Chapter 61: The New Head Auror Pt. 2
Chapter Text
A/N: Hestia Jones is brought partially into the fold~
-x-X-x-
Hestia listens with very conflicted emotions as Amelia Bones outlines the not-so-eminent catastrophe facing their world. On the one hand, she can't help but feel a sort of mounting horror as the new Minister of Magic details the very end of magic itself. On the other hand, they apparently do still have time, somewhere in the ballpark of five to ten years before shit really hits the fan.
On the third, more directly applicable hand, Amelia is STILL being fucked by Harry the entire damn time that she's explaining all of this to Hestia. Even as Amelia is listing out statistics that prove the decline of magic thanks to the rapidly growing prevalence of muggle technology is very real, she's bouncing on Harry's cock. Even as she describes what's happened in Japan thanks to muggle weaponry back during the era of Grindelwald, she's valiantly containing her moans, her face flushed and her panting audible.
Needless to say, Hestia is squirming in her seat on the other side of the Minister's Desk and she's pretty sure she's left a wet spot on the cushion by this point. Obviously, soaking through her panties while hearing about the potential end of the damn world as they know it leaves Hestia feeling quite confused.
When Amelia is finally done explaining things, Hestia can't help but want to tackle that issue first, even if maybe there are more important matters at hand.
"Why… why are you telling me everything like… this? And why make me Head Auror? Kingsley would have been better under pressure."
Surprisingly, it's not Amelia who responds to that… but Harry.
"Kingsley Shacklebolt is a competent operator to be sure, but he has… split loyalties, Hestia."
Hestia had known the young wizard was prodigious. She'd known he was beyond capable for his age. Frankly, she'd never known what to think of everyone saying he'd defeated the Dark Lord at one year old, but now she was beginning to believe it might have been possible, somehow. For him to be so good with magic now, perhaps he'd had exceptionally early and exceptionally strong accidental magic as an infant.
Still…
"Split… loyalties?"
Pinching Amelia's nipples in between his fingers, causing the half-naked, increasingly disheveled Minister to moan in response, Harry nods.
"He's Albus Dumbledore's man, first and foremost. That might make him difficult to work with, in the future."
Wha- Albus Dumbledore's man? Hestia blinks owlishly. She can kind of see it, actually. The problem is, why is that a bad thing? Dumbledore was a great man and a greater wizard… wasn't he?
As if reading her mind, Harry sighs and suddenly pulls Amelia off of his cock so that he has an unobstructed view of her. The Minister of Magic… immediately slips off of his lap and down onto the floor, with the telltale sounds of oral sex emitting from beneath the desk a moment later.
Hestia's eyes widen as she looks down at the desktop, as though she'll somehow suddenly develop the ability to see through it and witness the powerful witch underneath it currently giving Harry Potter head. Just like she witnessed Tonks doing so all that time ago in the safehouse kitchen.
Needless to say though, there was a pretty huge difference between watching a Junior Auror engage in such sexual tomfoolery and knowing that the Minister of Magic was doing so.
Harry, of course, acts like nothing is happening as he catches Hestia's gaze with his own and holds it fast, staring her down intensely.
"Albus Dumbledore is not a bad man, Hestia. But he is old. And currently, he's focused on all of the wrong things."
Hestia swallows, feeling like she's currently caught between two titans of magic. One old, as Harry had said… and one new. He was the Boy-Who-Lived, after all. If anyone had the right to challenge Dumbledore for his 'throne', it would be Potter right?
"What… what wrong things?"
Sighing again, Harry shrugs.
"Voldemort, primarily."
Blinking, Hestia pauses and then pales at the implications of that statement. But Harry waves her off before she can respond.
"Yes, Voldemort is not truly dead. I vanquished him that Halloween Night, but I didn't fully kill him. You may have heard rumor of a few incidents over the past few years like the Sorcerer's Stone being housed at Hogwarts, or the Petrification Epidemic. And of course, the Death Eater attack this year after the Quidditch World Cup."
Hestia flinches at that last one. Fuck, talk about a painful few days for the Auror Department. Not only was the attack over too swiftly for them to get out there in force and do anything about it, but also they couldn't do shit in the aftermath either. Oh sure, they had suspects for who could be behind the attack, but they weren't exactly allowed to run down those leads because Cornelius fucking Fudge was stonewalling them to protect his donors and masters… some of whom very well might have been under those masks that night.
Needless to say, the events that took place after the Quidditch World Cup had led to more than a few ceaseless nights for Hestia Jones. She could only imagine it was even worse for those at the top like Rufus and Amelia. But from what Harry was saying…
"Those are all signs of Voldemort trying to come back in some way or other. He's getting stronger and his followers can feel it, which is leading to them starting to act out in order to prove their loyalty to their master. Obviously, Dumbledore has caught on to that fact as well and has his focus on trying to prevent the Dark Lord's return."
Well wasn't that a good thing? Except… no, Hestia realizes. When she thinks about everything Amelia just told her, suddenly Voldemort feels like… a side issue. Sure, the Dark Lord was evil and wanted to conquer the magical world, but he was a bit less of a priority when the very end of said world was on the table instead.
Harry nods as though reading her mind again, smiling thinly as he shrugs his shoulders.
"Voldemort is a distraction, Hestia. But Albus Dumbledore, for all his wisdom and all his power, is a little too set in his ways to recognize that fact. And that's not a bad thing either. He's an old man with only a few years left. But for that same reason, he's not the right man for the crisis ahead. I chose you to be Head Auror instead of Kingsley because I knew I could count on you to be loyal to Amelia and me above all else."
When Harry put it that way while being seated behind the Minister's desk while the Minister of Magic was literally on her knees with her lips wrapped around his cock… well, it felt more like he was in charge of everything instead, didn't it? But was that necessarily a bad thing? Hestia clenches her thighs together and bites her lower lip, trying hard not to let her arousal overwhelm the rational side of her mind.
"It's alright to have doubts, Hestia. Let's make a bet, shall we?"
Huh? Hestia blinks as Harry smirks at her… all while one of his hands is resting under the desk, clearly atop Amelia's bobbing head. Blushing hard, Hestia shudders.
"What… what kind of bet?"
Harry hums as if thinking about it for a moment, but she knows better. He's already got it all figured out… and he knows he basically has her right where he wants her. Truthfully, he's had her right where he wanted her since that first time she witnessed Tonks getting her face fucked and didn't step in. And Hestia spying on him and Tonks every day for the rest of that week hadn't done her any favors in that regard either.
"I can guarantee that I'll have Voldemort dealt with by the end of the Triwizard Tournament. Decisively. If I can show you proof of that over the Summer, then you'll swear yourself to me completely and utterly. Until then, neither of us speak about what we know of the other to anyone."
As far as ultimatums go, it's a rather gentle one, admittedly. He's not trying to force the issue today, not trying to make her decide one way or another right here and now. And it's not like Hestia would have told anyone what he and Amelia had told her anyways, even without the threat of her voyeuristic perverse tendencies being unveiled hanging over her head.
In the end, the new Head Auror swallows thickly and nods, prompting a smile from Harry… followed by a grunt. Then, Hestia's eyes widen slightly as she hears the telltale sound of AMELIA swallowing thickly down below the desk, the Minister of Magic gulping down Harry's seed as he ejaculates in her throat over and over again.
It's in that moment that Hestia Jones tips over the edge, catching herself by surprise as she orgasms on the spot. To be fair, it wasn't the first time she'd cum from voyeurism, but it WAS the first time she'd climaxed without ever even touching herself for the added stimulation. It's not a huge orgasm or anything like that and she's able to keep her body's movements to a minimum… but seeing the knowing grin on Harry's face, Hestia is well aware that it doesn't matter. He still knows what just happened.
She blushes hard, part of her almost wishing he had forced the issue so they could do something more together right then and there. Waiting until Summer to see if he could back up his claims about Voldemort was going to be absolute torture, Hestia could already tell…
-x-X-x-
"Are you ready for this, Harry?"
Hermione's concerned voice brings a smile to his face, even as he turns to the worried brunette bookworm and pulls her into a somewhat raunchy hug along with a deep, tongue-filled kiss. The hug portion was raunchy because his hands went to her ass as he held her close, even as their tongues wrestled and they swapped spit for a moment.
When he finally pulls back, Hermione is flustered and panting heavily, her eyes filled with lust as she bites her lower lip.
"I'm ready, 'Mione. You don't need to worry about me."
He would always kick himself for what could have been in the other timeline. But at least in this timeline, he hadn't made Hermione settle for anything less than what she actually wanted. Now here they were, mere minutes away from the start of the Triwizard Tournament's Third Task. For everyone else, it was a big deal.
For Harry? It was simply pest control. He would win the Triwizard Tournament (again) but not because he cared about it… rather, because it would give him the best opportunity to handle Voldemort once and for all, just as he'd promised Hestia Jones a month ago now. And not just Voldemort either… no, if everything went according to plan tonight, Harry was about to deal with the vast majority of his enemies in Wizarding Britain in one fell swoop. From there… the world became his oyster.
"I… I know I don't, but I worry anyways, I suppose. If only you didn't have to take part in this stupid tournament. There are so many more important things to worry about."
Harry hums at that, inclining his head in acknowledgment. Hermione didn't know everything yet. He wasn't sure when he would tell her all of the sordid details. But she knew about as much as say, Hestia did. She knew that magic was on the decline and that if something wasn't done soon, it might die off entirely.
Hermione had been working on solutions ever since he'd told her all those months ago. She was a bright witch… brilliant even. Harry was confident that given enough time, she would come up with something amazing. After all, she'd had far less time in the original timeline, and she'd still been on the brink of something spectacular before the death of magic had claimed her and everyone else Harry cared about.
That didn't mean he was putting all of his eggs in one basket, however. Hermione was just one aspect of his plan. One tendril of the hydra, so to speak. Amelia being installed as Minister was another. Hestia as Head Auror was a sub-tendril of that. Rita as a writer at the Daily Prophet was a third entire tendril. Apolline's acquisition, while unexpected, had supplied him with the beginning of foreign soft power. Narcissa, meanwhile, had the business side of things handled after Lucius' squibification.
And at the center of it all… Harry himself, collecting power until finally he would have enough to do anything that needed to be done.
In regard to all that, tonight was barely a stepping stone in the path. A blip on the radar. Harry wasn't worried about Voldemort or Wormtail. No, if anything… he was looking forward to this.
"There are, Hermione. And after tonight, we'll be moving full steam ahead on those things. I need to go now, but I'm sure you'll be watching. Just remember, no matter what happens… I know exactly what I'm doing."
Hermione hesitantly nods but lets him go all the same. Harry begins making his way to where the Champions are meeting up, only to find himself accosted by a certain someone he'd very nearly forgotten about.
"Ready, Potter?"
Harry slows to a stop and regards the fake Mad-Eye Moody quietly for a long second. Of course. Harry still remembered Barty's interference in the Third Task to ensure he made it to the center. He hadn't exactly let the disguised Death Eater ingratiate himself with him this time around. Nor had he accepted any help from Barty either. But then, he'd also proved time and time again that he didn't need it.
However, Harry knew Barty wouldn't be taking any chances this time. Fortunately… the man's usefulness was at an end.
"Ready as I'll ever be, Crouch."
The polyjuiced Death Eater goes for his wand, but Harry just reaches out with his magic and slams him into the wall, knocking the wand from his grasp in the process. Then, he slams him into the ground for good measure before knocking him out with the strongest stunning spell he can muster.
"Thanks for the 'help' Barty, but Fleur is too important to me for me to risk you doing anything too damaging to her this time around I'm afraid."
Sticking the disabled Death Eater in a broom closet and disillusioning him for later, Harry continues on his way with a bit of a pep in his step. Time to finish this.
Chapter 62: The Third Task
Chapter Text
A/N: Fleur has been training for this~
-x-X-x-
Fleur has to admit, she's barely listening as one of the Tournament Officials rambles on and on about the Third Task. She gets the gist of it, after all. Big massive magical hedge maze with dangers galore and the grand prize at the center of it. Easy enough to understand.
Ultimately, she has her eye on that prize. She's going to win… she HAS to win. It's funny, Fleur always wanted to win the Triwizard Tournament. She was the ambitious sort, and she wouldn't have put her name in the Goblet of Fire in the first place if she didn't want to come out on top.
… But that original desire to beat the other Champions feels almost like a distant memory if she's being honest. It's no longer about winning for the sake of accolades and glory, for the fame of having won a contest that was considered so dangerous it'd been discontinued for decades.
No, now Fleur has to win so she can prove herself to Harry Potter. She has to win so she can show him, once and for all, that she's worthy of joining his Wizard's Coven and having her magic bound to his own.
… She's reconciled with her mother, as Harry wished her to. Apolline and her still don't see eye to eye on this, but Fleur has ultimately forgiven the Delacour Matriarch for her betrayal. Harry was right. Her mother loved her and though the betrayal still stung, it wasn't nearly as deep of a wound as Fleur had initially thought. In the end, time healed most things Fleur supposed.
That didn't change what she wanted out of this though. She was going to prove to Harry once and for all that she was worthy of his coven… even if that meant having to beat him in this competition.
Fortunately for Fleur, she had a huge advantage… as it turned out, she'd somehow wound up in First Place after the Second Task. Despite her somewhat abysmal performance in the First Task, Fleur had nevertheless done well enough that placing first in the Second Task had pushed her ahead of Krum and Harry. Cedric was… a non-issue, though Harry's full healing of his injuries meant he would likely be able to give a much better performance this time around than in the Second Task.
Still, the advantage for being in First Place was that Fleur got to enter the Maze first as well. Followed by Harry and Krum, and then Cedric. It was the best possible scenario she could hope for, really. Beating Harry to the center of the Maze wouldn't just take all of her skill and ingenuity… it would take luck too. Fleur acknowledged that fact. But maybe, just maybe, the head start would be enough to push her over the edge…
"Are our Champions all ready?"
At their nods, Ludo Bagman clears his throat, his eyes flickering to Harry for a moment before focusing on Fleur with a smile.
"Very well then, let's begin. Ms. Delacour, you're up!"
Moving to the start of the Maze, Fleur waits for the Ministry Official to let a bang off with his wand. Then, she's off to the races. Sprinting into the Maze, Fleur immediately casts a Point Me spell as soon as she's out of sight. One might not think it would be all that helpful… but it does actually work in pointing her in the direction of the Maze's center, which is in and of itself hugely beneficial in helping her keep her bearings.
Once she knows the general way she has to go, Fleur begins navigating the hedge maze. She moves swiftly, but also cautiously, keeping her head on a swivel for anything that might come after her. The Maze was supposedly populated with all sorts of monsters and traps galore, and Fleur would be damned if she fell afoul of any of them.
Of course, it's not long before her time advantage is used up and she hears another telltale bang behind her that lets her know the other Champions are being allowed to begin their own runs of the maze. Fleur tries not to flinch at the loud sound and tries to stay focused on what's right in front of her eyes.
Of course, then she turns a corner and runs smack dab into a scene straight out of her nightmares.
"Oooh~ oh… Fleur, I'm sorry you have to see this baby, but you should know he prefers a real woman. You're just not good enough."
Fleur's teeth audibly grinds as she points her wand at the… debauched sight in front of her and intones the Boggart-Banishing Charm with a bit more forcefulness than necessary.
"Riddikulus."
She puts so much power behind the spell that the Boggart, which had most definitely taken the form of her greatest fear, doesn't even transform into something silly. It just warps and screeches and flees from her as fast as it possibly can. As well it fucking should! Showing her something like that… ugh!
Fortunately, the Boggart flees towards the outer edge of the Maze, rather than towards the center. So, putting it firmly out of her mind, Fleur keeps moving. She's spent the last few months training night and day for this. Ever since she and Harry had their talk, Fleur has put her nose to the grindstone and been hard at work. Truth be told, she barely recognizes the witch she used to be before this year. The Fleur Delacour, who originally came to Hogwarts all those months ago… would be shocked to find what's become of her.
Fleur didn't care though. That other Fleur had been shallow. Weak. Arrogant. She'd been so sure of herself, an unjustified amount of confidence that even now made Fleur shudder in remembrance.
Now she knew that the world was a much bigger place than she'd ever realized. Now… she knew what she truly wanted out of life.
Harry was going to be her Master. She was going to join his coven. And no one was going to stop her… not even Harry himself.
And certainly not the magical creatures thrown in her way. Fleur sneers as she fights her way through the Maze. The biggest thing that gives her trouble is an overly large monster Fleur had been informed was called a 'Blast-Ended Skrewt', but while that sort of thing might have been the downfall of Fleur from yesteryear, the Fleur of now has no trouble with it.
Then, she turns a corner and finds herself face to face with a Sphinx. This brings Fleur to a halt, mostly because… well, even if she's riding high on life, she's not stupid enough to tangle with a Sphinx directly.
"Hello. Will you answer my riddle and perhaps receive a clue to the last threat facing you before the middle? Or will you turn and try to find another route to the center?"
Fortunately, it's not a fight, but rather a test. Fleur straightens up as she realizes she's on the correct route to the grand prize. Otherwise, the Sphinx wouldn't be here. Still, if she fails the riddle… she's likely out of the competition. But she doesn't have time to find another path. While Krum and Diggory are competitors in their own right, Fleur knows her true competition is Harry Potter. Always has been.
"Give me your riddle!"
Humming, the Sphinx smiles and then begins to speak in a melodic, ethereal voice.
First think of the person who lives in disguise,
Who deals in secrets and tells naught but lies.
Next, tell me what's always the last thing to mend,
The middle of middle and end of the end?
And finally give me the sound often heard,
During the search for a hard-to-find word.
Now string them together and answer me this,
Which creature would you be unwilling to kiss?
Fleur blinks and then immediately begins going over the lines in her head. Fortunately, it's not that hard of a riddle actually. You just have to pull it apart and take it line by line before 'stringing them together' as it says at the end. The first two lines… refer to a spy, obviously. The next two lines… can only mean the letter 'D'. And finally, the sound often heard when someone was searching for a word on the tip of their tongue. Err.
Spy-D-err, or rather…
"The answer is spider!"
The Sphinx smiles all the wider… and steps aside. Fleur releases a breath she didn't even know she was holding as she races past. She doesn't forget what the Sphinx said however… about the riddle also being a clue for the last threat that stood between her and the prize. Fleur was so close now, but that didn't mean she was going to let her success go to her head.
Thank fuck too, because keeping her head on a swivel and her eyes up as much as down is what lets her see the Acromantula before it's too late. The massive magical spider, easily twice her size, screeches as Fleur makes eye contact with its myriad eyes. With a snarl, she raises her wand and casts her strongest spell.
"INCENDIO!"
Veela had something of a fire-based heritage. Some even liked to claim they were distantly related to Phoenixes, the greatest magical bird in the world. Fleur didn't know about all of that, but she did know she had an affinity for fire.
A jet of bright blue flames thirty feet long crosses the space between her and the arching Acromantula in a single instant. The massive spider screeches and rears back as the flames hit it's underbelly. That's not enough to kill it though… nor was Fleur expecting it to.
She dives forward into a roll just as the huge magical spider flings itself through her spell and at her last location. Then, coming up into a crouch, she spins around and jabs her wand at the Acromantula's backside.
"Incendio!"
Another jet of flames just as hot, delivered so soon after the second… this time, the spider is sent careening forward, hissing and screeching as it flees from her. And just as Fleur had planned, it flees away from the path it was guarding, away from the center of the Maze.
Coming out of her crouch, Fleur checks with another Point Me spell one more time just to make sure… but yes. The center is directly in front of her. With a grin on her face, the part veela charges forward, sprinting to the finish line as fast as she can.
Finally, she reaches the center. She sees the Champion's Cup, a glittering diamond thing, sitting in the center of the clearing. And… she sees Harry Potter reaching for it just as she enters, skidding to a halt.
Sensing movement out of the corner of his eye, Harry looks over and blinks, actually surprised to see her.
"Fleur. I knew you were getting close but… to get past both the Sphinx and the Acromantula that quickly… extremely well done."
Wha- he… he knew she was getting close? Was he tracking her or something? No, rather… he was probably tracking all three of his competitors wasn't he? Damn it all! Why didn't she think of that?!
More than that, he even knew about the challenges she'd faced along the way. Tch… she never had a chance, did she?
"Why the long face, Fleur? You should be proud of yourself."
Pouting, Fleur crosses her arms over her chest and glances away.
"… I wanted to win."
Harry tilts his head to the side.
"Sorry, what was that?"
Huffing, Fleur stomps forward a few feet so he can hear her better.
"I wanted to win! To prove to you that I was worthy! So that you wouldn't second guess your decision to bind me over the Summer! But I guess… I guess I never had a chance, did I?"
On the one hand, it kind of makes her even more aroused. Being defeated by Harry like this… what witch doesn't want a wizard who's stronger than her? A man to hold and comfort and protect her?
On the other hand, Harry already has so much power at his fingertips. An entire Wizard's Coven. What makes her special? What sets Fleur Delacour apart? Why should he bother with her when he has plenty of other witches at his beck and call… including Apolline?
"You didn't, no."
Fleur flinches at Harry's blunt, if gentle admission. He's trying to be nice about it, but at the same time, he's being brutally honest… which she kind of appreciates, at least a little bit.
"Fleur, this was the way it always had to be. This cup… it's a portkey. And to be fair, it was meant to be a portkey. When you touch it, its supposed to take you out of the Maze, to the Winner's Podium. But it doesn't do that."
Fleur blinks, even as Harry shrugs as if to say 'what can you do?'.
"Instead, this portkey will take whoever touches it to a graveyard in a place called Little Hangleton. There, the remains of the Dark Lord Voldemort and his lacky are waiting to capture the winner, namely me, so that Voldemort can resurrect himself using my blood and a profane ritual."
Eyes widening at that information, Fleur takes another few unconscious steps forward.
"What?! We need to tell someone, Harry! We need to tell the Judges or the Minister or… or someone!"
But Harry shakes his head.
"I'm going to handle it, Fleur. Everyone else would just muck it up. It has to be me."
His confidence radiates from him like an aura. Or maybe that's just his magic. Fleur swallows as she's reminded of just how much power Harry is packing. His boasts might not actually BE boasts… they might just be plain old statements of fact.
Even s-still…
"Then take me with you! Let me help you! I've been training for this!"
Harry pauses at that, before raising an eyebrow at Fleur. Coloring, she ducks her head.
"W-Well… I mean, I've been training for the Third Task. Still, a Dark Lord and his lacky can't possibly be that much more dangerous than everything I've faced tonight!"
Harry chuckles and shakes his head again.
"You'd be surprised, Fleur. You wouldn't think so, sure… but you'd be surprised. No, I'm sorry but you need to stay here. Stay where it's safe and let me deal with this."
And then… he reaches for the cup again. Fleur hadn't even realized she was doing it, but she's been getting closer all this time. In that split second, the part veela sees that she's close enough she could lunge forward and grab the portkey at the same time as Harry would. He's not moving particularly fast. He clearly doesn't think she'll disobey him.
And… maybe she shouldn't. M-Maybe she should do as she's told. Could she live with herself though, if anything happened to Harry due to her inaction?
Chapter 63: Little Hangleton
Chapter Text
A/N: We arrive at Little Hangleton at long last.
-x-X-x-
If Harry didn't know any better, he'd say for a second there it looked like Fleur was going to lunge forward and grab the Champion's Cup at the same time as him. Thankfully, that doesn't happen. Ultimately, the beautiful French Witch takes a step back, looking somewhat stricken as she bites her lower lip and lets Harry go.
That really was for the best, because Fleur did not factor into his plans for this evening even slightly. Frankly, her presence would have been more than a little disruptive. In the end, this time around as Harry grabs hold of the Champion's Cup and is whisked halfway across the country instead of to the victor's stage… it's fortunately just him. No one else.
He appears in that dark, foggy graveyard in Little Hangleton with a grunt, allowing himself to fall to a knee as he holds the Cup aloft. Making a good show of being confused and disoriented, Harry waits for the inevitable. Fortunately, he doesn't have to wait long.
"Incarcerous!"
Peter Pettigrew's squeaky, rat-like voice comes out of the darkness. The lack of a 'spare' this time around leaves the ratty wizard to act much more decisively without his Lord even having to give the order. Harry finds himself bound in thick black rope in short order, along with the same black cloth from before to muffle any would be cries for help.
Harry makes a few, just to make sure he's selling the act even as his wand is taken from him. He would never allow himself to be disarmed under normal circumstances, but in this case… he knew Voldemort all too well. He could read the Dark Lord like a book. Even if Tom didn't intend to kill Harry in a duel, he would want to keep Harry's wand as a trophy after executing him.
Dragged over to the tombstone of Voldemort's father, Tom Riddle Senior, Harry is lashed down tightly. Not a moment later, Voldemort's voice echoes through the graveyard.
"Initiate the ritual."
"Y-yes Master."
Wormtail's hesitance is as clear this time as it was last time. Of course, Harry knows this time around that Peter isn't nervous or anxious or hesitant because of his repeated betrayal of Harry and his family. No, regardless of what the little rat might say, he'd long gotten over all of that. Instead, Peter Pettigrew's hesitation came from a place of selfishness and a soul-deep fear of pain and loss.
The first part of the ritual begins easily enough. Fiery sparks fill the cauldron as Peter initiates things with the cheaper ingredients. But then he gets to the important parts.
"B-Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son!"
Tossing one of Tom Riddle Senior's bones into the cauldron isn't a particularly hard moral struggle for Peter, but then he HAD dug the man up with little compunction. As the cauldron turns a poisonous blue, however, that's when Wormtail hesitates. Only for a moment though. He's afraid of the pain, but he's far more afraid of his master in spite of Voldemort's current form.
"Flesh… of the servant, w-willingly sacrificed… you will revive your master."
He still pauses for a dreadfully long time over the massive cauldron though, holding his hand aloft with the knife. Finally, he cuts and screams, the lopped off appendage dropping into the bubbling concoction below, turning it a burning red color.
For a moment, Wormtail's pain overwhelms him, causing the ratty wizard to drop to his knees and curl around his stump for a beat before Voldemort's clipped voice echoes out again.
"Continue, Wormtail."
Slowly, unsteadily drawing to his feet, Peter comes over to Harry, bloodied knife in his remaining hand. He's too busy sniveling and whimpering to really pay Harry much mind, even as he drags Harry's arm over the cauldron and gashes it deeply with the knife.
"Blood of the enemy, forcibly taken, you will r-resurrect your foe!"
Harry's blood makes the potion turn… an almost blinding yellow. Interesting. The first time around, it had been white. Imperceptibly, Harry tenses up in case Voldemort notices the discrepancy and realizes something is wrong. The magic of all those witches and the pair of wizards that Harry has taken for himself roils beneath the surface, ready and waiting for things to go tits up.
But…
"Throw me in, Wormtail. Now."
Voldemort's orders make it clear he has no idea. To be fair, this WOULD be the first time that Tom had to perform this particular ritual and craft this particular regeneration potion. How unfortunate that whatever ancient text he'd found containing this particularly old piece of dark magic hadn't been completely crystal clear on everything.
Harry watches, outwardly horrified but inwardly satisfied as Wormtail pulls away from him and reaches down for the cloaked lump that is Voldemort's homunculus. Lifting the child-sized monstrosity up into the air with a hand and a stump isn't easy, but Wormtail eventually manages it and after a few shaky steps, is able to lop Voldemort into the cauldron.
Harry watches on as yellow steam explodes upwards out of the cauldron. He watches as the dark outline of a man slowly rises too. Tall and skeletal thin, the Dark Lord Voldemort, aka Tom Marvolo Riddle, is resurrected back to his body in full.
"Robe."
His voice is a lot stronger now. Far less… reedy. Wormtail hurries to garb his naked master, handing Voldemort a thick black robe that the Dark Lord languidly wraps around himself, clearly not in much of a hurry.
Stepping out of the cauldron, Voldemort's eyes seek him out and they match gazes for the first time in this timeline… at least for this Harry anyways. Again, Harry internally tenses up just in case Voldemort sees through the careful façade of pain, horror, and terror that he's currently putting on. But no, once again the Dark Lord seems to think he has everything well in hand if that smile that spreads across his face is any indication.
Turning away from Harry, Voldemort looks back to Wormtail.
"Wand."
By this point, Peter has collapsed to his knees. But he doesn't hesitate to pull Voldemort's wand out of a jacket pocket with shaky fingers, holding it out to the Dark Lord.
"O-Of course Master. Ah, about my-!"
Before the ratty wizard can ask for a new hand, Voldemort cuts him off.
"Arm."
Eyes lighting up in excitement, Wormtail lifts his bleeding stump up, only for the Dark Lord to sneer at him.
"Your other arm, Wormtail."
Harry probably shouldn't take as much petty pleasure in watching Peter's face fall as he does, especially when he knows the bastard is due for a new hand in a short while longer anyways, but it's still funny to see the man who got his parents killed look so damn dejected as he offers up his functioning arm to Voldemort.
Swiftly cutting away the clothing in the way, the Dark Lord reveals Wormtail's Dark Mark in short order and with a particularly vicious jab of his wand into the center, he activates both it and every other Dark Mark in the world. It's a nasty piece of business, that bit of magic. Basically soul binding, though Harry supposes he doesn't have much room to talk on that front.
Almost immediately, Death Eaters start to arrive… but they still trickle in slowly over time. Time enough for Voldemort to turn to Harry and regale him once more with a sob story about his shitty childhood and his worthless parents. Tom Senior the muggle and Merope Riddle, the weak witch.
Harry… admittedly tunes him out. Oh sure, he's still listening to make sure he doesn't miss any cues or tip Voldemort off that something is wrong, but far more of his focus is on watching the Death Eaters arrive one by one. With how much magic he has now, even in their masks and cloaks Harry is able to identify each and every one of them. He has a list and he's checking it twice, but when he's done here tonight, they're going to wish he was fucking Santa Claus.
One name after another is dashed off his mental checklist as Death Eater after Death Eater arrives in the graveyard until the place is chock full of them. Finally, Voldemort's little story comes to an end… and he seems to have deemed it enough time as well as he turns and regards his Death Eaters with a wicked grin, sweeping his gaze over them all.
"My… it would seem some have not answered the call. I'm not surprised that the likes of Karkaroff would flee in the face of my revival, but Lucius? And yet… his darling wife still answers the call."
One of the Death Eaters, female, steps forward and bows her head lowly. Narcissa Malfoy does not remove her mask or hood, but Voldemort clearly knows who everyone here is, just like Harry does. However, he does not realize that Harry has usurped control over Narcissa's Dark Mark from him. That's good. That means everything is proceeding according to plan still.
"Lucius… has been stripped of his magic, my Lord."
For the first time, Voldemort pauses, his eyes narrowing in surprise.
"Excuse me?"
There's some rustling amidst the other Death Eaters at that, even as Narcissa plays her role perfectly.
"I… h-he woke up one day as little more than a s-squib, claiming to all who would listen that you had come and taken his magic. Did you not… in order to reach this state?"
Again, Voldemort is forced to pause. Harry can practically see the wheels turning in the Dark Lord's head. Did he lie and claim credit in order to instill greater fear in his subordinates? Or did he tell the truth and let them all know there was a threat to them outside of just his wrath? Harry can't help but be curious which way the Dark Lord will fall…
"I did not. Lucius' magicless state is no doing of mine. An enemy sought to undermine me… and your loyalty to me by masquerading as your Lord."
Ah, so that was how he was going to play it. Voldemort's eyes sweep over the assembled Death Eaters.
"Perhaps that is why you have all shown so little loyalty over the years. Only a scant few of you saw fit to seek out your Lord and extend your aid. Wormtail."
Peter stumbles forward and Harry watches as the ratty wizard is given a silver hand for a second time. It's of no matter, in the end. All of this… at this point, it's all merely theater. Voldemort clearly thinks so too, even if he's blinded to just who the main lead of this little production really is. Finally he turns to Harry and smirks.
"Harry Potter. The Boy-Who-Lived. My so-called… vanquisher."
With a flick of his wand, Voldemort tears away Harry's bindings and gag. None too gently of course, the magic results in Harry being yanked off of the tombstone and thrown harshly to the ground. A moment later and his wand clatters to the earth in front of him as well.
"Pick it up, Harry. Pick it up… and let's have a duel, the two of us. Let us see how much power you truly have, O' Conqueror of Dark Lords."
Pretending to steel himself and find his resolve, Harry grabs up his wand and shakily forces himself to his feet. Cradling his 'hurt' arm close to his chest, he grimaces as he lifts his wand up. Voldemort, of course, takes the opportunity to smack him around a bit more under the guise of showing him a 'proper dueling stance'. But finally… the Dark Lord is ready to get this show on the road.
"First, we bow."
They bow.
"And then… we duel."
The following few minutes are spent humiliating Harry with a few 'harmless' spell that would have left him with broken ribs if he wasn't reinforcing his insides with magic. Voldemort fails to notice this though, as Harry looks more and more beat up and bloodied outwardly. Meanwhile, Harry is waiting for the right moment… until finally, it arrives.
The genial look on the Dark Lord's snake like face drops to be replaced by the raw fury, rage, and hatred that Voldemort obviously feels over his decade and a half of incorporeal impotence at Harry's supposed hands. With a sneer, he stabs his wand in Harry's direction and intones his favorite spell.
"Avada Kedavra!"
It's what Harry had been waiting for. Without missing a beat, he whips his own wand up and casts back… and he can tell he shocks Voldemort to his core when the exact same words fly from his lips as well.
"Avada Kedavra!"
The Dark Lord's eyes widen in disbelief, even as the poisonous green light of both Killing Curses fills the graveyard… and then refuses to dissipate. Because of course, their wands share a core and that means Priori Incantatem is in effect. The two spells collide with one another in the middle of the space between the two of them.
However, unlike every other time Harry experienced Priori Incantatem alongside Tom, he has no intention of turning this one into a tug of war… even if it's one he would have obviously won easily. But killing Tom Riddle here tonight was never the plan. No, that would be much, much too easy. Too simple. Too… good for the Dark Lord.
Instead of letting the Priori Incantatem effect play out as it normally would, Harry immediately reaches out with his magic and grabs ahold of it. Magic is, at its core, malleable. It wants to be used. It wants to be controlled, in a way. And Harry has become very good at controlling… even forging magic to his own ends.
Even as he sees Voldemort realize something is wrong, Harry feels the wards go up around the graveyard and smiles wickedly as the Death Eaters all begin to figure out that something has gone horribly wrong as well. In that moment, all of their emergency portkeys have suddenly been disabled by the anti-portkey ward that was just cast, and apparation has also been shut down by the anti-apparation ward that went up alongside it.
The two wards were not cast by Harry himself, but they might as well have been. In fact, even as he's reshaping the Priori Incantatem Effect between himself and Voldemort, he happily feeds some excess magic down the connection between him… and Bella.
In the back of the graveyard, Bella comes like a vengeance, disabling Death Eater after Death Eater before they can even react. When they finally do start to turn and muster up a defense, shock at exactly who is attacking them combined with Narcissa's betrayal from behind means even more readily fall to the Black Sisters' wands.
Letting the façade of a determined but in over his head 'hero' fade away, Harry meets Voldemort's red eyes with his own glittering emeralds and smiles wickedly, letting the Dark Lord know once and for all just how fucked he truly is.
Chapter 64: Dark Lord Down
Chapter Text
A/N: Poor Voldemort...
-x-X-x-
For over a decade, Voldemort had suffered indignity after indignity following his ignoble defeat at the hands of… an infant. Reduced to little more than a shade of his former might and magic, the Dark Lord had plenty of time to stew in the events of that night and yet, it wasn't until Harry Potter's First Year and his failure to secure the Stone that Voldemort had finally learned exactly what had gone so dramatically wrong that night.
It was never the boy. If anything, his epithet was so much more fitting than anyone realized. 'The Boy-Who-Lived'… because in the end, that was all that Harry Potter had done. As a one year old infant, that was all he COULD do. No, the one who had truly undone Lord Voldemort… was the mudblood.
Lily Evans Potter. It was her magic that he'd run afoul of. Her ritual that he'd completely missed. Voldemort did not oft times admit he was wrong, not even in the privacy of his own mind. Nor did he admit to hubris very easily either. Was it hubris when he was precisely as powerful as he claimed to be?
But… no. In this case, his hubris had in fact laid him low. Killing the boy's father had been easy. Killing the boy's mother had been even easier. If she'd stepped aside, Voldemort would have spared her as he'd told Severus, but she hadn't. She'd begged him to take her instead, shielding her infant spawn with her body to the very last second.
So Voldemort had killed her. And in doing so, the Dark Lord had sealed his own fate. The mudblood had pulled a fast one on him, tricking him into effectively signing a magical contract with her when he'd 'accepted' her sacrifice by killing her as she begged for her son's life. And in doing so, she'd put a singularly powerful protection on Harry Potter, one that was as narrow in its focus as it was mighty in its strength.
Put bluntly, if Voldemort had simply called on his closest Death Eaters to do the killing, everything would have been fine. The protection was only from Voldemort himself. And the Dark Lord had walked right into the trap by casting Avada Kedavra on a seemingly helpless baby.
Lily Potter was to be admired, in a way. If she weren't dead, he would happily take revenge, but because she was dead, Voldemort could respect the way she'd tricked him. That did not mean, however, that her son would be spared his wrath. In the end, it turned out to be as simple as killing two birds with one stone. The same ritual that would resurrect him to his former glory would also let him get around that pesky protection the mudblood had granted her son.
Everything had been going perfectly. Potter had been coaxed into winning the Third Task of the Triwizard Tournament and had been whisked away to the site of Voldemort's resurrection none the wiser. Wormtail had captured the boy and performed to… adequate standards. Voldemort had been reborn… and with the exact same protection that Lily Potter's death had conveyed to Harry transferred over to him.
He could touch the boy now. He could kill the boy. And so he'd set to making a spectacle of things, summoning those of his Death Eaters who would attend and forcing them all to bear witness to his triumphant return. Setting aside whatever had happened to Lucius, Voldemort had been on top of the world and closing in on killing the one last remaining threat to his rule, once and for all.
… So then how had it all gone so wrong so fast? He was the Dark Lord Voldemort! Aside from the tricks, aside from the treachery, there was nobody more powerful than he! Even that old bastard Dumbledore was slowly but surely dwindling as he aged! And yet… and yet…
"An interesting spell, the Killing Curse. Great for killing your enemies, obviously. But also such a sublime, pure form of Death Magic."
All an act. It was all just an act. Voldemort was beginning to realize that even as Harry Potter transformed from a defiant but weak little whelp to someone who felt he could lecture a Dark Lord in the middle of a duel to the death. No, more than felt… this new Potter COULD lecture him in the middle of their duel and there was seemingly nothing Voldemort could do about it.
Snarling, he pushes with all his newly restored might against the connection between their wands… but to no effect. Whatever Potter is doing, he's already wrested control of that connection and Voldemort's efforts are batted down with ease, like they're little more than a childish tantrum.
"Of course, I couldn't have done this without you. You just had to use me as part of your resurrection. Couldn't just quietly kidnap some minor enemy and use them. No, it had to be me."
Of course it had to be him! Potter was the one with protection from his blasted mudblood of a mother! If it wasn't him, then Voldemort would have forever been unable to kill him with his own two hands, his own magic!
"And then, of course, you brought all of your most loyal followers here for me as well. Thank you for that too."
Out of the corner of his eye, the Dark Lord sees the massacre happening and grows even angrier. He'd felt the anti-portkey and anti-apparation wards go up, but locked in this standoff with Potter, he couldn't do anything about it… nor could his followers, the useless lot they were. Betrayed from within and attacked from behind, they were falling faster than Voldemort could blink. In fact, it was already done. Only two were left standing… one of them Narcissa Malfoy, and the other, he couldn't say who she was.
The two witches move with purpose though. They haven't killed a single Death Eater, Voldemort belatedly realizes. They've left his followers alive and are now ripping the arms of their shirts off, exposing their Dark Marks and drawing a line through each with a ritual blade.
… What were they doing? What were they planning? No… what was Harry Potter planning?! Turning his full attention back onto the boy who was clearly no boy, Voldemort gnashes his teeth and narrows his red eyes into slits.
"You would challenge me Potter? You think you can go toe to toe with a Dark Lord when it comes to Dark Magic?"
Because it was obvious by now that that was what the younger wizard must have done. He'd gone down the same path that Voldemort had, dabbling in magics that most others would consider taboo or forbidden. It wasn't enough to know the incantation if you wanted to cast an Unforgivable Curse. You had to mean it. And when Harry had matched Voldemort's Avada Kedavra with his own, he'd very much meant every bit of it.
It would have been funny if the situation wasn't turning so dire. Voldemort would have loved to see the look on Dumbledore's face when the old bastard realized that his precious Boy-Who-Lived had gone dark. But that would have to wait until he figured out a way out of this blasted mess.
"Toe to toe? Is that what you think I'm doing? Because from my perspective… I'm completely dominating a Dark Lord at his own game right now."
Voldemort seethes in outrage at the brat's cocky tone. But Harry isn't done speaking.
"Remind me, Tom… what was it that Pettigrew said again?"
What? Before Voldemort can respond, the rat-like man himself suddenly speaks up.
"H-Harry, I-!"
Truth be told, Voldemort had forgotten Wormtail was there. So had Harry, from the look of things. If anything, the coward would have been better off staying quiet.
"Shut up, Peter."
With a simple flick of his eyes over in Wormtail's direction, Harry does away with the rat. Not something Voldemort found all too disagreeable in spite of Pettigrew's loyal service, but the method by which Harry kills the other man is… decidedly disquieting.
Put simply, that single glance is all it takes for Wormtail's new silver hand, the hand that Voldemort had just given him, to act like it has a mind of its own and snap up, wrapping itself around Wormtail's neck and steadily choking the life out of him.
That… was not something Potter should have been capable of. That was a feature Voldemort himself had included in the conjuration by design of course, in the event that Wormtail ever grew enough of a spine to betray him. Much like the Dark Marks though, it was locked to Voldemort's magical signature and his alone. Unless…
"Now, what was it he said? Ah yes… blood of the enemy, forcibly taken. Tell me, Tom… how important was the 'forcible' part? Because I'm thinking it was pretty important. So important, in fact, that if your enemy were to know all of your plans ahead of time and willingly let themselves be captured and allow their blood to be taken knowing full well that they could have stopped it… well, that might just mess things up a bit."
Voldemort's mind races as he processes the ramifications of Potter's words. In a way, it would certainly disrupt things, but… this was far more than should have been possible with just that.
"Of course, that was just one piece of the puzzle, wasn't it?"
Gritting his teeth at the unbearable, insufferable smugness permeating through the brat's voice, Voldemort snarls.
"What have you done, Potter?"
For a brief moment, Harry Potter pauses in thought. Then, he smiles and shakes his head.
"Mm… no. I'm not going to tell you."
Before Voldemort can respond to that impudence as he would prefer to, Harry raises his wand… and everything becomes pure pain. The Dark Lord's jaw clenches so hard he very nearly bites his tongue off as he finds himself unable to so much as speak anymore.
It takes a second to realize what's happening. This isn't the Cruciatus, which is what Voldemort's first assumption would have been. No, rather… it's raw magic. Pure, raw power, flowing through him at rates that it was never intended to. Voldemort's eyes widen as he glances over to his downed followers and sees their magic flowing out of the slashed Dark Marks and into him.
However, Potter wasn't actually making him more powerful or anything like that. He was using him like a conduit. Just as soon as his followers' magic was entering Voldemort's body, it was flowing right back out of him and into Potter. The brat wasn't even sweating either. He simply stood there and took it, absorbing all that power like it was nothing.
How?! How was this possible? Voldemort had spent years perfecting his Dark Mark. It was the greatest piece of magic he'd ever achieved, his crowning accomplishment. It gave him complete access to his followers' souls, so he supposed yes he could rob them of their magic if he so chose.
But the Dark Mark was supposed to be impregnable by all but Voldemort himself. It was supposed to be ironclad, locked down tight, and impossible to alter or change or remove by either those who wore it or anyone else. Only the Dark Lord could affect the Dark Mark. That was how it was supposed to be.
But Harry had used Voldemort's resurrection ritual to forge a connection between them. And then he'd used that connection to usurp control of the Dark Marks. It didn't make any sense though. The connection was one thing… but where had the brat gotten the power he would have needed to completely overwhelm Voldemort's own magical might like this?!
Finally, the flow of magic from his incapacitated followers to Voldemort himself ceases. The very last drop of their magic has been drained from each and every one of them. But the flow… the flow from him to Potter does not stop. It keeps going. Voldemort's eyes widen in horror as he feels magic and soul being drawn from… much further away.
"Those pesky horcruxes of yours would have been a real pain in the ass to go and grab again, even if I know exactly where they all are from last time. Luckily, I don't have to bother."
Again? Last time? The boy sounded insane. And yet… Voldemort can feel his connections to each of his soul anchors vanishing, one by one. Until… only one connection remains. And it's standing right in front of him. Voldemort's eyes flick up to Harry's forehead as suddenly, everything becomes so, so much clearer. He finds his voice again, now that the pain isn't quite so unbearable.
"You…"
His true enemy all along. The reason Harry Potter had seemingly turned to Dark Magic. It wasn't Harry. It wasn't the 'Boy-Who-Lived'… that night, the Avada Kedavra hadn't been fully rebounded by Lily Potter's protection. Something had been left behind. A piece of Voldemort's soul… lodged in the blasted baby's forehead!
"You're me…"
It all made so much sense now. How long? How long had it taken even a fragment of Voldemort's soul to subsume an infant child and take over it's body? Most likely only days, weeks… months at the latest. And all this time, a piece of Voldemort had been lurking in Harry Potter. Had it been like that even back in Harry's First Year? Had he just been hiding his true nature, all this time?! No, more than that…
"You dare betray me?! I am your greater whole! You would usurp the Dark Lord Voldemort, you filthy… fragment?!"
His own horcruxes betraying him was not something Voldemort had ever thought possible. But to be fair, he also hadn't intended to make a living horcrux or give any of his soul anchors a body either. Here they were though all the same…
'Harry', or rather his soul fragment, looks at him blankly for a long moment before letting out a bark of laughter.
"An egotistical maniac to the very end Tom. To the very end."
Voldemort growls and struggles all the harder as the green of their mixed Killing Curses finally starts to close in on him. The fool! So long as his last horcrux remained, he could not truly die! This was merely a setback, he would-!
The Dark Lord's eyes bulge out of his skull as the connection between him and Potter suddenly snaps, the soul fragment in the boy's forehead dissipating with a scream. But before he can process what that would even mean… all he sees is green. And then… nothing.
-x-X-x-
Harry pauses, just enjoying the moment as Tom Riddle, in his demise, increases Harry's power by quite the substantial amount. Not just the power of a Dark Lord himself, but also the power of every last one of his followers stupid enough to come here tonight. Heh, he did so love it when a plan came together.
That said, it was time to decide what he was doing next, Harry supposed. Unfortunately, he probably had to do the responsible thing and use the Champion's Cup to go back to Hogwarts. That said, he should probably decide how exactly he wanted to frame the events of tonight, this time around…
Chapter 65: Aftermath
Chapter Text
A/N: Surprise Amelia POV!
-x-X-x-
Harry had of course told her what was going to happen tonight. Amelia hadn't been happy about it, truth be told. She would have felt far more comfortable if her Master had a couple dozen Aurors backing him up over Bellatrix fucking Lestrange and Narcissa Malfoy of all people.
But at the end of the day, there was nothing for it. Amelia had sworn her life and magic to Harry's service. She'd allowed him to bind her to him irrevocably and unequivocally, and at the end of the day, she had to obey. Frankly, she was grateful for how much he'd chosen to listen to her advice so far. There was a world where he could easily have turned her into nothing more than his mouthpiece and cock warmer, a lame duck Minister of Magic that existed solely to satisfy his desires and needs… both sexual and otherwise.
He didn't want her for her body alone though. He didn't want her just for her submission. Her Master appreciated her for her intellect, her problem solving, and her experience as well.
… On this subject however, he was immovable. It had to be him, and it had to be his way. To be fair, Harry had explained exactly how he expected everything to happen. It had all happened once before for him after all, so all he had to do was take advantage of his foreknowledge and play the Dark Lord like a fiddle.
It was that last part that gave Amelia pause, obviously. While she refused to let her fear of Voldemort keep her from doing her job and standing tall, there was still no denying that she DID fear him. She just didn't let that fear control her in the same way so many others did. Voldemort was the boogeyman in all of their nightmares, the greatest threat to the Wizarding World since Grindelwald. Hell, even Grindelwald hadn't left quite so much an impact on Magical Great Britain specifically, given his activities were mostly centered on Mainland Europe.
Voldemort though… during his First Rise, he and his Death Eaters had almost felt inevitable at times. Amelia had lost so many people to those monsters. Family. Friends. Lovers. To know that Harry was going up against all of that tonight with a pair of Death Eaters as his only backup was… nerve wracking for her.
But Amelia could do nothing but trust in her Master. And so here she was, standing among other Ministry Officials waiting for the Third Task of the Triwizard Tournament to come to an end. Of course, they already all knew that Harry had touched the Champion's Cup and been portkeyed away. They already knew he should have appeared on the stage before them, but didn't.
Amelia was aware that Dumbledore was quietly panicking, even as the aging Headmaster kept on a brave face and hid his true worry from the crowd of onlookers. If she didn't know what she did, she likely would have demanded answers by now. In fact, she probably should step up and demand answers all things considered.
However, just before Amelia can do so… there's a flash as Harry appears on the Champion's Stage, the Cup in one hand and a dark robed corpse in the other. Amelia watches as he makes it look almost casual, the way he thrusts the corpse forward just right so that it lands with its bald head dangling off of the edge of the stage. Bald, noseless, ghastly complexion… and lifeless red eyes.
Everyone gasps, even as Harry rises to his feet, looking down at the body with nothing but utter contempt. Then, he looks out at the crowd and intones the following words.
"The Dark Lord Voldemort has returned. The Dark Lord Voldemort has been vanquished."
Bedlam. Absolute bedlam. Everyone freaks out in their own way. Some who are exceptionally faint of heart scream or pass out right there on the spot. Those who are a bit stronger shout for answers in their confusion. Some, likely Gryffindors by and large who are predisposed to blindly taking Harry at his word, throw their hands into the air and cheer his victory.
Harry weathers it all with a confidence beyond his physical years. He positively oozes superiority out of every pore and it takes Amelia to realize that's not quite just a metaphor. Rather, he's radiating an aura around himself, an aura of pure magical power. He'd told Amelia what he intended to do. He'd explained his plan to her in such detail that it was difficult for her to find true fault with it. She just hadn't wanted him to be out there by himself with just Bellatrix and Narcissa as backup.
But hearing Harry talk about draining the magic from every Marked Death Eater that answered Voldemort's call… using the Dark Lord himself as a conduit… well that was one thing. Seeing and feeling the results of his audacious plan was another entirely.
Ignoring even the Ministry Officials demanding answers from him, Harry turns towards Amelia specifically.
"Minister Bones. You should send some Aurors to collect an unconscious Bartemius Crouch Junior currently resting in a broom closet nearby. I'll craft a Patronus to direct them."
Amelia doesn't question it. Her and Harry's public relationship might not be as… one to one as their private relationship, but given he'd helped campaign for her and all but singlehandedly gotten her elected with his speeches, everyone knew that the new Minister of Magic and the Boy-Who-Lived were on good terms.
Looking over, Amelia nods to Hestia and Nymphadora. The Head Auror straightens up and is soon followed by her subordinate as the two trail after a bright glowing white stag that Harry wordlessly conjures from the tip of his wand. Of course, there's a question of whether or not he would even need a wand to perform a Patronus at this point despite the spell's infamous difficulty…
"Harry, my boy… please, what exactly happened to you?"
Amelia watches as Dumbledore finally finds his words. The wizened old wizard's reaction to Harry's pronouncement and Voldemort's body had been to freeze up and stare with wide eyes at the corpse up until this point. Not very characteristic of him, but truthfully, shock was quite understandable all things considered.
Harry turns his attention to the Headmaster and it's interesting to see how he interacts with Dumbledore now from the side. It's not quite confrontational, or at least she doesn't think it will seem that way to most onlookers. But there's definitely a certain peer-to-peer attitude there that can't be mistaken in any way for the headmaster-student relationship that most would likely expect Albus and Harry to have.
"Barty Crouch Jr. attacked me on my way to the Third Task. I assume he intended to transport me to Voldemort for the ritual that the Dark Lord ultimately performed that led to his resurrection. Ultimately, I defeated him and stashed him away, intending to inform someone after the Triwizard Tournament was done. Unfortunately, it seems the Champion's Cup was a portkey corrupted to take me to Voldemort as a contingency plan."
It's obvious from the way Dumbledore's face is contorting into a million different expressions that he wants to say something there. He probably has some very pertinent follow up questions he wants to ask right now. But Harry doesn't even pause for breath. He keeps going, his voice loud and clear… enough that everyone watching can hear every word out of his mouth.
"From there, the Dark Lord used a combination of ingredients including my blood to perform a dark ritual that allowed him to regain this body. Then, we fought. He considered the outcome of the battle a foregone conclusion… but then so did I."
Harry looks down at Voldemort's corpse at those final words. An awed hush has fallen over the crowd at this point. It's obvious nobody quite knows what to say or do in the wake of his actions. Even Dumbledore looks like he doesn't know how to react right now, but then that's probably because of Voldemort's Horcruxes.
Her Master had explained that part to Amelia as well. How Voldemort's immortality was tied to a truly horrifying thing called a horcrux. It was made by splitting one's soul through the ritualistic act of entirely cold-blooded murder and Voldemort hadn't just made one of them, he'd made several.
Dumbledore had been aware of these horcruxes for quite some time according to Harry, but he hadn't told a single soul. Instead, the Chief Warlock had kept his knowledge to himself. At the very least, he'd purportedly been working on trying to track them all down to be fair, but that would have been cold comfort if something had happened to the aging wizard before he could pass on what he knew and help them gird themselves for what was to come.
Harry, meanwhile, knew where they all were… but had a simpler solution. According to her Master, his plan to drain the magic of every single Death Eater through their connection to Voldemort would also allow him to drain the magic and soul out of every horcrux connected to the Dark Lord as well.
Amelia didn't know for sure that Harry had succeeded in that last bit. He could just be putting on a confident act right now. She'd find out afterwards she imagined. But even if that part of the plan had failed, he could just hunt down the last horcruxes at his leisure, since he knew where to find them and most importantly of all, he knew what they were.
But Dumbledore didn't know that. So perhaps the Headmaster was panicking right now, thinking that Voldemort wasn't truly vanquished and wondering where the Dark Lord's spirit was after this latest attempt failed. Perhaps he even thought that Harry had been possessed by the Dark Lord. Amelia wouldn't have thought that possible, but Harry had mentioned it to her as a distinct possibility. There was every chance that Dumbledore would take tonight's events as proof that Harry was sharing skull space with Voldemort.
None of that mattered much to her though. She had her role and now it was time to play it. Stepping forward, Amelia feels as eyes draw towards her, seeing the Minister of Magic herself finally doing something. She doesn't let it get to her though, she never has. Instead, smiling a positively vicious smile that actually is in no way faked, Amelia holds her hand out to Harry and lets him take it hesitantly after a moment.
"I speak on behalf of the entire Wizarding World when I say this, Mister Potter. Thank you. From the bottom of all of our hearts, thank you for all that you have done for us."
Harry lets his confident 'façade' crack a little bit to show a bit of the uncertain young man underneath. Of course, that uncertain young man comes with a broad smile, even as he shakes Amelia's hand and speaks clearly and 'sincerely' from the heart.
"My pleasure, Minister."
It won't convince everyone, of course. And some of the people who matter the most probably won't buy it. But in that moment, Amelia knows Harry has captured the hearts and minds of the vast majority of people watching. And not just the people watching right now either, because as Harry and Amelia shake hands over the sprawled corpse of Lord Voldemort, there's the telltale flash of a magical camera taking their picture. Even Rita's photographer Bozo had been caught up in the moment for a second there, but at her purposeful nudge, he'd gotten back on track and taken the picture he needed to take.
Tomorrow morning's copy of the Daily Prophet would have this picture plastered across the front page, along with a glowing article that would only see Harry's star shining even higher in the eyes of the Wizarding World.
Of course, there was the other side of things. Within the next couple of days, the bodies would start being… discovered. Each and every Death Eater who died in that graveyard was being covertly and carefully transported back to their homes, their workplaces, their beds. It was another possible point of failure that Amelia didn't like, since it relied on Bellatrix Lestrange to do most of the heavy lifting… but this time around at least, Amelia acknowledged that her Aurors could not have done the job. Not without informational security breaking somewhere in the process and the truth getting out.
No, so long as Bellatrix didn't get caught, it would seem to all of the Wizarding World as though Voldemort's 'true death' caused the death of the vast majority of his Marked Death Eaters no matter where they were. It would, of course, exonerate individuals like Narcissa Malfoy who were suspected of being Marked. And some like the likes of Severus Snape or Karkaroff still lived as well, shame that it was.
But by and large, they were ready to point the finger at the Dark Marks on the arms of each and every victim, no matter what strata of society they existed in. Amelia had received a tentative list ahead of time from Harry, so there shouldn't be any nasty surprises… but that didn't mean it wasn't still a nasty list of names.
Every level of the Wizarding World, from the nobility to the ministry to the shops where people did their daily shopping. It was all infested with Voldemort's supporters. It made her sick to her stomach, but at least now… at least now, they'd cleaned house in the best way possible.
Maybe in this moment, in the wake of Voldemort's second and final defeat… they could finally start recovering and rebuilding for real. No, not maybe. Not could. They had to. Because Voldemort wasn't the end of the road. He wasn't the root of all evil. And what came next… they needed to be prepared for above all else.