Bob Rozak.com

[JasonD]

This is a continuation of a FanFic. Somebody (no names, you can guess) who's already read the previous parts wanted to read the update. If you want to read from the beginning, go to http://www.hpana.com/forums/topic_view.cfm?tid=73785 or ask me to post it here.


Lord of the Horcruxes part seven
The Alley of Hard Knocks


"You've made a mess of things for sure, Ron Weasley," said Ron to himself. He stared, unseeing, into the blackness. "I can't go no further. This cave's as much a dead end as my Gaffer's plug collection. Anyways, I ain't going nowhere without Mr. Potter. Now, think!"

For starters, I should switch to an inner dialogue so those Death Eaters don't hear me, he thought.

"Good idea," he said aloud.

Stop that!

"I'm sure they're gone. I can't hear anything down the passage. Besides, it's creepy talking to myself. It reminds me of that rotten elf, Kreacher."

I should find the little sneak and kill him, yes, preshhh--

"See what I mean!?"

Ron drew his wand but kept it dark. He groped his way back to the chamber where they'd encountered Phil, then followed a faint glimmer of light to the mouth of the cave. Once outside, he headed back along the path which he and Harry had originally traveled. "There were two caves, but Kreacher made us skip the first. I'll bet that's where they've taken Harry."

Ron found the other cave, slipped inside, and listened. In the distance, he heard human voices filled with malice and excitement.

Then there were footsteps.

He gripped his wand and pressed back against the wall. Moments later, a seven-foot troll with a six-foot club lumbered out of the darkness. The troll looked at Ron. Ron looked back. The troll kept going, planted itself in the cave entrance, and stared outside.

"Er..." said Ron.

The troll turned, its coarse features drawn tight with thinking-pain. "Glok told to guard cave," it said. "Glok make sure nobody get in." Glok took several deep breaths. "Glok not know what do with little redhead. Did little redhead come in?"

"Er... no?"

"But you in cave."

"I've always been here," answered Ron.

Glok the troll grunted. "Okay, I guess. Glok not told about stuff already in cave. Glok not happy with mask-faces, anyway."

"Why is that?"

"They send Glok away and eat tender little wizard without him."

"They aren't going to eat him!" insisted Ron. "They want to take all the super-magical stuff he's carrying." I shouldn't have said that....

The troll slammed its club on the ground. "Now Glok real mad! Glok have quarter-of-a-mind to go smash mask-faces and take magic stuff!" Glok trembled and sighed. "But Glok guarding cave," it moaned.

"I'd be happy to take over for you," suggested Ron.

The troll considered Ron, paying special attention to Ron's wand. "Redhead and his club are very little."

"No, I'm not! I-- I just look small, 'cause I'm far away!"

"Then Glok get his share!" bellowed the troll. It stomped back the way it had come, muttering under its breath about honor among thieves.

Ron counted to ten before following. The passage branched several times, but the troll's distant grumbling guided him along the correct route. Soon, the grumbling turned to shouts, and then the sounds of struggle. When Ron reached the end of the cave, a masked and robed figure tumbled down a flight of rough-hewn stone stairs. "Stupefy!" Ron cried, perhaps unnecessarily. He stepped over the body and went up.

The top of the stairs opened into a dusty basement. The scene was quiet, save for the sound of retreating footsteps on the floor above. Another Death Eater was sprawled on the ground here, along with several red caps and a troll that may or may not have been Glok. Ron didn't care.

He found Harry lying on the floor, unconcsious, with his robe torn to pieces. Ron pointed his wand and said, "Rennervate! Ennervate! Rejuvinatus!"

Harry opened his eyes. "My dear Ronald, is that you? Or is this another dream?"

"It's me," said Ron, "and I don't want to hear about your dreams. C'mon, we need to get going!"

Harry sat up, rubbing his eyes and squinting. "But alas! They have taken the Things! The quest is over, Ron. We failed."

"But--"

Harry jumped to his feet. "Come! Let us find some quiet place to die before the Dark Lord spreads his evil across all the lands."

"Begging your pardon, Mr. Potter, it hasn't failed yet. I took the Things when I thought you were dead."

"You have them?" asked Harry. "Give them to me, quickly!"

"They're awful heavy," said Ron, "Maybe I could share the burden, take a turn--"

"No!" insisted Harry. "My burden! Mine!!"

Ron handed over the ring, locket, and book bag. Harry trembled as he took them, and did not relax until he'd reached into the bag and examined its contents.

"I think the Things have got a hold on you, Mr. Potter."

"I think I have one last cauldron cake hiding in the book bag," countered Harry. "Well! It seems we've made it to Knockturn Alley. We still haven't much hope, but I suppose we must continue in vain."

After some heavy brainstorming, they decided to disguise themselves as Death Eaters. Ron congratulated Harry on his cleverness, and Harry congratulated Ron. But under the circumstances, the plan was pretty flippin' obvious. They were soon robed and masked.

Harry, his own wand taken, armed himself with the wand of a fallen Death Eater and gave it a few practice flicks.

"It's me in here!" said Ron, panicking behind his mask.

"Of course," said Harry, stowing the wand. "But you do look like a proper Death Eater. How about me?"

"You look like a Death Eater wearing Harry Potter's glasses."

Harry reluctantly pocketed his glasses, unable to wear them behind the close-fitting mask. The two young wizards then left the basement, crossed a storeroom, and emerged onto a cobbled street. There was no one in sight.

"Three blocks to Borgin and Burkes," whispered Harry. "We are sure to be discovered and brutally killed, but we have to try."

"That's the spirit."

After a block of hard travelling, they stopped to rest, for the burden of the Things was great. Plus they'd never seen this part of Knockturn Alley before.

When they'd been sitting for several minutes, Harry spoke: "I'm terrible thirsty, Ron."

"Oh? I'm not."

"That's because I didn't share my cauldron cake. Go on, find something to drink."

"I'll try, Mr. Potter," answered Ron. "I suppose even Death Eaters need an ice cream sundae now and again, but all I see are Dark Arts shops. And I haven't anything to fetch water."

"Take the cup, silly."

As there were scarcely a half dozen drinking fountains in Knockturn Alley, Ron was lucky to find one right across the street. He brought water to Harry, then refilled Hufflepuff's Cup for himself and returned to sit beside his friend. "I'm not sure about this, Mr. Potter," he said, eyeing the cup. "It seems like sacrilege."

"It's not a holy relic."

"But--"

"And you aren't Catholic."

"Still--"

"Fine, don't drink it. I feel refreshed, my dear Ronald. I think I can go on for a bit."

Ron drank the water and put the cup away. They walked another block and rounded a corner.

"Enough!" said Harry. "The burden grows heavy. We should stop here and die-- I mean, rest."

With no more food, and not even water within a block, they could do nothing to sustain themselves but think of happier times.

Ron sighed heavily. "I was just thinking about Hogwarts, Mr. Potter. Do you remember Hermione Granger? She was the prettiest girl in school, with her bushy brown hair and incredibly straight nose. If ever I was to snog a girl, it would be her. But I don't suppose I ever will."

"I should think not. And you oughtn't be having such base, lustful thoughts. It's your platonic love for me that's going to make you a hero in this tale."

"Sorry, sir. Say... do you hear trumpets in the distance?"

"No, Ron. I do not hear trumpets, nor do I remember any girl with brown hair and a straight nose. All I see before me is a great wheel of fire."

Ron looked over the rooftops on the far side of the street. "I see it, too! Someone is having fireworks. I wonder what it means?" Harry did not answer. After a minute, Ron spoke again: "A funny thing, Mr. Potter. Now I'm remembering the smell of trolls, and the sound of foul creatures marching to battle."

"You aren't remembering," whispered Harry. "I hear them, too. Now, shush! We must trust to our disguises."

A masked Death Eater rounded the corner, followed by a pair of trolls and several red caps. At first, it seemed to Ron and Harry that the marchers would let a pair of weary travelers rest. But then the Death Eater spoke: "Get up, you laggards! Don't you know there's a circus going on?"

"A circus?" repeated Ron.

The Death Eater cackled. "It's those fools from the International Ministry. If their show is no good, we're going to spill forth as a mighty horde and slaughter them."

"And if the circus is good?"

"Then we watch for a bit and then slaughter them."

There was nothing for it but to fall in behind the Death Eater. They walked right past Borgin and Burkes, and Ron grew anxious. "Mr. Potter," he whispered, "I've got an idea. Hit me!"

"What?"

"Just do it, quick!"

Harry took the locket from around his neck, swung it in a great circle, and struck the genuine Death Eater on the side of the head. He fell at once.

"Ghuh?" said the trolls.

"That," said Harry, pointing to the fallen figure, "was an infiltrator."

"Ghuh?"

"A poseur!" Ron tried. "A persona non grata!"

"Ghuh?"

"One of the good guys!" said Harry.

"Oh," answered the trolls.

"We'll take care of him. You carry on," said Harry.

The trolls shrugged and marched away. The red caps followed.

"You didn't get the plan, Mr. Potter," said Ron. "You were supposed to hit me."

"I still can, if you like."

"No thanks."

They returned to Borgin and Burkes. The store seemed empty, but the front door was locked. Harry sat heavily on the ground. "Well, that's that. We did our best. It was nice knowing you, Ron."

"This window's open a bit," countered Ron "We might squeeze through, if you'd stop being such a pessimist."

"Oh, fine," said Harry. He felt under the doormat, found a key, and opened the door. "One last effort, pointless as it may be. But let's get rid of these skull-faced masks before we get the urge to jinx one another."

They locked the door behind themselves, then set about exploring the shop. "Dumbledore said the Things must be destroyed in the basement," Harry remembered. They walked past sealed crystal cases filled with vials of blood, human skulls on high shelves, and a long-forgotten cabinet, until they reached a flight of stairs going down.

At the bottom, there was a door on the left. It was heavy and locked, with a sign that read Evil Artifact Forging Area. The rest of the basement seemed to be one long, empty room. It ended in a broad pit, fifteen feet across and ten feet deep, stretching from wall to wall. A nearby sign revealed the pit's function:

Emergency Disposal Unit for Dangerous Artifacts and Failed Magical Experiments

"This is it!" cried Ron. "Quick, throw in the Things! Don't be seduced by the power, Mr. Potter! Do it do it do it--"

"Nobody likes a nag, Ron." Harry pitched in the ugly ring and the odd locket, then opened his book bag and dumped out the clipboard along with Hufflepuff's cup.

"Oh, hurray!" said Ron. "We've won!"

Harry looked down into the pit. "Er... I think they're just lying there."

"Lumos," said Ron, taking a closer look. The Things were undamaged. Then he espied a long seam running across the bottom. "The bottom of the pit is one big trapdoor -- we have to open it to destroy the Things. But how?" He looked up and got his answer. There was a large lever set high on the opposite wall, currently in the 'up' position.

Ron measured the distance with his eyes. Even if they were willing to enter the pit, they would not be able to reach the lever. "Well, this is an unflushed toilet, and no mistake about it! Whatever shall we do, Mr. Potter?"

"I've an idea. Hold my legs steady, while I stand on my head." Confused but obedient, Ron held Harry's ankles up in the air. Then Harry drew his wand and pointed at the lever. "Wingardium Leviosa!" The spell fizzled out over the middle of the pit. "I should have guessed," said Harry. "We can't get any spell across."

Harry rolled back to his feet, and they searched desperately for something to throw against the lever.

"Your bookbag!" said Ron. "It should catch right on it."

They added their shoes to the bookbag to give it weight, then threw in their socks because they smelled bad without any shoes over them. "Let's give it a toss," said Ron, reaching for the bag.

Harry's eyes suddenly glazed over. "No," he said in a cold voice. "The bookbag is mine. It has sentimental value. I choose not to do this."


* * * * * * * * * * * *


The hosts of the Ministry had entertained bravely. They had held the attention of their foes with gobstone-juggling, trick Abraxan-riding, and even fireworks. But now, at last, the show had become stale. Trolls swung their clubs, Death Eaters drew wands, and dragons did breathing exercises.

Sirius whispered to Dumbledore, "Any more brilliant ideas? Or do we die now for the greater good?"

Dumbledore touched his wand to his throat and spoke in a magically-enhanced voice: "Stand, wizards of the Ministry! Stand and wait! This is the hour of doom!"

Confusion rippled through the enemy ranks. "What are you talking about?" shouted a Death Eater.

"The quest!" said Dumbledore. "Yeah, even now, the Thingbearer stands in the basement of Borgin and Burkes, and the Dark Lord's instruments of power are in his grasp!"

"Fool!" hissed the Death Eater. "It is known that you had acquired some Things of power, but they will not avail your Bearer! Only the Dark Lord can fully command the Things!"

"The fool is you," countered Dumbledore, "because he isn't commanding them -- he's going to destroy them!"

The Death Eater gasped as though he'd been doused in holy water. "That you should think to destroy them had not entered into our deepest thoughts."

Dumbledore stuck out his tongue and started doing his 'superior strategy' victory dance, while the elite forces of evil broke off their attack and rushed back into Knockturn Alley.

"That's a bit premature," said Sirius to Dumbledore, "and you've endangered Harry and Ron."

"Yeah, well, you can't make everything work for everyone."


* * * * * * * * * * * *


"Mr. Potter, let it go! Oh please... I'll get you a new bookbag!"

"Relax, Ron," said Harry. "I was just yanking your chain." He threw the bag across the pit. It caught on the lever, and the lever sagged... but only a bit.

"More weight!" groaned Ron.

"Maybe we can find something upstairs," suggested Harry.

But it was too late. There was a pounding at the door, and Death Eaters shouting to be let in.

"Alas!" said Harry. "We made a good show of it, Ron. Soon we'll be dead."

"You're being a pessimist again."

"Not really. If we survive, they'll 'torment' us."

"Torment?"

"Torture."

"Yikes."

Something struck Ron heavily in the back, his legs were knocked out from under him, and he was thrown aside.

"Nasty wizards!" croaked Kreacher. "Give us our mistress's Things!" Madly, he started to crawl into the pit, then gave up and clawed at Harry. "Get them back!"

Ron grabbed the elf and pulled him away from Harry, but quickly found Kreacher to be more than a handful. They fell down in a tangle, and Ron's head was slammed against the floor. With a final effort, Ron managed to throw the elf aside. Kreacher sprang back to his feet immediately.

Then Harry cried out, "Petrificus Totalus!"

Kreacher went stiff as a board. There was a mighty crash! as the front door of Borgin and Burkes was broken down. The Death Eaters were inside.

Ron got to his feet groggily.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" asked Harry.

"You grab his arms, I'll grab his feet."

At the count of three, they hurled the hapless elf across the pit. Kreacher struck the wall, then fell heavily across the lever, bringing it down with an audible click.

The trapdoor opened. Black flames rose up, and the Things fell, and they were consumed. The spirit of the Voldemort railed, wailed, and -- at last -- failed.


* * * * * * * * * * * *


"Woog find it unseasonably warm," said a brutish giant.

"Koof been saying so all week," replied another.

"Then why Koof not go to mountains?" asked Woog.

"Koof and Woog both under sway of Dark Lord," answered Koof.

"But Woog feel no sway."

"Koof feel no sway. Go mountains?"

"Go mountains."


* * * * * * * * * * * *


"Travers, old chap, your Dark Mark is fading."

"That so, Yaxley?"

"It is so. I think you're a phony Death Eater."

"I think mine is fading because it was real, and you were a phony Death Eater with a cheap tattoo."

"Scoundrel! Take that!"


* * * * * * * * * * * *


"Pokk like smashing things with club."

"Sgorf love smashing things with club. That is why Sgorf smash wizards."

"Wizards fight back too much. Pokk go smash trees."

"Yes, wizards fight back. Sgorf go smash livestock."


* * * * * * * * * * * *


[The red caps are most delectable, Antwaranna. I wonder with regret, that I have not partaken of them this past fortnight.]

[Regret not, Ballifaust. As the elder wyrm sayeth, 'When the flight brooks delay, the roost accumulates joy for its master.']

[Well spoken. Do you prefer the red caps roasted or raw?]

[Try eating both at once. It's like a party mix.]


* * * * * * * * * * * *


And so a great ripple of discord, disinterest, and interspecies snacking spread throughout the ranks of the enemy. And the wizards of the Ministry, and their diverse allies, rejoiced at the downfall of the Dark Lord.

And on the front porch of Borgin and Burkes, two Burrow-folk sat wearily on the ground. "We must forgive Kreacher, Ron," said Harry. "Without him, we could not have destroyed the Things."

"Okay, whatever."

"Now we can die here in peace," added Harry.

"But--"

"The alley is strewn with pebbles. We have no shoes! At least the world is safe."

Ron started to rise, but Harry grabbed his hand.

"I am glad you are here with me. Here at the end of all things, Ron."


End of part seven

[Aleatha Ingleton]

YAY!!! Ahem. *shifty* I mean yay that she-who-must-not-be-named requested this be posted up for our reading pleasure. *cough cough*


_________________
I miss Bob

[JasonD]

Lord of the Horcruxes part eight
The Scouring of the Burrow

With the destruction of the Dark Lord's Things, the foundation of Borgin and Burkes began to crumble. A pair of barefooted young wizards sat on the front porch waiting to die.

At least, one of them was waiting to die.

"Mr. Potter, this isn't the 'end of all things'!" argued Ron. "We can leave the way we came, or follow those fireworks, and we'll come out near the International Confederation."

"Haven't you learned from Voldemort's mistakes?" said Harry. "Death is inevitable, Ron. You can cling to life for a few more years and die forgotten...or you can die now as a hero."

"But we're heroes either way! If I live out my life--"

"You would live the life of a dull domestic, gardening in the Burrow and mooning over that bushy-haired-what's-her-name. Your legacy would be sullied and forgotten." Harry casually reached for his wand. "Die today, and your deeds will be exaggerated in the retelling, rising to the stuff of legend."

"Legend, shmedgen," said Ron. It was not, strictly speaking, a proper counterargument. But as he and Harry were working from different premises, neither could be swayed by logic anyway. Ron got to his feet. "I'm leaving, you can-- hey!"

Harry was on his feet, wand pointed at Ron. Ron drew his own. A duet of messy, non-fatal Jinxes struck the pair, and they both fell to the ground. Ron thought he saw a flash of fire in midair and, just before losing consciousness, he heard a soft musical note.


* * * * * * * * * * * *


Ron awoke on the Fields of Boulogne. He slowly became aware of the soft grass beneath him, the warm sun overhead, and a pair of twinkling blue eyes behind half-moon spectacles.

"We gave you clean socks," said Dumbledore.

"Dumbledore?"

"And shoes, and fresh robes. You and Harry both."

Ron saw Harry lying on the grass to his left. He, too, was just waking up.

"Fawkes and I rescued you from the Alley," explained Dumbledore. "You had been Jinxed -- a last desperation move by Death Eaters, I am sure. Heroic of you to have fought them off."

"Actually--" said Ron, but Harry cut him off with a wink and a nudge.

"Your other clothes were matted with sweat and stained with goo," said Dumbledore. He pointed to a nearby pile of filthy rags. "But they will be saved! Even the Death Eaters' masks you wore, they, too, shall be kept!"

"Why?" asked Ron.

"Museum pieces?" guessed Harry.

"So we can take pictures," said Dumbledore.

"Oh," said Ron. Then he remembered something. "Shouldn't you be dead?"

"That's right!" Harry chimed in. "You sacrificed yourself to save the party. You fought the basilisk to your certain death, so that others could continue!"

"Fawkes bailed me out at the last minute."

Harry shook his head. "Bad career move."

Then they put on their smelly, older robes and posed for a photographer. After a few static shots, Harry came up with a clever idea using the Death Eaters' masks: He had two other wizards put them on and act out scenes from their furious struggle in Knockturn Alley. Ron did not remember the events precisely as Harry was describing them, but said nothing.

They walked back to the castle of the International Confederation of Wizards. At the entrance, they were reunited with the Fellowship. There was Hagrid, as cheerful as ever, standing next to Dobby. The gamekeeper and the elf had become good friends, despite (or perhaps because of) the enormous vertical seperation of their heads which hindered conversation. Fred and George were examining a gobstone, which appeared to be the subject some debate. Fred thought they could make a gag version of it, but George insisted that a gobstone per natura was already a gag. And there was Sirius Black, Supreme Mugwump, in his mantle of blue and with a silver key upon his forehead. There was also a sandy-haired young man that Harry and Ron did not recognize.

"This is Hador of Grimaulddell," said Sirius, throwing an arm around the bonnie youth's shoulders. "By stealth and courage, he crossed the Channel to bring us the banner of Mrs. Black."

"That's nice," said Harry. "Er... is Snape still dead?"

"Yes, he's dead," said Sirius. He feigned sadness for a moment. "Now, who's up for a victory banquet?"

Before they went inside, Dumbledore pulled Harry aside. "How is your scar feeling?"

"Fine," said Harry. "It's always been fine."

Dumbledore ignored that. He took off his glasses and set a jeweler's glass in one eye. Leaning in close, he tugged at the skin on Harry's forehead, then pinched, pulled, poked and prodded.

"Ouch!" said Harry.

A look of sadness stole across Dumbledore's face, but he said no more.


* * * * * * * * * * * *


And so a mighty feast was held, with a gathering of Aurors, the students and professors of Two Wands, and eight ninths of the Fellowship. Even Lupin Halfwolven had come by Floo powder, having decided that, although unnecessary for risky adventure, he was an absolute must-have for any party.

The toasting went on, and on, and on. Altogether, there were fourteen toasts to the gobstones club, seven general toasts for the Two Wands, nine to Mrs. Black, seventeen to Hador and Grimmaulddell, twenty-nine to the Burrow-folk, thirty-one to the Fellowship, twenty-five to the Supreme Mugwump, sixteen to gamekeepers, a whopping hundred forty-one to elvenkind (Hagrid was enjoying his ale-- he also toasted Buckbeak some thirty times), and one apiece for Snape and Kreacher.

As the banquet wound down, a disgruntled and untoasted Cornelius Fudge made his way to the head of the table. "And how shall you begin your reign, Mugwump Black? Will justice be the rule, or will you violate the law for those whom you favor, thus undermining your own authority?"

"I'm leanin' toward 'justice'," said Sirius, who was slightly tipsy. "But it sheems too easy a question."

"Itza trick," mumbled Dumbledore. "A leading question. What the fudge are you getting at, Fudge?"

"Insubordination!" squealed the displaced Mugwump. "Bill Weasley disobeyed my orders, at a time when I had proper authority. He must be punished!"

"Oh, 'kay," said Sirius. He stood up to look for Bill, stared across the table for several minutes, then spotted him two seats to the right. Sirius sat back down. "Bill, yer hearby exiled from the WCI offices fer a year."

"Exiled?"

"You're restricted to field work. No cushy office jobs. One year! I mean it!"

"Fine," said Bill. "I hate working in an office."

And lo! The revelers saw that Sirius was just, but also kind and wise.

Then Lupin approached the Mugwump, and his face was dark and his voice was grave. "Well have you begun your reign, Sirius Black. Now you must look to the future, and the continuance of the Black line. It would be best if you took a wife and produced an heir."

"But-- but girls are so... girlie," said Sirius, a pained expression on his face.

"Hear, hear!" muttered Harry, raising a glass. Dumbledore, Hador, Hagrid and Dobby all voiced agreement. Ron avoided eye contact.

"So you only love men?" asked Lupin pointedly.

Sirius squirmed in his chair. "Don't misunderstand me!" he said. "Those funny, naughty little feelings that we don't talk about-- I have those for women, and women only. But those feelings are not love. If only there were a way... if a woman could be a man--"

"So she can!" cried Lupin suddenly. "You shall be trothplighted to my kinswoman, whom you know and love!"

With that, Hador of Grimaulddell rose from the table. The sandy beard faded away, the shoulders narrowed, the face distorted into a pleasant heart shape, and the hair turned to pink. "You have known me as Hador," she said. "Know me now by my full name, NymphHADORa! For thou, I shall be a robust man by day, and a proper woman by night!"

And Sirius rejoiced for happiness at last. He was in due course wedded to Nymphadora, who, although a member of the extended Black family, was only very distantly related to Sirius in this tale.


* * * * * * * * * * * *


While Sirius stayed behind, the remainder of the Fellowship traveled together back to the Two Wands. There, Dobby and Hagrid kept their respective promises.

They visited the Abraxan paddock first, and Dobby came out very impressed. "They is kind creatures, they is! So careful not to step on little elves!"

"Actually, they just don't want to get goo on their hooves," said Hagrid.

But after returning from the elvish servants' quarters, Hagrid had little to say. "Decent folk, I suppose. A bit... well, they're decent."

"They is smoking too much," said Dobby. "Dobby is disillusioned and wanting a bath."

They avoided the Chamber of Secrets and traveled by Floo back to Hogwarts. The castle was empty of students, classes having been postponed for the duration of the war.

"Not that some of 'em didn't show up anyways," said a disgruntled Filch, whom they found straightening portraits on the seventh floor.

"What happened?" asked Dumbledore.

"Cormac McLaggen," said Filch. "Decided he was a prefect and Head Boy, with nobody else around. Took over the staff room, started giving orders to the house-elves, hanging his own portrait... he'd have called himself Headmaster in another day."

"You have him in detention, then?"

"Nah, I kicked him out. Why?"

Dumbledore sighed. "What's done is done. Still, I fear he may do some small mischief, even now. I would look into the matter, but I'd much rather go get a drink. Who's with me?"

Harry and the Weasleys were with him. They left Hogwarts and dropped in at the Leaky Cauldron, the place where all their adventures had started. Tom the bartender was pleased to see them, and eager to hear their tales. He did not understand it all, of course, and interjected with comments such as, "Is that so?" and, "Bob is really Sirius Black the Mugwump? What's a Mugwump?" and, "I wondered where Diagon Alley went last week," and, "I appreciate you blessing my ale, Mr. Dumbledore, but don't you think you're getting a little above yourself?"

As they were getting ready to leave, Tom recalled something of their last visit. "Say, Mr. Longbottom--" Harry had been incognito-- "whatever happend to that invisibility cloak of yours?"

"He lost it," answered Dumbledore, before Harry could speak.


* * * * * * * * * * * *

It was late evening when Harry, Ron, and the twins landed their broomsticks at the edge of the Burrow. Ron thought he'd overheard Fred and George singing songs of home as they approached. In reality, they were improvising bawdy lyrics to La Marseillaise.

They immediately saw that something was wrong. An extension had been added to the side of the house, and it had a very un-Burrowish symmetry about it. The front yard was completely lacking in its homey warmth: The chickens had been put up for the night in a small coop, with little forage; and there was no sign of boots or rusty cauldron. As they approached the house, they saw a young woman with brown, bushy hair sitting out front reading by porchlight.

"Hermione?" said Ron, blushing as though he'd just made a lewd suggestion. "Why are you here?"

Hermione closed her book. "When they closed the school, your mother invited all the Gryffindors to come stay here. But it's all gone bad! The Head Boy makes all kinds of rules, and he orders everyone around, and he-- he--"

"What?"

Hermione bit her lip. "I think he likes me."

"We'll take care of him!" said Ron hotly. "Who's with me?"

"Sounds like fun," said Fred.

"Wicked fun," agreed George, checking his pockets for an appropriately vicious gag.

"Very well," said Harry, taking on the mantle of leadership. "But no Gryffindors are to be killed, even the ones who're total gits."

They found a sign on the front door which read: Remove shoes before walking on the carpet. Fred laughed and tore it down. They entered the sitting room and were shortly met by Colin Creevey, who wore a prefect's badge.

"You have to take off your shoes," he said nervously, fingering his wand.

"I'll wear my shoes wherever I like," countered George. "What's gotten into you?"

"I'll have to report this to the Head Boy," squeaked Colin.

"Go ahead. We'll wait."

Colin turned and ran.

"Should we form a battle plan?" asked Ron.

"Nah," said George. "We should relax." He sat down on the couch in front of a sign which read No food in the sitting room! He then put on a pair of transparent gloves and carefully unwrapped a cauldron cake that he'd taken from his pocket.

"Got any more of those?" asked Harry.

"You don't want one. Trust me."

A few minutes later, Cormac McLaggen stomped in wearing a prefects badge, a Head Boy badge, and midnight-blue dress robes. "Accio cake!" he cried, pointing his wand at George. Cormac caught the cauldron cake with a consumate cackle. "Can't you read the sign, boy?"

George raised his eyebrows and turned his head around. "Oh, that doesn't apply to me."

"The rules apply to everyone!" barked Cormac.

"I mean, that isn't food," said George, pointing to the cake. "It's a cleverly disguised mass of bubotuber pus with a spreading jinx on it."

The bubotuber cake demonstrated. It sagged, melted, and almost instantly flowed up Cormac's arm and across his body.

"Gah!" cried Cormac. "You filthy--" he pointed his wand at George.

"Expelliarmus," said Fred, disarming him. "There's a water pump just outside the fence, if you haven't "cleaned" that out, too. It's bitter cold, mind, but it's better than pus...."

Cormac fled from the house.

"See ya," said George.

"Or not," said Fred.

Having watched Cormac flee, Hermione came in from the porch.

"Good job, Ron," said Fred and George together. Ron blushed.

But their victory was short-lived. Mrs. Weasley came out of the kitchen with her hands on her hips and a storm on her face. "That McLaggen boy was cleaning for me! He straightened out the yard, cleared the attic, and was about to scrub the kitchen! Either you get him back so he can finish, or else--"

"We'll do it," said Ron.

And so they scoured the Burrow.

Over the next few days, Harry's scar did not bother him at all, or rather, it wouldn't have bothered him save that Dumbledore showed up every afternoon to examine it, poking and pinching in the process.


* * * * * * * * * * * *


"Disneyworld is newer than Disneyland," said Lupin, glancing at a brochure. He was dressed in Muggle clothes, a gray shirt and slacks, with his robe stowed in a small suitcase at his feet.

"Newer isn't always better," countered Dumbledore, who was dressed in a plum three-piece suit. "And Disneyland is closer to the ancient redwood and sequoia, the real treasures of the land, which once gave light to the realm before the coming of Bunyan."

Lupin shrugged. "We've time to visit both, if we like. Ah, look! Our friends are here to see us off!" He pointed across the terminal of Heathrow Airport, where Harry, Ron, Fred and George were approaching.

Dumbledore and Lupin rose to greet them. "I will not say, 'do not weep'," said Dumbledore, "because... er, nobody's weeping."

"But we'll miss you anyway!" insisted Ron.

"And I can weep if you really want," said George, pulling a suspicious toffee from his pocket.

"Where are you going, anyway?" asked Fred.

"Into the Uttermost West," answered Dumbledore.

"So what's the 'surprise' you kept talking about?" asked Harry.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "The surprise is for you, Harry. Your scar will never be fully healed in England, but there are plastic surgeons of great renown in the West."

"I don't care," said Harry. "It doesn't bother me."

Lupin leaned close to Dumbledore and whispered, "This won't be much fun with just the two of us."

Dumbledore gave Lupin a small nod. "I fear you are delirious, Harry-- no doubt an aftereffect of the burden you carried for so long. But fear not! That, too, shall fade in the West."

"But--"

"I have your plane ticket right here," said Dumbledore, taking a small packet from an inside pocket. "See? It's a done deal!"

Harry thought fast. "Er... I... er...."

Faster, Harry.

"I know! I can't go because I don't have a passport!"

Lupin produced a small folio and a piece of parchment. "From Nymphadora," he said, unfolding the parchment and preparing to read it: " 'For you, Thingbearer, I offer a unique gift to salve the hurts that have befallen you. I have chosen to stay at the International Confederation with Sirius, and so a place is made for you in the Uttermost West. Take my passport, and go with our blessing.' " Lupin passed the folio to Harry.

"But if it's Nymphadora's passport, then it'll be her picture..." Harry began. But when he opened the folio, he was looking at his own face. Damned metamporph! he thought.

The loudspeaker blared: "Boarding may now begin for Cirdan Air flight 127 to Boston."

Dumbledore and Lupin threw their bags over their shoulders, then stood on either side of Harry and grabbed his arms, dragging him to the gate.

"Good bye, Mr. Potter!" said Ron sadly.

"Send us a postcard!" called Fred.

"Look, I'm crying!" grinned George, with tears rolling down his face.

The trip home was uneventful. Ron kept his silence, afraid that he would burst into (genuine) tears if they spoke too much of Harry. Fred and George stayed quiet too, so as not to set off Ron. It was well after sunset when they reached the Burrow. Fred and George left Ron at the gate; they were going to an all-night farewell party. Ron crossed the yard, entered the sitting room, and said, "Well, I'm back. Hello? Anybody home?"

He ground his teeth. After a brief search, he found the room where Hermione was staying, woke her up, and dragged her down to the sitting room.

"Let's try this again," he said.

Ron went outside, closed the door, then turned around and came back in.

"Well, I'm back."


The End

[Aleatha Ingleton]

Hehehehehehhehee!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


Oh the naughty thoughts of which we must not speak. *laughing*


That was a fun conclusion. I love that they stole Harry all protesting off to Disneyland. The ball-gag was a bit dodgy sir.

And sorry it's taken me so long to comment!
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I miss Bob