CHAPTER SIXTEEN

LONG LIVE THE IRON ANGEL

Summer had arrived quicker than Harry had expected it. With the investigation wrapped up, the days seemed to fly by.

That first month was tough, though; Neville was in a bad way for a few days, but he made it through the worst. The wounds he had sustained were challenging to heal, even with magic. Harry's use of the dittany had quelled any immediate fatal danger, but Neville had lost a lot of blood and there was some internal damage that took longer to heal. A week after being admitted though, he was discharged. Neville assured Harry he would be back to work at Hogwarts for the new term in September.

Three weeks after the arrest had been made, Mara Greaves was sentenced to life in Azkaban. She had been charged with breaches to the Statute of Secrecy, inciting riots, conspiracy to control thoughts and minds, multiple counts of using Unforgivable Curses and the attempted murder of two people.

The jury was unanimous in its verdict.

The captured terrorist was eventually identified as Ricardo Godoy, of São Paulo, Brazil. He was convicted to fourty years for various terrorism charges and extradited to Brazil to serve his sentence. The other four wizards that worked with Mara Greaves and any others the Aurors didn't know about, were still out there somewhere.

Against Kingsley's advice, Harry had decided to visit Mara Greaves a week after her imprisonment. He had hoped, given her time away from the cursed grimoire, that he would be able to break through to her. He agreed with Kingsley that he was probably being naive, but he owed it to his own conscience to try anyway.

Azkaban was one of the most secure prisons in the world these days.

In recent years, and in large part thanks to Hermione and Kingsley's combined efforts, the human rights of prisoners had been greatly improved from the days of Cornelius Fudge and Rufus Scrimgeour. Dementors were nowhere to be found. Instead, highly-trained Azkaban guards, all of which could do well in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, kept the prison under constant surveillance, with a series of direct magical feeds of the prison perimeters so that if anyone tried to break in or out, the Ministry would see them coming.

Harry was led from the entrance of the tower down to one of the lowest basements. The further down you went in Azkaban, the longer the prisoners were going to be there.

Down here, the walls were wet and grimy, covered in moss and weeds. The sea slapped against the walls and fences, giving the illusion of lost souls, wailing and moaning.

When they arrived in the dungeon where Mara Greaves was held, Harry made sure to check the first few cells he came across. There were beds, books and sanitary products, which he knew was more than Sirius Black ever got in his time here. It was a cell for a prisoner, that was plain to see; but it was at the very least a comfortable cell.

Harry and the guard, who was called Griddon, arrived at Mara's cell.

"Screen is up, give me a knock when you're done," Griddon instructed, allowing Harry into the cell.

Mara was sitting in the back of the room on a chair, staring directly at Harry. She was of course aware that he was coming.

"Hello, Mara," Harry said, taking a seat himself.

Mara sneered but said nothing; she continued to stare at Harry, without blinking.

"How have you been?" he asked.

Mara giggled without a hint of mirth.

"You're a funny man, Potter," she muttered.

"I'm not here to tell jokes," Harry replied.

"No," she agreed, "which begs the question, why are you here?"

"I'm here because even now, I don't think you need to go the way your brother did," Harry replied, earnestly.

Mara barked a harsh laugh; it was full of derision.

"Noble Harry Potter comes to save the lost soul. Noble Harry Potter thinks he can save the woman who is spending life in Azkaban. Noble Harry Potter who assumes because he won the battle, that the war is surrendered."

Harry sighed.

"There is no war. There never was. You're here for life, Mara. Nothing will change that," Harry said, "but you could spend that life stewing over your misguided hatred for me, or try and better yourself here."

"Wouldn't that be wonderful for you?" Mara goaded, spitefully.

"No, what would have been wonderful for me was stopping you months before I did. Maybe before you did anything to land yourself here. I failed, and now you're here. Can't you see now, Mara, that the grimoire held a power over you -"

Mara had started laughing again, so Harry stopped talking.

"You still don't understand, do you, Potter?" Mara sighed, with a big smile on her face, "The Grimoire of Dabria was not controlling me. It is my birthright and I mastered it. How else do you imagine that I got my Christmas gift to you, through all of your security and safeguards? How else do you think I was able to gain control over masses of Muggles, and gift them with magic? My brother proved that to simply possess the grimoire is not enough. You have to truly master the power to achieve what I did."

"You achieved nothing," Harry spat back, losing his patience for the first time, "Neville survived his injuries, he's going to be fine. I forced you to lift my curse and you are spending your life in prison."

"That is what you believe," Mara agreed, "but you know that I was not alone… you know there are others who follow me."

"Yes, I do," Harry nodded, "and it's perhaps what I find most fascinating: why did they follow you? You were no Lord Voldemort, you had no history to precede you. What convinced so many people to turn to your aide and refuse to talk no matter what? It was almost like they were also under a curse, unable to think and speak for themselves… because now, with you locked up and the grimoire sealed away, they are nowhere to be seen."

"They were not cursed! And neither was I!" Mara screamed.

She stood up and launched herself towards Harry; but the magical screen suspended her in mid-air and forced her back, softly, to the ground.

"You will see, Potter. Maybe you already see. My followers are still loyal and will not remain silent. And one day, they will come for me," Mara said.

Her voice was a whisper now; along with her bulging eyes and her face flushed with rage, it gave her a terrifying aura.

Harry stood up.

"Yes, we will see," he replied, "and I will destroy every last page of that grimoire before I ever let you lay a finger on it again."

Harry turned and knocked on the door for the guard to let him out. As the door creaked open, he turned back to the prisoner.

"Happy birthday, Mara."

Harry left, leaving Mara staring at the doorway.

The visit hadn't gone as Harry had hoped; he had thought without the influence of the grimoire, perhaps Mara would have come to her senses. After the visit, Harry feared her senses had gone with her brother.

The next few weeks passed by and Harry's worries about Mara Greaves' followers rising eased as no sign of them appeared. Maybe they were just cursed, influenced by dark magic. But that nagging voice in the back of his head remained vocal.

The magic still exists, Harry argued with himself, locked up in the Department of Mysteries, but still very much in one piece.

Harry recalled the many attempts the Ministry had made to destroy the grimoire, but they had been unsuccessful.

However much he wanted to believe his own threat to Mara, he had no idea how to destroy a single page of the grimoire, so the best he could do was keep it sealed and hidden deep in the Ministry.

And now warm, breezy days and the end of the school year had distracted Harry somewhat. James and Albus had returned on the Hogwarts Express the day previous.

Harry had been surprised to see that Albus and Scorpius had apparently become best of friends. They walked together down to him, and he heard Albus arranging a possible meet up in the coming weeks. When Draco Malfoy approached to meet his son, the friendship between the two boys forced him and Harry to commit to some small talk.

It was awkward, Harry remembered, but Draco wasn't nearly as obnoxious as he was in school, and his kid seemed polite enough. He had even called Harry, "Mr Potter".

"Would Albus be able to meet me in Diagon Alley, Mr Potter, when we go shopping for the new term?" Scorpius had asked him.

Harry got stuck; he flicked his eyes over to Draco.

"Er - yes, I don't see why not. So long as your father agrees," Harry said, carefully.

Draco stared at Harry for a moment with a pained expression. Then he nodded, begrudgingly.

"Yes, that can be arranged... come, Scorpius."

Snapping out of his thoughts, Harry downed the rest of his coffee and placed the cup on the table. He looked at his watch (that had once been owned by Ginny's uncle) and saw that it was half past six in the morning. Knowing James and Albus would likely be sleeping for a while yet, and with niggling thoughts itching his brain, he decided to leave for work early.

Harry fastened his cloak and left the house. Breathing in the humid air, Harry turned on the spot and reappeared in the heart of London. Even in the early hours, the city bustled and buzzed with Muggles and Wizards alike on their morning commutes. Harry strolled his usual walk to the Ministry, thinking about the appointments he had for the day ahead:

He would be seeing Boka Shacklebolt for his first performance review at ten, and he had promised lunch with Hermione to discuss new Ministry security measures. Hoping he could at least finish before tea time if all went well, he turned a corner onto a new street, with the Ministry of Magic building towering ahead of him.

Harry wouldn't usually use the visitor entrance, and he tried to tell himself that he didn't know why he had chosen to this time; but he knew why. He needed to settle his anxiety; needed to just… check around the area. Harry saw his favourite phone box entrance in the distance and headed towards it.

Someone had vandalised the wall behind it, in thick, white paint. At first, Harry didn't realise what it said; but as he crossed over the road to that side of the pavement, he had a clear view of it for the first time.

A shiver shot down his spine:

LONG LIVE THE IRON ANGEL

THE END.


Acknowledgments and Notes

Thanks to Paige, for reading and editing the early stages of this book and for any future edits.

Thanks to Wil, for being a brainstorming pal and always being able to get my creative juices flowing.

To you, for every word you read, every chapter you finished and every comment you left.

While the story is now complete, I still consider this the "First Draft" and after a thorough edit-read, a second draft will be updated. This will fix any grammatical and spelling mistakes or continuity errors I may have made. So consider this complete but not completely polished.

I was inspired to write this direct sequel to Deathly Hallows because of my struggle to find many of this exact type of fan fiction. Thank you so much for reading. I really hope you enjoyed this story. As you may have guessed from how the story went, I do have plans for a sequel and possibly a trilogy. But for now, I just want to say how fun this was to write and how much I hope it is just as fun for you to read.

Until next time,

Tonkinese Cat.