Disclaimer: I, Aquahina, do not own Harry Potter. This I do solemnly swear.

This is NOT the last chapter of "Just My Luck." I know I was pretty much planning to end it here, but I just had a little brain-spasm half way through the chapter and realized a good ending that ties up all the loose ends. It'll most likely have about four more chappies. But DON'T expect them to be updated regularly!!!!!

Chapter Fourteen: Resolution and Return?

Harry stood on the balls of his feet; sure that Voldemort would leap up and attack him, revealing that his death was a hoax. But he didn't. Voldemort stayed motionless in a heap of black and white on the scorched, soaked, and unearthed ground - much to the astonishment of all present.

For a good 20 seconds, nobody said anything. The Death Eaters in the background (even in a moment of supposed victory, Harry kept his eye on the enemy) were staring at their fallen master slack-jawed. A few of them seemed to have realized what this meant for them and had tried to apparate out. A two or three of them were looking disoriented, looking around themselves and down at what they were wearing uncomprehendingly. Harry supposed these were the few that had been under his command only because of the Imperius.

"You can't Apparate or Disapparate on Hogwarts grounds," Harry could almost hear Hermione saying. Then a thought struck him - Voldemort had apparated on Hogwarts grounds! What was with that? It was suspicious, but Harry dismissed the thought as something to investigate later, and set his concentration back on said Death Eaters

They were now looking nervously for a way out of this predicament... and finding not a single way that didn't include either Harry, a monstrous cobra who had been part of killing their master, or the teachers and students of Hogwarts.

About 20 yards away from the mass of Death Eaters, the group of Light-supporters stood in shock and amazement. They stared at Voldemort's body in disgust, astonishment, and elation; as well as Harry with reverence. Great, Harry thought. Now people from not one, but two time periods will worship me. Just great.

The idea that his greatest enemy was dead, and all that implied - taking the date into account - hadn't really sunk in yet for Harry. He was in a state of shock. He half believed that a second later, Hermione was going to wake him up back in his own time. Voldemort was dead. Voldemort was dead. Voldemort was DEAD!!

Holy shit! Voldemort's dead! It had finally sunk in. Harry blinked, his eyes flitting first to the collapsed form of Voldemort, then to the gigantic cobra disappearing into the Forbidden Forest, then to Nagini's satisfied expression, then to the crowd who were now running joyfully towards him, and did what anyone would do right after defeating a Dark Lord.

He fainted.

......o0O0o......

Light. Warmth. Voices. Is this the afterlife? What happened? Harry wondered with no real apprehension. Like most of the wizarding community, he was not a religious person. Sure, when he'd lived with the Dursleys, Vernon, Petunia and Dudley had gone to a Christian Church every Sunday, but they'd always left him out. Not that he'd ever complained. A Dursley-less hour had been glorious in every shape and form.

Plus, they'd always said that the church would collapse if he entered it. Harry didn't doubt that they believed that because he was a wizard - one of the "evil" beings in the Christian religion. If that was so, he would supposedly be going to Hell. Hence his doubtful feelings about the existence an afterlife. He wondered vaguely what would happen if Voldemort went into a church... Voldemort! Voldemort was dead! He felt a sense of deja vu at that revelation, but wasn't altogether surprised. He had realized that Voldemort was dead... three times now in his life, two of them recently.

Well, Voldemort being dead wasn't really strange in of itself - but it was a totally different situation now. First of all, it was 'Dumbledore' who had killed Voldemort, not himself. Secondly, it was freakin' 1977. And lastly, there were so, so many more (possibly) negative repercussions now. Such as, oh, maybe the death of everyone you hold dear?

Harry strained his muscles, trying to sit up... without success. He was simply too tired. Now that he thought about it, his muscles (and for some reason, the area around the bottom of his ribcage) were aching like crazy.

"Uuuhhhhh..." Harry moaned.

"He's awake!" He heard a woman whisper-yell urgently in the background. They had a slightly familiar voice, but he just couldn't place it. "Madame Pomfrey, he's awake!"

"I heard you the first time, Minerva! I'm coming, all ready!" Well, Harry thought dryly, it was good to see that me and Pomfrey's relationship hadn't changed, at least. However, Professor McGonagall - Harry now recognized the voice as her's - seemed to have a much different attitude about him. Wait, was he still in Dumbledore's body?

"Perrrffssoorrr MGonnnagllll..." he slurred semi consciously. He could almost feel her worried eyes boring into him.

"Yes, Mr. Jameson?" She asked. Well, that answers that. Harry thought, sighing. He was in his own body - not Dumbledore's. So they knew, then, that he had been the one to kill the old snake. Harry let out a sigh of annoyance. It would have been so much simpler if they thought Dumbledore had been the destroyer of Voldemort... But, ah well. No point lingering in the past.

He snorted at the irony of this statement. He'd been 'lingering' in the past for months now.

"Mr. Jameson?" McGonagall said again, sounding more worried than before. "Are you OK?" Harry's throat was dry, but he managed to make an affirmative noise.

"Yaaaaahh." He croaked.

"Good." She said, the crisp professionalism of her voice returning.

"Whhhaaa happennnd?" He said, still barely able to speak. McGonagall was quiet for a second, probably figuring out what he was saying, then started to speak:

"Voldemort is dead." She said, finally allowing some emotion to creep into her voice. Joy.

"I knnowww, I knnnnow..." Harry said, wetting his tongue with spittle as he attempted to speak. "But whattt happeneddd aftterwarddss?"

"Oh!" The professor said, sounding slightly embarrassed - though still none less happy. "Well, for a start, you have been asleep for four days-"

"Four days?!" Harry exclaimed, shock finally forcing himself to snap upwards, opening his eyes. Immediately, the shock of the sudden amount of light pierced his eyes, forcing him to shut them once again. The inside of his eyelids were red, and his corneas burned from the pain. "Aaagh!" He said, trying to raise his hands to his eyes, then failing.

"Mr. Jameson!" McGonagall exclaimed, rushing to his side and forcibly pressing him down onto the mattress. "I wouldn't care whether you were Dumbledore, Grindlewald, or Voldemort himself - stay in your bed!" Harry retreated back into his pillows at the angry voice the professor was using.

"Geez, so much for an improvement of attitude towards me after I kill the Dark Lord..." Harry mumbled. McGonagall pretended not to hear him, and continued on her way checking some medicines at his bedside..., which, he now realized, was not the Hospital Wing. "Where am I?" Harry asked confusedly.

"In the special-patient section of the Hospital Wing." Harry opened his mouth to ask, but the professor was already answering. "It's rarely used. You should feel lucky. The only other ones who have ever used this wing have been past Headmasters and a select few teachers. You're only using it now because you created a mob thronging around your bed all the way down the stairs and into the third-floor corridor!" She seemed to realize she was ranting now, and immediately stopped talking.

"So," Harry asked with a heavy heart, "I assume everyone knows it was I, not Dumbledore, who killed Voldie?" By now, Harry had opened his eyes with only minimal pain, and saw McGonagall's regretful and yet amused look.

"Indeed, Mr. Jameson. Everyone knows it was you. The minute you were rendered unconscious, you switched back to your natural form, and the Headmaster into his." She paused for as second, and adopted a less formal expression. "And also, I realize that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is dead, but I don't doubt that there are many people who wouldn't be happy with that nickname of yours." She snorted, thinking of Harry's nickname. "Voldie..." She muttered, laughing under her breath.

Harry, however, needed more information that just that. He'd been out for four days. Four days! Who knew what had happened to the wizarding world since then! But then again, at least he'd avoided (at least temporarily) the rush of the crowds that had enveloped him last time he'd killed Voldemort.

"So what happened?" He questioned, bringing McGonagall out of her internal reverie.

"In short?" She asked, and Harry nodded in agreement. "Well, after you collapsed, everything was in confusion for two more hours or so until everyone switched back into their regular forms-" (Harry couldn't withhold a small grin) "-and realized that most of the people who'd been fighting against the Death Eaters were, in fact, teenagers." She looked at him dryly. "On a personal note, Mr. Jameson, I'm still rather angry at you for keeping me bound while the most historic fight of the century was going on."

Harry winced. He hadn't thought of that... he would have hell to pay when he returned to his own time and had to face the older (and surely a bit more bitter) McGonagall.

"Anyways," she continued, "after all that was more or less resolved the Headmaster was able to gain some semblance of control over the masses and forced them away from your sickbed, and moved you here. Since then, no less than twenty-six wizarding magazines and newspapers have attempted to get in for an interview or picture with you."

Harry sighed. He should have known this would happen, but he'd been hoping that he could just avoid it altogether.

"Messrs. Lupin, Black and Potter have attempted to get in here already twelve separate times via brooms, not one, but two Invisibility Cloaks, and (most recently) thestrals of all things, to try and see you." Harry snickered. "However, we still have no idea how they know exactly where you were..." Harry gulped, and was grateful, not for the first time, for the Marauder's Map and it's inconspicuity.

"And the... f-fatalities?" Harry asked, stuttering over the word he'd hoped he wouldn't have to use. Professor McGonagall sombered immediately.

"Even in your weakened state - though Poppy doesn't agree with this - I will tell you the truth, Mr. Jameson. There were several fatalities during the fight, though I have no doubt whatsoever that the numbers would have been tripled, no - quadrupled without your help." Harry knew she was trying to console him from guilt.

This, surely, had changed the future. It was all over. Did Remus die? Harry very distinctly remembered seeing him on the ground bleeding very heavily... and a few professors and students as well.

"Who?" Harry asked, still trying to uphold his dignity even in the face of this disaster. Professor McGonagall took a deep breath, and spoke:

"Professors Larletta Locksley, and Reignetti Invern for teachers-" (Harry was ashamed to admit that he nearly sighed in relief that it wasn't anybody he knew) "-and for students; Muerter Mohlagan, David Abbott, and Alexander Yaxley of Slytherin. Mark Uley and Jerome Parker of Hufflepuff. Harper Shacklebolt, John Bagman, and Kathleen Cattermole of Ravenclaw. And-" She took a shuddering breath, and Harry realized with a sickening lurch of his stomach that she was naming students of her own house here. "Illana Cresswell, Tarby Dippet, Ernie Fortescue and Rose Patil of Gryffindor."

She seemed to crumble to the ground, as Harry was sure he would've done had he not been already laying down. Abbott, Shacklebolt, Cattermole, Dippet, Fortescue, Patil, Cresswell, Bagman... how many lives had he prevented from even beginning? Dirk Cresswell, Florean Forescue, Kingsley, Ludo Bagman, Padma and Parvati Patil... would they be alive when he came back to his real time? And when would he go back?

Harry did some mental math. It was early February now. Hermione and McGonagall had said that they had set the spell to send him back to his home-time at the end of the year... so he still had four whole months to go before he could leave. Of course, Harry had no objection whatsoever to staying with his parents and their friends. It was the press, and his re-acquired fame that worried him. There was sure to be an even larger uproar than there had been when he'd killed Voldie last time, because this was completely unprecedented.

Sure, most people had been skeptical, but this was (or had been) the height of Voldemort's power. His "glory days," so to speak. Then out of the blue comes a seventh year student posing as Dumbledore who somehow manages - via epic battle - to defeat Voldemort. Add the fact that none of the newspapers, or anyone outside the school really, knew of his existence at all - and he was screwed.

Wait, Harry thought in a burst of excited revelation. What if Hermione could come and get me, like she did before? Harry frowned. How could he 'signal' her to come? He gave a small grunt of annoyance and sadness. Sure, he'd killed Voldemort (in a proper duel this time; not out of luck) but so many were dead, not to mention that he was stuck here. There was no chance or reason for him to continue his seventh year, he knew.

Plus, he hadn't even really been learning anything he didn't know already. Though, he noted, a Memory Charm lesson wouldn't be out of place.

Anyways, to reiterate, he was screwed. What was he going to do for four months? Hide in the Room of Requirements, or the Shrieking Shack? No, that wasn't a good idea at all. Plus, he didn't want to be stuck there for months on end with minimal-to-none sunlight. The Boy-Who-Lived shuddered at the thought. No flying...

I could go on the run, he decided, but that gets to be so boring! Harry remembered his days during Horcrux-hunting with Hermione and Ron; or more specifically, the days on end when they did absolutely nothing. Then, it hit him. Horcrux-hunting! There were still pieces of Voldemort's soul out there, just waiting to be discovered and unleashed upon the world! He had to-

"Ahem. Mr. Jameson?" He heard a questioning, and slightly freaking out voice from beside him and was jolted out of his thoughts. "Apparently, you are in some sort of internal debate - judging from your expressions and various snorts and sighs - but I must enquire to as what you plan to do now. Professor Dumbledore has told me to pass along that he approves your early graduation from Hogwarts in recognition of your service to humanity." She spoke in a slight monotone, though she seemed curious as to what he was thinking.

"Really? I didn't know you could graduate early." This was new for Harry. He'd never heard of anyone graduating early, and Hermione'd never mentioned anything of the sort to him. Then, he realized his mistake and corrected it quickly: "Not that I'm against it, or anything."

"That's because it's never been done before. Usually, no matter the level of wizarding, we like to keep children in the school for the full seven years - if only to forge bonds with their peers. However, Professor Dumbledore seems to think that, on account of your newly-acquired fame, you would like to be alone for a while. You have, after all, most certainly proved that you are worthy of graduating." Harry nodded. He wasn't the kind of person to boast about his accomplishments, but it was pretty obvious that he no longer needed to continue his magical schooling.

"Sounds good to me." Perfect. Now he actually had formally approved permission to begin a Horcrux-hunt! Wow, who would've thought...? "However, I do have a request." McGonagall stiffened. "I was wondering if it were possible-" Harry tried to figure out a delicate way to word this, and failed miserably. "-to, uh, have James Potter, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin and Lily Evans graduate early with me."

Silence.

Silence.

Eye-twitching.

Slight sigh.

Silence.

Staring.

"I will ask the Headmaster." Professor McGonagall replied formally. "However, it would be totally unprecedented for that to happen. You are one case, and they are another. You did kill Voldemort, Mr. Jameson. I know you may not like it, but that does give you quite a bit of status - even higher that the Headmaster himself." Harry nodded. He was aware of this. He hadn't really expected any other reply.

"So... you'll ask for me?"

"Actually, I think it would be best explained - your reasons, that is - if you were to ask him yourself. I will tell him you wish to speak with him. He should be here in about five minutes." Harry nodded accent, noting with sadness the far more formal tone of their conversation now that it had switched to his 'fame.'

"Thank you, Professor." Harry said truthfully. She really was an amazing person. She smiled softly, relaxing from her normally stiff posture.

"No, thank you, Harry." Harry noted detachedly that this was the first time she'd ever call him by his first name in this time period. She left hurriedly, and Harry most likely would have stayed there stewing in his thoughts if it weren't for the sudden transformation on the end of his bed.

From where there had appeared to be nothing, Izlanzi grew like a flower of feathers.

Harry! She called to him, sounding worried and confused. I'm so sorry that I wasn't there for you- But Harry cut her off.

Izlanzi. He thought sternly. It wasn't your fault you were away; though I would like to know where you were. She ducked her head, seemingly embarassed.

Well, she began, managing to seem embarrassed even through thought, You see... I was meeting with an - ehm - friend.

A friend? Harry asked, baffled. I didn't know you had any phoenix friends. The feathers around her cheeks fluffed in a bird-blush.

He's not a phoenix... I actually met with him in cat form.

Him? Harry questioned, a shit-eating smile growing on his face as he realized where this was going. Izlanzi, were you on a... date? If she had been human, her entire face would've been tomato-red.

Y-yes? She said hesitantly. Harry looked at her in a rather dead pan way.

"So, while I was battling an evil dark lord. In the past. By myself. For nearly an hour on end. In the body of an old, inflexible man - all the while trying to keep up the guise of said old-man... you were on a date with a cat?" She morphed ashamedly into a small, grey mouse and curled up into a ball. He said this out loud, forgetting that she could hear him when he was just thinking.

Well, when you put it that way- she began to say, but she was cut off by a rasping chuckle from the doorway of the Infirmary room.

"Hahahaha!" the man laughed, his piercingly azure eyes barely visible from behind both half-moon glasses and crinkled eyes. "A date, you say?" Dumbledore asked, finally stopping laughing. "With a cat, of all things? It wouldn't happen to be with our dear Professor McGonagall, would it?" Izlanzi stiffened up at the suggestion, turning her head from him in a huff of annoyance.

No, of course not! I can easily tell the difference between an animagus and a real cat - not to mention that I have seen her animagus form, and it is very distinctly her. Dumbledore, however, couldn't hear her, and continued laughing heartily at Izlanzi's whereabouts during the fight. Harry joined in after a couple of seconds, finally giving in - despite the glares Izlanzi was sending his way.

Then, all of a sudden, Dumbledore sobered. "So. Harry - you wanted to talk with me, correct? And I as well must confess that I have numerous questions for you - some of them correlating to your recent description of me as an old man" Harry nodded, stopping his laughter despite Dumbledore's jibe about his age. He'd known this was coming. The moment where he'd have to tell Dumbledore where he really came from. He'd already gone over the options in his head:

Option 1: Tell the truth, the full truth, and nothing but the truth. Possibly harmful to the future, but he'd already killed Voldemort. How much different could the future get? On another pro, it would be nice to confide in someone.

Option 2: Lie, and most likely have the answer sucked (painfully) out of his head via Occlumency. Dumbledore was a good, honest wizard - but his was an extreme circumstance, and Harry didn't doubt that he would use extreme measures if forced to.

Option 3: Tell a partial truth. This was a good option, no doubt, but the trouble was that Dumbledore was far too good at reading people for his own good. He'd probably figure out that Harry was lying no problem. '

Harry took in a deep breath, and initiated Option one.

Well? Good? Bad? I tried not to leave on TOO much of a cliffie, as is my habit. (Unfortunately for you guys.) In case you didn't read the beginning author's note - I know I rarely do - you should know that though I said earlier I was ending this in just a chappie or two, I have decided to let it go on longer to tie up a few loose ends and such.

Hope you like it! Also, I'm looking for a beta. Let me reiterate:

I'M LOOKING FOR A BETA!!!!!!!!!!!!

Okay, now even those who don't read these notes should see that... If you're interested in seeing my updates earlier as well as correcting my various mistakes, contact me!!!

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~AQUAHINA