stated to him, Harry was certain he would have to face in inevitable combat to the death.

Assuming the tournament or some other wizarding ritual didn't kill him first. All he wanted was one, single normal year. No threat of eminent demise hanging over his head, no freaky rumors about him and no encounters with his arch-nemesis. Oh, he longed for it, yearned for it. To be plain and average and just another face in the crowd. Why, he'd probably give up immortality for it!

Unfortunately, he didn't have immortality to give up, if he did the dragon wouldn't be a problem.

But that was why he was here, wasn't it? To get a weapon powerful enough to destroy a dragon.

With a hiss to the sink fixture he opened a secret passage and cautiously crept down the newly emerged staircase, descending to the grimy depths.

And there, laying exactly where he left it two years ago, was the corpse of one of the mightiest creatures in the magical world. A thousand year basilisk.

The boy paused, unnerved yet again by the size of the thing.

Had he really killed this? And now he was worried about some piddling dragon? Then again it was normal to be worried about a dragon, and he rather liked being normal. Not enough to die fighting a basilisk, mind you. He could accept being a little weird in that particular aspect.

Harry swallowed nervously and realized he was staring at it. The thing hadn't rotted at all, probably too poisonous for the usual vermin to gnaw at or for fungus to take root. But then again, it was a hundred and fifty foot long snake, so if some rat was gnawing at it for the last two years he'd barely be able to tell.

Part of him grimly reminded the rest that there was something he needed to do. The young man grimaced, but didn't actually move quite yet.

Maybe this wasn't the best idea, the fang he'd had lodged in his arm wasn't venomous enough to kill him, a scrawny, malnourished twelve-year old at the time. Phoenix tears or not, if the poison was so weak he survived long enough to destroy Voldemort and then have the phoenix cry into the wound, especially with how much a dagger-sized fang had to inject, how could he count on it to give a dragon a stomach ache, let alone kill it before it killed him?

Feeling rather foolish with himself, he laughed. That proved to be a bad idea as five short, house elf-like creatures emerged from hiding at the sound. Four were clad in simple loinclothes and held small wooden clubs, the fifth, however. The fifth wore some sort of cowled robes and had a lantern hanging over its head, using its club as a walking stick.

"Human! It human!" One of them squawked primitively to the others.

"Yes, it is indeed a human. A disgustingly young larval stage human. And yet, what is a human larva doing here? Even after the creature's death, few would dare to enter a basilisk's lair." The hunched, slow-moving imp spoke with a creaky, decrepit voice, sputtering into a series of wracking coughs as it finished.

Harry bristled at being called 'larval'. His malnourished frame was admittedly shorter than it should be, but for something as short as Dobby to mistake him for a child... There were only five of them and they did only have clubs... "I came to collect a basilisk fang."

"Hmm..." The evident elder of the minions hobbled closer to him, marginally wary from the boy's terse tone. It slowly lurched around the wizard, the walking cane/club thumping against the floor in an uneven pattern with shuffling steps. "This basilisk died of a sword, piercing the roof of its mouth. But I suppose you won't know anything about that..." The old being shuttered to a halt, turning to face the human before it. "...would you?"

Harry gulped nervously as he gazed into the short creature's evil, yellow eyes, clearly hearing the others shift in murderous anticipation. "I killed it." He swallowed, grasping subtly in his pocket until he found his wand. "A madman was controlling it against the students and..."

"Excellent!" The short, huddled thing cried, immediately collapsing into rattling coughs. As its wheezing subsided it spoke again. "Yes, great, terrible news... Assuming you have proof?" The minion said slyly, eyes narrowing just the slightest degree.

Eager for any distraction that let him draw his wand, Harry slid the left sleeve of his robe up by sliding it against his body. "You can see a scar where it bit me."

"Minions, this is a glorious day! We have found our new overlord! Take him to the tower!" The old one shouted, nearly toppling in the fit of coughs that followed.

Instantly the young wizard had his wand in hand. "Stupefy!" His aim was true and the closest minion fell over unconscious, its brethren charging over it. "Wingardium Leviosa!" Another had its club violently pulled from its grip and swung against its own head, the weapon sweeping around towards the next as they continued to advance, unphased by the loss of half their number. The club whipped at its next target, Harry focused fully on manipulating it as...

"Ow!" The old, not-as-harmless-as-it-looked minion stabbed his foot with its own club before smacking the wizard's shin.

Focus was lost and the other two leapt onto him, clubs flailing wildly to strike him in a manner reminiscent of pikmin on a bulborb.

The young man struggled briefly, trying to retch the stronger-than-they-appeared beasts off him, succeeding only in losing his wand by the time a blow to the head knocked him out.

The elder gave a satisfied, choking cackle. "Yes, a rather vicious and paranoid young human, isn't he? Why I imagine in a decade we'll have a new lord so evil that Overlord Olimar will be considered little more than a slightly rude man!" The aged thing gave another gurgling cackle even as the minions shivered in terror of the thought of Overlord Olimar.

"No say name!" One of them shouted, glaring suspiciously at the chamber's shadows as if expecting an attack.

"Come, we must return to the tower forthwith. Gnaw, grab his legs, Nobhead, get his arms. We can come back for the others later." The old little beast ordered, picking up the wand the wizard had dropped and snapping it spitefully. Wand magic was unbecoming of an overlord, something only a lesser, commoner magician or hob sorcerer was expected to do. The boy would need to be taught purer magics it seemed. Still, things such as that could be taught, instinct, viciousness and paranoia could not, at least not to the level an overlord required.

#Author's Notes#

Just a brief little prologue. I imagine this will be terribly predictable for a time, but I do hope people read regardless.


	2. Chapter 2

Harry Potter And The Dark Throne

By ______

Chapter One: Why Magical Lawyers Wait Til The Last Minute

#The Tower#

Harry cried out in pain, his back arching against the wooden table, arms and legs straining against leather bindings.

"Blasted soul fragment. Hold him down! This is delicate work, you have to keep him still! Tooth, Rotwood, grab his head." The elder imp shouted, directing the other underlings as he shifted his powers through the young wizard, before being racked by rattling coughs again. "...There."

A wave of blinding white agony tore through his body, followed immediately by a satisfied, languid release as something acidic and gummy was pulled from his magic.

"Phef, a less than a sixtieth of a soul. Why would anyone chop their soul in half six times? Bah." The old imp toss a bottle with a black miasma in it to another, wheezing again. "Take that to storage we might find a use for it. Now, my lord, you are no doubt feeling somewhat less... clouded than you were before. I must warn you that we have only just begun. There appear to some rather... robust magic blocks upon you core, aside from the parasite we have just dealt with. This may hurt..."

A lash of electrifying pain shot through him, burrowing beneath his skin like molten hooks. Harry thrashed again.

"Boil, Skimpet, get over here! Hold his shoulders down, I need to..."

Time seemed stopped for a moment as Harry entered a brief dreamless haze. An unfortunately brief dreamless haze.

"...nmed memory charms. Bah, a patchwork of legemenced nonsense. Someone was clearly trying to hobble our new lord. Yes, someone recognized his greatest for what it was and knew what the proper response was. Make sure they're never as great as they can be in your lifetime!" The wizened imp laughed, degenerating into rattling choking all to quickly. "Ah, my lord, you are awake again. Hmm, you may feel some discomfort, my lord, but I am afraid someone has placed multiple patches and alterations upon your mind and memories and it is almost certain they need to be cleansed." The ancient minion chuckled, barely avoiding another coughing fit. "Now then..."

A slimy, slithery presence slipped into Harry's thoughts, unraveling a cobbled together network of revisions and deletions. At first he couldn't comprehend just what he was learning but all to soon that was overwhelmed by rage. Rage at the one person who was responsible for everything. He screamed and thrashed in blind, disoriented fury, his magic lashing out from his body and bending the laws of physics until they snapped like cheap plastic.

"Sedate him. Sedate him! Rotwood you worthless lump of flesh, get the chloroform! Gnaw you coward!" The hunched elder shouted, degenerating into a gasping fit. "Put the cloth over his mouth you useless-"

And then the world went black again for a while.

"...malnourishment will fade with time. The blood though, poisonous as a basilisk's venom. Remarkable, most likely a a blotched assassination attempt, unimaginable that the one limiting him would intend to have that effect." The elder muttered, studying a cracked crystal ball resting above the wizard's head on the table.

"What effect?" Harry groaned, returning to consciousness again.

"Ah, you are awake my lord. Tooth, Skimpet, undo the lord's bonds."

"What effect?" Harry repeated to the graying minion.

"While exaggerated, the reports of those foolish knights that dared to lance a basilisk dying from the creature's venom climbing the weapon are, to a degree, true. A powerful enough basilisk struck in the mouth, damaging either their fangs or poison glands, will belatedly kill its slayer. Similarly, any poison they are exposed to only adds to their own. You are rather fortunate in that regard, my lord, many of your predecessors were slain by rogues and ninja poisoning through either food or weapon strikes. You, in contrast, will simply grow more venomous with ever attempt." The old creature seemed inordinarily proud of this fact. "They may have some small effect, but as your overexposure to chloroform has just shown, it will be short-lived and non-fatal."

In truth Harry was only half listening, most of his mind was more focused on the fact that he could think clearly on his own. He felt... good. Cleansed. And there were so many clearer memories, so much knowledge he was certain he both shouldn't and didn't have until waking up some scant seconds ago. So many happy memories he knew he lacked earlier. And unlike the magical theory and dark arts he knew why those had been missing. "Dumbledore." He spat the name like a curse. That manipulative bastard had messed with his mind. Made him isolated and tortured. Why?

"I gather that is name of the one who feared you?" The old minion inquired smugly.

"Feared?" Harry muttered. Why would Dumbledore fear him? Unless... unless he believed the link to Voldemort was deeper than he'd suggested.

"Someone had gone to great lengths to hobble you, my lord. I assume it was the standard jealousy humans often exhibit. Or perhaps paranoia. Whatever the reason they had done their level best to ensure my lord was... less than he could be. Typically celebrity heroes do something along those lines to newer heroes to ensure their power is always seen as greater than their successor. A rather petty habit, but popular nonetheless."

Could it really be that simple? Thinking it over, it actually sounded like a reasonable explanation for the headmaster's behavior. Both of them had vanquished a dark lord, Harry at a far younger age. How could Dumbledore possibly secure his own fame against someone who defeated a dark lord before being able to walk?

Make sure that someone never rose above the average. If they were strong, weaken them down, if they were smart, cloud their mind. Why else would the senile old fool keep altering events to isolate and limit him when it was obvious Voldemort was out to kill him, disembodiment be damned?

Because he was hoping Voldemort would kill Harry and then he could slay Voldemort! It was the obvious conclusion. Not only would it rid the old man of his rival, it'd let him claim the fame of defeating what Harry could not. To think he'd been manipulated into trusting and even liking that petty, controlling freak...

"Ah, but there will be time for such concerns later, my lord. For now..."

#Hogwarts School Of Witchcraft And Wizardry#

Dumbledore would not admit it, not show it and was certainly doing a fine job of acting as his typical, jovial self, but deep down he was concerned. Things had been going swimmingly up to this point, the numerous legilimenced puppets known as the Hogwarts student body had played their roles almost perfectly without his interference this year.

Not without a few hic-ups, of course. There would always be pleasant encounters of some kind that required... editing from the boy-who-lived's memories. Wouldn't do for the boy to develop friendship beyond the sphere he deemed acceptable, after all. Still, sifting away and altering a few memories here and there would never compare to the effort it'd taken to rewrite everyone's memory of the sorting.

Hufflepuff for loyalty, hard-work and want of a friend indeed. No, young Potter belonged in Gryffindor, whether that blasted hat saw it or not.

And that bloody Greengrass, befriending him each year despite the harsher and harsher rebuttals he'd implanted in her mind. Couldn't she just understand that the boy-who-lived required a deep distrust of every Slytherin for what was to come? Yes, she was a cunning, though sorely mismatched, little serpent.

He'd yet to find her alternative motive even when digging far deeper than was strictly safe, though as her fragile, defenseless mind had yet to shatter there was no real chance of lasting damage.

Besides, why should Harry need any friends from Slytherin, Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw? Why, he hardly needed to befriend any Gryffindors beyond Ronald and Hermione! One was a pureblood from a family deeply entrenched in the light, the other a brilliant muggleborn. Between them his side was firmly announced before a single word was spoken.

It was regrettable that the dozens of potions, compulsions and altered memories needed to keep the boy acting as required slowed his thoughts and stunted his magic, but such were the sacrifices the greater good required. His two friends would pick up the slack easily enough and keep the imbalance in check.

Or rather, they should. Ron was, of course, the less important of the two, especially when he wasn't personally involved in a direct manner. His inaction and alienation could be forgiven in this case. Hermione's though, could not.

It was after all her station and purpose in life to loyally follow after and provide knowledge and tools to compensate the limitations he'd been forced to emplace on young Harry. The fact that she apparently had not was all but inexcusable. He'd need to arrange an incident to drive her back to clinging to young Harry again.

The friendless were so easy to manipulate when they were young.

His plan was lamentably risky, but a necessary evil. He realized sometime last year, while examining the diary of Tom Riddle, that Voldemort could hardly be destroyed without a physical body, could he? Should the numerous Horcruxi be destroyed while he was still in wraith form, he would doubtlessly take notice as his tie to them was stronger without a body. Upon regaining a body it was inevitable that he'd immediately create new anchors and place them under much more devious defenses.

Orchestrating what he intended to follow was surprisingly easy to stage as Pettigrew was often at hand and almost completely defenseless against mental attacks.

Supplying him with a trustworthy, suitably simple ritual and reuniting him with his master was not nearly as hard as finding a loyal, yet clever Death Eater out of Azkaban that wouldn't be missed while pretending to replace whoever he deemed the next defense against the dark arts teacher and also exposing them to Voldemort. Yet the hardest part in all of this was by far breaching Moody's defenses subtly enough that he wasn't on guard when the dark lord's agent ambushed him.

It would appear, however, that this entire plot was on the verge of total destruction. The esteemed headmaster had at times questioned his ideas of interfering with a prophecy. If it was prophesied, it was going to occur regardless, correct? So his attempts to assist fate by accelerating how quickly Harry was made to face the dark lord couldn't unravel everything, could it? There was no need to prolong the poor Potter scion's suffering for however long it took Voldemort to restore himself when left to his own devices. Not when Albus Dumbledore could streamline everything. No, this was the proper course of action, by seventh year the dark lord would be destroyed and everyone could live out their lives in the style of their own choosing. With his modifications still in place, of course. Wouldn't do to remove those and be uncovered, would it?

Sadly it was beginning to appear that he was, in some small way, incorrect.

The price for violating the Goblet's contract was steep. Unacceptably steep in this case. A magic-less saviour was something he could not even begin to envision.

Allowing Harry's name to be placed in the cup was apparently not the way to go. If the boy failed to show he'd be lost, and the world would lose its chance to destroy Voldemort. He dearly hoped the boy was simply late from a lack of sleep, trying to devise a way to pass this challenge into the long hours of the night. If only Granger had done her job and found a way past on her own then given it to him.

Then again he could be attempting to make a statement that he was unwilling to participate in the foolish, obstinate way teens do. The peer pressure he'd designed was a little overdone and totally encompassing, wasn't it? Oh well, change a few of the more fickle, but more personal puppets into supporters and that was solved.

Not solved right now when it was needed, but solved for the future tasks.

The supreme mugwump couldn't understand where he'd gone wrong. Where had the strings started slipping from his fingers?

He'd been so careful, cultivating the child's personality to suit his needs. The boy was almost painfully predictable, if slightly dense from repeated legilimence and oblivate alterations. Harry was selfless, so selfless that lemmings appeared paranoid survivalists in comparison. While it did mean the boy required a guard to keep him from throwing himself uselessly forward to his death, it also meant some silly little issue like a dragon would be faced with his main concern being letting the school down.

Well, maybe not the dragon, actually. The dragon wasn't threatening anybody he'd designed for the boy to feel strongly enough for that his life seemed a wretched, undeserving thing to trade in comparison.

Hmm, he should probably change the second task to some sort of hostage retrieval, just in case. The recording in the eggs could be rewritten at anytime, after all.

But he was digressing, between his own tampering and the Dursleys' treatment reflecting across the muggle world as a whole, Harry's desire to save and secure the wizarding world's affection should be almost absolute, even without the none-too-subtle reinforcement of glory and adulation being showered on him every time he almost got himself killed. Heroic, sacrificial deeds earning praise while, as the masterstroke, any negative reactions would be seen as normal from his mind warping early childhood development spent in an abusive environment.

And now, if the child failed to arrive in less than a half-hour, it would all be for naught.

Unacceptable.

#The Tower#

"The tri-wizard tournament. Right." Harry almost seethed, remembering what he had been preparing for.

"What? No, sire. To compete would be to admit the contract was valid, even though it was submitted by proxy. Magical contracts require the 'signer' to at least acknowledge them before they can be enacted. Why do you think magical lawyers spring things on people seconds before they need to be fulfilled? Because if the person hasn't actually signed it and simply ignores it, it really will just go away after its deadline. Honestly, doesn't anyone teach magical law these days?" The elder imp grumbled before coughing into his hand. "No, sire. It is time for you to take up the title and throne as the new overlord."

"Overlord of what?" Harry asked cautiously.

"Why, whatever you are capable of conquering, my lord. The Tower is connected to a rather vast system of tunnels, each leading to another world. The Tower itself is currently locked to this world and as a stonework spire, because that is what the last overlord willed, before his unfortunate demise. There are numerous repairs that will need to be made should any degree of alteration and customization be possible in your case, as many of its artifacts were absconded with by the last collection of heroes, and I would certainly recommend building up your forces before venturing out in to other worlds, but aside from that..."

Harry tuned out the imp as he considered things. He couldn't return to Hogwarts now, of this he was absolutely convinced. To be anywhere Albus Dumbledore was, was to be accepting the man's control over him. But to become a conqueror...

It would be considered irreparably dark, but between survival, his unorganized memories and an inability to keep friends even before they all started hating him for entering the tournament... Light and dark sort of blended down to shades of gray, with anything that kept him alive and free being pale enough to accept.

One seldom develops a strong sense of ethics when living an abusive childhood, part of the reason most of them end up as dark lords. When society's laws, which aren't even taught to you, seem to support and encourage those abusing you to do more and stealing, sneaking and lying are all that keep you from starving to death at age seven, well, it sort of warps your ideas of right, wrong and necessary a little.

That is, of course, assuming you don't have a delusional codger implanting the ideals of others directly into your brain.

In contrast, Harry had morals or a strong conviction of his own hidden underneath the programming Dumbledore had set up. His personal morals were actually very strong, the problem was that they were just that, personal. A minimalistic experience with the outside world during developmental years often led to people being... detached from the standards and examples of their culture. Adding on to that a certain hazy, unimportant recollection of the reasoning behind his actions in the legimency-addled past and the apparent random flipping between loving and loathing him by the general public already starting to wear on his now thin patience.

The wizarding world had brought him just as little as the muggle one that tortured him, it just made the torments change form. Perhaps a new world was really what he needed.

"Okay. Where do I start?"

The antiquated minion grinned, curling his parchment-like lips. "What's left of the library is right this way, my lord. I believe a new and ominous name is typically the first step, followed by..."

#Author's Notes#

So okay, to make a horcrux you chop your soul in half with an truly evil deed. Fine. But that raises an issue, half of your remaining soul would be an forth, right? So following that logic, each horcrux holds a smaller and smaller fragment until there's no perceivable soul left. Just a thought, up for grabs to any author(s) who wants it: What side-effects could stem from this? I mean, does a horcrux require a certain fraction to work? Are they even meant to work like Voldemort's or did he screw himself over by making more?

Mugwump is an actual word. Shocking, isn't it? It means, in a general sense, politician. Sort of like how golem is vaguely synonymous with robot.

Ethics and morals are similar, but completely different things. Ethics are the laws and behaviors your society and culture expects and praises. Morals are your personal beliefs, while they are likely to match up to the ethics of your culture because it's your culture, they can be quite far removed from what others deem ethical by being stricter, looser or even incomparable as a corresponding value doesn't exist.

Example, a moral vampire would refuse to drink blood because they believe it's wrong to harm others while an ethical vampire would try to avoid draining their victims to death because leaving evidence of their existence endangers their race. Neither value is considered by a chupacabra because it lacks sentience and doesn't consider anything aside from its hunger.

I am also disappointed in myself as no matter how I arranged the letters in Harry James Potter OR Harold James Potter it never came out as a stylish villainous name. Even when substituting the J for an I. Harold of course being preferred over Harry for the word lord, observe:

'I am Lord Aestertoph.' Or maybe 'I am Lord Aetherspot.' 'I am Lord Sea'o'phett?'

...Actually I kind of like those. Well, maybe not the middle one. If only you could drop letters...

I seem to remember every video involving piranha to have the word 'skeletalize' in it somewhere, yet whenever I type in 'skeletalize' it's immediately underlined as an incorrectly spelled word, with no options even vaguely similar to the process of having dozens of fish devour all soft tissues in a cow. Why is that, do you think?


	3. Chapter 3

Harry Potter And The Dark Throne

By _

Chapter Two: First Steps

"Bah, you call that a magical education? No shamanism, sorcery or even basic demonology? And you've never heard of crystal, totem, spirit or chi magic before? No enchanting, glyphs, alchemy, necromancy or magical theory. No, sire, I would say your knowledge of the eldritch forces in the multiverse are most sorely lacking. Of course, as overlord, you would only need what knowledge you wished to have, but as a mage..." The old imp scowled picking another battered tome from the floor and setting it on one of the few intact tables in the library. He skimmed the page before making an agreeable grunt and carrying it to the table where Harry sat.

"And now that we've covered some of what I need to learn, why imps?" The overlord in training asked angrily, irritated at the assessment of his skills.

"Ah yes. This tome lists the creatures traditionally found in service to an overlord. You will notice it is quite thick and yet only holds those seen frequently enough to be noted on multiple worlds." The elder caressed the grimoire's dusty cover while extracting a monocle. The book purred softly in reply.

"The larger and more powerful a creature is, the more energy is required to create it, regardless of the energy type. Further, the wider and more varied an overlord's minions are, the thinner collected energy must be spread. Giants, dragons and similarly powered beings tie up so much power to create a single one that nearly a thousand human warriors can be created for the same price. Also, what power accrues towards their creation is typically inaccessible until they are brought into being. Only an established or lucky overlord can reliably gather the power to furnish such beasts and with an established overlord, there is enough tactical ability to make creating them a flagrant, excessive waste. Something that is more show and intimidation than useful. Bah!"

Harry was almost tempted to add a 'humbug' as the old imp slapped open the enormous book.

"The last overlord, she was something like you; eager to learn and devoted to applying what knowledge she acquired. She found mention of the greatest, most wicked overlord to ever lead a horde across the known multiverse." The short creature scowled, flipping through the pages with bony fingers, his scaly skin rasping against the brittle parchment. "Olimar." The page flipping halted, one gnarled fingertip pointing to an image of a root-like humanoid with a single leaf swaying high over its head.

"Where?" One of the brown imps cried, moving his club as though to shield his face.

"Pikmin?" Harry asked, utterly unimpressed by name or picture.

The imp that had been hiding behind his weapon whirled at that name, knocking himself out on a particularly high stack of rubble with a squeak of terror.

"A truly evil being. With just himself, six versions of pikmin and a form of interdimensional transportation for his army he stripped entire worlds of all life upon them. This very world we're on, or even my lord's own were victims of this. Ancient humans once colonized the multiverse simply by trailing behind Olimar as he wiped out everything large and powerful enough to repel them in his insatiable quest to plunder everything he encountered for the greater glory and wealth of something called Hocotate Freight."

"Really?" Harry asked, staring at the book's illustration with blatant disbelief.

"Pikmin were small and weak, with only an extremely basic set of powers, but that made them cheap and numerous. Much like them, we imps were designed to be affordable, swarming minions. Similar to pikmin each color of imp have a special ability and an immunity. The only true difference is that we lack a variety immune to everything and capable of evolving, like the bulbmin." The decrepit creature turned to another page, displaying an illustration of a round, polka-dotted creature with two stubby legs and a leaf sticking out of its back.

"You realize I only understand what you're saying in a general way."

"Of course sire. The main offensive abilities able to slay large swaths of minions simultaneously are primarily elemental in nature. Fire, lightning, poison and water are the main weapons employed, either by sorcerers using area effect spell or by mundane engineering and weaponry. Being magical constructs, most bullets are actually less effective than blades or heavy blunt strikes would be, thus the enemy must fight directly where, by virtue of number, we have the advantage."

Harry nodded slowly. "I can see the need for that. And abilities? How much are minions capable of?"

"Should my lord not mind the expense of paying for increased costs, almost anything. That being said, the imps have only a few abilities. Reds are capable of some small flame manipulation and absorption. Greens are capable of becoming invisible and dealing immense damage by 'backstabbing' the unaware. Blues can heal injured minions and harm those enemies with astral forms when others cannot touch them." The old minion flipped through a few more pages.

"And evolving is a process Overlord Gaya developed, where a minion is purchased as a cheap, relatively weak individual and then grows more powerful either the longer it lives, the more battles it fights or some combination of the two. If fell out of favor during the war to decide his successor as they destroyed enough focus points to make the only means of gaining mana killing things. For generic, carbon copy minions, gathering mana or life force or such to send to their master is a simple task. For evolving minions it is difficult to not consume the energy to further their own evolution, often they absorb half the energy they attempt to collect simply by trying to collect it."

"So if the imps were based off the most successful minion to ever exist, how did the last overlord lose?"

"We are not the only ones to have recorded and remembered Overlord Olimar. The instant nearby peasants started describing us a wizard caught on. Typically after an overlord enters a new world, they conquer an area, charge absurd taxes and collect a harem of beautiful maiden sacrifices from local villages, though depending on the overlord's gender and tastes that may vary a bit... From there resources run out and they expand to maintain their lifestyle, eventually forcing some chosen one or champion to kill them by chance or skill in a one on one fight. Occasionally you get a more violent overlord who starts wars for fun, but they regularly get themselves crushed under a lack of foundation and resources that makes their army desert them."

"I sense a 'but' coming." Harry noted, finishing the page of the tome the wizen imp had turned to.

The ancient minion grinned sinisterly in response. "Pikmin and their overlord were unstoppable. Something so similar, perhaps improved, perhaps weakened, marked the previous overlord as an evil great enough to rally eight heroes long before she actually did anything other than start building up her forces. Such a shame, your predecessor had been preparing to sweep over more than a few worlds and had even chosen this one specifically because it lacked almost all high magic and technology."

Harry was silent for a few moments, deciphering what he'd been told. "Wait. Why would an army of minions desert their master?"

"Ah, an insightful question. When designing their own minions, an overlord can 'trait stamp' them. Which is to say, they can determine what traits the minions are capable of having to diversify themselves and sometimes make it so that certain types of minions always have a specific trait. Things like strength, resilience and fearlessness are always popular, adding just a little extra oomph of battle potential. And other things like intelligence, agility or loyalty are ignored more often than not, meaning that minions of those species don't particular excel at those things."

Harry considered that. "And why wouldn't an overlord want loyalty or intelligence in their minions?" He noticed the odd, proud sheen in the old imp's eyes before he quickly changed the subject. "But that's enough of that. Tell me about Olimar, how did he fight, how did he manage things, that sort of stuff."

The elder frowned thoughtfully, understanding the request and the insight behind it. Truly magnificent, this overlord could become even greater than the one before him promised to be. Minions alone could not handle everything, where his predecessor had thought only of forging the ultimate minions so that she could avoid doing any work personally, the new overlord wanted to make both himself and his minions a reflection of the pinnacle of evil overlording. It did his greasy, blackened heart good.

"Overlord Olimar... We do not know the exact means by which he began his reign, only that when he forged or discovered the pikmin he was in desperate need of their help to survive. Why or from what are lost to us, though we know that he succeeded and then began using them to improve his wealth and standing. He fancied himself a scientist, learning as much as he could from the beasts he slew and constantly improving himself and his army with whatever he could find. He could on occasion work the pikmin into a berserk frenzy with as little as a gesture and petrify their adversaries with as much effort."

The antiquated imp paused, thinking hard. "By himself he was not of any real power. He was fast though, very fast, such that, weak as he was, he could kill any foe he could reach with his bare hands by running rings around them or making them use their own power against one another... I do not believe he had any truly eldritch powers of his own, everything he managed to do was simply by expanding his abilities as much as he could whenever the opportunity or material presented itself. Also, aside from the pikmin he had some number of loyal officers, ones that assisted him with research or finances, made or improved his equipment and helped command the pikmin... Somewhere between four and a hundred I think..."

"He caused global extinctions with just a hundred people?" Harry was in near awe at hearing that. It wasn't too outrageous, after all Voldemort and twenty odd followers could keep an entire country quaking in fear, so why couldn't a hundred like minded individuals kill everything on a planet?

"Most sources indicate fewer than ten, really. And with the pikmin doing most of the work, there wasn't any particular need for a command structure. Remember this, sire, destroying and killing everything you encounter takes far less effort than conquering and ruling even a single world."

"Hmm, I suppose that part might not be something I want to copy from him. Alright then, what knowledge is available on magic here?" Harry cast his gaze over the broken shelves and smashed tables.

Gnarl scowled, looking around. "Very little, I'm afraid. Most overlords have lacked innate magical powers since the originals ascended from 'dungeon keepers' to 'demon-god kings' and rely upon artifacts for both magical energy and spells to use. What was available here was mostly intended as trophies from previous masters of the Tower and were scattered about in displays, completely unorganized. On top of that when the heroes vanquished the last overlord, the 'wizard' took almost everything he believed could expand his own capabilities. That being said, there is a modest cache of 'spares', and a decent number of beginner texts that weren't as impressive as the ones used for showing off." The old imp lurched to his feet, shuffling towards one of the library walls. "I should warn you, while I know much of magic and can detect it quite readily, I myself lack any developed ability to manipulate it outside of a few specific abilities the Tower grants me to forge the new overlord and what damaged artifacts we have on hand."

Harry waved him off as the brickwork peeled itself back to display a small vault with about thirty-five books resting on two shelves at shoulder height.

#Training Montage#

"I fear charcoal will have different effects than chalk, my lord. Perhaps a less advanced transmutation circle to start with?"

"If I may, sire. Ah, I see. I will have a translation of these within the week."

"No, I believe it's suppose to more of a 'ugnh' than a 'wagh' of effort, sire."

"No no no! Using an arcane, lost language is almost as primitive as that stick magic you were trained in. Speak the words for the spell plainly in your own language, even they are just a crutch you will one day move beyond my lord."

"Hmm. This rune is rather impressive in its precision. I had never conceived of using alchemy to create perfect runes..."

"Again! Always keep at least one barrier between yourself and your foes. And slope it away from you, a flat shield is easier to break."

"Yes, yes! Chain lightning, stunner, fireball, now teleport! Blade, freeze and shield yourself! Blade again, stunner, unseen push and... Perfect, my lord, perfect."

#Hogwarts#

Concern was now full blown panic. How could this have happened, right under his very own nose?

To think that, somehow, Barty Jr. managed to overcome the programmed plan of 'trophy portkey' and then rewrite his own mind so as to not remember any of it and even had perfectly real looking replacement memories to boot. But even with his plan deteriorating, Dumbledore now needed the death eater at the school, if for no other reason than to try and catch his eyes for more than a brief glimpse and break through whatever combination of spells was keeping him from the knowledge he desired.

To lose Harry Potter was a disaster. The papers were in outcry, first over the boy being an attention seeking psychopath trying to garner their focus by pretending to disappear, and now slowly transitioning into speculation over where he was and what happened to him. It had only been two weeks and already the press was started to probe his defenses, preparing to turn popular opinion against him.

Fudge had been a permissible weakness in the grand scheme of things, in fact he was only there so that when the time came any mishandling of the situation would fall off of Dumbledore himself and land firmly in the man's lap. But without Harry, victory was no longer assured.

Fudge was too much of a vulnerability, he would have to be removed.

And sacrificing himself to cleanse the ring for Harry was no longer an acceptable tactic either. Without the one, center piece of it all there was only one true option left.

Dumbledore would have to shore up for a real war. This was no longer a carefully scripted and choreographed tale of good triumphing over evil, this was a true battle of the light versus the dark. That meant the education he'd been giving the students was no longer acceptable, a competent defense against the dark arts teacher would need to be found for next year. He might even have to remove the curse on the job.

As the wizard began unraveling the web he'd built over the years, a slow horror dawned on him.

He was not of the forces for good. Good may well do what small evils were necessary but it would not allow so much to slip past it through simple inaction. He had crafted the perfect plan, superb in every conceivable way and yet... Yet once the plan was set he allowed evil to sink and fester within society, simply because he had calculated using that same corruption as a measure.

He planned to need a new dark arts professor each year, as Harry would need to be limited in that regard for a time early on and replacing professors in rotation would more easily let him manipulate what was known and what was unknown to the boy. And so none of the children got an education of any value and for over fifty years of men and women who had stood against the darkness and survived were allowed to succumb to the curse, killed or otherwise incapacitated towards continuing their work.

He'd segregated the houses to create the mood he'd needed for Harry to become relatively self sufficient and in doing so allowed Slytherin to wallow in its pureblooded views, corrupting the innocents condemned to it. Ravenclaw separated themselves from the others with walls of books and a need to learn, caring not what went on beyond their ability to further their knowledge though it would never find any use as their reclusive nature turned them from helping any but those that could overpower and threaten them. Hufflepuff was a sadder case, the outgoing nature, hard work and loyalty reserved and limited to within their own house, the fierce protectiveness of the badger driving away what others sought their friendship as he'd trained all the houses such offers from beyond your own dorms were either a trick or a trap.

And Gryffindor, cut off from the knowledge of Ravenclaw, the cunning of Slytherin and the drive of Hufflepuff was destined only to arrange themselves against their foes and leap in, unpracticed and unprepared, their daring recklessness earning them only small victories before they were snuffed out. Where before they had been the heroes of legend, willing to do what others feared to try and succeeding with a Ravenclaw's knowledge, a Slytherin's plan or a Hufflepuff's assistance, now they were like a cavalry charge on a machine gun nest. A heedless forward assault ignoring subtly and putting everything into a single wave with no reinforcements and no fore thought.

What had he done?

#Mellow Hills#

"Had we a smelter and were you the typical, non-magical kind of overlord, I would insist we make or find some weapons and armor before this. As it is... Welcome, my lord, to the Mellow Hills. As you can see it is a cheerful, bright and colorful area, with clean, pure air and frolicking beasts and such. It also makes me sick!" The imp viciously trampled a small patch of flowers. "Now, each world works in slightly different ways. In this case any special minions or allies will have to take the main portal or any way point gates you find to and from the Tower. Generic, carbon copy minions such as the imps, will instead create their own summoning points, in this world the simple glowing pile of rocks you see there."

Glancing at the miniature volcano shaped portal, the overlord called up the five brown imps with a thought.

"Yes, very good sire. Now, let us try collecting some mana from those fluffy, bleating lower lifeforms over there. Kill one. Don't worry about running out they spawn faster than the locals can kill them."

Feeling just the tiniest bit guilty, Harry flung a blade spell at the nearest sheep. It fell over, a single glowing orb popping out of it.

"Expecting some sort of gore were you? Bah, this world regrettably lacks that element, here things die, fall over and fade away. Your predecessor was somewhat... weak stomached." The old imp scowled slightly. "But that's in the past. The orb you see before you contains that beast's 'life force'. In some worlds you can drain it away without or before it dies. It can be, and often is, referred to as 'mana' as well."

The young wizard pulled the orb to him, watching with surprise as it vanished into his body on contact.

"Mana has a variety of uses, but for the moment we can only use it to spawn more minions until more of the Tower's artifacts are restored. Now, I would suggest you clear out the field before scouting too far beyond. I just can't take this fresh air, so I will remain in the Tower unless you require otherwise my lord."

"Maybe a break from all this talking will help." Harry finally got a word in, his ire at being consistently cut off making the words slightly acidic.

The old imp grinned thinly. "Yes, I do believe you are ready, sire." With that he bowed and slumped back onto the portal.

Thinking it over, the new overlord set the minions about clearing the field, feeling a small need to get more experience directing them before going into a real battle. It was surprisingly easy, the imps could simply sense where he wanted them to go and went there. Getting them to do anything else, though...

After clearing the field of sheep and, oddly enough, pottery, he came across a glowing rock... stump... thing... It was a simple stone cylinder, glowing yellow brightly enough that he knew it was some sort of magical item without even consulting his higher senses. The minions carried it off to the portal as he continued on towards the town.

There was a fallen pillar on the path.

"The way is blocked sire. Might I suggest summoning your minions and..." Gnarl's voice began from somewhere unseen.

One levitation spell later, Harry cast the stone remnant forward and off to one side.

"...Or you could just levitate it aside, I suppose. All the same, you really need to call your minions, my lord. They are your greatest weapon... Or at least will be once we get them some proper equipment. Do keep in mind your magical reserves are far from infinite. Ah, and the minions have just arrived with a command upgrade, allowing you to summon more minions to the field."

"Wait, why would I need a command upgrade? Shouldn't I just be able to-"

"Never mind that now, master, there are halflings afoot."

Harry turned his attention onto the two short, fat white-eyed things before they scurried into a nearby barn house. His minion scampered up behind him with a thought.

"Gah! It's some sort of halfling beasties, come to get poor old Bob! You're in league with the pumpkins!" A nearby man tied down to a scarecrow post cried, flapping his hands at the wrist.

"Silence." Harry wasted a spell, not wanting to hear the weirdo ramble on. With a gesture the minions jumped into action, smashing pumpkins left and right. In the meantime Harry summoned the pillar back to him and levitated it for a moment before banishing it at the structure. It flew through the air, end over end, before smashing straight through the building, collapsing it and tumbling on to crash into the river beyond. The overlord frowned, having thought he used a little less power than that.

The halflings didn't give him much time to consider, waddle/running out of the ruins with swords drawn. Straight into the ten minions flailing wildly at pumpkin. The poor, short humanoids were instantly overpower by the more numerous short humanoids, leaving their looted corpses to disappear the same way the sheep had. It was rather anticlimactic. So far this looked like it'd be much easier than surviving any given year of Hogwarts.

The minions formed ranks behind him as he continued on to Spree, the voiceless, insane farmer rambling on soundlessly in their wake.

"Would you look at that Martin, some strange halflings are standing at the gate." An idiotic sounding peasant said from across the river.

"I don' know, Marty, those don' look like no halflings I've ever seen before. Sides' what about the tall one?" The exact same voice replied.

"Could be two halflings standing on each other's shoulders. Hey, prove you're not a halfling and go rescue our lost villagers from the slave camp."

Harry stared at the twin peasants for a moment. "Gnarl, what kind of world is this, exactly?"

"Nevermind that now, sire. It's best we see about this slave camp, we need access to that village."

Annoyed, the new overlord stomped down the road around a bend created by some trees.

"The Tower Heart, sire! The halflings must have been using it to grow pumpkin, stupid little…" Granl's voice degenerated into angry murmurs.

"Wait, so they just left the one artifact that powers every single higher function the Tower has sitting around, ungaurded, right outside between the human village's entrance and the Tower." Harry was somewhat disbelieving as he looked over the huge, swirling, arcane marble.

"Yes, well, even with the power of the Tower Heart, they must have thought sunlight was required."

"But if they took every other scrap of magic they could find, why would they leave the most powerful thing just sitting around like this?"

"Apparently Melvin Underbelly got it among his share of the loot. Clearly they assumed without the Tower Heart that no new overlord could arise."

"I don't like this. This absolutely reeks of a trap."

"Just get the Tower Heart out of there sire!"

Shrugging, Harry wove a simple levitation spell onto the artifact, only to have it slide off.

"Ah, ahem. I may have forgotten to mention, any of the Hearts we encounter are completely immune to magic, and in fact actually absorb it. As a means of preventing other overlords and rival magic users from tampering with them, you see. Have the minions carry it."

Grumbling, Harry sent the small horde forward, where they proceeded to smash a path clear of pumpkins before half of them grabbed the orb.

Just past the pumpkin field was the trap Harry expected. Except instead of trying to stop the Tower Heart, they tried to avenge their pumpkins. One quick chain lightning later, Harry swore off bothering to rule this world once he was done rebuilding the Tower.

"Quickly Sire, the minions have found a new path." Gnarl exclaimed, bringing the future master of all back onto task.

"Is there a way to shut off this thing except during emergencies?"

"This is no time to jest, master."

#Author's Notes#

I realize the terminology in Overlord for mana is used for magic and life force is used as I'm using mana here, it's sort of a hint as to another crossover that will appear later. A heavy-handed, perhaps far too obvious hint.

This chapter is unfortunately locked into overlord canon. Next chapter will not be. Sorry for the predictability.


End file.
