The Purge

If you're hoping for much of a plot other than Harry brutally killing Death Eaters or getting petty revenge on Dumbledore…you've picked the wrong fic.

Of course, the killing will begin after I get Harry back to school so he can start his purge. I will be altering the course of events from the original draft. Draco will be brutally killed but not for a little while yet.

Poor Fool, He Makes Me Laugh

Sneaking into the wizarding publication, the Daily Prophet, was actually laughably easy. There was a basic alarm spell over the door, but not on any of the windows. Harry was able to detect it by a very simple spell (which he could use with impunity in Diagon Alley because the whole place was rife with magic so underage spells went completely unnoticed). The stupidity of wizards was truly remarkable. Of course, he reasoned, no one would expect someone breaking into a newspaper publishing house; after all, all the money went into Gringotts and there wasn't much that could be stolen from a wizarding newspaper.

It's not like there was a black market for magical printing presses. Or was there? He didn't know for certain, but he wasn't there to steal anything.

During his research periods, he'd learned that the Daily Prophet had an interesting system for how they prepared their print copies. All the articles and news bulletins were lined up on a kind of rack, ready to be printed in bulk at precisely six-thirty every morning. The reason why they were held so long before distribution was because the editors had to check everything in the following edition right before the end of the day, at which point it wouldn't make sense to print everything off as they might suddenly remember something that needed to be changed.

Harry had his own little addition to make before the papers started printing. It was about two hours before the presses were due to begin rolling and no one had shown up. After quickly inspecting the scheduled articles, Harry swapped out one about what "excellent work Minister Fudge is doing" with his own little work.

He waited under his invisibility cloak for the morning attendant to open the office and get the presses rolling before quietly sneaking away into the early morning light.


Ministry Attempts Murder!

By Lex Talionis

Last week, on August 6th, an attack was launched on Harry James Potter and his relatives. The attack involved two dementors which succeeded in administering the Dementor's Kiss to Mr. Potter's aunt, uncle, and cousin, as well as several muggle boys who had been living in the area and were with Mr. Potter's cousin. Thankfully, Mr. Potter himself managed to escape without injury. Upon making an inquiry with Mr. Potter, he informed me that he sensed the dementors coming (having spent an entire year with those monsters hanging about Hogwarts and attempting to kill the students) and ran for it.

I asked him why he didn't try to save his family. His response was that there wasn't time and that he was not sure if his relatives were even still alive and he was not going to risk his own life on a scant possibility. After all, dementors were not supposed to be in a muggle neighborhood, so why was he supposed to be prepared to protect his relatives?

He implied that if the ministry had lost control over two dementors, then someone else must have sent them as there was little chance the attack was a coincidence. If the Ministry of Magic has not lost control of its dementors, then a ministry official with high enough security clearance to have access to control of dementors had to have ordered the hit.

But if the ministry has lost control over some of the dementors, then who were they answering to? Who has enough power and enough Dark Magic to sway dementors from their post at Azkaban?

I know of only one person who could do such a thing, but the ministry continues to assert that he is dead, despite the fact that no corpse was ever recovered. If the Dark Lord is truly dead and gone for good, then why is the ministry trying so hard to discredit a fifteen-year-old boy who they claim is just trying to cause trouble and get attention, regardless of the fact that Mr. Potter has never made attempts to draw public attention (at least before last year, in which all the articles about him were written by Rita Skeeter, a woman with dubious journalistic practices who is known for fabricating stories to create sensationalism)?

If the Dark Lord has not returned, as Harry Potter claims, then just what is the ministry trying to hide?


There was a metaphorical firestorm at the release of the article. Fudge had stormed into the office of the chief editor of the Daily Prophet demanding answers for what he termed as "slanderous lies." The chief editor had no idea how it had happened and no clue as to who the mysterious Lex Talionis was. As bad as the tantrum from Fudge that the chief editor had to endure was, the minister himself was about to face far worse.

Dozens of Howlers poured into his office. The people of the wizarding world were not quite ready to abandon the Boy-Who-Lived, at least not those families with muggle-born in them who had learned to distrust the lies that the ministry spoon-fed the general public. Most of the traditionalist purebloods directed their anger at Harry (as many of them were Death Eaters who Harry intended to get rid of within the coming year), who simply dismissed whatever hate-mail came his way. He was too invested in his plans to care about dead-men-walking and their sniveling.

Most of the public, though, was fascinated by the mysterious author of the article. After all, many of them had never seen someone so openly defy the ministry and force logic into their faces. While a number of them tried to brush off the article, there were even more who began to wonder: What if?

Dumbledore was now getting frantic. He didn't like that Harry had spoken to someone from the press, and someone Dumbledore hadn't first vetted the person to ensure that they would show things in an appropriate light. Sirius's demands for his godson were getting more threatening by the day. But he had Order members out searching relentlessly up and down the country for any sign of Harry. They had tried searching a few other countries, but had been apprehended and sent back to England the moment they were found to be operating investigations on foreign soil without signed permission from the ICW.

Harry did finally condescend to manifest himself, having decided that the game was getting a little old. Before he did so, however, he snuck into Hogwarts and left a few surprises for the headmaster. While he wouldn't be able to see them, the knowledge that he'd gotten away with it was reward enough. For the time being.

"Harry!"

"Oh, hello, Headmaster," the young man replied. He'd been sitting in Florean Fortescue's ice cream parlor, waiting for Dumbledore or one of his cronies to show up.

"Harry, it is not safe out here. We must get you to a secure location."

"After I've finished my ice cream. I recommend the mint-marshmallow swirl."

"Harry, please."

"I'm not asking for much, Headmaster. I'm just trying to enjoy what rare childhood moments I can, considering I never had one."

Dumbledore winced under the very intentional guilt jab. As much as Harry hated to admit it, he knew Dumbledore felt at least somewhat bad about condemning him to years of torment with the Dursleys and robbing him of his childhood. Not that it changed Harry's overall opinion of him, as Dumbledore was still a manipulative bastard who had long been due for a comeuppance. Aberforth Dumbledore was quite a fount of information if you asked him the right questions and joined him in bad-mouthing his brother.

The headmaster gave a tired sigh and waited patiently for Harry to finish before he insisted on taking him to safety. Harry consented, albeit with a seeming reluctance, and allowed Dumbledore to apparate them both to a dingy street filled with old row houses. They stopped in front of a space between number eleven and number thirteen.


Upon entering the house, Harry was tackled into a hug by his relieved godfather. He noticed other familiar faces, including those of Hermione and the Weasleys, but he was not inclined to be very forgiving. He understood why Sirius wouldn't be able to write to him, as his godfather was both in hiding and, Harry reasoned, probably being held a virtual hostage by Dumbledore. Harry's friends, however, had no such excuse. Once Sirius finally released him from his suffocating hold, Harry took a good look at the house. He instantly missed the Shrieking Shack.

"What's this old dump, Sirius?" he said, causing Sirius to laugh.

"This is the ancestral home of the Black family, Harry," Sirius replied. "This is where I grew up. May it someday sink into the earth, never to be seen again."

"Hey, Harry," Ron said. "Where've you been, mate?"

"I'm sorry, do I know you?" Harry said with a scowl, making Ron flinch.

"Harry, mate, you know us. We're your best friends."

"I really don't think I do. You see, you both do look a good deal like my two best friends, but I've come to the realization that they both may be held prisoner somewhere. What other excuse would my best friends have for not writing to me since early this summer, and even then only giving the barest details?"

Ron and Hermione both looked at the floor with expressions of deep guilt.

"We're really sorry, Harry," said Ron. "But Dumbledore asked us not to write too much and then told us to stop all communications."

Harry turned to glare at the headmaster, who had followed him into the hall. The old man didn't even have the nerve to look Harry in the eyes, either.

"I see. In that case, I will just show myself out."

"Harry!" Ron and Hermione were not the only ones to make the exclamation.

"No, no, it's obvious I'm not wanted here," Harry said dismissively. "I shouldn't be surprised, though. I've never been particularly wanted anywhere. Why did I think my own friends would want me? Sorry, Sirius, but I don't think I should linger. I'll just go back and spend the rest of the summer at my own safe house. Oh, before I leave, has anyone here seen Hedwig? She never came back after my last letter."

Hermione bit her lip and seemed to shrink.

"The headmaster thought it best if we kept her here," she said.

Harry gave a disappointed sigh that left Hermione feeling all of about two inches tall.

"I see. Do retrieve her, if you please." Here he turned to Dumbledore. "And, Headmaster, do keep your crooked nose out of my personal life. It's hard enough having friends, but friends who don't write and are willing to turn their backs on you at someone else's bidding is a bit too much for me to deal with."

"Harry, I am sorry I could not allow your friends to write to you," Dumbledore said. "But I had to consider the fact that the letters might be intercepted. Now, there will be no nonsense about you leaving. You are safe here."

"You seemed to be under the impression that I was safe with the Dursleys. That did not exactly work out, did it?"

"Harry dear," said Mrs. Weasley. "Don't be so rude to the headmaster. Or to your friends, for that matter. The headmaster only did what he thought was best and Ron and Hermione have been asking incessantly when you were going to get here."

"Be that as it may, I am not in a particularly agreeable mood and if I am going to be held hostage here, as is clearly the headmaster's intention, then I request that you give me some space."

Everyone, save for Sirius, began to sputter at the accusation against the headmaster. Harry's godfather was quite inclined to agree with him about the arrangement, as he himself was being forced to stay in the miserable old house.

"If you want some space, Harry," Sirius said, "You can take the room next to mine up on the top floor."

"Thank you, Sirius."

Harry followed his godfather upstairs without another word to the others. Ron and Hermione were both deeply ashamed of what they'd done, not having fully realized how angry Harry would be about being left out of the loop. Hermione, at least, was willing to admit she'd made an awful mistake and promised herself she would find some way of making it up to Harry. Ron, as usual, was clueless as to what exactly Harry was angry about and figured that, once Harry had some time to cool off, they'd go right back to being best mates again.


Harry set his – currently tiny – trunk on the floor of the bedroom, tapped it with his wand, and it immediately expanded to full size. Sirius, who was leaning against the doorframe, gave him a mock-disappointed expression.

"Using underage magic outside of school," he said, tutting slightly. "Oh, for shame. Your mother would be beside herself."

"We're behind wards," Harry replied, giving him an impertinent grin. "Don't tell me you never broke the underage magic rule?"

"Never!" Sirius protested in an over-dramatic fashion. "I was a well-behaved and respectable young wizard. I only bent the rule. And I certainly never did so in the presence of an adult. We've got to work on your subtlety, young man."

The two broke down in laughs.

"By Merlin, it's good to have you here, Harry. But we won't get to spend much time together."

"Don't worry, Sirius," said Harry. "When this war is dealt with and we get your name cleared, we can go spend some time in the tropics, getting drunk and chatting up women of loose morals."

"I'd – I'd like that, Harry."

"In the meantime, we can think up some ideas for pranks. I already got Dumbledore, but I could use some help with some new ideas."

Sirius seemed to choke up at the thought of spending time with his godson. Particularly since the activity he suggested was one of Sirius' favorite things. He was so proud.


Dumbledore returned to his office in a considerably cheerier mood than earlier. Harry Potter was safely ensconced at Headquarters and the Greater Good was safe for the time being. If only he could get Fudge to see reason and accept his very flimsy evidence that Voldemort had returned. After all, he was Albus Dumbledore, his word should be trusted completely and without question! Now the impudent minister was going to interfere in his school. Well, perhaps he could use it to his advantage.

Sitting down at his desk, he sat to contemplate the serious matters that lay before him. That was when he noticed the large white box sitting there on his desk. He cast a quick detection charm over it and, finding no enchantments of any kind, opened it to find some delectable cream-filled doughnuts. Not having had such delicious pastry in years, thanks to that diet that Madam Pomfrey had him on, he eagerly took one and bit into it.

That's when he realized something was terribly wrong. Instead of the taste of rich cream he expected, he was met with the dreadful surprise of mayonnaise. Spoiled mayonnaise, to be precise.

Spitting out the mouthful of tainted pastry, he tossed the box into the bin and walked over to the sideboard. He reached for the decanter and poured a generous helping into a glass and tossed it back. He didn't normally drink, but when one is as traumatized as he was then it was certainly necessary. That's when he realized something else was wrong.

His stomach started to gurgle in a way it hadn't for almost a week now. Well, he was one hundred and fourteen years old, after all. This prompted a very hasty retreat to the loo.

Several very uncomfortable hours later and he had concluded his business. When he reached for the toilet paper, however, there proved to be only two squares left, on which had been written: You are out of toilet paper. Ordinarily, this circumstance would not have been a problem for Dumbledore, who could easily conjure more toilet paper or even just cast a cleaning charm on himself.

However, in his haste, he'd left his wand on his desk.


Author's Note: I calculated the day of the attack on Harry as being the 6th of August because, in book five, his hearing was scheduled for the twelfth, he was kept locked in his room at Privet Drive for four days, and spent another full day at headquarters, so the sixth day would have been the hearing. Or did I miscalculate? I'm not sure if the first of the four days Harry was locked in his room was the day of the attack, but I will count it for the sake of the story.

Also, Harry's nom de plume is a Latin term that is used to refer to a "punishment that fits the crime." Not necessarily a "mirror punishment" but one that is meted out with the intention of suiting the offence.