Summary: "Why won't you DIE?" Can Lord Voldemort discover the secret to Harry Potter's resilience? Or the other secret that's not in his head? How did Sirius manage to drive back through the veil? Is Ginny really stuck on Harry? How far will Mr. Lovegood go to save his daughter?
Only one thing is certain, this one will end with a bang . . .

SIYE Mary Sue Challenge

Dr Xenophilius: or How I Learned To Stop Worrying And Love The AK

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Breaking Up Is Hard To Do

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A classic insightful quote pertaining to some element of the story would look real spiffing here.
- Anonymous

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It was a bright sunshine drenched morn full of life's blossoming in the forests and fields of Wiltshire – colorful angiosperm buds bursting in invitation, bees rubbing their bulbous bodies against pollen-laden stamen while plumbing the nectar-filled recesses, birds twittering and singing fancifully between regurgitations into the eager mouths of their nestlings, graceful does preening themselves in preparation for stag night – in short, life was reveling in spring's rebirth party.

However, behind a withered hedgerow was a forgotten meadow where no songs were heard, no twittering was allowed, and hope was sucked dry from any who had the misfortune to venture there, for this was the home of a wizard who had allowed darkness to seep into the manor and ooze onto the grounds, and the cold gray dripping sky forever blocked the sun.

It was to this dreary damp domicile that Harry Potter and his two most trusted and faithful companions had been taken after being captured, and although Harry's true identity had yet to be discovered, he knew he was in deep dark dangerous dung. His captors would eventually see through his disfiguring jinxes and call for their master, Lord Voldemort, rejoicing in their bagging of the Boy Who Lived. What he needed right now was a miracle.

"Draco, isn't this the girl who was traveling with Potter?" manor mistress Narcissa Malfoy said to her son, leaning over the suspect. "Tell me! Surely you recognize her!"

Clearly wanting to be anywhere else, the young Malfoy hesitated, and the girl in question saw her chance. Narcissa's wand was held carelessly within easy reach, and Hermione Granger, smartest student witch in Hogwarts history, easily snatched it and thrust it to her own neck.

"Nobody move or the Mudblood gets it!" she screamed frantically.

Everyone froze in shock. Harry was the first to recover, having seen that particular silly movie on Muggle television years before, and he grabbed Draco's wand and began firing spells.

"Stupefy! Stupefy!" he spat. "Hermione, take Ron and GO!"

Hermione nodded, quickly Disapparating with the dumbfounded but appreciative redheaded boy.

Harry was not so fortunate.

"That's Potter! I recognize his voice!"

Anti-apparition wards materialized before Harry could escape, and his shield could not withstand the hailstorm of curses directed his way. There was a brief moment of indescribable pain before blackness overcame him.

o o o

"Why won't you DIE?" shouted Lord Voldemort irritably. Once he had invaded Potter's mind and side-stepped the boy's pathetic defenses, he had been quickly able to determine that Albus Bloody Meddling Dumbledore had taught the boy much more than he could have ever anticipated. Thankfully the Dark Lord still had three of his original six Horcruxes, and thus his immortality remained. Harry Potter should not be able to demonstrate that same luxury, but merciless tortures, random dismemberments and other means of bodily harm had proven fruitless at snuffing him completely. He had tried everything but the killing curse itself, Avada Kedavra, because the sodding prophecy and his own experience told him that it could easily backfire on him.

"Face it," grunted the disembodied head on the floor, "I'm the Boy Who Lived. Get used to it."

There was some very unusual and powerful magic at work here and Lord Voldemort was stumped. He would have to call in an expert.

o o o

"Having an unmentionable name is way cool, good for terrorizing the masses and all, just make sure they stay depressed and scared, or even keep them happy, but never get them angry. The list says angry people are the ones who overthrow their Evil Overlords."

Lord Voldemort studied the parchment. "The list also says that my advisor should be an average five-year-old child."

"C'mon, your Lord Darkness sir, five-year-olds can't read the list. I'm only eight, so that makes me just as good. Besides, the list isn't perfect. It's like, you followed the rule about going after the baby Harry yourself and we all know how that worked out. In fact, I think if you wanna be an Evil Overlord and your destiny includes an infant prophecy, you may as well turn in your CV's for another line of work, 'cause history says you're toast."

Lord Voldemort was seething inside, but decided to humor this upstart a little while longer. "So now you are not just the expert, you know more than the creators of this . . . list."

"Yup. I can see the obvious and I know stuff too. Like, I didn't know what conjugal visits were . . ."

The Dark Lord and his followers looked at each other in a brief moment of panic.

"I thought maybe they had something to do with verbs, but my cousin Pansy showed me when Draco came over and they forgot those privacy charms, I figured it out."

Sniggering was heard around the table, and Draco again seemed to wish he was anywhere else as his mother glared daggers at him.

"But the most important thing right now is to work on those dreadful outfits your Dead Diner Dudes are wearing. The list says masks and robes are simply no good at all. . ."

"No," Voldemort interrupted, "our first priority is ensuring that Potter does not escape."

"Escape?" Lucius Malfoy queried. "He is spread between dungeon cells A, C, D, F and H, where his head resides. He can't get himself together, much less make his way out."

"Nevertheless, his friends will stop at nothing to collect him. They apparently know that he is the only one who can bring about my defeat. No, we must review our security and ensure that they cannot possibly get in."

"You've got the standard travel methods blocked?" asked the child advisor. "Apparition, Portkeys, Floo? What about non-magic entrances? Vents, chimneys, doors and windows? Any underground passages, like sewer pipes? What about your water system?"

They carefully studied each possibility and corrected any deficiencies they discovered. Meanwhile, tea was served by an ancient house elf with a hunchback, dragging her left foot.

"Just leave it, Eisor," Lucius ordered. "We are quite busy at the moment."

Voldemort looked questioningly at the old elf. "Lucius, whatever became of that annoying little elf you used to keep around?"

"My Lord," Lucius intoned hesitantly, "Potter had the audacity to free him several years ago. He dotes on the creature."

"You are getting forgetful, Lucius. That is a potential weakness. Your property should be warded to prevent passage by any elf, in or out."

"Eisor will take care of it," the old elf rasped. "Dobby was a bad elf, always talking above his station, forgetting his place. Yes, Master, Eisor will keep him out."

o o o

Harry Potter was almost grateful that he had no more feeling in his body, wherever they had stashed it. He had been subjected to pain beyond pain, agony beyond agony, and so on and so forth, until he really had wished they would just be done with it. After all, he had been particularly attached to most of those bits they so rudely removed. He supposed he was teetering on the edge of delirium, because he had some very unusual dreams of late. One even had Dumbledore joining him on some adventure, complaining about how he'd mistreated his sister and about the lack of decent sweets on the train. There had been a noise on the upper shelf in their compartment that sounded like a budgie in a box, but he never got a chance to investigate.

He had no idea how he was still alive or what would become of him. Other than spitting contests with the rats, there was nothing he could do for himself. He started to drift away into another bout of slumber when he was blinded by a flash of light . . . the light of several sunlit days, which he swore he had seen somewhere before . . . he felt suddenly weightless and then he knew no more.

o o o

"So we've taken care of all avenues to get to Potter. There is no possible way to reach him now."

There was a scuffle outside their sitting room. The door opened and one of Voldemort's most ruthless Death Eaters rushed in breathlessly.

"It's Peter Sellers!" cried the young boy. "I loved your Pink Panther films – they were the bomb!"

"His name is not Sellers," grumbled Voldemort, "it is Dolohov, he abhors pink, and his stupid Russian accent is real. What is it, Antonin?"

"My Lord, something happened in Potter's cells. There was a bright flash of light in each one, and . . . he's disappeared."

"All of him? And you saw nothing?"

"I . . . couldn't be sure . . . I thought I saw a big bird with gold and red feathers."

"NO!" Voldemort hissed, enraged. He pulled his wand, but the young advisor reminded not to curse the messenger – it was on the list, after all – so instead he screamed a horrific earth-shaking scream that released a wave of magical frustration into the surrounding countryside. Farmers later claimed that aliens had landed in their fields, but experts in ancient runic languages translated the patterns to be random lyrics from Bohemian Rhapsody.

"Antonin, go to the Ministry and inform the undersecretary that her Undesirable Number One is back on the Wanted list."

"What happened, my Lord?"

Voldemort hung his head. "I forgot the damn phoenix again."

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