Categories > Books > Harry Potter > A THOUSAND YEARS

Parts 31, 32 & 33

by Alorkin 14 reviews

Category: Harry Potter - Rating: PG-13 - Genres: Drama - Characters: Godric Gryffindor,Harry,Professor McGonagall,Rowena Ravenclaw,Salazar Slytherin - Warnings: [!] - Published: 2013-09-09 - 7072 words - Complete




On the tenth of February, Snape’s trial turned out to be far more exciting than Malfoy’s had. The reason being that Malfoy didn’t seize an Auror’s wand and cast the killing curse at Augusta Longbottom, and then turn his wand on Amelia Bones.

He also didn’t end up lacking a head and with a good sized hole in his chest from the fourteen reductors all fired at the same time…two of them being fired from Madam’s Longbottom and Bones.

“Well…” Amelia was heard to say. “I suppose it’s better this way. Thrust of a sword and all.”

There was agreement throughout the courtroom. Dumbledore had sworn up and down that Snape was a hero; ‘a spy for the light’, he’d said, ‘who’d placed his life in the gravest of danger every time he met with the dark lord.’ Snape’s previous testemony under the influence of Veritaserum put the lie to that idea. That he’d never provided any useable information on the dark lord’s targets or plans, or the information he did provide came just a few minutes too late to do any good, also escaped nobody’s notice. Still, Dumbledore had his supporters on the council and would undoubtedly have given orders to those supporters to keep the odious man from seeing the justice he so richly deserved. Whether they would have succeeded, was questionable, however, since Snape knew Bones was pushing for the Kiss, he must have decided an instant and relatively painless death was better than a soulless existence…not that anybody there disagreed.

Apparently, despite Dumbeldore’s rhetoric, the only courageous thing Severus Snape had ever done was commit suicide.

Seeing as nothing else could be done, Amelia had Snape’s body removed and the blood scoured away.

Given that the accused was dead due to self-inflicted stupidity, court was adjourned.

That afternoon, Amelia had a brief, one-sided chat with the Auror that Snape had disarmed, one John Dawlish.

“I cannot belive you, Dawlish!” She stormed. “You’re too well trained to allow something so…” She took a breath before beginning again. “John, you understand you have caused the entire Auror corps to look extremely stupid don’t you? Tell me, what would have happened had Snape managed to kill Madam Longbottom?”

Dawlish had no answer. In point of fact, he could care less. With Dumbledore and Longbottom, gone, any one of his compatriots could take the reins of government. Bones would fall and when the dark lord was ready, he would return to glorious accolades.

“You should know that had he succeeded in murdering her, you could have been held equally responsible for that murder? You allowed your wand to be taken by a manacled and bound prisoner, for the purpose of…I’m going to give him the benefit of the doubt and assume it was not intended to be a real murder, so for the purpose of escape. You would have had a desperate, escaped Death Eater on the loose, with your wand!”

Dawlish said nothing.

Unfortunately, Amelia misread his hesitation as being influenced by Dumbledore rather than by his real master.

She sighed. Then made her decision. “If you’re going to listen to that deluded old man, I can’t trust you with the safety of the population. You’ll note, Dumbledore was nowhere near the scene, and if Snape had killed Augusta, he could have and would have disavowed you entirely.” She paused. “The worst thing about this situation is, I cannot afford to not have you just now. I need qualified Aurors, but Aurors with divided loyalties are dangerous to the rest of us.” She paused again and in a heavy voice, added; “Hand me your star.”

And that was it. She transferred Dawlish to the Administration Department for the Wizengamot. He’d be kept busy and he’d be well paid, but he’d no longer be an Auror.

She knew she’d have to keep an eye on him from time to time, as she knew exactly how devastating a blow that was, given the years of dedication and training it took to qualify as an Auror in the first place…worse, she knew how some people would react to such a blow, and she definitely did not need another dark wizard on the rise.

Yes, she’d make sure she and the Ministers that followed her, kept a very careful watch on John Dawlish.


Rita wrote her next article very carefully, bearing in mind that she was on a tightrope.

Wizards and witches all over Britain opened their papers to read:


Dear readers, writes Rita Skeeter, special correspondent to The Daily Prophet, yestermorning, the tenth of February, before his trial for treason could begin, suspected Inner Circle Death Eater, Severus Snape managed to sieze an Auror’s wand and cast the killing curse at Madam Augusta Longbottom, currently head of the Wizemngamot, and then turned his wand on Amelia Bones, Minister of Magic. Snape was killed by not less than fifty reductor curses, leaving nothing but a bloody shell where a brilliant Potions Master had stood. Said Bones; “I suppose it’s better this way. Thrust of a sword and all.” Showing her complete lack of remorse over this valued Potion’s Master’s pointless death. Why would Bones be so heartless and unkind? Did she not know of the sacrifices Snape made for the light during the war with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? No less a personage than Albus Dumbeldore former head of the Wizengamot, claimed four years ago in open court, that Snape placed his very life in desperate jeopardy every time he met with the dark lord, by spying for the forces of the light, and yet, Madam Bones showed no remorse over this vailant man’s death…which was at least in part, at her hands. Doesn’t she care?

With a few callous orders, she had Snape’s body removed and the blood scoured away. This intrepid reporter determined only an hour ago, that Snape’s body was examined for any controlling potions or spell remnants and then simply banished…like household rubbish. Why? This reporter wants to know…

Amelia couldn’t really find fault in Skeeter’s Daily Rubbish. She’d made no direct accusations, and only a few veiled ones, and her report was verifiable…including Amelia’s own aside, and except for the numbers of spells fired, but that could have been ‘witness excitement’. As for the disposal of Snape’s body, he had no survivors. According to the wills and trusts department, he’d made no plans for a burial or the like, and with no one to claim him, there was nothing to do but send him into the lava chamber under Mount Aetna.

On the brighter side, his body couldn’t ever be used for nefarious purpose.

Still, she wondered how the noisome reporter had gotten this information. She hadn’t seen the bleached blond in the gallery during Snape’s dramatic suicide, and she’d looked for her specifically. More, the healers who worked in the morgue knew not to speak to reporters without clearance.

She sighed and set the paper aside. ~Wonderful! Another bellyache I don’t need!~


Valentine’s Day, a day Harry usually dreaded, proved to be far more enjoyable for the bespectacled child, than those he’d suffered through in the future.

Cards, paper hearts glued onto paper doilies, and pink and red streamers, hung from the classroom walls. Students had made them for their favorites, but Harry knew what it felt like to be left out, so ‘some anonymous person’ had made sure that even if a child wasn’t particularly popular he or she would receive at least a few tokens. Interestingly enough, the other children all had the same idea. Where in the fall they were a group of individuals, each out for him or herself, now they were a unit, a team. Each knew he or she had something to contribute and each had learned from their peers. As their teachers had seen, they were all learning together…at a rate only hoped for.

Hermione’s eyes glowed when she saw the extra cards, and saw how happy they made their recipients, and she knew exactly who’d made them. She also knew what loneliness was, and promised to ‘reward’ Harry with a great big kiss…when they got home.

Mrs. Morrison also understood where the extras had come from and smiled her heartfelt appreciation. She’d seen the growing cohesion amongst the students, and knew who was ultimately responsible for it, but had forgotten to factor in holidays like this.

The day was filled with learning games of varous sorts from ‘Who said that?’ and “When did this happen?’ to ‘How much does it cost?’

That evening, after dinner, Hermione made good on her promise and kissed the blushing Harry in front of her parents, Sirius and Remus. When her mother asked why, she’d explained what Harry had done in secret, which garnered him another kiss…from Judith Granger, and hugs from all the men.


On Friday afternoon, as Harry arrived home from school, he called out; “Moppet!” Instantly the little elf appeared. “Good afternoon, Harry!” She greeted him with a cup of milk and a sliced scone, spread with clotted cream.

“Hey, Moppet.” Harry smiled at the anxious-to-please house-elf. “I need to go see Amelia Bones today and I want to make it a surprise. I suspect Tootles has instructios to prevent anyone from getting close to her, will you speak with Tootie and ask her to not interfere? Tell her I will swear an oath that I mean no harm to Amelia or Susan.”

“Moppet will do.” She popped away and returned seconds later with another house elf Harry had only met once…several years in the future.

“Moppet tells Tootles that Harry Potter is going to be playing a prank on Mistress Amelia! Tootles is cannot being allowing this.”

“I will offer an oath that I mean no harm to Mistress Amelia or Missy Susan.”

“Tootles will listen.”

“I Harry James Potter, swear on my magic that I mean no harm this day, to Amelia Bones or Susan Bones, so mote it be.”

A flash of light flew from Harry to Tootles and back, leaving the little elf unconscious from the overload.

“Oh, damn! Too much power.”

“Moppet will take care of Tootles.” Moppet chided him gently. “You go annoy Mistress Amelia Bones.”

Harry touched two fingertips to his forehead and chuckled; “Sir yes Sir, and aye aye sir!” before popping silently away.


At four PM, that Friday, Amelia was still wondering how Rita Skeeter had gotten the secure information in her article. The healers in the morgue had sworn they’d never seen or spoken to her; one even went so far as to say if he had, she would have ended up on a marble slab herself.

It was worrying to think that there was yet another leak in the Ministry’s security. She sighed, set the four-day-old paper on her desk and picked up her teacup. Tootles had delivered the tea only minutes before, so she knew it was safe.

Harry appeared silently in the Minister’s office just as Amelia was sipping her tea. Seeing the uninvited intruder, she gasped, and scrabbled for her wand, unfortunately drawing the hot tea into her trachea. Coughing and gasping, she glared at the smirking young man who now held her wand.

She recognized the messy black hair and the startlingly green eyes, and knew that had he been an assassin, she’d be dead.

When she’d gathered her composure, she greeted him. “Mister Potter. It’s good to see you alive.”

“It’s good to be alive.” He shot back with a smile, and tossed her wand to her.

She caught it and growled. “I see you’ve inherited a full measure of your father’s sense of humour.”

His eyes turned hard. “I wouldn’t know. Thanks to two deranged fools trying to become immortal, I never knew him.”


“Dumbledore and Voldemort.”

“Ah.” She understood, having often thought the old wizard was a few spells short of a Grimoir. Wondering how this youngster could have accessed her inner sanctum, she clearned her throat and nervously asked; “At the risk of being insensitive, have you seen a house elf hereabouts?”

“She’s at my house, unconscious.” Before Bones could ask, Harry explained. “I gave her an oath that I meant no harm to you or Susan, and I…I, um…well I overdid it a bit and knocked her out.”

“You knocked out a house elf with your magic?”


“Good heavens!” Amelia was purely shocked. She knew how powerful elves were. To shock one into unconsciousness, was unheard of…even for the boy in front of her. She feared she’d have to revise her previous estimation of him upward…considerably upward!

Harry interrupted her reflection. “Madam Bones, I’d like to invite you to join me on Monday morning to witness the final destruction of Tom Marvolo Riddle, also known as Lord Voldemort.”

“Voldemort is already dead.” She replied, wondering what he was talking about. She found out.

“Not as dead as any of us would like.”

~Oh shite! This can’t be good!~ “What do you mean?”

“Voldemort used soul jars to ensure his immortality.”

Bones flumped back down into her seat in horrified shock. “NO!

“Ep!” He touched his finger to his nose.

“Where are they? What are they? How do we find them? How can we destroy them?”

“They’ve been taken care of already. I’ve been hunting them since May, and now I have the full set. As for destroying them, that’s why I’m here. I intend to take the soul jars and drop them on the sun. It would be nice if you and your friends were to come along and witness…just in case Dumbledore wants to try his ‘I know everything’ shtick.”

“How are we going to get to the sun? Isn’t it more than ten thousand miles away?”

For some reason theis impertinent scamp began to laugh.

“What, pray tell, is so funny?”

“Madam Bones, you need to revise your astronomy notes. The Earth is about five thousand miles across, the moon is two hundred fourty thousand miles away and the sun is a bit more than ninety three million.”

“Good heavens!”

“As for how we’re going to get there, I have a vessel capable of making the trip quickly and safely.

“A vessel…” Amelia was stunned. ~A real space-going vessel…like that Star…Battle movie we watched last year?~

“Yes. A space vessel. It’ll bring us there and back. I’m going to invite Graswold and Professor McGonagall to come along as well. D’you wanna come?”

“Erm…” Amelia, being Hufflepuff rather than Gryffindor, was not particularly fond of jumping into the unkown without thought, however, she was the head of the Wizarding government. “Of course. I’d like to invite a few others if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all. We’ll have room for around twenty for such a short trip.”

~Short trip?~

“Meet me on top of the building on Monday morning. I’ll be there at around nine.”

“Very well.” She replied. Then asked; “Where will you be…?” to an empty room as the impudent rascal had vanished…from within the ministry wards, and without disrupting so much as a single one of them!

She thought she heard a suppressed snicker but couldn’t be sure.


Her deputy poked her head in the door. “You bellowed?”

“Everybody’s a smartarse!” she growled to herself. “Connie, please contact Croaker and tell him I need to see him. Apparently there’s something else Dumbledore hasn’t told us, about our late and unlamented dark lord.”

“Oh crap!”



On Saturday morning, Rita Skeeter shambled down the stairs to her kitchen for a morning cuppa. She didn’t have a house elf; because her pedigree was only six generations not the requisite seven, she wasn’t considered a ‘real’ pureblood, so she had to do for herself.

Her morning routine would be disrupted as she walked into her kitchen, where she found a tray already laid out. Warm sticky buns and hot tea waited for her.

She also noticed the intruder.

Before she could draw breath to scream, she felt herself being immobilized. Her wand was in her robe pocket, but without control of her limbs, it might as well be on the moon. The cloaked figure twitched a finger and she floated to her usual chair.

Then the immobulus field collapsed. Before she could so much as think, a small finger wagged and her wand floated out of her pocket and across the table.

A voice…clearly that of a child, spoke without emotion. “Rita Skeeter, you’ve been a naughty witch.”

“What do you mean? For that matter, who the bloody hell do you think you are, breaking into my home and imprisoning me? I could have you in Azkaban prison like that!” She popped her fingers.

“Funny you should mention Azkaban; as I understand it, failure to register your animagus form…that of a particularly ugly beetle, carries a five hundred galleon fine and up to a year in Azkaban. Now, do you really want to play ‘whose willy is bigger’?”

Rita knew she was buggered. He may not know for sure, but even the accusation would be enough to have an Auror cast the revealing spell, and that would ensure she spent time in Azkaban at the Minister’s convenience…and given Bones’ stance the last time they met, she didn’t think the woman would be in all too much a hurry to see her tried.

“What do you want?” She asked, her voice subdued.

“To give you the exclusive of your life.” Suddenly Rita was all ears. “I would prefer to invite Xenophilius Lovegood, but he and his family are in Norway just now, and I want this story to receive the widest possible distribution. While I like The Quibbler it appears that The Prophet has a larger reader base; so here we are.”

“What do you mean by interview?”

“I’m sure you know what the word means Rita. Do you mind my calling you Rita?” Before she coud objct, he went on. “Thank you, Rita. My name is…” He lowered his hood. Rita gasped as she recognized the startlingly green eyes and the famous scar.

“Harry Potter!” She gasped in shock.

He smiled. “That’s right. I’m going to invite you to witness the final destruction of Lord Voldemort.” Harry rolled his eyes at the shudder that passed through the reporter.

“What? She gasped; “But You-Know-Who is dead.”

“No, You-Know-Who, is No-Such-Thing.” He smirked, then added; “Not yet, anyway.”

“I don’t understand.”

“Start writing, I’m gonna tell you a story.” He wriggled his finger and a ream of parchment appeared before her, along with three brand new self-inking quills. She scrabbeled for a quill as he began to talk. “Many years ago a child was born in an orphanage in London. His Mother, Merope Gaunt died within minutes of his birth, and…

Harry spoke for hours, detailing the life of Tom Marvolo Riddle and his ascension as the dark lord Voldemort, his fall and the reason he wasn’t ‘really’ dead.

Rita knew she wasn’t a particularly courageous soul, but it took all the intestinal fortitude she possessed, and then some, to stay and record the fearsome wizard’s story, rather than run and hide somewhere, as she so desperately wanted to do. Still, she wrote. She didn’t know Harry had placed a powerful compulsion on the quills to make her continue until he released her.

Finally, he wound up his lengthy discourse.

“…and now, I’d like to invite you to witness his final destruction.”

Rita was absolutely speechless. The pile of parchment had long since tumbled off the table and lay in scattered on the floor. She’d spend hours trying to arrange them, as she’d forgotten to number each sheet, but this could well be the interview that garnered her the coveted golden quill award!

“I do, however, have a few minor conditions.”

Her heart stopped.

“Conditions?” She asked, though truth be told, at this point, she was ready to sacrifice her first-borne son.

“First, you will destroy that bloody quill. For this story, you won’t need it, and you’ve caused far too much harm with it as is. If you refuse, I can always arrange for ‘an accident’. Either way it will be destroyed. Second, you may resell this story as often as you want, but you have to ensure the printer keeps it as accurate as possible. You’ll note, I didn’t say completely truthful, because I think if you tried to tell the complete truth your head would explode…which would be funny to watch, actually. Third, you are going to be travelling in a conveyance unlike any you’ve ever imagined…leave it that way. You will not attempt to describe the vessel in any manner. Next, there will be some people on board you don’t recognize. Do not describe them; do not attempt to interview them. Leave them the-hell-alone. Last, you are going to be riding with some rather powerful and influential people…people with far more influence than you could ever hope for…people who already don’t like you. For that, I have a bit of advice that’s worth exactly what you pay for it. When walking on eggshells…don’t jump!”

Harry sat back, and waited a few seconds. “Now. Do we have a deal…or should I have a little chat with Anita Scrivener?” Harry knew Scrivener was Rita’s primary rival at The Daily Prophet, and was nearly as good a gossipmonger. In fact, their antagonism had grown to such an extent that both had been arrested more than once for their attempts to ‘eliminate the competition’.

With a twitch of his hand, the scattered sheets of parchement flew from the floor and arranged themselves neatly on the table. “Or maybe I could just go to Norway.”

Rita paled in actual fear. Having Skeeter write the story would only cause her some rather deep humiliation, but she knew that if he gave this story to Lovegood, she might as well turn in her resignation…and go live in Antarctica. The threat was clear. Agree…or lose everything!

“NO!” Rita blurted, then recovered herself. “Erm…I mean, no please. I’ll take the story…and your restrictions.”

“Fine. Be ready to leave at nine AM on Monday morning from the rooftop of the building over the Ministry. I’ll make arrangements with Madam Bones so she doesn’t have you shot on sight.”

With that rather unnerving warning, Harry Potter, missing boy hero, vanished without a sound, leaving a frazzled and rather excited Rita Skeeter with her cold tea.

Feb 16th

Harry’s next stop was in Scotland. As before, the castle welcomed him with feelings of warmth and love. He greeted her in return and soon found himself at the gargoyle guarding the headmaster’s…or in this case headmistress’ office. A smile from him was all it took and the stone beast jumped aside.

Harry ascended the rotating stairway and knocked on the heavy oaken door there.

“Enter.” Came from within.

He eased the door open and stepped inside.

Minerva apparently didn’t see him, so she called out again. “Enter!”

“I’m already here.” He piped up. Startled, Minerva leaned forward to find the miniature Potter grinning at her.

“Merlin’s beard!” She gasped, clutching her hand to her breastbone.

“Well, I’ve been likened to him on occasion, but as you can clearly see…” Harry brushed his hand across his cheek and grinned. “I’m clean shaven.”

“You’re Harry Potter, alright. Your father was just as impertinent.” She groused, before standing and walking amounted desk. Kneeling she held out her arms in welcome. “We all thought you were dead.”

Harry gladly fell into those arms and whispered; “I’ve missed you.”

“What do you mean?”

“It’s a long, and rather involved story.”

And Harry told the story. He told her of her classmate and what he’d done to himself to become Voldemort, and what Dumbledore had done to ensure that transition would take place, As he did, he laid out the pieces he’d found, including the ring in the copper and crystal box. He dispelled the rotting curse on the ring, in a whispered Parseltongue, and explained what Riddle had done with them. Minerva was horrified that someone would dare to defile such treasures as these in such an obscene manner.

Now, the goblet, tiara, ring, locket and lastly, Gryffindor’s sword, which he’d had to coerce the Hat into surrendering; priceless artifacts all, lay on her desk, awaiting her judgment.

“I’d like for you to create a secure display for these, in the Entrance Hall if possible. I’m certain Professor Flitwick can help in areas where he is more adept. These items have been hidden for nearly a thousand years and it’s time and long past time they were returned to where they belong.”

“Huzzah!” Came a booming voice from one portrait. Both looked up to find a large man with copper colored hair and a full beard. He also had shockingly green eyes. Minerva had only seen eyes like that on two people, Harry and his mother. He wore archaic leather armor with plates of metal sewn in. He was brawny, and deeply tanned, as though he was used to hard work, and long days in the sun. Standing to one side, a clearly uncomfortable Phineas Nigellus watched his distinguished visitor with nervous eyes.

As soon as she saw him, Minerva gasped in recognition. She bowed, and said: “My lord, Gryffindor!” Harry bowed as well.

“Please, gentle lady, good squire.” Gryffindor replied in a rich deep baritone voice. “Humble thyselves not to me, for I am but a shade of what I was. Were I alive, I would accept your tribute, and gladly, but as I have passed from the mortal coil, I am no longer a lord, or any such nobility.”

Minerva straightened and spoke in the same archaic tones. “Verily sire. I do not often suffer myself to offer obeisance. You are one such, who has earned my respect, as are your peers. Please accept my fealty for what it is.”

“I am honored.” Gryffindor’s voice was quiet, and filled with respect. He bowed to Minerva once again and then to Harry. “And you, young squire, I am given to know that ‘twas you who recovered those family treasures.”

“I have, sir.” Harry replied as Minerva interjected; “My lord Gryffindor, this is no mere squire, but the Lord Harrison James Potter, the last of the Gryffindor line.

Harry bowed, this time, a bow given to one of equal rank. “My lord Gryffindor.”

Godric looked askance at Harry. “You are but a child!”

At this, Phineas Nigellus beckoned to someone outside his frame. Another man, dark haired as Gryffindor was ruddy, entered the portrait to stand next to his descendant. Like Gryffindor, he wore armor of leather sewn with metal, although of a somewhat different style, which harkened to his Moorish ancestry. His eyes were as black as his hair. He wore a goatee, rather than the fuller beard Godric wore. He stood taller than his friend and was slender, but well toned, and his skin was darker than his comrade. There was no doubt that he was also used to hard work. Minerva greeted him, bowing as before, and saying: “I bid you welcome, Lord Slytherin.”

He returned her bow with the respect due her position, and then carefully looked Harry over, and then spoke in a remarkably non-evil tenor. “Zounds! I am given to know that you are not of pure blood, yet e’en from my vantage, methinks you are more powerful by far, than a’most any I have e’er seen. Certes you are heir to my friend.”

“My lords, I am actually heir to both of you. By blood I am the heir of Lord Gryffindor, but by right of conquest, I claim dominion over the Slytherin line.”

“What is this I hear?” Slytherin was shocked. “You have faced my heir in battle? You should be bosom companions, not mortal enemies.”

“Unfortunately, Lord Slytherin…” Harry looked at Minerva for permission and when she nodded, he explained. “Your reported view on the purity of blood being the deciding factor of magical nobility has gone much further than you could have expected. There has, for the last several hundred years, existed a schism. Those who call their blood ‘pure’ wield most of the wealth and political power in our world. Platitudes are expressed in support of muggleborns and those of mixed parentage, but the real sentiment is to continue to repress any but those of pure blood.” He took a breath and plowed ahead.

“The difficulty here is that because of their refusal to consider anyone below their self appointed station, the purebloods are dying out. Another three or four generations and there will be no more. With a very few exceptions, their magic, has grown weak, and yet, their arrogance has grown all the stronger.

About fifty years ago, a promising and brilliant student, named Tom Marvolo Riddle, Lady McGonagall knew him personally, decided it was his duty as your last direct heir, to purify the bloodlines. To that end, he began to murder those who were not of the blood. He crafted himself a new name, infused himself in dark rituals, surrounded himself with those of pure blood who agreed with his views, and thus became the dark lord Voldemort.”

“My heir has turned to the dark?” Slytherin asked in a strangled voice. His eyes filled with pain.

“He has.”

“He lives still?”

“After a fashion, yes.”

“What mean you, ‘After a fashion’? Prithy tell.”

“Voldemort maintained his reign of terror by torture and murder. Those who opposed him, died, horribly, either at his hand or at those of his Death Eaters…his servants. Only I survived.” Harry paused, and looked searchingly into the painted eyes of lord Gryffindor.

“Your line was thought to have died out almost six hundred years ago. Or rather your magical line. It turns out, my mother, Lily Potter; carried your blood, however distantly. Lily was born to a muggle family, the Evans’. She is the only witch in her line for the traceable past. No one knew of her heritage.

To Voldemort, she was anthemion. She and my father, James Potter, descended from the Gryffindor family’s senior cadet line, were both opposed to Riddle’s ideals, and more, his methods. They had sworn even on their lives to put an end to Voldemort. They fell on All Hallows Eve, four years ago.”

“All Hallows eve?” Gryffindor arched a bushy eyebrow in confusion.

“Samhain.” Minerva provided the name. The red-haired wizard nodded in understanding.

I survived as a babe, because my mother sacrificed herself for me. She combined a life-love sacrifice with the runic magic of Sowilo…” He touched his famous scar. “…to create a shield powerful enough to withstand even the unblockable killing curse. It worked.”

“I hath ne’er heard tell of a ‘killing curse’. Slytherin said.

Dilys Derwent spoke quietly. “It was developed after your time, Lord Slytherin. I shall describe it and it’s effects to you in a bit.”

Two more people had eased their way into the portrait. A black haired woman wearing a midnight blue gown with a silver-laced kirtle, stood beside Slytherin, her hands resting comfortingly on his shoulders, and a somewhat more ‘sturdy’ woman with a friendly face and curly blond hair in faded mustard yellow, who, for some reason, reminded both Harry and Minerva of Molly Weasley,

Phineas Nigellus had removed himself to the next frame in order to make room for the four people now in his own frame to fit. Minerva bowed to the portrait, as the two women entered, saying; “My ladies.” Harry followed suit. Both women nodded back.

Harry smiled his thanks and went on. “Lord Voldemort vanished that night. The killing curse rebounded from the protections given me by my mother’s sacrifice, and tore his spirit from his body. He should have been destroyed; his soul sent on to its reward, but because he’d divided his soul into parts, and concealed each part in an object, he could not truly die. He wished to create seven, as that was a magical number of great power. These receptacles are currently called Horcruxes, and such magic is absolutely forbidden, as they require the deliberate murder of an innocent in their creation.”

“The foulest of magicks!” Exclaimed Slytherin. His normally handsome face was now dark with suppressed rage. “I am aghast! I am astounded that any of my line would defile himself in such a manner!”

“With some help from our friends at Gringotts, I have located those Horcruxes. The articles he used to store his soul are on that desk. Riddle was an acquisitive man and he felt having his soul protected by founder’s artifacts was a slap in the face to the wizarding world. Now that I have located them and transferred the soul parts to other items, of little worth, I intend to destroy them completely.”

Slytherin was more than furious. He sat heavily on Nigellus’ chair, and rested his chin on his fisted hand. He thought for many minutes more, then finally snarled: “He…is… cast…out!” His eyes shone dangerously.

“This ‘Tom Riddle’, this ‘Lord Voldemort’…” He spat the word as if it was purest poison. “Is cast from my line! I disavow him! I cast him from my family! The line of Slytherin shall have naught to do with him! May every hand be turned against him and his! So mote it be!”

“So mote it is!” Every portrait echoed the words.

“I thank you, My Lord.” Harry bowed deeply to the dark haired image.

Slytherin returned the bow, and in a voice tight with repressed fury; “I must needs leave ere I grow so impassioned with rage, I wouldst lose hold of my tongue.” He turned and stalked from the painting, leaving some pensive people.

Long moments passed before Rowena broke the embarrassed silence.

“You say he fashioned seven of those obscenities?” She asked.

“He did.”

“Other than Godric’s sword, I count only four.”

“The others have been dealt with as well. One was in the journal he kept as a student, it was destroyed when the soul piece was removed and placed in its final entombment. The other two were himself, existing as a free-floating phantasm in Albania…and me.”

“No!” Minerva grasped the idea much faster than any of the remaining founders. Her eyes immediately graced his scar. Harry nodded.

“I asked Albus if he could heal that scar, and he told me…”

“Even if I could, I wouldn’t.” Harry aped Dumbledore’s voice exactly. “Scars can come in handy. I have one myself above my left knee that is a perfect map of the London Underground.”

“How did you…”

“I have an eidetic memory. I remember everything. Since I was about a foot from his mouth at the time, I definitely heard it…even if I didn’t realize it until later.”

“He knew…even then, he knew.”

Again, Harry nodded. “He planned it that way, actually. He knew Voldemort believed in Prophesy and when the former divination teacher retired he saw his chance. He made up a prophecy and arranged for Sybill Trelawney, the absolute least capable seer in Britain to apply for the job. When he interviewed her, in the Hogshead Inn, of all places. He knew that Snape was listening in. I mean, come on! That place has a higher concentration of criminal lowlifes, politicians and other con men, than Knockturn Alley! He somehow compelled her to speak that pile of…words, and Snape took what little he’d heard to his master. That’s why my parents had to die. Dumbledore wanted to end this war but leave the social structure intact. He wanted to eliminate Voldemort, but leave his pureblood minions alone to control the rest of us.”

~We are going to need to talk about this, Mister Potter.~ Minerva mused. She was worried about the anger in this man/child’s voice. She knew he would have to redirect that anger if he were to avoid following in Riddle’s footsteps.

Rowena interrupted her ponderings when she asked: “And you will destroy them?”

Harry nodded.

“How? Is not the soul immortal?”

“That is the current thinking, yes. Whether it is or not, I intend to remove the soul parts from this planet entirely. I intend to take them into space and drop them onto the surface of the sun. If the soul is in fact immortal and he is not destroyed, he will still be ninety three million miles away with no possible method of returning to this planet. ”

All eyes in the office were on him. “You have the wherewithal to leave this Earth? To venture into the firmament?”

“I do. In fact, that is why I am here. I wished to invite Professor McGonagall to witness this destruction personally. Voldemort will truly be gone this time.”

“I cannot thank you enough, Harry. I knew Tom Riddle, and he was as dark a wizard as any I’ve ever come across.”

“I know a worse one.” Harry muttered. Minerva pretended not to hear him. She’d argued most strenuously with Albus about placing Harry with those dreadful muggles, and felt certain Harry’s thoughts were as a result of his stay with them. In a way, she was right.

“I’ll meet you, Monday morning at nine, on the top of the Ministry building.”

“I shall be there.”

“Then I must be off.” Harry waved at the portraits and left the office.

Through her connection to Hogwarts, Minerva ‘felt’ the boy as he made his way through the halls of the school, left the castle entirely and eventually passed through the wards. When he’d left the school, she sat at her desk, lost in thought. She knew that while he’d told her a great deal; he’d not told her a great deal more, and wondered how that would affect his schooling when he arrived in September, five years hence.


In Diagon Alley, Harry walked into Gringotts bank and found himself immediately surrounded by an honor guard, and marched to Graswold’s office.

At Graswold’s door, a subaltern on guard knocked and announced Harry’s presence.

He bowed before Harry, said; ::The most honored Dak will see you now.:: and stood to one side.

Harry bowed back and stepped through the doorway.

Greeting the old goblin with a grin, Harry began; “It’s time to destroy the soul jars. I’m inviting you and a few of your friends to watch the final defeat of our mutual enemy.”

“Thank you, Lord Gryffindor.” Graswold showed a mouthful of sharklike teeth. “Where and when?”

“I shall bring my shuttle here to the back entrance, and collect the soul pieces on Monday morning at seven. I have an appropriate container for them and you and yours can witness my placing and sealing them into this container. Together we will fly to the Ministry building. If you wish, you can watch me attach them to my ship’s hull, if not, I’ll let you out on the roof and then take them to the My Little.

I’ll have five guests aboard, who, like you, have earned the right to witness the end of this monster; I have room for about twenty onboard my ship, I would like you to choose between four and five of your people to come along, the rest will be from the ministry, Department of Mysteries, one or two from Hogwarts and the Wizengamot…oh, and Rita Skeeter. I want this to be documented. Is that acceptable to you?”

“It is. I shall await your arrival in two days time.”

“Then I shall take my leave of you now. Thank you for your valuable time, and may you find gold at your feet.”

“May your vaults never empty, Lord Gryffindor.”

Harry smiled again and left the goblin to his thoughts.


Harry appeared in the Minister’s office one more. This time he waited until she’d finished sipping her tea before he made himself visible.

“Madam Bones, I’ve invited some people along for Monday’s ride.”

Amelia simply asked; “Who?”

“Minerva McGonagall, Dak Graswold and a few of his friends…and Rita Skeeter.” Amelia was happy she hadn’t been drinking or she would have made quite a mess.

“Might I ask why?”

“Why Rita?”

“Specifically Rita.”

“Well I’ve given ‘dear’ Rita some instructions to report on the destruction of the soul pieces…and she’s got a special assignment.”

“You told her about that?” Amelia was horrified. The damage Rita could do would be appalling!

“Now don’t get your knickers in a twist. I want this to be reported properly and as I have some rather serious leverage over her, I can see to it that it is.”

“You’re blackmailing Rita Skeeter?”

“Blackmail is such an ugly word.”

“Yet you don’t deny it.”


“Fine.” Amelia nodded her head once. “Keep her out of trouble.”

“Not a problem.”


By my scale of 1₲ =£19.17, 500₲ = £9585 or (at the average RoE in the 80’s and 90’s of 1:1.8) US$17,253. A sizable chunk of change.

The conversation between Harry, Minerva, and Lords Gryffindor and Slytherin, was taken from an as-yet unfinished piece I’m having some difficulty with. When I hammer it into shape, I’ll begin posting. Expect a long wait.
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