The Lie I've Lived
Humiliation and Other Diversionary Tactics

By JBern

Previous A House of Cards Flawed Assumptions The Summer of Change Of Innuendo and Ice Cream Closets and Secrets Plans are Subject to Change I Belong to Nowhere Censure and Sensibility Bartering the Truth Every Rose has a Thorn Appearances Can Be Revealing What's the Price of Your Fame? Caged Fear Sometimes, It's Good to be Me Code of the Marauders Dancing in the Whirlwind The Dykstra Shuffle A Prayer for Forgiveness Out of Africa The Geist and the Grotto Mind Your Manners Head Games Humiliation and Other Diversionary Tactics Cry Havoc Next

Chapter 23 — Humiliation and Other Diversionary Tactics

"So what do you think it means?"   Hermione asks me.   "Are you sure that you don’t want to talk about it?"

"I’m more certain that you want me to talk about it.   Is there anything else that happened while I was gone?"

She looks miffed.   I’m in trouble.   "Fine. I received full marks on my Charms and Transfiguration essays.   Ron seems to believe that he’ll be starting keeper next year, based on all the work he’s put in.   Ginny is thinking about going out for chaser, and is considering breaking up with Michael Corner again."

I wince in sympathy for the poor Ravenclaw.   Ginny "reevaluates" her priorities on a weekly basis.  

Hermione continues. "Neville has been absent almost as much as you, and just as secretive about it.   Are you giving lessons, Harry?   If so, I could use an aura of mystery."

"Check back after the summer.   I’ll see if I can squeeze you in to the next class."

She rolls her eyes.   "Dean is on potions for mononucleosis and so is Lavender—make what you will of that.   Considering the thing Seamus had for her, it should be no surprise that he isn’t speaking with Dean right now.   Parvati is still smitten with Ron, and I get to hear about it most every night, lucky me.   The twins saw Marcus Flint in Hogsmeade and asked him if he’s coming back for a ninth year at Hogwarts.   Katie’s been in a funk ever since you started dating Fleur, and Angelina naturally believes it is your fault.   There, I think you’re all caught up now.   So, let’s talk about you getting a head sent to you in a box at the French Embassy.   I can’t believe you’re only telling me about it now!"

"Sorry. I had to run off on some errands after it happened."   They just happened to be in France.  

"I’ll bet," she answers while tossing her hair in irritation.   "Now, back to the little incident at the embassy, s'il vous plait."

"Trust me, no one else seemed to think it was terribly important.   It didn’t even make the papers.   That’s one of the things I’ve noticed about the adults in this world—not a lot of them care about regular, everyday Muggles.   The Head of Security—bugger, even the Auror with me—were both relieved that it wouldn’t require as much paperwork because the dead kid was a Muggle."

"That’s awful!"   She gasps.

"That’s just the way it is," I answer.   "Take your average pure-blood or half-blood.   The most exposure to the Muggle world they get is right here.   The farther removed from here, the more they return to their insulated world."

She nods that massive mop of hair. "I'm not saying it doesn't make sense, Harry." She leans in close to me, and looks around to see if she's being watched. She's not; I've erected a Privacy ward out of habit. "This last summer," she whispers, "Mum and Dad took me out to a nice restaurant. I was so used to the food just appearing—oh, this is so embarrassing—I started getting antsy and irritated. I see why they look down on Muggles, Harry, but that doesn't make it right? Don't you see—it actually makes it more wrong! Someone has got to look out for them."

"I’m doing the best I can," I chide her; "I’m a little busy at the moment."

She blushes, "Sorry, I was starting to rant wasn’t I?   Where were we?   Head in a box, I think?   What exactly is he trying to say?"

"Dumbledore and I talked about it.   Did you know Tom Riddle was a half-blood?"   Actually, Dumbledore and James Potter talked about this first, but that’s neither here nor there.

"Really?   You should figure out a way to use that against him!"

"I don’t think his Inner Circle cares.   He’s from the Gaunt line, and their blood goes all the way back to Slytherin himself.   Between his raw magical power and his direct link to a founder, the other half of him could be a fucking troll and they wouldn’t mind."

My friend grimaces.   The faint light of the fireplace dances across her darkened face.   "So much for their lofty ideals and blood purity.   You know, my dad used to talk about those Godfather movies and how the gangsters would send a person an animal’s head to let them know that they were next.   Is he lifting ideas from movies?   Do you think that was the message?"

Shrugging, I thump my knuckles on the armrest and say, "I don’t know.   Riddle grew up in an orphanage, was bullied, and then became one himself.   One of the headmaster’s theories is that Riddle knows how much I was pushed around growing up and this was some kind of peace offering—to feel me out and all that rot.   Hell, the first time he revealed himself to me, he tried to barter and say he’d bring my parents back.   For what it’s worth, I’m guessing he really wanted to tell me that he knows about my family and the blood protections I have because of them.   After all, it doesn’t take a genius to realize that I have something in me that can burn him to ashes.   Fortunately, the protection extends to Dudley and Petunia.   I’m not so certain about Vernon.   He might be a weak link."

I don’t bother adding how many ways Uncle Vernon could be the weakest link.   There might not be a number large enough.     A letter from Aunt Petunia arrived via an Order Owl, the only one she’s ever written to Har—to me.   She seems to believe I can make ‘these people that are hanging around the neighborhood’ be more discreet.

That went right to the top of my ‘to do’ list.   I’ll get right on it!

"Awfully brazen of him, especially if he’s still just a wraith."

"That’s true, Hermione—although for all we know, he could have his body back already.   I don’t think he’s just holed up alone with that traitorous bastard Pettigrew.   I think he’s been gathering more allies and resources.   Dumbledore agrees."

"The Malfoys?" she asks.

"A likely place to start as any.   It’s either that, or he could be picking some lower-level Death Eaters, to make certain they don’t have an agenda in place, and offering them first chance to be part of the ‘new’ old guard in return for their loyalty."

"Are you really okay about the head thing?   You can talk to me."

"I’m not a wet-behind-the-ears fourteen-year-old, Hermione.   Sure, I didn’t like Piers, and he sure as hell didn’t deserve to get offed like that, but he wasn’t exactly a model citizen, either."

Hermione stares at me with that penetrating gaze of hers.   "You shouldn’t say that."

"True, but let’s change the subject.   Enough about Piers."

She smiles mischievously.   "What do you want to talk about?     I noticed that Fleur was gone at the same time you were this week, Harry."

Ignoring her teasing, I say, "Our paths may have crossed, yes, but I want to talk about the truth and the things I’ve been keeping from you.   Here, let me stick a memory in my Pensieve, and we’ll watch it together."   Fleur just shrugged it off, but then again, she never knew me as anyone other than HJ.   Hermione and I have a bit more history together.   She might not be so accepting of the change in the status quo.

A nervous look crosses her face.   "I’m not sure my Occlumency is quite there yet."

"It’s good enough.   The team competition is almost over.   You can keep a casual probe out for awhile and the one bastard I really needed you to keep out, well—he’s still in the castle, but just don’t look him in the eye."

My wand moves the old basin between the two of us, and I pull out a memory from my mind.   I swirl the recollection and see the faint images in the cloudy surface.   Her reaction should be amusing enough.   "Ladies first."

I follow her down into the memory.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Potter.   Are you ready to begin?"

"Harry, you look a bit … wait, that’s not you is it?   That’s your father!"

"Yes, sir.   What would you like to see first?"   James Potter twirled his wand, more than ready to demonstrate his skill.

The NEWT Practical Examiner, a chap named Mr. Gordon, pointed to the block of wood on the pedestal and issued his instructions.   "Organic to inorganic.   Next, inorganic to living—make it…make it a cat.   Then take the cat and make it a bird.   Turn the bird into a crystal vase.   Conjure a flower and put it into the vase.   You have ten minutes, Mr. Potter."

James levitates it to the floor and engorges it first.   When questioned, he replies that he needs more base material and more room to work with it.   He changes the much larger block of wood into a solid slab of granite.   The examiner touches it and feels the texture of the stone before motioning at JP to continue.

There’s a small grin on my face knowing what’s coming next.  

JP’s wand work is a quick series of swishes that ends in a sweeping flourish as he belts out the enchantment.   The granite folds in on itself, gaining shape and size.   Four legs and a tail form as the mass stretches and strains into existence.   The harsh gray color fades to yellows and browns.

Seconds later a golden-hued lion roars, startling the Ministry examiner.

"Do you need me to make the cat do any tricks?"   James asks.   He always was a bit of a showoff.

"Goodness, no!   Just keep him still and let me look at him.   Yes, yes—excellent definition of the muscles.   The texture of the fur is well done, though the bristles seem a bit hard and spike-like.   You’ll need to focus more on the definition."   The man wisely takes a few steps back before motioning for the Head Boy to continue.

The Lion’s neck distorts and lengthens.   The whole body makes an ungainly flop on the floor as the skin goes pale white.   The front legs twist in ways that look painful, as a monstrous swan now occupies the space where the lion was only moments before.

Hermione is still gushing about how good my father was when we exit the Pensieve.   Finally, she turns to me.   "Well, that explains how you’ve become so skilled so quickly.   It’s brilliant, really.   You’re actually learning magic from your father."

"There’s a flaw in that argument, Hermione.   I’ve only had the Pensieve since January."

She stops and processes the quandary.   I can tell the truth is in circling in her mind, but I know the way her mind works.   She’ll dismiss that idea, because it’s too ludicrous.   I wonder what that says about me.   "So the Headmaster has been lending you his all this time."

Her tone is more of a question than a statement.   "That would be a plausible answer, but it just wouldn’t be the right one."

"If that’s not it, what is?" she cuts to the chase.

"I didn’t get the memories from Dumbledore.   I got them down by the lake last year, when you and I fought the Dementors."

She puts her hands on her hips and shakes her head at me "That doesn’t make any sense.   Dementors don’t give memories, and even if they did, it wouldn’t be those pleasant ones."

Granger is almost there.   I just need to give her one last push.   "What did I tell you the Dementors did to me?"

"That they unlocked additional power in you…   Wait a bloody second!   You didn’t get that memory from Dumbledore, did you?"

"Power can be more than just raw strength.   I picked up a talent from Voldemort.   I gained something far different from Lily Potter.   James left me with something too."

"How much did he leave you?"

"Everything," I answer, pointing to a chair.   "He and Marlene McKinnon spent hours snogging there.   He did it to make Lily jealous.   She did it because her boyfriend gave her the boot for someone who was a bit more—shall we say—frisky.   Good old Marlene wanted to show him what he was missing.   James wasn’t as gifted at Runes as you are, but if you wanted, we could have a serious discussion about the comparative similarities and differences between Norse and Celt.   There are memories of his son being born, duels against the real Alastor Moody, fights against Death Eaters, and even the last memory of his death at the hands of Voldemort."

Stunned, she sits back down on the couch.   "Are you still Harry?"

"The Hat calls me HJ for a reason.   I’m not James.   He was a lefty and went looking for mischief, whereas mischief seems to just find me on its own.   I’m a bit more than Harry was as well.   He was withdrawn and lacked any real experiences.   One thing’s for certain: he wouldn’t know the first thing about what to do with a witch like Fleur.   I honestly don’t think he would have survived some of the things the tournament threw me this year.   The ‘best’ I was capable of last year wouldn’t have worked."

Hermione rubs her chin in thought. "James Potter was an Animagus."

"Remember that Pronghorn everyone was looking for a few months ago?"

"That was you!"

"Another difference.   James was a stag."

"How hard is it to learn?"   Leave it to Hermione to find something to study in everything.

"It’s a little harder than Occlumency, but not much.   I can point you in the right direction and get you started.   It’ll probably take you most of next year, but I’m betting you’ll be able to dazzle your O.W.L examiner."

"That’d be brilliant!" she exclaims, before adopting a more serious look.   "I can see why you didn’t immediately tell me. Oh, and all your diversionary tactics this year...   Did it change the way you look at me?   Or at Ron?"

I sit down next to her.   "A little.   I’m probably not as close to Ron as I used to be, but he’s pretty wrapped up in Parvati right now.   I’d like to think I’m a bit closer to you.   Friendships always change.   People drift closer and sometimes apart, but I think you and I are in a good spot right now."

She swats me on the shoulder good-naturedly and smiles. "Guess we shouldn’t make fun of Flint anymore.   You’re in... what? Your eleventh year here?"

------

A bear circles the room, gauging its enemy, before growling and sprinting towards the large-shadowed figure.   Massive arms resist the rush and the two stagger in an awkward semblance of a dance, with the bear rearing on its hind legs and swiping claws at the monster it faces.   The enemy is too strong, though, and there is a loud snap indicating that at least one of the bear’s front legs is shattered.   The beast is pushed aside.

I reverse the Transfiguration and the bear reverts into a desk in dire need of repairs.   "If that had been a troll or a giant, it’d be you thrashing helplessly.   You move like a grandmother."

"Bugger off, you crotchless maggot.   I’m doing the best I can!"  

I make two wolves out of some chairs and see how well it does with multiple opponents.   Almost as an afterthought, I conjure a flight of birds and sent them to harass the Sorting Hat at its weakest point—where Hat meets Golem body.  

"Come on, these are just pests.   You’re in over your head with just a few puppies."  

With glee, I watch the hat fighting off the birds swirling around it.   I probably shouldn’t be enjoying this so much, but I deserve this laugh, and I can’t resist twisting the knife a bit more.

"Do I need to invite Dumbledore’s gargoyle down here to get you properly motivated?"

It launches an ineffective kick at one of the wolves and waves a hand protectively to keep the birds away.   "Why don’t you blow your load into Malfoy’s backside and suck it back out, Potter?"

Holy hell!   How long had it been saving that one for?   "Testy, testy there, Hat.   You’ve had all these years imagining what you could do with a body, and now you’re struggling   to use it.   Give it some time and don’t go picking fights with trolls just yet.   How about trying out your upgrades?   Black and Lupin were kind enough to make you those gloves.   Let’s see them in action."

Hat speaks the Latin command phrase and both of the Golem's hands explode in flames, immediately driving the birds back and making my wolves wary of approaching.   The Golem is every bit as strong as a troll, but painfully slower.   Enhancing the punch with fire tilts the advantage back to the Golem.   I’ve already made it so the Hat can’t be summoned off of the construct, but it’s missing something.

"Think Dumbledore would let you carry Godric’s sword?" I ask.

It finally kills one of the wolves.   "I doubt it.   Besides, I want something bigger.   Get me something like a Scottish Claymore.   I’ll still be able to handle the bloody sword one-handed, and it will have good enough reach."

"Planning to delve a bit into good old William Wallace, then?"

"Aye, damn pity he was sold out by the English wizards.   Build a school in Scotland and don’t let the natives attend!   It’s yet another example of the Founders' mistakes that’ve been glossed over by history.   The good old days!   Back then, blood purity meant you were English and not a filthy sub-race like Irish or Scot."

"I’ll ask Dumbledore if he has something suitable in the armory.   Did you ever actually meet Wallace?"

"No.   The Founders were too busy kissing up to the crown at the time.   Whatever training Wallace received, it came from outside these walls and in his travels abroad.   He would have preferred to see this place leveled."

"Really?   Muggle history makes him into a freedom fighter," I say.  

"And magical history labels him an early Dark Lord." Hat finishes both the last wolf and the contrast between recorded history.

"What will you tell someone a thousand years from now about Harry Potter?"

"If I’m still doing this job a thousand years in the future, I hope someone has the good sense to put me out of my misery.   As for you, Potter, I’ll make certain everyone knows about your sexual attraction to animals, poor hygiene, and all your other deviant behaviors."

I should have known.   "That’s comforting.   Just make certain not to use goats.   I don’t want people confusing me with others."

"No, you seem more like you’re into sheep, or surrounded by them.   Not much difference if you ask me."

Shrugging, I start walking towards the exit while liberally using mending spells to fix all the damaged furniture.   "A crude way of making your point, Hat, but you might be on to something.   Keep practicing with the speed of the Golem.   You’re getting better, but better might not be good enough when we’re fighting Death Eaters."

------

There’s a tension in the air leading up to the next set of duels.   Before, everything was somewhat friendly, but now, all of us have had time to nurture a few grudges.   Albus would be upset with me if he knew how badly I want to pound Krum into the ground.   That arrogant prick is due for his comeuppance and I intend to be the one on the delivering end.

For the moment, I am stuck listening to the another tedious variation of how my replacement Potions Professor knows everyone who has ever been important in some way shape or form throughout the magical world.   Hermione is sitting pleasantly talking to Roger Davies, while Melinda Turpin continues to give me that same quizzical look that she’s worn ever since she heard that Fleur and I became romantically… entangled.

"Not that you’d need it, my boy, but I know several professional duelers, if you’re looking for any last-minute tips."   Horace Slughorn makes this offer as his ‘Slug Club’ begins to break up.   James liked the man—to a point.   I find that point occurs much sooner in my latest incarnation.

I catch Hermione staring at me and I nod for her to go on and feign interest in what he’s babbling about until the rest of the students have left.   She leaves, hurrying to catch up to her boyfriend ¸ and I turn to the head of Slytherin and say, "Professor Slughorn, I have the utmost confidence in my dueling skills, but I have a much different question to ask.   I’m afraid it’s a bit delicate."

"Go ahead, young man."

"I was hoping for any insights you might have into Tom Riddle, whom we both know went on to adopt a different name."

The portly and normally gregarious man’s expression darkens.   "I’d rather not discuss that topic, Harry.   It was part of my arrangement with the Headmaster for coming here."

"But the Headmaster is not the one asking you and I'm not doing his bidding.   I ask because twice since his ‘defeat,’ I’ve had to fight him as a wraith.   I’ve more than held my own, but I’m looking for an advantage.   The first time, he possessed a body and used the blood of unicorns to keep him from death’s door.   The second time, he’d left a portion of his essence trapped in a diary and again used possession.   There will come a reckoning and I intend to finish him—permanently.   The Headmaster is a good man…a great man, but the type of solution I’m looking for won’t come from him.   Snape once boasted that he was capable of creating brews that would stave off death.   I’m looking for something that will kill despite the precautions Tom Riddle has taken."

Slughorn draws himself up. "Harry, for both our sakes, I’m going to pretend this conversation never happened."

I nod in reply, "Of course it didn’t, sir.   But if you happen to stumble across something that might solve this particular problem, and I triumphed as a result, I would make certain the world knew who came to my aid in England’s darkest hour.   Those kinds of heroics are something the world should never forget."

The briefest of smiles crosses his face, and his pleasant demeanor reappears as if conjured.   Lily knew how to play Slughorn, and after they’d graduated, she imparted her secrets to James.   Horace Slughorn wanted to be the hero even more than Lockhart.   He was just too lazy to go the ‘extra mile’ old Gilderoy would.     But Sluggy wouldn’t mind one bit if recognition was delivered on a silver platter.   On his own, I doubt he’d ever help me, so I’ll give him some incentive. In Slughorn’s world, flattery gets you everywhere.

He pats me on the shoulder and seems only half there.   He’s probably already picturing the glory that could be his.   "Off you go now, lad.   It’s getting late and you need your rest for those duels this weekend."

------

"I suppose I will start the meeting first," Dumbledore says to the group assembled in his office.   I note that there are a couple more bodies here than last time, which is an encouraging sign—Vive La Resistance!   Despite being crowded, there is no feeling of claustrophobia.   Funny; I’ve never wondered what enchantments are on this room up until now.   He’s had decades to shape this office in his image.

I need a place like this.

The Headmaster stands as a young Fawkes perches on his shoulder and softly caws.   When the room quiets down, he speaks.   "First and foremost, it gives me the greatest of pleasures to reintroduce Alice Longbottom to this esteemed body.   The story will be appearing in tomorrow’s Daily Prophet, but in these troubling times, any good news is a boon."

He gestures and an animated wheelchair rolls out of his private study.   The sight makes me swallow involuntarily. I have very fond memories of the woman in that chair.   She is much less disheveled than when I last saw her and considerably more alert.   Several in the crowd cheer indicating Albus managed to keep this mostly a secret.   He deftly conjures a bouquet of flowers and presents it to her with a sweeping bow.

With a subtle wink in my direction he continues, "Fortune has indeed blessed us with the return of one we thought lost.   Let this be a reminder to never give up hope, even in the most dire of situations.   Now, dear Alice still has a long road ahead of her before she is fully recovered, but I look forward to the day when she resumes her role with our cause."

Alice’s eyes search the room as friends surge forward to greet her.   They stop on me for a moment and I give her a smile and dip my head to her.

Finally, she clears her throat and speaks.   "It’s like a fog has lifted and everything is new again.   It’s great to be back!   I’ve missed so much and look forward to catching up with all of you in good time.   For the near term, I will be doing my level best to catch up on all the time I’ve lost with my son and getting my affairs in…well, in order.   I’m sorry, that’s an awful pun; forgive me."

Several in the room chuckle at her joke as she presses onward.   "It strikes me as odd that I was lost just as the last war ended, and now I am found as the next one is about to begin.   I will quote my husband’s words, in the hopes that he too will return to us in the times ahead.     Cling to your friends, cling to your family, and cling to the knowledge that what we do is just, right, and for the betterment of all that walk this land."

That’s a bloody good speech!   Dumbledore should figure out how to bottle it and serve it when he’s out looking for recruits.   It’s everything that I’d expect from a person carrying the Longbottom name, even if only by marriage.

Dumbledore claps with the rest of us and then raises his voice above the cheers.   "Thank you for those inspiring words, my dear.   Now, onto the business of the evening.   The Giants informed our people in France that they dismissed an unnamed envoy to their clan as part of their adopted stance of neutrality.   Naturally, I fully expect they will make a request for more of our gold within the next two months.   What is the latest from the Ministry, Alastor?"

"According to my sources, Fudge didn’t particularly approve of your speech to the ICW.   He would have preferred a message with less focus on the coming darkness and more emphasis on the good things being done now.   He’s still hedging his bets, but the good news is that the relationship between him and Lucius is still a bit frosty."

"That is probably the best we can hope for at the moment.   Sadly, we may have to expose young Harry to more photo opportunities with Cornelius—stiff upper lip, my boy."

I shrug.   "I’ll do my best to look enthusiastic, sir."

"Of course, Harry.   I expect nothing but the best from you.   Several of you are providing assistance to the Dursley family, and both Harry and I would like to extend our gratitude for the attention paid to such a delicate matter.   As for the situation around Hogwarts, my sources indicate that some of the students plan on disrupting the festivities after this weekend’s duels are complete."

The paintings, the elves, and the ghosts are already paying dividends.   Raising my hand, I ask, "By some, you mean the Slytherins?"

"They do seem to hail from that house.   It is most unfortunate.   The good news is that they know what will happen should they interfere in the duels themselves.   I will need several volunteers to be in the audience.   They will move quickly to ensure that the students’ actions do not become more than a nuisance."

"Why not put a stop to it beforehand?"   Someone asks.

"A fair question, deserving a fair answer.   I’d rather not tip my hand with respect to my sources.   I’d rather save it for something more useful down the road than students releasing fireworks and the like."

After that, I’m treated to a few meaningless nuggets of information on the movements of a roll call of Puceys, Crabbes, Yaxleys, Flints, Parkinsons, Montagues, and Goyles.   Other than being rebuffed by Fudge, Malfoy has maintained a somewhat low profile.   That is troubling.   Too bad I can’t sneak some Spyflies into his manor.   Maybe I can ask Dobby if he can still get in there.   It’s doubtful, but the only way I’ll know the answer is if I ask.

Dumbledore thanks the members for their work and dismisses everyone.   I linger at his request and wait for the others to leave.   Penny stops by to tell me that I owe her an interview, but she, too, leaves the room quickly.   The room empties and the room somehow senses this and develops a more intimate feel.   Finally, there is just Dumbledore, Alice Longbottom, and me.

"Almost the spitting image of James," Alice comments.

"He was taller.   I’m just better looking.   I’m pleased to meet you," I reply, and draw a laugh from her as I kiss the back of her hand.

"Neville speaks very highly of you.   He says how much you’ve helped him this year.   For that alone, I am grateful."

"He’s a good friend and deserves all the help I can give him.   You’ll probably have to help him with Hannah Abbott.   Honestly, I’ve done all I can."   That’s not really the truth.   I could give him more advice, but not the kind that Alice would want me to impart.

Alice lets loose a bemused chuckle.   She massages her left hand and replies, "Yes, Hannah…the one person he talks about more than you.   I’m looking forward to meeting her."

"She’s a level-headed witch.   Well, as much as any fourteen year-old can be.   I think they make a smashing couple."

Dumbledore interrupts our conversation.   "As you are aware, Harry, Alice knows the full contents of the prophecy and everything that entails.   Since we are unable and unwilling, when it comes down to it, to quell the story of her recovery, Alice will be recuperating at the Flamel estate in France.   That is where she will be working on her special assignment, since it affords her a greater level of protection."

"Albus, is it wise to speak of this in front of Harry?   No offense intended, but I don’t even know what you’ve tasked me with yet."

"My dear, Harry is not just a member of the Order—we are partners in the running of this war.   He defers to my judgment in all things related to the Order, and in turn, I support him in all matters that deal with the prophecy.   That is not to say that there is complete harmony.   We do have an occasional bit of friction over methods, but I can say without reservation that I am finding our partnership to be most beneficial.   Let me assure you, Harry is far more capable than any give him credit for and wise well beyond his years."

I recognize the suspicious look on her face.   She knows there’s more to it.   "Very well.     What would you have me do?"

Dumbledore pulls out the case containing the nearly empty vial.   "Despite what your healers told you, your sudden return does have an explanation.   The last dose of Nicholas Flamel’s Elixir was used on you.   This fact is only known to the parties in this room and Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, and Perenelle Flamel, the latter of whom provided it.   There are a few drops remaining, along with that which courses through your body.   This cure may only be temporary, but we will need your skill with potions to attempt to recreate it."

"You should have picked Frank!" she predictably fires back.

I speak up to take some of the blame.   "We based the choice off of who was better at brewing and analysis, rather than skill with a wand.   The Headmaster and I can’t trust the secret of eternal life to just anyone, or we’d have recruited Professor Slughorn.   You may very well require more elixir to retain your intellect and you’re the only one that would put your husband’s situation ahead of any temptations someone with access to eternal life might have."

"Harry is quite correct.   I will assist you to the maximum extent possible, as will Perenelle, but I am faced with running this school and the Order, and Perenelle has but a few months left to live.   You will have access to the Flamel lab and what notes belonging to Nicolas that we can locate."

She seems a bit flustered.   "But I’m just a bloody Auror and not even a terribly experienced one at that!   I’m most certainly not a brewmaster."

Dumbledore’s answer is calm, if not convincing. "You were one of Professor Slughorn’s best and brightest.   Perhaps we can get a Potions Master and craft a tightly worded binding magical oath for his assistance, but for the immediate future, I can only offer you the services of Remus Lupin and Sirius Black."

Alice snorts and says, "Those two?   You’ll likely end up with the Elixir of Complete and Utter Chaos by the time we’re done."

I stifle a laugh as Dumbledore says, "Obviously, we cannot force you to accept such a difficult task.   I will make the necessary arrangements for your son to spend as much time as possible with you.   The lad has a keen interest in Herbology and Perenelle’s greenhouses are filled with wonderful specimens from all over the world.   Will you accept this challenge?"

"Of course I’ll accept.   How could I refuse?   Still, I think you’re expecting too much out of me, if you really believe I can pull this off.   Plus, I still have a fight on my hands with Augusta."

Tilting my head, I say, "Augusta and I have already crossed paths and she’s still figuratively licking her wounds.   If she becomes too much of a distraction, let me know.   When I’m cozying up to Fudge for these photo opportunities, I can probably get a concession or two off of him that’ll make your mother-in-law think twice about how she is approaching things.   If I’m stuck being a lovable celebrity, I might as well use my powers for good."

"Now you sound like your father," she replies.  

"I’ll take that as a compliment.   Give my regards to my godfather and Mister Lupin when you see them."   I force myself to say Lupin’s name with a friendly smile on my face.   Alice and Frank were the only ones James ever told about that betrayal.   I don’t see the need to reveal everything to her at the moment.   She has enough on her plate for the time being.

------

"Tell me, what do you find the most interesting about Harry?"   Penny asks Fleur.   I suspect the two witches are already plotting against me, but I will show no fear.     Fear is weakness.   Dumbledore offered up a spare classroom for the interview.   He’s probably in on it as well.

Fleur turns to me and arches an eyebrow, assessing me from top to bottom.   "Harry is remarkably witty.   He can infuriate me one minute and have me smiling the next."

"And you, Harry?   What do you find the most interesting about Fleur?"

"She makes me like the French.   No, just kidding.   She is the complete witch—brains, beauty, remarkable skill and power."

Penny smiles and asks her next question. "Now, my readers are going to want to know: when did this all start?   It has all the trappings of a storybook romance and it obviously started long before the two of you went public."

"For me," Fleur starts, "I began to respect him as a competitor after the task with the Dementors.   He responded with courage and even after he was exhausted, Harry waded into the crowd to help those needing medical assistance.   By the Yule Ball, the respect had developed into a friendship, as my dear friend Aimee was…how do you English say it? Trying to play the matchmaker?   The rest occurred mostly as we spent more time around each other."

"Don’t you worry about the age difference?"

Fleur shrugs, and slides her hand into mine while answering, "Age has never mattered to me before.   I have dated older, but rarely have they been more mature."

I take back all those times I thought about sending Fleur one of my famous shit spiders and the fond memories of spying on her topless as Monsieur Pronghorn.   Actually, no, I’ll keep the memories—thank you very much!

"And you Harry?   When did you first really become attracted to Fleur?"

There were several laps during the broom race where I couldn’t take my eyes of her bum.   Nah, that’s probably not the right answer.   "I’ll go with our dance at the Yule Ball.   Obviously, it’s not hard for a bloke to be attracted to her, but I think that was the first moment I realized that I was really attracted to her."

"How does it feel to be considered a power couple by the media already?"

"Power couple?   I hadn’t heard that expression before.   Have you, Fleur?"

She laughs.   "My father’s people mentioned something about that the other day.   I didn’t think it was humorous enough to tell you, Harry, but the more I think about it, it is rather amusing.   The media builds expectations.   You mentioned that we are portrayed as a storybook romance.   If that is what you and your readers expect, Miss Clearwater, you may be surprised that we are only intent on meeting our expectations of each other."

When Penny looks over at me, I point back at my girlfriend with the free hand and say, "See what I mean about brains?"

One nice thing about Fleur is that she isn’t intent on marking her territory, like most of the girls JP dated, or like Katie Bell and Ginny.   She carries herself with composure and confidence.   It’s easy.   Like it’s supposed to be…like it was with James and….

"You still here, Harry?   You looked like you Portkeyed away there for a moment."   Penny says.   I detect a note of worry in her voice.   I’m sure Fleur does as well.

"It wasn’t her aura, if that’s what you’re worried about.   I was just thinking that I’m pretty lucky.   I went on a few dates with some nice witches before this, but Fleur is my first real girlfriend.   If we ever break up, that second girlfriend is going to have a lot to measure up to."

Penny relaxes, "Oh, I can’t print that.   It’ll dash the hopes of hundreds of witches.   You’ll be dueling each other again this weekend.   Harry had the upper hand last time, but was disqualified.   What can the crowd expect?   There won’t be any holding back will there?"

I fight back a blush recalling Fleur’s earlier words on the subject.   She implied that whoever came out on top, got to pick who would be on top later.   Even with her treachery, it’s a win-win proposition any way I look at it!   "I don’t plan on holding anything back.   I wouldn’t expect anything less from Fleur."

"Agreed.   The duels can be a friendly learning experience."

Penny nods and then asks, "What about the duels with Viktor Krum?"

"We both beat him last time.   I don’t expect him to be much of a problem this time."   I give a nice ‘safe’ answer.   My fans probably wouldn’t want to hear that I plan on ruthlessly humiliating him in public.

"Okay, that’s enough questions for now.   How about a few pictures?   A couple for the spread and one for the cover."

The cover shot is Fleur and me on the bench with my head resting on her shoulder.   Fleur turns and gives me a quick peck and we break apart as I wink at the camera with a grin.   It’s all very sweet and innocent.

It’s a shame we can’t reenact our recent broom ride.   That’d definitely get rid of any witches who think they have a shot with me.   Still, that’s another memory that I’ll reserve for just the two of us.

------

"So, HJ, would you prefer them like this or naked in a mud pit?"   Fleur and Athena continue to exchange spells as the ninth task, the second round of dueling, gets underway.

"Tempting, but the mud would only cover Fleur unnecessarily.   Both of them have improved.   Athena looks like she’s trying to make a point," I reply to Hat.   With the misfortune that befell Aimee, Cedric doesn’t have an opponent in this round, but lucky me… I get Viktor Krum in a few minutes, and then a bye before I face Athena.   I can’t wait for the thrashing to commence.

"True, the Greek witch should forget about a rematch with you and worry about how much your bed warmer has improved.   Delacour is giving her a run for her money."

I tap my wand uselessly against the palm of my hand and see a few sparks drift off the end.   I wish I were up there.   Fleur does a nice job of chaining together a series of charms and conjurations forcing Athena to ruthlessly shield them.   "It could go either way at this stage.   Athena is a great technical fighter.   She just needs more experience against skilled opponents and she’ll be on the dueling circuit soon.   That said, Fleur has shown flashes of greatness."

"I’ll bet she has," Hat answers with a sneer.   I ignore the implied innuendo.  

The middle of April is a downright gloomy affair in the stadium.   At least I don’t have to worry about the sun getting into my eyes, but I am grateful that the rain showers are holding off.   I don’t fancy a duel in a raging thunderstorm anymore than last year’s wretched Gryffindor versus Hufflepuff Quidditch match.

After all, that didn’t end very well for me.

Athena dives into her bag of tricks and starts with a flash of light followed by illusions.   Fleur isn’t having any of that.   She conjures a wee beastie and banishes the scuttling critter down the path separating the two dueling circles.

"Now what’s she going to do with a Firecrab?"   Her deft movements enlarge it and I think I’ve sussed it out.   Athena’s forced to react to the snapping claws and her illusion shatters.       A regular Firecrab gives off a little gout of flame when its shell is cracked; a big one is obviously going to do something on a much grander scale.   Fleur sends a cutting curse into her own conjuration, and the beast explodes in a screaming mass of flame.

Well-played by the saucy French witch.   The column of flame washes over Manos as she dive rolls to one side and emerges from the fire sheathed in a flame proof aura.   I guess it was too much to hope that Athena wasn’t too familiar with Firecrabs.

Manos uses the crab's husk as a temporary shield, and launches a fierce counterattack.   She also goes a bit Dark, mixing in obscure and borderline curses with the more mundane.   She follows a pain giver known as "The Rack" with an ankle-level cutter, then a jet of flame, and ends with a colorless fear spell.   Fleur dodges and shields with recently-honed skill, but I still grind my teeth together.   Manos is walking right up to the line of what could get her disqualified, but has enough restraint not to step over it.  

This implies that she also knows the things that do step over that line.   Fleur counters with a magical battering ram called "The Shieldbreaker."   Athena doesn’t bite but throws up a Mage Shield.   Stupid move; it would have sapped both of them, and, quite honestly, I think Fleur has more raw power.   Instead, Athena dives out of the way of the powerful charm.   I don’t recognize the charm Fleur finishes with, but it did something to the circle on Athena’s side.   A wet green moss is spreading everywhere and Athena’s footing is a little shaky.

Spikes grow from the Greek witch’s boots, negating the slippery surface.   Athena does another flash of light, but uses it to hide her next spell.   My viewpoint is from the side, so it doesn’t affect me as much.   The blackish-hued curse gets throughFleur's defenses.   My mind replays Athena’s wand motions and I swallow hard.

"Damn!"   I exclaim.   "That’s an air constrictor.   It’ll collapse her lungs unless she knows the counter.   It’s dark as hell, but still legal providing Fleur doesn’t die."  

"Are you worried?"   Hat asks.

In the last war James watched nervously as Alastor Moody used it on a pair of werewolves in their human forms to try and locate Greyback.   Death Eaters used it too.   The difference was Alastor applied the counter before they suffocated.   Voldemort’s followers usually just let the victim’s die.

I see the panic on Fleur’s face as she starts experiencing breathing difficulties.   "No.   The victim passes out when they can’t breathe.   Athena will apply the counter curse or Flitwick will.   If the judge has to, Athena is disqualified.   If neither of them acts fast enough, I’ll bloody well do it."

"Of course, if Fleur were to die, between her parents and you, Potter, Manos wouldn’t make it out of this stadium alive.   France and Greece—and possibly England—will go to war."

"Quite true, but I’m not concerned.   Athena’s a pro, but she’s probably got something even darker in store for me."

In between shielding and dodging.   My girlfriend tries some counters, but they aren’t the right ones.   Even her bubblehead charm won’t force enough oxygen into her bloodstream.   It’ll only buy her an extra minute or so before she passes out.

Naturally, Athena isn’t letting up her assault and Fleur starts to stagger.   It’s almost over.   She’s probably getting tunnel vision right now.   Manos conjures ropes at Fleur’s flank that go unnoticed by Fleur.   Ropes bind her ankles and she collapses in a heap.   Athena summons the wand and the moment it hits the Greek witch’s hand she counters the Constrictor.

Flitwick leaves his post and scrambles up to Fleur.   He casts a pair of diagnostic charms while giving a rather pointed look of disapproval to Athena.   Satisfied that Fleur is in not in danger, the charms professor announces, "The winner is Durmstrang!"

He revives my girlfriend and helps her get to her feet.   I can see the look of disappointment on Fleur’s normally pleasant face.   I step away from Hat and meet her halfway.   With no shortage of anger, she hisses in French, "I couldn’t figure out the curse in time.   It was the damn suffocation curse wasn’t it?"

"You’re on the right track," I reply in English and try to cheer her up, "It’s a Far Eastern curse—Zang’s Asphyxiator—and it’s illegal in most level one duels, but …"

She cuts me off, saying, "I know!   This isn’t a level one duel."

I offer a few words of sympathy.   "I’ll show you the right counter, but later.   If she thinks I don’t know it, she’s apt to try it on me next round.   No sense in tipping my hand.   Don’t be too upset, you fought well until she went into the Dark Arts.   I thought you had her with the Firecrab combination."

"So did I," she mutters.   She’s too much of a competitor not to be angry.   Fleur will just have to sort this out on her own.   I know that nothing I say will matter.   Truth be told, the fact that she always wants to be the winner and holds herself to such a high standard is a pretty attractive trait and one that I can empathize with.

Several people climb onto the platform and begin mending it for the second round, as Bagman’s voice calls our attention to the second dueling platform.   Fleur comes out of her funk long enough to lock eyes with me and give me a thin smile and a bob of the head.

"You will beat Viktor," she says.   It is not a question, but a command—one I am happy to oblige.

"Into submission and beyond."

A hint of her catty nature returns as she says, "Then what are you waiting for?   Just remember to leave some for me.   I will have my revenge on him in the next round."

I smile and turn towards my platform.   Athena might actually have done Fleur a favor by getting her brassed off.

The Hat pivots his Golem to face me as I pass.   "I assume there will be blood and painful screams.   I’ll be disappointed if there aren’t."

Pausing for a moment, I fight the evil grin trying to appear on my face and say, "Just wait and see."  

------

I give the Bulgarian just the slightest dip of my head for a bow that he barely makes the effort to match.   The uneasy nature of the crowd fills the air.   Most people in the stands might be stupid, but even the most dense of them know this isn’t a "friendly."

We both move and launch our first spells the moment the French referee says, "Begin!"

His is a deafening thunderclap that starts a trickle of blood from my left ear.   Mine transfigures a chunk of the platform separating us into a clawed hand roughly the size of a troll.   The appendage leaps waist level, but Krum blasts it into a cloud of dust.

"Break!   Warning Hogwarts!   Excessive force and potential lethality!" the judge interrupts with a yell over my throbbing eardrums.  

"The fist was closing," I counter.   Krum destroyed it before it finished.   I had no intention of eviscerating him … at least in public.   The referee is trying to prevent this from getting out of hand.   Bully for him.

"Protest noted.   Warning stands.   Duelers to your marks.   Ready!   Begin!"

Bastard throws Levicorpus at me.   Oh Snape, you arrogant little fuck!   You used to hoard your secrets.   The Marauders had to steal them from you!   Now, you’re just giving them away like a cheap slut!   I take it just so I can deliver a sledgehammer banisher to his gut.   Magic cushions my fall, and I push up and back to my feet, only to see Krum manage to stay in his circle, but he's crouching with his non-wand hand covering his stomach.   He spits some blood out of his mouth and looks ready to kill.

Good!   I don’t want to win this quickly.

He tries a variant of "The Rack" and I swat it away like it's a gnat.   With his gut already battered, I try a Tickling Hex and a Slug Spitter to intensify the pain.   The Tickler misses, but the Spitter hits.   He counters, grimacing, while I shield his infectious cutter.   Athena at least had the decorum to wait until after the two minute mark before delving into the Dark Arts.   Viktor’s already dark by his third spell.

His wand flashes and launches a quick trio of curses.   The moment I see the flash starting, I borrow from Athena and cast a mirror image.   That split second where neither can see works both ways.   His spells come out and two HJs dodge in lockstep.   I fake the motions to shield the copy during his next barrage.   We step "together" and I shoot a pair of weak, but fast cutters.   The first one beats his shield and slices into the meat of his thigh as I step away from the illusion.   He cauterizes the wound and brings the glowing wand tip around, sending a fireball in my direction.   I hesitate until the last second before raising a shield and stepping through it.

Just as I thought, he’s already attacking the illusion!  

Krum’s second fireball is whistling towards the fake HJ and the idiot is overextended with a maniacal look on his face.   It’s worth the heat and the slight scorching just to get him in a vulnerable position.

The extra seconds allow me the time I need.   My wand moves in a deliberately sloppy manner.   This spell is going to be mangled on purpose.   The expression on his face is one for the ages as my bolt of Transfigurative magic strikes.   Viktor staggers, drops his wand, and straightens, sprouting light brown fur.   He topples over as his body lengthens and twists.  

Where the "mighty" Krum stood seconds ago, is a half-man, half-donkey.   I left the face untouched except for the ears and his wand arm is still useable.   It needs to be recognizable for the pictures.

His angry yell comes out more like a bray.   That’s just icing on the cake.   The Krum "thing" lurches over and grabs his wand, which I haven’t bothered to summon.   I cross my arms and stare at him.   He tries to reverse the Transfiguration for a few seconds before giving up and trying to cast spells at me.

The first spell comes out with another braying yell, and it fizzles.   He switches to sub-vocalizing, which produces better results, but I swat each of his spells away and snap off a few minor hexes.   His flanks are covered in boils and his back legs wobble under the influence of a jelly legs jinx.   After that, I halt my attacks.      

Deciding to further mock him, I raise a mage shield and turn my back to him.   His weak spells falter against my column of energy.   The crowd is uncertain whether to cheer or boo.   I can’t really blame them, but this isn’t about pleasing them.   It’s about paying back Krum for every little cheat he’s had over the school year.   Making him weak and ineffective in front of a massive crowd will do far more than simply pulverizing Krum.

My eyes drift towards Fleur.   I see her approval.   After a second or two, she flicks her eyes towards Krum giving me a warning.

Peering over my shoulder, I see the small conjured wolf scampering down the pathway between us.   I kill it and turn the carcass into a horde of fire ants and banish them towards Krum.   He’ll probably be able to get most of them, but even if only ten bite him, it will be painful.

With that, I turn my back to him for the second time.   The Durmstrang section is loudly booing now, using their wands to amplify their jeers.   A few more weak spells impact on my shield and then they stop.

"Winner Hogwarts!"   The referee declares.   Turning, I see Krum has placed his wand in the center of the ring and backed away from it, effectively surrendering.   The expression on his face is beyond murderous.  

"Monsieur Potter," the judge says, "you will reverse the Transfiguration.   Your point has been made."   Hermione speaks well of him.   Truth be told, I haven’t spent enough time in Defense against the Dark Arts this year to really know.   He seems fairly competent.

"It’s tempting not to and just forfeit the match and let him figure out how to reverse that, but you are correct, sir.   I will have to finish the Transfiguration before I undo it."

"I understand.   Proceed."

With a few quick movements, Krum finishes his transformation into a common farm animal—maybe I should have gone the route of a pig.   Either way, it’s finished.   I slow down the movement and savor every second of the reversal.

The arched eyebrow of the referee greets me.   I shrug and say, "Just making certain I did it correctly."

There’s the slightest hint of a smile on the corner of his mouth.   The French do know a good insult when they see one.

With that, I step off the dueling platform and walk back to Fleur amidst the cheers and jeers.

"Remind me to never anger you to that point.   How long did you plan on letting Krum stand there?" she asks.

"The Transfiguration would have worn off in about five more minutes, and then I was going to change him into a man-pig and let it go on for another five at least."

The Hat approaches with Hermione and a few others running across the field in my direction.   "No blood, Potter?"

"It was tempting, but it didn’t really work in my ‘you are nothing to me’ theme."

It nods its head slowly.   "I approve."

I notice Fleur’s eyes staring over my shoulder.   Her hand is very near her wand.   "Is he going to do it?"

"It is crossing his mind, but I do not think so, Harry.   A public retaliation would ruin him.   He will obviously try to take this out on me or Diggory in our duels."

"Cedric is a big boy.   He can handle himself, and I have complete faith in you Fleur.   You're better than he is, and we both know it."

The mixed group of students begins arriving.   Naturally, Hermione is first with her boyfriend trailing her.   "Harry, that was amazing and cruel at the same time!   I’m not entirely sure what to say."

"It was a long time coming and if anyone deserves it, it was him."

She seems to accept my rationale, and I look at the rapidly approaching gaggle of Gryffindors.   Right as everyone surrounds me, I hear something.

"Moriturus et cruda!"  

A painful shock shoots up and down my right arm as I spin towards the source … Roger?

I don’t even process the blank look on his face as I wandlessly banish him, knocking him about ten feet backwards.   My arm is throbbing in pain.   It’s a dark curse that will cause my arm to decay, bleed, and eventually become useless—unless reversed.   What in the bloody hell!

Neville, who was walking up with Hannah, tackles Davies as the Head Boy tries to stand.   Ron pounces on him seconds later and kicks the wand away.   They pin him and Abbott drops a body bind on the struggling wizard.

The yells from the stands and even more people running in my direction can mean only one thing—chaos rears its ugly head.   Fleur’s wand is out and she’s already scanning for threats.   Aghast, Hermione stares at the leather sleeve covering my arm.   The curse has already opened some wounds and I can feel the blood seeping down my skin.

Hey, it wouldn’t be a Triwizard task unless someone took a cheap shot at me.

------

"I can’t treat this in the tent," Poppy declares.   "Let’s go back to the infirmary.   I have to consult St. Mungo’s for treatment options."

She motions for me to stand and we walk past the Aurors surrounding Roger Davies.   Dumbledore is examining him and listening to his answers.   Roger giggles like a little boy and points his empty wand hand at me and shouts the curse again.

"He seems to be under the influence of the Imperius curse."   The Headmaster looks in my direction and then at Lupin.   "Go with Harry back to the castle.   Keep a watchful eye on things."

Karkaroff speaks up, "What do we do about the next round of duels?   Potter was not scheduled for an opponent."

Dumbledore pauses and glances at Madame Maxime before saying, "Yes, you’re right Igor.   Announce to the crowd that there will be a brief delay, but the second round will start shortly.   We’ll move the third round to after lunch and see if Harry can continue."

The Headmaster motions for us to leave and we exit the tent.   The nearest people cheer and I raise my good arm and acknowledge them, while processing the list of suspects in my head.   Hermione starts over, but I wave her away and jerk my thumb in the direction of the castle.   There’s a distinctly hostile vibe coming from both the Durmstrang and Slytherin sections.

"Do you need me to float you, Harry?"   Lupin asks.

"No, it’s just my arm.   The replenishing draught is taking care of the blood loss and I have a numbing charm on it for the moment.   Now we have to figure out who did it."

The werewolf looks at me as we start up the path towards the castle following the swift and determined steps of Madame Pomfrey.   "What does your gut say?"

"Snape, then maybe Karkaroff.   What about you?"

"If it was Durmstrang-related, wouldn’t they have tried to attack you before the duel?   We’ll be able to use the Map to see the people your attacker met with."

"You’ve got a point, although this might be retaliation for what I did to Krum."   Naturally, I worry that this might go a bit higher than those two.

"You were rather Marauder-like in your handling of the boy," he says.

"Like I told Hermione, he’s been earning it all year.   It was time for him to cash in.   I put up with his shit all year and it was long overdue."

"This isn’t a leisurely walk!"   Madame Pomfrey scolds us.

Moony and I share a shrug and a smile as we hurry along.   It almost feels like old times.

In the courtyard to Hogwarts, I hear the sounds of fireworks and other noisemakers going off.   Remus sighs, "It appears the troublemakers Albus was concerned with have started early."

"The question is, how out of control will it get?"

I don’t get to wonder much more on that topic, because Poppy stops next to the fountain and stands still like a statue.   Her eyes are locked forward and unblinking, even when Remus clicks his fingers in front of her face.   Something seems really off.  

Lupin says, "I’ve got a bad feeling about this."

"I think we just walked into a trap.   Look sharp, Moony."

I draw my wand with my left hand as four black cloaked figures drop their disillusionment charms and step out from behind the pillars.   Their ivory masks look at me impassively.

"Well," I say sliding into a left-handed fighting stance, "are we going to do this?"  

"Such impatience, young child," a voice says.   The owner steps into view.   He doesn’t bother with the mask.   His moves are carefree and he walks between the Death Eaters and spreads his hands in a mock show of grandeur.

"Hello, Harry Potter.   It’s time to rectify history’s mistake.   Your death is long overdue."   The words are delivered with a thin smile.   He looks like Marcus Flint.   He sounds like Marcus Flint.   The only problem is, when I look at him, my scar hurts.  

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