Harry Potter and the Butcher of Hogsmeade

by Yagr of Nar

Harry's schooling gets derailed. Dumbledore's manipulations cause great dissatisfaction among his allies. Lucius Malfoy goes on trial. And Snape is forced to act as a babysitter.

19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

And... pop... they appeared in the stone room filled with reveling Death Eaters. It was loud. Loud enough to drown out the explosive sound of their arrival. Loud enough that Harry felt as though his head were stuck inside one of the drums. He had expected the dimness, the flickering uncertainty of torch light. He hadn't been prepared for the noise, or the stench. The air was heavy with a thick miasma redolent of sweat, burning herbs, steaming potions, fear, suffering and cruelty. 'If evil has a smell, it's probably this,' was his thought as he instinctively recoiled from the assault of the sound and the smell, stumbling backward into Snape. The smell revolted Harry on a level deeper than even his hatred for Voldemort. Rotting things smelled awful, but they weren't evil. Sweat could stink, but it wasn't evil. All sorts of offal might assault his nose without possessing any of the quality of evil at all, but this smell seemed to punch him directly in the gut with a deep, disgusting pummeling of pure evil, even as the relentless drumming pounded at his head in an all-out attempt to disorient and confuse him.

Pushing himself away from Snape, feeling as though he were leaning into a storm consisting of the dark, the noise, the stench, and the hateful people assembled here, he gathered his strength and resolutely refused to be beaten down by the combined assault. He tried his voice, making a simple humming sound to confirm how little he would be able to hear himself. He had gotten used to listening to his own spells as he cast them. He would be denied that luxury in this situation. He would simply have to force himself to be so determined, so focused, that he would not need to hear his own voice in order to let his magic flow.

He scanned the room, quickly assessing the threat. It was surprisingly small. The Death Eaters were either passed out, helplessly intoxicated, being sick or having sex. No one had even noticed his arrival. That was perfectly fine with Harry.

"Bindimus," he commanded.

From out of thin air, around every Death Eater in the room, bands like the linen wrappings of mummies burst into existence, streaming outward from each point of creation to wind themselves tightly around each target Death Eater's jaw - preventing the speaking of any spell; around each one's arms - preventing any one of them from reaching for a wand; and around their legs - preventing them from running away. Then the bands continued to multiply, wrapping each of Voldemort's followers in a thick, sturdy, immobile cocoon, leaving only enough of a gap to allow air to reach each bound person's nostrils. Harry scanned the room once again. There were no free Death Eaters remaining, but their surviving victims were still helplessly tied, on racks or on the ground.

"Libertium," Harry ordered.

The bindings fell away from the victims. Those three who had survived their time on the wall racks gently floated to the ground, the ones who had been left on the floor rubbed their wrists in amazement. Harry could tell which of the victims were muggles and which were of the wizarding world by how they reacted to their sudden freedom. The muggles moved away from the wrapped bodies of the Death Eaters as quickly as their injuries would allow them. They unanimously made for the walls and began searching for an exit. The wizards and witches, understanding who it was that had abused them, grabbed whatever bludgeons they could find and began to pound the bound Death Eaters with all their remaining strength. The witch who had been hung on the wall seized the knife Bellatrix LeStrange had used to commit murder and began plunging it into one of the bound bodies over and over.

Harry swept his eyes over the room once again. Terrified muggles, trying to escape. Furious wizards and witches, taking whatever revenge they could on their erstwhile captors. And Death Eaters, all securely bound. So who was doing all that pounding? Harry peered at the bank of drums and could see no one standing there. The sticks themselves must have been charmed to continue to beat in the absence of any musicians. No wonder the cacophony was so hellish! Harry extended a hand toward the array of percussion instruments.

"Quiete!" he insisted.

The silence left him aware of an irritating ringing in his ears, but the mind-numbing percussive thunder was gone.

"Nolo Apparatare," Harry demanded, putting a ward around the room to cast a shield which prevented anyone within its influence from apparating away. It also worked to hinder those attempting to apparate into the room. Rather than preventing incoming apparation altogether, it slowed the appearance of anyone arriving, which would give Harry plenty of time to react to any attack by apparators. He stood cautiously, waiting for the Dark Lord to arrive. Aside from the sounds of beating and stabbing, as the former prisoners turned the tables on their onetime captors, nothing happened for the space of a dozen long breaths.

When someone finally did enter the room, the new arrival's appearance was such an anticlimax that Harry had to force himself not to laugh out loud.

Peter Pettigrew pushed open a door in the wall to Harry's right, far from where Harry stood. Wormtail's face was filled with panic, and he was already babbling, offering apologies one after the other. "Forgive me, Master, I am sorry, Lord, I had no idea that you had already..." Pettigrew was quick to realize that the silence of the drums had not heralded the appearance of his Lord, but something very different. His eyes widened as he saw the muggles, now free from their bonds, rushing toward the escape his doorway seemed to offer. With rodential quickness, he tried to duck back through the opening. His attempt to flee was futile. Harry had been ready and waiting, and was not about to let the animagus get away again.

"Conglacio," Harry declared, and Pettigrew ceased to move. "Accio Wormtail," Harry demanded, and Pettigrew flew across the room toward him. Exactly as Harry had imagined when he cast his spell, Peter's eyes were still mobile while the rest of his body was frozen in exactly the position it had been as Harry had spoken. The animagus' eyes were rolling wildly, but since he was not able to move or speak, he could not cast any spells. He was also unable to effect his most reliable escape trick, the rat change. He had been an animagus for so long, had spent so much of his life in his animal form, that it usually took no more than the thought of becoming a rat to begin his transformation. To his dismay, this occasion proved to be the exception to that rule.

With Pettigrew out of the doorway, the unbound muggles were struggling toward that portal with even more determination than previously. Harry had some idea what might await them once they had passed through, and if his suspicions were correct, it would prove fatal to them all. He was certain that none of the panicked people would heed his warning if he simply shouted at them, and he had no desire to hurt them any further with a restraining spell. "Film Loop," He decreed, no longer bothering to translate his impulsive word choices for his improvised spells into pidgin Latin. In an unintentionally horrible display, the entire company of fleeing muggles began to quiver in place, repeating the same tiny fractional motions over and over again. As Harry had cast the spell, he had willed the victims to experience each repetition as though it were new, immediately forgetting the previous cycle. That way, they would still believe they were running away, and would not have the nightmarish sensation of being trapped in a sort of never-ending perdition. By the same token, they would remain here where Harry could keep an eye on them, and not disappear through the doorway, where they would almost certainly run into Voldemort during their flight and be killed or further maimed as the Dark Lord vented his rage upon them.

Harry considered Pettigrew for a while, as the sound of the beatings continued in the background. Those who had been kidnapped from the wizarding world were whaling away on the bound Death Eaters with a seemingly inexhaustible rage. The witch who had taken Bellatrix's murder weapon and turned it on her former captors had killed her first target. She slashed through the bindings covering the Death Eater's face and screamed in frustration. Immediately, she turned to another bound body lying close to her. She tried to cut the bindings away from her next choice's face, but as that Death Eater was still living, the bonds would not yield. "You bitch!" the knife-wielder screamed. "I'll find you!" and began plunging her blade into the body before her.

Harry calmly watched Pettigrew's reaction through all of this without offering any comment. After more than a minute had passed in this way, Harry called out, "Professor Snape! How does the summoning work? The one Voldemort uses to call his followers through the Dark Mark?"

Snape replied with quiet precision. "When the Dark Lord touches any of the Dark Marks, all of our Marks turn black and begin to give us pain. We are directed to apparate to the appointed place by the attraction radiated through the Mark by the Dark Lord himself."

"And the Mark that the Dark Lord touched most often over the course of the past couple of years would be...?"

"That of Peter Pettigrew."

"But Peter contributed none of the magic, did he? He simply held out his arm for his Master to touch, and the summoning took place without any input from him whatsoever."

"That is correct."

"So, Peter," Harry said casually. "If I wanted to cast that summons myself, I wouldn't really need you. All I'd need is your arm." Pettigrew's eyes spun wildly as he strained to do anything at all to help himself.

At that moment, a deep bass rumbling erupted from beyond the open doorway. A crashing sound like tons of scrap metal being cast into huge steel bins arose, blossoming forth from the thunderous booming. Billows of smoke rolled through the door, each bulging puff seeming to form a screaming face before being replaced by the next smoky wave. A sheet of fire, hovering inches off the floor, flew through the doorway supporting a humanoid figure of deepest black, a color so dark it seemed to draw the surrounding illumination into itself.

Harry smiled pleasantly at the immobilized Pettigrew. With a polite nod, he said, "Please excuse me. Something has come up that requires my attention." With that, he stepped toward the thunderous progression of smoke and flame. He stood facing the display with hands held loosely at his sides.

With preternatural swiftness, the smoke cleared. The fiery sheet settled to the ground, allowing its dark rider to regain solid footing on the floor. The shell of blackness fell away from the figure, revealing the scar-tissue slick pink face of Voldemort staring in triumph at his longtime nemesis. As the darkness swirled away from his body, the Dark Lord was revealed as a much slimmer, lighter figure than his black disguise had suggested. His robe was nearly as dark as his shadowy camouflage had been, and he held his wand at the ready in hands as hairless and shiny as his face, the angry pink contrasting garishly with his garment. "You have lost your wand, boy," the Dark Lord gloated. His voice crackled, the scars of his rebirth distorting his vocal cords beyond the capacity for creating any sort of soothing or mellow sound.

"Mmm Hmm." Harry shrugged, unconcerned.

"Pfah!" Voldemort spat, the edges of his lipless mouth working over teeth that had grown in so sharply they appeared to have been filed. The combination reminded Harry of a shark's mouth, but without the shark's natural streamlined grace. Whatever Voldemort's regrown body may have been, there was nothing 'natural' about it. The man who had been born Tom Malvolo Riddle, and who had been re-embodied with so little of his humanity left to him, rolled his shoulders to help loosen his arms in preparation for serious spellcasting. The motion made a sound like a chorus of cracking knuckles. "You feign bravery better than your parents did," he taunted, pleased to see Harry flinch at the jibe. "You may think you have some reason to be brave. You may hope that I will draw this out, take my time, and give your allies a chance to arrive. You may be hoping to see your Dumbledore, your Sword of Gryffindor, your teams of aurors. You won't." Pointing his wand directly at the lightning bolt shaped scar on Harry's forehead, Voldemort cast, "Avada Kadavra!"

Harry made a flicking gesture with one hand, as though to discourage a flying insect's approach. The brilliant green flash that had formed at the tip of Voldemort's wand sputtered into darkness.

The flesh above the Dark Lord's eyes wrinkled in a way that would have brought his brows together in a scowl if his new body had grown any hair. "Perhaps you do have a particular immunity to that spell," he rasped. "You have the history for it. But I know you are susceptible to the suffering this one will cause." Training his wand on Harry's heart, he commanded, "Crucio!"

Harry's tiny snort of laughter and slow shake of his head were his only responses to the punishing curse. The brilliant beam Voldemort had expected to see leaping from his wand instead provided only a dim glow around the wand's tip. The glow quickly faded away. "Invulnerable to two of the world's most powerful spells," Voldemort marvelled. "You must have made a great effort to prevent harm from coming to you. So I will make you my tool, instead, and use your resilience to my own advantage. Imperio!"

The rhythm of the Dark Lord's bombast had become predictable. As Voldemort cast his third unforgivable spell in a row, Harry raised his hand with his palm out as though signaling Voldemort to stop. The motion was as smoothly timed as if it had been choreographed. The dark power streaming out of Voldemort's wand suddenly reversed its direction. An instant later, the Dark Lord staggered as the ruined remains of his own spell washed over him.

Harry clicked his tongue reprovingly. "And you call yourself a world conqueror," he said, voice filled with disappointment. "Look at you! You finally get a chance to kill me, and what do you do? You cast the three most obvious spells in existence. I put the counterspells to those old clichés in place hours ago. What's really sad is that you've had nearly twenty years to come up with something exciting. Instead, you bring out the same old, tired stuff you used in the last war. No new tricks from old Tom. Pitiful."

Harry watched his opponent carefully as he delivered that speech. He could see the tension build in Voldemort's body, could see the fury twisting the slick face, could tell when the Dark Lord's anger was about to boil over. When the humiliation of being scolded by a mere boy became too much for Voldemort's pride, and he raised his wand to begin to cast another spell, Harry acted. "Stop!" he barked, pointing a finger directly at his enemy's chest. He held his breath for a long moment until he was certain his spell had worked. Then slowly, cautiously, he relaxed. Voldemort stood there, face contorted with rage, an incipient spell already twisting his mouth, wand held in a powerful grip fueled by fury. It had worked. All the planning. All the practice. All the efforts of the people who had contributed to accomplishing this. It had all been successful. Here was the most feared wizard in the world, frozen helplessly, with his allies bound, equally helplessly, all around him.

It was at that point that Harry could acknowledge that he had given himself a serious problem.

What was he to do with Voldemort now that he had him?

Killing his body had already proven ineffective. Voldemort had survived for over fifteen years without a corporeal form, and had even managed to grow himself a new one when being bodiless had proven to be too much of an inconvenience. And knowing how much trouble Voldemort had been able to cause in ethereal form, while deprived of a physical vessel to contain himself, Harry had no intention of allowing his enemy to become a ghost.

So killing the body frozen there in front of him was not an option.

Killing his soul might have been. But Harry was no Dementor. During the past few days of practice, with Snape and Remus inspiring him to ever greater feats of magic, Harry had begun to feel as though he could do anything he could imagine. But he could not imagine what to do to destroy Voldemort's soul. He could see the reflection of Tom Riddle's soul sickness in the scars and distortions the Dark Lord had incorporated into the new body he had grown for himself. He had seen the evidence of the Dark Lord's soul weakness expressed in the Death Eaters' codified hatreds and in Voldemort's contempt for any life other than his own. Harry had been told how that weakness was exacerbated by some of Voldemort's most selfish crimes - his feeding on unicorn blood, for example. Still, Harry couldn't see any magical method he could use to destroy even this sick and weak a soul.

Considering how clear and obvious all other magic seemed to him now, Harry had to conclude that attempting to kill Voldemort's soul was no more a viable option than was killing his body.

There was no point in even considering turning the Dark Lord over to the wizarding government's authorities. If Azkaban had proven incapable of holding Voldemort's followers, the prison would certainly be inadequate to the task of containing Voldemort himself. More importantly to Harry, he had been the one to secure this victory, so the dilemma of how to manage his triumph was his own. He had to solve the mystery of how to assure himself as well as the rest of the world that Voldemort would never again return to plague them. That responsibility could not be pushed off onto anyone else, even if there had been someone capable or trustworthy enough to handle the job.

So giving Voldemort away was not an option either.

Harry gazed at the motionless forms of Voldemort and Pettigrew for a long moment. He could feel the solution to his problem of what to do with them hovering just beyond his grasp. It teased him, barely out of reach. It occurred to Harry that his consideration of the problem was made even more difficult because there was still a piece of the puzzle missing. He reached out a hand toward the wall that had held the prisoners. Absently, he called out, "Accio Bellatrix!" One of the bound forms lifted from the floor and floated toward him, coming to rest at the side of Voldemort, opposite Pettigrew. Harry nodded slowly. Seeing the three villains together gave him a much better understanding of what to do next.

Dimly, Harry became aware of an enraged rumble of protest rising from the Death Eaters' victims he had recently freed with his improvised 'Libertium' spell. That group hardly needed to be told the name of one of the two motionless wizards facing the boy. They had seen Voldemort's fiery entrance and had heard Wormtail babbling about his Lord and Master. They all realized that this hideous pink-skinned mutation must be the despised Lord Voldemort. Then someone had heard Harry's spell, and had realized that the bound body he had summoned must have been that of the contemptible Bellatrix LeStrange. Each of those who had suffered kidnapping and torture at the hands of the Death Eaters was sure of one thing: within this room were the most hated wizards and witches in all of Britain. And two of the three helplessly frozen bodies gathered in front of the boy wearing muggle clothing were the most hated of all. With their improvised bludgeons and stolen weapons, the victims stalked toward the three motionless villains, intent on tearing them all to pieces.

Annoyed at being interrupted, Harry faced the approaching crowd. "Wait!" he said, not harshly, but with a clear, commanding assuredness. The crowd was not frozen, not restrained physically, but they stopped moving forward. They ceased swinging their weapons. They discontinued their ferocious roar. Even though some of them weren't quite sure why they were doing so, they waited.

"Do you know who I am?"

This was the first that any of the crowd had thought that he might be anyone. They had been occupied with their own concerns until they had spied Voldemort standing helplessly frozen. The group stared suspiciously at the boy who stood between them and their avowed enemy.

"I am Harry Potter. Popularly known as the Boy Who Lived."

This got a reaction. A rumble of muttered comments rose from the gathered witches and wizards. To all appearances, they would be willing to listen, at least momentarily, to the famous Harry Potter.

"You do know why I am called The Boy Who LIved, don't you? It is because I defeated Voldemort the first time when I was still a baby. Knocked him out of his body. Put his plans back fifteen years. Despite all of that, he came back!" A rumble of anger and hatred filled the room. "This time, I am not a baby. And this time, I need to take great care to destroy Voldemort entirely, so he will never be able to return again. It will take me some time, and a great deal of concentration to do the job properly, and forever rid the world of Voldemort." Harry could see some among the crowd flinch at the mention of the hated name.

"Get used to it! Voldemort! Voldemort! Voldemort!" Harry shouted at them. "He's not the boogeyman any more. He won't pop up in a puff of smoke at the mention of his name anymore. He won't lead these Death Eaters in attacks against you anymore. You can say his name without fear. And you can all tell your grandchildren that you were there when Harry Potter defeated... VOLDEMORT!"

"Kill him!" yelled one wizard. "We'll kill him!" shouted a witch. "We'll all kill him," added several more, as the crowd surged forward once again.

"Wait!" Harry said, and to their own amazement, the angry people stopped moving and waited. "If you kill him clumsily, without taking the proper precautions, HE WILL come back AGAIN! I can prevent that from happening. But I need the time to work in order to do it properly."

"Why you?" Someone shouted.

Harry felt like shouting out his thanks for that perfectly-timed question. He met the eyes of as many of the people gathered before him as he could. He wanted as many of them as possible to see how serious he was. "Voldemort killed my parents, and ruined my life. Then his Death Eaters hounded me non-stop for the next seventeen years. They killed some of my friends, and tried to ruin others' lives as well. Do any of you think you could possibly hate them as much as I hate them?"

One muscular wizard, a young man of less than fifty years of age, pushed his way to a place near the front of the crowd. "I think I do," he challenged.

"Do you," Harry responded ascerbically. "So... do you want to kill one? Would that make you feel better? Would that make you feel like a bigger man?"

"It might." The wizard's reply was still surly, but hardly as confident as his last words had been.

"And how would you hurt them?" Harry asked sarcastically. "Can you cast Crucio? Do you know any punishing spells? Do you know anything at all about torture?"

"I know what they taught me tonight," the man insisted, chin thrust out defiantly.

"A quick study," Harry sneered. "Then think about this. I came into this room, stopped Voldemort, bound his followers, and set you all free. Could you have done any of this for yourself?"

Defensively, the wizard snapped back, "I didn't have my wand."

Harry's eyes flew open wide. He stood with his arms spread, hands open, fingers splayed. He twisted so that everyone nearby could get a good look at him. "DO YOU SEE A WAND ON ME?" he bellowed impatiently.

Everyone in the room looked at him. None of them saw a wand. None of them had seen Harry use a wand at any time that night. But they were all experienced witches and wizards. They knew how magic worked. So they had assumed. And their assumptions had all included a wand for the boy.

"Look!" Harry shouted. He pointed a finger into the air. "Incendio." A fireball appeared above his head, flames churning as the ball spun in place. Harry raised a hand above his head. "Lumos." The entire huge room lit to daylight brightness. Harry spread his arms and raised his hands slowly, like an orchestral conductor signalling for greater volume. "Wingardium Leviosa!" The bound bodies of every Death Eater in the place rose to about eight or nine feet off the ground. Harry made a spinning motion with each hand. "Tor N'Ket Revolus!" Each of the Levitated Death Eaters began spinning in three directions at once, turning along their long axis, rotating about their midsections and tumbling end over end. With the air of a military instructor facing a group of hopelessly incompetent recruits, he demanded, "DO YOU NEED A WAND TO WORK MAGIC?"

Harry waited for a long moment, making sure no one had anything else to say to him. Then, very calmly - but very clearly - he announced, "Professor Snape. I need to work. These people need to go home. But many of them will require medical assistance, first. I have placed an anti-apparation shell around this room. Will you please lead these people through that door and use this..." He held out his hand and a small, highly-reflective ball floated from his fingertips to land in Snape's palm. "... which will take you all to Saint Mungo's? Thank you all for your cooperation."

Very quietly, Snape murmured, "You will be here alone."

Almost as quietly, Harry said, "You know how to return. Bring Remus, to help with the muggles." He motioned toward the door, and Snape began organizing the gathered magic-users' exit. They left, some eagerly, some hesitantly. Some looked as though they could not believe that they were actually walking away from this astounding scene. And a few seemed nearly somnambulant, glassy-eyed and slack-jawed, shuffling along with barely any awareness of what they were doing. All of them walked through a bizarre scene: a brilliantly lit, huge stone room with a fireball suspended in mid-air as mummy-wrapped bodies twirled and spun just above their heads and a group of badly-beaten muggles quivered in place.

Harry watched them go until the last one had disappeared beyond the doorway. He knew that, during his instructions to Snape, he had given them all a subtle push. He knew that the strength of the push he had given them had been proportional to each one's reluctance to leave. He knew that he would have rather sent them on their way without having done that to them. He also knew that he might have argued with some of them all night without convincing them to go. He resolved to think about it further, later. For now, he had to deal with those threats that were still outstanding. Lucius Malfoy was in jail. Harry could count on him staying put for a while, at least. But one other extremely dangerous Death Eater had not been in evidence at this revel. Harry had to discover everything he could regarding the whereabouts, and the plans, of Bellatrix LeStrange's husband, Rodolfus.

Harry pondered the best way to accomplish this. He decided that the odd tableaux currently arrayed throughout the revel chamber was the perfect backdrop to what he had in mind. with a wave of his hand, he levitated Bellatrix's mummified form to a place where, when her eyes were uncovered, she would be able to see Harry, and beyond him to the tumbling, airborne Death Eaters. He left her feet a few inches off the ground and concentrated on the wrappings restraining her. Gradually, the bandage-like strips became transparent and melted into one another. Soon, Bellatrix was hovering encased in what appeared to be a block of resin. Harry allowed a bubble to form in front of her mouth so that she would be able to answer his questions. He was a little surprised to find that, as the opaque coverings over Bellatrix's eyes became clear, she did not seem surprised in the least to see her fellow Death Eaters rotating in mid-air. But Harry believed that Bellatrix must have always been a bit mad. A defeat such as tonight's could well have driven her into a completely delusional state. Harry didn't really care. So long as she could tell him where her husband was, she could imagine whatever she wished.

"Bellatrix," he said calmly, his voice echoing as he amplified it with enough magic that his words would reach the woman through the resinous block in which she was trapped. "Where is Rodolfus?"

Cackling gleefully, Bellatrix shrieked her reply. "You'll never find him! Never! He will strike from nowhere! He will avenge me, and free our Lord! And we will rule the Earth together!"

Harry gave a tiny sigh, and clearly stated, "Veritas." Then, once again, "Bellatrix. Where is Rodolfus?"

Bellatrix's reply was as clear and composed as that of a court reporter reading back testimony. "The carriage house, Oak Bough Manor, Thicket on the Knoll, Ramsbottom, England."

Harry sighed and pushed his glasses back into place, massaging the bridge of his nose thoughtfully once he had done so. "I suppose I'll have to go," he said, worrying about the many things he would have to accomplish and the small amount of time available to him. "Bellatrix," he began again, but the woman had thrown off the effects of his last spell, and began shrieking at him again.

"Your cause is hopeless! You can never stop something so perfect, so fated, so necessary as the Dark Lord's crusade! If it's not us, it'll be the next people who are both intelligent enough to see the truth and brave enough to stand up for it! Muggles are our inferiors! Mudbloods are freaks of nature! Giants, elves and centaurs are monsters! House elves and goblins are only tolerable in their proper place! Human witches and wizards are the next step in the long, upward progress of sapient beings! All other so-called 'people' are Neanderthals, sports and mutants!"

Harry was impressed despite himself. He had not dispelled his own Veritas. For Bellatrix to have forced her raving through that magical inhibition must have taken a tremendous effort of will. Either that or she truly believed in Voldemort's poisonous philosophy. "Tell me, Bellatrix: Can you cast spells without a wand?"

Harry's calm, serious question took Bellatrix aback, coming as it did in the midst of her own hyperbolic rant. The boy's seemingly genuine curiosity piqued her own. Why would he possibly want to ask such a thing? "I don't point my wand at myself to apparate, if that's what you mean," she sneered at him.

Harry spread his hands wide. "I don't use one at all. By your own logic, I am your superior, and you should already be extinct."

Bellatrix looked thoroughly sick for just an instant, then bared her teeth in a cruel grimace. "Wrong, Potter," she grated. "You haven't a line. There is no descent from you. There is no female of your kind. You can't breed when there is only one individual of your species, boy. You aren't the next step - you're another mutant, a sport. Powerful, but a monster just the same. And you'll die out alone and unsucceeded by any others of your sort."

Harry seemed to consider this for a moment, then said, "Veritas. Bellatrix, what are Rudolfos' plans?"

Fighting against Harry's magic at every instant, Bellatrix struggled to say, "To retire at age one thousand at the height of his power while ruling the world at the side of our Dark Lord."

Harry had suspected as much before, but this answer confirmed the idea for him. Bellatrix LeStrange was going to provide him as much of a disposal problem as Voldemort himself. With her monomania combined with her force of will, she would be truly terrible as a ghost. Harry imagined her becoming a sort of super-powered Peeves, driven by real hatred in place of the poltergeist's mischievousness. She had already escaped Azkaban. There would be little point in sending her back there. Once again, Harry faced an enemy he would be unable to kill or imprison. He tried his question once again. "Bellatrix. What are Rudolfos' plans for the rest of tonight and Halloween?"

Bellatrix's glare of hatred told Harry that he had asked correctly this time. Despite her fury, the Death Eater's voice was clear and composed as she reported, "Rudolfos is to attack the muggle village of Ramsbottom from the south. He is to kill its people and destroy its structures, with especial emphasis on obliterating a colony of artists living there. Voldemort hates one of the writers in particular, and considers the entire group far too uppity for muggles."

Harry wondered about that in silence for a moment. "Special assignments to attack artists," he mused. Bellatrix smirked at him. Harry hadn't asked a question, so she was uncompelled to make any response. "Were there more such special assignments?"

Bellatrix beamed proudly. "I was to lead the team that would destroy the industrial center of Manchester."

"But you're here," Harry argued. "Why is Rudolfos at Ramsbottom?"

Bellatrix showed him an expression that was like a psychotic's nightmare of a shy smile. Almost coyly, she explained, "This was my party night. Even the most compatible couples need to enjoy themselves apart from one another from time to time. Rudolfos gets embarrassed when I put aside my inhibitions and revel to the fullest."

'He more likely gets disgusted,' Harry thought, fighting his own queasiness. He hadn't the time nor the inclination to argue with Bellatrix LeStrange, though. There was far too much to decide, far too much to be done.

From beyond the open door, a sharp report testified to the arrival of some apparator. Harry hoped that it was Snape and Remus, but he couldn't take a chance. "Conglacio," he said absently, flicking a hand toward the block that encased Bellatrix. Like Wormtail before her, she was rendered completely immobile except for her eyes. Harry took up a defensive stance, using the motionless form of Voldemort as cover.

Remus' voice drifted in from beyond the opened door. "Harry! We're here to help you! We..." Remus came into view, moving slowly, with his hands in full view, holding his wand loosely to appear as unthreatening as possible. He had seen some of the things Harry was capable of during the past few days of intensive training, and the last thing he wanted was to surprise the boy and suffer an attack. But as the werewolf entered the revel room, he simply stopped and gaped, wide eyed, at the scene before him. "What in Hell is this?" he finally managed to ask.

Harry strode across the room toward him, explaining and cancelling spells as he progressed. "It's a group of muggles that have been very badly abused and need medical care. They need to be returned to their homes, and they will require obliviation. Finite incantatem," as Harry spoke the words of the cancelling spell, the Death Eaters ceased to turn in mid air. "Finite incantatem," he repeated, and the Death Eaters fell to the ground. "Voldemort's followers are in these wrappings," he announced. "Finite incantatem," the brilliant lumos he had cast faded away, leaving the room lit once again by only torches and his hovering fireball. "That's him standing frozen there, and those are Bellatrix and Pettigrew, over there. Finite Incantatem," The fireball winked out of existence. Harry faced Remus and Snape. "This will be difficult. The best thing to do would be to release these people two at a time, and have the two of you apparate them to Saint Mungo's. Once they have been treated, they can be sent home and made to disremember all of this. But there's no guarantee that any of them will have the patience to wait at Saint Mungo's for attention, and it's almost certain that a majority of them will not trust anyone in wizard's robes. Getting them healed, home and happy will be a lot like herding cats."

"Mister Potter," Snape interjected as soon as Harry took a breath. "The staff at Saint Mungo's were quite impressed with your accomplishments here tonight. They were equally astounded at the manner in which you transported the entire gathering of victims simultaneously. They are expecting a sudden influx of muggle victims. May I suggest that, should we be able to deliver these unfortunates to the hospital in a similar fashion, that our responsibility for them would be over?

"No, you may not," Harry said flatly. "One of the things I hate most about the Fudge government is that they do things half-arsed. How am I going to claim to be better than they are if I act just the same?"

"Practicality occasionally makes demands of even the best of us," Snape replied. "Might you consider at least allowing the obliviation to be carried out by professionals?"

"Damnit, Severus!" Harry shouted, watching the potions master flinch at the use of his given name. "These people are ours! We may have saved them from death by torture, but that's not enough! It's going to be hard for each one of them to return to their own lives with no better excuse than, 'I'm sorry - I don't remember what happened to me. Or what I did. Or where I was!' They're going to have to answer to their own families. And they may have to answer to their muggle authorities, as well. They may be accused of crimes because they won't have an alibi for the whole time they've spent being kidnapped and victimized! At the very least, they'll be accused of being on drugs because of their memory loss!"

"So you are saying... Mister Potter..." Snape said with a heavy emphasis on the Mister. "That Remus and I should drop by the local muggle authorities' headquarters for each neighborhood in which these victims reside, and that we should explain to them... what? That we are a magical society, completely separate from theirs, that has existed in parallel with their own for thousands of years? That one of our number hates all of their kind? That he and his followers were powerful enough to kidnap all of these people, and were planning to kill their victims for entertainment? And that the muggles really shouldn't worry about that because an even more powerful wizard rose up and defeated the miscreants?"

Harry watched Snape's rant quite calmly, then asked, "Don't you think it's rather stupid the way we have been living for thousands of years?"

"No, I don't," Snape replied coldly.

"Separate, secret, hidden...?" Harry prodded.

Remus interrupted the escalating argument with his own assessment of the situation. "Harry, if I had to choose between calling our policy of secrecy from the muggle world either 'brilliant' or 'stupid,' I would go with brilliant without a qualm. You know as well as I do how a majority of wizards feel about werewolves. A great number of muggles feel the same way about anyone or anything that... Harry, think of your aunt and uncle. There's the attitude personified."

"That's fear," Harry said disgustedly. "And fear comes from ignorance, right?"

"It also comes from being damn sure you're totally outclassed and wouldn't have a chance in a contest," Remus said sadly. "There are lots more of them than there are of us. That has always been their only advantage. But if anyone were to be given a choice between the two, muggle would come out second best every time. You can imagine how they would feel if they knew that wizards existed... but that no muggle could ever become one."

"If we can get them to the hospital," Snape suggested, "The staff there could sedate the entire group if necessary. There will be aurors all over Saint Mungo's to interview those victims you rescued that have already been delivered into the hospital's care. We can work with those aurors to get teams of ministry obliviators involved. The government will have a serious interest in containing the repercussions of this event."

Harry looked hard at the man. "I want to be certain that each of these people gets home. Tonight," he said with grim seriousness.

"We'll get them there, Harry," Remus pleaded. "But we can't do it alone. There are too many. And we need the medical help before we can even start. Send us to the hospital."

"Professor Snape. Apparate to Mungo's now. Get the staff ready. Make sure they are prepared to sedate a very panicked crowd." Harry ordered. Snape stepped back through the doorway and apparated away.

"Remus. When I release these people, they will be unaware of anything that has happened since I cast that spell on them. They are frightened, hurt and running toward the only way out they could see - that doorway. Call to them. Offer them an escape. Then use this..." Harry reached out toward Remus and another of the reflective spheres floated into the werewolf's grasp. "Just squeeze it. You and everyone with you will be transported."

"What... is it?" Remus asked, turning the ball around to examine it from all sides.

"It's nothing more than a portkey," Harry said with an ironic half-smile. "One reason I was thinking about putting the wizarding and muggle worlds together... the idea of merging the two came from that very device I just gave you. Muggles have the advantage of numbers, as you pointed out. But they're also quite inventive. Talk to Arthur Weasley about that - he has more entertaining examples than I do, and I lived with muggles until I went to Hogwarts. The muggles I lived with weren't very inventive, as it happened. But wizards are downright lazy when it comes to invention. We're all about tradition, and doing things exactly the same way for thousands of years! Apparation was discovered when? About the time of Adam and Eve? And portkeys have been around since ancient times. As the years have gone by, wizards have learned to hide portkeys in various disguises, but they haven't learned to do anything new with them. I came up with that 'Apparation Ball' in about five minutes last night, while I was thinking about what to do if I had to evacuate a bunch of victims from the revel. Like those people there. I was applying muggle style thinking to a magic problem, and it really helped." Harry knew that if Remus was still as skeptical as he seemed to be, that the majority of wizards and witches would require a much more persuasive argument before any of them acknowledged any benefit to muggle-style thinking. "All right, Snape must have told them about you and the muggles by now. Get ready." Remus walked through the door and shouted that he was prepared. "I'll be setting them free in three... two... one..."

It worked perfectly. The muggles resumed their flight toward the doorway, Remus called them to what he promised was an escape. They followed, and when the last one left the revel room, Remus squeezed the device and he and all of the muggles apparated away. Harry took a deep breath. He hadn't realized how worried he had been. But now that the victims were all sent away, he felt a great calm descend upon him. It was time for his major work of the evening, for which everything else had been mere preparation. He turned back toward Voldemort and smiled.

The solution to the dilemma of how to dispose of the Dark Lord had come to him as he had been speaking to the witches and wizards who had been kidnapped by the Death Eaters. Harry had already concluded that he couldn't kill Voldemort's body, couldn't destroy Voldemort's soul, and couldn't trust any prison to hold him. But while addressing the prisoners he had freed, Harry stopped thinking so rigidly. Once he had rejected the traditional, judicial-style punishments like jail and execution, Harry understood that what he really wanted to do to Voldemort was to force the Dark Lord to experience the kind of suffering that his own evil had inflicted on other people.

A very poetic, appropriate punishment would have been to force Voldemort to live with Dudley Dursley as the fat boy's little cousin. But Harry knew that even if Voldemort didn't simply kill Dudley as soon as he saw him, the Dark Lord would have no reason to try to make the best of being stuck with the Dursleys as Harry had been forced to do. So Voldemort would have to be demoted to a station even less prestigious, offering even less freedom and even fewer choices, than that of 'Little Cousin.' He would have to become one of Dudley's possessions.

Harry smiled coldly, picturing Dudley's room. It was invariably filled with playthings of all sorts: toys and games and sporting equipment. On those rare occasions when Harry actually got to look into Dudley's precious room, the fat boy would point out his new favorite, whatever it may have been each time, emphasizing the fact that Harry did not, could not, and would not ever have one of his own.

Dudley's favorite type of toy, far and away, was the action figure. He had figures of heroes from the telly and characters from the funny papers. He had figures of sports stars from nearly every popular team. He had figures of people and funny animals and weird monsters that Harry didn't recognize because he wasn't allowed to read Dudley's comic books, and he was never treated to a showing of any of the movies that had inspired the toys.

Harry visualized some of the figures. They all had many qualities in common. There would be a brightly colored cardboard backing board supporting the whole package. The top of the board would be formed into a hook, or otherwise might have a simple hole punched near the top to allow the package to be hung, several in a row, on long rods that extended from a toystore's wall. There would be a large, clear plastic blister set onto the cardboard to keep the figure protected from the fingers of the curious, as well as to make sure it remained oriented properly: feet downward, face forward. There would be secondary blisters to hold the accessories which every one of the figures seemed to include. The wording on their cardboards was always bombastic, with starbursts around key words like 'New.' The more Harry thought about it, the more appropriate it seemed that the great and terrible Voldemort would become a plastic toy, trapped on a cardboard sheet under a plastic bubble. It would be important that Voldemort remain conscious of what he was and where he was. He would have to retain the senses of hearing and vision. But he would have to be completely unable to move or to communicate in any way. And rather than giving the figure away to some clueless doofus like Dudley, Harry would keep the package - unopened, to retain it in mint condition - for himself.

His cold smile still in place, Harry stared at the frozen form of Voldemort. This would be far too subtle a process to involve such a gross implementation as voicing a spell. Voldemort's fate would have to be fully visualized, its concept completely set in Harry's mind, and then allowed to blossom forth, directly from thought to reality. Harry concentrated intently. Then, when he felt he was ready, he opened his heart and let the magic flow out.

Harry wasn't sure for a long moment whether he was still imagining the spell he had wanted to craft or whether he was looking at the results of that spell. He walked over to where Voldemort had been standing. There on the floor, waiting for him like a gift from Father Christmas, was a brilliantly colored package.

Its top was rounded, with a hook shape cut into the cardboard. The plastic blister followed the shape of the figure within. The figure was particularly hideous. Its skin looked like burn scars. Its teeth were sharpened fangs just visible inside the partly opened, lipless mouth. It wore a long black robe and an expression of hateful fury. Above the blister, large, curved, bright purple letters with an extended three-dimensional effect read "Voldemort!" Below that, in garish neon green against against a glossy black background was the caption "The Dark Lord." Off to the side, the secondary blister contained the figure's lone accessory. A brilliant gold starburst surrounded the scarlet type that proclaimed, "Now! With Phoenix-Feather Wand!"

Under the plastic lay a tiny twin to Harry's own wand.

Harry might have stood entranced, admiring the package all night, but almost as soon as he touched it, he was interrupted.

Across the room, a blue light appeared near the wall about four feet above the floor. The light grew in size and intensity. It began to show some variations in color, and started to spin. The edges of the blue-glowing area began to billow, like clouds. Then suddenly, the entire thing expanded to nearly seven feet wide and opened up to reveal a cloud-lined tunnel reaching upward and back out of view. Harry was not ready to accept that a stairway to Heaven had just opened for him, so he assumed a defensive posture and waited to be attacked.

The figure that descended the tunnel and walked calmly into the room had expected to surprise Harry. To the newcomer's apparent disappointment, Harry merely nodded and checked the room for anything else that might have been truly unexpected. "Hello, Headmaster," Harry said casually. "Where's Neville?"

Dumbledore had not anticipated that question, at least not quite so soon. His trademark mumbling, usually meant to provide the illusion of absent-mindedness, this time never resolved into anything like coherent speech. "Hrmmm... ahhh... mmmm..."

"You know," Harry encouraged, wearing a vicious grin. "Your other weapon. The other boy who lost his parents to the Dark Wizards. The one other person who fulfils the requirements of the Voldemort-killing prophesy. The one with whom I was not to be allowed to develop a close personal relationship. The Herbology genius. The Longbottom lad. You know... Neville."

Since Harry obviously knew more than the Headmaster had anticipated, Dumbledore resigned himself to admitting more than he had intended. "Neville awaits... in my office... at Hogwarts."

"And knows nothing about where you are now," Harry concluded sourly.

Dumbledore smiled and held up a warning finger. "Neville is a very intelligent young man..." he began.

Harry interrupted curtly. "You didn't tell him where you were going, or who you expected to find, or what was supposed to be happening here, did you? Even though you came here directly from the very room in which Neville sat. That's why you had to use that blue tunnel, isn't it?"

Dumbledore's face lit with genuine pride and satisfaction. The expression made Harry's heart hurt, because it emphasized how false and calculated Dumbledore's posturing usually was. This was the Dumbledore that should have been - researcher, developer, scholar, teacher. A man who could find joy, and bring that joy to others, through the magic he created. "Do you like it?" Dumbledore asked with sincere enthusiasm. "It's my own. All of the restrictions against apparating in and around Hogwarts posed such inconvenience for me. I couldn't very well take down the wards. There were too many genuine security considerations to allow that. So I had to... ahh... circumvent the entire problem. Strictly speaking, this... tunnel, did you say?" He paused to look around and contemplate the spectacular manifestation of his transportation spell. "Yes, it is rather a tunnel, isn't it? But at the same time, it's not. It goes..." He looked back at Harry, scowling in concentration, searching for a proper explanation. "Goes isn't really the right word. It... ahh... exists entirely within another universe altogether. Physical laws are completely different there, you understand." He chuckled reassuringly. "No chance whatever of monsters from another dimension invading us... or of us being able to do more than pass through this little detour while we're there. But the whole arrangement is so... elegant." He smiled, quite pleased with himself.

"And what did Neville think when you opened up a big blue tunnel and disappeared from your office?"

"Neville didn't see it. I was in the... ahh.. adjoining room when I cast my spell. You see, Harry, Neville need not know..."

Harry saw the subtle sign he had been dreading. He had hoped to be able to handle this encounter differently, treating Dumbledore as though the man were a true ally and friend. But the Leader of the Order of the Phoenix was not going to make things that easy for the Boy Who Lived. The overt sign that Harry picked up may have been nothing more than a twitch of Dumbledore's index finger on his wand. But Harry's sense of danger was undeniable. He raised his hand as though signalling a restaurant waiter, and clearly enunciated, "One Moment."

Harry had never been able to repeat his single success at stopping time. But since that success, he had developed a myriad of variations on the basic idea of the time stop, and those had proven reliable by being repeatable at will. Spells such as 'Film Loop' (which before that evening had been cast as 'Redundancio'), 'Conglacio,' his new, more limited 'Stop,' and this one, 'One Moment' - perhaps the most sophisticated of the bunch - were so powerful that their like had never been seen in all of recorded wizarding history.

Albus Dumbledore knew his wizarding history. And he knew more spells - and understood them in greater depth - than any other wizard of which he was aware. As Harry's enchantment developed, Dumbledore marvelled at the effect, an undisguised smile of childlike delight illuminating his face. Too swiftly for him to perceive how it had happened, he and Harry were surrounded by a thick grey fog. There was a hollowness and a strange amplification that affected sounds around the two wizards. Dumbledore thought he could hear his heart beating, and could almost swear that he could hear Harry's, as well. In a mock scolding tone, eyes twinkling merrily, he asked, "Aren't you concerned about what will happen to your prisoners?"

"Not in the least," Harry replied casually. "We exist in time that is unique to this small pocket of existence. While we are in here, no matter how long we stay, nothing whatsoever will take place outside of this little patch of fog. No time will pass at all in the real world." With a slight shrug, he added, "If you kill me now, you will never escape this odd little singularity. You might have convinced yourself that it would be worth sacrificing your own life to be rid of me. But if I should die, you would be here forever. You would never hunger, nor thirst, nor grow any older than you are right now. And I'm not certain that you could ever manage to kill yourself, no matter how horribly you maimed your own body. This would be a particularly sterile Hell, don't you think?"

"Kill you? Oh... ehrm... oh, my dear boy. Harry," Dumbledore groaned in his most appealingly eccentric voice, "I have a great deal of responsibility as the guardian of the free world..."

"Albus." Harry interrupted the Headmaster's rambling quite firmly, and waited just long enough for the Hogwarts Headmaster to realize that his given name had been used quite deliberately. "The War is over. We won. The Death Eaters lie bound in the room we just left... all except for Rudolfos LeStrange, and I know where he is. And Voldemort is right here!" Harry held up the gaudy "Voldemort, the Dark Lord" action figure package for Dumbledore to see - all the while keeping a firm grip on it, and making sure it remained out of Albus' reach. "Your battle is at an end, Albus. You fought hard. You stayed vigilant. You put in more effort and more hours on this fight than anyone else in the world. But it's done, now. The Dark Wizards are my prisoners. I have their leader here in my hand. We are victorious. It's time to celebrate... and then do something else with your life."

"About those prisoners..." Dumbledore began, but Harry was not willing to discuss the matter.

"They're mine. If I want to turn them into toys like this one, I will. If I want to hack them all into bloody gobbets, I will. If I want to keep them bound as they are and slowly starve them to death, I will. If I want to shrink their heads and wear them hung from my belt, that is what I will do. The War is over. But I am the one who won it. The spoils, such as they are, belong to me."

"Harry... Do you really want to do that... to yourself? You are still excited by your... participation in battle. You can talk of torture and killing at this moment with a warrior's determination. But you have been an honorable warrior up until now. You fought - and you won. Don't you think that the disposition of the defeated should be..."

"They're mine," Harry repeated, his face set, his posture telegraphing his determination. "Finishing the battle is as important... No, Albus, it's more important than starting the fight. Any daft arse can start trouble. Handling the consequences - that's where the real work begins. I've already dealt with the repercussions of rescuing the victims from tonight's revel. I have two men working their arses off, and the entire staff of Saint Mungo's dealing with the triage. There was at least one death tonight. One victim's death, that is - a Death Eater or two... or maybe three or four... died when their prisoners were set free, but I'm not counting those. Justifiable homicide, I say. I worry that there may be more bad news yet to come from this disaster, though. The victims were all injured pretty badly, muggles and magic users alike. Their death toll may still rise. I only hope I got them the help they needed in time."

Dumbledore contemplated the boy before him, impressed despite himself. If Potter didn't represent such a dangerous nexus of chaotic, wild magic, he would make some wizard a fine apprentice. His concern for others and apparent sense of responsibility might have made him a worthy apprentice to even such a luminary as Albus Dumbledore. But the boy was a walking bomb, with levels of power that the wizarding world could not allow to roam free. "About those consequences," Albus insisted. "There will be a great deal of concern among the Wizengamut, and within our own government, regarding the people you have captured."

Harry met the older wizard's eyes. He overcame his impulse to shout insults, bark orders, or issue a challenge to the man. Harry knew that he could force their confrontation to become a magical shootout, leaving the loser dead... and most likely leaving the winner crippled or insane. Even if Harry had believed that he could have won such a duel outright, there were so many better ways to manage this meeting that he would not allow a fight to occur. He would have to focus on the crucial issues and hope to be able to convince the flawed - yet undeniably great - man opposite him to see things his way.

"You were never this blatantly ham-fisted in your manipulation of people during my first years at Hogwarts." Dumbledore stared back suspiciously, clearly offended, making no reply. "You used to direct people, to let them feel as though they were working for themselves, following their own ideas. But... oh... about the time of that time-twister escapade you sent Ron and Hermione and me on, you've dispensed with subtlety. You used my summer job this year to keep me separated from Neville, when it was obvious that you were going to use us both as weapons against Voldemort. Why not bring us together, let us work as a team? You know the answer as well as I do. And your other 'weapons' have received equally shoddy treatment from you. You didn't have to alienate and discourage your Order of the Phoenix... but you did. You practically had a rebellion on your hands weeks ago. I wonder how bad the situation has become since then. You didn't have to bring the aurors down onto Professor Snape by hiring a currently active Death Eater as a teacher. But you did. You didn't really even have to lose Professor Sprout in the first place. She loved teaching at Hogwarts. But by the time she left, she was angry with you... and I think she was afraid of you."

Dumbledore's glare of disapproval didn't phase the boy. But as soon as Harry saw he had made his first important point, he changed his approach. "Besides hiring the Death Eater... How much administration have you actually done at Hogwarts during the past year?"

Dumbledore waited until he was sure that Harry's inquiry had not been rhetorical. "Quite a lot more than you might expect, young man. There were two other teaching positions to be filled... not to mention having to staff Herbology once again when Aaron Sepal fled the school. And we do not have endless money, either. Budgets, allocations, and fixing the price of tuition all require a great deal of careful consideration. Reviewing all of the admissions of returning students, and finding those talented individuals to whom we extend our new invitations each year also takes a lot of work."

"I'll give you the hiring," Harry said. "You did that all on your own. But as for everything else... How much of that work did Minerva McGonagal actually do, leaving a neatly finished product for you to put your Headmaster's signature onto?"

"Minerva and I work quite closely," Dumbledore replied warningly.

"And you wasted most of your time this year on a futile Malfoy hunt," Harry snapped, responding to Dumbledore's warning tone with impatience. "And I don't mean an 'unsuccessful' Malfoy hunt - I mean that it was completely futile. You would never have found either person you were looking for, no matter how meticulously you went over your search area. Because you were searching in England, looking for them to make a connection with Voldemort, while the first thing they did when Lucius went to jail was leave the country - and get as far away from any Death Eater as they possibly could."

"Then they posed no threat," Dumbledore nodded sagely. "My actions were taken to protect all of us from any threat they may have posed."

"So you missed the opportunity to get them both on your side. I worked with Draco... and his mother. I still don't like Draco, personally. But he's really not a bad guy. He's snooty. He's full of himself. But he's smart, he's resourceful... and he had no love for Voldemort at all. But you missed all of that, and thereby missed the opportunity to put them to work for you, by being too rigid. Adaptability is the key to survival, Albus."

Dumbledore's eyes focused inward. He appeared to be revisiting a past conversation. Harry gave the man a moment to indulge in memory, then changed subjects again.

"Have you been very active with the Wizengamut this year?"

"The Wizengamut is always busy," Dumbledore lectured. "What on Earth do you..."

"I won't try to be cute," Harry interrupted. "I'll just lay it right out. I admit: the Wizengamut is always busy. The point is, they are busy in groups and committees, in pairs and with individual projects. They're working toward goals set by the group as a whole, with you in the position of leadership. You must be proud of that. But they're working - almost entirely - without you. You make a great figurehead, Albus. You look very impressive. You make very entertaining speeches. You have a fantastic reputation. But the Wizengamut hasn't needed you to do so much as cast a spell on their behalf in years! You don't work with the researchers, you don't go out with the enforcers... and more often than not these days, you're not the one conducting the diplomacy. It makes sense on the surface of it. There are lesser wizards to do all of that experimenting and strong arming and arguing. But what that general policy really says is: 'We don't need you.' The Wizengamut is telling you to settle down, be a figurehead, and let the rest of them do the work of shepherding the development of the wizarding world."

"That's rather harsh, coming from a lad who has not yet passed his N.E.W.T.S."

"It's harsh, but it's backed up by the records of - as well as the publications produced by - the Wizengamut itself. In the past few years, you have publicly presented commendations to two research teams for perfecting refinements to common spells, and you have presided over - but have hardly contributed to - the organization's meetings. You could say that your greatest Wizengamut achievement of the past three years came last March, when you called your meeting back to order six separate times, keeping the focus of the meeting squarely on the question then under discussion, and eventually bringing it to a vote, while avoiding a wizard's duel in the process. That was good mediation. But..."

It was Dumbledore's turn to interrupt. "I am gratified to hear that you approve of my parliamentary procedure. But where did you learn all of this detail? Do you have a... hrmph... spy... who was present at that meeting?"

"I have been studying, Albus. Harder than ever before. Studying history - and not just the dry facts about ancient days, but the current, living history of our own time. And in recent history, you have been a very important man. But as we draw closer to the present day, your contribution becomes particularly one-dimensional. You were the single outstanding opponent of Voldemort. You led the Order, you opposed the government's blindness to the threat of posed by the Dark Lord, and you attempted to repair some of the damage done by Death Eaters. But now the War has been won. It's over. And no one has to look very hard to see that you are tired. Your school is quite effectively being run by your Associate Headmistress. Your Wizengamut is working on the goals you helped to set. Your Order's purpose is complete. And when you have the time to think about your magic, and to work with your magic, you are able to do great things. You have been able to create new spells like that extra-universal blue-cloud travel-tunnel I saw tonight. You need more time to think and work. You need more freedom to accomplish great things. You need to retire, Albus."

Dumbledore shook his head as though trying to clear water out of his ears. "Are you trying to perform a Suggestion on me?"

"No." Harry's denial rang with honesty. "I am trying to tell you the truth. It's not all pleasant. But I hope you can see that I am correct. And I hope you will accept my advice. Retire, Albus."

"And..." Dumbledore prompted.

"And what?"

"There must be an 'And'," the Headmaster smiled. "As in: 'Before you retire, could you do this for me?' Or possibly: 'After you retire, could you do this for me?' I don't think you would be pressuring me to quit so abruptly without having some... ah... assignment that you wished me to accomplish on your behalf. So, I wonder: And... what is is that you want?"

"First of all, I want you to not do something. I want you to not kill me." Harry's request was delivered with such unaffected seriousness that Dumbledore had to laugh, albeit gently and only for a short time.

"You are a dangerous man, Mister Potter," the Headmaster added, still smiling. "Power such as yours must be very... ehrm... difficult to control."

"I've had help. I have more control over my current powers than I had over my more average magic while I was still at Hogwarts."

"And who has helped you achieve such a great deal of control?"

"You know already, Albus. Professor Snape. Remus Lupin. And Narcissa Malfoy."

Dumbledore's obvious flinch at the mention of the last name on Harry's list showed that, even if the Headmaster had suspected as much, he hadn't been sure that Mrs. Malfoy had been involved in Harry's education. "And Professor Snape... as well as Mister Lupin, for that matter... abandoned me and the school immediately before term began... for what reason, Mister Potter?"

Harry pursed his lips and flexed his hands, straining to avoid rising to Dumbledore's bait. Harry was nearly out of patience, but he knew that yielding to temptation and shouting angrily at Albus would only prove the Headmaster's implied contention that Harry was insufficiently mature to control himself. Instead, very calmly, he began to explain. "What have I been telling you, Albus? It's nothing different. They couldn't trust you, anymore. Men who admired you, followed you, owed you a debt of gratitude... even they couldn't trust you. You had become too secretive, too manipulative, too convinced of your own infallibility. You'd become used to leading a War effort. So you risked their lives repeatedly. And each time you did so, you made it harder for either one of them to defend himself. Snape in particular would say, each time he left for a Death Eater meeting, 'If they haven't decided to kill me this time...' as a prelude to any discussion of what he wanted to accomplish. Snape was almost certain that Voldemort knew about his being a double agent, and was only waiting for the proper occasion to kill him."

"Being a spy is never a safe career choice," Dumbledore pointed out.

"But after a certain number of successful missions, every soldier - especially an undercover operative - earns the right to get pulled out of the combat zone! Don't misunderstand me. The difficulty facing you as a leader does not come down to a matter of only one man. I'm not trying to say that because Snape's job was dangerous, your leadership was faulty. You have many more problems than Snape. Before tonight, your whole loyalist force was about to fall apart. Take a veritaserum survey of your Order, Albus. You'll find that none of your other troops trust you any more than Snape or Lupin do. Besides that, you've managed to offend nearly every one of them."

"A military commander cannot afford to worry about whether he's offended his soldiers," Dumbledore scoffed.

"But if he's going to lead through no other authority than his own force of personality, then he has to maintain their trust," Harry insisted.

Dumbledore actually seemed to consider that for a moment. "You have already asked me to not do something on your behalf," Albus said, as though regaining a train of thought that had become derailed. "But I don't believe that is all you had in mind. Weren't you planning to actually have me do something for you, as well?"

"You could do one thing," Harry said cautiously. "It involves no work, only a statement on your part. But in many ways, it could be harder for you than performing a great labor. If you refuse me, I will understand and ask for nothing further. If you examine the request, however, I believe you will see that it ultimately serves the greatest good for the most people, and that it solves many of your worries regarding my current levels of power. It does this by keeping me in the public eye, and forcing me to keep my advisors close to me at all times." Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, waiting for Harry's request. "Endorse me."

"Ahhh... Hrm?"

"For Minister of Magic. There's an election in a few days. My name is famous, recognized by most wizards and witches now living. I have just defeated the greatest threat to our society. I have an advantage due to that victory which I intend to exploit. All I need in order to win is the legitimacy that can only be conferred upon me by the endorsements of well-recognized, well-respected household names. Except by those who are close to you or who have to work with you, you are still one of the most respected wizards in the world. Your endorsement would be very much appreciated."

"You are young, Mister Potter. I don't believe that the law would allow..."

"That's why it has to be a landslide," Harry stated. "And in order to guarantee a landslide, the first person I have to visit would be the incumbent, Minister Fudge."

Dumbledore's lips spread wide in a satisfied smile. "I believe that the MInister may well be forced to cooperate with you." Briefly, the Headmaster outlined the recent development of Fudge's re-election campaign. "He has lionized you," Albus wheezed, "to the point where opposing you would make him seem... quite the fool. At this point... his only practical choice is... ehrm... to join together with you in your effort to become... our government's leader."

"Do you think you would enjoy watching the Minister squirm?" Harry asked mischievously.

"Let's not be immature," Dumbledore cautioned. "Let's just say that I would be interested in seeing... what our leader's reaction will be."

"Where do you imagine Fudge is right now?"

Dumbledore stared off into space, counting the necessary connections that would need to be made in order for his estimation to be accurate. "If your rescued hostages began showing up at Saint Mungo's a half-hour ago..."

"Less," Harry interjected. "Remember, no time at all has passed while we've been talking here."

"Well then," Dumbledore said, and scowled. "We need to allow about an hour from the time the first hostage told his story at the hospital. When the word went out to the Ministry... as it would do... this event would be considered a state emergency from the moment the first patient said 'Death Eaters' ... then whoever was at the Ministry would get in touch with Minister Fudge's staff. Anyone with any sense would contact the Minister straight away. And he would be dressed and at his office... Yes. I believe an hour would do."

"Then we have a little time." Harry made a dismissive hand gesture, and the fog surrounding him and the Headmaster faded away. "There is something I need to do before I call on the Minister," Harry explained apologetically. "And, as you might expect, I can't trust you to remain here with all of my prisoners while I do it."

"Oh... yes... I suppose," Dumbledore murmured agreeably, walking toward the open doorway. "Where are we..."

"Conglacio," Harry said. He waited a few seconds to be sure Dumbledore was really not going to move, then he left the room. A sharp report signalled his apparation. A little while later, another explosive sound heralded his return. Harry walked back into the revel room, carrying something heavy in one hand. His burden dripped copiously, leaving a slick smear on the floor. Harry murmured, "Finite Incantatem," toward Dumbledore and the Headmaster regained the power of movement. Harry held up the severed head he carried by the hair and explained, "Rudolfos LeStrange. Crude treatment, I'll admit, but I didn't have time for anything more delicate." He tossed the still-dripping head over toward Bellatrix, not looking at Dumbledore at all. "In case you're interested," he offered casually. "Voldemort cast Avada Kadavra, Crucio and Imperio on me tonight, all to no avail. I have taken some care to keep myself protected." He turned around with a bounce in his step and a wry smile on his lips. "Shall we go visit the Minister?" Without waiting for a reply, he started toward the one open door in the room.

As Dumbledore followed him out of the revel room, Harry mimed a slapping motion. The revel room door slammed, and there was a distinct sound of stones sliding, as though operating in a heavy lock. Harry placed a further seal on the room, and a magical lock on the door, then turned to examine his surroundings more closely. When he had gone to meet Rudolfos, Harry had expected this room to be Voldemort's throne room. It was not, though there were no furnishings to give any clue as to what it was intended to be. It, too, was of stone, approximately square, though only about a quarter of the size of the immense revel room. Harry wondered how extensive this place was. Only considering the three rooms he knew about, the place would have required a tremendous effort to construct. He knew that he would have to return here, to explore this labyrinth and discover its secrets. If the prisoners within the revel room were his to do with as he wished, this place itself must also be part of the spoils of his war against the Death Eaters. Harry traced a rectangle in mid-air, near the doorway. A glowing outline filled with an opaque membrane appeared in response. Mumbling all the while, he traced the shapes of letters. what he wrote appeared in glowing letters on the membrane.

S R,

Gone for a bit, will return soon.

Feel free to leave, as the area

has been secured.

H.

He turned to Dumbledore and jauntily suggested, "Fudge's office?"

"Yes..." the Headmaster replied uncertainly. "Do you know where that is?"

"No. You go. I'll follow you."

Dumbledore smiled indulgently and looked down his long nose at the boy. "How do you expect to be able to do that?"

"How do you think I was able to stop time, or shrug off the Death Spell?" Harry countered. Dumbledore nodded his acknowledgement of his own ignorance of how Harry's power operated and apparated away.

Harry stared at the spot from which Dumbledore had disappeared. He strained to focus his eyes, even though he realized that it was not his eyes that were sensing the magical trail he meant to follow. Increasingly during the past few days, Harry had been able to perceive magic in more ways than ever before. Most of the time, he seemed to 'see' a magical effect, usually as a glowing point or a glowing area, depending on the spell. If he hadn't had the looming Halloween deadline to keep him focused, Harry thought he may have been able to completely lose himself in the contemplation of these magical signatures that manifested themselves literally everywhere around a house like the one in Godric's Hollow, where three accomplished wizards lived, casting spells almost constantly. In this case, following Dumbledore's apparation, he could see the residue of the magical energy that had sent the Headmaster on his way, as well as a trail of glowing specks leading away in an impossible direction toward Albus' destination. But he could also see, like a ghostly painting on glass, an image of a place. It was a well-lit office, with people going about their business with a kind of intensity Harry associated with response to an emergency. He could also feel, deep within his chest, a kind of certainty about the location of this place he was seeing. It was in London, inside a building he recognized as the Ministry. For a moment, he thought of Sirius, and nearly abandoned his plan so that he could go back into the revel room and kill every Death Eater in there. But he forced the feeling away. There would be time for revenge later. He examined his feeling about the place, held the image of it in his mind, visualized Dumbledore's path from here to there, and willed himself to follow.

BANG!

Harry appeared in the bustling office of Cornelius Fudge. The Minister was standing immediately in front of Dumbledore, a finger pointing belligerently at the Headmaster's face. Fudge whirled as Harry appeared, and his jaw dropped as his eyes went wide.

"You!" Cornelius gasped. "Uh... Harry!" the Minister's tone changed from outraged surprise to supportive jocularity. "Where have you been? You have had us all worried sick!"

"You had good reason to worry," Harry reported grimly. "I have been locked in battle with the Dark Lord of the Death Eaters. I won."

"Ah, well, that's stupendous," Fudge enthused. "That calls for a celebration!" Then the Minister caught himself and amended his praise with, "That is... you... uh... you make quite a claim for yourself, lad. I mean... are you quite sure you defeated... uh... You Know Who?" Fudge's apparent indecision transmuted to cockiness in an instant. "Have you any evidence of this victory?"

"I don't think you really want him to bring in his most recent trophy," Dumbledore said quietly. "Just before apparating here, I saw young Harry carrying the severed head of Rudolfos LeStrange."

"Ugh!" Fudge reacted immediately to Dumbledore's news. "Severed head. Well. I think not. We'll have no severed heads in the offices of the Ministry."

"You're the one who asked for evidence," Harry said, glowering. Fudge looked sick, as though he were afraid that Harry was about to produce a severed head on the spot. He appeared to be quite relieved when the boy explained, "That's why I brought Professor Dumbledore. As a witness, I thought that the leader of the Wizengamut would be sufficiently trustworthy."

"Well, we can't be too sure, can we?" Fudge pleaded. "We have had erroneous reports in the past regarding... regarding... uh... You Know Who. We can't... we can't just..."

"Voldemort." Harry said loudly and clearly. Everyone in the office stopped to stare at him. "Get used to it. It doesn't mean anything dangerous, anymore. Say it whenever you like. Voldemort. He will not be returning. Voldemort. He threatened us for generations, and now he's gone. Voldemort. I beat him. Voldemort. I rid us of him forever. Voldemort. I fought him and I won. Voldemort. Try it. Say it with me. Voldemort. Voldemort. Voldemort."

Fudge's face was screwed into a grimace as though he were trying to block out a disgusting smell without actually holding his nose. "Well, you say... uh... his name. And you say you won this fight. And you bring... this man... who has made it his career over the past few weeks to slander me in public, I might add. And he says that you defeated... him. But, what I don't see is any evidence that you have actually..."

"DO YOU WANT THE SEVERED HEADS OR NOT?" Harry stood with his fists clenched at his sides. Fudge stepped away from the malice in the boy's glare.

"I... I do not... I do not want any severed heads in this office! Now, understand... think of... What do you mean, coming here like this? You were missing for so long, no one could find you, and you... why weren't you in school? Then Saint Mungo's calls, and they have... they're busy with... the whole hospital is full! There are wizards, witches, muggles... Muggles in Saint Mungo's! And the one... the one thing... the only thing they can agree on is that - wherever they were when they all got so badly hurt - you were there too. So it seems to me that you have some explaining to do, young man."

"Explanation is pretty simple," Harry said flatly, staring at Fudge through narrowed eyes. "Death Eaters kidnapped those people. I freed them. Then I sent them to get medical attention."

"It's all very easy for you to say that while you are standing here in my office..." Fudge blustered, but fell silent as Harry spoke again.

"I know what you've been doing in your reelection campaign."

"What? What do you... What do you mean, what I've been doing?"

"You have been using my name, my personal history and my likeness to provide yourself with an implied endorsement."

"Young man, all that my campaign has been..."

"Fudge." Harry's voice was cold. Cornelius' mouth suddenly became so dry he could not speak another word. "We can do this hard, or we can do this easy. You would prefer easy, believe me. If, however, despite your best interests, you choose hard, here is what I will do. I will publicly compare you to me. That's all. Just hold us up before the public eye, and let the people decide whether they like what they see. For example: I destroyed the Dark Lord Voldemort. You denied his existence. I destroyed Voldemort's inner circle. You allowed them to escape from Azkaban. I developed wandless magic, while you are not even a competent..."

"What?" Fudge bellowed, finding his voice again through his outrage at what he had heard. "Do you think people are idiots? Do you think... think that anyone... anyone will fall for such a..."

"Oh, God, this again," Harry growled. "Nox. Incendio. Wingardium Leviosa." In quick succession, the lights went out in Fudge's office, a fireball appeared above Harry's head, and all of the furniture in the room floated gently up to rest on the ceiling. Illuminated only by the light of his own fireball, Harry raised his hands and lowered them slowly. The office furniture regained its place on the floor. "Finite Incantatem." The fireball disappeared, and the lights shone once again. "In short," Harry said into the shocked silence, "Yes, I do expect people to believe that I have developed wandless magic. And to recognize that you are..." he thought a moment before concluding, "not as accomplished."

"But what could possibly be the point of all this," Fudge demanded, clearly as confused as he was astounded.

"You haven't let me tell you the easy choice," Harry criticized. "Listen to the easy choice. Then you'll understand." Harry waited to make sure Fudge wasn't about to protest further, then explained, "The easy choice is simple. You withdraw your name from the upcoming ballot, and endorse me for Minister of Magic."

Fudge waited, watching Harry carefully, as the boy's words, so nearly incomprehensible to the Minister, worked their way through the many layers of denial in his mind. When Fudge finally decoded what had been said, he blinked slowly twice and in a dull voice, spoke one syllable: "No."

"You're saying you would prefer to do this the hard way?" Harry asked calmly.

Fudge shook his head uncomprehendingly. "I am the Minister of Magic," he said carefully. "I... I won't... I won't remove my name from the ballot. For what? To let a... a boy... run for the top wizarding office in the land? Ridiculous. We can't have a boy in the Minister's office. It' s a man's job. He glanced swiftly at several witches, who were all important members of his staff. "Ah... that is... an adult's job. Adult. Not... not a boy. And why... for Merlin's sake, why would you wish to supplant me as Minister? I am the Minister of Magic. I will run and I will be reelected to..."

"You only got the job because Albus Dumbledore didn't want it. And you should be kicked out of the office for inflicting Dolores Umbridge on me, alone," Harry grated.

Fudge looked scandalized. "Dolores Umbridge is a dedicated public servant..."

"LOOK WHAT THE BITCH DID TO ME!" With a thought, Harry stripped away the glamour that had hidden the damage done by Umbridge's Writing Punishment, and held his right hand high so that everyone in the office could see the scars reading 'I will not tell lies.'

"So," Fudge accused, trying to appear confident, "You were telling her lies, were you?"

"You sent her to run a SCHOOL, and she ends up CARVING the CHILDREN! Does that sound like good government to you? I think it'll sound a Hell of a lot worse to parents who have their children in school right now, don't you?"

"What I think," Fudge said sternly, "is that you have a lot of claims and accusations, and... apart from your wandless magic... (good job on that, by the way, capital achievement)... you can't prove anything. How can I possibly... how can anyone possibly believe that Dolores Umbridge did... did that to you? How do I know that you defeated... You Know Who? It's just your word. Your... unsupported... word."

"You know how people are," Harry said, apparently bored with the whole discussion. "They want heroes. And they distrust those in power. Right now, I am going to look like a hero. And you are going to look untrustworthy. The only question is: Will I be able to make you look bad enough that you will never be elected to public office again? Or are you going to help me, join me, get on board the Boy Who Lived Express and become part of the winning team? It's up to you. I really don't care one way or the other."

Fudge smirked at the boy. "You are young. You have no idea how a well-oiled political machine works. Do your worst. You don't have a chance of significantly tarring my reputation. People do have some distrust of those in power, it's true. But those same people reelect the incumbent ninety eight percent of the time. Wouldn't you say, Mister Constantine?"

One of Fudge's staff members stepped forward and nodded a greeting to Harry. "I'm Deckard Constantine, Minister Fudge's Chief of Staff. It occurs to me, Harry, that when you are elected to the Ministership, you will need an experienced Chief of Staff to help you get acclimated to the political landscape."

Harry smiled at the man. "I believe, if all goes to plan, that I already have a Chief of Staff in place. However, I will need someone to help me over the unfamiliar ground, as you say."

"An Office Manager? Political Consultant? You can tailor the title. And it doesn't have to be a permanent position. You could arrange to provide for such an officer to serve with you for the first year, or..."

"Deckard!" Fudge shouted. "What are you…"

"Stop," Harry said quietly, and watched the reactions of everyone in the office as Fudge froze instantly in mid-rant. "Finite Incantatem."

Fudge quickly looked around the room, searching for support. "That is assault," he said. "I am Minister of Magic, and I will not be assaulted in my own office."

"Easy way or hard?" Harry asked, ignoring Fudge's protest.

"Get Out!" Fudge bellowed.

"I'll check back with you. Think about it, Cornelius. You can only lose by fighting me. Good to meet you, Mister Constantine. We'll be in touch. Professor Dumbledore, please think about what I said. And please... do not return to where we spoke last. That situation, as I told you, is mine to clean up in my own way. I do not want any interference." With a smile and a smooth bow to the rest of the Minister's staff, Harry apparated away.

"Does he have his apparation license?" Fudge demanded. "I'll have him jailed for apparating without a license. No one can flout the law like that..."

With a nod and a wave, Dumbledore apparated away.

Deckard Constantine stared at the spot from which the Headmaster had disappeared. "Albus Dumbledore?" he asked lazily. "Oh, yes. I believe he does have his apparation license. But I can always check."

As harry reappeared in the plain stone room, he first checked his glowing note. It had not changed colors, so neither Remus nor Snape had come here while he had been gone. He then dispelled his magical lock on the door to the revel room, and cast a standard Alohamora to unlock the sliding stone mechanism. His room seal was not sounding an alarm, so that should mean that the room beyond was still secure. He dispelled the seal and pushed open the door. He first checked to make sure that Bellatrix and Pettigrew remained where he had left them. Then he looked around the room, trying to estimate how many Death Eaters were there. They appeared to have remained undisturbed since he had left, and that was encouraging. Harry's real concern had been that Dumbledore would have beaten him here, and tampered with the scene in some way. Harry was feeling a bit more confident about that as he surveyed the room. Dumbledore was tricky, but Harry thought he might have actually earned the title he had imagined for himself: Master of Time. The glowing blue tunnel still rotated ominously near one wall. Harry went to the mouth of it to see what might be revealed within. He jumped back in shock as he saw Albus Dumbledore standing there, quite calmly, still within the confines of the tunnel itself.

"How many spells did you need to cast to get there?" Harry asked, neglecting to hide the surprise his voice betrayed.

"Only two. Apparation from the Minister's office, and another one of these, to connect to this one."

"Very efficient," Harry said, trying to sound confident enough - and competent enough - to compliment Albus Dumbledore on his magic use.

"You did well at the Ministry," Albus smiled encouragingly. "Although I think that Stopping the Minister may have been a bit... er ... cheeky. That action may rebound to harm you. All in all, I don't think you have given me quite enough good reason to retire. I believe I shall be staying at Hogwarts... and with the Wizengamut... and in the Order... for some time."

"That's yours to decide," Harry said, clearly disappointed. "But if that's the case... this is my... uh... this is secure... a secured area. Please remove your... extra-universal blue-cloud transportation tunnel from the secured area."

Dumbledore looked particularly mournful. He spoke slowly. "I understand that it is only experience that can show you how... particularly... horrible it is to pass judgement, and then to carry that judgement out... on anyone. Let alone on the number of people you have here. You will have to learn by doing it. And you will have to do it with the knowledge that, should you allow any of these criminals to escape justice, the whole pattern of the Death Eaters' secret war will start all over again. Once I seal this tunnel, you will have no help. But you will know that everyone - from the Minister to those victims you rescued to me - will be watching you. And judging you. Are you absolutely certain that you wouldn't rather..."

"Close the tunnel," Harry commanded.

"Very well," Albus sighed. "Goodbye, young Mister Potter. You will be much older in a few hours."

The tunnel collapsed. And Harry turned back to his work.

The first order of business, now that Harry had turned Dumbledore away, had to be checking for hidden surprises. Harry could hardly believe that Dumbledore would simply have retreated without leaving something behind to interfere with... or at least spy on... whatever Harry planned to do there. The boy cast a detection spell, looking for eavesdropping spells and finding nothing. He cast several more spells of similar type, each with a slight variation in focus. He looked for spells that could ambush him, or explode when he walked near the place they had been cast. He looked for traps that would activate with a touch, as a portkey might. He looked for hidden eyes. And he searched for hidden ears.

There was something about that last search that bothered him. He could detect no ear present in the revel room, but somewhere in the complex there was almost certainly a listening device in operation. Harry had to wonder whether the thing was a leftover from Voldemort's reign of paranoia, or whether Dumbledore had found some way to place it in the few seconds during which he and Harry had left this room to apparate to the Minister's office. Whatever the answer was, the ear was not within the confines of the room in which Harry would be working, so he shook his head and forced himself to stop worrying about it for the time being. He had already promised himself a thorough exploration and examination of Voldemort's hideout - he could find and disable the device then.

Harry looked at the size of the job waiting for him and - for just a moment - wondered if Dumbledore may have been right after all. But he considered the alternatives to his own plan and soon had to admit that none of those were at all satisfying. His way, at least, would get the job done properly, even if he had to admit that completing his task would take many hours, or even days.

Before he could lose heart again, he walked to face Bellatrix, where she floated in her resin-block prison. He kicked the block so that it spun far enough for Bellatrix to see her husband's head lying on the floor.

"I may be wrong, but I hope I'm right," Harry said, watching to make sure Bellatrix's eyes had rotated far enough to see the grisly trophy. "I never thought he was as... determined as you are. He was evil, beyond a doubt. But I don't believe he will return as a ghost to haunt the places he lived, or that his body will rise as a headless zombie. All that was required for the world to be rid of Rudolfos was that he be killed. You, on the other hand..."

Harry concentrated on Bellatrix, feeling for the clues that would determine how he could transform her into something less perilous - something that could be allowed to continue to exist. "Your victim had the right idea," Harry mused. "Knives into you, over and over..." he concentrated harder, visualizing the shape that Bellatrix was to take. "And it's appropriate," he mumbled. "While you reveled, you wished to be multiply-penetrated, didn't you...?" A definite shape suggested itself to Harry. The shape seemed wrong at first. Then, as Harry considered it further, it seemed more and more appropriate until he had no doubt at all. In her new shape, Bellatrix would have eight legs, as a spider does. Her body would be bulbous and bloated, like a spider's abdomen. She would be covered with tiny hairs. She would be almost fuzzy, the way some tarantulas appear to be. But she would be bright red, except for her face, which would look like the one she wore as a human - except that she would have no mouth, and her nostrils would not be open to the air. She would not need to be able to smell or taste. But it would be a part of her ongoing punishment that she could see and hear that which surrounded her. And of course, in this particular form, she would be able to feel.

Harry concentrated, nearly entranced, visualizing what Bellatrix was to become. He was brought back from his preoccupation by a tiny tinkling sound emanating from a place very near the wall racks.

Harry crossed the room in search of the source of the tiny metallic pinging. He had to look carefully. The sound had lasted for only a couple of seconds, then had died away. Harry cast a lumos which glowed from less than a meter off of the floor. What he was looking for gave itself away by glittering beneath the illuminating spell. He scooped his prize carefully into one hand. There were many individual items all together, and they were all sharp. They had been transfigured from the weapons the Death Eaters had used to torment their prisoners.

Pins.

Harry went back to where Bellatrix lay on the stone floor. She was only a few inches long, now, lying limply like a spider on its back. "These are yours," Harry said, and very deliberately shoved each of the pins deeply into the pincushion Bellatrix had become. "You will be a present," he promised. "To someone who will get quite a great deal of satisfaction from using you for your primary purpose from now on." Carefully, Harry put the Voldemort package and the Bellatrix pincushion together near the wall, far away from any of the bound Death Eaters. He turned to Pettigrew.

"I hate you, you know," he said, completely without inflection. "I saved your life. Sirius and Remus would have killed you. But I saved your life. Then you ran away. You repaid me with this. You betrayed my parents. When I lost them, my childhood was ruined. You betrayed me. Once you had fled from captivity, my worst enemy was given a new life, with a new body, in a ceremony that killed my friend and used my own blood. Now, you have betrayed your own kind. Your master, your master's associates, and your master's followers are all going to suffer. And I want you to be able to watch it all happen, so you have some idea of how appallingly you have fucked up. Just remember this: It's all your fault."

Harry considered the immobile form standing in front of him. "You're not quite right. Not the way I think of you. You should really be more of a rat." Harry held out one hand, fingers splayed, toward Peter's face. He pulled backward slowly, drawing his fingers closer and closer together. Pettigrew's face stretched into a rat-like muzzle. Harry made some quick flicking motions with his fingers. Peter grew whiskers. Harry scowled, still not quite satisfied. He described the shape of a J in mid-air with one finger. Pettigrew sprouted a long, hairless tail. "Better." Harry said with a definite nod. "Now Peter, I will definitely need your arm. I don't really want to simply hack it off, especially now that you're looking so very like yourself. But I don't want to haul around a big old Wormtail wherever I go just so I can have your arm handy. Let's compress you a bit, shall we?"

Harry held his hands out in front of himself, palms facing. He pressed his hands together, and Pettigrew's body was crushed as though in a giant vice. Harry moved his hands so that one was directly above the other. He pressed them together again and Pettigrew was crushed into a shorter shape. Harry kept working in this way until all of Peter was compressed into the size of a standard building brick, with his left arm sticking out like a handle. Altogether, Peter looked like a sledgehammer. Harry picked him up and tried a couple of test swings, then went to the bank of drums, located the largest gong in the collection and swung Peter at it with all his might. The crashing report was very loud, but Harry was certain that it had been even moreso for Pettigrew. Harry checked the protruding arm. The Dark Mark was exposed and undistorted. "Summoning tool," Harry muttered, and put the sledgehammer next to his pincushion, severed head and action figure. All of the tasks he had most wanted to complete were done. The real heavy lifting portion of the evening was just about to begin.

Harry took stock of himself for a moment. If he was too tired, or likely to let his concentration slip, he would not be able to carry out the next portion of his plan. He thought he was all right, but wondered if his apparent energy was merely leftover adrenaline that might leave him suddenly tired and sleepy in the midst of this, the largest portion of tonight's work. He sat heavily on the floor as he realized why he was not feeling as good as he thought he should feel. This ought to have been the most triumphant moment of his entire life. He had turned Voldemort into a helpless toy. He had killed Rudolfos LeStrange and crafted Bellatrix into a present for Neville. He had challenged Fudge for the Ministership and told Dumbledore to go retire. But at the end of it all, he sat alone.

He should have had Hermione and Ron with him. They should have planned this together, and they should be celebrating together right now. Harry thought his friends might understand, if he explained the entire story to them. But he knew that Ron would be offended and Hermione would immediately suggest a dozen ways he could have kept in touch without compromising his security. They were both probably already angry with him, and would most likely be hurt and somewhat distant when he ever saw them again. They were in school, he was here with a room full of bound Death Eaters. They were in love, he was alone. They had families, he hoped to never see his closest blood relative again.

Mouth twisting bitterly, Harry made a slapping motion at the door, slamming it shut. He cast a magic lock as well. Remus and Snape may return while he was in the middle of this, and he did not want to be interrupted at a crucial juncture.

He chose a Death Eater at random, and made a wiping motion with his hand in the Death Eater's general direction. That person's bandages began to loosen, and they neatly folded away from his face. Harry saw he had chosen a man who was probably in his mid-thirties, with blonde hair and a square jaw. The man glared sullenly out of the remnants of his bindings without saying a word.

"Get up," Harry ordered. The man squirmed a bit but did not seem to be making much progress. "Come on, Harry prompted. "It's not that tough. The lock's been taken off. Shrug the damn bandages aside and stand up." The man made deliberately futile shrugging motions as though to emphasize his mockery of his captor. "Or, I can kill you where you lie," Harry added, and the blonde man twisted and flexed, forcing his way out of the remaining bandages like a snake removing an old skin. "Better," Harry said sourly as the last of the bandages fell away from his captive. "Now get to your feet. I want to see who I have..."

In retrospect, Harry thought that the clue he should have picked up on was the way the blonde man was staring at Harry's hands. He was, of course, looking for a wand. And not finding one, he thought he was safe from magical attack. The blonde man was quite fit, more muscular than the average wizard, but without the flabby softness of some of the Death Eaters' thugs. When he thought Harry was off guard, he launched himself in a flying tackle, wrapping his arms around Harry's waist and driving the boy to the ground. As the Death Eater drew his fist back in preparation for a punch, Harry lifted his hands to the man's face. The Death Eater didn't mind Harry's weak defense. He wasn't planning on punching Harry with his face, in any case, and his fist was still free. He drove his heavy hand down toward the boy pinned to the floor below him.

Harry shouted. But not the incoherent scream of fear the Death Eater expected. Instead, it was a Latin word: "Incendio!"

The blonde man's head exploded in a gout of flame. His heavy fist, robbed of its driving power when the brain attached to it was reduced to ash, continued to fall without direction. The punch still managed to hit Harry in the head, making the boy see stars for a moment.

Harry struggled out from beneath the dead weight of the headless man lying on him. Reflexively, he brushed at his clothing as though to dislodge any death that may have settled there. He pushed himself to his feet and backed away from the corpse. "Right," he said, taking a deep breath "Right. That went well."

Harry forced himself to look at the smoldering stump of the Death Eater's neck. He reviewed the many things he could have done instead of killing the man. He could have frozen him, levitated him away, transfigured him into a flea...

Harry struggled to regain control over his thoughts. Transfiguration would have taken too long to afford him a reasonable defense. Levitation would also have worked too slowly. That, most likely, would have allowed the Death Eater to get in at least one blow, and without knowing what sort of combat skills the man possessed, Harry could not have accepted that consequence. Even if one blow from the Death Eater would have been very unlikely to have killed Harry outright, it might have stunned him, even rendered him unconscious. And, had Harry remained unconscious for even a short time, a trained killer could have ended his life even without a wand or a weapon.

But freezing would have been effective. Conglacio would have worked. Harry might have been able to put forth the energy to cast a full Stop if he had been sufficiently frightened.

But he had not been merely frightened. He had panicked. And panicking was the worst thing he could have done.

Harry's panic had killed that man... not that the Death Eater wouldn't have fought against his fate and died anyway... but Harry knew he could not afford to panic again. That experience had already taught him valuable lessons. He knew more about what to watch for, and what to beware of. He chose another Death Eater at random and waved away the magical seal on that one's Bindimus charm.

When that Death Eater stood, he was revealed to be short, skinny, dark haired, nearly naked... and extremely nervous.

"Who are you?" Harry barked. The thin man jumped at the sound. His reply was punctuated by nervous laughter.

"I...ah... ha ha ha hi...I... uh... is this a test?" His eyes swept the room, looking for anyone recognizable.

"LOOK AT ME!" Harry shouted. The thin man complied instantly, at the same time folding his shoulders in toward his chest to make himself seem smaller. "Buh... because... if this is a test," he babbled, eyes flicking from side to side, but returning to stare at Harry between each flick, "I'm loyal. I'm a loyal man, and... and I don't scare easily." He waited for Harry to congratulate him. When the boy only stared silently, the thin man raised one fist into the air, and weakly cheered, "Voldemort Forever!"

Harry's sour expression never changed. "Do you know who I am?"

The thin man's entire demeanor changed. With the relaxed confidence that comes with total honesty, he looked Harry directly in the eye and said, "No, I don't. I've never seen you before in my life. Are you new?"

"No, I'm eighteen years old," Harry informed the man, who continued staring in bafflement.

"I am Harry Potter, better known as the Boy Who Lived."

"Who?"

Harry stared at the man. There was not a trace of mockery or sarcasm in his demeanor. He truly did not have a clue as to who Harry was. "Don't you read newspapers?" Harry demanded.

"Not if I can help it. Which I can. So, no. I don't."

"And your leader, your Dark Lord of the Death Eaters, your Voldemort - he hasn't told you all about being defeated by a baby?"

"He never was!" the man crowed, offended at the very suggestion.

"And what did you do for the decade and a half that Voldemort never showed himself?"

"Oh... when I was in jail?"

Harry stood there, scowling and frustrated. Of all the Death Eaters in the room to have picked first... well, second, actually... he had to choose an idiot with a fetish for remaining uninformed. "All right. Let me explain. I am Harry Potter. I have defeated all of you, single handedly. You wouldn't even recognize what's left of Voldemort, or Bellatrix LeStrange, or Peter Pettigrew. But if you knew Rudolfos LeStrange..."

"Oh, yeah. I know him."

"Good. There's his head, lying on the floor over there. And nearby is the body of the first Death Eater to have angered me."

The thin man looked past Harry, satisfied himself as to the presence of a dead body and Rudolfos' head and pointed toward the headless Death Eater on the floor. "He's the first that angered you. Where are the ones that didn't anger you?"

"So far... you."

The thin man silently mouthed, "Oh." He stood there uncertainly.

"So." Harry began once again. "I am Harry Potter. I have defeated you all. I am going to give you a choice. If you want to save us both a lot of trouble, you'll take the first option, which is: I kill you. It's quick, it's clean, you don't hang around to get tortured for years, there's no prison, no public humiliation, no confronting your victims. You say the word, I kill you. Simple as that."

The Death Eater nodded, wearing a thoughtful expression, like any smart comparison shopper. "And the second choice?"

"You will swear to serve me. It won't be easy. Belonging to the Death Eaters will seem like a pleasant holiday compared to my service. And your oath of fealty will not be subject to stupid tests. The magic will be very powerful. If you fail me in any way - if you betray me, if you lie to me, if you shirk your assignments, if you give less than one hundred percent of your effort, if you attempt to gain personal advantage from your service, or if you steal from me or from anyone I assign you to assist - you will die horribly, in terrible agony. There will not be enough of you left to bury. And it will not be quick. Do you understand?"

The thin man smiled and nodded enthusiastically. "Yes!"

"And your choice?"

"Serve you, sir."

Harry sighed. He had refined this set of oaths over and over during the past month. Snape and Remus had done their best to find flaws in the wording, or contradictions between promises, or interpretations that would allow for loopholes. The resultant magical contract was as airtight as those three people could make it, Harry's binding spell was extremely complex, and - so far as the three authors could tell - Harry's magic was extremely resistant to being dispelled or even diluted in strength. "Repeat after me. I swear..."

A few minutes later, the oath was complete. The now former Death Eater, first member of Harry Potter's Army, was given the last phrase to speak, the one which would make the oath final. He smiled ingratiatingly at his new master and pronounced, "I do so solemnly swearrrrraaauuugh!" He fell to the ground, clutching his stomach. His skin hissed as it dissolved from him in dripping green goo. He glared hatefully at Harry. "Damn you anyway!" He grated through teeth clenched in pain. "I'd have killed you the minute your back was turned!" He coughed blood, writhing on the ground. Though it only took the Death Eater somewhat less than three minutes to die, to Harry, watching the effect of his own magic, the working of the curse seemed to take forever. By the time the Death Eater finally died, there really wasn't enough of him left to bury.

Harry stared at the puddle of ichor and incomplete bones. "Be glad it happened now," he told the departed Death Eater. "The penalty for betrayal gets worse the longer you serve me."

Harry knew he could not take the time to rest. He was determined to get this task at least partially done before Snape and Remus had a chance to return. He chose another bound body at random and began again.

Several hours later, there was a pounding on the door. Voices carried through faintly. "Harry! What are you doing? Why is this door locked? Let us in!" Harry made an expansive gesture in that direction, and the door swung wide. Remus and Snape entered the room and immediately trained their wands on the people sitting behind Harry.

Harry waved at both his most important allies, indicating that they should lower their wands. He walked toward them, gesturing proudly at the other group. "Gentlemen, I would like to introduce you to my newest instrument for bettering the world in which we live. I present you, Harry Potter's Army!

Neither Snape nor Lupin was impressed in the least. They both scowled worriedly at the gathered group of Death Eaters. If they hadn't known Harry was going to do this exact thing, both Remus and Snape would have killed the entire assemblage of Harry Potter's Army.

"Oh, stop worrying," Harry scolded. He indicated a puddle of green goo on the floor. "One person thought he saw an opportunity to do me some harm. That's all that's left of him. I didn't have to do a thing. It was all taken care of by the oath.

"And those people?" Remus pointed to a pile of bodies that had been shoved toward a corner.

"They chose death," Harry shrugged. "I can't force someone to be loyal, and it's a lot less cruel to kill them outright than to let them go through all that coughing up blood and dissolving they would have to suffer otherwise."

"Are you nearly finished here?" Snape wanted to know.

"Nope. More than two hundred left. No chance to finish with them before tomorrow. Speaking of which..."

"The sun came up over two hours ago," Remus said gently. "You need some rest."

"Look who's talking," Harry laughed, but he knew his own eyelids felt as heavy as Remus' looked. "I'll sleep in my Throne Room tonight. Snape, Remus, you're with me. You guys! Army! You bunk down in the next room. This one will be locked! Let's go." Harry had seen Snape's sharp look, and as they walked through the intervening chambers to reach the Throne Room, Harry softly told Severus, "I won it, so it's mine. I lead them, and they will be looking for some continuity from their previous servitude. Sitting on the throne they're already used to is an easy way to provide that continuity."

"While you should be thinking of all the ways in which you could sever such continuity," Snape countered. "Sleep. I understand you have been to the Minister's office during our absence. There will be a lot more work for you to accomplish in that area when you awaken."

"Just make sure I have time to swear in the rest of my new army," Harry yawned. "I'm afraid that if I leave 'em in their wrappings too long, they'll spoil."