A/N: This chapter essentially wraps up the whump portion of this fic. There will be more in the future, but it will be a lot more spaced out and not quite the same variety.

Warning: This chapter contains the non-con elements mentioned in warnings and tags. If you want to skip them, stop reading when Harry is transported out of the Ministry, and resume reading at the newspaper articles. There's another short scene at the very end that wraps up the non-con. If you want to be careful, I'd skip the first two paragraphs of that as well.

Harry had hated the press ever since his experiences with The Daily Prophet and Rita Skeeter during the Triwizard Tournament.

He was no fonder of them now that their cameras were flashing at him from every direction, capturing him caught in a tank while Voldemort stood just in front, giving a speech Harry could only assume was something along the lines of "I've won! I'm not ugly anymore! Look at this horrible criminal teenage boy, my greatest rival, who I've turned into a fish!"

The puppet Minister, Pius Thicknesse, stood just to the side of Voldemort and slightly behind. He must have introduced Voldemort to the stage before stepping aside to let Wizarding Britain meet their true ruler. Harry couldn't even imagine the headaches the speech writers must have gotten trying to make that sound politically advantageous. "Ah yes, I'm the Minister, but you see, the Dark Lord is really the one ruling, so let's just end this farce before someone assassinates me, yeah?"

Harry used these thoughts to try to distract himself from the continued flashes of cameras and the hundreds of pale faces looking up at him from the Atrium floor. He would not make a fool of himself screaming or pounding on the glass, though he did glare at Voldemort - both to demonstrate that he was, in no way, "done," and purely because his gut was roiling with fear and hatred and it was all the dark wizard's fault.

He tried to keep the torture-induced trembling still present in his hands and fins hidden.

Snape and Bellatrix had taken up positions to Voldemort's left, representing both Hogwarts' leadership and Voldemort's band of merry psychopaths. Thicknesse was directly to Voldemort's right, followed by Umbridge and several other people wearing starched robes and officious expressions. Ministry workers, Harry had to assume - likely Department heads. Security wizards in red robes were posted around the edges of the stage and just behind Harry's tank. It was a show of solidarity between the Ministry and Voldemort, presenting the two factions as equals in power and authority.

Harry couldn't help but notice that all the security wizards were watching Bellatrix, though. Even cleaned up, she still looked wild, and she'd been infamous for so long that no one would soon forget how dangerous she could be no matter how many promises they must have been given. Her mere presence was a threat. She proved that Voldemort could get away with openly parading his murderous followers in front of the entire Ministry without repercussion.

How had it gotten this bad so quickly?

Harry watched, entire body tense, as the speech he couldn't hear concluded at last and the guards behind him moved forward. In front of him, Voldemort and his lackeys were stepping to the side, mirrored by Thicknesse and the Ministry toadies.

His tank lurched forwards, levitated just enough to glide over the ground, and then settled again at the front of the stage. The guards retreated backward, leaving Harry exposed front and center.

The cameras flashed rapid-fire, and Harry could not escape.

He tried not to look panicked, even though he didn't even know what had been said about him.

He tried not to look afraid, even though he'd been tortured within the last hour and he was sure it wouldn't be the last time.

He tried not to look ashamed, even though he was painfully aware once again that he was not wearing clothes and, more importantly, he'd let the country down. He'd failed.

He swallowed all of that and tried instead to look strong, determined, and a little bit dangerous with his razor fins stretched tight and his clawed fingers visible. The Prophet would probably paint him as a monster, but for the first time, Harry didn't care. He would be a monster if that's what it took for others to remember that the fight wasn't over.

The halls of Hogwarts held the same somberness as a morgue.

Neville's uneven footsteps were unnaturally loud in the quiet Entrance Hall. A few scattered students filtered into the Great Hall ahead of him, but there was no one lingering in the networks of corridors or hanging about in corners, gossiping with friends. Less than a month and students moved about the castle like scared mice. They skittered from common room to classroom and back to common room, heads down and voices kept to a murmur when it was necessary to speak.

It was worse than when Umbridge had set herself up as a tyrant in the school, and Neville's heart burned in anger at the miasma of fear that suffocated them all.

He held his left arm gingerly against his body with his right, feet scuffing the flagstones while his book bag thumped against his hip. His eyes flicked to the center of the Entrance Hall, where a team of wizards and witches in tangerine robes worked. None of them gave Neville more than a cursory glance before they went back to incanting spells over a massive glass column growing like a stalagmite from the floor. Over the last few weeks, it had reached so high that it had gone through the lofty ceiling of the Entrance Hall, and it was now almost at the ceiling of the cavernous chamber filled with moving staircases above. In less than a week, Neville thought, it would break through that second barrier and into the rafters above.

More construction work was taking place down in the dungeons, next to the entrance to the kitchens: another cavernous chamber, ceilinged in glass and cushioned with a thick layer of sand. It had the same dimensions as the Great Hall, just like the kitchens next to it. The students were not allowed inside. Rumors had quietly spread recently that there was a classroom on the seventh floor that had been blocked off, as well. Prefects had been ordered not to patrol at night by the Headmaster in the past week, so there was probably even more construction happening while they were all locked in their common rooms.

No one would tell the students what any of it was for.

Neville paused outside the Great Hall to watch the workers for just a moment, wearily wondering what in Merlin's name had caused them to go to such extreme measures. Building within Hogwarts' wards and making such permanent changes to the ancient castle couldn't be easy, but they'd found a way to make the glass column separate and seal itself to allow moving staircases to continue on their usual paths. Someone very high up was pushing for this, and Neville couldn't fathom what Voldemort could want with a giant glass tube.

Neville turned into the Great Hall, pulling his bag up a bit higher on his shoulder. His knees were trembling and his eyes refused to stay all the way open. His heart was still fluttering a trapped butterfly from the "detention" he'd come from with Amycus Carrow, and his body was begging him to sit down.

The unnatural hush over the castle continued in the Great Hall, despite the hundreds of students already present for dinner. Silverware clinked on plates, and voices provided a low hum of noise. No one spoke above the others; no one laughed. The head table loomed over the solemn scene. Neville glanced at it and was almost disappointed to see that, once again, Snape was not in the headmaster's seat at the table's center. Instead, the Carrows sat to the right of it, sharp eyes glaring out at the students.

Neville quickly ducked his head and limped to the end of the Gryffindor table, where Seamus and Dean were already seated. As he scooted onto the bench next to Seamus, he felt the prickle of eyes digging into the back of his neck.

"You hurt?" Seamus asked quietly.

"Nothing that won't heal," Neville murmured back, keeping his left arm at his side as he reached carefully for a tureen of roasted chicken.

Across the table, Dean stayed quiet. He'd had detention the night before, and Neville knew that no matter how much he had been hurt, Dean had had it far worse as a muggleborn.

"We've got to do something." This harsh whisper came from a few seats down, just past Seamus and Lavender. Ginny was leaning towards Neville, her warm eyes uncharacteristically sharp. A freshly healed cut on her temple proved the attention she'd been getting as a blood traitor and a Weasley.

"What?" Lavender hissed to the younger girl. "What exactly do you think we can do?"

"I don't know," Ginny snapped. "Something. Colin got used as the practice dummy in DA today. Madame Pomfrey is still working on him."

Neville shuddered. He really didn't have any appetite - he hadn't in weeks, now - but at some point, his rational mind had taken over and insisted that he eat regardless of his feelings because he had to keep up his strength to… whatever it was they were doing. He'd like to think that they were resisting, somehow, but in reality, he knew it was more like they were surviving.

"What was your detention?" Neville asked Ginny, keeping his eyes on his plate. She earned one almost every day, from refusing to cast dark spells on classmates to refusing to hand in homework for the now-mandatory Muggle Studies course. She would have refused to cast against Colin today.

"I didn't get one," Ginny said stiffly. Neville flicked his eyes up at her tone. Her jaw was tense, and her eyes averted. "They… imperioed me. Made me do it anyway."

Neville let out a soft breath. "I'm surprised they didn't stoop to that sooner. It isn't your fault, Ginny."

She frowned, tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. "Har- you know… could throw it off."

No one was willing to say Harry's name nowadays. Defending muggleborns was a detention-worthy offense, and no one wanted to test what talking about the missing Harry Potter would get them.

"We can't all be him," Seamus said in a harsh whisper.

"The rest of us here all succumbed to the Imperious in fourth year," Neville told Ginny. "If we all had to compare to… him, we'd all fall short."

Ginny slumped and stabbed at a potato on her plate. "Colin's my friend. I should have been able to resist, for him."

Another sixth-year, Demelza Robins, rubbed Ginny's back consolingly. Ginny twitched the touch away.

"We need to do something," she repeated.

No one answered. They ate mechanically, hiding signs of pain and never looking up towards where the Carrows presided over the meal like vultures.

"We could restart the DA," Neville whispered as dessert appeared.

No one answered while they served themselves small portions of sweets no one felt like indulging in.

"To do what?" Dean asked. His voice was still hoarse from screaming.

"Hope," Neville said. "Ginny's right - we can't do nothing. If we practice… maybe … "

Maybe one day we'll be able to fight again. When that would be, though, no one seemed to know.

"I agree," Seamus said. Parvati and Lavender nodded – slight movements designed not to draw much attention.

"We could practice resisting the imperius," Ginny said lowly, staring at an untouched slice of treacle tart. Harry's favorite. Neville knew for a fact she didn't like it herself - she grimaced at the taste every time she took a bite - but she ate it anyway, as if by eating Harry's favorite dessert, she'd somehow be able to bring him back.

"That means we'd have to learn how to cast it," Seamus pointed out.

"I'll do it," Dean whispered.

There wasn't anything else to discuss after that.

Harry was carried away by the squad of red-robed wizards into a secluded backroom. The room was devoid of features besides a large hearth, laying cold and empty. A simple jar of sparkling Floo powder was atop the mantle.

Harry's escort spent a few moments waving their wands towards the door and walls - activating defensive wards? - before one of them turned to the tank and withdrew a potion vial from his belt. It was a grayish-purple color, cloudy and dull. The wizard holding it moved his wand through a spell Harry couldn't hear, and then the contents of the vial disappeared and the water in front of Harry's eyes became murkily tinged with purple.

Harry tasted bitterness in his mouth just as he realized that he was being drugged. He rolled and dove to the bottom of the tank, but the water was just as polluted there. An overpowered kick sent him to the top, but that, too, was just as drugged as the rest. He turned back towards the wizard who'd spelled the potion into the water and pounded on the glass, already knowing it was useless. He kept his mouth shut, but the potion-laced water invaded his body through his nose and gills regardless. He could already feel his head spinning.

The wizards outside seemed to be laughing.

Harry screamed in frustration and fear, making the water hum back to his ears. His sense of his own location distorted, and his dorsal fin bumped against a glass wall he'd thought was further away. The taste of poison was a light sourness on his tongue, deceptively mild even as it made his heart beat frantically and his movements slow. Harry's panicked thoughts slowed to a horrified creep.

He'd been poisoned.

His tank was being moved into the hearth.

Why was he poisoned?

He was afraid of the green fire, but he couldn't recall why.

Was that why he was poisoned?

Green fire swirled around him. Harry existed in the center of a typhoon, being tossed and turned in the center of a tight, roaring current squeezed between unforgiving walls of glass. The water screamed at him, distorted. It vibrated in his throat. So did his cries of confusion and pain.

Red eyes were waiting for him, and a pale wand. Harry's vision wouldn't stay focused on them, or anything else. Everything was dark and shiny, like polish. People cheered. Silver glinted, scattered amidst the darkness. Black fabric rippled everywhere. High Laughter. Magic pulsed, and the water pulled away from Harry's body like sap. Spears stabbed into his chest and toothpicks scratched his eyes and nettles wrapped around his skin. He reached for water, rippling beneath him. Nothing held him up, but he could not go back.

A silver-trimmed hem flashed next to the shimmering water. A high voice, saying something strange. Magic burst over him like a gust, and cold, sour liquid pushed up into his nose and mouth. It reached like a hand down into his body and crawled out through his gills, before clawing its way back up over his chest to force its way down his throat again. Harry smacked his tongue against it, jerking away from the bitterness of it, and heard someone cackling. The insistent water followed his movements, circling through Harry. The sourness stopped tasting so strange after a moment, and Harry couldn't remember why he'd been scared of it at all.

Tiles moved underneath him, and then suddenly crashed up towards him. More laughter. His body smacked wetly to the smooth floor, and he blinked upwards at the walls of rippling black around him. Pale faces dotted it, split with gleaming grins. They blurred together and back apart like gelatinous blobs.

Harry felt his confusion as a high vibration in his gills and registered the whining sound of it in his ears a moment later. He scratched at the smooth floor and found no purchase. His tail twitched back and forth (back and forth) (forth and back). No water. But he was breathing. Wait. He shouldn't be. Was that because of the water, or the air?

A warm touch trailed across his cheek. Harry flinched. That was bad. His forehead thunked against tiles, and he heard the laughter more clearly. His head hurt. Someone was talking, but the words were dancing around in his ears so that he couldn't follow them.

Harry jerked as arms hooked under his armpits and flew him away from the floor. Reflexes kicked in, and he tried to find his feet, but a dark tail pushed against the tiles under him, bent because it was too long. Harry stared at it in confusion. It was pretty. Black, or was that dark green? Specks of amber glittered in it, reminding Harry of trapped insects in tree sap.

Trapped.

Harry twisted, but the arms under his tightened, and he felt the chest behind his back shake and heard laughter in his ear.

"Let me go," Harry said, but it slurred and slipped out of his mouth, too heavy to send flying, and the mutated sounds dropped, useless, to the floor.

Arms scooped underneath Harry's tail, and then everything lurched. His body bent strangely, limp like spaghetti. Cooked spaghetti. Hermione always said to be specific.

Harry managed to turn his head around and saw a robed chest and a pale jaw. He jerked his hand upwards, fingers curled, and another hand appeared to swat his back down. Harry followed the movement and watched the way his hand bounced in the air beneath him. His tail bumped against something else, annoying but rhythmic. Something was pinching his scales. Spiny fins rippled down his tail's length as they stood up and fell flat again.

Ouch. Air.

Harry fell against something scratchy and drying that bounced under his weight. He giggled at the momentary feeling of weightlessness, and at the sensation of his body slipping sideways towards the floor because of the weight of his tail. A blob picked his tail up and threw it back onto the couch, and Harry wriggled, hands shaking as they reached to get away from the surface sucking away what moisture was left on his skin.

Red eyes flashed in front of Harry. Blunted nails scratched against the paper-thin scales on his chest. Harry jerked his hand towards the touch, revolted, but his hand was smacked away and bounced by the couch back down to his chest.

A whisper.

"Enjoy."

The red eyes disappeared.

Someone forced themselves underneath Harry's shoulders and dug their fingers into his hair. Someone else bent his tail upwards and then pulled it back down at an angle over their shoulder, a hand stroking down the spiny fins on either side. Harry twitched and tried to roll away, but a heavy arm dropped over his chest, and other arms wrapped around his tail, and he was trapped, trapped like a mosquito in amber. His eyes ached, and the blob above him formed into someone with curly dark hair and painted red lips.

The lips crashed against his, and something sharp bit his tail, and Harry's eyes lost focus again.

Everything spun. Harry saw Bellatrix, and someone with yellow teeth, and there were hands on him and arms around him and he was drowning, but not the kind where he couldn't breathe.

He couldn't drown anymore, anyway.

So why was he now? Drowning required water, which meant he should be able to swim away, but he couldn't.

As it all spun and dipped and blurred, Harry reached and clawed, trying to steady himself or push it all away. Wordless protests lay heavy in his mouth and vibrated in his gills - whining, slurring - but it was all wrong in every way and the laughter around him only grew louder to drown him out. Nails dug into his scalp, tugging on his hair, and something was trying to dig under the scales halfway down his tail. No matter how he squirmed and swatted and hissed, it continued.

Eventually, after Harry was already dizzy from movement around him and distorted voices and too many touches, he was shoved off of the couch and onto the slick, cold floor. His skin stuck painfully against the tile, dried out. He saw a grout-filled crack between tiles in front of his eyes, and scratched his fingers against it, searching for purchase to pull himself away.

Pain took him by surprise. His back arched as electric fire seared down his spine and out into every nerve. His head brushed his tail fin and he heard himself screaming; felt it in his chest. Soft fingers on his face felt like tongues of fire, and lips pressed against his forehead felt like a brand. Arms locked around his upper body, holding him against a leather bodice, and the pain retreated.

The squish of pasty lips on his made him recoil, and a witch cackled loudly above him. A moment later fingers were digging past his lips and prying open his slackened mouth. He was still locked in a brace against leather, and could blearily discern a heart-shaped face and dark eyes. Something else moved into his distorted vision, and Harry felt flakes of something fall over the exposed skin of his cheeks and eyes and into the bitter water streaming through his mouth and nose.

"You have to eat to get strong, fishy!" Bellatrix giggled, and then something sharp dug past Harry's ribs and he couldn't get away. Hair tickled on his face and chest and got caught up in the water he breathed, trailing down into his throat. He tried to spit it out, and heard, in his ear: "Maybe one day strong enough to avenge Sirius, hm?"

Harry felt small, hard things rolling down his cheeks, and then cool, dry scales brushing against his arm and a soft hiss soothing his ears. The hands on him pulled away, and Harry found himself next to the bright light and blistering heat of a fireplace. He was too confused and exhausted to try to leave it, not when he sensed comforting darkness in the tail wrapped around his own.

Harry had just enough time to realize, through his fog, that he had been kissed by Bellatrix Lestrange before the hands came back, pulling at his arms and tail and hair. Harry could only cry out as they dragged him away from where Nagini had kept him temporarily safe. She whispered something as she let him go, but Harry could not decipher what it was before she was gone.

SPECIAL EDITION: Ministry Press Conference Unveils New Lord Slytherin and Promises an End to Terror!

New Lord Takes Founder Seat; Restrains Known Fugitives

Thomas Gaunt, a striking young Englishman who has spent most of his life traveling Europe's magical communities, has recently returned home to claim his ancestral rights. This Monday, genealogy records in Ministry archives and at Gringott's bank proved the young Gaunt's claim to the Slytherin legacy. Lady Parkinson, who holds the Parkinson family seat in the Wizengamot, revealed that Mr. Gaunt will be formally taking the Slytherin seat on Saturday in a previously unscheduled meeting of the Wizengamot.

"The Founders' seats have not been held in millennia," Lady Parkinson explained. "The last to preside in a founder's name was Alberda Smith, who sat in the Hufflepuff seat in the eighteen-hundreds before dying childless. To have one of the Founders' seats restored to the Wizengamot is nothing short of miraculous. We of the Ancient and Noble Houses are eager to welcome Mr. Gaunt as Lord Slytherin."

The Gaunt family, rumored descendants of Hogwarts' Founder Salazar Slytherin, was thought to have died with Morfin Gaunt in 1943. Morfin, having already done time in Azkaban, died after being convicted of the murder of a muggle family in Little Hangleton. This was thought to have ended the line. Thomas Gaunt, however, is the grandson of Morfin's sister, Merope - a pureblood witch gifted with Parseltongue to prove her Founder's lineage, but who unfortunately died after delivering her son.

"I've had to undergo several lineage tests to claim my inheritance, both with Gringotts and the British Ministry," Thomas Gaunt said with a wry smile. "Anyone who would like to challenge my claim is welcome to read through the dozens of scrolls of parchments now in Ministry records."

The soon-to-be Lord proved his allegiance to our nation on Tuesday afternoon, when he was introduced to the press by Minister for Magic, Pius Thicknesse. Accompanying him was none other than Bellatrix Lestrange, who was convicted for the torture of Frank and Alice Longbottom sixteen years ago and more recently escaped Azkaban. How could this be possible?

"The Slytherin line holds several ancient vassal oaths," Thomas Gaunt explained. "Many of them were forged with families that are now considered Ancient and Noble in their own right. The Malfoys, Lestranges, Blacks, and Notts - all respectable pureblood names that have become unfortunately sullied in recent years - had vassal vows laying dormant without a Lord Slytherin to anchor them. Since I was granted access to the Slytherin vaults and reclaimed the Lord's ring, magic has recognized me as Lord Slytherin, and I have been able to use the vassal vows to call my family's vassals to me."

Bellatrix Lestrange is not the only convict belonging to the listed families. Lucius Malfoy, Thadeus Nott, Rudolphus Lestrange, and Rabastan Lestrange are all members of formerly respected families who were convicted for breaking into the Ministry two years ago and escaped alongside Bellatrix Lestrange last year.

Thomas Gaunt, having spent much of his life experiencing other cultures, was horrified by conditions in Azkaban, and in cooperation with the Ministry, has resolved to see justice carried out humanely. Instead of using the magical fealty due him by ancient vows to deliver up these once respected wizards and witches to the dementors, our newest Wizengamot Lord plans to put them to work for our war-torn nation.

"Those accused of violence, such as Lords Malfoy, Nott, and Lestrange, in addition to others - Bellatrix Lestrange nee Black, and her brother-in-law Rabastan Lestrange - can be easily contained using the ancient vows," Gaunt explained. "I will use the resources now at my disposal to pay reparation fees to the victims and their families, and with the full support of the Ministry, lend my vassal's abilities to various projects aimed at rebuilding our nation. The truest justice is that those who once harmed our country will now aid in healing it, doing as much as is within our power to reverse what was done. There is no need to allow powerful magical ability to waste away under the dementors' influence in Azkaban. Ancient fealty vows such as these ensure that these former criminals will become valuable members of magical society once again."

The Minister has stated that this plan is fully sanctioned by the DMLE, and expressed hopes that this case will pave a pathway to further justice reforms in the future.

(For more information about the history of House Gaunt, see page 4; for the story of the arrest and conviction of Lords Malfoy, Nott, and others caught in the Battle of the Ministry, see page 4; for coverage of Bellatrix Lestrange's escape, see page 7.)

Undesirable No. 1 Arrested; Justice Takes a New Form

Aurors responded to a call for help at the home of Narcissa and Draco Malfoy last Wednesday morning. What they found was a woman and her son distraught from days spent as prisoners in their own home, as well as Lord Thomas Gaunt-Slytherin and his vassal, Lucius Malfoy, who had returned to the house using the former Lord's access to the wards. No longer on the run, Mr. Malfoy was looking forward to seeing his wife and son again, but he couldn't have known that he would be needed to stand up against a threat to his family.

"It was fortunate that my Lord was with me," Mr. Malfoy said when questioned by the aurors. "The last year has not been kind to me, and I would not have been able to fight them off myself. Lord Slytherin saved me, and he has now saved my wife and son. Even if my ancestors had not seen fit to swear themselves to the Slytherin line, I would be indebted to him."

These sentiments are reassuring, and give us hope that mistakes made in the past can be recovered from. Who did the unsuspecting family need rescue from, however? At a special release to the Prophet on Monday, it was revealed that the threat was none other than Undesirable No. 1, Harry Potter.

Harry Potter has been wanted for the murder of Albus Dumbledore, as well as public terrorism, assault on law enforcement, destruction of property, breaking into restricted areas of the Ministry, assault on Ministry staff, theft, and sedition. He is always accompanied by accomplices Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger, who are wanted in their own right for a similar list of crimes.

"It has been strangely quiet in recent weeks, so we suspected that Potter was planning something big," Head Auror Dawlish revealed. "We thought he would attempt another break-in at the Ministry, or an attack on the Ministry personnel targeted previously. We did not expect him to seek revenge on the Malfoy family for petty school rivalry."

Headmaster Severus Snape, who taught Potter as well as Draco Malfoy during their truncated time at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, commented: "Potter has always held a particularly strong hatred for Mr. Malfoy, rooted in the house rivalry between Slytherin and Gryffindor. He served many detentions for hexing Slytherin students and was only saved from being expelled by Headmaster Dumbledore, who always liked to see the best in his students. Even when an attack by Potter left Mr. Malfoy bleeding out in a bathroom, the previous Headmaster refused to see that Potter had become a menace."

We all know, of course, that this determination to see the best in Harry Potter was what led to the beloved Headmaster's death. Potter made his murderous intent known once again when he invaded the Malfoy residence with his accomplices last week, early on Tuesday morning. According to DMLE reports, Mrs. Malfoy was being held prisoner in her own cellar, and Mr. Draco Malfoy had suffered prolonged exposure to the cruciatus curse. Lord Gaunt-Slytherin was able to confront Potter in the act, while Mr. Lucius Malfoy made a call for help using the emergency Floo authorization available to him in his home. When aurors arrived, Potter had been stunned and restrained by Lord Gaunt-Slytherin, and Mr. Lucius Malfoy was giving medical aid to his injured son.

Potter was taken into Ministry custody. Having been tried in absentia, he was slated for transportation to Azkaban that very evening. However, Lord Slytherin desired to redeem the life and magic of even the most violent of convicts.

"Magic should not be wasted," Lord Slytherin said at the press conference on Tuesday, when he also talked about the redemption of other convicts now bound to his house by ancient fealty vows. "Even the most debased individuals can find meaning in service to our nation, as Mr. Malfoy has found. Harry Potter does not demonstrate the same potential for selflessness that Mr. Malfoy so readily showed in his care for his family, but with the help of the DMLE, I believe we have settled on a better way to serve justice."

The method was unveiled shortly after when aurors brought a large, sealed tank containing a siren onto the platform. (For those who do not know, sirens are a magical creature classified XXXXX: Known Wizard Killer by Ministry criteria. They are a subspecies of saltwater mer native to warm oceans, and cousins to other dangerous mer such as the merrow. They are infamous for the ability to enchant and enthrall even the most powerful of wizards using their voices, an ability not shared by other merspecies. Most often, falling prey to a siren's song results in death for the unprepared witch or wizard.)

At first, the audience was horrified. Sirens are not known to be any more merciful than dementors, and almost as little is known about them. Death by the sharp teeth and claws of a siren would be far more violent than even the Dementor's Kiss, and hardly seemed to be a mercy. However, Lord Slytherin's plan was revealed when the aurors stepped back, and the audience could see the captive siren's face. The scar we all used to respect now betrayed the face of the most infamous outlaw since Sirius Black.

"My studies abroad allowed me to realize just how much magic is capable of," Lord Thomas-Gaunt Slytherin explained once the shock had passed. "Using foreign research, I was able to lead the DMLE in permanently changing Harry Potter's mind, body, and magic into that of a mer."

"Why?" readers may ask.

"There were several factors that led to this decision," Lord Slytherin said. "The first being that Britain has become unfortunately unimportant in the international magical community. Other magical cultures have been making leaps and bounds in numerous areas of research and spell crafting. Britain has been so embroiled in wars for the last fifty years that we have not been able to compete, and this situation was not helped by the restrictive policies and regulations pushed through by former Ministers such as Cornelius Fudge, and former Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Albus Dumbledore. Now, with the redemption of terrorists such as Malfoy, Nott, and the Lestranges, we will finally be able to set our ambitions higher than mere survival. The capture of Harry Potter seals our national security, and it is time for Britain to reassess the regulations passed in times of war and regain the respect of international neighbors.

"Magizoology is a neglected field," Lord Slytherin continued, "but one with great potential. Some of our most powerful magics have come from studying the magic of other creatures, but we have been unable to pursue these studies to their full potential for quite some time. One of the limiting factors has been the natural rarity of magical creatures, and the next is the oft-dangerous nature of them. Now, by transforming a convict wholly into a magical creature, we can ethically study the mer without disturbing them in their natural habitat."

Lord Slytherin further revealed that Harry Potter would be loaned to the new Hogwarts Aquatic Research Program (H.A.R.P.) for study under the care of Hogwarts' Headmaster, Severus Snape.

"Every precaution is being taken to ensure the safety of Hogwarts' students and staff," Mr. Snape assured when asked to comment. "We have experts working to build an environment suited to a siren while protecting the residents and visitors to the castle from dangers such as mersong." Students and visitors will be able to freely observe this fascinating but dangerous species while protected by high-level wards set in the aquarium.

When asked about the risk of escape, given the failed security of Azkaban in recent years, Lord Slytherin provided this reassurance:

"Another reason we decided to change Harry Potter into a siren was the limiting features of siren anatomy. There are some mer capable of walking on land and breathing air, such as selkies and undines, and some capable of abbreviated exposure to air, such as freshwater species like the ones inhabiting the Black Lake. Sirens, however, are completely dependent on saltwater. They cannot move on land, and cannot breathe air. Breathing freshwater would kill one just as surely, so there is no way Potter can leave his prison without dying. Sirens can be dangerous, but their anatomy also makes them more easily contained than other magical creatures. Despite this, they have not been studied in depth by any modern magical government. I, along with Headmaster Snape and our advisors in the Ministry, decided these factors made sirens the perfect candidate for concentrated research."

Headmaster Snape was asked if students would be participating in the new research initiative, and gave this response: "Qualified students may undergo an application process to join H.A.R.P, which will be responsible for the care and study of the siren under a professor's supervision. Other students may have controlled exposure to the siren in Care of Magical Creatures classes as part of the revised curriculum. Students not taking that course will be limited to seeing the siren from behind heavily warded and reinforced glass unless they qualify to participate in H.A.R.P."

No further information was given about qualification requirements, but it is clear that this new focus on justice and educational reform is a breath of fresh air after the fear of the last decades. Headmaster Snape plans to make many changes to Hogwarts' curriculum, including revisals of the Defense, Muggle Studies, History, Divination, and Care of Magical Creatures courses this school year. He has also stated that he hopes to expand Hogwarts' course offerings into enchantment, wand-lore, and spell crafting in the coming years, funded in part by donations from Lord Slytherin.

"The future of Britain is our children," Lord Slytherin said. "We have been through dark times, but with the leadership of our Ministry I am confident that Britain's youth will grow up into a brighter future."

(For full statistics of Hogwarts' alumni performance statistics as compared to international peers, see page 12; for full details on magical restriction laws passed since the rise of Grindelwald, see page 14; for a discussion on the classification of "dark" magic, see page 20; for a full reprinting of Undesirable No. 1's conviction, see page 21.)

Harry hung upside down with his fingertips brushing tiles, his spine painfully stretched by his own weight, with pained violins sawing against his senses and hot bodies bumping into him, making him sway. Hems of robes and hard, polished heels brushed and stamped towards his hands, and Harry spun in place, grasping for flickering black in a vain effort to steady himself. Lights swirled around him, flickering between the shifting black, seeming to sway and hiss.

Heat pressed against his stinging scales as a body embraced his and pulled him back and forth in a mockery of a dance. Harry's choked protests went unheard while gentle hands stroked down his tail towards the slight curve where he'd once had hips. Eventually, when the touch didn't leave and the string instruments were all he could hear, Harry's mind curled inwards, into the dark recesses of his mind where sensation couldn't reach him and confusion protected him from understanding.

Harry was forced back into semi-awareness when he fell to cold tiles. His entire body ached from being hung by his tail, and he still felt phantoms on his skin. He hissed, confused by the black still swirling around him.

Hot hands snagged his wrists and dragged him between dancing feet. Harry hissed again but was too exhausted to do anything more. The space around him eventually cleared, and Harry noted the sharp edges of steps scraping under his body. He was dropped to the ground, and he slowly opened his eyes to see white tiles instead of black. A soft hiss snuck past the grating violins now faded somewhat into the background, and he sighed as familiar caressing darkness wrapped itself around his tail protectively. He let his eyes sag closed again, faintly aware that he was trembling. Nagini's head came to rest on his back, and her weight held him together.

"Brother," he heard her hiss.

Robes whispered over the floor next to Harry's head, and a warm hand scraped his salt-encrusted hair away from his forehead.

Harry flinched several seconds after he felt the touch, and heard a low chuckle.

The hand left.

Nagini stayed.

Minutes or hours later, Harry realized that the spelled water he breathed tasted less bitter than before and that the hands were gone, though he'd heard voices loudly over him and seen bowing figures in front of him.

They had bowed to Voldemort, seated behind Harry on a throne carved of black marble.

At the Dark Lord's feet, no one touched him.

A/N: Alright, it's been an intense few chapters. Does anyone else feel like they need a deep breath?

Harry gets a bit of a breather after this, I promise.

Next up: more of the Hogwarts gang.