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Chapter Text

Courtroom Ten, deep in the bowels of the British Ministry of Magic, was always a rather grim place. It was designed that way, centuries ago, in order to intimidate the first-rate criminals who had usually stood trial inside: murderers, terrorists, and schoolchildren who used a protective charm in the presence of a muggle.

Yet, on this day, the place looked more like a circus, packed as it were with all dregs of society, chattering about the upcoming trial. A ripple of excitement swept through the crowd as the Magistrate entered, took his high seat and proceeded to beat the table with his gavel.

"Witches and wizards, goblins, veela, house-elves, giants, dementors, werewolves, hags..." He called, hushing the (mandatorily diverse) masses. "Today we pass judgement on a man who had committed heinous crimes against all of you, a man so wretched that even death won't take! A sadist, a megalomaniac, an animal-abuser, a murderer and a war criminal – guards, bring in Harry Potter!"

The crowd roared, cheers mixed with jeers, hisses, grunts, shrieks, and goblin spits, as the doors creaked open and a squad of Aurors rushed in, circling a thin man with messy hair wearing bloodstained clothes, including a black t-shirt with pink letters that read ‘I didn’t donate to S.P.E.W, and I Crucio my House-Elf every time you ask’. The Aurors pushed him into a big wooden chair, and iron chains sprang and wrapped around his arms.

The Magistrate coughed. "Harold James Potter—"

"It's Harry. Call me Harold again and I'll shove your head up your bony ass," Harry said.

The crowd murmured angrily, but the Magistrate seemed unfazed. "Do you swear on your magic to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth?"

Harry took a deep sigh, as if the weight of the world rested upon his words. "The truth, Magistrate, is a beautiful and terrible thing, and should therefore be treated with great caution."

The only sound to be heard inside the courtroom was the furious scratching of a Quick-Quotes Quill. The Magistrate just sighed and said "Well, it's not like oaths have any binding magical power to them anyway."

"That would certainly be convenient, wouldn't it?" Harry said, winking at the cameras.

"We'll just have to do it the hard way then," The Magistrate shrugged. "Guards, administer the Veritaserum!"

Two Aurors marched forward, pulled Harry’s face back, and forced a couple of drops from a little glass vial into his mouth. His face took a dreamy, absent expression.

"Do you deny that you, Harry James Potter, instigated a chain of murders, arsons, and robberies throughout the past year?" the Magistrate asked.

"No," Harry uttered flatly, eyes glazed.

"Do you regret your actions?"

"No."

"Not even your night with Pansy Parkinson?"

Harry paused, his face twisting into something like a cringe. "Yeah, I suppose."

"Why did you do it?"

"Alcohol, I gue—"

"Not that! The murders! The arsons! Why did you do those!"

The convict frowned silently for a while. "Can you be a bit more specific?"

The Magistrate took a look at his papers. "Start with the day you murdered Draco Malfoy."

Harry let out a faint smile.

I

The day started pretty good. At breakfast, while I was practicing twirling my wand, an eagle owl landed on the table and gave me an envelope from Gringotts that summoned me to a meeting, informing me that I am the heir of Merlin, Morgana, Saruman, Gandalf, Gryffindor, Slytherin and Ravenclaw – thankfully, not Hufflepuff – and this meant that I inherited all the galleons in Britain, seven Wizengamot seats, the keys to the Orthanc, the rods of the five wizards, a bunch of castles, and magical abilities I've never heard of. It was pretty cool, even if a bit overwhelming.

I always knew deep down that I was special. Not because of some curse scar or prophecy or the power of love, but because of an ancient line of superior magical blood. Finally, everything made sense. I started thinking that this could be the key to defeat Voldemort, or at least to impress some witches. Witches love titles.

I had a free period so I used the fireplace at McGonagall's office and floo’d to Diagon Alley. When I entered Gringotts there was a long line, and I admit I was a bit excited, so I started pushing through, but one of the guards stopped me.

"What do you think you're doing, boy?"

"I have a very important meeting to attend," I said, gritting my teeth at the peon's audacity, and pushed the letter into his hand. "As you can see here, I'm the heir of every important wizard in history and pretty much own this place, so I suggest you get out of my way before I'll have you fired, or worse."

The guard went silent for a moment, and then burst in laughter, which caught the attention of everyone else at the bank. "Hey, look, Peelscab! This kid here thinks he's the heir of Merlin! Apparently being the Chosen One ain’t 'nuff for him! What's next Lord Gryffindor, you're a dragon animagus as well?"

Everyone in the bank roared in laugher, and a bunch of goblins approached us. My face was burning red, my breath got caught in my throat, I wanted to Crucio the bastard so hard. How dare he?

"What's going on here?" asked a goblin; by the look of his face I assume he was Peelscab.

"What's going on is that I was summoned to a meeting, and this worthless clown here mocked me! Fire him! Fire him right now!"

"You don't have that kind of authority here, sir, so I suggest you change your tone," Peelscab said goblingly.

"Don't you know who I am?" I spat. "I'm Harry fucking Potter!"

"And unless you came to the withdraw gold, you have no business here, seeing as Gringotts isn't responsible for handling wills, and those figures lived long before the establishment of our bank. Honestly, I don't know where writers get those ideas."

The crowd around me snickered; traitors, ungrateful traitors, all of them!

"You... you're lying..." I mumbled, shaking. "You're just trying to steal my heritage... I bet Dumbledore put you to this..."

The goblin sighed, obviously trying to cover up his dismay after I uncovered his plot, put on a monocle, and examined the letter with his scabby little hands. "This letter is obviously fake, Mr. Potter. It doesn't even carry our seal. It seems someone pulled a prank on you," he chortled.

I was speechless. The crowds around me kept giggling, and I started realizing I've been had.

"You will regret this..." I said, pulled on my invisibility cloak and stormed out, vowing to exact my vengeance upon my detractors.

I got into Gryffindor Tower and went to brood in my dorm. I was so pissed. Who could have done this to me? Despite all efforts I was just too restless to think. I felt like exploding from anger, but when I looked in the mirror, there was no aura of power surrounding me, and my eyes didn't blaze furiously. Somehow, that made me even angrier.

The fake letter lay on my nightstand. I snatched it and sat on my bed, examining the writing. The only thing that seemed out of the ordinary was the shiny, glittery purple ink that looked somewhat familiar.

The door to the dorm opened, and Ron stepped in. "Hey mate, where were you?" he said. I didn't answer, and he continued. "You're never gonna guess what happened!"

I glared at him. Did he expect me to actually guess? I hate when people do that. "Well? what the fuck happened?"

"Alright, it was just after you left breakfast," he said, "Dumbledore was on his way to his office, when a huge anvil dropped from the Grand Staircase and almost hit him!"

Ron sounded excited. I don't know why. This kind of thing happens almost daily at Hogwarts. I mean, just this year Katie was almost killed by a cursed necklace that she was supposed to deliver to Dumbledore, and Ron almost died from drinking poisoned mead that was supposed to go… to... Dumbledore.

I sat up straight. I had suspected Malfoy was behind these incidents – I mean, who else could hatch such stupid schemes? - Though all the idiots laughed at my suspicions. Then it clicked. I looked at the letter again, and, sure enough, realized why the purple ink seemed familiar – it was the one Malfoy always used.

"Uh, mate, are you okay?" Ron asked.

"Wonderful,” I waved him off, trying to concentrate.

"Well, are you coming to lunch?"

"No, go without me," I said, too irritated to focus on anything but the plot.

Once he left, I pulled out the Marauder’s Map and tried locating Malfoy. I couldn't, but I did see Crabbe and Goyle standing guard – not for the first time - outside the Room of Requirement. The seventh floor was empty except for them, with everyone else at lunch.

I got under my invisibility cloak and sneaked up on them, hitting them point blank with Stunners, and then Disillusioning them. It wasn't long before Malfoy came out, looking around in confusion.

"Petrificus Totalus!" I called, but the little ferret managed to dodge the curse. That's the problem with this spell, it's way too long. I don't know why people even bother with it when Stunners are so much faster; I certainly stopped using it after this incident.

While I was musing on the nature of incantations, Malfoy surprised me by throwing Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder all over the corridor. I cast a Shield Charm, but when the darkness finally faded, Draco was already gone.

It didn't matter. I had no intention of letting him get away, and took a look at the Marauder’s Map. He wasn't far, hiding in some bathroom stall. My anger turned into intoxicating excitement. Draco had been a pain my ass ever since I arrived at Hogwarts, always trying to assert a superior status while dishing out trite insults and throwing jinxes around, like he had no goal in life other than to annoy me. He even made badges that said 'Potter Stinks' and distributed them around the school.

The professors all ignored his constant shit stirring and awarded him a prefect status, because this school has zero standards. It felt so good to finally confront him on my terms.

I followed his path, and cast a sound muffling charm when I reached the bathroom. I didn't want anyone to disturb this. Inside, I locked the door and pulled off my cloak.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are," I said, knowing full well what stall he was in.

I could almost hear Malfoy trying not to breathe. I pointed my wand at the stall where he hid.

The stall's door shattered into pieces from my Blasting Curse, and Malfoy squealed like a House-Elf.

"Heeeere's Harry!"

Draco came scuttling out from the stall's wreckage, panic in his eyes. He turned his wand on me, but got hit with my Banisher and flew back at the wall, hitting it with a satisfying heavy thud.

I stalked towards him slowly, kicking his wand aside, taking in the desperate look in his eyes, feeling better than I ever had.

"Well, well, Draco, you've had some grand old fun today, haven't you?" I asked. "Carrying out some assassination attempts? Writing prank letters?"

He was still too frozen to answer, but the look in his eyes told me he knew he finally got caught. My god, it felt good.

"Where did you get the idea, Malfoy? Villainy for Dummies?"

"D-Don't know what you're talking about, Potter-"

"If you want to make me laugh, Draco, I suggest Rictusempra."

The hex hit him, and he began shaking and giggling. I could never stand the sound of his laughter, so I cancelled the spell.

"Come on, this is just between us. Dumbledore is too senile to do something about you anyway," I said. "The anvil was one thing, but what the fuck was the point of the letter?"

"How did you...?" he mumbled.

"Next time, you should remember not to use your faggy purple ink," I stared at him in contempt as he cringed. "Well? what was the fucking point?"

"You're always there when something happens," he grumbled. "Every. God. Damn. Time. I needed you out of my way for once. So I sent you a letter only a self-centered gloryhound like you would believe. And it worked, didn't it? You should've seen your face when you opened that letter!" the bastard had the nerve to chuckle.

"Gloryhound?" I said, getting hot with rage. "Weren’t you complaining that Snape was trying to steal your glory? At least I fight for my own survival, not for the right to kiss Voldemort's feet!"

"At least he's on my side!" Draco yelled in a bout of righteous fury. "Dumbledore gave you all those points at the end of first year so you'd win the house cup instead of us! And then he did it again in second year! It's so not fair! He humiliated us! If he's gone we actually stand a chance at winning the house cup!"

"The freaking house cup?" I couldn't contain my laughter. "Who even gives a fuck about that after first year? No, seriously, I had no idea you care about good-boy-points so much. Besides, you only had a lead in the first place because Snape is so biased. Talk about fair! If you wanted to win, maybe you should have saved the school from a Basilisk or a dark lord. Not fail to assassinate the headmaster!"

"You-You don't understand," Malfoy whimpered. "I have to do it... my father's in Azkaban—"

"Ah, yes. I wonder what happens when he drops the soap. With that girly hair he's sure to become a prison bitch."

Draco looked panicked and shook his head.

I twirled my wand nonchalantly. "Don't worry, I'm sure they can put you in a cell with your daddy. Maybe mummy as—ah, fuck,” I said as the wand fell out of my hand, and I bent to pick it up. “I can never get this to wo—"

"Incendio!"

Malfoy took the opportunity to reach for his wand. I jumped out of the way of the fire, into a stall. "That's rude, you kn—" I started, but he interrupted me with another curse, so I sent a Stunner his way. He went back to his own stall.

"I'm never going to Azkaban!" Malfoy screamed.

"Fine, go back to your master instead, and let me know what his feet taste like!”

We both came running out of our stalls at the same time, wands blazing, but my silent Levicorpus hit him first, and he flipped, hanging upside-down in mid-air, flailing his wand hopelessly.

"C-Crucio!"

Fortunately, his aim was off, but it still pissed me off badly, and I shouted "Sectumsempra!"

And then, something wonderful happened; Malfoy's head had been severed from his neck as if slashed by a great sword, and sailed through the air in slow motion, spreading blood everywhere, before it landed inside a toilet with a heavy splash.

Whoooops.

I stared stupendously at the grotesque scene. I recalled how once, my cousin Dudley told me about the custom of staffing boys' heads inside toilet seats at Stonewall High. It seemed that, despite the cultural gap between the muggle and magical worlds, some things stay the same wherever you go.

It quickly occurred to me that I was standing in the middle of a murder scene. I took the Marauder’s Map out of my pocket, making sure that no one was around, and hurried to pull on my invisibility cloak. Boy, was I happy that Dumbledore urged me to carry the cloak with me at all times. Perhaps Dumbledore had foreseen that I might have to get away with murder.

I wondered what to do with the body. Should I bury the evidence? Transfigure Malfoy's remains into shit and flush it down the toilet? It wasn't exactly a secret that we were rivals, and I spent that year in particular warning everyone about him. It wouldn't do for someone to suspect good old me of murder. I had too much experience with the legal system of magical Britain to admit to any crime. Even if a careful check of Malfoy's wand could show that the last curse he had used was an Unforgivable.

My eyes turned to said wand, which fell beside the corpse, and then something on Malfoy's arm caught my attention; the Dark Mark.

Inspiration struck me, and I immediately began forming a plan; it seemed that Dumbledore's lessons had finally found some practical use. The headmaster had spent the passing year regaling me with tales of how young Voldemort had managed to get away with multiple murders. Perhaps the old man really had foreseen that I would have to do the same.

Anyway, I knew that if I wanted to divert suspicion away from myself, I had to plant evidence pointing it at someone else. Luckily, I had just the spell for that.

"Morsmordre!" I called, conjuring a twinkling Dark Mark above Malfoy's body. It was perfect. The Aurors would read it as a friction within the Death Eaters, and if Snape, the only known Death Eater at Hogwarts, would get the blame, it would be even better.

After foraging through Malfoy's bag for loot – I took several vials of Polyjuice, but left the Hand of Glory for the investigators to find – I dusted myself and began walking away inconspicuously towards the Great Hall. I needed an alibi, after all, and murder does make you hungry.

I doubted anyone would figure me out. During my second year at Hogwarts, a titanic Basilisk had roamed the halls of the castle, and no one saw him. Well, except for the hapless residents which he petrified.

Speaking of which; I hadn't managed to get too far before bumping into Hermione, who was coming from the opposite direction.

"Harry!" she exclaimed, staring at me wide eyed. "Why… is… there… blood on your face?"

"Hmmm?" I said, cursing inwardly as I cast a Cleaning Charm. "Oh, er, cut myself shaving."

She seemed slightly suspicious. "Since when do you even shave?"

"Since I turned fourteen, but I’m so good at it that you never realized. I just tried this new spell," I lied, but it didn't seem to satisfy her.

"Harry, are you hiding something from me?"

"What are you talking about?" I made an insulted face and continued walking, but she stopped me.

"Harry, tell me what happened right now," she commanded.

I frowned. During the last six years I had broken countless laws and concocted various illegal schemes with Hermione and Ron. We shared almost everything. Yet I didn't feel like she'd take this incident so well. With a sigh, I asked "Can you keep a secret?"

"Oh, Harry, of course, you can always trust me!" she said. I got closer and leaned to whisper in her ear.

"Not everything written in books is true."

I was gone down the stairs before she managed to come out of her shock, making a note to myself to learn how to Obliviate someone.

I

News of Malfoy's death took a few hours to spread through the castle, along with the rumours – each more entertaining than the other.

"They say it was a lovers' spat, that Malfoy cheated on Parkinson with Perks, and she went mad when she found out…"

"Don't be daft, they found the Dark Mark at the scene. I heard that he was assassinated by Death Eaters because he spied on them for Dumbledore!"

"I heard it was suicide, because Hermione Granger wouldn't date him," some fourth year whispered. It was actually me who got that rumour going. You gotta love the Confundus charm.

"What do you think, Harry?" asked Colin Creevey. "You always know more than everyone else about those things," he said, eyes filled with disturbing lust.

I had to try very hard to keep a somber expression on my face and not to smirk like some smug Slytherin. For once, the silly rumours weren't centered around me. "Well…" I began solemnly, and a hush fell over the common room. "Malfoy was acting pretty strange lately. And I have it from good sources that they found some dark artefacts in his bag…"

"What sources?" Hermione sniffed and gave me a suspicious look again.

"A certain pink-haired Auror," I lied, frowning. I didn't quite like her response to the news.

While the boys mostly kept their cool, and Ron was strongly suppressing glee, many girls took the opportunity to weep and shed crocodile tears for the guy they dreamed of castrating just yesterday. Hermione looked as if all copies of Hogwarts, a History were destroyed in fire.

It was very annoying, but I couldn't show it – I myself went for an expression that balanced between 'I am shocked that my fellow student was murdered' and 'but I'm not going to pretend I liked him'.

"I think I'll go find her and see how the investigation's going."

"B-But McGonagall told everyone to stay in the common room! It can be dangerous out there!" Hermione whimpered. Ron rolled his eyes.

“It’s Hogwarts, Hermione,” I said as I strode away. “It’s always dangerous.”

"Oi, wait for me, mate!" Ron called.

"Sorry, Ron, the cloak can't cover us both anymore," I said, giving him a wry smile, "why don't you stay, and, uh, comfort Hermione?"

Ron seemed to grasp the subtext quicker than usual. "Oh, right. Well, good luck."

I flashed him a wink before I left the common room and disappeared under the cloak. A quick look at the Marauder’s Map revealed that Tonks was in Dumbledore's office, along with Snape, Dumbledore, Rita Skeeter, a couple of Aurors, and Rosmerta. No last name.

I knew I couldn't get in without being revealed, so I waited invisibly outside. A few minutes later, I noticed two dots on the map heading in my direction – Narcissa Malfoy and Horace Slughorn. It wasn't long before they both reached the corridor, Narcissa looking hysterical while Slughorn waded behind her, panting. He squeaked the password to Dumbledore's office and I had managed to sneak in behind them.

Narcissa burst through the door to the office very rudely, spitting "Who do I get to torture for this, and why is it Potter?"

The men inside froze and stared at her with various expressions. If I had eight eyes or could stop time, perhaps I would've been able to analyze each expression and use it to understand what each of them truly thought. Sadly, this thing only works in stories. I did manage to catch sight of an opal necklace resting on Dumbledore's desk.

"Ah, Mrs. Malfoy. we were just discussing recent developments in this… investigation," said Dumbledore.

"What developments? Did you arrest Potter?" she asked.

"Uh… no, Mrs. Malfoy, we haven't reached that particular issue yet. It came to our attention that…"

"Your son Imperiused me in an attempt to kill Dumbledore!" Rosmerta yelled.

"Nonsense, that cannot be!" said Narcissa. "He’s a good boy, he didn’t do anything!"

I noticed a familiar beetle buzzing and landing on a cabinet near me, rubbing its hands.

"We're afraid that the evidence in this case is quite damning," said Dumbledore, utilizing the exact expression that I had to wear for the masses, pretending to give a shit. Dumbledore truly was a great educator. "We found the Dark Mark on his body, you see…”

"Oh, no, no, that’s slander, Dumbledore! You were always prejudiced against Slytherins! I shall contact the Board of Governors!"

Even Snape cringed.

"Now, now, Mrs. Malfoy, don't lose your head," Dumbledore chuckled.

Narcissa lost it. For the second time in a year, Dumbledore’s office went through a violent remodeling.

I took advantage of the momentary chaos to smash the beetle.

When I returned to the common room, Ron was sitting alone in the dim light looking befuddled.

“Hey, Harry… how did it go?”

“Well, I didn’t die,” I said, collapsing into a soft couch. “Only thing I learned is that Rosmerta was Imperiused by Malfoy. I was right. He was trying to kill Dumbledore all year.”

“Well, that’s uh, that’s something,” said Ron, astute as ever. Then he cast a Muffliato around us. “Listen, mate, did you, uh, have anything to do with… you know… Malfoy?”

I frowned. “What makes you think that?”

“It’s just, Hermione saw you on the seventh floor with blood on your face, and, well… she thinks that’s suspicious,” he said abashedly.

I had to stop Hermione before she blabbed to the entire school.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Ron,” I said easily, “If I killed Malfoy, where is my award for special services to the school?”

“Look, Harry…” Ron lowered his voice to a whisper despite the privacy charm surrounding us. “You know I don’t really care about Malfoy, right? We both know the git deserved it.”

I huffed. “That’s just it, Ron. If you ask me, Hermione seems way too upset over this whole thing. That’s suspicious.”

Ron’s eyes widened. “You don’t think she… you know, cared about him?”

“No, of course not,” I said without conviction, “But, maybe the reason she’s so upset is that, she…”

“You think she had something to do with it?” Ron filled in.

“I didn’t say that,” I said, “…But now that you mention it, it could be. Why else would she be so upset?”

Ron looked deep in thought. “Ugh, this is barmy,” he finally summarized his thoughts skillfully.

"I hope you still have some of that firewhiskey you nicked from Slughorn's party."

"I think so, why?"

I raised an eyebrow. "Don't tell me we're not going to raise a toast to Malfoy's memory."

We both roared in blissful laughter.

Chapter Text

The days following Malfoy's death were stressful. Snape was watching me whenever he was around, and when he wasn’t, there was Hermione.

“Got any new details from the investigation, Harry?” she asked passive-aggressively at dinner the following day, after I returned from another reconnaissance mission. I had to make sure the Aurors weren’t on my trail.

“Mhm. Apparently people shit their pants when they die. That never gets mentioned in the books, does it?” I asked.

“Actually, it does. You just don’t happen to ever read ones that aren’t about curses.”

“Maybe Malfoy died from an Entrail-Expelling Curse?” Ron suggested.

“That’s a great deduction, Ron. The Aurors need you. Ten points to Gryffindor,” I said.

“He was in the bathroom when it happened!” Hermione said.

“And how would you know that, Hermione?”

“I heard it from… someone,” she said.

“You shouldn’t listen to rumours. You know how ridiculous they can get. There’s this one about you an—”

“Please don’t.”

“Fine. But I got it right in the end, didn’t I? he almost killed a bunch of people, and no one did a thing to stop it.”

She could never admit to being wrong.

Snape was trickier to hold off, however. I had to avoid his eyes all throughout Defense Against the Dark Arts, and when the bell rang, I darted out, but just when I reached the door he said “Potter. Not so fast.”

I sighed and turned around to face him. “What is it, Professor?”

His eyes were shining with spite. “I wonder… whether you know anything of… what happened to Mr. Malfoy… It seems you were quite tied-up with him...”

“What happened to… Mr. Malfoy… was a… terrible tragedy… however… it had nothing to do… with me…”

I could see Snape getting riled up as I imitated his wannabe-threatening manner of speaking. He glowered at me.

“How stupid do you think I am, boy?”

I snorted. “Stupid enough to go stalk a werewolf during full moon on the word of your nemes—”

Snape’s eyes bore into mine, but they quickly shifted into a scowl, his brows furrowing in confusion. I tapped my glasses with my wand, giving him a taunting smile.

“Shield Charm. The Weasley Twins are making a fortune off of it,” I said, and left before he could react.

Of course, having a shield over my eyes could make me seem even more suspicious in the eyes of a Legilimens like Snape or the headmaster, who have never heard of the concept of personal space, but it was still better than the alternative.

On the plus side, watching the Aurors trying to conduct an investigation was priceless.

"Who do you think might have done this? Did he have any enemies?" Tonks asked a group of Slytherins at the courtyard.

"Uhhh..." Crabbe's eyes shifted from side to side, looking around for an escape route.

"There was this girl Astoria that he threatened to go out with him," said Goyle, immediately flinching at having his foot stomped on by Crabbe.

"And her friend, Tracey Davis, he always made fun of her for having a muggle father," said Nott.

"What about that Ravenclaw boy?" asked Zabini. "You know, the one he drew caricatures of after his face got disfigured by a werewolf."

"Yeah, or that muggleborn from Gryffindor that he always hexes for fun."

"Could be Higgs, he hated Draco since he bribed Flint into getting his place on the team."

"Reckon it might be Hagrid? He always heckles him during class, and tried to have his hippogriff executed."

"The Carrow twins are pretty scary, and he likes to call them out for being poorer than the Weasleys at every opportunity."

"Remember when he stole Bulstrode's diary and read it aloud to the entire common room? Wouldn't surprise me if she killed him with her bare hands."

"Really, Auror," Nott said. "It would be easier to list the people who didn't want to murder Draco Malfoy."

Everyone nodded in agreement, and the Auror threw her notepad to the floor in frustration.

I

Malfoy’s funeral was scheduled to start at noon, three days after his death, near Malfoy Manor. I didn’t particularly want to attend, but I was curious to see the famous manor, and had to visit the place in case I ever needed a spot to take a good piss, so I put in an appearance.

There weren’t too many familiar faces, only a few teachers and students from Slytherin came – unlike what some writers believe, Draco wasn’t well liked even in his own house.

Funerals are a bore, and this one was no different, with the exception of Narcissa Malfoy glaring daggers at me the whole time. There were Aurors and Ministry personnel all around. I stood next to Dumbledore for protection, and the old man was strangely passive during the ceremony. He didn’t offer any wise words of wisdom or made inspirational speeches about uniting in unity. Possibly, pretending to care about Draco stretched even his acting ability.

As Draco’s stitched-back corpse was lowered into the mud, I got fed up with standing motionless, and strode away to inspect the grand gaudy graves of dead Malfoys, when I heard steps coming towards me, and turned around. It was Pansy Parkinson, looking quite pissed off. Since this isn’t an anime, I wasn’t scared.

Me and Pansy had a thing several months back. And by ‘thing’ I mean that after going at each other mercilessly and endlessly, our raging hormones went haywire and made us fuck on top of Professor McGonagall’s desk during detention. McGonagall caught us just as I came, and got a heart attack as a result, but fortunately, Pansy Obliviated her. After our hormones subsided and reality sank in, we silently agreed to avoid each other as much as possible and went our separate ways. Until now.

“What are you doing here, Potter? Came to gloat?”

Must. Keep. Appearances. I thought to myself, as I tried very hard not to smirk.

“Why, I would never,” I sputtered. “Draco and I… we weren’t good friends… but what happened to him was a trage—”

“Cut the crap,” Pansy uttered in a hushed tone, stepping a little too close into my personal space. “I know you’ve been following Draco all year. I know you have something to do with this,” she nodded towards the fresh grave.

I kept a straight face. “Pansy, please, this is improper—"

But Pansy only stepped closer. “Draco sent you a fake letter on the same day—”

“Damn, that’s crazy."

“Crabbe and Goyle told me you were trying to get to Draco on the seventh floor!” she whispered in my ear. “Not far from where he was murdered!”

I took a breath to collect myself, and turned to watch Crabbe and Goyle loitering around in silence like a pair of lost puppies.

“Ah, yes. How are Dumb and Dolt faring without their leader? Can they even operate both their legs simultaneously without his instructions?” I admit, I smirked a little.

Pansy huffed, sneering. “We’ll see how you fare without your leader, soon enou—”

She suddenly shut her mouth, and her face went blank.

“What?” I asked in alarm, but she turned and began walking away quickly. I followed and caught hold of her arm. “What do you mean by that? Hey—”

And then I heard it. “Avada Kedavra!”

Me and Pansy both turned to look in amazement as green light left Snape’s wand and struck Dumbledore point blank.

As the headmaster’s body fell to the ground, chaos erupted. Sounds like gunshots filled the air, and figures in black robes apparated into the graveyard, flinging their wands.

I felt Pansy trying to detach herself from me, and it drew me out of my momentary shock. She tried fleeing, but I clung tightly to her arm. As the figures closed in on us and fired spells towards me, she suddenly stopped fighting, and apparated us both.

We appeared inside a tidy bedroom that looked like it could be Umbridge’s. The bedsheets were pink, the carpet was pink, the stuffed cat plushies were pink, and I swear I could see a pink dildo standing by the ornate vanity mirror.

“L-Let go of me, Potter! Let! Me! Go!” Pansy wrestled my hand again, but instead I threw her wand to the floor, and held both her arms tighter, until she gave up struggling and just glared at me.

I took a long minute to compose myself and battle a familiar headache. Voldemort probably wasn’t this happy since he first used the Cruciatus Curse on a pair of orphans. I pulled myself out of it by force.

“What the fuck just happened?” I blurted out.

Pansy let her eyes down. “I-I don’t kno—”

“Cut the crap. You knew it was going to happen! You said something about our dear leader being gone, and then Snape—”

“I didn’t know it was going to happen! I-I only knew that they’re trying to off Dumbledore somehow! I didn’t think they would do it at Draco’s funeral—”

“Ah yes, precious Draco. That’s what he was trying to do, wasn’t he?” I spat, and she winced. “Your stupid boyfriend was a tool, and not even a good tool.”

I let go of Pansy. She lost her balance momentarily, then lunged at me with her arms.

“Don’t talk about him like that, you-you—” she made a futile attempt to push me.

"What's the matter? Annoyed that you now have to look for another guy with gold to dig?" I looked down on her mockingly.

"Well I certainly wouldn't go for a slob like you, even all the gold in the Gringotts!"

"As if I would ever want that. In fact, I bet Draco was the only guy who could stand having you around for more than two minutes," I gave her a spiteful smile. "Good luck finding anyone else."

Pansy scrunched her face in anger. "Big talk for a guy who got off on licking my ass."

"I told you, that firewhiskey was laced with lust potion, McGonagall set us up!"

She cackled. "Still coping with that? Face it, you just jumped on the crumbs I gave you because you're that desperate."

"Yeah? At least you admit only someone truly desperate would ever touch you. Too bad that's your only option from now on!"

Her mouth twisted from a cruel smile to a feral snarl in the blink of an eye, and she lunged at me, her hands going for the throat. Surprised, I stumbled back, and we both fell down to the fluffy pink carpet, her black hair enveloping my face.

With our customary bit of foreplay concluded, we started fucking.

Don't think we were making love or anything. I was trying to hurt her with my thrusts, and she tore my skin with her nails, while trying to suck the life out of my mouth. I didn't mind. I had a strange attraction to that bitch. There was also the added bonus of fucking Draco’s girlfriend while his grave was still fresh, which, as it turns out, is a turn on for me.

We shagged voraciously on the pink fluffy carpet for half an hour, before she finally gave way and rolled over beside me, taking slow, deep breaths.

“They’re probably searching for you right now,” she mumbled drowsily, her eyes closed.

“Mhmm. I’ll have to tell them you kidnapped me.”

“Why? Ashamed of being with me, Potter?” she opened her evil eyes and leaned her head towards mine with a dangerous smile.

I curled a tuft of her hair with my finger, enjoying its rich smoothness. “Pfff. They can keep searching.”

"Alright, Casanova, get on with the story before I puke! we don’t need to hear all revolting details!" the Magistrate hit the table with his gavel three times.

Whatever. You guys don’t know what you’re missing.

It eventually dawned on me that Dumbledore was dead, and that Snape killed him, but strangely, I couldn’t care at all. I knew that this meant big trouble, but I was too high on dopamine to actually feel something about it.

I could have ravaged her all day, but Pansy’s parents were supposed to arrive home, so we apparated back to Hogsmeade.

It was immediately obvious that the news spread; the village was gloomier than ever.

“There you are, Potter! And, uh, Parkinson?” a stern voice made us both jump.

“P-Professor McGonagall… how nice to see you…”

“Is it, Potter? Is it?!” she glared at me, face stricken with dry tears. Heart attack no. 2 was probably just around the corner. “We’ve been searching for you for hours! We thought we lost you as well as Dumbledore! Where were you?”

I noticed she didn’t say anything about looking for Pansy, but chose to ignore it.

“S-So sorry,” I played the scared little student whose headmaster had just died. “After… what happened at the funeral… Pansy and I ran away, and only now got here.”

Technically, I wasn’t lying. McGonagall gave me her ‘that’s bullshit, but I’ll take it’ face. She turned around to talk to a couple of Aurors, and Pansy sent me an evil smile.

“Oh well, come on now,” McGonagall called us, and we began walking back towards the castle, Aurors flanking us front and back.

I had questions, but didn’t want to make myself a target to McGonagall’s repressed rage after her mentor died, so I kept quiet, restraining myself from humming a happy melody. Sure, Dumbledore was gone, but at least Snape was gone too.

Pansy leaned to whisper in my ear. “It’s funny how you only stop pretending when you’re around me.”

I

If you thought the reaction to Malfoy’s death was dramatic, you can imagine for yourself how the reaction to Dumbledore’s death went. Quidditch was cancelled, the Slug Club meetings stopped, and Headmistress McGonagall enforced a strict curfew. Hogsmeade was out of the question. I didn’t exactly care, but others did and they all acted as if somebody died.

Oh, right.

The only good part of it was that people no longer talked about Draco, and even the Aurors stopped investigating around, convinced like everyone else that the blame was on Snape, who outed himself to the world as a Death Eater and murderer.

In fact, with the two great mind readers of the school gone, I no longer had to be constantly on edge – though I still kept my glasses charmed.

With everything that was going on, I completely stopped thinking about Ginny. Turns out that the monster in my chest was just horniness.

The only problem remaining was Hermione.

She stopped bothering me for a week after Dumbledore’s death, but then, one day, after dinner, when I went to a bathroom for a piss, she suddenly appeared, silently locking the door behind her, and said the words that every guy in the world dreads more than anything else:

“We need to talk, Harry.”

I went into innocent mode. “Hermione? What are you doing here? This is the men’s bathroom. Isn’t it enough that we have Myrtle perving on us?”

“You know what it is, Harry. Don’t play with me, I know you too well,” she said.

Okay, maybe I’m not that great of an actor.

“Well, make it quick,” I said while unzipping my pants. “If Ron comes in and sees us, he might get into another annoying jealousy episode.”

“That… this isn’t…” Hermione sputtered, her face reddening. “Zip up your pants!”

Damn. I hoped that would distract her. “What is it then?”

She gulped. “It’s about Draco.”

“What, don’t tell me the rumours are true and—”

“It’s not that!” she yelled. “I know you have something to do with his death. You’ve been practically stalking him all year—”

“Yeah,” I glared down at Hermione. “While you were burying your head in the sand and pretended Draco couldn’t possibly be a Death Eater, he was Imperiusing people and trying to kill Dumbledore. He almost killed Ron, Katie and Slughorn, but all you did was tell me to ignore it, to trust the adults, and now Dumbledore’s dead an—”

“Dead at Draco’s funeral. It wouldn’t have happened if—”

“They were trying to kill him anyway. Snape only did it because Malfoy failed.”

“Fine, you were right, okay? Is that what you want to hear?” she let out, completely shaken by uttering those terrible words for the first time in her life. “You were right. You followed him around and figured out his plan, and—”

“And I decided to murder him because of it?” I asked with a mocking glare.

“I don’t think you intended for it to happen. He couldn’t let you know about the plan, so you two got into a fight as usual, and then you went too far—“

“You’ve really pieced it all out, huh?”

Hermione stepped closer and looked me in the eye. “Just tell me, Harry, you need to admit it, I’ll help you, just admit it, for your own—”

“Obliviate!”

The spell was so powerful that Hermione was pushed back and fell to the hard floor, unconscious.

Was it supposed to do that?

The Cloak of Invisibility. The Marauder’s Map. No one was around. Good. Prior Incantato to clear my wand history. I got away. Nothing happened. It was just a little accident. Everything is fine. Hermione doesn’t remember. She’s okay. Everything is fine. I’m the Chosen One. Everything’s going to be alright.

Strange how those accidents keep happening in Hogwarts bathrooms. Maybe they are cursed or something.

I hurried to the common room and pretended to read, hoping my tension will go unnoticed among the general malcontent that everyone was feeling. I didn’t read the words, just thought frantically about what happened.

I knew the spell went wrong. I remembered that Kingsley did it to Marietta with hardly anyone noticing, and even Pansy managed to get McGonagall to forget what she saw without any obvious effect. But it couldn’t be. I’ve read the theory. I focused exactly on what I wanted her to forget. Or did I? there was so much going on. I assured myself that, even if I did overpower the spell, at least she won’t remember, which was better than the alternative.

I was right. It did go wrong. I just didn’t know how badly.

An hour or so later, Headmistress McGonagall appeared and asked Ron and I to come to the infirmary.

“What happened, Professor?” I asked on the way, voice filled with worry. After all, so many terrible accidents had happened in Hogwarts recently.

“Your friend was memory charmed.” She said simply.

“So… that means she’s okay, right?” Ron asked. I pitied him for still having such optimism after the past six years. McGonagall didn’t stop walking and didn’t spare him a look.

“Professor Flitwick found her wandering the corridors, completely confused, not knowing where she was.”

“How-How could she forget that?” Ron asked, and I heard the coming realization in his voice. Finally, before we reached the infirmary, McGonagall stopped walking, and turned to us with a severe expression.

“Boys. She doesn’t remember anything that happened in the last six years. She thinks… she thinks she’s an eleven-year-old girl who has just been told that magic exists.”

McGonagall closed her eyes and shed a tear.

I turned to look at Ron, his face completely frozen. Just then, Hermione came out of the infirmary, and slowly walked towards us in the dim light.

“Hello. Are you two also wizards? No one in my family is a wizard or a witch, I was ever so surprised when I got the letter, but of course, I was ever so pleased, after all, it’s the very best school of witchcraft there is, as I’ve heard – of course, I’ve already learned all the books by heart, I hope it will be enough – I’m Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you?”

Ron finally turned to me, his eyes wide and his mouth gaped open like a fish.

Magic is terrible.

I

Events only turned weirder the following morning.

“How’s Hermione doing?” I asked McGonagall as we headed for breakfast.

“Her condition is stable, but… we ran into some issues…” she said quietly, looking around nervously. “Did Miss Granger ever talk about her parents with you?”

“Not really,” I shrugged. “Why?”

“I… I went to her address to inform her parents about what happened, but they weren’t present. The neighbors told me that they died in an accident during a vacation in France, back in the summer before your third year,” the headmistress looked disturbed. “But she never told any of us about it. Not a word!”

“Huh,” I said. “I did wonder why she spent pretty much all of her vacations with us.”

“It gets worse,” McGonagall lowered her voice. “After we told her parents of her petrification, back in your second year, they quite clearly expressed their intent to withdraw her from Hogwarts, yet they’ve never followed through with it. I thought they just had a change of heart, but now I wonder…”

Yep. Hermione’s definitely the sort to arrange her parents an accident simply for preventing her from going to The Best School Of Magic In The Universe. Or at least Obliviate them and send them to some foreign country halfway around the world.

“So you'd put her in St. Mungo’s?” Ron asked weakly, speaking for the first time since getting the news the night before.

“Oh, no, we deem that… unsafe for her, given the current situation,” the headmistress said. “But don’t worry, boys, the Order will protect her.”

“That’s very reassuring.”

The professor narrowed her eyes in disapproval at my sarcastic tone, and went away.

Despite not being involved, Ron took the whole thing much worse than me. It was easy to tell, because he hardly had a bite during breakfast.

“Cheer up Ron, I’m sure she’ll learn everything again in a week,” I said.

Ron didn’t answer. He was still in shock, constantly slouching with his eyes down.

Ginny sat down in front of me, determined to take Ron’s place. “I hope not. It’s kinda refreshing not having her lecture you all the time.”

Undoubtedly, but it was too soon to speak such truths.

Luna appeared on Ginny’s side. “Her mind is more open to the cosmos now.”

I sighed. “Guess I’ll have to find someone else to do my homework.”

“Maybe someone else to be the comic relief as well?” Luna asked, giving the slouching Ron a furtive look.

“You’re a different kind of comic relief, Luna,” I said, shoveling some kind of mushy, greasy British food with a weird name in my mouth for the sake of authenticity. “Besides, I need someone to talk about... guy things.”

“How about Neville?” Luna asked. “He’s loyal and pureblood and won’t ever challenge you.”

“Too bumbling, never says anything funny. And I’m not that insecure that I’d get an invalid with no personality for a best friend just because he won’t betray me.”

That would be pathetic.

“I think it might bring you closer to pureblood circles, or something,” Ginny said.

“No thanks. Ron’s not perfect, but at least he doesn’t have a pus-squirting plant for a friend," I said. A few seats over, Neville squirmed uncomfortably and let his head down. "Plus, it’s funny when those poncy Slytherins get all shocked and appalled at his eating habits.”

“Well, it’s your story,” Ginny shrugged.

“It is,” I said. “And Hermione had a disproportional role in it, anyway.”

“I think she saw something,” Ron said weakly.

“Hmm?”

“That’s why they memory charmed her. She saw something suspicious and was about to uncover the plot, so they Obliviated her...”

I shrugged. “Either that or she saw Filch naked and had to Obliviate herself in order to keep her sanity intact.”

“Maybe she finally saw how annoying she’s been for the past six years and couldn’t handle it,” Ginny said coldly.

Luna’s eyes lit up. “Maybe she saw the Old Ones and the knowledge drove her mad!”

“With magic, everything is possible,” I mused.

Ron grunted.

“Don’t worry, Ron, we’ll get the Death Eaters for what they did to her,” I clapped his back.

“Yeah...” he said, watching the mushy peas dangling from his fork without focus.

Hermione's Obliviation turned out to be the last nail in the coffin, and McGonagall decided on an early end for the school year. She said it was in order to patch security issues, but I'm pretty sure she just really wanted a vacation.

Hufflepuff won the house cup, but no one cared.

When I got back to my room in Privet Drive, I had a surprise waiting for me. In a large brown paper envelope that sat on my desk I discovered two antique books about the dark arts, and a fake locket with a letter signed R.A.B.

On top of the envelope was a sole golden feather.

Chapter Text

I spent most of July doing what every teen does at summer – jerking off, and poring over old tomes of dark magic.

In my defense, everyone urged me to stay under the protections of the Dursley home, which essentially meant my room. The boredom was only broken by occasional visions from Voldemort’s torture sessions of prisoners at Malfoy Manor.

I sat on my bed, examining the cheap replica of Slytherin's Locket, wondering who R.A.B might be, when an old and tired owl came by to deliver a package. It contained a letter from Molly Weasley and a pie. I ignored the letter and picked up the pie.

Despite my hunger, I couldn't forget Romilda Vane's Amortentia-laced chocolates, or the poisoned mead that Slughorn received as a present.

"What do you say, Hedwig, is it poisoned?"

"Krah!" my owl gave a screech that I interpreted as 'possibly'.

I decided to deal with it the same way Horace dealt with food nowadays.

"Kreacher!"

My wretched House-Elf popped in. "Is there something master wants…?"

"Eat a bit of this pie. No, don't touch it with your fingers, that's disgusting."

After several minutes in which Kreacher sadly did not choke to death, I decided the pie was safe to eat, and gave Hedwig a slice.

"Master took Regulus' locket back from the thief?" Kreacher croaked, gazing at my bed.

I didn't need a long explanation to understand what he meant because I am not that dim.

"So Regulus stole the original locket, huh? And Dung stole it with the rest of the valuables? No, that's a rhetoric question, don't answer it," I said. "You may go back to Grimmauld Place and report to me whatever they say in Order meetings."

“The blood traitors stopped tainting the noble house of Black with their presence,” Kreacher said, “They say the crooked-nosed one is a traitor.”

“Bit stereotypical. Did he ever come around?”

“Once. He stunned Kreacher, the filthy half-blood did,” Kreacher shook his head.

“Next time he comes, you better capture him and call me. That’s an order.”

“As master commands,” Kreacher popped away.

I

A day before my seventeenth birthday, the Dursleys left, and the Order of the Phoenix came into Privet Drive No. 4 with the most ridiculous plan of escape I’ve ever heard.

When I told as much to Moody, he told me to shut up because “We need a big action scene.”

I sat in the side-car of a motorbike sailing through the sky, without as much as a seat belt, feeling like I’ve just been put on the little kids’ table. Hagrid drove like a madman and I could hardly do anything other than to hold tight and pout.

Then came Moody’s big action scene. Death Eaters attacked us, curses were thrown around, and my owl, Hedwig, got hit with a Killing Curse.

That really pissed me off. Hedwig was the only one I could rant to when I was alone during all those long summers. She pecked Ron and Hermione’s hands for me when they refused to give me info. I wanted to kill the Death Eater who did it, but Hagrid pressed the turbo button and crashed us at the Tonks residence.

And then we took a portkey to the Burrow.

I was wholeheartedly ready to curse Moody in the face, but the bastard managed to slink out of it by already getting killed during the escape. Not wishing to be talked down to by a bunch of losers from the Order, I went up to Ron’s room and smacked the door shut.

I wanted to kick something, but before I could, my foot hit the leg of a chair. I let out a howl of pain. Ron came in.

“Oh, forgot to tell you about the chair. Fred and George did something to it, so if you don’t pay attention you always run into it,” he said glumly.

I dropped into the guest bed. “And you can’t turn that off?”

“Still haven’t figured it out,” he shrugged and lay on his bed. “Sorry about Hedwig.”

“The bastards will pay for that,” I spat, “and for what they did to Hermione.”

Ron sighed. “This wouldn’t’ve happened if Dumbledore was still alive…”

“I’m not sure he’s actually dead,” I said absent-mindedly.

“How come?” Ron furrowed his brow.

“When I came back to the Dursleys, I got this package that had books about Horcruxes, and a decoy locket. And a phoenix feather. Who could have sent it to me if not Dumbledore?”

“Someone from the Order?” Ron suggested.

“No. Dumbledore didn’t trust anyone else with this.”

“But this was after he already died—”

“Exactly. That was my first clue. And there was another thing. When I cleared my trunk, I saw an eye looking at me from that mirror phone Sirius gave me. That eye looked just like Dumbledore’s, and I don’t know many people with that kind of eyes.”

I could virtually hear the wheels spinning in Ron’s head. “Why didn’t he get you out of the Dursleys, then?”

The reason he left me with them in the first place, because he’s a careless bastard, I thought, but said “I don’t know. I think I need to get to Hogwarts.”

Ron turned his head towards me. “The portrait?”

“Yeah.”

I

I spent my birthday feeling hollow and annoyed. In the evening, a bunch of people from the Order came to celebrate. Not that anything of the sort happened; I was just sulking in silence on a couch and they sat around awkwardly, eating cake.

Lupin handed me a backpack.

“It’s a magically expanded backpack. Every young independent wizard needs one,” he winked.

“Sure, thanks.”

At least that would save the readers a boring fucking shopping trip scene.

“Well, I’ve got to get back to the opium de—I mean, mingle with the werewolves,” Lupin said, looking tired.

“Just don’t share any needle—I mean… bye,” I said. Lupin nodded and went away.

Hagrid, whose immense body was rapidly squashing an old couch, got up.

“Got something for you too, Harry. Thought you might like a new pet now that Hedwig’s… well,” he said it all in a heavy West Country accent, but I’m not gonna bother imitating that. “Happy birthday, Harry.”

He stuck his hand into one of the pockets of his long coat, and pulled out a tiny black kitten.

“Mrrow,” the kitten said anxiously, as Hagrid presented him to me and everyone stared.

“A cat?” I said, raising him in front of my face with one hand. His legs had dark grey, thick fur that made it seem as if he was wearing pants. I surreptitiously cast an Animagus Reveal Charm on him, which did nothing. “And here I thought you’d pull a baby Thestral or something out of there.” Everyone laughed awkwardly.

“It’s not just a cat!” Hagrid roared in delight. “It’s a Matagot, a spirit familiar! Turns into a vicious little beast when attacked, great sense of smell, and very spell resistant, too. Found him alone in the forest.”

“Now that’s more like you.”

“What are you gonna name him, Harry?” Ginny asked.

Considering that she named an owl Pigwidgeon, I decided it’s best to not involve her in this. I looked at the kitten with his feline eyes, shiny black hair and little pug nose. “Pansy...”

Ron sputtered.

“Pants! I mean, Mr. Pants! Because of his legs!” I performed damage control.

“He’ll be a great protector,” Hagrid beamed.

“If we ever get another Wormtail.”

Just then, Rufus Scrimgeour entered, with Percy Weasley in tow. The awkwardness in the room got physically painful.

“Good evening, everyone,” The Minister for Magic called. “Oh, hello Harry, fancy seeing you here!”

I had to roll my eyes. While stroking Mr. Pants' head, I asked “What do you want?”

Percy made a scandalous expression. Scrimgeour took it easier.

“I, uh, thought I might exchange some words with you… in private?” he asked.

My minions looked at me for directions. I nodded at them somberly, and they reluctantly left, though Ron also left behind a pair of Invisible Ears.

As Scrimgeour sat on the sofa in front of me, Mr. Pants jumped from my lap and set to sniff around him.

“I don’t wish to interrupt your party, so… I’ll make this quick,” he stilled as the kitten jumped on to his knees and stared at him straight in the eyes. Scrimgeour looked at me in an almost pleading way.

“Come here Mr. Pants, the Minister isn’t a threat,” I called, offering him some leftover cake, and he promptly turned around back to my lap.

“As I was saying…” Scrimgeour continued. “It has come to my attention that you and Dumbledore spent many hours together for the past year, supposedly giving you private lessons.”

“Mhm.”

“Dumbledore’s death came as a shock to us all. He was a vital player in the fight against You-Know-Who. Whatever his plans were, his death put a wrench in them all.”

“I see,” I said. I conjured a little toy mouse on a string, which Mr. Pants immediately took an interest in. “So you want to know what his plans were.”

“Well… yes.”

I chuckled, raising my hand higher as the kitten was jumping in an attempt to get the mouse. “Is the Ministry that desperate?”

“This isn’t a laughing matter, Potter!” the Minister leaned towards me. “Whatever Dumbledore’s plans were, we need to ensure their success!”

I let Mr. Pants have his toy, and he began tearing it apart with joy. “Fine,” I said.

“Fine? You mean...”

“I’ll let you help with Dumbledore’s plans,” I shrugged, thinking that the Minister might just prove useful, as long as he doesn’t know too much.

“I need to know what they are if—"

“I need Dolores Umbridge’s home address and schedule,” I cut him off. The day before, I learned from Mundungus Fletcher that she might be holding the Locket Horcrux.

The Minister narrowed his eyes. “What do you need that for?”

“It’s part of the plans.”

“And if I get you that information, you will share the rest with me?”

“All in good time,” I said.

Scrimgeour seemed to consider. “That… woman… is paranoid. She has Dementors around her at all times. I would think twice before executing this… plan.”

“Then I will also need a guarantee from the Ministry that nothing I do during this… war… can be used to persecute me. I still recall the Ministry almost breaking my wand for using a Patronus to protect myself from Umbridge's Dementors.”

The Minister’s made a face, but finally he nodded. “I’ll send you that information by tomorrow. Happy birthday.”

When I sat at the breakfast table next morning, feeding Mr. Pants a sausage, an owl flew above us, eyeing the kitten warily, and dropped an envelope with a Ministry seal. It contained the schedule of Dolores Umbridge and her home address, along with my Ministry carte blanche. The Ministry must have been hopeless.

I

Evening brought Bill and Fleur’s wedding. I won’t bore you with the details. I drank a lot, bitterly watched normal people having fun, and pissed off a bunch of Veela after I said that their aura was a tool of rape and should be made illegal just like the Imperius Curse. Suffice to say, even with copious amounts of alcohol, weddings suck.

The important part was at the end. Ron and I were swilling our ninth beer, when a Patronus appeared all of a sudden, announcing in Kingsley Shacklebolt’s voice that the Ministry has fallen, Scrimgeour was dead, and They were coming.

At least the wedding was over.

Right on the beat, Death Eaters apparated into the scene.

“Whooooo’s ready to paaartay?” Bellatrix Lestrange called, aiming a Cruciatus randomly.

"I surrender!" Fleur yelled, throwing her wand away.

I hurled my beer bottle at a Death Eater's head and we took cover behind the bar. Before I could attack Bellatrix, I felt a terrible pain buzzing in my scar. “Ron, we have to take our stuff and leave, now!”

“Yeah, I don’t really fancy helping with the cleanup too. Let’s go.”

We raced to Ron’s bedroom, drunkenly knocking various furniture in our path. When we got there, Mr. Pants was sitting on my new backpack.

“Pack!” I said, making all my stuff rush to the backpack. Thank God for lazy wizards.

Screams and bangs sounded through the open door, while the pain in my forehead intensified. The Dark Lord himself came to crash Bill and Fleur’s wedding.

He swooped up the staircase like a ghost, and came to a walk as he reached the doorway, Bellatrix and Yaxley following behind. His red eyes were fixed on me.

Suddenly, he screeched in terrifying pain.

Our saviour was the leg of Ron’s chair, which Voldemort ran into with his fungal diseased feet. I wish I could take a picture of him - clutching his bare foot, veins popping on his bald head, purple toenail cracked jaggedly.

Instead, I grabbed the kitten, my backpack, and Ron, and apparated away.

We squeezed out of the vacuum of space into a familiar site overlooking the rooftops of Little Whinging.

“Phew,” I ran my fingers through my hair as I stumbled, the world swinging around me.

“W-Where are we?” Ron asked, looking at the cars roaring beneath us.

“The roof of my old school.”

I didn’t have much time to pick a location, but I accidentally apparated here when I was a kid, after being chased, so it’s not surprising that I associated this place with escape.

Ron was shuddering. “We—We need to go back, the Death Eaters might be torturing my family right now…”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Ron,” I said while I watched Mr. Pants exploring the new setting. “Voldemort is probably still there, waiting for—”

Two telltale bangs of apparition interrupted me. Ron and I turned around to see two men dressed in janitor jumpsuits, one of them huge and blond, the other dark haired, training their wands on us.

“Stupefy!” they yelled in unison.

I conjured a shield, and Ron jumped out of the way. “Depulso!” he sent a Banisher at the pair.

Each of them cast a Shield Charm, giving me space to aim a Reducto at the floor beneath them, which promptly collapsed, along with the wizards.

Unfortunately, a second later, it collapsed beneath us as well.

Molliare! I thought just before I hit the wreckage. The Cushioning charm came a bit too late to work well, but at least I didn’t break any bones.

I stumbled up among the debris, trying to make sense of the dim and messy scene, when Ron and another wizard lit it up by exchanging increasingly explosive curses that blew chunks of the masonry.

Then, a voice in front of me called “Internus Interitus!”

A streak of purple flame shot towards me out of the darkness. “Protego!” I shouted, recognizing the spell; the dark-haired wizard had used it before against Hermione and then against me, in the Department of Mysteries. Even with the Shield up, the curse knocked me backwards, and the combination of a copious amount of alcohol, along with a brick behind my leg, made me stumble down.

“Crucio!”

That hurt.

While I was lying on the floor, convulsing in pain, I saw a shadowy beast jump down from what remained of the roof, its white eyes blazing in the darkness, and, as it landed on top of the wizard who cursed me, it ripped into his face with shining claws.

The pain stopped. The dark-haired wizard howled, trying in vain to dislodge the beast from him. His blond friend came out of the cloud of chalk-powder and sent a curse at the beast, which forced it away.

The time they took to fend off the beast cost them dearly. Still lying on the floor, I called “Sectumsempra!”, and heard Ron’s “Stupefy!” coming from my side. The pair of wizards were forcefully thrown down to the floor.

I stood up and wobbled slowly towards the downed men, dusting myself. The wizard with the dark hair was lying motionless on the floor, blood gushing out of his stomach and mouth. The blond one lay by his side, unconscious and bruised.

Soft feet tapped towards me.

“M-Mr. Pants, is that you?”

“Mau,” the shadowy cat with glowing white eyes said, as it rubbed happily against my legs.

“Hagrid wasn’t joking when he said it can turn into a vicious little beast, did he?” said Ron.

“No shit,” I said, petting Mr. Pants’s slick head.

We inspected the bodies. The cat pounced on the dark-haired one and set to make sure he was dead. “That’s Dolohov, I think. He was in the Ministry, remember? He really likes that purple flame curse.”

“Yeah, and he killed my uncles,” Ron said sullenly.

“I bet the other one is a Death Eater too. How did they even find us?”

“We should interrog—hey, what’s Mr. Pants doing to Dolohov?” Ron called. The Matagot was tearing chunks of flesh from Dolohov’s face and chewing on them.

“Who cares? It'll save us money on cat food,” I said. I turned to the heavily-bleeding blond wizard, and bound him with charmed ropes, before Rennervating him. He blinked several times, noticed me, noticed Mr. Pants, and started struggling.

“Squirming like a worm won't help you, you know,” I said.

“W-What do you want?” he stammered.

“We want to know how you found us.”

“Y-You can never escape Him. He will find you and—”

“Blah, blah, blah. Tell me how you found us, or else you’ll become part of Mr. Pants’ dinner, too.”

“No, no, please… I—”

“Mr. Pants, feast on his flesh.”

“There’s a Taboo!” the blond cried.

“What’s that?”

“I-It’s a charm that locates whoever says His name, whoever says…” his eyes darted in horror. “Voldemort.”

“Shite,” Ron said.

Two bangs announced the arrival of another two wizards in the darkness. By that time, however, we were ready for them.

“Expulso!” a pair of Blasting Curses struck the newcomers before they could even locate us in the dark, and blew them through the wall. Twin Wilhelm Screams faded out for a second, and I peeked from the hole to see them falling in the middle of the road. There was a sudden sound of screeching tires, a loud horn blared, and an 18-wheeler ran them over.

“Nice,” I said. I trained my wand on the blond wizard, and hit him with a Tongue-Tying Hex, before he could start spamming the name and bring the entire gang down on us.

“Harry—"

“Remind me to do this every time we catch one, will you?”

“Um, Harry…”

“What, Ron?!”

“The floor is cracking again.”

“Oh.”

Mr. Pants, who suddenly transformed back to a normal kitten, ran and leapt to my back, his paws closing around my neck, whimpering in confusion.

“See you at Grimmauld,” I said to Ron, unable to think of another safe space, before I disapparated.

Or, at least, tried.

“Anti-Disappirtion Jinx!” Ron blurted the obvious.

“Wonderful,” I said, “Now where the fuck is my backpack? Accio Firebolt!”

The broom flew out swiftly and rushed to my side. Ron picked up the backpack and we both hopped on the Firebolt.

The bound wizard uttered something that sounded like a choked “Help me!”

“Sorry, we’re at full capacity right now. Please try again later.”

I kicked the floor, and we swooped through the hole in the wall, into the night sky, not looking back as my old school toppled to the ground.

And that’s how we arrived back at Privet Drive No. 4.

Chapter Text

It took us a whole week to recover from our battle with the Death Eaters. The various cuts and bruises almost paled in comparison to the massive hangover.

We decided to stay at Privet Drive with the rational that it would be the last place in the world I would like to be at. We also cast no protective charms around, because if the Death Eaters won’t detect any protections on the house, they would think it’s uninhabited.

We sent Kreacher to bring some things from the Burrow and gather intel, and what he relayed to us wasn’t pretty. The Death Eaters had taken control over the Ministry and were watching the Burrow, Dementors were stationed in Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade, and worst of all, Snape was appointed Headmaster of Hogwarts.

“Fuck.”

“There’s no going home…” Ron said.

“I’m not talking about that. How am I supposed to talk to Dumbledore’s portrait now?”

“Oh, right…”

I paced back and forth in the living room, suppressing the urge to curse Kreacher.

“There might be another way. I’m not sure it’ll work.”

I apparated to Grimmauld Place after Kreacher assured me it was safe. While he kept watch, I went to the bedroom I used to sleep in, closed the door, and faced the portrait of Phineas Nigellus. It was empty as usual. I suppose he spent most of his time in the much more vibrant Headmaster’s Office. I began drawing dicks on the picture until he finally showed up.

“Stop, stop, what in the name of Emeric the Evil are you doing to my portrait?!” he sputtered.

I stepped back. “I thought it might get you to come through. Seems like I was correct.”

The former headmaster straightened his collar and scrunched his nose. “Ah, the Potter boy.”

“The one and only.”

“So it seems. Unless you are an imposter under the cover of Polyjuice, that is,” he said with narrowed eyes.

I shook my head, wondering whether all Slytherins live in constant paranoia. “Would you mind calling Dumbledore’s portrait over?”

“Do I look like his secretary, boy?”

I pointed to brown pile of doxy droppings at the corner of the room. “If you don’t, your portrait's gonna get a whole lot browner.”

Phineas’ lips curled down. “Back in my day, you’d hang in chains for days inside a dark dungeon just for suggesting that,” he said, before disappearing again. Just as I was about to levitate the pile of droppings, Dumbledore popped in.

“Ah, Harry, my boy! How are you doing?” he said, while sucking on a lollypop.

“Albus, my nigga, couldn’t be better,” I said flatly. “How’s being a portrait?”

“I’m having the time of my life!” Dumbledore beamed.

“Sounds a bit two-dimensional,” I mumbled, trying to formulate a question. “Say, did you, by any chance, send me a fake locket and a couple of books about the Dark Arts?”

“Yes, I think so,” Dumbledore said.

“But… it arrived some time after you, uh, your funeral.”

“Indeed,” he nodded.

I felt excitement flare like fire in my stomach. “I knew it… You were acting so strange at Draco’s funeral… You aren’t actually dead, are you?” I asked.

“Me? I just said I’m having the time of my life!” he laughed, “But I indeed died.”

“Oh,” I sighed. “Who sent me the books and locket then?”

“I told you, I did,” he smiled mischievously.

I began massaging my temples.

“I didn’t die at Draco’s funeral,” the headmaster said. “I knew they were planning to kill me, so I sent a decoy instead, a golem in my own image.”

“…And yet you’re dead?” I urged him on.

“I was already dying at the time. The curse on the Gaunt Ring ate at my body from within. But I wasn’t ready to die just yet. Not like that. I still had some matters that I needed to settle.”

“Like the books and locket?”

“Among other things.”

“Spill it out, you old bastard. What else did you do?”

“Oh, let’s just say that I arranged Tom a little… sticky surprise, were he to take certain actions," he said, his eyes twinkling evilly, and the smile on his face told me that there’s no point in asking, and I would just have to wait and see it for myself.

“Alright, keep your schemes to yourself as usual. About the Horcruxes then. I understand that they can be destroyed by something called Fiendfyre?”

“Indeed, though Basilisk venom and the Sword of Gryffindor will suffice as well, and are less dangerous.”

“It’s more dangerous than handling Basilisk venom?” I cocked an eyebrow.

“In certain situations,” he finally stopped sucking on his lollypop. “Fiendfyre is a deceitfully simple to summon, a double-edged sword. Simply declaim 'morbosus ignis, ambula mecum', and it shall be channelled into existence through your magic. No particular wand movement is required, and it is powerful enough to eat through virtually any known protective enchantment.”

“However…” I said impatiently, knowing there was always a catch.

“However,” Dumbledore agreed, “The fire will turn back on its summoner and kill him, if the summoner can’t maintain it under his control. It is a fire-spirit that wants to be free, my boy, and it feeds on magic. It will wrestle your will. It is to be used only in the utmost need, and extinguished while it is still small. The trick is to never let it grow any larger than a finger, so it never becomes too strong to control. If it assumes enough volume...”

"Yes?"

"Well, the old adage 'fight fire with fire' is the only solution at that point. Pitting one fire-spirit against another will cause them to consume the magic from each other, and they will tire and cancel themselves out eventually."

“So you think I can do it?” I asked, slipping back into the role of the insecure schoolboy.

“You can do whatever you like, Harry. You’ve shown the strength of your will before. Just don’t play with fire.”

“Of course,” I said, already excited to do just that.

“Für Gott, Kaiser und Vaterland,” Dumbledore said.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he blurted and ran away.

When I came back to Privet Drive, Ron was watching TV, his eyes glazed. I went to the table where Mr. Pants lay and began forming a plan.

“What’s up?” Ron said once Baywatch stopped for a commercial break.

“We’re going to pay an old friend a visit today,” I said.

“How old?”

“Old as in fifth-year.”

“That's not that old.”

“It’s Umbridge.”

“That's not a friend either,” his face fell. “Do we have to?”

“She has the Locket. Remember how much Hermione hated Umbridge, Ron? She’d like us to settle the score.”

“Y-Yeah, but, you heard Scrimgeour, she has Dementors all over the place!” he sputtered.

"Don't worry, Ron," I said. "Dementors can't harm you, because you're a ginger, and everyone knows gingers don't have souls."

“Why must you hurt me in this way?” Ron mumbled, looking down.

“You'll get over it. We have a piece of soul to destroy.”

“And… you're taking the cat along?” he asked.

“Indeed. It’s time for him to start earning his living.”

I

The address of Umbridge’s house was in Surrey, so we took a cab. Mr. Pants was restless throughout the entire ride, kneading at my jeans with his claws.

“Calm down, Mr. Pants, it’s going to be alright,” I scratched his nape. “Just do your job, and you’ll get all the toad meat you can eat.”

Around eight in the evening, we arrived at a cul-de-sac at the end of a suburb, full of identical cottages. The place wouldn't have been so different from Privet Drive, but there were no cars in the street or lights in the windows, and the entire place seemed deserted. It wasn't hard to discern why; two dementors were stationed at the door of the only house in the street that had its lights on, and if that weren't enough, a Muggle-Repelling Charm made the driver try and turn back. Mr. Pants gave a little whimper at the sudden drop in temperature.

When the cab drove away, the three of us hid in the shadow of a tree on the other side of the street.

“Just think of a happy memory, mate…” Ron shivered.

I imagined Draco’s decapitated head flying into the toilet, took a breath, and whispered “Expecto Patronum!”

The Patronus charged at the two Dementors in a blaze of light, chasing them away. I put the cat down on the road.

“Okay, Mr. Pants, now’s your turn. Make papa proud.”

The intelligent kitten rubbed my leg, and strode slowly towards Umbridge’s house, meowing pitifully, then started scratching at her door. A minute later, the lights of the front porch turned on, and the old hag opened the door.

“Whaaaat’s thiiiiis?” she asked in a shrill baby-talking tone, leaning down to Mr. Pants. Slytherin’s Locket was visible on her chest. “My, aren’t you a tasty one? I’m sure you’ll make a lovely dinner with a little—”

In the blink of an eye, Mr. Pants lunged at her neck with his claws out, transforming into his shadowy form mid-jump.

Umbridge screeched as the Matagot tried prying the Locket away from her, leaving deep bloody scratches in her neck. Ron and I headed towards the scene.

She took out her wand and directed a Stunner at Mr. Pants, but it only managed to push him away. Before she realized what’s going on, my Banishing Charm sent her flying into the wall. The sound of crunching joints echoed in the empty street.

Ron incinerated her wand, and I pried the Locket away from her, stuffing it in my pocket.

“Good work, Mr. Pants,” I scratched him on the ear.

“NOOOOOOOOO! MY PRECIOUS!” Umbridge shrieked hoarsely and hopped towards me like a big toad, reaching for the Locket. Ron began imitating the sound of centaur hooves, which made her stop and scuttle back.

"What in the name of—" a portly man wearing a bowler hat came out of the doorway, and I wasted no time in confiscating his wand.

"Mr. Fudge. What a lovely surprise," I said. "In for a knut, in for a cunt, as they say."

"P-P-Potter, what do you think you're doing?" the former Minister for Magic asked.

"Delivering justice," I smiled. "But you wouldn't know anything about that, would you? It's because of you that we're in this mess in the first place."

"Harry, the Dementors are returning," Ron said with a shudder.

"No problem, we have Fudgy here to take care of that," I said, watching the approaching Dementors. "You love Dementors, don't you, Fudgy? Let one snack on Crouch Junior's soul without as much as a field trial. Tried to do the same to my Godfather."

"Potter, I—"

"And you, Dolores," I said. "You tried to have my soul sucked simply for telling the truth."

"T-That's a lie..." Umbridge breathed out, her eyes jittering in panic. "Dumbledore..."

“You didn’t really think you can do all that shit to us and get away without a scratch, did you?” I said with a cruel smile. “Funny how what goes around comes around. Depulso."

I swung my wand and sent Umbridge and Fudge flying at the pair of Dementors, only a short distance from us. The former Minister and his toadie collided with the hooded demons, who immediately went down to give them a smooch.

Fudge was screaming for his life, and I laughed loudly at the fate of the asshole who caused me so much grief. It was this fat fuck's fault that Voldemort rose to power again, and that Dementors were running wild. Seeing his soul get slurped on was simply cathartic.

However, something strange was going on with Umbridge. The Dementor had barely got a taste of her before he suddenly rose and backed away. I could only assume that Umbridge revolted even him.

"Go on, have a bite, it's not poisoned," I said kindly to the Dementor, but it didn't help. He simply shook his head, turned back, began convulsing, and then fell down on the pavement, retching.

"Poor fella got food poisoning," said Ron, his face twisted in disgust.

Meanwhile, Umbridge cracked an ugly smile. "You lost, Potter, they won't attack me!" she said, letting out a frenzied little giggle.

"Don't get too full of yourself, Dolores," I said. "You’ve avoided punishment long enough, but every bitch has her day. Inflatio.”

Umbridge’s eyes bulged in horror. In fact, everything about her bulged. She got swollen and round as an air balloon, and slowly floated up in the air above our heads, screaming for me to stop.

“Protego,” I conjured a bubble around us, right before Umbridge’s body could stretch itself no longer, and exploded in a shower of gore and limbs, painting the street pink, just as she would have liked.

For a moment there was absolute silence, the three of us staring in appreciation at the sight. Then, out of nowhere, I heard a pair of hands clapping slowly, and my spidey sense started tingling.

“Bravo, Potter! Well done!” Voldermort smiled as he stepped towards us, flanked by Death Eaters.

Scrimgeour blabbed.

I grabbed Mr. Pants and tried escaping, but felt the oppression of an Anti-Disapparition Jinx. I exchanged looks with Ron, who seemed to have felt this as well.

Voldemort cackled. "There's no escaping me again, boy. No one is here to save you."

I scoffed at him, thinking of the Horcrux in my pocket, and what I planned to do with it.

“Aren’t you tired of stalking me like a fangirl, Tom?”

“Doing the same thing again and again on hope of a different outcome is the definition of genius," he said grandly.

“Tom? Who’s Tom?” one of the Death Eaters asked his friend, and Voldemort hexed him with a flick of his wand.

“Be silent, Macnair.”

“Wow, sensitive much?” I asked. “Even Moaning Myrtle doesn’t have such abysmal self-esteem.”

“Potter… I didn’t realize you have it in you to be so… catty.”

“You have no idea what I have in me.”

“yOu hAvE nO iDeA wHaT I hAvE iN mE,” Voldemort said in a stupid high-pitched tone. His Death Eaters laughed awkwardly.

My wand sprang forward.

“Morbosus ignis, ambula mecum,” I whispered.

I didn't bother with Dumbledore's warning to keep a small flame. The giant, Balrog-shaped burst of Fiendfyre seemed to shock even Voldemort, for a second. He threw a Death Eater in front of him, and the flunky only had enough time to let out one screech before the fire seized every part of him.

While I focused on wielding the fire, Voldemort conjured his own fire-spirit, which had the effect of spreading the fire around him, and to the rest of the Death Eaters. The ones that weren't engulfed in flames turned and ran away. I could see sweat pouring on Voldemort’s frenzied face, as he was barely managing to hold the Fiendfyre back.

Finally, I felt the fire-spirit blow through the Anti-Disapparition Jinx, and turned to Ron, whose mouth was gaped open at the spectacle.

“Mission accomplished,” I said, just as I released hold of the spell, and we both disapparated.

I

When I woke up at noon, Ron was at the kitchen table, reading The Prophet, which Kreacher stole for us as usual. Mr. Pants was sniffing the Locket suspiciously. I sat down, and the kitten jumped to the table, when Ron threw the paper beside him.

“We’ve made the headlines,” he said sourly. I took a look.

Former Minister Fudge Murdered!

Harry Potter Murders Ministry Officials, Kills DMLE Employees, Sets Street On Fire

Underneath the headline was a picture of a burning street, rendered completely unrecognizable from the gloomy suburb we visited yesterday, as flames were dancing wildly all around, and houses were collapsing beneath them. That was strange; Fiendfyre is only supposed to burn magical things.

The article below read:

Yesterday night, Harry Potter appeared at the Surrey street where Ministry for Magic official Dolores Umbridge lived, accompanied by his known sidekick, Ronald Weasley. According to witnesses, Potter scared off Umbridge’s guardians, and then lured her outside, where he viciously attacked her with an Inflation Charm, which eventually caused her to blow up. Potter then executed former Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge, who was visiting Umbridge at the time, with Dark Magic.

With the arrival of a Magical Law Enforcement squad, Potter summoned an illegal fire-demon, which took the lives of DMLE Head Corban Yaxley, and Chief Executor Walden Macnair, as well as a many local muggles, who were trapped hopelessly in the burning buildings.

Potter and Weasley, who fled the scene of the crime, were declared wanted by the Ministry for Magic, with a price of 10,000(TEN THOUSAND) galleons promised to whomever may provide information that can lead to their capture.

Beside the article, my and Ron’s faces were grinning and waving from a picture that looked like it was cropped out of last year’s quidditch team photo. I didn't bother reading the rest.

“Welp,” I finally said, stroking Mr. Pants' head. “Can’t make an omelette without burning a few houses. Isn’t that right, Kreacher?”

“That’s what mistress used to say.”

Ron frowned. “Doesn’t it bother you that all those people died because of us?”

"What people, you div," I rolled my eyes while spreading butter over a bun. "All the muggles abandoned the street because of the toad's bad vibe, and those 'employees' were all Death Eaters. Fiendfyre only burns magical stuff, so this can't be my work. This fucking rag is trying to paint me as the bad guy again."

“Yeah, I know,” Ron still looked glum. “It’s just that, I don’t know, maybe we shouldn’t have attacked her in an area where people live.”

“We're fighting a war, stupid. We have no choice. It was either that or the Ministry. Would you prefer to go in there, where we’d get trapped even deeper, and have to burn the whole place down? Hmmm?”

“’s’not a bad idea…” Ron mumbled.

“Yeah, except that we’d die too,” I said, munching on a toasted bun. “I don’t think Hermione would’ve liked that plan.”

“Alright, alright,” Ron gave up, dropping his head to the table in defeat. “Just… just try to keep more control over that fire next time, okay?”

“Fine,” I said. “Shall we start practicing? Which place would you like to burn first?”

Seeing that we didn’t want to draw too much attention, in order to destroy the Locket and practice Fiendfyre, we apparated to a rock jutting out of the North Sea, most of it covered by a decaying hut. This was the place where I first learned of my other identity: not Just Harry, the plucky orphan, but Harry Potter, boy celebrity, unwitting vanquisher of the Dark Lord. It was a perfect spot, out in the sea and barren of magic.

I got to develop a deep relationship with Fiendfyre during the following days. There was a real understanding between the two of us. I found a kindred spirit in it, and we bonded over our appetite for destruction.

I solemnly promised to feed it many tasty pieces of soul, but only if it behaved. After letting it devour a bunch of dark items from Grimmauld Place, along with the Locket, it became more like a hound on a leash than a wild spirit.

But it went without saying that I would let it roam wild on occasion.