Randy McGregor hated his job. He was part of the Accidental Magic Reverse Squad, and usually got stuck with the really nasty cleanup jobs when things went horribly wrong. While some of the other guys just had to do the repairs and/or MMM (muggle memory modifications) , he was stuck with the dead bodies and the ghastly remains of Wizard battles. It was New Year’s Day dammit- He should be home with his wife and brand new baby, instead of picking through the remains of this destroyed building. What was he going to find anyway? It’s not like there’s anything here that was like a secret anyway.
The man who called himself Albus Dumbledore- he chuckled to himself at the memory, everyone knew Dumbledore was old like the hills- said that they were finally rid of Voldemort, which meant nothing because as far as he knew, Voldemort kicked the bucket half a year ago, and that the church needed to be cleared of any evidence of what happened. Not like he knew much about that either. All he knew that even though there were some pieces of human remains littering the area, there weren’t any corpses to talk about. Which was good, kind of made his job a bit easier. At least “Albus” was considerate and cleaned up after himself. Scratching an annoying itch he’s been having for a few weeks now, he walked out of the front doorway and nearly stepped on something that glinted in the early morning light. Stooping low, he picked it up from the overgrown weeds at the front of the building.
It was an omnoculars.
Putting his eyes to it, he replayed the last events recorded on it. He was so absorbed in the utter horror of what replayed he barely heard his supervisor calling him.
“McGregor! You found something?” his superior, Mr. Higginbottom, shouted from a way off.
Randy coolly put away the omnoculars and answered coolly, silently congratulating himself on his self restraint. ”Nope. Not a goddamn thing.” He patted the omnoculars in his bag and grinned to himself- This was huge!
The light filtered through the windows of St Mungo’s hospital, the bright sunshine trying to penetrate the eyelids of a sixteen year old girl with bushy brown hair. Hermione Granger moaned in protest, and tiredly rubbed her eyes. Her head pounded with an intense headache, but other than that she felt fine. Feeling quite disoriented, she squinted against the cheery sunshine. Where was she?
“Hermione,” a deep voice said.
“Hello?” she croaked, her vision still a bit blurry. That voice sounded familiar so she focused on the man rising from the chair in the corner. He had short dark hair and a full beard, probably in his mid thirties early forties. The strange thing about him was that he was wearing robes quite similar to Professor Dumbledore’s.
“How are you feeling?” he asked, coming to her bedside table. His eyes were familiar, and that voice...it was...but it couldn’t be!
“Professor D-dum-Dumbledore?!” she stammered.
“Just Dumbledore, Miss Granger… with only two ‘D’s,” he smiled at her. “Feeling much better I presume? You’ve been sleeping for a few days, your parents are very worried about you.”
“Mom? Dad? Here?” she asked. Her anxiety rose another notch. She looked about here, and realized that she was in a large room with about ten beds, the patients in all of them either bodily wrapped in bandages or their limbs being suspended in brand new castes. Were these...all from the fighting?
“P-Professor...how come you’re like, younger? Well ...how come you’re alive?”
“Having a phoenix as you loyal friend does have its advantages, took me nearly a decade to track and earn Fawkes’ respect, but it was worth it. Magnificent creatures, they are. We'll get into that in due time, for now, all you need to know that I am quite alive, as you can see, and yes I am younger, and yes...these are some of the survivors of a few nights’ back.”
Instantly her concerns went out for her friends. “How’s Ron and the others? How’s Harry?” she blurted, sitting up suddenly. She was in a hospital, and these were the survivors...where were Harry and Ron?
“Ron and his brothers are home, recuperating. Ginny is also in perfect condition, and mightily proud of herself I must add.” He paused, and for the first time in her life Hermione saw Dumbledore unsure about something. “Harry..well..Harry-“
“What about Harry?” Hermione asked, fear in her voice. She was expecting the worst, but desperately wishing for the best.
“Well, he is under constant surveillance, it seems that he was ignoring quite a few–” he paused, looking for the right way to phrase it- “ailments, while enduring some ah… injuries while fighting. I’m sure he’ll be okay,” he continued, hoping that his calm tone will alleviate Hermione’s worries. But Hermione wasn’t buying his smiles, he was hiding the truth. Her eyes fluttered halfway closed and she sensed out for his presence. He was close by, that she could muster. Pressing deeper, she made more direct contact, and a sudden rush of intense pain shot through her back, her right leg, and almost every other part of her body. She disengaged the brief contact in between them, and shot an angry look at her headmaster. Her expression said it all, she didn’t want to be cuddled or shielded from the facts.
“Where is he?” she demanded, standing up determinedly.
“Hermione!” her mother’s voice called to her, her parents were now pushing through the swivel doors to the recovery room. They both took her in a warm embrace, and Dumbledore stepped aside politely to give them space. “DON’T DO THAT TO US!! We were worried sick!! When you weren’t in bed the other morning we assumed the worst- and today the Professor told us you were here- oh my god you nearly gave your father a heart attack- what were you thinking? Where did you go? Where’s the professor? I’d like to have a word with him!”
“Right behind you, Mrs. Granger,” the Headmaster of Hogwarts said.
“You jest, surely. You are not Albus Dumbledore,” she sneered. Dumbledore smiled his trademark smile and ushered them to a private room.
“This way please, I will explain everything…”
Harry Potter lay on his stomach, his whole body engulfed in a haze of pain. The docs had were finally finished with the muggle stitches and the surgery done to his badly fractured foot. His leg was healing up, but still, it hurt like a bitch. It was nothing compared to the slash wound across his back, neither the racking chills of Frost Dragon’s breath. And the both of them combined was nothing in comparison to the sporadic bursts of the Cruciatus curse that for some reason seem to pounce on him anytime he thought he could get some rest. His arms and torso were an ugly splotchy red where the chains pressed into his skin, and the docs said it’ll take a few weeks for the aftereffects to really fade.
Four days ago, his scar had awaken him. Four days ago he fought as he had never fought before. Four days ago, he did what others thought was impossible.
He never thought he would have said this, but he felt sorry for Draco Malfoy. Both of them were in the Extensive Magical damage wing, and deep inside of the floor was a very special room, one where not many even knew of, far less been inside. And for good reason. There were huge cauldrons in here, similar to what Voldemort himself used for his dark Resurrection in his fourth year; Jesus, was it three times he practically died and came back to life? The sight of these cauldrons brought shivers down his spine, he still felt a nasty prickling right above his armpit when he woke up from those particular nightmares. He peered at the wall behind the cauldrons, well, wall was a relative term. It was made of some sort of transparent metal, and filled with a swirling blue liquid.
Inside of it was Draco Malfoy, tubes running from his nose and mouth as he floated limply in the viscous fluid. The liquid was constantly at a boil, exit ducts at the top taking away the superheated liquid. The human fish-tank was constantly replenished with fresh coolant potion, it was a dark blue at the bottom where it was cool, and clear as water at the top where half of it was turned into a steamy mist, the other half siphoned out of the tank.
Yesterday, when the docs thought he was sleeping, he overheard them talk about Draco.
“One of the Malfoys? An Elemental?! Preposterous!” one of them spat as they strode into the room.
“Not ‘one of’- The last one. If you don’t believe me, take a look,” he pointed at the sixteen year old boy in the tank.
“That’s, that’s the..the…” the first one stammered.
“Yep, the Chamber of Iralem. We’ve got to subdue him until he comes about. Rumours have it- he was under –” he dropped his voice to a controversial whisper- “The Dark Lord’s Imperius curse.”
The other one just stared, disbelief written all over his face.
“We’ve got the Obliviator guys down here like every twelve hours, we’ve got to erase his memory of it pretty carefully, and until we finish, he’s been burning non-stop. So for the meanwhile, this is the only way to contain him once he wakes up. When he does, man, you got to see it…actually if you wait a while you’ll see-” he looked at his watch. “Usually he wakes up around now…”
Malfoy stirred, and his eyes opened slightly. The doc calmly stepped over to a panel of levers, all of them pointing at different (and utterly insane) angles. He tapped his wand on a memo he had on the table, and it turned itself into a paper bird and fluttered off. “This is kind of fun, actually,” the “Doc” said. “The Obliviators would be here an a bit, until then...” he chuckled.
Malfoy realized what was going on and panicked, he was submerged completely in some thick fluid, trapped in an eight foot cube box. He screamed, pounding his fists in slow motion against the transparent metal, but only bubbles came out of his mouth, and his frantic pounding seemed to be more like the slow motion beating of a drum. Harry’s eyes opened wide, Jesus, they’re treating him like some…animal!
“Got to love this device- watch this,” the guy said. He flipped a lever, and bolts of electricity surged through the chamber, making Draco’s long blonde hair stick up on end, swaying in an erratic fashion above his head. His eyes rolled back into his head, his mouth gaping as bubbles escaped from his scream. The doc reverted the lever back into neutral position, and Draco hung limply once more.
“Allright, now he’s awake, but too weak to resist. The Obliviator guys should be- AH! Here they are now...” he smiled. Two wizards strolled in, only their eyes and nose visible as their pointed hats were pulled low over their brow, thick scarves wrapped around their mouth and chin. Soundlessly they approached the tank, and pointed their wands. Harry could do nothing but watch as their muffled voices came through, and Draco’s memories were intricately modified.
“This feels like some sort of sick Evil doctor play,” the second Doctor whispered.
“Dealing with Elementals ain’t pretty. They need to be kept under control. Have no fear, he’ll have no memories of this ever happening.”
“But, Hargreaves...they’re human beings! Surely...”
“Bah!” Hargreaves cut him off. “These kind of wizards are far too dangerous. This is absolutely necessary.”
The way he said it, it sounded more like ‘for his enjoyment’ than anything else. “What about him?” the other man asked, nodding to Harry. Harry shut his eyes quickly, he didn’t want them to know he was watching. He heard footsteps, and the two of them stood next to his bed.
”He’s a mess. Hunter wound-" he pointed at the slash on his back with countess stitches holding it together. "Bet you’ve never seen one huh? That’s what it looks like. He’s got the works, Cruciatus damage, eighth degree; I’m quite surprised he’s not barking like the Longbottoms. Heard they didn’t even know they were at their son’s funeral a few weeks back. Tragic, that is. Frost damage to his entire body, no clue how he managed that, it’s like he decided to take on an Ice dragon by his wee little self. But everyone knows that no such thing exists, not for a few centuries well anyway. And some broken bones in his foot…more Hunter injuries. This one has been through the wars he has,” Hargreaves smiled. Harry thought that he couldn't be closer to the truth if he tried.
“Funny, he looks familiar,” the other man said, obviously not buying the confidentiality excuse. “In fact, he’s one of the most recognizable wizards there is. It’s Potter, Harry Potter. What the fuck was he doing to turn up like this?”
“There was an assault on a death eater camp the other night. Unfortunately, it seems he was the point man. Gryffindors and their idiotic sense of bravery.” He chuckled. “Never thought he had any spine though, just another Quidditch jock. Just goes to show, don’t judge a book by its cover.”
“Right you are, right you are...” his visitor responded.
“That reminds me, he’s due for his Anti-frost potion, excuse me...”
Harry had felt something stick his arm then, and he fell into a blissful, dreamless sleep.
Across town, in the Ministry of Magic, the brand new Minister of Magic was weeping silent tears. She had achieved her goal of over two years, struggling through being stereotyped and pitied for, no one really taking her seriously. A woman- the Minister of Magic? Preposterous. But through all the sneers and rude comments, she never gave up. Her determination was adamant, and her cause was just. Her husband- Amos Diggory, had also made that same commitment, but he wanted to play an active role in the new generation, rather than get into politics. They may have approached it differently, but their aim was the same. Ever since their son was killed two years ago, they had vowed to get into a position where they could make a difference. That incident at Hogsmeade was Cornelius Fudge’s downfall, there was no way the Wizengamot was going to let that go by unpunished. Her ambition was now a full five years closer in sight than she had expected.
Her target was set, her conviction was strong, and she won the elections hands down. It was about time something was done about the Death Eaters and Dark wizards who remained in hiding, Dark wizards like Bartemus Crouch who sent her only son to his untimely death. But now, she was fighting the fight alone. The day of her inauguration, January 1st be exact, right after her ceremony which her husband had missed, or so she thought, she got the news that he was killed in fighting for Dumbledore’s Order of the Phoenix. She knew he was hiding something about that night, but who would dare contradict Albus Dumbledore?
Looking at the pile of “Matters of Most Importance” letters, and “Distinguished Minister of Magic” addressed envelopes on her desk, she broke down in another bout of tears. Her family, her life itself, was gone. She thought that without those two men in her life, her struggles were in vain.
She climbed the way to the top, but what was it all for? What were all those rallies about? The flyers? The campaigning? The countless hours of work?? It meant nothing now. What truly mattered was now torn from her, and the clutter on her desk was nothing more than scrap parchment in her eyes. With a cry of frustration, she swept all of them off her table, and buried her face in folded arms, her teardrops running unto the smooth oak table.
Sherry Diggory cried like a little girl, and did not care that she was the most powerful figure in the United Kindom’s magical community. Only when her security detail knocked on her door a few hours later did she raise her head from the table. Staring at the solid double doors at her office, she angrily dried her tears.
“What?” she snapped.
“Madame Minister, that man, McGregor, from the-” he paused, and she could hear the muffled voices of conversation- “Department of Magical Accidents, is here again. Shall I escort him down the elevator?” the deep voice asked.
Him again? What was he, obsessed? “I am not taking visitors right now,” she said offhandedly, picking back up the parchments on the floor. Sherry heard what must of sounded like “… You heard the lady, quit pestering her and get your ass outta here….” when a different voice cried out:
“I HAVE THE TRUTH OF WHAT HAPPENED ON NEW YEAR’S MORNING!! EVERYTHING!! YOU HAVE TO BELIE- Hey!! LET ME GO! ”
Sherry dropped what she was doing and rushed to the door. She opened it in a flash and called out.
“Ulrich! No, let him come. I want to hear what he has to say,” she said in a breathless voice. Randy McGregor fixed his collar with a loud “Harumph” at the large wizard, and hastily stepped into her office. He bowed low in show of respect.
“My Lady,” he said gallantly.
“Cut the pleasantries,” she ordered, slamming the door shit with a bang. “What do you have to show me?”
“This, Madame Minister, is worth dying for.” He took out a carefully wrapped package, and handed it over to her. She took it, utterly confused. Ripping open the protective bubble paper, she frowned when all that was left was an omnoculars.
“What is this about?” she asked him. Randy was highly proud of himself. He had practiced this line for days now, and now was his time to execute.
“That, Madame minister, is the Fall of the Dark Lord, and the emergence of a being powerful enough to crush your enemies with an iron fist. It’s all there.” He smiled darkly, and Sherry Diggory shot a look at his face. Pressing the omnoculars to her eyes, she watched transfixed as the images unfolded.
Ron Weasley and his twin brothers were all in their room, still resting up from the battle of King’s Crown. They didn’t stay at the hospital from that night, actually, only the three of them and Professor Dumbledore were fit to walk away from that night. Ron rubbed his hand on his very low cut hair, all of them had shaven it low because chunks of it were burnt off and missing. No one spoke of that fateful night four days ago, but from the looks Ginny, the twins and himself shared each time they saw each other, they all thought the same thing.
Things were never going to be the same. That voice, the execution of Voldemort, everything.
Harry, what the fuck happened to you?
Hermione Granger was grounded, hell, that was to weak a word, banned from EVERYTHING to do with wizardry until school reopened. Her parents were furious with her after their “little chat” with the professor, and had taken her straight home. They disconnected her phone, banned owls, locked away her books, everything, until they decided on their plan of action. When questioned about their ‘plans’ the only response was “It is all for your own good”.
A week had passed, and she had heard nothing from Harry, neither from Ron, basically nothing at all; period. All she knew was that her parents had sent two letters, one to the ministry of Magic, one to Professor Dumbledore. She could not hide her anxiety she stood alongside her parents at the train station at King’s Cross. She spotted three closely shaven boys, alongside two other red haired men and a young red haired girl, only realizing that they were Ron, Fred and George, each sporting the same ‘nearly bald’ look. Ron and Ginny spotted her and came across. They nodded in greeting, but Hermione was still peering through the crowds of Hogwarts students.
“I’m here,” a voice said, stepping from inside of the train. He looked horrible, his hair had already grown back to its previous long unruly state, and he walked with a cast on his leg and a cane in his right arm. There was a duffel bag slung on his shoulder, and Hermione took suspicion that from its size, not only clothes were stuffed in it. Stepping close to him, she put her hands on his face, cradling his cheeks.
“Are…are you okay?” she asked tenderly. To her dismay, Harry stepped back from her touch, and dipped his eyes.
“Yeah,” he nodded. It was such a blatant evasive maneuver that both Ron and Ginny looked from one face to the other in sympathy. “I’m fine.” His eyes turned up to her once again, and shifted downwards quickly, as if not to let her see inside his soul. Hermione was going to add something when a hand took her arm in a firm grip.
“Come on dear, time to board the train,” her father said emotionlessly, guiding her away from Harry without even a glance in his direction. Harry kept his eyes pointed downwards, and closed them briefly in self hatred.
…He’s got every right to take her…He’s her father… while all I am is just a fucked up prophecy….
He sighed loudly, clenching his fists. Ron came up to him, and put an arm around his shoulder. They stood side by side, Ron tall and gangly next to his dark haired best friend. He gave Harry a reassuring squeeze around his shoulders and said softly.
“It’s going to be okay, It’s over now.”
….Yeah..it’s over all right. But at what cost?
Harry nodded again, and let Ron guide him onto the train. That brief contact with Hermione felt like the most wondrous thing, yet it also felt like he was no longer something that anyone would ever want to touch, far less be with.
His thought went back to his third year, when his father’s best friends were all together in the Shrieking Shack. Remus and Sirius had wands at Pettigrew’s neck, ready to snuff out his miserable excuse he called an existence. Pettigrew had begged for mercy then, and he had so foolishly given it.
…Harry… this man betrayed your parents…
…He deserves it! I would have died instead of sell them out to Voldemort!…
Back then, his sense of justice was pure.
…I’m sure my father wouldn’t have wanted his best friends to become murderers…Let the Dementors have him!…
He closed his eyes in self-disgust. What would his father and mother say about their son now?
“Huh?” Harry looked up at Ron. Ron, Ginny and Luna Lovegood were all looking at him strangely.
“Stop talking to yourself, it’s giving me the creeps. What do you mean ‘What would your parents think of you now?’ You’re a hero!” Ron explained.
Harry just looked up at his best friend, and he and Ginny were a bit taken back by the hollowness in his stare. Harry said nothing, but just stared out the window. He stretched out his legs, and Luna had to draw her knees together as his feet extended under her bench.
“In some cultures, this would be considered flirting.” Luna said dreamily, her stare a bit off Harry’s right ear. Harry barely looked back at her, but a small smile tugged the corners of his mouth. She knew how to say something like this to make him take his mind a bit off of things, just like at the end of the fifth year, when she told him about her books. He tucked back his legs.
“Happy?” he asked, his voice soft and unemotional.
“Very. Granger could kick my ass.”
The others laughed at this comment, but the very mention of Hermione’s name once again brought about his surly mood. Images of Arthur Weasley bawling over her, weeping for the ‘dead’- nearly killed him. He distinctly told her to stay home. Why was she there?
“Fuck,” he muttered , bringing the cheery laughter to an abrupt end. Ginny was the first to open her mouth after the tense silence afterwards. She scooted closer to Luna, and looked at him. Fumbling for the right way to say this she stammered a bit.
“H-hey..don’t be down..we did it didn’t we? You’re free…everyone is going to be okay… we’re sitting here talking to you aren’t we?”
Harry took his gaze off the scenery and looked at all of them. “You don’t get it do you. I guess you may never understand, or even if you do understand, fully know how this feels. I can’t explain it –it’s as if I – I...am a-”
At that moment Hermione barged in, obviously relieved to have finally found them. She instantly sat in between Ron and Harry, feeling his troubled thoughts at the back of her mind. “You okay? How come we couldn’t get in touch with you? I’ve snuck out a few owls, but got nothing back.” Hermione looked at his appearance. “Did...did you sleep in these clothes?”
“Why? Where did you sleep last night?”
“On the train.”
“Why would you do that?”
“I needed some time to think about stuff. And this place came to mind. So I left home the day I came out of the hospital and came here. Answer your questions?” he said grumpily.
“Harry-” she reached for his hand. When she took it, he flinched reflexively. Hermione noticed it, and looked deep into his eyes. “What is it? What’s wrong? Please…talk to me,” she whispered. His thoughts raced back to the end of year five. He was in Dumbledore’s office, and he had just asked him the same thing.
…. I don’t want to talk about how I feel, all right?…..
….Harry, suffering like this proves you are still a man! This pain is part of being human-‘…..
…. THEN – I – DON’T – WANT – TO – BE – HUMAN!….
Hermione jerked back as if physically stung in the middle of her forehead. She had felt those words as if someone had directly shouted it in her head. Touching her forehead, she cringed slightly from the sharp spike of pain. Harry immediately softened, and pulled her close.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to do that.” She nestled in his arms, and Harry once again went to looking outside. Hermione would always stand by him, no matter what. He told her not to come, but in his heart, he knew that if she didn’t, they would have been all dead right now. Well he couldn’t be the hero all the time.
….but you could be the one to count on to get things done, young Potter…
His conscious tore at him relentlessly now. You’re a killer Potter. A cold blooded monster. Nothing could ever change that. He let go of his girlfriend slowly, feeling that somehow, his own personal blood tainted soul will impress itself on her. She didn’t initially respond to him not holding her close anymore, but it felt awkward to be clinging on to him in front of their friends.
“I need to use the washroom,” he said flatly, and got out of the cabin. He did not return until it was time to get off the train.
They all arrived at Hogwarts for the reopening of the January semester in a somber mood. Everyone was reminded of Neville, and the Hogsmeade incident. The place that once felt like the best place in the world now felt like a tomb, a reminder of the battle that raged in the sky that fateful night. They all had a late dinner and went off to bed. Harry stayed downstairs with Hermione, and only after everyone had left and went to bed did she take his hand and lead him to the Gryffindor common room. They sat on the couch together, Hermione holding his hand. Harry did not say a word since the train, and still was completely silent. Hermione didn’t need words, he was hurting, and he didn’t know himself anymore. This was too much for him alone to bear.
“Harry, come here…” she said softly, and Harry buried his face into her neck, and let it all come out. He didn’t cry ever since that time when they had broken up, he didn’t cry for all those innocents, he didn’t cry for Neville, and he didn’t cry for his aunt. It had all built up inside of him, the blood, the deaths, the pain, and for once in his life, he was glad someone could share the burden with him.
“Shhh.. It’s going to be okay. It’s over.”
Harry looked up at her. His eyes were red, and his face flushed.
“Hermione…Nothing’s going to be the same. I- I-..tomorrow. ..” he cut himself off. “I-don’t know what’s gonna happen, but..i’m going to be strong.”
“What are you on about now?’ she asked.
Harry’s instincts were telling him that her father wasn’t directly angry with him, as if for some reason he knew he had already won. Earlier, when he brushed past him as if he wasn’t there…Pushing it to the back of his mind, he pulled Hermione in a firm hug. He remembered her first real show of affection towards him, when she kissed him on his cheek. Harry didn’t believe himself worthy of holding her like this. He may not be a seer, but something had changed. He wasn’t who he was supposed to be anymore.
It was a scary feeling. In fact not just scary, he was terrified. Terrified at what he was capable of doing, terrified of what he capable of becoming. Hermione needed to know that he appreciated her, but he didn’t know how to show it. He just told her a few simple words, hoping his sincerity would get across to her.
“Thank you. For everything...”
Sherry Diggory was looking at the facts, cold hard facts put unto parchment. It was late at night, and her investigators finally had the report that she had asked them for. The mail that had been flooding her about that Night at Hogsmeade was overwhelming, and the letter from those muggle parents was quite disturbing. As minister of Magic, this was at the top of her priority list.
“This is the casualty list directly linked with the Potter boy since my son died?”
“Yes, madam minister.”
“And all are involved some way or the other with this boy? Are you positive?”
“Aye,” the middle aged wizard replied.
“Bertha Jorkins, Barty Crouch, Cedric Diggory, Sirius Black, Bellatrix Lestrange, Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy, Tryone Statham, Minerva McGonagall, Sturgis Prodmore, Mundungus Fletcher, Severus Snape, Ariana and Francesco Rossilini, Albert Vellineaux, Brian Avery, Esnari Mucliber, Paul Nott, Yuri Rookwood, Neville Longbottom..Peter Pettigrew ….this list goes on and on.”
The Minister of Magic wearily pressed her thumb and forefinger to her eyes. Close to nearly forty dead, including casualties from the Hogsmeade incident. No wonder the Grangers wanted him out of Hogwarts.
“How many has he directly killed?”
“Three Hunters, Seven Death eaters, and one wizard who dared get in his way at some French bar. Oh, and if that footage is correct, The Dark Lord Himself.” Mrs. Diggory stared at him in disbelief.
“And this boy is in school?” She let out a breath in exasperation. “Well, that can’t be right can it? He is obviously attracts trouble...and we can’t have a killer amongst our children. I will require an entourage to escort me to Hogwarts first thing come the morning.”
“As much as possible. We will remove him by force if he doesn’t comply.” She stamped the “Minister of Magic” seal on the expulsion papers in the file she held in front of her. On the front page, at the top corner was a smiling bespectacled boy of eleven years of age, winking mischievously back at her.
“From this moment on, Harry Potter is no longer a student of Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”
TO BE CONTINUED….
Author’s note: The Halo of Life is finished. Thank you for reading, and look no further than Legacies: The Sword of Gryffindor for the continuation. It is scheduled to be updated in the third week in November with Chap 6. I should be able to update that fic faster because there are less errors and so on, so re-edit will be easier. At the moment, I am working on a seventh year canon which is completely different from the Legacies Universe. Hopefully chapter one should be out the second week of November.
Once again Thanks for reading guys, both to the veterans and the newcomers who will undoubtedly enjoy Sword Of Gryffindor with the insane action and then my pride and joy, Legacies: The Grim!
- The Dark Lord Nedved
Write a Review LEGACIES: The Halo Of Life: Epilogue: The New Minister of Magic