Chapter 3
Harry
The impact of my landing rattles my bones, and my breath is shoved painfully from my lungs. The combined force of Wormtail's weight and the hard earth beneath feels like it's crushing me from the inside out. I'm still gasping for air when the sounds of screams penetrate the fog in my brain and Wormtail's whimpers indicate my unexpected guest is rousing.
With a pulse of adrenaline, I roll Wormtail to the side and jump to my feet, sword and wand raised to a position of defense.
"Easy, Harry," Dumbledore tries to soothe me, arms out and hands open and empty in front of him. McGonagall and Snape hurry behind him, Snape freezing in his tracks at the sight of a bleeding whimpering Wormtail. His eyes widen in shock, before he quickens his pace with his wand already raised.
I watch in a detached manner as Wormtail slumps and the blood from his stump slows to a trickle before Snape drops to the ground beside him. Snape's lips move near silently as he treats the results of their joined master's resurrection.
I don't lower my weapons.
Either of them.
"He's back," I pant, eyes skidding over the crowd gathering around me. A perfect circle forms, and the Professors attempt to keep the students away as I stand in the eye of the storm. Wand pointing with one hand, the Sword of Gryffindor glittering in the other. "Voldemort is back. His father's grave site, Professor. They tied me to the headstone. Go, now, and you may be able to catch some of them."
Fudge stumbles into the circle, falling back as I turn my gaze on him. Whatever he sees, fear flies into his face, his eyes going wide and his hand rising to cover his mouth.
"W-what?" he gasps, glancing between me, bloody and wild, and Wormtail on the ground, once again unconscious. But whether Wormtail's been stunned or simply succumbed to blood loss I couldn't say. "Good heavens! Is that Peter Pettigrew?" Fudge asks, blinking as if the mirage in front of him will simply disappear if he wills it hard enough.
"Always three steps behind, Fudge," I snap. My patience has officially reached its end. It's been a long day. "I tried to warm you once before, Minister. You had the wrong man. Now your ineptitude and delusions helped Voldemort regain his body. Enjoy your job while you still have it, Sir. It won't be for much longer."
I realize I sound savage, but I can't keep my simmering anger contained. I use the sword to point at Wormtail, swinging it in an arc. Fudge trips over his feet in his angst to get away from my fury, landing in a lump on the ground.
"THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS," I scream, "WHEN ALL YOU CARE ABOUT IS YOUR OWN SUPERIORITY, YOU POWER HUNGRY CRETIN!" Blood rushes into Fudge's face, his bowler hat trampled on the ground. "You're no better than Voldemort. At least he's honest about his grab for power. You try to defend yours behind the veil of the greater good!"
The entire world seems to freeze. Fudge gasps at my outburst, his anger and embarrassment quickly overtaking his fear. He scrambles to his feet and shoves through the crowd. His short stature is quickly lost in the sea of bodies. The next time we see him he'll have his Dementors at his back, the powerful demons giving Fudge a false sense of security. It'll be my pleasure to rip that feeling from him.
"Amos!" Dumbledore yells, his height allowing him to glance over the heads of the crowd as Cedric's father pushes his way to the front. "Contact Madam Bones. The graveyard at Little Hangleton. Get the Aurors there as quickly as possible. Severus," Dumbledore turns away from Amos, who is already pushing his way back out through the hundreds of students. "Get Peter to the Hospital Wing and get him stabilized, then fetch us Veritaserum to question him with."
Snape rises from his crouch, already conjuring a stretcher to carry the unconscious Wormtail on. Snape grip his forearm, before nodding to the headmaster and storming out of the circle. Dumbledore's eyes flash, and I realize that Snape just felt his mark burn. The crowd parts for him and his burden, Snape's robes billowing behind him.
The beginning of the end just started.
What story will Riddle tell his followers now that I'm not there as his prize?
Moody appears behind Dumbledore, and I can't tell if the fright in his eyes is my imagination or not.
Using the break in the crowd, Hermione and the Weasleys push their way through. I drop the sword as soon as Hermione breaks the line of onlookers, already bracing myself for impact. She's tiny, but she's solid. She doesn't disappoint, launching into the air and landing hard against my chest. Her fingers dig into my back as she holds me to her.
I must have bruises that I wasn't aware of, and swallow back the moan the strength of her embrace forces from my lungs.
Hermione's relief is palpable, and it almost makes my knees buckle with the weight of it. I can taste it in the back of my throat. Without looking, I slip her wand from my pocket and into hers.
I allow myself a second, two, to relish in the feel of her arms around me and the safety I've associated with Hermione's hugs since the first one she gave me all those years ago. Then my eyes snap open again, unwilling to let Moody out of my sight for long.
Imposter Moody looks Manic, eyes wide and jumpy. Almost coming out of his skin. He's practically hopping in place, waiting for his moment to pull me away.
Dumbledore's voice explodes over the stadium.
"All students return to their common rooms immediately. Prefects and Heads, please escort the students to their dorms."
When the mass of bodies doesn't move fast enough for McGonagall's liking, she too puts her wand to her throat.
"Now," she says, the word sharp and fast. The pace quickens immediately, some of the younger years flat out running towards the castle.
Cedric catches my eye and holds it. Even now, is Cedric realizing what I saved him from?
I zero in on the Weasleys closing in on me, and I give my head a shallow shake.
It's not over, I try to tell them.
The boys stop immediately, Bill grasping his mother's arm and pulled her behind him. I do the same to Hermione, ignoring her annoyed protests. She submits to my wishes though she refuses to let go of me. Instead, she places her left hand on my shoulder from behind me, freeing her wand hand to grasp the handle from her pocket. Ron slides up to my left side with his wand already bared, and I bend at the knees, grasping the forgotten sword in my hand again before I stand up straight.
I lift my weapons, one in each hand. Pointing them wide and shielding those I love behind them.
"Mr. Potter!" McGonagall admonishes, seeing the stance of defense we've taken against the others. Quietly, the twins and Bill fall into place behind me, each guarding my back and keeping Hermione hidden between us. I can almost hear her anger at being shielded as she is. But this isn't over yet, and I won't risk her again.
"The cup was a Portkey," I say, words calm and firm. I look Dumbledore in the eye, before my gaze wanders over the remaining spectators. "Who touched it last?"
As one, the Professors and Ministry officials alike turn on each other, wands raised and accusations flying.
My eyes stop on Moody, and Dumbledore follows my gaze, his hawk-like eyes lighting upon the twitching Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. When Dumbledore raises his wand, the others pivot on their heels, following the headmaster's lead.
"Alastor," Dumbledore says in a questioning tone.
I watch with a sense of disassociation as Imposter Moody takes in the dozen plus wands pointed in his direction. I don't know how much longer until the Polyjuice Potion wears off. I got through the task and skipped the duel with Voldemort to land back on the pitch in about half the time as last time. That being said, we've spent a lot longer out on the lawn than the previous instance of this occasion.
Imposter Moody starts to laugh, and the haunting sound of it sends chills down my spine. Hermione whispers something behind my back and her nails dig into my shoulder, but I can't make out what she says.
Moody throws his head back and howls, and it's perhaps the most disturbing thing I've seen to date, including reptile Riddle in his baby form.
"It's too late," he cackles, happiness leaking from his every pore. I shudder. "My Master has returned. The Dark Lord has risen victorious once again. I'll be rewarded above all others, honored as a son. In this life, or the next."
Moody lifts his wand, and a dozen different spells race towards their destination, each fighting to arrive first. A few bounce off his hastily conjured shield, but the combined force of the others blasts the shield to pieces, colliding with their target. Moody is thrown from his feet, landing unconscious and bound on the grass.
The Professors converge on Moody. Hermione shoves her way between Ron and I. Automatically, I move the sword to my wand hand, holding them both together with the blade pointed down. Hermione slides her hand in mine without a word.
Gasps of shock and snarls of outrage tell me the conversion has begun, and the traitor in our midst is being revealed.
Professor McGonagall turns from the sight of Barty Crouch Jr, a visible shake to her hands. She takes a moment to gather herself, then marches to her lion cubs still on guard around me.
"Up to the castle, the lot of you," she says in a no-nonsense tone. "Potter, how much of that blood is yours and how much of it is from your friend?" McGonagall asks, looking at me in a clinical fashion. I can feel half a dozen sets of Weasley eyes flick in my direction. Mrs. Weasley makes a sound of distress but doesn't come any closer. I'm positive Bill is still holding her back. I'll have to remember to thank him later.
Molly in smothering mode is not what I need right now.
"I'd say a quarter of it is mine and the rest was Wormtail's. He sliced me open, but didn't take my entire arm, thank goodness. He cut off his own hand to donate it to Voldemort's resurrection."
McGonagall sways on her feet.
"He—he cut off— his own hand?" Her words get stuck halfway through, her voice hitting a pitch only dogs would be able to hear. She flattens her hand on her chest, gathering her wits. Once she's under control, she makes a shooing motion with her hands. "Well, up to the hospital wing with you. The rest of you, to your dorms. Harry needs attention, and rest."
No one moves.
McGonagall looks disconcerted that all eyes turn to me, waiting for my response before moving from their positions.
"No, Professor," I say, keeping my tone firm, but respectful. "No offense, but I'm not going anywhere. You can't shelter me from what's going on, I'm already in the middle of it. I'm not leaving until I know what happened tonight."
"Quite right," Dumbledore says, coming up behind McGonagall. "He needs to understand Minerva. Understanding is the first step to acceptance, and only with acceptance can there be recovery. He needs to know who has put him through the ordeal he has suffered tonight, and why. I believe the best course of action would be to remove ourselves from the pitch and reconvene in the Hospital Wing."
Dumbledore gives me a knowing look, and I can't help the relieved smile that graces my face, even if it's gone just as fast.
"Fine!" McGonagall huffs, looking extremely put out. "But the rest of you, up to bed. Now"
I grasp onto Hermione's hand, fingers going white at my grip.
"Hermione and Ron need to stay," I demand. Professor McGonagall looks ready to protest until Dumbledore nods his head in acquiescence before turning back to the crowd around Crouch Jr.
Dumbledore starts to deliver orders.
"I need to let your father know what's going on," Mrs. Weasley says, and it's the first time in many long minutes that I remember she's even here. "Come, boys. I'll see you to your dorm."
"You can use the floo in my office, Molly," Professor McGonagall says, and Mrs. Weasley begins to lead her reluctant crew from the field.
"Ronald," Hermione says, pulling Ron's attention away from the squabbling adults. His eyes latch onto where our hands are linked, before looking at our faces. "Would you run ahead and get Harry a new set of clothes? I doubt he wants to spend the rest of the evening wearing Wormtail's blood."
I almost gag at the thought.
"Oh! Oh, yeah," Ron says, his face lighting up at the thought of being able to do something to help, even if it's just getting a pair of clean jeans. "Yeah, I'll meet you in there," he says, before taking off at a run towards the castle.
"Trainers too," I yell at his retreating form, feeling my toes squish in my shoes. Ron lifts a hand to show he heard them.
"Thank you," I sigh, grateful that she thought of something as simple as clean clothes. I would have sat around in my tacky and stiff Triwizard uniform until someone cleared me to take a shower, probably hours from now.
"Thank Merlin you're okay. I've never been so scared in my life," Hermione sighs, when it's just the two of us.
"Really?" I ask, a smile tugging at the sides of my lips. "I was having fun there for a while. Honestly, when I already knew what was coming, it lost some of its wow factor."
Hermione huffs at me, laying her forehead onto my chest, then quickly removing it when she feels the dried mess coating me from head to foot.
"Ugh," she says with disgust, and I scoff in commiseration.
"You're telling me. At least you aren't wearing it."
She looks down at her front, covered in a slim layer of grime from their earlier hug. She casts a quick scourggify on herself, the crusted copper disappearing from her shirt.
"How'd you get the sword?" she asks, looking at where it still sits loosely in my hand. My fingers are actually starting to cramp, but they'll have to pry this sword from my cold dead fingers before I give it up again.
"Asked for it," I reply with a shrug, and Hermione rolls her eyes at me.
"Only you," she sighs, then quiets for a moment.
"I hadn't realized how tall you'd gotten," she says, looking up at me from an inch or two below. Before I could rest my chin on her head. Or is it in the future I could?
"Ditto," I say with irritation. "Or how short I really was."
Hermione laughs under her breath.
"You're bleeding, by the way."
"Tell me something I don't know," I mumble to her.
"Not just where Wormtail sliced you."
She takes her thumb and rubs it across my cheek, showing me the blood that stains the digit.
"What hit you in the face?"
She's so soft I barely hear her.
"Headstone exploded," I whisper. "Avada went over my head."
All the blood drains from her face and a full body shudder rips down her spine. She closes her eyes and exhales loudly.
"Come, children," McGonagall instructs, and we turn to see that they have a restrained Crouch floating in the air with half a dozen wands pointed at him.
"Headmaster," I say, holding back after everyone starts the trek up towards the castle. Hermione is still gripping my hand in hers and gives it another squeeze of reassurance. Dumbledore pauses, then gestures at McGonagall to keep going as he falls back to speak with us. "Go along, Minerva. Harry and I just need a quick chat."
With a sharp nod of her head, she pushes to the front of the pack, leading the way up the hospital wing where Snape awaits with the Veritaserum and a hopefully healed Wormtail. Since Moody himself has a peg leg, I don't think they'll be able to replace his hand like Riddle did, but at least they can get him to a point where he can talk.
"Are you quite alright, Harry? Do you need to see Madam Pomfrey before we proceed?"
I allow myself to feel the weight of the day heavy on my shoulders. I've no idea how long we've been awake now. How does one judge time when you die and are brought back to life again? If nothing else, my sigh of exhaustion is telling.
"I'm fine, Professor. Just tired. It's been a long day. Is Sirius here?"
The headmaster watches me, a thousand thoughts flying past those startling blue eyes of his.
"Yes, he is. I sent him up to my office to wait."
"Before we question Wormtail," I clear my throat in embarrassment before I continue. "I mean, before we question Pettigrew, we need the Aurors here. And a lawyer, or something. I know I still have to go back to my aunt and uncle's house, at least at first. But if nothing else we can get Sirius out of that cave. Fudge has already proven he doesn't care about the truth, only his interpretation of it. We need believable people, other than fourteen-year-old wizards, in order to get Sirius free. After all, there's nothing like a good witness."
Hermione snorts so loud that I glance to make sure she didn't hurt herself. A blush covers her cheeks, and she tilts her head away, but I can see her smile. I'm sure she's thinking of the same thing I am. Fifth year, when a witness both saved and sabotaged me at different times.
Dumbledore's eyes twinkle behind his half-moon spectacles, his hand rising to rub gently along his silver beard.
"How very right you are, Harry. Nothing at all like a good reliable witness."
I sigh in relief as Dumbledore flicks his wand and several Phoenix Patronuses fly off in different directions. I sway on my feet, the adrenaline that had been keeping me going finally free of my system. With reflexes that bely his old age, Dumbledore's hands shoot out to offer me additional support while Hermione wraps a hand around my waist and throws my arm across her shoulders.
"Perhaps a stop at Poppy's office is advisable after all," Dumbledore says with a concerned tone and scrunched up face. "I'm sure she wouldn't mind tending to you before we begin what is sure to be a very long inquisition. In fact, she may insist on it."
"No," I say, waving off Dumbledore's worry. "I'm fine." I right myself on my feet, pulling my shoulders back and standing at my full height. Hermione tightens her arm around my waist. It would have been more convincing this morning when I was several inches taller and wider, but no matter. Dumbledore simply gives me a penetrating stare, before nodding his agreement and leading the way into the castle.
"We have work to do, then," Dumbledore says.
We fall into step behind him.
Yes. We do.
Despite trying to avoid the Hospital Matron, Madam Pomfrey has already healed my arm and face. Then she shoved me into the Hospital shower, advising the waiting attendees to this impromptu confessional court that I would not be allowed to participate until I had her say so.
I'm still watching the pink tinged water slide down the drain when the door to the loo opens.
"Got your clothes, Harry," Ron says, his voice distorted.
"Thanks, Ron"
He leaves without another word, shutting the door behind him.
I should hurry, but exhaustion pulls at my shoulders. I lean my forehead against the wall, letting the cool tile soothe my skin.
Okay, Harry.
Time to move.
I use magic to dry my skin, my hair still dripping when I put on the clothes Ron left for me. After a grimace at my reflection in the mirror, I shrink the clothes to fit me properly.
First thing I'm doing when I'm free from this place is going shopping for jeans that fit.
There's a scabbard sitting under the clothing, and after a moment to figure it out, I slip the leather up my arms, then slide the ruby encrusted sword over my shoulder and into the sling strapped across my back. I practice unsheathing it a time or two, ensuring I can pull the blade clear with little difficulties.
I wonder if there's someone who could teach me sword fighting?
I'll have to ask Sirius. And find out who provided the sheath for my newly acquired weapon. Cause I meant it when I said I wasn't giving it back.
Ron and Hermione are in the corner whispering in sharp tones when I re-emerge.
"Here," Madam Pomfrey demands, shoving a gag inducing blood replenishing potion into my hands. The pepper-up that goes next gives my legs a little more strength, and I join the others to start the interrogations.
Mr. Weasley appears bringing with him a contingent of Aurors. I recognize Shacklebolt and Dawlish, and a woman with a monocle that I think might be Madam Bones. The three others are new to me.
One of the strangers carries a briefcase, and after a moment's exchange with Dumbledore, a house elf leads him out of the Hospital Wing. I hope that's the lawyer for Sirius.
I catch Madam Bones out of the corner of my eye and sigh, adding another item to my 'attempt to change' list. I'm not sure how I can prevent Madam Bone's death, but I know I've got to try.
"Let's do this," I whisper, as Ron and Hermione come to my side.
I'm not really paying attention as the potioned Crouch Jr. tells his tale. After all, I've heard it once before. He's almost at the end of the story when a commotion sounds at the end of the hallway. I tense, already prepared for what's to come. As soon as I hear Fudge's voice, I call my Patronus.
"Expecto Patronum," I shout, rising from my seat and pointing my hand at the open doorway. Heads and wands whip in my direction, but I only listen for Fudge's cry of outrage as my stag mows down the Dementor that he had with him.
"How dare you," Fudge growls, storming into the room. "That Dementor is here for my protection! Attacking him is as good as attacking me!"
Nobody pays Fudge's blustering any heed.
"How could you have possibly known he had a Dementor inside the castle?" Madam Bones asks, a question echoed by Mrs. Weasley and Professor McGonagall. Dumbledore looks thunderous and turns to explode on Fudge. I can feel Snape's eyes boring into me from the back of my head and slam my memories of the last three years into a vault in my mind and throw away the key. There's a pressure in my head, like a fist knocking on the door. But Snape doesn't get through.
Hermione's eyes flicker away, amusement shining bright.
"Felt it," I shrug, avoiding meeting anyone's stare. Ron picks his chin up from his chest as Prongs comes prancing happily back into the Hospital wing. He takes a lap, running his antlers up against Hermione, before flittering away. "I'm highly susceptible to Dementors," I add to hopefully close the subject.
"You can produce a corporeal Patronus?" Madam Bones asks, not trying to hide her shock.
"Since last year," I confirm, attempting not to squirm under her gaze. "When they're close, I hear my parents being murdered. I was highly motivated to learn the charm."
Silence fills the air, and Hermione grabs my hand again.
Fudge opens his mouth to complain, but one look from Dumbledore has him quaking away in fear.
Madam Pomfrey bustles into the room, commandeering a third bed and laying a thin and weak Mad Eye Moody onto the mattress before pulling the curtains closed around them.
"I think we have everything we need with this one," Madam Bones sneers, her lips tilted up in a look of disgust. With a flick of the Headmaster's wand, Crouch falls silent and his head droops to the side.
The lawyer, who had been standing at the back of the Hospital wing, joins the group of people as they walk a few feet to gather around Wormtail's bed. Dumbledore winks in my direction, and I feel a surge of anticipation thrum through my veins.
This is it.
At last, we'll be able to free Sirius
The man pushes in front of Madam Bones, holding his hand out before him.
"Before you start the interrogation of Peter Pettigrew, my name is Charles Wilkinson. I'm here to represent the interest of Sirius Black in these matters. By the time the interrogation is done, we'll be proving that Sirius is innocent of all the charges against him, barring the charge of escaping Azkaban. Which, those charges will be dropped, when it's proven that Mr. Black was sentenced and committed to life in prison without so much as a by your leave."
Madam Bones is shaking his hand more by rote than with any conscious decision.
"Sirius Black is innocent?" Madam Bones questions, her eyes so wide the monocle slips from her face to dangle from the cord around her neck.
"Yes, Ma'am," Hermione says, as I open my mouth to reply as well. Hermione doesn't stop there though. "We captured Mr. Pettigrew last year, and informed Minister Fudge that Sirius was innocent, and we could prove it, but he refused to believe us, and then Peter escaped."
"Sirius is my Godfather," I speak up, placing my hand on Hermione's shoulder. "And my legal guardian. Or would be, if he were free to walk the streets and raise me as his own. Unfortunately, due entirely to Fudge's greed and incompetence, Sirius has spent the last thirteen years either tortured at the hands of the Dementors or on the run."
Madam Bones looks between us, Fudge, and the lawyer who is rocking back and forth on his feet with a smug look on his face. Dumbledore twinkles in her direction. The Weasley's all look distinctly uncomfortable, and I have to remember that they aren't yet living under the Black roof with Sirius.
"Do you know where Sirius Black is, right now?" Madam Bones asks, ignoring the stuttering of forewarning that Fudge is likely to erupt at any moment. Several times now I've seen the scraggly head of my Godfather's Animagus form pop into the open doorway.
From the corner of my eye, a beetle lands on the open windowsill.
Skeeter!
Dammit, I forgot all about that hag.
I nudge Hermione, and her eyes light up when she follows my line of sight. She starts to ease herself in that direction.
Looks like Mi needs a distraction so she can catch our wayward reporter.
"I do," Sirius' lawyer says, smoothing a hand down the front of his pristine robes. "I'll be happy to produce him for you, after Mr. Pettigrew's confession is written down for the record."
"Which means," I interrupt, walking towards the front as all eyes turn towards me. I'm going to need to have a wand holder added to the scabbard. I sheath my wand on my wrist instead, crossing my arms over my chest. Hermione slips to the windowsill, conjuring a glass jar.
"Everything that's happened the last year can be laid squarely at Fudge's feet. If he hadn't let Pettigrew escape, none of this would have happened."
Fudge finally explodes.
"And what exactly has happened tonight, according to you, boy?" Fudge pivots to face Dumbledore. "A Parselmouth, Albus? What other secrets have you been hiding from us about the supposed Boy Who Lived?"
I can't contain my eye roll.
"Everyone knows I speak Parseltongue. I used it to enter the Chamber of Secrets my second year, killed the Basilisk, rescued Ginny Weasley, and battled Voldemort. Again. It was in the Prophet, seeing as how I saved a Ministry of Magic employee's daughter. I also proved that Rubeus Hagrid had been innocent of the crime HE was accused of and sentenced for without a fair trial. Seems to be a theme of the Ministry. Maybe I should be a lawyer, after I take care of your Dark Wizard problem for you."
Fudge growls, and Shacklebolt bursts into laughter before hastily disguising it as a cough. Dumbledore looks near to bursting as well, and McGonagall has closed her eyes and turned away. Probably praying to Merlin for patience.
"It doesn't matter what we tell you, Minister. You simply ignore it unless it suits your narrative. Besides that, Rita Skeeter is full of shite. I hear she'll be retiring soon anyway. I wouldn't take her word on the weather. But as for tonight," I take a deep breath, feeling every eye in the room. "The cup was a Portkey. When I touched it, it took me to a Graveyard. I only knew where I was because I saw some of the headstones. When I found out Voldemort's true identity my second year, one of my advisors suggested I look into his history, so we did. When I saw the gravestone of Tom Riddle Senior, I knew I had been Portkeyed to Little Hangleton. I don't know what you found when you went there tonight, but I'm sure you saw signs of the fight."
Quills are flashing in the air, taking notes for their owners.
"Advisers?" Fudge scoffs.
"Well, Minister. Voldemort has tried, and failed, to kill me four times now, five if you count Wormtail as his agent last year. The war was never over, simply on hiatus. I've been preparing for what's to come for years now and you're still living with your head in the sand. I'd be asking not why I have advisors, but why you don't."
I turn my attention back to Madam Bones.
"Wormtail used magic to tie me to Voldemort's father's gravestone, Tom Riddle Senior, then gagged me when I started running my mouth."
"He has a habit of that," Snape scoffs just loud enough for everyone to hear him.
"Pettigrew dragged in a giant cauldron, then some tiny reptilian form of Riddle. He dropped him in it, and I had a moment to hope that it had drowned. I'd be happy to show my memory of the spell that was used. But the words were something along the lines of Bones of the father, renew your son. Flesh of the servant, renew your master, blood of the enemy, renew your foe. He pulled crumbled earth and bones, I'd assume, from the grave at my feet. Wormtail cut off his own hand and tossed that in."
As one, all eyes flick to the prone form of Wormtail, his bandaged arm ending in a stump.
"Then Wormtail took the knife to my arm and slit me open. I guess I supplied the enemy portion."
Most of the women in the audience gasp, all eyes now looking at the pink scar that lines Harry's forearm.
"When my blood hit the potion, light exploded everywhere, and it started to hiss. I took my chance, then, and made a break for it.
"I've been working on defensive magic on my own all year, as I was already at a severe disadvantage in the tournament. Not to mention, I've battled Voldemort in some shape or form at least once a year since I re-entered into the Magical world. I used wandless magic to cancel the ropes binding me to the headstone and called my wand to me. When Riddle's snake showed up, I took a chance and yelled for the Sword of Gryffindor. It's come to me in the past," I explain, "when I was in need of a weapon. It's how I killed the Basilisk."
My hands flex as eyes flick to the blade over my shoulder.
"Fawkes appeared and dropped the sword into my hand, and I beheaded Riddle's snake. She's been his familiar since before the first war if I understand my research correctly. Interestingly she's the second snake I've killed with the sword. I accio'd Wormtail, accio'd the cup, ducked under Riddle's Avada, and landed back in the quidditch pitch."
I run my hand through my hair when I'm done, forgetting how long it was at this age. I need a haircut. Or to let it get long enough to put into a tail like Bill's. Though, I'd bet my Firebolt that Mrs. Weasley will chop it off herself before she lets that happen.
"That's it," I say, when nobody says anything.
"Ridiculous," Fudge asserts, twisting his bent bowler hat around in his hands. "The boy has obviously lost the plot. Look at him!" He throws his arms out, the Bowler hat flying. "Carrying around that sword still. Someone take it from him before he hurts a student. Or himself. He should be in St. Mungos, not at school telling tall tales. No fourteen-year-old Wizard can use wandless magic. Even Merlin couldn't do that."
I have a moment, a heartbeat, to think about the wisdom of displaying a skill that I should keep hidden. It's giving away a huge advantage I may need in the future. But I'm past the point of caring.
Without opening my mouth or touching my wand, I open my hand and call Fudge's bowler hat to me. I catch it out of the air, before repairing its damage and sending it back.
Fudge stutters in a stream of anger while most of the others watch in awe.
Then I pull my wand.
Ron and Hermione both rise from their seats, their wands bare in their hands.
At my wits end and forgetting I'm fourteen again, I pull the blade free from its scabbard across my back. It makes a ringing noise that I hadn't noticed when I practiced in the bathroom.
"I'd be happy to take you down to the chamber, Minister. You can hear the Parseltongue firsthand and meet my first kill with the blade. I'm sure its carcass is just sitting down there. Rotting. I can show you where I ran it through with my sword. Then I can demonstrate some of the other tricks I've been forced to learn to protect myself from murderers and morons alike."
"Remarkable," someone says in a loud whisper, but I don't catch who.
Madam Bones steps in before things fall any further downhill.
"Mr. Potter's story is easily enough proven, Minister. Madam Pomfrey, can we question Mr. Pettigrew?"
I hadn't noticed Madam Pomfrey standing on the outskirts, listening to the interviews and minding her patients all at once.
"Certainly," she says, eyeing Wormtail as if she's looking forward to seeing him squirm. It's a good reminder of how formidable Madam Pomfrey can be.
I fade to the back as they wake Pettigrew then drip the Veritaserum down his throat.
Hermione and Ron join me leaning up against the wall, out of the way of the interrogators.
"You okay, Mate?" Ron asks, looking at me from the corner of his eye before turning his attention front again. I doubt Ron's listening to Wormtail. More likely, he's watching Fudge for his next outburst.
"Tired," I say, trusting my best friends to alert me to any danger. My eyes drift closed as my head rests against the wall. The sword presses into my spine, but with a twitch of my shoulders, it settles enough that I can lean back without the hilt poking into my neck.
"Nice sword," Ron jokes, and I can feel him looking at me fully now. I peek at him front squinted eyes.
"Thanks. It makes a good accessory, don't you think? We could try to find you one too."
Ron smothers a laugh as his mother shoots him a dirty look. My eyes fall closed again and I lift my arm when I feel the weight of Hermione leaning against me. She settles into the crook of my shoulder, her head resting on my chest.
Merlin knows she's had a day too.
I can literally feel her brain whirring.
"Where did the scabbard come from?" I ask, without opening my eyes.
"Bill," Ron answers, then lets the silence fall.
Why the hell did Bill have a scabbard?
I perk back up when Sirius' name is mentioned in the conversation.
The party appears to be breaking up, and Wormtail is already unconscious again.
"Have your client meet me tomorrow at ten a.m. at my office, Mr. Wilkinson. I'll have his file pulled and gone over by then. If all goes well, he'll be a free man by lunch, with my apologies."
"It's going to take a lot more than an apology, Madam Bones," Mr. Wilkinson says, dollar signs flashing in his eyes.
"I'm aware," Madam Bones sighs, her own exhaustion clear on her face. With a nod and a handshake, Mr. Wilkinson turns to see himself out of the castle.
I rise from the spot on the wall, walking over to join the conversation, leaving Ron and Hermione behind me.
"We need to have a talk, Mr. Potter," Madam Bones says, examining him with a considering gaze.
"We do, I agree— "
"But not tonight!" Mrs. Weasley interrupts, almost vibrating with the need to mother. "He's dead on his feet, can't you see that? He needs sleep!"
Both annoyed and thankful for Mrs. Weasley's smothering, all I can do is nod.
"As I told you, Sirius Black is my Godfather. Arrange it with him." I accept Madam Bones' hand when she offers it, giving it a firm shake. "What's going to happen to Fudge?" I ask, noticing that Fudge seems to be under guard, rather than being guarded.
"Depends. Loss of office, for sure. We'll have to throw what we can at him and see if it sticks." She turns to face Dumbledore. "You know they'll be after you now that Voldemort is back. They'll offer you the top spot before the day is out."
Dumbledore scrunches up his face, a look of revulsion making his beard twitch.
"Heavens me, no. If they want a wryly old nag running the show, may I suggest Augusta Longbottom. She's had a spot on the Wizengamot for most of my life and is the Head of House for a Sacred Twenty-Eight family, for those that care about such things. She's a staunch opponent of Voldemort and is positively terrifying if you make her mad. I still have the welts to prove it."
Dumbledore shudders at some memory better left untold and I think about the fear that always lights Neville's face when he talks about his Gran.
Augusta Longbottom.
That's one way to take care of our Ministry issues.
Shacklebolt laughs again, but Madam Bones seems contemplative as she gathers her teams and prisoners. Which category Fudge falls into I'm too tired to think about anymore.
Madam Bones does a double take, as a mangy black dog trots into the hospital wing while the Ministry crew is leaving. Absently, I stroke my fingers through his fur. He sits at my feet until we're sure the coast is clear.
The usual exclamations erupt when he takes his human form.
"It's alright, Mom," Ron admonishes her. Mrs. Weasley looks like she's taken all she can handle for one night and sits roughly in the chair closest to her. Arthur puts a comforting hand on her shoulder.
I droop into Sirius's hug, soaking in the warmth of affection when Sirius pulls me tight.
"Outsmarted him again, huh, Pup?" He asks, cupping my cheek and moving the fringe from my eyes.
"Won't be the last time, either," I assert, and the few remaining Weasleys and Professors all seem to take a collective breath.
"Right," Dumbledore says, seeming to stand taller. "There isn't a moment to lose. Severus. You know what you must do," Dumbledore says, turning to look at Snape.
Snape is glaring at Harry and Sirius. He'd been surprisingly quiet during the interview with Wormtail.
"I do," Snape replies, finally pulling his hatred from me and my Godfather.
"Good luck, my friend," Dumbledore says, and without another glance, Snape storms from the Hospital Wing.
On his way to bend the knee to his other Master, I'm sure.
My anger surges, then dies just as quick. I sway on my feet, and Sirius holds me up until Madam Pomfrey points us to a bed. He leads me backwards, taking most of my weight.
"I can go back to my own dorm," I protest, even though I know it's a lost cause. Madam Pomfrey simply glares with her hands on her hips. I sit on the edge of the bed and turn to Dumbledore.
"It's been a long day, Professor. I know, now that it's started again, you'll have a lot on your plate. But if you could find a few minutes to speak with me tomorrow, I'd appreciate it. I'd like Sirius and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley there, and anyone else you deem prudent."
Dumbledore gives me a penetrating stare, and I try hard not to squirm under the examination. I let my exhaustion shine through, and my determination to survive the upcoming war. I don't know for a fact that Dumbledore can use Legilimency without a wand, but I learned long ago not to doubt Dumbledore's powers.
"I'll send word, Harry, when I have a few moments."
I nod and look at the rest of the crowd, all of them watching the interaction between Headmaster and student with looks ranging from awe to irritation. Mrs. Weasley looks fit to bust.
"Come, Arthur, Molly, Bill. I'll show you somewhere you can sleep for the night. You too Sirius. Harry doesn't need us hanging over him, and Poppy looks near bursting with impatience to lay her hands on her charge."
Sirius squeezes my shoulder once, then walks to the other side of the bed to join Dumbledore's side without a word. Molly fusses over me for a moment, attempting and failing to make my hair lay straight. She pulls me into yet another hug, this one quick and sharp, before allowing herself to be ushered towards the door.
"Oh, so I'm allowed to look over my patient now?" Bursting is exactly what Madam Pomfrey does. She looks like she took a bottle of pepper-up potion as steam pipes out of her ears. "It's not as if he has open wounds and did battle with yet another killer snake! Boy is determined to put me into an early grave with all this nonsense. Shoo, the lot of you." Madam Pomfrey starts herding the rest of my entourage out of the Hospital ward, with Dumbledore chatting quietly with Sirius and Mr. Weasley at their head.
I don't have the energy to remind her she closed my wounds hours ago.
Hermione slips out from around Pomfrey's outstretched hands and crashes into me as my arms rise automatically to catch her. "Come back later, with the cloak and the map," I whisper in her ear. Then she too is gone, hurrying over to Ron who stopped halfway to the door to wait for her.
Ron's look is not exactly calculating. Confused, more like. Maybe hurt to be left out of the loop. Because obviously something happened between this morning and tonight that Ron isn't aware of. He simply can't fathom what.
I have no idea what we're going to tell Ron. It can't be, 'Hey guess what? Hermione and I, and probably you too for that matter, died in Malfoy Manor in about three years from now, and now we've got a do-over, but you don't remember it.'
But we're going to have to tell him something because things must be different this time. Things already are. I certainly never kissed Hermione like that in the previous life. And to do it in the middle of the Great Hall…?
Mortimer was right.
I am a moron.
I let Madam Pomfrey's scolding slip over me, hearing but not listening to a lecture I could repeat by rote by now. Ignoring the hospital issued pajamas she places on the foot of the bed, I free the scabbard from my back, shove it under the pillow and lay down on my back with my hands under my head to wait for Hermione.
I'm asleep before my head even hits the pillow.