421A/N1: Standard disclaimer. See chapter 1 for details.
A/N2: I am not normally one for putting a lot of personal info in these notes. However, this time has been one huge exception. During the last four weeks, I have been with my mother as my dad has been shifted from hospital to rehab centre, then to a different hospital for infection treatment, and now back at rehab. Our wish is for him to be able to return home, but my hopes are not too high. In addition, I was four states away from my husband who is suffering from radiation treatment side-effects for lung cancer. Plus, a fender bender. Working on this story has saved my sanity (or what's left of it), and the kind wishes from many readers have helped me keep my head above water. Bless you all. (And not in the sarcastic Southern way.)
Sort-of Epilogue:
This story has reached its conclusion, as I had never intended to take it beyond fourth year. Readers may assume a successful educational career and romantic happy ending for the two main characters.
Sirius and Claire? Personally, I think she's too good for him, but maybe he needs a strong, non-abusive woman in his life. In time, he might actually grow up.
The resolution for those left in Britain was not quite so clear-cut. As Hermione predicted, the former Death Eaters slowly drifted apart and their power bloc never reformed. Most faded into obscurity, while some ventured into petty crime–not too successfully, I might add–and were imprisoned on a much lesser charge than they perhaps deserved. In an ironic twist of fate, several eventually ended up as the 'fine upstanding citizens' which they had once claimed to be.
One of those was Snape, who submitted his resignation even before the Express had left Hogsmeade. He stalked away when Dumbledore refused to accept his bare arm as proof of Voldemort's demise. His business 'Perfect Potions from Severus Snape' (PPSS for short) was one of the primary suppliers to St. Mungo's. Due to his respect for Poppy Pomfrey, he provided Hogwarts some of the more complicated medicinal potions at cost. His dour personality remained unchanged, however, and he strived never to work the front counter of his store.
Those serving in the Wizengamot, without Voldemort as their rallying point, saw the writing on the wall and reinvented themselves as 'Darkish Moderates'. An overly ambitious proposal to place particularly nasty restrictions on 'Creatures', 'Half-Breeds', and the Muggleborn was rejected; while they did not join the campaign of the Light and Moderate factions against it, they did abstain from voting when it was presented on the floor. When the ministry employee heard that her bill had been defeated, she croaked on the spot.
While the Wizarding World was incapable of being a shining example of 'Truth, Justice, and the British Way', it toddled on in its quaint fashion exhibiting a bit more tolerance for those of blood not as pure as the Founders. It was not perfect, but then life seldom is.
Deleted Scene: First Task of the Tetra-wizard Tournament
Hermione gave Harry a quick hug when they halted at the entrance to the competitors' tents. "I'll go find a seat," she said, "and enjoy the show." She winked and patted her bag.
He grinned and said, perhaps a little too loudly, "Too bad I'll miss it, being hidden away back here."
Tekamthe's chest shook with silent laughter. "You're not kidding anyone, you two."
"Actually," Hermione tilted her head, "we're probably kidding everyone who doesn't realise that we're almost in the twenty-first century."
He nodded. "Good point. Now, as you have said, it is time for you to depart."
Hermione gave Harry one more hug then left with a wave.
"Shall we?" The American's arm indicated the tent entrance.
Harry squared his shoulders. "Yes."
Hermione hunched over, hair hiding the device at her ear. "Cedric has just transfigured some sheep out of a few boulders."
"Oh," Harry's voice came through the phone, "that's why she's yelling 'Yum, yum, yum!'"
She giggled. "Now he has disillusioned himself and I suppose is heading for the nest. Everyone in the audience is craning their necks trying to locate him."
Harry snorted. "Since we're supposed to fetch the golden egg, you'd think they'd know where to look. Say, Hermione, what happens to transfigured things when the spell wears off?"
"It reverts to its original state. Why?" she asked before turning her attention to a different part of the arena. "Cedric has reappeared and is heading for the judge's table. Oh!" she gasped, "the dragon just shot flames at him! People in the front few rows are aiming Aguamenti at his head. He'll be sporting a shorter haircut for a while, I fear. I wonder why the dragon broke the agreement?"
"Hermione, stop talking for a minute and hold out the phone so I can hear her clearly. Mm-hm. Uh-oh."
She could wait no longer. "Harry, tell me!"
"It seems that the sheep reverted back to rocks in her stomach. Dragons are magic-resistant, after all. She was just punishing him for giving her indigestion."
"Oh, poor thing." Her sympathy was immediately shifted to the reptile. "I hope the handlers have a good remedy for that."
"Okay, Fleur is out there singing to the dragon." Hermione looked around. "Half the audience is fighting off sleep, but Mama Fire-Lizard appears unaffected."
"Put the phone on speaker and hold it up high," Harry ordered.
The dragon turned towards the loud hissing and literally rolled her eyes before flopping over. Fleur almost skipped to the nest and bent over the edge to grasp the golden one. An over-enthusiastic snore sent a burst of super-heated air out of the large nostrils, and the girl gasped as her clothes began smoking. Her exit was marred as she slapped at sparks which had virtually destroyed her floaty skirt, thus displaying her undergarments to all and sundry.
"Well, everyone got a little extra show there," Hermione admitted. "She shouldn't have worn silk; doesn't she know that is one of the most flammable fabrics?"
"What does that bastard think he's doing?" she shouted as she rose to her feet in anger.
"Hermione, talk to me!" Harry's voice brought her attention back to the phone.
"That Durmstrang arsehole just went out there, firing curses left and right. He hit her eyes and blinded her, and she's thrashing about in pain and confusion. Nearly all of her eggs have been smashed. I'd like to slap that smug look off the son-of-a-bitch's face." After a pause, she added with a degree of satisfaction, "Now that's what I call a fireball."
The phone call now finished, Hermione gripped the edge of the bench with both hands as Harry stood in front of the enclosure. The audience appeared a little restless, and she sighed at their confusion. Idiots, she thought. Even if they can't understand parseltongue, there's still body language.
~Greetings, Great One.~ Harry bowed, avoiding an irate exhale. ~I apologise that my competitor did not follow the agreement. Please convey my deep sorrow and many regrets to the grieving mother.~
~Pretty words,~ she huffed, ~but true, you are not the one who caused her such pain. So what did you have in mind with me?~
~Well,~ he shrugged, ~originally I thought to summon my broom and fly around a bit, but I don't think showing off like that would be too respectful after the previous tragedy.~
~You show great consideration, young human. And of course, watching your puny self attempt to try and outfly me might make me laugh fire in your direction. I believe your flying sticks are still made of wood?~
~Yeah,~ he nodded, ~and I'm pretty fond of my Firebolt.~
~Ah, I like the name.~
~I suppose you would. Say, what's it like on the dragon reserve? I hope it's better than a zoo, because once I met a python in one who just wanted to visit Brazil. And let's not even get into how a castle-bound basilisk went plumb insane!~
Ludo Bagman turned to Tekamthe. "Mr. Tecumseh, what the heck is your student doing out there?"
"'Tecumseh'. That's a name I've not heard in a long time. And I believe, my fellow judges, that he is talking."
Death, Death, Death
Exact place: Unknown
Exact time: Unknown
A large brass gong reverberated throughout the assembly hall. Yánluó Wáng's voice boomed in the subsequent silence. "I call this solar year's Death Deities Conference to order." His gaze roamed over the crowd and he sighed, "Wuluward, Hine-nui-te-pō, please wake up."
A protest was raised. "No sleep, Bigfella. Just use Dreamland to show him latest afterlife concert. Whitefella Sangster debut deadly music with trombone."
"Wulu," Hine-nui-te-pō smacked him, "Her, not him. How many times–"
"Hey, that the way of my people. How you like if I–"
"Must we go through this every year?" The chairman calmed himself with a brief meditation before asking, "Does anyone–anyone besides the Australian and New Zealand representatives–have something to share? Yes, little sister Izanami?"
The elegant Japanese woman made a moue at the familiarity. "All of the Kobe victims have been provided death accommodations. The expansion done fifty years ago should suffice for some decades."
"That is good. The worthy souls deserve a comfortable residence. Veles?"
"If we are listing large body counts," the large Russian spoke, "then I report that my Chechnyans are satisfied as well."
"As are the poor innocents in the stolen land of my brothers."
"Ah, Chepi, that bombing was most atrocious. Those little ones–!"
"Yes," the Narragansett bowed his head, "what pains me the most is the sorrow of their parents."
All honoured the tragedy with a moment of silence.
Mictēcacihuātl rose, the serpents which formed her skirts swaying. "I thank the others who helped sort those who fell to earth in the metal bird. Not all of them belonged to me."
A reclining person in a toga lifted a languid hand. "Hades?"
"In a similar but more precise fashion, I would like to express my appreciation of Azrael concerning that disturbance in Illyricum this year."
The Malak al-Maut's feathers fluttered as he lectured. "Pluto, when are you going to use the current terminology? The country's name is now Bosnia."
The Greco-Roman synthesis leaned forward. "I've told you before. Don't call me Pluto! I am neither a cartoon dog nor an oversized asteroid with delusions of planethood."
"Colleagues! Order!" Once the argument subsided, Yánluó Wáng nodded at the one who stood. "Baron Samedi, you have the floor."
"Allo, cousin!" Eshu waved with a grin.
The baron acknowledged the greeting then turned a solemn countenance on the others. "I would like to propose a censure against two of our members."
Gasps and whispers filled the vast hall. "Baron, this is indeed serious. I assume you will provide us with a reason."
"Certainement. Those two," he pointed at opposite corners, "Hel and The Morrígan, have been too busy being bitchy to each other and let one certain," he smirked, "varmint escape their hands."
Both women protested fiercely until order was once more called. "Your proof, Baron?"
"Yes," he almost swaggered as he strolled forward, "regarde ça, most of what remains of Tom Riddle of Britain."
Anubis gasped, "Is that the sacred chalice of Rixx?"
"Indeed," the Baron conceded, "it restores life to the worthy and eternal punishment to those of ignoble character. As you can see," he tilted the cup and caught the dark protoplasm, "Tommy Boy is still here. The reason for that is that he is not ALL here."
"Not another Herpo," Hades groaned. "It took me two lunar cycles to collect his pieces."
"And thanks to these," the Baron snorted, "ladies, this bâtard has been causing problems since 1981. Oh, they were quite happy to deal with the undivided souls he sent their way, as there were plenty to divvy up, but were unwilling to cooperate and end this monstrosity."
"And you would have us censure them?" Yánluó Wáng asked.
"Oui, and do a little mediation to set agreed-upon boundaries."
"That sounds reasonable."
"There are a couple more things…"
The chairman heaved a sigh. "There always is with you, Baron."
"Whoever has the soul portion which was sent on in 1993 must give it to me so that I can send this irritant to his eternal reward," white teeth flashed in his dark face, "or otherwise."
"Done." He glared at the two deities, and The Morrígan nodded reluctantly. "I believe you had another wish?"
"Someone needs a lesson as to what 'The Greater Good' really means. When it comes his time," he paused for dramatic effect, "give me the soul of Albus Dumbledore."