This was the original version of the story. I liked some parts of this, which I incorporated into the re-write, but this may explain some questions.

Again, this is based off of J.K. Rowling's work, and it's an AU


No rest for the weary, or wicked, I've never really known which is the true saying. But either way it holds true. I'm 18 years old, I've been working non-stop since I was 12, and now, just when I think I can finally rest, they have to pull this shit on me. None of these assholes have any empathy or respect. Or intelligence. Stupidity is the only reason for putting Aberforth Dumbledore, the greatest Minister of Magic they've ever seen or will see, in prison. Not that I like the bastard, but you've got to respect how the man works.

I hear the gasps and whispers around me, like my 'miraculous' arrival is on par with the acts of Merlin or something. Please, if I wanted that sort of worship, I could and would have gotten it a long time ago. I work my way through the congregation of idiots to the ex-Minister, my hallowed status of 'Destroyer of the Dark Lord' allowing me to see the man that kept me imprisoned all these years.

"Old man" I shout as the guards step aside to let me through. The ex-Minister's hands are bound behind his back, since, like his brother the headmaster of Hogwarts, he (seemingly) has powers that allow him escape at any moment.

"Ah Harry, our young savior" he has a sardonic glint in his eye that showed his years of experience with the bureaucratic nightmares that are employed in the Ministry of Magic. "What can I do for you young man?"

"Nothing much," I say glancing at his bound hands, "the contract?"

"Fulfilled, in every part." He says. I'm quiet, not quite believing him, and in an act no one in their right mind would do, he leans toward me and says discreetly "You're free." Joy, all this goddamn freedom and nothing to do. Well I could start a church; I do have followers, though I must be a masochist for even thinking it. The old man sees these thoughts, mainly because I don't bother to hide them. He laughs as the guards resume leading him to the … well I'm not quite sure where he's going, as what he did were only minor offences. From what I've heard he's going to spend about 10 years in jail, and he's barred from ever seeking office again. Well good for him. Maybe he can finally indulge in his fascination with goats. The freak.

Well I'm about to go home, but one of the idiots, one with a quick-note-quill, and a job working for some news rag bursts out with a question so insanely stupid I can't do anything but be shocked into staying.

"Harry Potter, did you want to get revenge for the crimes against you?"

In my better moments I'm not quite so disparaging, I don't actually think everyone is as stupid as they seem. Unfortunately since I've been released into the general wizarding public, those moments have become fewer and further between. "Upon whom would I exact this revenge?"

"The ex-Minister, of course" the reporter seems baffled.

"And why would I want revenge on the ex-Minister?"

"Because he put you in Azkaban, because…"

"Oh, I don't blame him for that."

The reporter was a bit confused, as was the rest of my audience. If they didn't ask a question in the next five seconds I was going to do as I originally planned; sleep for the rest of the day, I had only just defeated Voldemort and unlike what they think, it was hard, draining and something that will haunt me for the rest of my days.

"Who do you blame then?" Damn, so close too.

"I blame you," but I don't look at the person that asked the question "I blame the general wizarding public that deemed it acceptable, and even a good idea to put a twelve year old boy in Azkaban."

"But you can't blame us, we didn't put you there" some other faceless idiot in the crowd responded.

"You didn't? Did I hear any protests? Did I hear anyone say 'No that's not right, you can't do that?' Don't lie, you wanted it, you accepted it, you put me there. Not him. For all his supposed crimes, all he ever did was follow the whims of the people he led." I said pointing at the direction ex-Minister Dumbledore went.

A bird twittered overhead in the open square before a person angrily replied, "So if you blame us, why did you save us? Why did you kill Voldemort?"

I looked at him with all the annoyance and anger I was feeling before responding in a voice so cold it even surprised me "I didn't do it for you. In case you don't remember, Voldemort was trying to kill me, it was simply a matter of survival." I could tell I had offended a great number of people, which, while it was not my intention, still made me somewhat happy. Unfortunately this mood crashed when someone accepted culpability for the crime. And they asked what they could do to make it better. The person that said it seemed vaguely familiar, like I knew him a while ago.

"You really want to make me happy?" There were more than a few hesitant nods "Then give me Sirius Black." This time I didn't wait for an answer, I disapparated to the unplottable, undetectable property that was still awaiting its owner's return.

I immediately heard muttering from my left, and after quashing my instinct to nullify the threat I merely rubbed my eyes and said, loudly and clearly "Kreacher, do you really want to join your ancestors on the wall?" Predictably enough his eyes lit up, but he remained silent "Then serve your master well." The look of surprise and annoyance that crossed his features was comical, what was the damn elf expecting? I'm not going to lob off his head. I made my way upstairs past screaming portrait after screaming portrait, and for a brief minute I felt nostalgia for Azkaban welling up in some perverse part of me. Thankfully I was close enough to sleep, and was out as soon as I hit the dusty pillow.

I suppose there's a bit of curiosity as to how, Harry Potter, the saint of the British wizarding world got tossed into Azkaban at the tender age of 12. All I can say is 'politics.' After spending 11 comparatively joyous years in the care of my Aunt Petunia and her lovely whale-sized family I got my letter to Hogwarts. After a brief but (in hindsight) hilarious scuffle, I got to go home, to my world. A world in which I was loved, wanted, and not treated like sludge tacked to the bottom of one's shoe. It turns out I spoke too soon.

And no, my downfall did not begin when I met Voldemort piggybacking in Quirrels's cranium. No, it all started when I met Dobby, and he dropped my Aunt's dessert, that mountain of pudding all over me. That bit of magic that wasn't even my fault brought me to the attention of Aberforth Dumbledore, who asked my headmaster - over tea, I imagine - just what kind of person I was. They are very close, Albus and Aberforth, certainly they don't see eye to eye on some things, but they nearly share brainwaves on certain other aspects of life. Both of them knew about the prophecy. Both of them wanted to see me get stronger, but they differed slightly on how to do it. As soon as the attacks on the muggle born students began, there were headlines in the Daily Prophet. When I unintentionally revealed myself to be a parselmouth, they needed no encouragement to point their fingers at me as being the one behind the attacks. And of course, when I went into the chamber of secrets and got Ginny Weasly out of there, there was not a hint of it in the papers.

All this made it remarkably easy to put me on some farce of a trial where I knew nothing, no one, and shove me into Azkaban. More than once I wondered how the fuck that happened. Where was everyone? For example, Ron's dad who works in the Ministry, or Headmaster Dumbledore, I thought he liked me, I thought he would tell them what happened. I was scared witless, shitless, and to this day I will swear to you that Dementors are the evilest creatures in existence. But it didn't matter, because soon enough it was all explained to me.

"Here we are" the guard laughed, "Your cell, and guess what?" I was sick to my stomach, freezing cold, and desperately fighting tears, not that you'll ever hear me admit that, and in no mood to answer. The guard banged on the door across from my new home and smiled when the man inside wearily responded, "Your neighbor is Sirius Black. Hey Black!" he said to the prisoner behind the door "You treat your new neighbor Harry Potter good now, you hear?" He shoved me in the cell locked the door and walked off still laughing. I thought he was a right bastard back then, but I soon realized that, as a guard, you either developed a callous sense of humor, or you go mad. I don't hate him, and for the record, I don't hate Dobby either. Dobby was an unfortunate omen of doom, and I forgive him, though I know he's done no wrong. Still if I have a choice, I never want to see him again.

"Harry Potter?" the prisoner across from me asked, his voice sounding hoarse, scratchy and painful, as if he'd been screaming for much too long.

"Yeah?" My on voice painfully shaky, shy and sounding too much in need of comfort.

"What are you doing here?"

"They say I'm the next Dark Lord." On the whole I didn't understand why the guard found the situation so funny. The guy across from me sounded pretty nice.

"Why?"

"Mainly because I can talk to snakes." It took me a while to get this sentence out, and I'm not even sure he understood all of it. Oh I might as well say it. I was crying I'm sure this Sirius Black knew it, but he wouldn't leave me alone. "Why are you here?"

"They say I killed your parents."

Needless to say, we sorted out all the mix-ups and such, and I learned that a rat disguised as a human called Peter Pettigrew, a.k.a Wormtail, was the true reason I was an orphan. We had a good laugh at it over some tea and crumpets too. Well that's how I would have wanted to clear everything up. Unfortunately at the time I was in Azkaban, and the Dementors decided that it was a good time for doing rounds. I figured out why Sirius Black sounded like he did, all the prisoners to my left started screaming moaning, or uttering nonsense. I was one of the lucky ones; I passed out into a memory of Voldemort killing my parents.

When I woke up I was not in my cell. I was in the medical wing, surrounded by insouciant or annoyed medical personnel, basically telling me that I was not to starve myself. I rather wondered how they expected me to feed myself if I wasn't exactly conscious. But instead of being led back to my cell I was escorted into a nicer room, a visitor's reception room of sorts. Speaking from a social standpoint it seemed going to Azkaban was one of the best things that happened to me. During the trial I met so many high level people, I could hardly begin to name them all. And now here in front of me, a duplicate of the headmaster I recently began to mistrust was Aberforth Dumbledore, the Minister of Magic himself.

"Harry Potter, do you understand why you're here?" he asked.

Since I thought my situation couldn't possibly get any worse, I decided to answer without editing my mental response "Like hell I do."

He chuckled, and if he didn't remind me so much of the headmaster, I probably would have punched him. "Well, that's no surprise, those that sentenced you here basically had no idea either." Scratch that earlier thought; I was going to punch him. And I would have done so if he hadn't produced a wand, my wand. "I've got a proposition for you Harry Potter," he smiled at me. "Won't you have a seat?" Up until that moment, I hadn't realized I was standing. I abruptly flumped into the seat behind me. "Tea?" he asked.

"Um sure" I responded. He poured and I sipped, at a loss.

"How are you doing?"

I stared at the old man, wondering what he was thinking. "Right, right," he said, as if I had responded. "Shall we get to business then?" I nodded.

"You are aware that your parents fought against Voldemort, much like you did in your first year, and this past year." He wasn't about to stop, but I interrupted "Then why am I here? If you knew the truth why didn't you do something?"

He gave me a look, as if telling me to sit down and shut up, he basically said the same in his answer "It served my purposes, I'll explain more in a minute." But he never did. After that brief lull in his monologue his watch made a complicated ringing sound that was quite pleasant to hear. He, on the other hand seemed quite annoyed with it. He looked at his watch, nearly jumped out of his chair and exited muttering something along the lines of "Morons can't handle a thing without me." Out loud he said to me "I'm sorry to cut this short, this is the contract, if you accept the offer simply sign it. The guards have instructions to give it to me. The offer expires in three days – that is three conscious days. If there are no more questions?" He didn't wait for an answer. I nodded, feeling miserable.

Immediately after he left another guard escorted me to my cell, and I used the time I had to try to read through the contract. Needless to say, I didn't understand a word of it. I even read it out loud to Sirius – contrary to popular opinion, he was really quite nice, save for the occasional homicidal rants. From what he explained to me, I basically had to kill Voldemort. Oh yeah, easy task that. Other pertinent points were that I was to obey the Minister, or in his stead the instructors that were there to give me a fighting chance against everyone's favorite Dark Lord. Sirius wanted to change some things. I thought the contract was a take-it or leave-it sort of thing. But I'm nothing if not hopeful, so I wrote down the changes he suggested, not expecting to get any of them. Did I also mention that I'm a bit of a pessimist? Not as bad as the guy in the cell next to me though, he spoke about nothing except somehow committing suicide. When I asked Sirius if he thought signing was a good idea, he just looked at the cell next to me, and said "Anything to get you out of here."

In the few minutes I had before the Dementors swept by, I signed.

When I woke up again, I noticed the contract was gone. I spent my few conscious hours calling Dumbledore every bad name I could think of, and when I ran out Sirius and the guy next door had a few suggestions. Strangely enough though, if you asked me which Dumbledore I was cursing, I wouldn't have been able to tell you. Thankfully it was only a few days before a guard came for me, and led me to another building on the island. I met my first teacher, who delighted in telling me that the only change Minister Dumbledore agreed with was the stipulation that the contract ended when either Voldemort or I died. I didn't really care. Away from the Dementors I felt. Everything, anything, and that was enough for me. I was so happy I was getting off the island I, stupidly, hopefully, asked when we were leaving. The instructor, who told me to call him Sir, laughed at me.

"Leave the island? You were sentenced here, you won't leave until your term is up, or you die. If you're good, I'll let you stay here, away from the Dementors. If you're bad, back to your cell you go. Understood?" In a flash that came and went, I was glad I was on the island. Had I been anywhere else the disappointment would have killed me. He pressed my wand into my shaky, pale hand, and the lesson began.

Sir wasn't my only teacher. That paranoid, freak-eyed, mass of scars was my 'battle teacher' as he liked to call himself. I had to admit he was a good teacher. It seemed all my instructors were hand picked to teach me quickly and well. Noticing that, I was completely blind-sided when, two years later, a potions instructor came.

By this time I was spending little or no time in my cell. I worried occasionally for Sirius, but I decided since he survived 11 years in Azkaban without me, he would probably be ok. At any rate I had other things to worry about. I was in the classroom, for want of a better word, awaiting the potions master. Sir called him that with a sneer, but Sir had little respect for the charms, transfiguration, and ancient runes instructors so I didn't let it bother me. Not that it would, any place on the island was a pit of despair that sucked all emotion out of me anyway.

He walked in, I could tell it was a he without looking up from the potions book the instructor had assigned. "You're late" I told him, closed the book and turned to face him. I started at the shoes, which were predictably covered by robes; black, billowing, bat-like robes. Arms crossed disapprovingly across his chest. A sallow pale face with a large hooknose above a sneering mouth and under black eyes. "Oh fuck." It was Snape.

"Language Potter," He strode into the room stopping just beside my chair "Imagine my joy when you came here, out of my life forever. Imagine my horror when the Minister told me to come here to teach you." I didn't bother asking him why he agreed, the Minister was a master at manipulation, judging by how I got here. Meaning that intelligent people knew he never made requests, he gave commands. "You were completely hopeless in the classroom, and I have no doubts about your non-existent potion making skills. But here I am, out of the goodness of my heart. You had better learn. I have neither the time nor patience to deal with self-righteous Griffindors." He wanted a response, so I nodded and fingered the cover of the potions book in front of me, silently asking 'which page?'

"What Potter," He covered his surprise well, but two years with Sir and anyone would be able to read the stronger emotions written across his body "No response? No bravado? Where's your famous strut?"

I pointed to the contract that the Minister hung on the wall the second time I saw him. "Your word is law here, sir." He looked toward where I was pointing, not quite understanding. But all he said was "Open the book to page 32, and get to work." He placed a small parcel on the table between us, tapped it with his wand, enlarging the box that contained the necessary ingredients and equipment. I set things up as he walked over to the contract, reading it – I assumed – for the first time. I watched him out of the corner of my eye. He moved on to what Sir termed 'That Which Follows Logically," which were a set of guidelines set forth for instructors, what they could and could not do. If he didn't already know the rules, and he wasn't aware of his powers over me, then I didn't want him finding out what other instructors have done in the past. "Sir, I am unfamiliar with what 'diced finely cut' would look like." I said, but unfortunately I didn't break his concentration.

"Diced such that the pieces are roughly quarter of a centimeter on each side."

Damn, I fully expected to go to my cell that evening after all the lessons. Then again, I hadn't seen Sirius in a very long time. That decided I did the best I could under his reproachful eye. I ended up being right, I did go to my cell that evening, but he didn't send me there. Even stranger, was that the next day when I met him for lessons, and he saw my shaking hands, he gave me chocolate, saying with an annoyed snort "A potions maker with shaky hands is death."

Life got back to normal after that surprise. Oh Snape sent me to my cell a fair number of times, but no more, nor no less than anyone else. A few months after Snape started teaching me potions, he brought Dobby along one day to help him carry everything. I don't know why, but I imagine I was supposed to be happy. Still, considering he was my personal omen of doom, I was none to pleased. I appreciated the chocolate he put in my pocket, but I was a nervous wretch by the time he left. That day lessons went better than they ever had before. Sir commended me on my attentiveness and my 'constant vigilance.' My other instructors also appreciated my focus and attention. Well I couldn't help be on the alert, I was expecting the world to end any moment.

And really, it shouldn't have worried me. How can a house-elf be the harbinger of doom and destruction? It didn't make sense. I didn't believe myself, though, and so I was awake and prepared when my scar blistered with pain that night.

I saw Voldemort come ashore, carried by one deatheater and guarded by six more. Not that he needed any protection. The dementors were there to protect him and welcome him as if he were one of their own. The first thing they did was incapacitate the guards, not a hard thing for dementors to do. Next they went into the prison itself, liberating their fellows. They completely missed me, I suppose they expected me to be in my cell, not sneaking around after them. Luckily for me Voldemort split up his forces. Stupidly enough, the dementors he left with the guards, and he gave each one of his six deatheaters a key to a cell in the prison. A deatheater alone isn't much of a challenge; their strength lies in numbers, and preparedness. They didn't expect me, and so they lost. At a loss as to what to do with these idiots, I simply locked them in the cells they were supposed to liberate. I then looked for Voldemort.

"Your blood," a deatheater's voice said to the darkness in my empty cell "Is what's left." I stepped forward quietly behind the deatheater that was feverishly stirring a potion. I plucked the wand from his grip, threw it behind me, as I knocked him to the ground and stood on his neck. He was soon to busy trying to get some air to even think about stopping me.

"Is that all you want? How much do you need?" I asked, pulling my wand across my hand and letting my blood fall into the cauldron. Before more than a dribble fell into it, the deatheater I on whom I stood rolled over knocking me off balance. In a flash Sir would be proud of, I was on my feet backing away wand raised and ready. But the deatheater only had eyes for the cauldron. With one whole hand and the other a bloody stump he crowed with laughter. "You can't do anything now!"

Just then Sirius decided he was bored with whatever he had been doing before. A growl tore from his throat, vaguely sounding like 'Wormtail' while his arm, skeletal and barely covered with rotting robes, reached through the bars to snatch at the deatheater. "Sirius" the deatheater squeaked and pressed himself against the open door of my cell. The fool fell in, and I shut the door locking it into place.

"Where is Voldemort?" I asked him, knowing full well through the burning in my forehead that the Dark Lord was still around. But he didn't say anything, staring at the cauldron. A mist was coming from it, and a shape was emerging, taller and thinner than the bundle Wormtail had been holding when the boat arrived at Azkaban.

"Robe me" his voice was sibilant, cruel.

"Robe yourself." I answered throwing the bundle of cloth at my feet at his head.

He didn't seem surprised, though I could tell this wasn't what he expected upon emerging from the cauldron. Within a few seconds he had observed his servant trapped within my cell, and my wand held ready, but not yet pointed at him. He dressed himself as if he didn't care that he was alone and unarmed against an opponent that was both armed and willing to attack.

"Harry Potter," he said once he was dressed. "Do you realize what has just happened?" Surprisingly enough, he wanted me to answer.

"Well, I was hoping you'd explain. It's not everyday that someone breaks into Azkaban just to brew a potion."

"Ah, this is a very special potion. Using the bone of my father, the flesh of my servant, and the blood of my enemy, I have risen, stronger and more powerful than ever." He smirked. He actually smirked. Then he reached out and petted me trailing white spidery hands down my cheek. But the realization that he was touching me, when, as Quirell he couldn't, shocked me into silence. "Your blood, Harry Potter, my enemy. And now the protection from your mother flows through my veins as well."

He was about to pull away, to find a wand or something, when I caught his hand, saying, "Then there's only one thing I can do." A wary look of confusion crossed his flat snake-like features before settling into hauteur once more. I tugged him forward and gave him a hug. "Welcome to my family brother" I said with a smile.

He seemed flabbergasted. As did Sirius. "Brother?" Voldemort spat.

"Well, yes. You share my blood, and you share my mother's love. There's nothing more than that for family. And as your brother, I feel it's my duty to warn you that aurors will be here within three minutes."

"What? Are you mad?"

"Possibly," I gave my head a shake, negating 'possibly' "Probably, I've been here for a couple of years now, I'd be surprised if I were anything but. However, that doesn't change the fact that you're my brother, I love you and you have to leave before the aurors come and kill you."

"You love me." Not a question, a statement made with complete disbelief.

"Who else is there? Who better than my brother?" By then the faint voices and footsteps of aurors could be heard. He didn't have a response. He disappeared before my eyes. When I turned to look both Sirius and Wormtail were staring at me as if I were the one that newly resurrected himself from cauldron.

I got a lot of flack from my instructors the next day. Sir didn't forgive me for a week, though he stopped sending me to my cell after two days. The degree of punishment had been lessened since the dementors had fled with Voldemort. The prisoners, on the other hand were happy with me. Due to my actions, the dementors were gone. Some of them were annoyed that Voldemort hadn't taken them with him, but on the whole they were happier without the dementors. Sirius seemed hurt, however. I couldn't imagine why until I asked him.

"There's no one else for you to love? What about me?"

"I do love you, but love isn't limited to one person you know. What can I do? He's my brother."

The conversation went on for longer, and Sirius didn't seem satisfied, but he left me alone after that.

The roar of the crowd was deafening. Or maybe it would have been if we were in the Roman Coliseum. But I think, if I were to go back in time when the gladiators were fighting, it would be similar to this. I was in the Ministry of Magic, near the department of mysteries. They apparently had courtrooms down here, courtrooms that were shaped more or less like a stadium. The press was in the uppermost seats, silenced by various spells. On the tier below them were the general public, but mostly those with an interest in the case. Since everyone and their sister had an interest in the case, these seats were filled with those that were supposedly close to me. I saw a sea of redheads, but they were the only ones I could make out clearly enough for identification. The seats under them and down until the floor were filled by Ministry personnel. The house was packed.

I was on the floor, where the trials were supposed to take place. There was no furniture, no seats, simply a wooden floor. There was a fair amount of expectation in the crowd, and a bit of fear, though none of that mattered. There was a squirming rat in my pocket, a godfather on the way – I was excited enough by myself. As always, the Ministry wanted to make a show of things. Well fine, as long as I got what I wanted.

"Will the individual present on the floor state his name and address for the record?" There were three individuals in the 'presiding judge' seats before me, and the middle person, a man, asked the question. Considering this wasn't a trial, and quite possibly nothing like this had ever happened before, I thought they were doing a remarkable job of improvising.

"Harry Potter, Boy-Who-Lived, also known as 'Vanquisher of Evil Snake-Like Man-Things." I said flippantly. They looked at each other for a minute. Now I am not as stupid as I appear to be, and I realized they wanted my physical address, since the only way they knew to contact me was by putting an article in the paper. Well, I don't read the paper, but thankfully my owl does, and she directed me to the article that was lining the bottom of her cage. Have I told you I love Hedwig? She's smarter than I am – well that's not saying much, but she's certainly smarter than the general population.

The man was about to say something, but the lady on his left spoke before he could. "Will the condemned please step forward?" Oh I liked her, not only did she have a pleasant soft voice, shiny brown hair loose around her shoulders, and a face that spoke of competence and experience, but she got straight to the point. "Present is Sirius Black, currently serving 17 years of a lifetime sentence in Azkaban prison. He is in attendance at the request of Harry James Potter. Mr. Potter, would you please state for the record your request?"

"Sure," I smiled at the nice lady, "In recompense for years spent unfairly in Azkaban prison, I request that the prisoner Sirius Black be remanded into my custody," here I gave a thin sly smile to Sirius that made judge-man and the guy on his right shrink back into their seats "for however long that may be." Sirius answered my smile with a smile of his own. That man should really not smile until after he's cleaned up a bit.

"The court has heard the request, are there any dissenters?" the court was silent, "all in favor?" There was a brief show of hands from the majority of the people "Well then, Sirius Black, you are to serve out the remainder of your sentence in the presence of Harry James Potter."

As soon as she finished that sentence the guards standing next to Sirius left the floor. He and I were alone. I pulled a wand from my pocket, ignoring the fact that the nice judge lady had a few other things to say. I tossed it over to Sirius, who caught it despite the manacles. I heard the crowd getting louder, basically asking each other if I were insane. As the manacles dropped to the ground, I pulled the rat from my pocket, my wand from another, tapped the rat and said to Sirius "Have fun!" I threw the rat to the middle of the floor, and then stepped back to the edge. Sirius smiled again, and this time it looked exactly right. The rat twisted, grew, until he bore the shape of a pudgy middle-aged balding man; Peter Pettigrew. He was shivering with fear, panicking at the sight of Sirius Black, and in such a state that he didn't notice the audience surrounding him. Pettigrew was burbling – I could make out words like 'no' 'please' and 'don't kill me' but on the whole, it wasn't very coherent. Especially with Sirius spouting hexes like some mad fountain. Pettigrew's pretty spry for being so fat.

Suddenly, annoyingly, the doors on my left slammed open, revealing Headmaster Dumbledore in all his glory. An aura of power and command flowed off of him as he strode to the center of the floor, putting himself between Pettigrew and Sirius. Mentally cursing the headmaster for a fool, I shut the doors behind him. Since there was a lull in the action, the nice judge lady finally managed to get her question heard and answered.

"What in hell is going on here? Who is that man?"

Seeing as Sirius was still in the middle of his 'how will I kill Wormtail' fantasy, and the headmaster was looking at me, I decided to answer. "Present before the court is Peter Pettigrew. Pettigrew is also known as Wormtail, and has, for his animagus form, a rat. As for what is going on, I believe it's generally known as revenge."

"Dumbledore," she said turning to the man who was still staring at me for some ill-defined reason "Why have you interrupted the proceedings?" Now that I didn't expect. When I said 'give me Sirius Black, then leave us the fuck alone' I was not aware that was exactly what they would do. Of course I wasn't expecting the audience, but at least they were following directions. The two men beside her looked at her as if she were as insane as I.

"Sirius" Dumbledore started, finally turning his gaze away from me, "Don't become a murderer. Don't go back to Azkaban."

Here I had to interrupt "Hey now Prof. He can't go to prison for a murder he's already committed."

Dumbledore shot me a look, as if saying 'you're not helping' then turned back to Sirius – who had finally gotten out of revenge mode and was currently in wait-and-see. "Think of James, would he have wanted you to kill one of your best friends?" And for some reason Dumbledore looked at me, which made Sirius follow his gaze.

I leaned against the wall behind me "What's everyone looking at me for? I want him dead." This shocked the headmaster – he wasn't the only Ligilimens in the room, so I continued enlightening the rest of the court. Can't allow their attention to waver now could I?

"This man is responsible for the death of 12 muggles, the destruction of a city street, several uses of unforgivable curses and he was the main reason Voldemort," pause here for the gasps that went around the audience "Returned to a body and to his previous strength. I think that deserves death."

"Give him the Kiss!" one moron from the audience shouted.

"No," I shouted back "The dementors should starve and rot in hell. Their crimes are worse than his." That shut the idiot up.

"What would you have me do?" Sirius finally spoke.

Thankfully it was the judge-lady that answered "Give evidence, have him convicted in a trial, and then sentenced. We are no longer going to allow oversights of this nature to stand. Courtroom testing reveals that yes, this is indeed Peter Pettigrew, and no charms, potions, or any other means have been employed to make another look like Peter Pettigrew. Sirius Black, our records indicate that you have never caused a fatality, be it accidental or otherwise. In fact your auror record has been exemplary." Sirius nodded. I didn't know he'd been an auror, strange world. "Would you really want this man to be your first kill?" Sirius looked down and away, confirming what I already knew. Sirius Black was no killer. If he had been, he would not have wasted time with those hexes. Peter Pettigrew was the only one that hadn't seen that - well him and the general wizarding population, but we've already seen that they aren't too smart.

Sirius came over to me, and I gave him a hug. I heard him say faintly "Sorry kid, couldn't do it." To which I answered "Let the Ministry do the dirty work for a change, let's go home."

We were about to walk out the door when the lady-judge squawked out a panicked "Wait!" So I turned and waited. "The record of Sirius Black now shows he is not responsible for the death of Peter Pettigrew. His record will be further adjusted pending the results of the trial of Peter Pettigrew. Since both of you are required to give testimony, how shall we contact you?"

"Got a quill?" Like I said before, for something that hadn't ever happened before, at least to my knowledge, they were pretty good at improvising. Well at least this lady was. If she were running for next Minister of Magic, I'd certainly vote for her. I had her write down her address, and told her I'd be in contact with her. She told me not to let Black out of my sight.

We walked into Sirius's home, a place he'd never wanted to see again. I convinced him otherwise, since being unplottable had its perks. Kreacher, upon being told that the master of the house had returned fell over and died of apoplexy. This time I'm utterly serious. The half brain-dead elf just looked at Sirius in shock and keeled over. I did a celebratory dance around his body, amid the screams of the portraits. For the first time I heard Sirius roar.

"All of you shut it!" Certainly it wasn't the most impressive thing to say, but the way he said it. You had to have been there, everyone – including me, and random shouting usually doesn't affect me at all – froze and looked at him in shock. "Not you Harry, you can keep dancing." He said absently waving his hand in my direction.

Now dancing is a very spontaneous thing, especially if you're dancing around a corpse. Needless to say, I stopped. But I did start laughing.

"Ok kid, spill," I made innocent noises, as if I didn't know what he was talking about. "I know you," he growled, "Don't make me get some dementors here to drag it out of you."

I snorted – I think you'd have had to be in Azkaban to really appreciate the humor, and said "I'll tell you over food." Once a meal was prepared I started telling him about how Voldemort died. Because as much as everyone believes it, I didn't kill him.

"Harry, my little brother, what are you doing here?" Voldemort asked me, as calm and as superior as always. "You should be in bed."

"How old do you think I am? It's barely past 2 am." I said in response.

"You shouldn't be here." And yeah, he was right. According to what he knew, I shouldn't have known where he was tonight. I shouldn't have known he was attacking a bunch of muggle-borns in their homes. I shouldn't have known he was attacking or hurting anyone at all. It was all a part of his plan to get me on his side. He thought that since he couldn't undo years of conditioning, he'd make it seem like he changed, and that no one was giving him a chance. I wouldn't have swallowed that bullshit even if I didn't have a direct link to his brain, and his emotions.

I sighed "Why do you think you could have kept this from me? Why couldn't you be honest with me?"

"You knew?"

"Yeah, I kept waiting to see if you'd be honest with me. If you'd trust me. But you never did, and I see that you never would. This can't go on. You're hurting people," I touched the scar on my forehead "You're hurting me."

He pulled out his wand standing up a little straighter, while I looked down and away, not especially wanting to meet his eyes. "So little brother," I never knew 'brother' could sound so stupid "you want to make me stop? You want to hurt me? How?" he smirked.

"The only way I know," I finally met his eyes "I don't love you anymore, you're not my brother."

The smirk slowly faded from his face, and he actually seemed hurt by my words. He lifted one hand to point at me, but lost what he was going to say when the tips of his fingers crumpled into dust so fine that it flew away on the slight breeze. He looked at me, past me, and whispered "Death."

By now I was panicking, I never expected him to be hurt, for him to actually crumble and look like he was dying. I only said that so that I wouldn't feel bad about trying to kill him. I turned around, and through the pain in my scar I saw it too. Death, a creature more glorious and beautiful than anything I had ever seen before. I wondered why Voldemort would ever want to escape this. But instead of awe and wonder issuing from my mouth it was "No, I didn't mean it. You know I didn't mean it. You can't. You can't."

It was Voldemort that answered "No Harry," I turned to face the crumbling villain, and was hard pressed to come up with any emotion except for sadness. "It's…" But he didn't say what 'it' was. He smiled, a genuine 'I am happy' smile. I knew he could still prevent Death from taking him. His wand hand was still pretty much whole, even though his head and body were becoming dust. But he didn't. Death moved past me, the link not cutting off until Voldemort was safely in Death's hands. The deatheaters around me were as shocked as I was. I assume that was why they didn't start attacking me. But the aurors, whom I called, had not seen Voldemort's suicide, and so wasted no time in collecting all the deatheaters present.

"So, are you afraid of death now?" Sirius asked

I looked at him, surprised "No, I mean I can wait until I see Death again, but when it comes I don't think I'll be too upset."

"Well I'm going to get cleaned up, I'm pretty sure I'll be a long time in the bath, so don't worry about me drowning myself or anything." I followed him into the hall, but stopped by Kreacher's body. He moved up the stairs relishing each step he took. "Oh, you might want to get in touch with the Judge." He paused to catch my nod, then continued to the upper floor. As I knelt by Kreacher I composed a short message in my head, editing it as I went along. It looked like the beginning of 'happily ever after.' Now I'll just have to find a damn princess.