Harry Potter and the Spirit of Revenge
Chapter Five: The Girls-Who-Wept

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Little Hangleton Cemetery

"Merlin help us..!" Hissed Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt, seeing the place they had arrived to. It was the creepiest and most sinister cemetery he had ever seen. Had he been familiar with Muggle entertainment, he would have wondered which horror movie sets had been inspired by this place.

Quickly and efficiently, Amelia Bones swept the area with her wand, ready to attack or defend. She half-whispered towards her back, still scanning the place with her piercing grey eyes, her monocle didn't reveal anything out of the ordinary in the immediate area, "Auror Tonks, revealing spells; the rest, ready to cast."

"Yes, Boss!" Her Aurors chorused, followed by their respective spells at the ready. A moment later, the youngest of the group spoke again. "M' am? I'm reading two living signals, both human and very weak. Over there." She pointed towards what seemed to be the center of the old cemetery, at a point hidden from view by trees and bushes that had been allowed to grow wild for years.

"Very well, three groups; Shacklebolt, with me, center; Tonks and Savage, right flank; Proudfoot, Dawlish, left flank. Everybody ready to attack. Silencing charms protocols are in effect as of now."

Everybody nodded, taking turns to apply the charms to hide their presence for as long as possible. The dry leaves cracked and broke under their feet, but not a single rustling sound was heard.

Slowly, the three groups advanced towards the signals Tonks has located.

A water beetle animagus perched herself at the top of a high bough, and watched with rapt attention to what happened next.

Hogwarts

Hermione Granger sat on a hard chair, just outside the Infirmary of Hogwarts. Waiting. She bit nervously a fingernail. She hated that particular nervous tic of hers, and had worked hard to crush it since she was six years old.

Even with how much better she had become since, tonight she had a heavy feeling crushing her heart, she just knew something awful had happened to Harry.

During the years they had been friends, Hermione had developed a very subtle link to Harry Potter. It was one she normally wasn't aware of, as its existence clashed with her very logical and ordered view of the world.

But tonight, that sense had made itself known as a gnawing feeling at the bottom of her stomach.

She wouldn't know until later, but she wasn't the only student at Hogwarts who simply knew that something terrible had happened.

Albus Dumbledore stood for a moment at the same spot, completely surprised by Amelia Bones' parting words. He shook his head slowly, musing on how Amelia's refusal to listen to him could mean the deaths of people who could still be redeemed and turned back into productive members of society.

Not even once he spared a thought for their victims, who mostly were actually productive members of society. Or rather, societies, as the Death Eaters preyed on both Magical and Muggles.

Very soon, he would have to look at that uncomfortable fact.

Madame Maxime watched the scene for a moment, then turned to her own students. She ordered a few of the highest years to organize the return to France. She had no wish to stay in England after seeing what had happened to the Four Champions.

Yes, four. Reluctantly, she finally accepted that young Mr. Potter was a true champion, despite the irregularities surrounding his entry to the TriWizards Tournament. He had shown courage, ingenuity, and honour during the First and Second Tasks.

The fact that one of her students certainly owed her life to Mr. Potter's heroism was what had begun to change her opinion about him. He may have saved the life of another, if Fleur Delacour was right about what had happened in the maze. The poor girl had barely managed to tell her that Viktor Krum had attacked her, and then she was saved by Mr. Potter

It would have been trivially easy for him to just leave both Delacour sisters to their fates, but he had protected both.

Msr. Delacoeur would have to be informed of that, preferably, in person.

As soon as Mlle. Delacoeur was released from the Infirmary, the Beauxbatons contingent would be on their way back to France.

Luna Lovegood's eyes lost their focus for a moment. As she was the pariah of Ravenclaw, wandering alone the empty halls of a mostly abandoned section of the castle, no one noticed the dulling of her eyes, nor the stream of tears that fell down her face. She leaned on the wall for a few seconds, and exhaled a trembling breath.

She walked a few, hesitant steps more, until she found a place between two suits of armor. Luna slid down to the floor, hugged her knees, and wept with all her heart.

She knew. The voices in silence whispered at the edge of her awareness. They rarely told her anything she could understand, so she usually believed that they were strange creatures only she and her father could even imagine were real.

Tonight, the whispers were clearer. And she knew, without a shade of doubt, a terrible, heart-crushing truth.

Harry Potter was dead.

Luna Lovegood's shoulders shook with each sob, and soon her robes were soaked in tears. She had never met him, never talked to him nor exchanged owl mail. But she knew he was the hope for the Wizarding World as surely as she knew about nargles and crumple-horned snorkaks.

Suddenly, the voices in silence changed their whisperings.

Harry Potter was dead.

Harry Potter was back.

Hurriedly, Luna dried her tears with the sleeve of her robe, and listened like she had never listened before.

A minute later, she stood up, and walked directly towards the Infirmary.

There was a very important task to do.

Little Hangleton Cemetery (Inside a Hidden Dimension)

In a dimensional pocket no magic could ever find, an old Maledictus slept easily for the first time in decades.

It was warm, soft, and welcoming. There was no need to hide, to flee. There were no orders to poison lives. Nor to kill or devour. There was no fear, nor regrets; if only for a moment. There was only her, Nagini.

She dreamt of her old life, back when she still had the body, mind, and soul of a woman. Cursed before birth to transform into a snake. She saw faces that she had thought forgotten. Emotions that had lain buried at the bottom of her heart resurfaced.

Shame, loss, anger, resignation. All of them very well known to her.

Hope.

That was… new.

She remembered few details of the road that had ended with her being subjugated to Lord Voldemort's will. But the terrible things she had been forced to do because of their link as Master and familiar, those were very clear in her mind.

Had she been able to, she would have wept bitter tears.

Her remembrances brought her to this very night. Oh, she had been corrupted so completely by the monster that she had been actually proud to announce her condition as a Horcrux, expecting to intimidate the white and green ghost.

Instead of fear, the Spectre had spoken to her. Not as to a monster, nor an animal, but to a person. "{I know what's like to be a puppet. Let me cut your strings.}" he said softly, in impeccable parseltongue. And with a simple movement of his gigantic hand, he had freed her from Voldemort's soul piece. Of his evil.

How could she refuse him now? Whatever he asked of her, she would gladly surrender it of her own free will. She had nothing, yet she would give him everything.

Even if he decided to kill her tomorrow, she would die free of evil.

She could die happily by his hand, as she knew there would be no malice in him. She knew that her death by his hand would be a release, not a punishment.

Had she been able to, she would have smiled. A sad smile, true, but a smile in the end.

She dreamt again, back to the first half of the century, and hoped she would meet her friends one last time. If only to ask their forgiveness in the way to her own private Hell.

"What in the name of Merlin happened here?" Tonks whispered. Her hair cycled quickly from red to black and back.

"If I were to risk an opinion, I'd say that something went horribly wrong with a blood ritual." Shacklebolt answered, examining the upturned cauldron, and the deformed body next to it. He was careful not to get too close to the scene, wary of the bald, noseless corpse, just in case the thing wasn't dead.

Prodfoot reported, next to the prone body of the Fourth Champion. He and Dawlish had rescued the boy from the tombstone he had been tied to, like a macabre ornament. The young man now rested on a conjured stretcher, his right arm covered in field bandages. The bandages were already staining red. "M' am, Mr. Potter is badly hurt, he has lost a lot of blood and needs a healer urgently. My scans show him to have been subjected to repeated Cruciatus, and at least one Imperius. I… I think he somehow managed to survive a Killing Curse too. We will have to match the magical signature to know who did it."

Madame Bones nodded, and using a piece of string, created a portkey. "Take him to St. Mungo's immediately. The key word is Celerity. Proudfoot, you are his bodyguard, don't let him out of your sight for a single second, if the healers protest, do not yield. Call on my authority if needed. Dawlish, once he is being attended to, go to the Ministry and send a couple of Unspeakables here, they will conduct a complete investigation of this place. I want to know exactly what happened here. Then you will gather two other Aurors and report back to Proudfoot. The life of Mr. Potter is your responsibility. You four will work in shifts of two. Proudfoot is in charge until relieved."

Once she handed them a couple of portkeys set to their current location, the two Aurors levitated the unconscious body of Harry Potter, and portkeyed away.

Deep into his own mind, Harry Potter listened to every word.

It was Madame Bones who found the other living body. "This is impossible!" She said, "This man is supposed to be dead!"

"Boss?" Tonks looked at the balding man, "Who's that man?"

Bones cast an Incarcerous at the unconscious man, wrapping his body in thick ropes. "Unless there are very heavy glamours involved, this is Peter Pettigrew." She directed the ropes to release his left arm, with a cutting charm, the sleeve fell off the dirty robes, revealing a metallic hand, and the Dark Mark, with the snake biting the flesh. However, the snake looked translucent, as if it was barely there.

Bones continued through clenched teeth, "If this is the real Peter Pettigrew, then what Potter said last year could be true, Tonks! I will apply some glamours to his face, I want him to look as different from himself as possible. I want to put so much Veritaserum in his belly his ancestors will be telling the secrets of the Great Beyond next Halloween!"

A few minutes later, Peter Pettigrew was completely unrecognizable. Instead of his blond hair,watery blue eyes and sickly pale complexion; he now had light brown hair, black,eyes, and coppery tanned skin.

"Tonks, you and Shacklebolt will get this prisoner to the special holding cells under the Ministry, he is to be kept isolated and unconscious, is that clear?"

Kingsley Shacklebolt answered, "It is, Madam Bones." He was already thinking he would have to find a way to notify Dumbledore about the prisoner.

They secured the area, and they waited for the reinforcements.

The water beetle was already composing her next article for The Daily Prophet.

Hogwarts

Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic, sat uneasy on a conjured chair. On the outside, he seemed to be deep in thought, waiting to be informed about whatever had happened to Potter and Diggory.

A mere mask.

Actually, he was quite worried. Young Diggory had talked about Death Eaters. Had it been Potter, he could have dismissed the very idea as a childish attention-grabbing ploy.

But Cedric Diggory was a whole other barrel of apples. The lad had never shown any inclination towards such childish displays, and therefore his words carried a lot more weight than Potter's. plus, his father had a good name in the Ministry, unlike the Potter boy.

Fudge sighed discreetly. He set his green bowled on his lap, and tapped his fingers on it.

He would have to get word from Amelia Bones about the events. Preferably, before anybody else found out, if only to prepare some spin to make himself look good.

Surely his dear friend Lucius Malfoy would have some idea about the situation. And surely, he was on his way.

Yes, all he had to do for now was to stay seated, look ministerial, and wait for Lucius.

Draco Malfoy leaned back on his chair in the Slytherin common room, laced his fingers at the back of his head, and allowed himself a smug grin. Standing behind him were his usual bookend, Crabbe and Goyle, looking vacantly at nothing in particular. They were there just to act as dumb muscle.

Draco's attention went back to his favorite thought of the years. Surely by now, the stupid half-blood was dead, killed by the Dark Lord, and probably tortured and humiliated before dying.

It could not be any other way.

In his head, he began to compose a letter for Father, reporting on his own point of view, among the spectators at Hogwarts. He wasn't completely sure, of course, but he would be willing to bet a good amount of Galleons that Potter's disappearance had been part of a brilliant plan of the Dark Lord, and probably with the help of his own Father.

He would have to think on an appropriate way to ask to see those memories, doubtlessly they would be enough for a good Patronus.

Little Hangleton Cemetery

Lucius Malfoy lay unconscious still. His white feathers stained with mud and debris.

In a few minutes more, he would wake up, trapped in the body of one of the creatures he liked to keep on the terrains around his Manor.

He would have the mind of the proud patriarch of the Malfoy family, one of the foremost Death Eaters, worthy of the confidence of his Dark Lord. With all the knowledge, smarts, and plans to make the Pureblood movement the only government of Wizarding Britain available to him. The riches his family had gathered by means fair and foul were his, and only his. No one else could even touch those resources.

And he had absolutely no way to put them to use.

Author Notes:

First, on a personal note, I am recovering nicely from my surgery, I still have to take things easy, but I am back on the writing chair. Thanks to everybody for your good wishes!

Now, this chapter is very light on the DC side, as only a little time has passed since we saw the DC characters, Madame Xanadu is planning her return to England, and John Constantine is on his way to the airport.

Edited for Typos and additional dialogue, September 10th, 2019