Harry Potter and the Spirit of Revenge
Chapter 19:

Exactly, What Happened?

Please Read and Review. I'd like to know what I'm doing right (to keep doing it), and what I am doing wrong (to correct it).

Hogwarts
Headmaster's Office.
(Spectre's Mental Plane)

"J-J-James?" Dumbledore stuttered, the apparition standing before him certainly looked like the late James Potter.

The figure didn't move at all. The round glasses shone in the shadows of his hood, obscuring his eyes behind the glare. "But… but you died. How can you be… here?"

The mouth of the man thinned even more, but kept silent still.

"James?" the old wizard reached a hand to touch the figure, but stopped before actually touching him. "Is that really you?"

Finally the man spoke, with a voice cold as the grave, with barely contained fury. "James Potter is dead. Murdered by Voldemort along with his wife. I am the Spectre."

Dumbledore lowered his eyes. "Are you a ghost then? Why are you in Harry's mind?"

The Spectre growled. "WHY AM I HERE YOU ASK? HOW DARE YOU? WHY ARE YOU HERE?" The voice thundering through the darkness that suddenly exploded all around.

Dumbledore recoiled; looking all around for the robed figure that had disappeared from sight, hidden in the darkness that suddenly enveloped him. "I needed to… to know what had happened to Harry!"

"INVADING HIS MIND? COULDN'T YOU ASK? NO. YOU NEVER ASK, DO YOU?" The voice hissed.

Then, a low, malicious chuckle replaced the roaring fury from a moment before. "Well, then… if you really need to know… Who am I to deny you?" The words dripped poisonous courtesy. The darkness opened into a green hood and a pale face inside it. The Spectre's hands shot out from under his cloak, grabbing Dumbledore's head. He pulled the old headmaster towards his face.

Somehow, the Spectre grew in size, until all Dumbledore could see was the deathly pale face in front of him. Finally, Dumbledore saw the eyes behind the glasses. They were completely white, no iris, nor pupil could be seen on the white surface of the sclera. For all he could see, they were two ivory orbs shining with inner pale light, surrounded by absolute darkness.

And then, he was pulled into those glowing orbs.

Grimmauld Place
Kitchen Table

Nagini trembled as she sat down. Sirius pushed her chair forwards, the way it had been drilled into him since he could talk. He sat in front of her, ignoring the proper place at the end of the table. "Nightmares?" he asked softly.

Nagini nodded with a jerk of her head. "Worse. Memories."

Sirius' brow knotted. "Harry didn't tell me anything about you, except that you needed a safe place to stay."

"Thanks. To be honest, I have no idea of what to do now. I spent so long trapped in the snake's body that I'm sure everybody I once knew has forgotten me. Or believe me dead."

"If you want to talk about it, I am available. If you don't, its fine. I won't pry. Harry's word is enough for me."

Nagini's eyes brightened at the mention of Harry. "He saved me from a horrible curse. He brought me back. I owe him everything." She looked at her hands, closing and extending her delicate fingers, looking at them as if they were the most wonderful thing in the world.

Sirius had a very small inkling of what she meant, and waited until she looked up again. "That's my godson. Hermione, the girl with the bushy brown hair, calls it 'Harry's People Saving Thing'."

London

Tim Hunter paced around his room. He had turned it upside down in search of his yo-yo. "Wait, did I even turned Yo-yo back into a yo-yo?" he finally asked himself, facepalming.

"Great…" he mumbled. "I forgot."

He sat on the bed, and tried to compose his thoughts. But the chaos around him was too much. He pushed his round eyeglasses up his nose, and passed his hand over his disordered mop of black hair. With a sigh, he began to put his stuff back in more or less the places it should be at, on, or in.

"No magic for chores; yeah, sure." He mumbled, looking around.

Hogwarts
Hospital Wing

"What happened, Mr. Potter?" Madam Pomphrey asked, waving her wand in complex patterns all over the Headmaster's body, lying on a bed in the Hospital Wing.

"I'm not sure, we were talking and he just stopped talking and got that far away stare."

"Well… physically he is fine, I can find nothing that would cause this. He almost looks like he was stunned, but there's no magical trace of any spell."

Professor McGonagall arrived, Poppy looked briefly at her, before returning to her task. "I'll keep him in observation, Minerva. He seems to have… what's the expression..? Shut downwards?"

Harry piped in, "Shut down."

"I will floo call St. Mungo's for a Healer. This is beyond everything I've seen… first the tattoo snake and now this… I need a refresher course."

Outside Gryffindor Tower

Two owls flew freely around the building, in comfortable companionship. A brown, exuberant brown owl, and an imposing snow owl, both flying circles around each other.

Hogwarts
Ground Floor East Corridor

Deadman floated into the castle, looking around in wonder. He looked at his hands, and realized that instead of the usual red colour of his gloves, now he looked almost greenish white. "Well… paint me yellow and call me a chicken… I wasn't expecting this." He felt like an old black and white picture.

A child's voice called at him. "Hi. Are you a new ghost? Which House are you in?"

"Ah, hum…" Deadman stammered, "Can you see me?"

"Of course I can. You're a ghost, aren't you?" The girl asked, as if the answer was absolutely obvious.

"Well, yes." Deadman rubbed awkwardly the back of his head, like a stereotypical anime character. "I'm just not used to being seen, that's all."

"You are not from around here, I think. You have a weird accent." The child observed, she was about 11 or maybe 12 years old, her robes had yellow accents, and a badge with a badger.

Boston couldn't help but think of that old line, a bit changed, 'We don't need no stinking badgers' badges.' But didn't say it.

Instead, he bowed exaggeratedly. "Right in one, kid. American accent. Boston Brand, at your service." Then, he sat cross-legged in the air.

"Then why are you wearing a big letter D on your clothes?" The girl asked innocently.

By reflex, Boston looked down at his belly, with the proud capital D. "Oh, this. Yeah, well, you see, I was an acrobat, and used to work under a stage name, Deadman. Hence the D."

"Ah, I see. Will you stay? We have a few ghosts around, one for each House. We at Hufflepuff got the Fat Friar. Gryffindor has Nearly Headless Nick, Slytherin has the Bloody Baron, and Ravenclaw the Gray Lady. Plus a couple of ghosts that are not affiliated to any House, like Professor Binns, and Moaning Myrtle; Peeves is very annoying, but I heard some older students saying he's not a ghost, but a poltergeist. A Deadman would fit well here at Hogwarts, though frankly, your clothes are quite scandalous."

"Quite modest in my line of work, you need to be eye-catching, yet still has to move freely or you can… um…"

"Have a nasty accident?" She asked so innocently there was no way she wasn't aware of the implications.

"Um… yeah, not that that was what happened to me, kid. Just do you know it. It was worse than that. But, I'd rather keep that story for grown-ups."

"Ah, say no more, Mr. Brand."

"Wait, did you say, Moaning Myrtle?" Deadman's head snapped up, as if he had suddenly remembered something very important.

"Yeah, she haunts the girls bathroom in the second floor, though she sometimes haunts other bathrooms.."

Deadman rubbed his chin, with a distant look in his white eyes, "I think I better talk to your school ghosts, kid."

Grimmauld's Place #12

"Dobby wanting to be given… clothes..?" Winky almost fainted.

"Not given clothes, Dobby just be wanting a hat. Nices round, purple hat. Too small to fit Dobby's head." His long fingers measured a space a bit bigger than a cup, the size of the hat he wanted.

"Why Dobby bes wanting a hat?" Winky relaxed a bit. After all, Dobby had just been bonded to Master Harry Potter, and the amount of power the elf had received from the bonding was beyond anything Winky had even heard of, much less seen personally.

The excitable house-elf shook his head, making his long ears flop against the sides of his head. "Dobby not knowing. But Dobby feels it is important. Like something hidden in head."

London
Time in a Bottle.

Coffin Dweller's ears fell flat against his bald head, and he looked intently into his drink.

Though behind the wrinkled grey skin and red eyes, the mind of the Martian Manhunter grazed delicately against the minds of the other guests of the pub, looking for a clue.

Meanwhile, Batman's eyes looked at the same guests from behind the white lenses of his cowl. Independently, both ended up focusing in the Distinguished Gentleman.

Batman noticed the small sheen of sweat on the man's forehead, while the Martian Manhunter felt the fear emanating from him. There was recognition tinting that fear.

Both heroes arrived to the same conclusion, the Distinguished Gentleman knew something about the Spectre, but a deeper mind probe would scare him even worse, and he looked as if any little thing would push him over the edge of his nerves.

Squire read the room very well, she had a relatively minor superpower, basically a form of empathy, but she used it with finesse, bridging class divides with ease. "Say guys, what about we part ways now, and reconvene later to discuss any findings and share a couple of pints?"

Death Dinosaur nodded courteously, while Blind Fury sipped her tea. She spoke evenly. "Best idea I've heard in the last hour. I agree. I have a couple of errands to run, but I don't speak for my charming companion. I'll be here in three days, 4:00 P.M: sharp and will leave one hour later." She rose, put a few notes on the table, and left the pub.

Rush Hour I sat on the stool next to Squire, and adjusted his turban. "My guess is that you are not looking for Irish Lass." He said with gravelly voice.

Squire smiled at the old, rugged man. "Nope, but I'd like to hear from her later on, when we are not busy with a case."

Rush Hour smiled back at her, "I think it will be best. Anyway, if you have a couple of hours next Saturday, I'd like to bring some flowers to her grave."

"Of course. I'll go with you."

Rush Hour excused himself, making a complicated salute at both the Squire and the Batman.

The members of the crowd began to return to their own companions.

A couple of minutes later, while Batman occupied a table no one else wanted to share with him, Squire left, and returned with the Distinguished Gentleman in tow.

St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries
Room 26

Alastor Moody grumbled, "So, the short of it is, no more Death Eaters." He sighed in relief. "And they all died because their own brands turned against them."

Amelia Bones nodded, "All known Death Eaters, plus a lot that were unknown. And some suspected turned out to not have been branded. Doesn't mean they were not sympathizers, just that they were not branded."

"And what about Pettigrew?"

"The only survivor, we don't know why or how, and he is in bad shape. Same poison, reduced dose. He is unconscious and in a secure cell in the Ministry, under glamours to hide his identity."

Moody nodded grimly, "You realize what Pettigrew being alive means."

"Yes, it means that Sirius Black is innocent, at least of murdering Pettigrew."

"Which in turn, throws doubt over everything else."

Amelia nodded. "It does. I want to dose Pettigrew with enough veritaserum to have him telling the truth of Life, the Universe and Everything.(1)."

Moody grunted his approval. "I'd like to ask him a few questions too."

"Reason enough for you to rest and recuperate."

A crooked smile parted Moody's scarred face. He patted his belly. "Then, I think, a meal would be in order. Wanna stay? I'm sure the Healers will let you eat with me."

"I have a lot to do at the DMLE."

"Reason enough not to get there on an empty stomach. Remember the rule."

Both chorused, "Never pass up a chance to eat, you never know when the next will arrive."

She sighed, "Very well, I'll keep you company and make sure you eat and take your potions."

"Are you kidding? I want to get out of this place as soon as possible! And I have eaten worse."

Ministry for Magic
Unspeakables Offices

"It's done, Croaker. The bird has been sent to Malfoy Manor, anonymously. The delivery cannot be traced back to us. Whatever happens to it is of no consequence to us."

"Good, now, let's focus on the chain of events. Everybody has analyzed their section?"

A chorus of ayes answered him. The voices of the Unspeakables delivered their findings one after the other. Croaker had no problem to identify each speaker.

"The Cup at the center of the maze was touched, and it worked as a portkey."

"As intended. But instead of only one champion, two were transported."

"Evidently, both champions, Potter and Diggory, touched the cup at the same time. just as the DMLE contingent did later."

"Agreed. Otherwise, one of the two would have been left behind."

"The portkey carried both champions to Little Hangleton Cemetery."

"Where both were stunned."

"Yes, spell residue on the portkey arrival site was consistent with either two Stunners, cast almost at the same time; or one very powerful Stunner."

"Magical signature?" Croaker asked.

"Consistent with one of the wands located at the site. One of our junior members is at Olivander's, she should return with an ID. Olivander's memory is prodigious when dealing with the wands he has sold."

"Indeed."

"Go on."

"Both Potter and Diggory were subject to Cruciatus. Both fell unconsious due to the pain."

Croaker nodded.

"This is where things get a bit muddled. Diggory was Imperioused and apparently tied Potter to the gravestone he was found later."

"Potter was cut with a ritual knife, his blood collected and used as part of a potion. We identified his magical signature in the edges of the cauldron and in the residue of the potion."

"At some point before or during the ceremony, a group of individuals arrived by apparition, in close succession or simultaneously. Due to the identities of the concerned, I believe they arrived independently, or at most, in small groups."

"Said individuals have been all identified as Death Eaters. All of them plead the Imperius Defense after the Blood War. The only one missing in the list is Lucius Malfoy. His current whereabouts and activities are unknown."

Croaker snorted.

"The ritual met some initial success, as a homunculus resembling You-Know-Who was found at the site."

"Magical signature on the homunculus?"

"Very similar to identified traces of You-Know-Who attacks."

Croaker nodded.

"At this point, the potion and or the ritual failed, precipitating a cascade failure in the homunculus composition, causing the body to fail catastrophically, damagin the brain to the point of imbecility, according to the medical study performed on the body. In the process, the Dark Mark animated itself, the snake biting the carrier of each Mark. We think it was an instinctive reaction on the homunculus part to stay alive. The toxin injected by the animated snakes seem to be, apart from poisonous, a conduit for magical draining. Any wizard or witch victim of this poison has their magic drained and sent somewhere else."

"We believe Champion Diggory broke the Imperius and tried to rescue Potter. But was the target of at least one Killing Curse. The draining effect could conceivably be enough for the AK to be debilitated and its deadly effect delayed. This gave him enough time to grab the portkey and return to Hogwarts, where he asked for Champion Potter to be rescued."

"Consistent with champion Diggorýs collapse at Hogwarts and later death at St. Mungo's."

"By the time the DMLE arrived to the scene, headed by Director Amelia Bones, the effect had spread to all marked Death Eaters. Including several posing as students at Hogwarts. And one impersonating Retired Auror Alastor Moody, supposedly the DADA teacher at Hogwarts. The real Alastor Moody is currently in St. Mungo's."

"The draining effect spread even into Azkaban. Killing all the jailed Death Eaters."

"The only known survivor is the supposedly dead Peter Pettigrew. I want to know why and how he is the only survivor." Croaker said, tenting his fingers in front of his face.

Malfoy Manor

Narcissa Malfoy, Lady Malfoy woke up in her private bedroom. One of the Malfoy Elves brough her breakfast and a Pepper-up Potion, as she had instructed the previous night.

"Any news of my husband?" She asked.

"No, Lady Malfoy." The elf said timidly. "Only news being that a new peacock was sent to the aviary."

"I told Lucius we don't need another one of those bloody birds…"

Spectre's Mental Plane

Suddenly, Dumbledore was rudely shoved into a very small room, and heard an angry, booming voice coming from behind him, "And you'll stay there until I say so, you freak!"

A door closed behind him, and he heard the clicks and snaps of several locks. There was little light filtering through the door, but he couldn't really see, his glasses had fallen off his head. How? There was a sticking charm on them, only he could remove them.

He extended his hands, trying to sense the size of the place, it was very small. He touched a mattress, covered with a threadbare blanket, there was no pillow, just a few old rags.

Dumbledore decided he had to get away, he tried to apparate back to Hogwarts. But all he managed was to get dizzy. "Maybe if I use my wand…" but the Elder Wand was not in his grip, he patted his clothes, but instead of his comfortable robes, he was now attired in Muggle clothes.

Clothes that hung from his thin body.

His tiny, childlike body.

"What's going on here?" He asked in the darkness.

"Patience, Headmaster." The man's voice rang inside his head.

"James? Is that you? Talk to me, please." Dumbledore said, and that gruff voice yelled at him from the other side of the door, "Shut your infernal trap, boy, or I will close it myself!"

Dumbledore was very tempted to argue, but until he had the means to use magic again…

In the following silence, the Spectre spoke again. "James Potter is dead. I am not him, despite whatever you may believe. I am the Spectre. Remember that, Headmaster."

Hours passed, with Dumbledore alternatively trying to open the door, and trying to negociate with James.

He failed miserably in both tasks.

His stomach grumbled, asking for food.

Hours passed.

He heard only small noises, the creaking of the house settling as it cooled, the snoring coming from upstairs, the stomping of somebody heavy going to the loo.

He was hungry, thirsty, and cold.

Finally, he fell asleep, more from sheer exhaustion than simple need to rest.

When he opened his eyes, it was yo a loud banging on the door, a shrill female voice demanding he prepare breakfast for the "decent, hard-working people".

He had no idea of what to do, and that earned him a painful pinch to the arm.

For a moment, he thought he saw the face of James… no, the Spectre's face, smirking at him from the box of sugared cereal on the kitchen table, but as he tried to look at it carefully, it turned out to simply be a cartoony leprechaun.

Finally, he was allowed to eat.

Half a piece of stale, hard bread, almost as tasty as Hagrid's rock cakes; and a glass of water. While a fat boy kicked his shins under the table.

The rest of the day was no better.

Author Notes:

1. "Life, the Universe and Everything", the title of the third book of the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Universe series, by Douglas Adams. Amelia Bones hasn't read it, but she heard somebody saying it, and she filed the phrase in her mind.