Categories > Books > Harry Potter > JEDI POTTER

Chapter 18

by Alorkin 27 reviews

Harry saves the day, he and Hermione give Voldey a major headache, Nagini begins to worry about her master. Harry has a chat with Ollivander, Vernon and Petunia wallow in self-pity, Dudley gets in...

Category: Harry Potter - Rating: R - Genres: Crossover,Drama - Characters: Dobby,Dumbledore,Harry,Hermione,Professor McGonagall,Ron - Warnings: [!] - Published: 2010-08-09 - Updated: 2010-08-10 - 10698 words - Complete


I deeply apologize for the delay. My sister is being sued by a collections agency for overdue credit card bills, and I'm the only one in our family with any legal training. We've managed to hold them off for the time being, but it's only a short reprieve. anyway, here's the next chapter. Hope you like it.

October 1st:

Sagacious Ollivander was getting ready for the day’s business; dusting here, straightening there, and since school had already started, expecting to be working in the shop, instead of tending to customers. He discovered he was wrong in that assessment, when the door exploded inward, and six figures in black robes and white masks surged through. Instantly his wand was in his hand and tracking on the first of the black-clad pests.


Harry had just finished dressing after his post-run, grope and tickle with Hermione in their shower, when the force warned him of the impending attack. Grabbing his lightsaber from the bureau, he turned to the door.

Hermione took that moment to step out of the loo, carrying a towel in her hand, but wearing nothing but a smile, and not for the first time, Harry cursed his dedication to duty.

Noticing his interest turned elsewhere, she asked: “What’s up, Harry?”

“There’s going to be an attack on Ollivander in a minute.”

“Let me get my things.” She dropped the towel and grabbed a pair of knickers.

“No time. It’s going down now! Remus and Tonks are in the dining hall. I’ll tell them what’s gonna happen. Meet them at the ward line and then the three of you meet me and Dobby at Ollivander’s!” That said; he dashed from the room and down the corridor toward the dining hall.


Tonks and Remus were having their morning cuppa when Harry barreled into the dining hall.

“Remus! Tonks! We’ve got a problem in Diagon Alley! Voldemort has sent a group of Deez to kidnap Ollivander! Hermione will meet you at the ward line and make a portkey to Diagon Alley. When you get there, meet me and Dobby at Ollivander’s!” No sooner had he spoken than he turned and sped from, the hall, calling for Dobby.

The Jedi-elf appeared outside the huge ironwood doors of Potter Castle, as Harry darted through them.

“Dobby! Ollivander is about to come under Death Eater attack. Voldemort wants him and his wands. We cannot allow those wands to fall into enemy hands! Adjust your lightsaber to combat power and then take us to Diagon alley!”


Inside, the Dining Hall, Remus and Tonks were stunned by Harry’s urgency.

~What the hell?~ They thought as they both rose from their seats and followed their erstwhile general.


Outside the ancient citadel they saw Harry and Dobby adjusting the power on their respective emerald lightsabers.

“Harry! Wait!” Remus barked, hoping to catch Harry’s attention. “You can’t just go in there without a plan. People could get hurt!”

“I have a plan, Remus!” Harry shot back. “Dobby’s going to bring us to the junk shop across the alley from Ollivander’s and we’ll catch them as they go in. We’re going to take out the Deez, and get Ollivander and the wands back here before anyone realizes what’s happened. If we have time, I’ll go to Gringotts and have them help with the clean up. Understand this, though. I’m not going to take it easy on them. We don’t need prisoners. If they surrender, they live. If not, they don’t. Gotit?”

With that, Dobby took Harry’s hand and the two of them vanished silently.


A second later, Harry and Dobby were in Diagon Alley, looking across the cobbles at the black clad pests entering the wandmaker’s shop.

“All right. I count six of them.” Harry began. “It’s too close in there for two lightsabers, so you stay out here, and get ready. I’m going to send some of them through the window.” Harry darted across the street, with Dobby close behind.


Neither Tonks nor Remus liked this aspect of Harry, as Dumbledore had influenced them for so very long, and the ancient wizard refused to kill or to allow his people to do so, regardless the consequences. It was only the fact that both of them knew how a Death Eater ‘earned the right’ to wear Voldemort’s brand, that swayed them…and the fact that those ‘consequences’ had frequently been the deaths of their friends and families.

Both realized that the training they’d subject themselves to, especially in battlefield tactics, Harry’s favorite book ‘The Art of War’ by Sun-Tzu, written over two thousand years before, only underscored the need for ruthless efficiency in battle. While it was a study in political, philosophical, economic and military strategy, where they were concerned, it boiled down to: “When in combat, fight to win.” That adage was as true as when it had been written.

They were fighting a guerrilla war, with little or no support from the populace, much the same as Voldemort himself. Since they had no need for intelligence at this time, since the Deez were more than likely going to use unforgivables, and since their lightsabers were still unknown quantities, and in this case, a vital military secret, living prisoners would be an unnecessary risk.

They didn’t like it…not one jot. They understood it, and they’d do it, but they didn’t like it.

They both called on the force and sprinted to the ward-line, two miles distant, many times faster than a normal human could run.


Hermione dashed out of the castle, to see her friends already at the ward-line and waiting impatiently for her. Like they had, she called on the force and within seconds neared the two ‘adults’ in the group. She was swearing angrily about “bloody brave Gryffindor fools who didn’t have the common sense God gave a sack of meal, oh, no! Instead the stupid prat had to go charging into every dangerous situation he could find and if he died, she was going to dig his scrawny arse up and kill him again!”


Remus chuckled at Hermione’s tirade as soon as he could make out what she was saying…until he felt the blistering heat of her ‘glare of terrible death and/or agonizing dismemberment, #7’ warm his skin.

Tonks began to bray out her laughter in that in that annoying manner she had.

Hermione ignored the pink haired twit as she plucked up a small branch left over from the last windstorm.

“About bloody time you got here!” Remus groused. “Ollivander is about to come under attack!”

“Yes, Harry told me.” Hermione returned. “Voldemort has given orders to his goons to capture Ollivander and all his wands. We can’t let either him or those wands fall into enemy hands! Since I have the only fully functional lightsaber, you two will have to use your wands.” She touched her wand to the piece of wood and muttered the portkey spell. The branch glowed blue before returning to normal.

“Yeah! We’re going to have to see about making these adjustable!” Tonks put in her two knuts.

“Later. Now grab hold!” Hermione held out the branchlet and as they touched it, he spoke the activation phrase.

“Voldemort sucks!”


Ollivander was in a great deal of trouble and he knew it. The first Death Eater who’d entered the shop saw him and shouted: “There he is!” The others all fired one form of curse or other, most being incarcerating or stunning hexes.

Sagacious was old. Far older than people imagined, but due to his unique heritage, he was far from enfeebled. Unfortunately, like Dumbledore, he refused to kill, and sought to hinder instead.

That reticence would cost him. The Death Eaters had no such restrictions.

One white masked terrorist snarled “Incarcerous!” while another growled: “Crucio!

He sidestepped the incarcerating hex and let fly with his own, but could not avoid the scintillating orange of the Cruciatus. He fell screaming in agony.

Watching the old man suffer under the curse, Dulce grinned in satisfaction, before snarling at the caster: “Not too much, fool! The master wants him alive, and with his mind intact!”

The Death Eater who’d cast the Cruciatus held the spell for a moment longer before allowing the curse to end. Ollivander lay there shuddering in remembered agony.

Dulce turned to the others and added: “Gather up all the wands and bring them to the master!”

A strange, crackling, buzzing, humming noise interrupted him. A noise he’d heard once before, at Bones’ house. Dulce turned in fear to behold the same glimmering shaft of emerald energy, held by the same maniac who’d held it before.

He nearly wet himself as he saw Harry standing there, and thought: ~Oh Crap! Not him again!~ He had no wish to re-experience the things this lunatic could do with that magic sword, nor the master’s wrath, should he survive. He’d rather not be subject to such a punishment again, thanks very much. The last time he’d incurred the master’s anger, by failing to kill Bones, had been more than enough for one lifetime!

Even though it was flawlessly planned and executed, Lucius’ ‘punishment’ for the failed attack on Bones, ten days before, was particularly prolonged. They had all been required to attend the master and witness that ‘session’. The spy allowed that Malfoy would survive, but it would be a very long time before he could move properly, and rumour had it, that his arrogant spawn was now the last of his line. Better to die swiftly, Dulce thought, than to be tortured to mindlessness…or worse!

Unfortunately it appeared the choice was not his. Potter stood in the doorway with that magical sword blazing and he did not look happy!

Worse, this time, there was another one with him!

“Kill him!” Came a shout from behind him. Dulce didn’t know which idiot gave the command, but he would have cheerfully strangled whoever it was. Now they were all going to die!

Instantly the Death Eaters began to cast. With unbelievable speed, Potter swung that glowing sword, and reflected every curse sent its way, without his batting an eye. A sweeping wave from the dun-clad Potter, and three of the master’s servants flew across the shop and crashing through the window, where the other swordsman waited. Another push and two more flew across the counter into a wall. Now it was only Dulce and Potter.

A…avada…” Was all he got out before Harry swung. A shriek tore itself from his throat as a blinding agony shot through his shoulder. Seconds later, Dulce was laying on the floor holding his bleeding shoulder…his arm laying a few feet away.


In the street, Dobby calmly waited, his lightsaber humming. The few people in the alley that early, were startled by the crash of shattering glass and the sight of three men flying out through the ancient window. Screams sounded as they recognized the clothing the three men wore, and raced to shelter. None recognized the brown robed house-elf.

Fortunately there were a few people in the alley with the foresight to call the Aurors.

Though not the best of Voldemort’s troops, these Death Eaters were already combat veterans. Two of them scrambled to their feet, while the third just lay there groaning. Through the force Dobby felt the magic flow, as one terrorist cast a silent Enervate at his supine comrade, then the two standing, arranged themselves to form a triangle around him. He kept his senses tuned for attack. Sure enough, as soon as he faced the two before him, the one behind him cast a killing curse. He flung his blade over his shoulder, reflecting the curse back at its caster. Less than a second later, his blade back in position. The taller Death Eater had taken advantage of the sneak attack, and both he and his ‘friend’ struck as one. Dobby deflected his curse and flicked out, scoring shallow, but hideously painful cuts along the man’s arms. The black robed terrorist howled with rage and flung himself forward, only to find a shimmering blade plunging into his heart!

Avada Kedavra!” The other yelled.

With a swift parré, Dobby deflected the killing curse into the street, and spinning about sharply, he cleaved the other arrogant arse in two. Exhaling lightly, he calmly shut down his weapon and went to see if Harry needed any help.

Behind him he could 'feel' the arrival of his friends.


Inside the shop things had become tense. Dulce was down, lacking an arm and losing too much blood. Another Death Eater was barely conscious, and the last was standing over the fallen Ollivander, and aiming his wand at the old man’s head.

“Back away, Potter or…or I’ll kill him!” He cried out. Harry simply called the idiot to him and on to the blade of his lightsaber.

Turning to the last, he said: “Dead or alive, I don’t much care.”

“I surrender!” In a panic the Death eater, yelled again: “I surrender!”

“Throw me your wand!”

A wand came flying across the counter.

Your wand!”

"That is my wand!”

Harry slowly advanced, swinging the shimmering blade before him a small arc.

“All right, damn you! Just stay away!” Three more wands came across the counter.

"Now, stand up and put your hands on the counter!”

He did. Harry held him there with the force, while searching out the man’s carotid arteries. Finding the rapidly pulsing blood vessels, he telekinetically applied pressure until the Deeter passed out. Exhaling lightly, he shut down his lightsaber and turned to the door to see if Dobby needed any help.

Outside, he could 'feel' the arrival of his lover and his friends.


Hermione, Tonks and Remus had just arrived by portkey to the same spot Harry and Dobby had just departed.

Dobby was just dispatching the last of the three, and they headed toward the shop as a group.


Sagacious was in agony. He couldn’t breathe!

“Mr. Ollivander.” Harry gently shook his arm. Sagacious cried out in remembered torment. Even as light a touch as that was enough to bring back the unremitting pain of the curse.

“Mr. Ollivander!” Harry called more insistently. Sagacious forced his eyes open.

Seeing he had the old man’s attention, Harry spoke quickly. “We need to get you and your wands out of here! Voldemort wants them and we cannot allow them to fall into his hands!”

Sagacious was drifting in and out of consciousness.

“Mister Ollivander! I need you to give me permission to remove your wands and the materials to make them to a safe haven. We cannot allow them to fall into Voldemort’s hands! Give me permission to have my house elves take them!”

“No!” Ollivander gasped. Nobody could see how he made the wands! It was his deepest, most carefully guarded secret!

“Mister Ollivander. We’re running out of time. Give my elves permission to remove the wands and the materials. We’ll take you to a safe place!”

Again, Ollivander shook his head.

“My only other option is to burn this place to the ground! I’d hate to destroy so many fine wands, but I’ll not allow Voldemort to have them!”

Now Sagacious was horrified. Destroy his wands!?!

“Please don’t…” He pleaded.

“Give my elves permission to remove them! Now!

“You…promise…keep them…safe?”

“Yes, Damn you!” Harry shouted. “You and the wands will be safe! Now, give me permission to have my elves take them!”

Finally, Ollivander whispered: “Uw huisaelf mag mijn goederen in veiligheid brengen.”. (Your house-elves may take my goods to safety.)

Harry felt himself being accepted into Ollivander’s protective wards.

“Winky!” Harry called. Instantly the little elf was at his side. Before she could offer her assistance, he barked out: “Have all the Potter elves come here and take every wand and all the materials and tools to make them to the unused armory on the north side of the castle!”

Within seconds, the room was filled with efficient little helpers, and in less than a minute, the shop was empty…and a great deal cleaner than it had been before.

Harry called Dobby in and told him to bring Ollivander to the infirmary. As soon as the Jedi-elf, had gone, Harry turned to his friends. “OK. That was an adventure. Now, we’ll have to bugger off. Hermione please come with me. We’ll go to the bank and ask Graswold to arrange for a clean-up crew here. Tonks, Remus, as soon as you get to the castle you ask Dobby to replace your lightsabers…and Mackenzie’s as well, with ones that have the composite focusing crystals, and power and blade length adjustments. We can no longer afford to have only three functional weapons. Tonks, give me your emergency kit!”

Tonks handed over the potions kit, before she and Remus disappeared in a swirl of lights.


Harry sealed Dulce’s wound, forced a blood replenishing potion down his throat, and trussed both him and his associate like Christmas geese, before leaving for Gringotts.

Graswold was waiting at the top of the steps.

//Greetings, HaihRiegh!\\ Graswold greeted them with the ‘bow of equals’. Harry returned the respectful nod. Hermione followed suit.

//I greet you as well, Graswold. I find I have need of your particular services, and I offer a ready meal for your dragons.\\

//Let us be off then. I am sure the dragons will appreciate the gift. They have not dined so well in many seasons.\\

//Then tonight, they shall. Please leave the two still living, where, and as, they are. Madam Bones would have need of them.\\ Both Graswold and Harry were disgusted at the very idea of leaving any of the terrorists alive, but Amelia has arranged for any prisoners captured, to be sent to a series of unplottable prisons on the continent. Perhaps Bones could extract some kid of information from them before she sent them to France.

~I suppose that should be enough to keep them away from Voldy & Co.~ he mused.

Hermione agreed whole-heartedly with Harry. They had been debating the morality of killing the Death Eaters, when Harry had shown her a pensieved memory of how a Death Eater ‘earned the mark’. She’d been sick for days. Having seen that, she understood that Dumbledore was just plain wrong. Rules of engagement were for soldiers, but Death Eaters were not soldiers. They were murderous thugs, and for murderous thugs like these, ‘no mercy’ was the order of the day.

A swift gesture and a cohort trotted down the marble steps, and along the street to Ollivander’s wand shop. Harry, Hermione and Graswold followed along. The battle had taken three minutes all told, the trip to Gringotts another two, and Harry felt they would have less than five more before the Aurors began to show.

He was off by four. Harry had been referencing the response times under Fudge. That inept fool was now ‘enjoying his retirement’ somewhere in South America, and now that Bones was minister, she’d asked Kingsley to initiate a ‘rapid reaction team’, and Oliver Wood’s older brother, Michael, was leading it.

They arrived at the same time as Harry, Graswold and the goblin soldiers. Instantly, seeing the goblins, in the alley and armed for battle, the Aurors all drew their wands. Harry and Hermione lit their lightsabers and stepped between the Aurors and the goblins,

“Aurors, Hold!” Wood shouted, recognizing Harry, as Graswold gave the same instruction to his warriors.

Surprising them all, Wood bowed to Graswold with genuine respect and greeted him, in gobbledygook, awaiting the Dak’s response, before turning his attention to Harry.

As Wood was talking to Graswold, Harry quietly called some pebbles to him and charmed them into timed portkeys set to go off in two hours. He specified the destination as the rear of the bank…just in case the Aurors proved to be uncooperative.

Oliver had described some of the young man’s adventured at Hogwarts, and he’d actually seen the young man some time before, during a Quidditch match, in Harry’s third year. Harry had given a most extraordinary Patronus demonstration during that match. Wood had been sufficiently impressed by what he’d seen, to draft a recommendation to Madam Bones, to recruit Harry for the Auror Corps.

“Lord Potter. What happened?” He asked.

“Death Eaters attacked Ollivander. I received a warning through the force, and arrived in time to end the threat.”

“Are any of the ‘threats’ still alive?” Wood snarked, thinking the answer would be ‘no’.

Harry surprised him with: “Two. Both are unconscious. One is missing an arm, but he won’t die…for now.”

“What a shame. Where’s Ollivander?”

“In the infirmary at my training base. They used the Cruciatus on him. I had him taken to the best facility I could. I’ve also secured all his wands to prevent them from falling into Voldemort’s hands. That’s what they were here for in the first place, after all. He gave me permission to relocate them and he knows where they are.” Wood was impressed. He’d completely missed that angle.

“Why not St. Mungo’s?” An Auror named Michaelson, asked.

“Two reasons. First, St. Mungo’s is hardly secure. Death Eaters have, and can get in there whenever they want. Second, I have two fully qualified healers, two med-witches and three apprentices that have little to do, other than the occasional bruise or scrape.”

“Will you allow us to come see him?” Wood asked. “We’ll need a deposition.”

“You, Shacklebolt, Hammer or Bones. No one else.”

“Why not any of the rest of us?” Michaelson complained.

“Because I don’t trust you.” Harry shot back. “While Madam Bones has made great inroads in rooting out the corruption in the Ministry, there are still very few I trust there. In time that will change, I’m sure, but for now, it’s the way it is.”

Michaelson was about to take offense, when Wood quelled him with a glare.

They gave their reports to the Aurors, who packaged the dead for transport to the ministry. Graswold was rather put about this until Harry winked at him, and hand-spoke the word: ‘wait’, before telling Wood, he wanted to commit the faces of the dead to memory for ‘training purposes’. Graswold smirked, knowing Lord Gryffindor was up to something.

As he carefully looked at the dead terrorists, he surreptitiously stuck a pebble into each of their right ears, before leaving them.

They were held for another half hour but as Harry had both a commission from the queen to take any actions he deemed necessary to protect the realm, and permission from the Minister, to do the same, as long as he kept the bloodshed to a minimum, they had no reason to detain them further.

Frankly, none of the Aurors were too fussed about some dead terrorists. These ones wouldn’t be able to claim ‘Imperius’.

They took their prisoners to the ministry for questioning and the dead were sent to the morgue.

Harry and Hermione bade good-bye to Graswold, ‘suggesting’ he have a squad of goblins waiting outside the rear of the bank, before they apparated back to the castle, where Hermione immediately took hold of Harry’s ear, and dragged him into their shared Quarters. She slammed the door and cast several sealing and silencing charms before unleashing the hounds of hell on him, for leaving before she could join him. Her rant began with: “What the bloody hell do you think you were doing…!?!” and lasted nearly fifteen minutes before Harry finally silenced her…by sealing her mouth with his own.

From there, it became considerably more intense. Hermione wrapped her arms and legs around her lover with a desperate passion, and tumbled them both to the bed.

Neither appeared for the rest of the day.


In Little Hangleton, Tom Marvolo Riddle, the self-named, Lord Voldemort, whimpered in agony, as images and sensations flooded his brain. He reached out for the relief of his only real friend…the pain damping potions Snape had provided, only to find the potions bottles Snape had delivered the previous evening were already empty and the potions master was being held by the Muggle loving fool, no doubt for just this reason. Obviously, Dumbledore knew of the connection between Potter and himself, and was using it to cause him the most unbearable agony possible! In a rage, he threw the empty vials at the wall, barely missing his familiar.

As he curled into a ball, rocking back and forth against the torment, Voldemort began to swear cruel vengeance against Dumbledore, for opposing him, and the ministry for taking up arms against him, and the sheep for not groveling at his feet, and Potter, and the mudblood, for causing him this torment, and Snape, for not having more pain-relief potions ready, and his death Eaters for…for whatever they did wrong!

To one side of the room, Nagini was shifting nervously. She easily felt the madness growing in her master, and she was afraid.


Two hours later, four dead bodies and parts thereof, appeared on the alleyway behind Gringotts. At Graswold’s order, the waiting goblins swarmed out the back entrance, swept up the bodies and cleaned the blood from the ground, before returning to the bank. According to goblin tradition, the bodies were stripped of their wealth and sent to feed the dragons.

~All in all, a good day!~ Graswold mused, as he counted the gold the dead had been carrying. He knew Harry was not responsible for the ministry claiming the spoils, but he’d made good anyway.


The next morning, at the ministry morgue, the on-duty healer, would find the marble tables where the dead terrorists had lain, empty, but for some blood.


2nd Oct:

Sagacious Ollivander woke in a comfortable bed, in what was clearly a healer’s ward. The stark whiteness of the place told him that. Footsteps approached. He turned his head to see a familiar face.

“Aah, Galen Jacoby.” He greeted the healer. “Hawthorne and the willingly given hair from a centaur’s mane. Rather bendy, wasn’t it? Excellent for charms and superb for healing. I trust you are taking care of it?”

“Of course, Master Ollivander. My wand is my most valuable tool. I could do no healing without it.”

“I see you’re awake.” A gravelly voice interrupted. Both Jacoby and Ollivander turned their attention toward the door where a brown-robed Harry Potter waited. He stepped forward, his robes billowing behind him. Underneath, Sagacious could see he wore a peculiar crossover tunic and trews over brown boots. The tunic was girdled by a thick brown belt, from which, depended a shining silver and black cylinder. Sagacious had seen that weapon in action, and as all craftsmen would be, was fascinated by it.

“How are you, Mister Ollivander?” Though the question was directed at Sagacious, Harry’s eyes were focused on Jacoby.

“I hurt!” and: “He’ll live!” came at the same time. Harry chuckled. Addressing Jacoby, he asked: “Is there any reason I can’t tell him where his wands and equipment are?”

“None that I can think of. Unlike Poppy, I don’t pack patients in cotton wool. He’s had the necessary potions for Cruciatus exposure and though he’ll be a bit weak and sore for the next few days, there’s no reason to keep him locked up here. I was planning on releasing him after breakfast.”

“Thanks.” Harry grinned, before seating himself on a wooden bedside chair. Jacoby lifted Ollivander and stuffed some pillows behind him, saying: “I’ll have an elf bring your tray in a moment.” That done, he nodded at Harry and returned to his office. He had apprentices to teach, after all.

“Well, you heard the man.” Harry began. “Now, how do you feel?”

“I hurt in places I’d forgotten I had.” He groaned.

It’s understandable. You’re very fortunate. Your ancestry is the only thing that’s allowing you to heal so quickly. Anybody else of your apparent age, would still be unconscious. I’m assuming Calaquendi?”

Ollivander was shocked that anyone would have worked his ancestry out. He recalled telling this young man he would go on to do great things. Apparently those great things could also be rather surprising. He replied: “Yes. Specifically of the Laiquendi.”

“That would explain your longevity.” Harry mused. At Ollivander’s look of fear, he added: “Don’t worry. Your secret is safe. Healer Jacoby is bound by his oath, and I won’t tell anyone, my promise to you. Really, it’s nobody’s business but your own.”

“Thank you.” Whispered the relieved Ollivander.

A house-elf arrived with a tray for Ollivander and a beaker of tea for Harry. She bowed in absolute reverence to Ollivander and then with adoration to Harry.

“Thank you, Nipsey.” Harry smiled at the small being.

“You is most welcome, Master Harry!” She returned before vanishing with a soft pop.

“You’ve enslaved house-elves?” Ollivander was more than a bit unnerved.

“I rescued them.” Harry explained. “All of them were freed either by their former masters, for one reason or another, or freed by the ministry when they captured several Death Eaters this spring. Dobby and I had a long chat before the end of term, and he told me that without the familial bond, they would quickly lose their minds and eventually die. I couldn’t allow that to happen without at least trying to help, so I invited them all here, as well as any other freed elves who wished to join with a household again. All told, I’ve bonded around eighty. I treat them well, and they’re happy here. They have a safe place to stay, the courtesy they deserve, enough work to keep them busy, and no punishments. I consider them as much my family as I do Hermione.”

“Aah, yes. Miss Granger. A difficult choice that was. Vinewood and unicorn hair, or Hazelwood and Antipodean Opaleye heartstring. She got marginally better results with the Vinewood, but really, she could use either of them quite easily, although I can sense she doesn’t use it much lately, preferring one of those instead.” He pointed at Harry’s lightsaber.

“Well…” Harry replied. “That’s a temporary thing. All my students have their wands, and I have no problem with them using them on their off time, but for the time being, I’m only teaching certain subjects. Just now, those subjects don’t include wanded magicks.”

“Instead, you’re teaching them to wield lightsabers.” Ollivander stated flatly.

Harry was more than a little surprised. That Ollivander would even know about lightsabers was unusual, for a pureblood.

Sagacious smiled. “I’ve been around a long time, Mister Potter, and I’ve seen many fascinating things. About a hundred years or so ago, I watched the very first motion picture. It was ruddy awful, but since then, they’ve improved greatly, and I’ve developed quite a liking for them, but when I watched Star Wars, I was absolutely astounded! Not only that the muggle mind could develop such an idea, but that they could find ways to realize those ideas.”

“It never ceases to amaze me how the wizarding society ignores the muggles entirely, or looks upon muggles as somehow…backward, when really, it’s the wizards who are mired in the past. Hopefully when I’ve eliminated Voldemort…” Harry scowled at Ollivander’s shudder.

“When I’ve eliminated Voldemort, I can help to bring the wizarding world into the twentieth century. The lightsabers are one part of that process.”

How so?”

“There is a prophecy about the two of us. A false prophecy, actually. I discovered recently that Dumbledore made it up, and Tommy boy believed it.” Harry recited the prophecy, from memory.

Ollivander was incensed, not only that Dumbledore would dare to make up a prophecy but also that he’d do such a sloppy job of it! He saw three different areas where Dumbledore had erred.

He didn’t have time to object, because Harry began again.

“That’s why Voldy came after me in ‘81. That’s why Dumbledore has been so manipulative of my life. It’s also why he provided you the second feather from Fawkes. He needed me to have a weapon that was useless against Voldemort’s. I’m supposed to die in the attempt to kill Voldemort, weakening him in some fashion, and then he’ll have someone else kill him off…probably Neville, since he specifically alluded to either myself or Neville in his phony prophesy. He refuses to do his own dirty work, relying on proxies instead, so he can appear to have sparkling clean hands. That way, he can always send his tool to Azkaban, for murder, afterward. After all, who would they believe? A nobody who’d just killed another wizard, even a half-blood like Tom, or the ‘Great and Powerful’ Wizard of Oz?” Harry sneered the last.

“And the lightsabers?” Sagacious asked.

“That’s a different story. The short of it is, I died, spoke to my parents and all of my friends, was given the assignment to return and fix things by Merlin himself and got a few ideas from Yoda. After all, lightsabers are a ‘power he knows not’.” Harry smirked as he finished his tea, and rose.

“When Healer Jacoby releases you, call for Nipsey. She’ll show you to your quarters. There is a large three-roomed shop next to your chambers. It used to be an armory. You’ll find your wands and tools there. While I know you’re anxious to see the condition of your wares, I’d like you to rest for a day or two before you return to work. Please, feel free to chat with the parents, or children, if you wish, or you can observe the training of my Jedi. I cannot in conscience, confine you to the estate. You are an adult and therefore, responsible for your own choices, but I do hope you will choose to stay on. Voldemort wants you and your wands.” This time the old wandmaker didn’t so much as twitch. Harry smiled and went on. “I have a feeling he’s more interested in your acumen than the products of such, but if you return to your shop, he will come after you again!”

“I fully agree. No students will require my services until next year and those who do need minor repairs can find other wand makers. I would ask you to find a way to allow me to deal with some of the more serious repairs though.”

“Fair enough. I can have a house elf keep an eye on the shop. Three have volunteered already. If someone comes in, we can arrange for portkeys to bring them here, and you can deal with them from there. Howzzat?”

“That would be perfect. Thank you.”

“Then I shall bid you good day. I have training to oversee.”

Harry turned and in a sweep of a brown robe, departed.


Vernon Dursley found himself hating life. Nearly everybody he had ever known at Grunnings, had made it their mission in life to come down to the production floor and remind him, oh, so subtly, that he was no longer nearly the top executive in the company. No, instead, he was well below the bottom rung, and it was all the freak’s fault! He couldn’t even quit his bloody job! The freak and that scary solicitor had seen to that. If he left Grunnings, the courts would prosecute him for his ‘little indiscretions’, and after they were done, the Internal Revenue and Taxation department would have at him. What’s more, the shark-like woman came to his flat far too often to suit him, as if to underscore his reliance on her…and the freak. Lord Gryffindor, indeed! He never owed that freak anything, but a bloody beating, and by God, he would find a way to pay that debt!

His musings were interrupted by the floor manager yelling: “Oy! Dursley! Get off yer arse and clean up the milling floor!”

Swearing, Vernon hoisted his push-broom and headed to the oily machines.


Petunia was also hating life. Every day, was one day closer, to the day she’d be forced back to Privet Drive, and the gossip of her neighbors. That she was, the uncrowned queen of gossip in her neighborhood, never crossed her petty, jealous and vindictive little mind. To her thinking, when others said such things, it was vicious gossip. When she did, she was merely doing a public service by bringing the hidden truth to light.

She saw the freak smirk at her, as if she was hearing her very thoughts. Of course, that was impossible…even for the freaks…wasn’t it?

“You’ll be happy to know that number four is nearly rebuilt.” Carolyn gushed happily. “You should be able to move back in by Christmas! Won’t that just be a wonderful Christmas present?”

Clearly, Petunia thought it would be anything but.

Carolyn finished her tea and rose to leave. “I have business to attend to, so I’ll bid you good day.” She left Petunia fulminating. As she cleared the door, she apparated away, barely holding back her laughter.

Her next stop was in Little Whinging.


Dudley hated his life, but unlike his parents, he understood why it was happening.
He was currently attending Stonewall High, and if the lady barrister was correct, he’d be there until he finished secondary. Just at the moment, he was facing a group of bullies. The very same group of bullies he used to lead. Piers was the leader now, with Dennis the primary enforcer. They wanted his lunch money. That he had no money to give, was completely irrelevant.

“Come on, Dursley!” Piers snarled. “We know you got some cash! Hand it over!”

“I’m telling you, Piers, I haven’t any. You know what my dad has done, and until this is finished, I’m on the dole.”

“Well, then. I suppose we’ll just have to take it out of your hide!”

“Are you going to do anything about this?” Dudley asked the teacher who was watching.

“Not a thing.” Fredric Branck replied smugly. After all, Piers was an inspector’s nephew, and one never knew when one needed some ‘official intervention’.

“Fine.” He sighed. “I suppose I’ll have to deal with it on my own.”

He carefully set the stack of books he’d been carrying; on the concrete and braced himself for the assault he knew was coming.

Dudley knew Pier’s style. The rat-faced boy was a coward, who would strike only when he knew he could get away with it. He and Dennis would flank the target and whoever was closest, would attract the target’s attention, while the other would strike from behind.

He was right. As he turned to face Piers, Dennis punched him in the back. It hurt, but not nearly as much as he’d had in the ring. What they didn’t know was that Dudley was considerably stronger…better trained and more able to take a punch, than he’d been before. A lightning fast sweep, and Dennis was flying through the air. Piers took offense at this, and also struck, howling his rage. That signal given, the other three leaped in. Twenty seconds later, all of them were down and bleeding.

“Alright, Dursley. Now, I’m going to have you arrested for assaulting these innocent gentlemen.” Branck sneered. He stepped forward to seize Dudley’s collar, all the better to humiliate him, as he dragged him to the headmaster’s office.

“They assaulted me!” Dudley protested. He knew it had been a set-up, but he also knew that he couldn’t allow Piers to win, or the Dane would continue to demand his geld.

“Yes, I know…” Branck sneered again. “But who are they going to believe? You, or me?”

“I’d say they’d believe Dudley.” Came a quiet female voice, that despite it’s lack of volume, positively dripped menace. Branck turned to see a woman, of fourty or so, who looked to be a model or something. She was dressed in a smart pinstriped wool suit, and carried a leather attaché. She was absolutely beautiful…until one looked into her eyes. Then she was terrifying.

“Who the ruddy hell are you?” Branck stammered.

“My name is Carolyn Chapman, of Chapman and Associates. I represent Mister Dursley.” She replied. He'd never heard of the firm, but understood that a solicitor could cause him a great deal of trouble. Still, he was used to dealing with irate parents. This woman would be no different.

“Well having a solicitor won’t help him. I saw him assault these fine boys and I intend to see him expelled and jailed!” ~Unless his parents pay me a substantial…‘fee’.~ he added to himself.

“And I watched the entire thing, Branck. I also heard him ask you if you were going to do anything about their attempt at extortion, and I heard your response of: “Not a thing.” Isn’t it your duty, to prevent such activities…or are you taking a cut?”

“How dare you?” Branck snarled.

“Because I can. Now, shall we retire to the headmaster’s office?”

Branck paled. He realized he hadn’t a leg to stand on. If the woman was truly a solicitor, and if she really did hear everything, he would be totally buggered! So, he tried to dissuade this shark-like woman from her intended course of action.

“Well…I’m…I’m sure, that won’t be necessary. After all, Dursley seems to have gotten the message…” Hopefully she’d let it drop.

Alas, her next words killed that hope.

“Oh, but I insist!” She pouted. Branck couldn’t believe it! The woman actually pouted, and to him, it was the most frightening thing he’d ever seen in his life. Far from looking like a seductress, she reminded him of a cobra, preparing for a meal.

She handed Dudley his books and set off toward the administrations office at a rapid clip, leaving the beaten boys laying where they were.


The three entered the headmaster’s office together, Branck still trying to talk Carolyn out of reporting his actions.

The headmaster, Alistair Barnes, greeted her like an old friend.

“Carolyn!” He smiled, but looked at Dudley with more than a bit of trepidation. “Isn’t it a bit early in the process for a solicitor?”

“Actually Alistair, it appears you have bigger problems than we first thought.”

She went on to describe the confrontation she’d witnessed. Barnes was glaring fire at Branck, increasing in intensity as the story progressed.

“She has no proof!” Branck snarled.

Carolyn opened the attaché and pulled out a tape recorder, placing the damning device on the desktop. Before he could move, she pushed the play button.

From the tiny machine, came the tinny voices of Piers and Dudley, saying: “Come on, Dursley! We know you got some cash! Now, give it over!”

“I’m telling you, Piers, I haven’t any. You know what my dad has done, and until this is finished, I’m on the dole.”

“Well, then. I suppose we’ll just have to take it out of your arse, then!”

Barnes’ eyebrows rose as he heard Dudley ask: “Are you going to do anything about this?”

And Branck’s reply of: “Not a thing.” made him absolutely furious!

“Branck, you are sacked! Gather your effects and get the hell out of my school!”

“I’m a tenured professor of literature! You cannot fire me!”

“You have violated the terms of your employment agreement, and, if I may say so, the laws against racketeering! I will make a full report to the board and they will hear this tape! You’ll be lucky to stay out of jail, Branck!”

Branck leapt from his chair and stormed to the door. “This isn’t over, Barnes!”

To Carolyn, Barnes added: “Please make a certified copy of this tape available to me, if you don’t mind. I think I shall need it.”

“You can have the original. If you get two or three witnesses, I can seal it and they can sign it as being unmodified.” Carolyn kept her hands away from the tape player while she spoke. This way, Branck would have no claim that she’d tampered with it.

“Sandra?” Barnes called through the door.

Sandra Lewes poked her head into the office and asked: “Yes, Mister Barnes?”

“Sandra, would you be so kind as to call…erm, Laramie, Tuttles and Sandhurst in here? They should all be free just now.”


In another headmaster’s office, far away from Little Whinging, an angry old man was pacing the circular room, intent on regaining control over his wayward pawn. He’d thought of having The Prophet print an article about how Harry and his friends had murdered several wizards, using forbidden weapons, and kidnapped Sagacious Ollivander, but now, he had no control over the newspaper. He wouldn’t give that rag ‘The Quibbler’ the time of day!

That would prove to be a mistake.

The new minister, Amelia Bones, the first to be appointed in fifty years without his direct approval, was uncooperative in the extreme. She’d always been more focused on the law, than on what was in the interests of the greater good, and just now, she was being unnecessarily obstructive. Couldn’t she see how important it was that Harry be made to follow his benevolent guidance? Only by following his brilliantly developed plan would they rid themselves of a dark lord, prevent another from rising and rebuilding the wizarding world into the utopia he’d so long planned for!

At least Minerva was doing what he needed her to do. She’d taken on so many of the duties of Headmaster, so he could focus on the larger picture…and not coincidentally, try to restore his own position in the wizarding world.

That was slow going, but the whispering campaign he’d begun seemed to have taken root. People were giving him sympathetic looks whenever he walked by. Soon enough, he knew the wizarding world would be back in his pocket, where it belonged.

What he didn’t know was the looks he received were anything but sympathetic…unless one counts the pity one feels for the village idiot.

He also never noticed the tattered old Sorting Hat following his disjointed rambling with a peculiar intensity.


In the dungeon, Severus Snape watched as a sheet of parchment slid across the surface of his desk without any impetus. Since the unfortunate accident on the twenty-seventh, he’d tried again and again, to understand the magic behind this curiosity, but could never find any. Each time he placed something on the desk, it slid to the left side and tumbled to the floor. The potions had only been the first incident. By all the gods in Asgard, he would learn how Potter had done it…for he was absolutely certain that the spawn of James Potter was behind his humiliation!

Minerva McGonagall was again looking through the point’s book, finding that Severus had once again penalized all three of the other houses for spurious reasons. Pomona and Filius had come to her with their concerns, and she had agreed. It was then that she asked Pomona to join their little rebellion. When she explained as fully as she knew how, Pomona had growled at the stupidity of ancient wizards and promised her support. She began to award points for such specious grounds as having neckties tied properly, shirts tucked in, shoes shined and neatly combed hair.

In a nearby bar, Aberforth Dumbledore, was chatting up Rosmerta, the owner of his competition, and having a laugh at the expense of his most despised brother.


5th Oct:

Harry practically flew, as he pulled himself up the fifty-foot tall rope ladder, followed by a horde of sixty-two students. Hermione was directly on his tail, less than a dozen feet below him, with Neville and Luna following. Susan, Hannah and Ginny were only a couple rungs below them, and Parvati, Padma, Dean, Ernie, Orla, Colin and Dennis, Terry, Daphne, Su Li, and Sally-Ann all vying for position, the next few rungs down. Below, he could hear Mackenzie, Remus and Tonks shouting encouragement and epithets with equal aplomb at the students as they met the challenges of the dreaded ‘Grinder’. He was rather disappoint to see Ron, Seamus and Ernie, just coming from the pole ladders in the first third of the course, with more than five ranks of struggling Jedi between him and them, and not trying all that hard to advance. He’d been watching his friends for some time, and knew some kind of intervention was needed, but not what.

Sighing, he flung himself over the top of the rope ladder’s wooden frame, he began to spider down as fast as he could. Hermione was still more than a little afraid of heights, and were it not for Harry’s continual reassurance, she would have a difficult time calling on the force.

As it was, she did have that reassurance and in a move that surprised him, she also flung herself over the top brace, and then, just to do him one better, she began to lower herself using only her arms. Harry chuckled and matched her, move for move.

Now above them, Neville and Luna, followed immediately by Susan and Ginny, did the same. Orla hesitated a moment before trusting in the force. She had learned early to call on the mystical energy field, and by this time she could do so, with an ease matched only by Harry, Luna and Dobby.

Once on the ground, Harry raced from the rope ladder to the heavy logs, each rotating along its axis, over a small but deep rivulet. Flinging his arms out for balance, and calling heavily on the force, he pelted across the wood to the sand and grass trail beyond. Close behind him, Hermione almost made it, slipping only at the bank. She recovered though, and landed on the edge of the grass, rather than in the mud. Harry laughed out loud. Howling threats of retribution, Hermione chased after him. A splash behind, told them that one of their friends hadn’t made it quite that far. Yells of encouragement filled the air. Harry smiled in satisfaction as he bearded the next challenge. An incline ahead, filled with loose gravel forced his concentration. Behind him, he could hear Hermione swearing as she slipped on the shifting pebbles.

At the summit, he chanced a look behind, to see how his troops fared. All in all, not too bad. Ron, he noted, had slipped to the last tier. He’d definitely have to do something to motivate the redhead.

Hermione took his distraction to her advantage, by racing past him onto the next leg of the obstacle course.

Cursing his inattention, he darted after her. It was nice to watch her nicely turned posterior in motion, but he had a standard to set. He knew where she’d slip up, though, and so, when the moment came to duck under a swinging log, she mistimed and the log struck her shoulder, throwing her off balance, and giving him the two seconds he needed to slide under the wood and regain the lead.

Bellowing in outrage, she pelted after him.

Up another incline, this one at around forty degrees, led to the monkey ropes…a series of five heavy rope ladders slung horizontally between uprights ten meters apart. They swung from the cross ropes stretching their arms widely to intercept the next rope, until they reached the other side of the fifty-meter bridges. There, they pelted along a series of zig-zags bordered by logs and filled with loose sand. He could hear Hermione breathing hard. Both threw themselves head-first onto the sand leading to twenty foot long, corrugated metal tunnels, buried under a huge berm, and both entered the tunnels at almost the same time. Squirming through the intentionally claustrophobic tubes, he felt rather at home. His years spent in the cupboard under the stairs had broken him of any fear of closed-in spaces. Hermione on the other hands was not having as much fun. Harry sent her feelings of calm and contentment through the force, as he wriggled out of the tunnel. It was cheating a bit, but he didn’t care. Hermione was more important!

He ‘felt’ her gratitude, as he raced toward the drop-off. A thick, heavy rope was the only way across the ravine, nearly sixty feet deep, and having a bottom filled with a twenty-foot deep pool of icy cold water. A house elf, they’d named ‘Sarge’, waited with two of the ropes. He would magically retrieve the ropes when the user had crossed…or had fallen, and return them to the beginning side. Harry snatched the rope and leapt into the air. Swinging across, he shouted in exultation, as he felt himself freed from the bonds of earth.

Hermione squealed alongside him as she too, launched herself from the cliff

He released the rope before he reached the opposite side, and in a graceful roll, tumbled across the berm. Regaining his feet, he ran the fifty yards to ‘the slope’. The slope was a disaster in the making. A sand ramp almost a hundred feet high and at a fifty-degree angle to the ground. It was held in place mostly by magic, but allowed all of the shifting instability of the sand to come through. Harry didn’t bother with the ropes laid out. He just pelted, full speed, down the slippery surface, to the mid-course sprint nearly a hundred feet below. Hermione followed, twenty-five feet behind. Harry could feel through the force, that Neville, Susan, Luna, Ginny, Orla and surprisingly Dean Thomas and Terry Boot, were in a pack, less than a hundred yards behind them. At the bottom of the slope was a straight run…across some old tyres, and then under swinging branches at various heights.

He did the peculiar high-step required to navigate the tyres, and barreled into the swinging limbs. Nothing was said about how one maneuvered through these, only that one did, so he ducked when he had to, and on a few occasions, vaulted or rolled over the swinging branches.

The final leg of the course, began with a run over varying surfaces, from branches to rock, to mud and sand, and along varying grades from flat to nearly fourty-five degrees on either side. From there, it was an ascending monkey bar climb of twenty meters and thirty degrees, to a narrow beam, six inches wide and thirty feet long, over a four foot deep mud puddle, followed by a sprint and a rope-assisted climb over first, an eight and them a twelve foot wall. In time the ropes would go away. And last, was a flat-out run of a hundred meters.

He finished the run in twenty-two minutes and six point three seconds. Not bad for a obstacle course almost two miles long. Hermione followed him only seventeen seconds behind. Neville’s group all arrived twenty-one seconds after her.

Each of his students arrived at the finish line at varying times, over the next ten minutes. He was proud of each one of them. As each arrived at the finish line, he directed them to the nature trail, yelling: “Let’s see if you can beat your best!”

Ron, Seamus and Ernie, arrived dead last, their time being nearly fourty five minutes. Harry met them at the finish, with a frown on his face, and resolving to have words with each of them that evening.

All three knew they were in trouble. He ran them down the five kilometer ‘nature trail’, shouting encouragement along the way.

When they arrived at the castle, he sent them to the showers.

After breakfast, lightsaber training began with Neville and Susan testing against him and being advanced to Makashi. They stepped into another, smaller room to begin to learn the second form, from Tonks and Dobby.

Harry had the rest form up and showed them positions twenty-two and twenty-three, attack and defend, and for the next six hours, they practiced.

At supper, he had Winky deliver messages to Ron, Seamus and Ernie, to meet him at his office immediately after the meal. Again, all three knew they were in trouble.


Ron entered Harry’s office and immediately sat in the comfortable chair. Harry followed him in and rather than seating himself behind the desk, he plopped down in a chair facing his friend.

“Ron, do you want to go home?

“Harry I…”

“Ron, I’ve been watching you. You, Seamus and Ernie, and a couple of others. The lot of you are skiving off, but you three are the worst. I know you can all do better because I’ve seen you do better, but you’ve fallen behind in all aspects of your training. You in particular, are dead last in the physical training, your time on the Grinder today was absolutely pathetic. You don’t take touching the force seriously, your lightsaber work is shoddy at best and I can see right through your shields. Now, we are still in the beginning of training. I can still wipe your memories and let you go. Is that what you want me to do?”

Harry peeked into his friend’s head, and watched the internal discussion Ron was having. He discovered that the redhead was more interested in the ‘fringe benefits’ of saving the world than actually saving the world. He sighed. He had to be very careful about Ron. If his friend allowed his jealousy, his feelings of inadequacy and his vindiction to hold sway, he could easily become a Sith.

Ron knew he was on the thin ice. This ‘new and improved’ Harry was much different than the one he’d gotten used to. This Harry was a great deal more powerful than the Harry he’d gone to school with. He was also considerably darker…more driven…and a lot more intense!

This Harry frightened him…he really did!

Ron took time to think about what being sent home would mean. He knew that if he got sent home, not only would he disappoint his parents, but he’d also be sent back to Hogwarts, and he knew that both Snape and Dumbledore used legilimency in a regular basis. Despite his failings, Ron understood strategies. Being a near master at chess, he had to. He knew that even with his memories erased, he’d still be a valuable source of information, or more importantly, propaganda, to those two. Dumbledore could manipulate any word he uttered to have thirty different meanings, and then, there was Snape…

“Don’t send me home, Harry. Please don’t.” He pleaded.

Harry thought for a while, then sighed: “Alright…but I’m assigning Neville as a ‘mentor’ until you’re back up to speed.”

“Neville?” Ron gaped. Neville had also changed from the chubby near-squib he’d known. Now he was almost as powerful as Harry, and no less driven. Like Harry, he’d sworn on his magic to eliminate the threat of Voldemort and his Death Eaters, or die trying.

“You’d prefer Remus, or Tonks…or maybe the twins?” Harry raised a sardonic eyebrow.

Ron’s instant pallor, gave him the answer.

“Alright then. Neville will mentor you for the next few weeks. I’ll talk to him in the morning. Now, go on to bed, and send Seamus in.”

As Ron touched the door, Harry called out: “Ron, I don’t want to have this conversation again.”

Ron blanched as he darted out the door. That bloke was right scary!

Harry spoke to both Seamus and Ernie, that evening, chiding them for their lack of dedication to self-improvement, and assigning a student from the first or second ranks to ‘mentor’ them until they had regained their determination to succeed.

As each left the office, they agreed with Ron’s assessment.


Harry sat brooding in the bed he shared with Hermione. She walked in from the loo and saw his disquiet.

“Busy day at the office, dear?” She teased lightly. Harry returned her loving smile with one of his own.

“I don’t know Hermione. Sometimes I feel like I have the weight of the world, on my shoulders. Tonight I had to call Ron, Seamus and Ernie into the office. Damnit, Hermione!” He blurted out. “They can do better! It’s not that they can’t, they’re just not trying!”

“It seems to me, I’ve had that conversation more than once with my mum, Harry.” She snarked.

Harry had the decency to flush. In a quiet voice, he said: “I don’t know if I can do this, Hermione. I have the dubious pleasure of eliminating not one but two dark lords, getting the wizarding people to think for themselves, and help to reorganize the government that I helped to overthrow. Sometimes I wonder if there’s enough of me to go ‘round.”

“Harry, nobody can do this alone, but you’re not alone! As long as you aren’t alone, you can do anything…and make no mistake; you will not be alone! You have people around you, that love you, and people who feel the same as you, and we will support you.”

Hermione’s soothing words seemed to melt some of Harry’s disquiet. Still, she knew he wouldn’t sleep properly unless she took some action. Since her period had started two days before, she wasn’t up to the type of ‘relaxation’ he really needed, but she could give him a nice substitute.

“Turn over!” She ordered, as she reached into the bed-side press for a bottle of oil. When he had, she straddled him and poured the oil into her hands. Rubbing briskly to warm them, she applied her palms to his shoulders, pressing downward from his shoulders to his waist in long, firm strokes.

Harry groaned at the pressure, as she massaged knotted muscles. She could feel him slowly beginning to relax, and by the time she was done his back, he was snoring lightly. With a tender smile, she lay beside him, wrapped her arm and leg over him and welcomed the touch of Morpheus.


A/N: Sagacious Ollivander. I don’t think Ollivander was ever named in Canon. I certainly couldn't find a name in the lexicon, and as he acts like he knows all, ‘Sagacious’ would be an apt choice.

“Uw huisaelf kunnen mijn goederen aan veiligheid nemen”. (Your house-elves may take my goods to safety.) I don’t speak Dutch. Babelfish does.

Oliver Wood’s older brother, Michael, was created by the literary genus named ‘Old Crow’. I have permission to use her characters.

I decided to have Ollivander be descended from the high elves. It would make some sense, with his particular abilities. More, if he were of the Laiquendi, he could easily be ‘the’ Ollivander of 382BC. He’d live a life, pretending to age normally, then convince other people his ‘grandson’ or nephew’ was to take over the shop, before fading away. The shop would be closed for his ‘death’ and within a few days he’d return looking like his younger self, and continue on.
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