There had been no war. It was only a battle.
After the defeat of Lord Voldemort, the wizarding world was left quite confused. The price of the conquest was too great, some said, for along with the death of Lord Voldemort came the death of several young witches and wizards, twenty some Aurors and six world-renowned wizards. Among those six was Albus Dumbledore.
Harry Potter, of course, wielded the killing instrument. All the Avada Kedavras he'd thrown were useless until he saw Lord Voldemort kill Hermione Granger and Ginevra Weasley before his very eyes. Then the hate erupted, and he killed the Dark Lord with pure force of hate, without uttering a word.
His court case was muddled and disorganized. The law stated that use of Avada Kedavra dictates a life sentence in Azkaban. However, like Hagrid told Harry before his first year in Hogwarts, Lord Voldemort was barely considered human. Unfortunately, the incumbent Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, had connections. He convinced the jury that Harry Potter not only used Avada Kedavra, but that he was now unstable and probably ready to whip out his wand and kill everyone in sight anytime soon. Of course, that second part was left out when the results were announced to the press and the public. Harry Potter was sent to Azbakan for use of Avada Kedavra against another human being.
(nine years later…)
:Delights:
Harry was quite glad when they got rid of the dementors. Someone smart had finally figured out a way to destroy the freakish monsters. When they were taken away to be eliminated at long last, his chest leaped with a joy he'd not felt, literally, in the nine years he'd been in Azkaban. Hearing the screams of his dead parents, reliving the fall of Sirius and watching Hermione and Ginny's deaths over and over again was not his idea of fun. The dementors were replaced with Aurors.
The Aurors made for good conversation. After all, all of them had protested against Harry's being locked up, despite their comrades' deaths. The Order of the Phoenix members that had not died in the battle nearly became father figures. They didn't get that far.
Harry was kidnapped on his twenty-eighth birthday.
The kidnapper looked incredibly like a dementor, although that was impossible. They were all removed years ago. Besides, the kidnapper didn't draw from Harry the usual reaction. The kidnapper didn't smell like a dementor, anyway. Harry wondered why he thought of the smell of a dementor; he'd never paid attention to the smell, anyway.
He also wondered why he was calling the person a kidnapper. The person was breaking him out from jail, and was Harry's savior! Except for one thing… Harry suspected that the Aurors might have helped a bit.
"She's dying!" Shacklebolt cried from the end of the row. Harry looked up in surprise. All of the guards ran to the last cell, Harry's guard among them. The prison was filled with sobs and screams. If Harry hadn't been preoccupied with his broken glasses, he would have noticed that the sobs sounded quite fake. Even so, Harry knew something was up. The Aurors were too well trained to leave their posts completely, and the woman in the last cell was perfectly healthy.
A dark hooded figure, not looking unlike one of those dreaded dementors, crept towards his cell. Harry was about to call for Shacklebolt, but his voice wouldn't come out. His conscience must have decided that it was time for a bit of excitement.
The cell door swung open by itself. The stranger repaired his broken glasses and hoisted Harry up. The way that Hermione'd fixed his glasses on the train their first year. But it couldn't be Hermione. Hermione had died in the battle. Still, Harry was a bit skeptical. True, he'd been in prison for nearly a decade, but he was well fed, and therefore not the kind of skinny, scrawny little boy he'd been in first year. He was quite impressed with how the stranger (the poor stranger that he was piggybacking at the moment, yes) seemed to be running with such ease. Hermione would have been able to think of a way to make Harry feel lighter without Harry knowing.
An Auror finally caught sight of them, and a few of them began to run after the two. The captor blindly threw a handful of wordless curses behind them, and they just barely missed Harry. From the thuds that followed, Harry assumed that the curses hadn't missed their targets as well.
After they'd finally left the prison, his captor had grabbed a seemingly random broken flowerpot shard. He swore under his breath- Harry was sure it was a man now, the voice was too much deep to be womanly- as red blood flowered from the fresh cut. Ignoring what must have been great pain, he dumped Harry unceremoniously onto the ground and pressed the cold shard to Harry's right cheek.
The now unfamiliar feel of his navel being jerked forward nearly made Harry nauseous. When the shard was pulled away from his face, he figured that the Portkey had finished its job. He looked up and found himself in the middle of a huge party, complete with streamers and balloons, in the very center of Diagon Alley. Needless to say, he was surprised. His kidnapper placed Harry's hand on top of his head with his own uninjured hand. Harry yanked at the hood, revealing an all-too-familiar, all-too-missed grinning redhead.
"We're celebrating the newly appointed Minister of Magic. He says that you're to be released. Couldn't you tell? Happy birthday, by the way."
A/N: First time. Please review! And I know that I need to work on sensory details and everything… (by the way, this is unbeta-ed, so I wouldn't mind if you pointed out any mistakes you might've noticed)