Coldness. Not the cold of a winter's day, but that of a coldness that comes from the heart. That's what it felt like. The sensations were like the stars and heavens themselves were being ripped asunder in a non violent manner. It was dark for a moment and he found himself in freefall, wand clutched in his right hand, alone. The fall didn't worry him. The alone part, did.
It felt as if he was falling through an endless void. There were whirling strands of music, recognizable, from a Ball he had attended. The notes brushed his ear as the images shifted, showing Hermione in the graveyard. He felt blood running down his face; saw Voldemort towering over him with lunacy and satisfaction in his eyes. He saw duels and combats, a funeral and a winter's day. Memories melted away in a flash of light as he saw her: Fleur. Her eyes were fixed on Harry and she had a sad smile on her face. He was plunging through a stream of memories. His own? Hers? Someone else's? He wasn't sure.
The jumbled flash continued: Fleur arguing with her parents in the living room of a large manor home, followed instant later by biting winter wind nipping at his skin as he saw Luna putting a hand on the grave of her father. He saw the Twins, planning their triumphant departure from Hogwarts. He saw Ron and Draco laughing together… like brothers.
Then without warning, the maelstrom of memories boiled away, revealing a wide empty open space, less than a second away. 'Oh shit!' he thought as he went in to the water, splashing down. The wetness faded almost instantly and his speed slowed, just a little as all manner of fish and other aquatic creatures including Grindylows floated up, distorted and he fell in to a pale and yellow orange sky.
Thousands of birds flew by: Owls, phoenixes, eagles, even pigeons and doves. They brushed against him like water, but only for an instant of feeling. Something somewhere changed, and a vortex of wind surrounded him. It buffeted him and then he was swallowed by both shadow and light.
There was a rush of colors, a kaleidoscope of emotions, like his life was being replayed before him, only too fast for him to make out anything. When it all stopped, there was nothing. Everything was dark and silent. There was something behind him. Cool to the touch. Stone, he realized. He was lying on stone, or something like it. He opened his eyes. That explained the blackness at least. He rose to his feet. And took a moment to gather his thoughts: Fleur. Sirius. The Archway. Falling through it and on instinct flexed his wrist. His wand sprung in to his hand, 'Where, the hell am I?' he wondered.
"In a place that lies beyond life, but comes before death, my love," he whirled round. He recognized that voice but he kept his wand raised, ready to cast until his eyes locked with hers. He did not hesitate, as much as freeze, "Hermione?" he whispered.
She nodded, "Hello Harry," she said. It was the way she said it, the smile, the eyes, the hair, everything about her was exactly as he remembered her, the way she was, everything. She was scarcely a meter away from him. He moved, in fits and starts, uncertain if he should reach for her or pull away. He thought of Fleur and felt a surge of guilt, then a second surge of guilt for the first. This was, insane.
"If you… and I… am I dead?" he asked quietly.
"Not yet," she replied as she began to walk, she kept walking forcing him to break in to a run to catch up with her, "You have some time, before Death will force you to make a choice. But before that," she stopped, and they were standing next to a sofa. Where it came from, he had no idea, but he found himself wondering where they were once again, "We need to talk."
"About what?" he asked.
"Things and Fleur."
"Is Fleur, alright?" he asked quietly. She was the Hermione he knew, the woman he loved, but things were different, not just because of Fleur, but because of where, and why they were here. She was working, for somebody else, advancing somebody else's agenda. He knew that much already.
"She could be," replied Hermione evasively, "It all, depends on you." She took his hands in hers, forestalling any protest. She felt warm, felt real, there was that smell, the scent of flowers and a fresh spring rain, "Most who come here, are dead, and awaiting judgment from Death about whether they will go on to the next great adventure. But your… situation is as special. Unique."
He didn't want to let her go, not again, and his grip on her hands tightened, even as she explained it all, "The night Voldemort gave you that scar, he should have died, because of your mother's sacrifice. But he didn't, because he had created anchors to preserve his soul, to prevent it from passing on in the event of his death. He created seven of these things, called Horcruxes."
"He should have died, I should have survived," said Harry quietly, "but because of these… Horcruxes, he lived."
"There were seven of them," said Hermione, "But you destroyed one of them in the Chamber of Secrets, when you rescued Ginny."
"The diary," he said. It was not a question, just as he knew that, his suspicions grew.
She nodded, "You were a Horcrux as well. The night he killed your parents and killed you, a portion of his soul was absorbed in to you, in to your scar. It is why you have been able to feel his emotions, and read his mind." She waved her hand, and a small table appeared. Atop that table was a cage, holding what appeared to be the mangled, deformed remains of a baby, "Your presence here, has delivered a second of the seven soul fragments."
"This is why Death is giving me a chance to go back isn't it? Deliver the remaining fragments?" asked Harry, almost bitter at being given the choice. "Be somebody else's bitch?" he snapped suddenly, "I spent my life as the Dursely house elf slash punching bag. I get out of that hell only to find that I'm still expected to perform on cue: Fighting possesses professors, slaying basilisks, Dementors and taking part in competitions I don't want anything to do with!"
"The Tournament helped make you the man you are," she said softly.
He pulled his hands free and was on his feet in an instant, "The fucking tournament took you from me!"He cried, "It took you from me! I had no one and nothing! I lost you! And if you are who you say you are, then you know that the dead can watch the living. You know how I suffered! You know how I'm trying to pick up the pieces! Still trying!"
"You were all I ever wanted," he said, "I never wanted anything else, I never needed anything else. You're asking me to go back, to give you up, again. For how long ? How long do I have to go on as fate's bitch and destiny's plaything?"
"You'd give up Fleur, your child, for me?"
"She fell through the veil, with me," said Harry with a snarl, "So unless Death is willing to create two sets of special circumstances, then what the fuck have I got to go back to? Being a target for slander and lies? Being hunted by Voldemort? The wizards of Britain are fucking mindless, cowardly sheep, and I don't want to be the shepherd of so pathetic a flock!" he collapsed on to the sofa, cradling his head in his hands, "I just want to stay here, with you." But he already knew, that was not an option.
Hermione hesitated, but he had a right to know. So many had been hurt because he didn't know, Fleur included, "The Prophecy," she said, "states that you are the only one who can kill Voldemort. That is why Death is prepared to send you back, to deliver the rest of Voldemort's soul to him, in exchange for your life."
"I'm not going back alone," he said quietly, "Not going alone."
"I can't come with you Harry," she said softly, "I don't have a body left to inhabit, and no matter what muggle fiction says or thinks, Souls can only go back to the body they had in life. My parents cremated my remains. My mother did it, to keep me close. My father did it, to spite you, so that you would have no grave to visit."
"I know," he said quietly, "I had a few Goblins run a search – discreetly – last summer." He looked her in the eyes, "I, hate your father for doing that."
She ruffled his hair fondly, "I want you to stay, but you have to go back, Harry. It's not your time yet, and you have friends, who need you. You have two children that need you still. The war comes to a turning point in the coming hours Harry. Voldemort himself is in on his way to the Ministry to claim the Prophecy. If you die now, the prophecy is meaningless. You go back, delay him, force the witches and wizards to see that he has returned and things will change. Otherwise, the Wizarding world will only see some marauding Death Eaters, Dumbledore and your friends get blamed. Malfoy money gets the Death Eaters out of Azkaban, while your friends will rot in there." She shook her head, "The world will spiral in to darkness and with his Horcruxes intact, Voldemort will reign forever."
"Loyalty and honor, before profit," he muttered. "Not this time." Harry met her gaze, "I love you Hermione. I've, loved you for so long… and I'll probably always be in love with you. But.."
"Fleur knows," replied Hermione smoothly, "She knows that as much as she loves you, she'll be competing with a dead woman for the rest of her life, but she loves you Harry, not in spite of it, but because of it. You love me, the way a Veela loves. She can understand that, and accept it."
"Can you?" he asked hesitantly.
"I already have," she said quietly, "What lies beyond, this limbo, is a place where I will be happy." She smiled at him, soft, gentle, understanding, "You want to take her back don't you?" He didn't answer, but she already knew the answer. "You can save her, and Death will grant you knowledge, of Voldemort's Horcruxes," she said, "But deals with Death, have a price."
"Name your price," Harry said, "Death."
The figure of Hermione smiled sadly but it took only a few moments for her features to shift, and flow, almost like melted wax, until the figure standing before him was garbed in its more traditional long black hooded robes, with its massive manreaper scythe slung casually over one shoulder, "You are more perceptive than most, Mr. Potter. How did you know?"
Harry smiled darkly, "I answer then I get to ask you a question. I'll answer fairly if you do the same. Deal?"
"You have an agreement, Mr. Potter," the voice was cold. It had a touch of steel, like the smoke coming off dry ice.
"My Hermione would have been more concerned about me, not about what I had to do. She would have asked if I had wanted to stay, not try to push me back," said Harry, "Now my question: Is Hermione…"
"You wish to know if Hermione Granger is at peace?" interrupted Death. Harry nodded, "She is at peace in the great beyond. Her time here, in Limbo was momentary. The courage, loyalty and love that she demonstrated during her short life had guaranteed her a place in what mortals, refer to as Heaven." The voice of Death had a note of something, wistfulness, jealously even, Harry wasn't sure he'd actually heard it, but the voice of iron was back, "Back to the business at a hand, you wish to know my price for Fleur Delcour's return?"
"Return, in her own body, with all her memories, skills, and magic," said Harry swiftly, "along with the knowledge you promised, about Horcruxes."
"You bargain well," said Death, in what was almost a compliment.
"Blame the Goblin's of Gringotts," he ground out through gritted teeth, "Name, your price."
Death held up his hand, and to Harry's surprise, it looked normal, not skeletal as he had expected, "Know this Mr. Potter, the price is not my price, but that demanded by Fate and Destiny, to maintain the balance and prevented it from tipping too far." One does not cheat death, Fate and Destiny, in the same day, at the same time without paying a hefty price.
The archway rose from the floor without a sound, and beyond it, Harry could see the same chamber in the Department of Mysteries, the Chamber of Death, where the battle was still ongoing, but seemed frozen perhaps moments after he had fallen through the archway. Fleur appeared next to him, just as silently and suddenly. She was unconscious but breathing steadily, and somehow, standing. He rested his hand lightly on her stomach, the small bump where his child was growing, just ever so slightly rounded.
The cloaked and shadowy figure rested its gloved hand upon Harry shoulder, "I cannot understand the pain the choice places upon you. I… was created as I am, devoid of emotion, without the capacity to dissemble. The child's life would be short and poor, due to what Fleur Delacour has suffered at the hands of the Death Eaters, if she survives at all."
"Do it."He made the choice that almost every father makes when forced to choose between an unborn child, and the mother. Harry could only hope that Fleur, could one day forgive him for the choice he was about to make, though he had no doubt she would hate him eternally.
Harry removed his hand from the bump that was his child, and the hand of Death took its place, "For what it is worth, Mr. Potter, I am sorry."
The Twins were staring at the archway in shock and horror when Harry suddenly appeared standing behind the veil as if it was just another living room curtain. He flickered, and was suddenly standing in front of them, Fleur cradled in his arms. He lowered her gently to the floor, "Take care of her," he said quietly. They could see his eyes, and they were no longer green. They were black. No iris, no pupils, no cornea, just matte black tunnels of darkness.
He strode their the swirling melee as if nothing could touch him, his free hand was as deadly as his wand, firing hexes, curses and jinxes in several direction simultaneously, at different enemies, interrupting duels without giving a damn for the consequences. Death Eaters fell, minus limbs as blood spurted and sprayed as the array of curses and hexes cut them down: Entrails Expeller, Blasting Hex, BrightLance, Bombardment Hex, Void Shadow, Cutting Curse, Siege Engine, Severing Charm, Ballistakenesis. He made deadly use of even the summoning charm as a Death Eater was summoned and collided with Harry's outstretched fist, right in the throat. Harry James Potter was an engine of destruction as he deflected, dodged, and killed, and killed, and killed until he reached the door at the top of the room.
Dumbledore, Remus, Mad-Eye, they could only stand and watch, shocked beyond belief as Harry advanced, showing no mercy. Every spell the he cast had lethal intent behind it. He kept going. He was after blood. A shock of raven black hair rounded a distant corner. Without hesitation, he hurled a torrent of ice towards it, but missed, coating the walls with water that instantly froze in to ice. Bellatrix was only interested in getting the hell out of the Ministry as a curse whizzed past her left ear. Malfoy was either captured or already long gone. She didn't stop to find out which. Her Portkey would only function in the Atrium, beyond the wards. She would have to get there first as she dived, some instinct warning her of incoming curses.
The ground where she had been standing only moments before exploded in a ball of incandescent flame. Harry snarled. "You're fast, you bitch," he muttered. She was ahead of him, just past the fountain of magical brethren, "Let's see you apparate through this!"
"Plurious Incarcerous Maxima," a dozen tendrils of rope flashed from the tip of his wand, like the writing tentacles of an Octopus, streaking across the open space. Bellatrix dove to the ground, and the ropes overshot. Extending his left hand, he clenched his fist, halting their forward momentum. A flick of his wand and suddenly, there was a giant spider web of rope, blocking her path. It would take only seconds to burn through, but those were seconds Bellatrix knew she did not have as she scrabbled and rolled behind the fountain. "Come and play, ickle baby Harrykins!" she taunted, "Here to avenge my sweet, sweet cousin?"
Harry was left wondering, whether Bellatrix was as insane as they said, or if it was all an act. If it was an act, she deserved an award for her performance. If it wasn't, then she was undoubtedly the sanest insane person he had ever met "I am!" he called back to her, "Bellie." The words echoed around the Atrium. He gritted his teeth for a moment, "did I mention that one of the last things Sirius did, before he adopted the guise of Blake Wolf, was to adopt me, and name me his heir apparent? I am the new head of the Black Family."
That sent Bellatrix over the edge as she popped up, firing a series of killing curses in rapid succession. The killing curse is one to be feared, because of what it can do, not because of its speed. He summoned a light fixture and transfigured it to a passable kite shield. The curse struck, obliterating the shield as the two other killing curses missed, one going high, and the other wide. "You aim needs work Bellie!" shouted Harry, just getting started, "Sirius made me the heir, because he didn't want anyone from the family sucking the snake sized dick your half blooded, muggle born bastard of master, Tom Marvolo Riddle!"
She shrieked in unbridled fury as a torrent of curses leapt from her wand. All attempts at baby talk and mockery were lost as she screamed, "You are unworthy to speak his name! Do not speak his name! I will kill you for this!"
Harry laughed loudly at her. "It gets better. He's so useless that his best Death Eaters are defeated by school children! And," Harry held up the glass orb, "you don't even have what you came for! I mean, seriously, I've seen school girls more threatening than you lot!" Harry paused for a moment, "I take that back: I've trained school girls to be more threatening that you lot!"
Bella was practically foaming rabidly at the mouth, "You're a liar Potter! Accio prophecy!"
Harry taunted her with his laughter again, "You can't even a get a summoning charm to work! And you're the best of the Death Eaters! Why people are scared of you fuckers, I'll never know! Do you think your beloved master will be merciful when he realizes you can't even get the prophecy when its right in front of you?"
"No, it isn't true, you're lying! Master I tried, I tried. Please don't hurt me..."
"Don't waste your breath, he can't hear you."
"Can't I Potter?" Asked a cold, high pitched, nasally voice. Harry now saw Lord Voldemort standing in the middle of the atrium. He was staring intently at him. "So Potter, you hold my prophecy?" Harry didn't answer the rhetorical question, merely tossed the glowing sphere in the air and then caught it. The longer Voldemort talked, the more chance there was of the Ministry finally getting its ass in gear. How the hell could they get a warning owl to him within seconds of Dobby dropping a cake, yet ignore a running battle in the hallowed halls of the ministry for over twenty minutes was completely beyond him. Voldemort continued, basically talking to himself. "Months of preparation, months of effort and my Death Eaters have let Harry Potter thwart me again."
Bella flung herself at Voldemort's feet. "Master I am sorry, I knew not…"
Harry grinned. He had met Death's price, and being able to face Voldemort without a raging headache certainly made his life easier. He studied the prostrate form of one Bellatrix Lestrange. It wasn't his right… it should go to Neville. But he would never get here in time, unless… he channeled magic in to the prophecy sphere, imbuing it with what he hoped was enough power to get the job done.
"Oi Bellie!" shouted Harry, "Catch!" he hurled the sphere as hard as he could to the left, while casting casting the Brightlance towards Voldemort. Voldemort stood his ground, conjuring a dome shield over himself that deflected the lance of light in to the ceiling.
Bella realized that she would never catch the sphere in time, and raised her wand, "Accio Prophecy!" she cried. The sphere streaked through the air and she caught it, cradling it to her chest as she crashed to the floor. "I have it master! I have…"
She caught it alright and held it up when it discharged a blast of magic- compliments of Harry - that travelled through her body, enveloping her in a cage of lightning. She jerked and danced like a marionette in the hands of a mad puppeteer. Her hand clenched, crushing the sphere of glass before she slumped to the floor, unconscious, twitching ever so slightly.
"No more prophecy, Tom," said Harry, "Just you and me now. Just like the graveyard." Voldemort hissed and unleashed a killing curse at his young nemesis. Harry was already moving before the damaged golden statue of the house elf animated and deflected the curse away. The golden elf then stood guard in front of Harry.
"What!" screamed Voldemort before turning around and spotting who was responsible for this outrage, "Dumbledore!"
"It was foolish of you to come here tonight Tom; the Aurors are on their way!" Harry hated to admit it but, as much as Dumbledore pissed him off, the old bastard had his own inimitable style. They didn't run or charge, no warcry, no shouts. They seemed to be locked in a long range dance of sorts. One would take several steps forward, casting enough magic to bring down a building, and the other would stand their ground or take a step back, block, deflect, counter and then attack in turn.
It was magnificent, ridiculous and bordered on the edge of insanity as they chatted with each other, like old school friends merely discussing the weather. It was also pointless, Harry realized. Tom would never stop trying to kill Dumbledore, just as the later would continue to counter and attempt to capture alive. It would end in only one of two ways: Tom would make the killing blow, or the snake-faced bastard would run like a coward.
It went quiet suddenly when pain lanced through Harry, like the Cruciatus curse, only, somehow worse. This was something that seemed to attack his soul, not his body. It felt as if something was crawling, underneath his skin, crushing his organs and trying to explode out of his eyes. When his mouth started moving, Harry realized he wasn't doing the talking "Kill me now, Dumbledore..."
He dropped to his knees, his wand clattering from his hand. He didn't need it. It could not help with this battle, inside his head. He dropped the outer wall of his mind shields, letting Voldemort in. the half second of surprise was, in terms of thought four-tenths of a second more than necessary, "GET OUT OF MY HEAD YOU INBRED HALF BLOOD SNAKE FACED COCKSUCKER!" he screamed.
Raw, magic lashed out, and ejected Voldermort from his mind, and the later tumbled across the floor as Harry rose to his feet. Flame and sparks crackled from the fingertips of both, "I don't fear Death, Tom," said Harry, summoning his wand back to him, "Death and me, we're well acquainted," he cocked his head to the side, "More like friends, allies actually. You cheated Death. And he wants his due. I'm happy to deliver!"
Voldemort glared defiantly back at Harry, "You say you don't fear death Potter, very well. By the time I've killed all your friends, you'll welcome it!"
"After you," replied Harry, "Iritus Umbra!" the ray of black light shot from his wand, and simply erased everything its path. Voldemort was quick to conjure a shield of sterling white light and silver that absorbed the bolt of blackness. "Penitenziagite!" It was a goblin spell that translates roughly as "shield breaker" in human tongue. The old saying "the bigger they are, the harder they fall," was apt at that moment. Perhaps, it should have read, "The more powerful they are, the more spectacularly they collapse."
Voldemort didn't get knocked on his back, but the disintegration of his shield and the feedback loop of the shield breaker spell flipped him right off his feet and slammed him in to the floor. The atrium was now rapidly filling with people who watched, mouths agape as Harry went toe to toe with Voldemort, not giving a damn about anyone else.
"Any who bear your mark Tom Marvolo Riddle, will realize, quickly that they are marked for Death. The fortunate, will die by a hand I command rather than at my own," said Harry clearly as Voldemort retreated to the very edge of the ministry's wards. The crowd of rubber necking witches and wizards retreated in terror, giving Voldemort all the space he needed to disappear.
Harry eyed the gaggle before him, shook his head in disbelief, "Forty witches and wizards, Dumbledore himself, and me. Forty-two to one odds, and none of you dumb fucks thought to somehow stop him," said Harry, "And you, you pint sized halfwit, you're the god damn Minister of Magic. Transfigure something respectable to wear instead of showing up in your pajamas."
Cornelius Oswald Fudge went redder than a ripe tomato, but was quick to head off Dumbledore, to bombard him with questions. It had clearly slipped the Minister's mind that Dumbledore was still a wanted criminal. Small wonder the wizarding world was in shambles thought Harry as he cast a quick chameleon charm over himself and slipped away from the press of bodies crowding around the Headmaster who was in full eye-twinkle-grandfather mode.
Albus was left to confirm for the umpteenth time, that it was Lord Voldemort who was inside the ministry, and there were even more Death Eaters restrained in the Ministry, though few were living prisoners, and most were corpses, slaughtered by Harry Potter and friends. The minister had refused to believe it until he actually saw the carnage and devastation to the Department of Mysteries for himself. He had thrown up at the sight of so many butchered and dismembered bodies and the smell of blood, fresh, dried and burnt.
The Minister believed it eventually and then the candle - as opposed to lightbulb - flickered to life and he demanded to question the Boy-Who-Lived himself. It was only at that moment that they realized he was no longer amongst them.
Harry had gathered everyone that had fought with him and together the five teenagers still standing, along with three adults, protected by powerful charms of invisibility and misdirection, simply walked out of the ministry, carrying their wounded. They returned to Hogwarts, where the wounded joined Winky in the infirmary, where Madame Pomfrey was expecting their arrival courtesy of Dobby, who had hoped to be wrong.
The matron of Hogwart's hospital wing did what she did best, and pressed the other adults in to service. They had taken care of Tonks and Neville with ease, but it was Luna that she worried for, "The armor undoubtedly saved her life, absorbing much of the curses magic," she explained, "The raw, bludgeoning force of the curses however, did extensive damage to the bones of her lower spine. I have healed them and the damaged tissue… only time will tell."
"Harry!" whispered Rowena, "I feel like I bring you nothing but bad news these days, but you have company: One headmaster, minister, potions professor, defense professor, two Aurors, Thicknesse, three reporters from the Daily Prophet including Rita Skeeter, and a half dozen bootlickers."
"Where's my two turtle doves and partridge in a pear tree?" muttered Harry as the doors to the hospital wing slammed open. They had privacy screens drawn across the four occupied bed, and they were shoved aside.
"People put up privacy screens because they want a bit of privacy," said Harry acidly, his back to those who had just stormed the infirmary of Hogwarts, "Fuck off would ya, yeah?"
Fudge was not impressed. "Shut it Potter!" snarled the Minister, "You ran from the scene! I wanted to question you!"
Harry's answer dripped sarcasm, "Question me? Whatever for? Don't you read the production of your own soon to be former propaganda machine?" Harry had turned to face them, but had not relinquished his hold on Fleur's hand. She was sleeping, deeply, and seemed otherwise unharmed. But those in the know – knew that things were wrong, "I'm just a deluded, attention seeking idiot remember?"
"Speaking of attention seeking idiots," interrupted Fred,
"Did any of you morons happen to capture Lucius Malfoy?" continued George.
"Or Bellatrix Lestrage?" added Ginny. "We got them both in full Death Eater costumes, with wands a Priori Incantato will reveal some interesting spell choices. But somehow he'll buy; I mean talk his way out of it…."
Minister Fudge had listened to enough. Getting dragged out of bed was one thing, only to find that Voldemort had returned and torn apart his ministry was another. He was not about to take crap from a bunch of children, "Shut it! All of you! You can expect to face charges for the damage you caused tonight!"
"Shut! The shitting hell up!" snapped Harry, "Did Albus, the moronic bumbler over there tell you everything? I doubt it," Harry leaned in close, his eyes turning black once again as his choler rose to the fore, "Voldemort killed my godfather, Sirius Black, a.k.a. Blake Wolf tonight." Everyone in the room gasped, "And you are addressing the Head of the House Potter and House Black. So a modicum of respect would be a damn good idea!"
He forged ahead, "Forty people saw Voldemort tonight, but none of you saw the battle that took place. You only saw the aftermath! He sent a force to recover a prophecy, about us. About Harry Potter and Lord Voldemort," he reached in to a pouch of his armor, and held up the glass sphere, "This prophecy."
Dumbledore blanched, and opened his mouth to take over and direct the conversation away from things he didn't want anyone to know about. Too little, too late, "Let's hear it!" he smashed the sphere upon the floor.
A figure rose out of it, draped in shawls, her eyes magnified to enormous size behind her glasses, and she revolved slowly; her feet in the basin. But when Sybill Trelawney spoke, it was not in her usual ethereal, mystic voice, but in the harsh, hoarse tones Harry had heard her use once before, during his third year, when she had predicted the escape of Peter Pettigrew:
"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives ... the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies ..."
"So it says I am the one to defeat him," said Harry with a shrug, "I have to kill him. That much was pretty bloody obvious, pretty bloody early," he turned his gaze upon Dumbledore, "Knowing it, would have saved two lives tonight."
"Two lives?" said Rita Skeeter said, her quill zooming across the parchment. "If you godfather was one, who was…" she fell silent as Harry turned the same deadly stare upon her. She just knew, this was not someone she should not cross, now or ever again. Harry smirked: In less than a day, all of wizarding Britain would know the prophecy. Harry had no doubt about that, which suited him just fine. But he was not about to tell that bitch who the second life had belonged to. .
"Then why didn't you finish him?" interrupted Fudge with a protest, "You could have ended it tonight!"
The contempt he felt written clearly in his face, voice and body language, "Why the fuck should I? Forty people saw him, and none of you raised a wand against him. He was running for his damn life when all of you stepped back and let him escape. Why the fuck should I help any of you?" The mood had certainly turned hostile. The pair of Aurors had wands in their hands, "Director Thicknesse, leash your dogs, before I have them castrated."
"You are cowards," he said simply, "My friends have paid in blood for your cowardice, for your failure to prepare for this. You've known for months of Voldemort's return but you called me a liar. Colin and Luna have lost their families and still the ministry did nothing. You saw these, clone things, these "effingus" as Malfoy called them and ignored it," He went on, condemning everyone, from the Aurors through to the Minister, to the Headmaster of Hogwarts. He showed no mercy in his verbal tirade, leaving them all stunned in to silent inaction. "So explain why I should believe that Azkaban, without its Dementors can hold these effingus, can hold Malfoy or Lestrange? Kill them all, and let God sort them out."
Fudge was a political animal and he quickly realized he was fighting for his political survival. Potter was not only the "Boy-Who-Lived." For the moment, Potter was the "Boy-Who-Got-Whatever-The-Hell-He-Wanted." The Minister swallowed nervously, "Mr. Potter, what do you want?"
Harry laughed, "Suddenly its Mr. Potter eh? Here's what I want in a nutshell: All of you, Fuck off."
Dumbledore had been quiet up to now but couldn't remain so any longer. "Harry my boy, this is just grief talking. Perfectly understandable but I'm sorry I can't -"
"Rowena," said Harry aloud, "Please."
The group suddenly found themselves propelled backwards, through the doors of the infirmary, which stayed open as a clear luminescent shield sprang up, denying them entry to the infirmary. Though they could see in, they could not hear what was being said as Harry turned and addressed his friends. The infirmary shifted, expanding, as more beds were added, enough to accommodate them all with ease. Dumbledore recognized the shield in place, and turned to the minister and his entourage, "The castle itself denies us, Minister. We should adjourn to my office for we have a great deal to discuss."
In the Infirmary, Harry had only one question for Madame Pomfrey, "How long before she wakes?"
She shrugged, "She'll sleep though the night for certain, but she will be fine tomorrow. I felt that it was best that she recover some strength before you tell her."
"Tell her what?" The look on the matron's face said it all. "Yeah..."
She waved her wand and the chair by the bed transfigured in to a cot bed, "Best I can do," she said ruefully, "Transfiguration was never my strong suit."
"Thank you," Harry said, "Madame Pomfrey? How, do I tell her…" his voice failed him.
She hesitated, "There is no easy way, Mr. Potter. Especially since you are the father," It was a statement of fact, not a question. She had after all, just treated Fleur and could read the results of a diagnostic charm, "If you like I could tell her for…" he shook his head.
"My choice," he said quietly, so quiet that she almost didn't hear him, "It was my choice," a single tear slipped down his cheek, "Consequences are mine to face. Alone."