Part VI – Moving On
(**Summer Break Between 5th and 6th year**)
Black Island
The shirtless, teenage boy was frolicking in the waves with the big black dog, while the teenage girl sat on the beach under a beach umbrella reading – it was about as vacation-like as you could get. It could have been on the front of a postcard. But it was all a façade, under the surface this was not a carefree scene.
The reality was that Sirius and Hermione were doing all they could to distract Harry: be that attacking him at the beach or jumping him at the house. The only difference between the older marauder and the teenage girl was in their approach. Sirius distracted with Padfoot, pranks, and highly embellished tall tales. Hermione hit below the belt by flaunting a blooming 16-year-old young woman's body (often in a bikini) – she didn't need much else. Both were welcome distractions, but neither's techniques could entirely erase the young man's frequent nightmares.
Harry was convinced he was a murderer. And it wasn't giving him a warm and fuzzy feeling.
Blowing up Malfoy Manor was an action, a burden that had stained Harry's soul. He was dealing with it, but he wasn't in the best of places mentally. He knew it had to be done – he knew it – and if he hadn't done it someone else would have… But he also realized that pushing that button had made some of his classmates orphans, a state he wasn't comfortable with. He knew how he had been treated after his parent's deaths…
Most didn't have people like the Dursley's waiting to take them in… Still, no matter how evil their parents had been, he was having a hard time rationalizing adding more orphans to the world.
He, Hermione, and Sirius had discussed this in great detail, many times – they all agreed it had been necessary, the right choice. But like most soldiers forced to take a life, he was having a hard time coming to grips with the situation. He might have done Great Britain and the world a great service, but he was too conditioned by Albus freakin' Dumbledore and his own moral compass to see it that way.
He had willingly taken parents from his old classmates. They would hate him for it, and they had every right to, at times he hated himself. Death Eaters, murderers and rapists they might have been, but they had still been people.
No, Harry Potter was not pleased with his actions, but he wouldn't take them back. He was, and always had been, a soldier. Perhaps an unwilling one at times, but always a soldier.
It had taken him time, and many spirited debates with Hermione to realize it, but he had unknowingly issued his first battle cry in this war the day he was born. A helpless baby, he was a mission objective for both sides of the blood war: One sought to end the potential threat he represented, the other was in desperate need of a messiah. He had been drafted into the war by Albus Dumbledore and Tom Riddle before he opened his eyes for the first time. He hadn't had a choice.
Those two wizards had limited his options to: child-soldier/hero or death. Stupid old men paired with a drunkard's prophecy…
His parents were casualties from his first Tom confrontation.
His godfather was foolish, and jailed. (Albus Dumbledore and his allies did nothing to help.)
It had left him, still in diapers, with Dumbledore as his childhood handler. The old man hadn't done him any favors. Albus Dumbledore finding a horcrux in his head foretold he must die. So the great and wise bearded man had isolated him, completely cutting him off from all magical support. Albus Dumbledore had wanted him to grow up ignorant and, if not weak, at least not trained – after all, Harry Potter must eventually die to eliminate the horcrux in his head.
Entering Hogwarts, Harry had surprised the ancient Headmaster by surviving every deadly encounter the man could engineer with Voldemort. But neither he nor the Dark Lord ever fully managed to end the other. The Headmaster's countless manipulations failed, one and all. The cunning old man, considered beyond wise and THE leader of the light had pulled the chair out from under Harry so he could die more times than Harry could count. But despite the odds (he really should consider buying a lottery ticket), The-Boy-Who-Lived continued to survive.
But now, finally, Harry had ended it. He had won. He didn't have to be a soldier anymore. The Dark Lord was vanquished, his horcruxes hunted and disposed of. The corporal body of Tom Riddle had been destroyed by the hand of Harry Potter. Other bad guys had died too, but the prophecy as Harry Potter saw it was fulfilled.
He had been scarred, starved, beaten, and bruised (both physically and mentally) – but he had won. He had nightmares, but he would recover. Even if he, like countless teenagers around the world, didn't have a clue what to do now, at least he had the freedom to choose.
(**Meanwhile, in a magical castle far away**)
Hogwarts
It had taken time, the cashing in of a few favors, and no small amount of unpleasantness but Albus Dumbledore had finally done it. He had made his way back across the Atlantic to his beloved shores and home: Hogwarts.
But his school did not provide the warm welcome he anticipated. Albus surveyed the cold, blood-splattered and mangled bodies before him with horror.
He had followed a trail of blood into the castle (in retrospect, it appeared to be an outgoing trail – probably provided by a survivor exiting the castle).
Albus had found Argus Filch dead in the entryway, the victim of a killing curse. But that had in no way prepared him for what awaited…
Minerva was dead. Bathsheda, Septima, Sinistra, Pomona, and Grubby-Plank all joining her. Amycus Carrow too. Their bodies lay scattered around the staff table – some in seats, others on the floor… all dead. …pools of blood, gore, and spell damage here and there... Broken chairs and gouged tabletop… A scorched spot… the foul stench of death in the air…
Albus was appalled. What had happened?!
Minerva's letters had stated that Filius, Hagrid, and Sybill had all been sacked. Binns was probably still in his classroom lecturing. Poppy, Hooch, and Pince weren't normally part of the faculty closing meeting – as it tended to be academic in nature. (The only times Poppy attended was when she had someone apprenticing or seeking to apprentice under her.) That left Dolores Umbridge, Severus Snape, and Alecto Carrow as the only staff members unaccounted for. The only ones possibly still alive.
Where was Severus?
Who had provided the trail of blood leaving the castle? Albus was ashamed to admit that he secretly hoped it was his Potions Professor. A resourceful man like Severus would be able to overcome blood loss… he hoped.
With very slow, broken steps, Albus Dumbledore made his way over to the nearest vacant seat, where he collapsed in mournful tears, surrounded by the Hogwarts dead.
How had his master plan gotten so far off track? His friends and loyal subordinates were never meant to die...
After a time, Albus' occlumency skills helped him suppress the sadness. Doing nothing to dry his tears, Albus stood resolutely. He had but one thought: how was he going to end Tom now? It was the only thing he had left to live for.
He had intended to send Harry Potter out on the Horcrux hunt, perhaps fulfilling the prophecy that way – with the boy succumbing to a horcrux, or horcrux protection… but the boy appeared to be a lost cause. He was on the wrong side of the Atlantic, and he would never agree to it now – Albus had lost his trust.
With great sadness, Albus admitted to himself that he was going to have to take care of the boy himself. It would be like driving a knife into his own heart, but it must be done. The boy was a horcrux. The only way to end Tom would be to kill Harry Potter.
With a clinched jaw and a world-weary expression, Albus Dumbledore began to plot once more. First the horcrux treasures, then Harry. He would give the boy a little more time to enjoy life.
All Albus' old plans lay in ruin, but he would not be denied. He would do what was necessary. For the good of all those who remained among the living, he would start eliminating Tom's horcruxes himself. He just prayed he had the will to do what was necessary at the end, what he logically should have done 15 years ago when he first laid eyes upon the famous lightning bolt scar.
(**Miles North**)
Azkaban Prison
A grotesque gray form (what remained of a once complete human soul) took on a new look, it donned a cloak, an old and ragged cloak with a deep hood. A cloak absolutely saturated with binding magic. The cloak changed the things appearance and made it identifiable to those less informed: British wizards would easily identify it as a Dementor.
(**Weeks Later – Still Summer Break**)
Black Island
Sirius read the letter from Moony again. Remus wanted to talk, to visit, and knowing Moony – to apologize. With Dumbledore dead and gone Sirius didn't see any reason to deny his one-time close friend the chance to visit, to attempt to find some peace. If nothing else, he might secure a drinking companion for when the kids went back to school. Or he could blow off some steam by yelling at Remus…
He missed his friend. A friend that was supposed to be the smart one! Remus had been in the school during Harry's 3rd year for crying out loud, he had to have seen how Harry was being treated, the stories, the rumors.
Sirius found himself growling softly, before giving a huff.
That period of their lives was over. Harry was safe here, away from Britain.
Speaking of his homeland, he found himself curious to hear what the I.C.W. enforcers were doing to punish those high-handed bigots who worked for the British Ministry of Magic. Those idiots who had sent him to Azkaban without a trial and routinely discriminated against Moony, and all those others of less than 'pure' birth. Remus would know.
(**Meanwhile, in a castle far away**)
Hogwarts, Headmaster's Office
Albus Dumbledore sat all alone in the Headmaster's office pondering things. The ancient wizard was very confused, worried, and frustrated.
He had been unable to track down a single horcrux, not a single one. There wasn't one in the Gaunt shack or in the cave by the sea. He had been sure that he would find a horcrux at one of, or perhaps both locations. And indeed, there had been evidence that there had been a horcrux stored at both locations in the not so distant past – but nothing was stored there now.
And the magic permeating the cave, it was like a battle had been fought there…
Had Tom moved his horcruxes? Or had someone else disposed of them? If it was someone else, had they actually managed to destroy a horcrux? This was vitally important information. He hated not knowing. He desperately needed more intelligence, he needed to know.
If only he could make contact with Severus! But Severus hadn't been at Spinner's End any of the times Albus had dropped by, and Albus hadn't dared leave a message, lest it be intercepted and put his trusted spy in an even more precarious situation.
He must learn what Tom was currently doing. He hadn't heard so much as a whisper of Tom since he escaped America. Not one mysterious death reported in the Daily Prophet, it was all about the scandal of Cornelius attempting to flee the country after the draconian I.C.W. sanctions had been imposed upon Britain.
What was going on? It wasn't like Tom to sit still, the man was always plotting, then implementing his plotting in flashy, destructive, deadly ways.
Oh how he wished Severus would drop by, but he still hadn't, and Albus was at a loss of how to safely contact the man. Owls wouldn't work, and he dared not send his patronus for fear that it was seen by surrounding Death Eaters, or Tom himself. He wasn't even sure Severus was alive.
No. Albus refused to think the worst. Severus was the most resourceful wizard he knew; his Potions Professor was alive. Severus would make contact when he could.
Albus pondered Tom's horcruxes some more. What had happened to them? Had the Colonials actually acted upon his illegal interrogations? He doubted it, they were a foreign government with no jurisdiction here. If found acting on foreign soil they would be the ones in a world of trouble with the I.C.W. Plus, he knew for a fact that young Harry was the only one who could end Tom.
A foreign government staging missions on British soil was prosperous – and it didn't fit the prophecy. …though Miss Granger and Harry Potter were both British citizens… Had the Colonials utilized the boy and girl as agents to go after the horcruxes as Albus had originally intended? But the evidence in the cave suggested magic beyond what the two teens were capable of…
Questions upon questions piled up in Albus' head, but he had no answers. He desperately needed information.
Albus Dumbledore sat and considered the world he lived in, it was a bleak one, and getting progressively darker. He was an old man, who had lost too many loved ones and dear friends. He had but one last self-appointed mission to complete, perhaps his most important, he had to end Tom.
With a gloomy look he took note of the silver instruments on the corner of his desk keyed to young Harry – they still showed the boy to be alive. That was one horcrux he knew wasn't destroyed. As long as those instruments continued to move, his job was incomplete.
How to get to the boy? A frontal assault/approach did not appear to be the answer, at least not while he was in school…
(**Miles South**)
Nott Manor, England
Draco Malfoy surveyed the people gathered before him with hopeful loathing. They were the scum of magical society: bounty hunters, criminals, and other lowlifes. The sort he had never associated with before. But these were the people his father, and Theo's late father, had used when they wanted something done off the books. More times than not it was something highly illegal – and something that could not be associated with their good Pureblood name. A little gold and no questions got the desired results.
Draco was going to use these people to find out who killed his parents and destroyed his home. Then he would extract an agonizingly painful revenge upon the culprits.
. . .
Commonly considered an all-around scoundrel and a good for nothing, Mundungus Fletcher listened with interest as young Heir Malfoy made his pitch.
The Malfoys were loaded, and young Draco would pay a small fortune to whoever provided him with solid information on whoever destroyed his palace.
Mundungus could always use more gold, the I.C.W. enforcers were making his entrepreneur lifestyle uncomfortably difficult at the moment. He would keep his ears open, you never knew when Lady Luck would favor you.
(**Meanwhile**)
DMLE Holding Cells, British Ministry of Magic, London
Dolores Umbridge was not currently favored by Lady Luck, or anyone else and she only had herself… or others to blame.
With small beady eyes, Dolores glared spitefully between the bars at the latest fool to cross her path. She was taking names and making a mental list to personally deliver to Cornelius. Heads would roll for this afront! And Smith (her latest I.C.W. acquaintance) had just had his name added to her long list – not that Smith particularly cared, he was just doing his job.
Charging her with extortion and host of other political crimes, as if they would be able to get any of that to stick. She was the Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic! She was doing things to make their society safer, better. Plus, she was a proud pureblood with a prestigious lineage that could be traced back for centuries. …and she had enough dirt to bury most of the individual Wizengamot members. They'd vote release her without fuss.
Then she'd see about administering some more punishment of her own.
Before this whole mess started, she'd already seen to it that both Weasel family members employed by the Ministry were unceremoniously fired, without benefits. They could thank the twin redhead devils for that. Putting her in Saint Mungo's for a single night was unacceptable, two was criminal.
She'd also started the parchment work necessary to shut down their pathetic attempt at a joke shop. They'd get no clearance for the business as long as she was in charge. Those poor gingers would be begging on the street corner before she was done with them.
(**A Few Cells Over**)
Unknown to Dolores Umbridge, her beloved boss was not going to be much help to her, and he had given up all hope of begging.
Just a few cells down, Minister Cornelius Fudge nervously paced his ow iron-barred cubicle over, and over again. The detained Minister kept wringing his hands as beads of sweat dotted his brow. Every few seconds he would futilely look through the bars, just waiting for the Dark Lord to make an appearance and end him.
He was a dead man, he just knew it.
The I.C.W. had caught up to him after he fled the country. How he was unsure, but it didn't matter – he was caught. And he was going to die. The crimes he was being charged with didn't matter – he was sure he wouldn't live to see the trial. Every time he closed his eyes, he relived the Dark Lords previous visit to the Ministry. Those cold, cruel red eyes burning with power… he was going to die!
In his jail cell, Cornelius Fudge experienced worse nightmares than Harry Potter.
(**Nearing the End of Summer Break Between 5th and 6th year**)
Black Island
"Harry, have you seen yesterday's L.A. Prophet? Have you read it?"
Harry gave his girlfriend a considering look, as if to check that her head was still attached. "Hermione, have I ever read the L.A. Prophet, or any other newspaper? I assume it's just another gossip rag like the British Daily Prophet." His tone was dismissive.
"Yes, well in a way it is," admitted Hermione. "But the L.A. newspaper does appear to be a bit more factual in its celebrity scandals. But that could be because of all the celebrity scandals around it has to report on… you couldn't make some of that stuff up…" Hermione muttered before shaking herself back to topic, "That isn't what's important right now. It –"
"It's not?" questioned a slightly bemused Harry, the corner of his mouth twitching up.
"No, it is not. Listen Harry, they ran an article yesterday on 'Dumbledore's Inferi'." Harry dutifully listened. "They claim someone practiced necromancy on the deceased body of Albus Dumbledore."
"You mean like animating the body? Zombies and stuff?" interrupted Harry.
"Harry," lectured Hermione, momentarily thrown off topic again, "zombies don't exist. Inferi though, they do, and it's some real dark magic. They –"
"Now Hermione," admonished Harry with a half-smile, enjoying egging her on, "you know what our Defense Teacher preaches…" he prompted.
"Magic is not inherently light or dark, it is all about intent." Hermione dutifully recited. "But Harry, creating Inferi is universally banned worldwide! Reanimating a dead body, can you think of a good reason to do that?"
Harry was forced to admit that he couldn't.
Hermione continued, "The article claims that Dumbledore's body was spotted in San Francisco less than 24 hours after his passing. And it's been seen entering and exiting Hogwarts grounds and castle numerous times since.
They are adamant that it is the body, not the ghost of Albus Dumbledore.
Harry I've checked, no reported funeral has taken place for Albus Dumbledore, and everyone knows that would be worldwide news – even if he was disgraced there at the end by attacking our school. The morgue is refusing to comment on whether the body was processed or not. You have to admit, that something seems fishy about this."
Harry couldn't disagree. But he also couldn't see what he was supposed to do about it. No way was this his problem.
End of Part VI
– C. Wall 5
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