Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world belong to J. K. Rowling

Chapter 10:

Two aurors kept guard outside Harry's door, letting Catherine in a couple of times to check on him. Almost straight away the LV measure had started its rise, but energy levels were still rockbottom when she checked him in the early hours of the morning.

Catherine was no longer young, and slept through the alarm that was supposed to wake her for the next check, and it was not until morning that she went back to his room.

"He's in the shower," said Grant. "Whistling very badly!"

Catherine smiled. "I might leave him until after breakfast then."

Harry was scrubbing himself. He thought he'd seldom felt so dirty. And when he saw his clothes waiting for him, he only checked the pockets for his wallet and wand, and vanished them, even the underpants. He was very glad he could conjure clothes that could be relied upon to last a while. The jeans were just basic blue denim, but the shirt was straight vibrant orange-red. If he'd really done what he thought he'd done, he was very pleased with himself.

It was two weeks short of two years since he'd been taken captive by the Dementors.

He was still tired, but again had developed a raging appetite. He staggered a little as he opened the door, finding Grant and Alex just outside. He'd known them both many years, and they treated him the same as always as he asked about breakfast. He did check something, though, just in case.

"Did I really kill Dementors yesterday, or was I dreaming?"

They assured him that he really killed Dementors. And he thanked Alex, too, hadn't Alex been one who had come to his help? But he remembered most of the battle only through a haze of exhaustion.

There were three long tables set out for breakfast. Several of the foreign negotiators were there as well, and their staff, although most of the Germans had gone home. It had been late afternoon when they'd actually finished the previous day, and some had decided, like the English, to stay the night. It had been quite exhausting being outside all day...

Catherine was there, and took note as Harry came in, swaying rather, and being helped by Alex. His face was still very pale and tired, though he appeared to be in good spirits. He saw her there, and nodded and smiled to her, but raised an eyebrow. When had she come over?

The English knew their Harry, but the others stared at him in awe and fascination. There was a new ingredient. Several were shrinking away from him in fear, almost loathing. And when three got up abruptly and hurried out the door, Harry glanced up with a shadowed look.

Sandra Darke was not far away, and filled with spite. She knew now that she'd lost her job because of Harry Potter, and now here he was eating three times as much as she ever allowed herself, and looking quite comfortable, if rather tired. It was too much for her.

"You know they Kissed you again before it started - six of them had you!"

Harry barely looked up. "Well, you know, it's a funny thing, but I don't actually feel quite as bad about that any more!"

In an even more vicious voice, Darke said, "They said there was no more braciage, so that it was quick and easy - maybe something like an old whore!"

Abruptly Franz and Grant removed her from the table. This time it had affected Harry, and he wore an expressionless face and replaced the roll on the table. It was not just Darke's words, it was the hostile stares from other delegations.

He got up from the table, holding his chair as he started to stagger - he was a long way from full recovery.

"Excuse me, Mr. Potter, a special breakfast for you."

A waitress was holding a beautifully presented cooked breakfast, and Harry thanked her. It would have been rude to reject it. He was fussed over, extra knife and fork laid, another serviette, and he sat and waited, smiling his appreciation. He didn't know what the muggle knew, but it seemed she'd been told to make him happy.

Again he started eating, with renewed appetite. Always before he had known instantly when his food had been poisoned or drugged, but maybe because he was still very tired, this time he had three bites before he hesitated, only touched his tongue to the next bite, and then rose from the table, trembling. And this time he betrayed his bitterness, saying to them all, "You may not like what I do, but you don't have to try and poison me!" And then he disapparated. Most people make a loud crack on apparation and disapparation. Harry had the rare ability to do it in silence, but this time there was a muffled, staggered thud.

Apparation can go badly wrong, and most witches and wizards were careful to do it only when fit and not too tired. There had been occasions when Harry had done it even though very sick, and arrived safely. But there had been other occasions when he'd ended up somewhere quite different from his intention, once in the middle of a rough sea.

Jebedee swung into action, confiscated the breakfast to have it analysed, and started bustling the others to get organised. The job of looking into the probable poisoning was left to the Germans. Harry had always been right before when he claimed his food was poisoned. But Jebedee was very worried, and wanted to get home in order to check whether Harry had arrived safely. Apparation gone wrong can lead to horrible complications. And Harry was always silent.

Harry appeared in a paddock, and had no idea where he was, except that it was not home. A herd of black bulls with long horns looked at him curiously as he got to his feet, cane in hand, and staggered to a hedge to be sick. This was the first time anyone had succeeded in poisoning him, even though it had been tried on several occasions.

He sat again, next to the hedge. It still appeared quite early in the day, so he thought he probably hadn't come far, at least not across many time zones, but he knew better than to try and apparate again.

He wasn't badly ill, he'd taken hardly any poison, but he was still very tired. He thought probably he'd been rash and stupid. Jebedee, Franz and the others were looking after him, and now he'd have to look after himself.

He didn't know what had provoked the spite of Sandra Darke, but the hostility he sensed from those others, was more serious. What had he done? He'd killed Dementors, and no-one was supposed to be able to kill Dementors. He could not have killed them all, he thought, but there had certainly been a lot of bodies. And how were people going to treat him now? There had been demonstrations years ago, that he was a 'monster,' because he could do things that others couldn't do, and because he didn't appear to be ageing. Now it could get a lot worse. Unless, of course, they were grateful. They should be grateful.

He pulled himself to his feet, and walked through the black fighting bulls, wearing his brilliant red shirt. They watched curiously.

There was a road close, and Harry hitched a ride into the nearest town. He always carried plenty of money on him, and was able to buy himself some more food, pleased that no-one who knew him could see him eating so much. It was a bit embarrassing, but using the strong magic always made him hungry. This time he'd used it for hours on end. And for the first time he realised just how long he'd stood in that natural amphitheatre, and killed Dementors. It had been early when he started, and late in the day when it ended.

He supposed that Darke had been telling the truth that some of them had used him, but as he said, killing such a large number did indeed make him feel better about that. He didn't know what she'd meant when she spoke about a braciage, but shuddered, and decided he didn't need to know. Whatever it was, it didn't appear necessary to life.

It was too early to check into a hotel, and he wasn't planning on trying to go home yet. He was far too tired. He did make a phone call, and left a message with Margaret to tell Julie he'd be home tomorrow. The town was small, but there was a library, and he thought he'd try that a while. His head was beginning to buzz with weariness again, as he read the muggle newspaper, suddenly realising halfway though the first page that it was in Spanish. He must be in Spain.

An odd looking man sitting near him shuddered as a cold draught stirred the air, and Harry looked at him curiously, and then a bit more curiously. He felt the spell, and why not? He made no indication of using magic, but a pair of pig tusks vanished, and a bushy, upturned moustache suddenly became more limp. The man put a hand to his face, incredulous with joy, thought that God had answered his prayers, and went home to cry his joy, pray his gratitude, and celebrate.

A few months later, that man married a muggle woman, who had six badly behaved children. He still thought it better than Dementor prison guards.

Harry lay his head over the newspaper on the table, and went to sleep. The library workers smiled and pointed, but no-one interfered with him, and he slept peacefully for two hours before waking, feeling refreshed.

On request, the library workers pointed him to a hotel, but there was a hairdresser on the way. And suddenly, he paused. He was going to be disobedient and Julie would be cross. He asked for a short, normal haircut. Harry had never been terribly interested in appearing 'the great wizard,' and he suspected that he might have to hide for a while anyway. He'd done something too outlandish, and someone had tried to kill him at breakfast.

Julie always told him what to do. And nearly always he did what she said. He'd even consented to have his portrait painted a few years ago by a brilliant wizard artist. It was not a success. Images in wizard portraits have their own sort of life, but instead of a portrait of an impressive and dignified great wizard, as Julie had envisaged, the image always looked uncomfortable, often blushed, and sometimes even hid behind the frame. It was not on display.

He liked his flame-red shirt, but bought himself some more underwear and jeans. He was not so good at those, and they were an uncomfortable fit.

He dozed again, after checking in to a hotel. He was rapidly getting better, it would not be long before he was fully fit again.

Jebedee and Barbara were very relieved to hear from Julie that she'd heard from him, and that he was all right. The breakfast had been analysed, and found to contain a quick acting and lethal substance. That untidy and noisy disapparation was so untypical.

Rumours were beginning, but information to most of Wizardkind was scanty.

Early the next morning, Harry conjured himself a second brilliant orange-red shirt, he liked that colour, and apparated directly into his bedroom. And even before anyone else knew that he was home, he shared a pleasurable hour with his wife.

She refrained from rebuking him about his hair, and even let him put his conjured shirt back on, to his surprise. But Julie had been very worried. At that stage, she knew little more than he'd been in some sort of fight with Dementors. But when she started to question him, she quickly found that he had other things in mind. "Tell you later," he'd said, projecting sexuality as he so well knew how to do, and then Julie had other things on her mind, too.

**x**

There'd been nearly two thousand bodies of Dementors counted, and they'd been vanishing into the atmosphere for hours before the count had been started. Harry must have vanished hundreds, too, if not thousands.

The head of Public Relations worked a long while on a statement, and it was only when approved by Barbara and Jebedee that it was released to the newspapers, three days after the event. One young reporter asked about the chances of an interview with Harry Potter. He was laughed at. "You must be joking!" There were photographs, pictures of a lone wizard surrounded by the blackness of Dementors, cape swirling, head flung back, and long hair that did indeed add to the impression of the great wizard, fighting.

As soon as the newspaper report was published, mail started flooding in. Margaret put aside her less urgent work for a while, and helped. And then Chrissy's sons, Simon and Beau, were roped in. Harry had several decades ago invented a bin that 'Howlers' were put into. It made them harmless, and they could then be read normally - if they were worth reading.

There were a lot of Howlers arriving. As Harry had been afraid, he was now a 'Monster,' and did not deserve to be in civilised society. He didn't think that anyone would actually miss the Dementors but the fact that he was capable of apparently exterminating a species, filled people with fear and hatred. They spoke about genocide, and his overweening pride and arrogance.

There were also some stiff and formal letters of protest from those countries that had used Dementors as prison guards. Chrissy always gave him a brief summary of the correspondence he received, and most was answered with courteous form letters. "Courteous acknowledgment," he casually said as Chrissy asked about the government letters.

Harry's staff was loyal, his relations with them were easy, even the children of his staff just called him Harry or Boss, and he suffered no problems with them.

He never said much about what had happened, not to his staff, and not to Julie. Harry did find out a little more from Jebedee, but still didn't believe that he could have killed them all. The quote had been in the newspaper: We have decided to accept the terms of the special one. He wants to eradicate our species. And they had said that if he succeeded, their kind would be gone.

Harry knew now that no-one had seen any of the Dementors leave, he knew that he had fought for more hours than seemed possible, but still could not comprehend that a species could throw themselves into extinction. And no-one had ever been able to say how they bred - or generated. A Dementor didn't seem to have a gender, and as far as he knew, there had never been immature ones spotted. Was there still a breeding colony somewhere? Were there nurseries where they kept their young? No-one knew, and it seemed that no-one had even asked the question.

There were personal thank yous to be sent, to Alex, to Leopold, and to Hans, those who had given him a reprieve when it was desperately needed. And he visited all the aurors, spending time with them. That was a thank you, too, though it wasn't spelt out.

But there were hisses in the corridors of the Ministry, and a drawing away when he came near. Side-long, fearful looks. The aurors were all right, but a lot of the others seemed to really think he was a monster.

Barbara and Jebedee told him to ignore it, and Barbara organised an afternoon tea, and invited all of those who had been there, including Catherine, but not including Sandra Darke. He was wanted to do the overseas trips again, people suffering bothersome spells never seemed to worry that it might be a monster that cured them, just as long as they were cured.

Harry was happy to do them. The aurors protected him very well from crowds, admiring or otherwise, and no reporter or photographer was ever allowed near. They tried to apologise to him again, for leading him into a trap, but as he said, one way or another, the Dementors were going to get him to do what they wanted, and mentioned the one that had been seen at his home.

Sarah Creevey was now head of the Department for International Cooperation, and Ginny Davenport was to be the Coordinator for the trips.

"Ginny?" he said. And he grinned, "Fancy little Ginny organising us!"

"You know her?" asked Barbara.

"She's my grand-daughter. Half the Davenports and Abercrombies around are my grand-children." Margaret Abercrombie, Harry's daughter, had had nine children, and three of the girls had married Davenports, who also seemed to be numerous.

Harry had been laughing and joking, genial, and was wearing his incredibly bright red shirt again, but Barbara was amused at his change of expression when Catherine stated that he had to come to her office for a checkup before the trips resumed. Catherine only looked more stern than ever, as he protested. He looked at her unyielding expression, and gave in. He was remembering an occasion when a new Ministry healer had shed pretend tears to get him to do what she wanted. He thought he preferred Catherine's frank bossiness, and she hardly ever fussed.

He was less happy a half hour later, when she pointed out that his humerus bone was bent, where he'd healed it himself, and that it would have to be re-broken and healed straight. Hermione had never known that it had been broken, and had not checked it. He hadn't noticed himself that his arm was no longer straight, although he had noticed it aching a bit.

It was a very minor thing, she told him, as he paced the floor, and a wizard who could kill several thousand Dementors with enormous courage should not be frightened of a few minutes pain.

"Pain?" he said.

Catherine was puzzled. He was making such a fuss. It was unlike him. She explained again. It would be re-broken with magic, straightened physically, and then healed. He would have a potion that would relax the muscles, and take away the pain.

"All you have to do is be a bit brave for a while."

He ran a hand through his hair, "I think all my bravery is used up."

She laughed at him, but began to understand, too. Sometimes there's just too much all at once. Maybe his courage was all used up.

It was a week since the Dementors, and his weight was still a long way down, energy seemed fine, but LV was still only 145, not good for Harry. She said that they'd have to wait a couple of weeks before working again, but took him straight to St. Mungo's so that she could have the assistant she needed before breaking and re-healing his arm.

In spite of his earlier fuss, he behaved himself well enough, and when the assistant showed himself reluctant to help, refrained from saying anything. Poor young Peter wasn't so worried about him being a monster, but pulling hard and painfully on a broken arm in order to straighten it, when that arm belonged to someone who could do awful things and not even need a wand - it was a bit daunting!

The Ministry of Magic tried to counteract the backlash against Harry. There was even an award ceremony where they gave him a special medal for services to Wizardry.

They told him the intention, and he agreed to go. If they could make it so that he was accepted again, it would certainly be to the good. But at the ceremony, he could hear hissing. The culprits thought that he would not be able to tell who was doing it. And there was a last minute change of venue, to avoid the demonstrators.

The Merlin Medallion, a special award of even higher status than the Order of Merlin, first class, was tossed unceremoniously on the bed when he and Julie returned home.

"It's not good!" he said to Julie. "I don't know how bad it's going to get."

**x**

In Australia, it took a while for Harry White to learn what had happened. He didn't have much to do with the small wizarding community based in Melbourne. The wizarding community was very quiet these days, seldom even meeting. Many had left the country, and there were very few babies born to them. They were shamed. An Australian wizard had become very powerful, very evil.

When he was seen, White was treated with enormous respect, especially by those with girl children. No-one knew for sure, but young Mahoney had been rude, and now his girl had tight ropes that could not be removed from wrists and ankles, and she stared into the distance, never speaking. Some of the adults had been cursed, and no-one had been able to undo the spells. Wizard duelling was illegal in Australia, but they didn't know where White lived, and they had no-one capable of arresting him in any case.

They'd been trying for years to get Madam Diefenberger or Harry Potter to make a visit, but there were only a few patients - there were always far more in Europe. Darke had never even mentioned the requests to Sarah, and most of the spellbound patients looked too grotesque to go by muggle transport. Some managed to get to Cissy, who cured them without trouble, but most stayed grotesque.

**x**

Harry resumed his work spell-breaking, and the routine went on as if nothing had happened. If Ginny found that there were some countries that didn't want him any more, there were always plenty that did.

He stopped altogether appearing in public in his home country. Demonstrations were now large and well organised. He was a monster, and should be banished from civilised society. On those occasions when he went to Ben's office to clean up the cases where Cissy had failed, he simply apparated into the office, and disapparated from within when he finished. He may have done better facing down his detractors - never being seen was not going to change minds. But as he said to Catherine, maybe his courage was all used up.

He was not going to be chased away if he really wanted to do something, though. One day, he decided that it was time that Adrian had his own wand, and started to learn powerful, defensive magic.

He shrank from conflict these days, and disguised himself. Just a brown cape instead of the black he always wore, and pale framed glasses made a surprisingly effective change in his appearance. He could also use temporary brown hair dye, and conceal the scars on his face very effectively with make-up. These were skills he'd learned when he'd been in his twenties, and in constant danger. So many had wanted to kill him in those days, now there'd been only that one attempted poisoning just after the Dementors. Of course, he was seldom seen in public now, and his bodyguards took great care that there was no opportunity to tamper with his food or drink.

It was the inconspicuous brown-haired wizard who apparated with Adrian to Ollivanders for his first wand. The young Madam Ollivander looked disapproving as the small boy was taken in to her shop. And then she looked severely at Harry. "Oh, yes, father said that you always bought your children wands very early, Mr. Potter."

Harry shrugged, and said, "It's a dangerous life!"

Madam Ollivander frowned at Adrian, so like his father, even to the glasses. Several wands were tried, until finally a match was made.

Adrian smiled at Madam Ollivander. "Thank you."

She grunted, and said that she hoped that he would at least use it. She'd heard that his father never used his, and in a sour voice said that it would have been a matter for pride if it had been known that Ollivanders had sold the wand that exterminated the Dementors.

Harry was amused. He enjoyed not being either fawned upon or hissed at. He didn't tell her that his wand had been lost, that he now used a wand haphazardly picked up for Beth many years before when she'd been just a child. It might have been in Rome, he thought, or maybe Paris. He'd thought it important she formed the habit of using a wand, rather than just making magic happen as she chose. It was not safe to appear too different from the norm.

"I wouldn't go outside if I were you," warned Madam Ollivander, "Or at least not with the boy - there's another demonstration.

Harry went to the door, and looked out. Marchers with placards were moving down the alley. There was even chanting. It seemed they wanted Harry Potter to go away and never come back. Harry frowned at them.

Adrian wormed his way in front of him, and also stared. "You could turn them all into frogs," he suggested.

Harry grinned. "It's a temptation." But then he dropped his hand casually onto Adrian's shoulder, and said that they'd go visit his Grandfather Malfoy, and they disapparated from within Ollivanders.

Draco Malfoy was actually Adrian's great grandfather, the grandfather of Nerrissa Malfoy, his birth mother, who had been killed. Adrian had always known that Nerrissa was his true mother, but Harry had not burdened him with details of exactly what sort of a woman Nerrissa had been.

Draco was a great comfort to Harry. He was the same age as himself, but never appeared to change. He looked old, of course, as Harry did not, but he was straight, alert, and his white hair scarcely looked different from the white-blonde hair he'd always had.

"Aah, the Monster and the Son," he said in the sneering voice that had made him Harry's enemy through most of their school days.

Adrian sat, being very well behaved, and answering politely when Draco quizzed him about his life.

Harry was amused, though, when Adrian forgot to be nervous in front of his daunting great grandfather, and launched into a detailed description of the achievements of Clown and of Benita, and of the ribbons they won in show classes. And how he hoped to ride Pinto soon, though he was pretty old, but still fast, and extremely clever.

Harry sat relaxed in the armchair, and wondered why Draco was being so patient, even acting as if he was interested.

Draco was enjoying Adrian's absolute enthusiasm, a trait that his own family seldom showed. Sneers, snobbery, politics, and occasional frank evil were more in the line of the Malfoy family. Harry had suffered at their hands, but thought that the family had a long way more than made up for it when he and Julie had been presented with the tiny premature baby that was Adrian.

A tall blonde man came into the room. Harry stood, "Kryall," he said. "I didn't know you were back in the country."

Kryall put out his hand, "Excuse me, have we met?"

Harry still had brown hair, and had disguised his facial scars, but Draco had not been fooled for a moment. Harry extended his hand also, though with a rather mischievous grin, "Harry Potter."

Kryall jerked back his hand, and looked absolutely alarmed.

"Kryall," said Draco, in a warning tone.

"Sorry, yes… How do you do," said Kryall, and shook the extended hand mechanically.

"This is your nephew, Adrian," Harry said.

Adrian was looking at the tall man, puzzled. He wasn't acting very normal. In fact, he looked rather sick. Kryall nodded at the small boy, muttered something about having to see to... and left the room.

"Did you really wipe out the Dementors?" asked Draco, as they sat again.

"I doubt it," said Harry. "According to those with me, it was all the ones that were there, but I cannot believe they're all gone."

The Privileged One was very weakened, a condition foreign to Dementors who were only ever alive or not alive. It had always been that a Dementor could feel the rest of its race. It was a part of its knowing, a part of its being. A Dementor was never alone, as a human can be alone. But now this one was alone.

The Privileged One, the first one that had used the special one, that had been singled out as one that Harry had most wanted to kill, had been hurled a very long way, and had taken days to discover that it was still alive. There was a big difference in its consciousness. The rest of its kind were gone. This was the sole survivor of its species.

**x**