Chapter 10

A Mirror conversation that night

"Well, we started looking at why the Dark Tosser didn't die. And I came up with nothing."

Remus took it from there. "But we started with what we knew – that Lord Moldyshorts didn't die. That implied that he had some sort of anchor keeping his soul from crossing over. So I started going through Padfoot's library, looking for rituals that create an anchor. Even with your description of what happened in the graveyard, it was still slow going."

They were all silent for a moment out of respect – for Harry, respect for Cedric, and the Marauders, for Harry.

"And then," Sirius took up the story, "I pointed out that we could never be sure which specific ritual Ol Moldy used, so we needed a generic attack that would work on all kinds of rituals."

"So while Paddy here provided money and lodgings, I worked on a runic array that would attack the weakest part of any anchoring ritual, and we put it in the rings. To provide a cover for it, I made it into an over-broad protection against mental and soul-based intrusions, and we slipped the dangerous part through any inspection by making the ring hollow, with several runic surfaces inside."

"Eh?" Harry was lost.

Remus slipped into his professorial mode. "Think of an anchor, Harry. There's the boat, which in this case would be that bastard's blackened, shriveled, desiccated soul. That's what we don't want to have to deal with, so attacking that is out. Then there's the anchor itself. A hunk of heavy iron, and in this case, we don't know what was used to keep Voldy's soul in the realm of the living. We don't want to have to deal with that, either – because there's a third piece to an anchor. The rope."

Harry's eyes went wide.

"By simply cutting all tethers coming from the outside world into the person, we've created a shell that cannot be connected to any mental or soul links." Remus frowned. "It should also disrupt any soul bonds, but since those are strictly mythical, I wasn't too concerned about that."

"What about familiars?" asked Hermione.

Remus frowned. "I believe that the familiar bond is a bond of magic, not of the soul or mind. As such, it should be unaffected by the ring's protection." He shifted uncomfortably. "Did Hedwig have any unusual reactions to you after you took the ring off again?"

Harry closed his eyes in thought. "No, I don't think so. I mean, she's always been kind of touchy if I don't visit her every few days …"

"So if that's the same, then the runic shell doesn't affect Familiar Bonds. Good," said Remus, with an air of finality.

"And so if we set up a situation where 'Ol Voldy put on the ring of his own free will – we didn't misrepresent the effect of the ring, he just wasn't cautious enough about how certain types of magic affected him. Totally not my fault," said Sirius virtuously. It was an attitude that Sirius was unfamiliar with, but he managed to pull it off this time.

Remus changed the subject, "So how did the new air pistol modifications work out for you?"

Harry shrugged. "Well, I haven't had to use it yet, and I haven't been able to practice with the select fire setting. I mean, Hogwarts doesn't really have a firing range …"

o0O—O0o

It was the last Monday in November, and the essay entries were now accepted as part of the week's entertainment. Harry consulted with the judges; all agreed that the contest seemed to have run its course, as nothing new was added to the debate in the last three weeks.

Part of that might have been the … distraction … that seemed to envelop the upper years. Quite a few seventh years and one or two sixth years were simply wandering through their daily schedules, dazed and barely responsive. As most of those affected were Slytherins, Harry surmised that Riddle's unexpected demise was throwing them for a loop. None of the wanna-be Death Eaters were in the running for the contest prize, so Harry was merely amused by their empty, vacant stares. In any case, it was time.

Harry checked his robe; he had removed the right pocket to give access to his waistband, where the air pistol was ready to hand. His wand was tucked into the wrist holster on his left hand. The winning essay was in front of him on the table. One of Moony's little gifts was on his finger, and the other little gift that Remus had sent was in Hermione's hands – she knew when to turn it on. It's time to confront the Dark Lord.

The evening meal was winding down, and Harry was expected to announce the essay winner. It was what the students and staff weren't expecting that was driving Harry into nervous overdrive. As if from a far-off distance, he heard, "… will now award the 500 galleons. Harry?"

Harry got up with the essay in hand and walked to the front of the Great Hall. He had finally given up on conjuration for a stool; instead, he tossed a small wooden block to the ground and with a swish of his wand, transfigured it into a step-stool. Once atop his perch, Harry took a deep breath. Showtime.

"As stipulated in the rules at the beginning of the school year, the contest has ended. No new points have been made for the past three weeks, so the essays from the last three weeks have been judged, and the panel of judges have declared a winner. Professor Flitwick?"

The charms professor made his way out from behind the staff table, carrying the bag of Galleons. The students were buzzing with excitement – almost literally, which was something that Harry found amusing. Harry unrolled the essay in his hands and announced, "The winning essay included all the undisputed points that had been brought up before, and added the criteria of hypocrisy: Dark Lords demand the Rule of Law for their own defense, but refuse to extend those protections to their followers or the public in general. So the winner of the prize money is … Takashi Noda!" Takashi jumped up from the Ravenclaw table and received the prize money, grinning widely. As he moved to take his seat again, Harry went on, "I have a few more things to announce, but I need to make a demonstration first. Professor Dumbledore, if you will indulge me?"

The Headmaster nodded from his place at the staff table. Harry continued, "I need Professor Flitwick to put a small target, no more than 3 inches in diameter, on the wall. And I'd like you, Headmaster, to protect it. I want you to do everything you can to keep me from hitting the target, and the only thing out of bounds is to shield it using a person. Agreed?"

Dumbledore agreed, and with a flick of his wand, the Great Hall lost all the tables and chairs. The rest of the staff (and the students) filed to the walls, and Professor Flitwick created a small pink circle on the stone wall. "Are you ready, Harry?"

Harry smiled a little. "As soon as you begin, Professor Dumbledore."

The old Headmaster created a shimmering shield in front of the wall, carefully standing to the side. Harry drew his wand, and began casting his (or rather, Hermione's) reformulated piercing hex at a fast rate. He hated how it sounded though: "Bet, bet, bet, betbetbet…" He figured that six inside of two seconds was enough.

It was. None of the spells took heed of the shield at all, speeding through the air at over twice the normal speed for spells, smashing into the pink target and sending up a small shower of rock chips from the wall. "Perhaps you didn't understand me, Professor. I want you to shield the target using whatever power and methods you can, to prevent me from hitting the target. Care to try again?"

The students were avidly looking from Harry to the target, murmuring to each other with a steadily rising volume. Professor Dumbledore's eyes twinkled, and he merely said, "If that is truly what you want, Harry."

Harry nodded. The next spell was a barely transparent silver dome over the target, with a significant depth and … presence. "Bet, bet, bet, betbetbet …" The results were the same – nothing about the shield impeded Harry's attack in any way.

"That is a truly impressive attack, Harry. How does it deal with objects?"

Harry looked impassively at Dumbledore. "Care to try it?"

The Headmaster gave a decisive nod. The students (and the staff) were jockeying for a good view. The target was reapplied to a fresh section of wall, and another dome was created over the target – this time, solid silver, and completely obscuring it from view.

Harry whispered the spell four times. The first spell shot at the target, producing a molten spray of silver from the plates it hit. The second jet of light followed the hole the first spell had created, ringing the target as it hit. The following two spells did the same.

"Four spells, three hits. Is everyone convinced that I can drill a hole in any opponent?"

Professor Dumbledore frowned. "Harry, my boy, you should never …"

"Headmaster." Harry's voice was firm and carried throughout the Hall. "I am not your boy. If you were my opponent, I would have killed you with a spell that you can't shield against. I can cast it faster than you can dodge it. Do you see that?"

The Headmaster was silent for a moment. "I do, Harry. Are you planning on using this terrible spell against You-Know-Who?"

"I will use it against the Dark Lord if necessary."

"But, Harry, if you …"

Harry's voice overrode the Headmaster's. "If I use that spell against my opponent, I will win. It cannot be stopped by an object. It cannot be stopped by magic. And I can cast it fast enough and often enough that my opponent cannot hope to dodge it." He paused. The hall was quiet enough that everyone could easily hear him. "And that is not the only new trick I have in my arsenal."

Harry looked along the Ravenclaw area, where a few girls from the upper years met his gaze, defiantly. "If I have to take the time to slap down more Ravenclaw misbehavior, the offenders will die. I have very few methods in hand that will leave my opponents alive; everything I've taught myself, developed, or caused to be made is a way to kill my opponent quickly and finally." Looking at two of the ringleaders in Luna's bullying, he asked them directly, "Do you need a demonstration?"

Cho Chang had lost her backbone and shook her head. "No, sir." She didn't notice using the honorific. Nobody commented on it, but most thought it prudent.

The Headmaster attempted to argue with Harry. "Mr. Potter, killing one's opponent is hardly an acceptable solution…"

"Yes, Mr. Dumbledore, it is. But even if it is morally suspect, it is still a solution." Harry turned to the students that were surrounding them. "How many of you lost a relative during Voldemort's rise to power? Show of hands, please." A solid number of hands were raised – Harry estimated somewhere in the mid-fifties, with more Slytherins being counted than their numbers would assume.

"Fellow students, if the Headmaster is as knowledgeable as he likes to imply, he knew before the attacks just who would be committing the attempted killing. He could have saved your relatives, but chose not to, because he would have felt … uncomfortable." Harry shook his head and raised his voice. "The death-eaters that had been captured at the end of Voldemort's first rise were allowed to go free instead of paying for their crimes. The vast majority of the latest deaths could have been prevented if only the Head of the Wizengamot had insisted in justice," here Harry looked Dumbledore in the eye, "as was his job."

Dumbledore protested, "But those people repented …"

Harry promptly interrupted, "To repent, one has to fully confess. How many did even that much? And then the penitent person has to take full responsibility for their actions, correcting all their misdeeds as best they can. How many of the released death-eaters showed any impulse to help the surviving victims of their actions? But, no, the so-called Leader of the Light chose actions that could not have been more calculated to preserve Voldemort's followers to the best of his ability… completely violating his responsibility to the people he claimed to lead." Harry took a deep breath and visibly calmed himself.

"Dumbledore has consistently shown, even within Hogwarts, that he cannot bring himself to impose the slightest hardship upon those that provoke others. It's as if he actually agrees with them." Dumbledore's eyes widened in horror, and Harry continued, "No, I'm not suggesting that Dumbledore is a Voldemort sympathizer. I am, however, pointing out that even given his stated belief in the side of the Light, he is unwilling to sacrifice his moral superiority to save the lives of the innocent or impose any sort of punishment upon the guilty. He believes that it is worth the lives of everyone else so that he can sleep soundly at night. Your relatives died because Mr. Dumbledore was unwilling to have his sleep troubled in the slightest."

The silence filled the room. Even Dumbledore was having trouble responding to this statement.

Albus eventually responded, "Now, Harry, there are other ways…"

"And none of those 'other ways' were able to save the lives of those victims, were they? While, if known Death Eaters had been killed, the number of victims would be quite a bit smaller, wouldn't they?"

Harry turned back to face the staff along the wall of the Great Hall. "Headmaster!" his voice boomed. Dumbledore looked toward Harry, his eyes bright and calculating, displaying his trademark twinkle, his face assuming the expression of a kindly grandfather that was sorely disappointed.

"Come and face me!" Harry stalked into the center of the floor. "Stand here and answer for your actions, Dumbledore!" he called, pointing at a section of the floor in front of him.