Chapter 32: Confrontations

Remus had a pretty good idea where Sirius had gone. There was only one good option for him in the building, really.

The Deputy Minister’s office was a very impressive room which Sirius used for more than just working. There were a huge desk with a leather armchair, many bookshelves and filing cabinets scrammed full, but a big part of the room was reserved for free time. There were a sofa and several armchairs, a big table, a CD-player and a record player, a fridge with drinks, both alcoholic and not. Sirius and Remus had spent many hours in this comfortable corner, talking, drinking, playing chess, joking. Remus couldn’t think of any other place where Sirius could have gone to.

Arriving, he was surprised to find Sirius’ secretary sitting behind her desk in her little office before Sirius’. So she hadn’t been at the trial. So she didn’t know what had happened. . . Sirius certainly hadn’t told her.

“Hullo, Linda,” greeted Remus grimly. “Is Sirius here?”

“Hi, Remus.” She hesitated for a moment. “Yes he is, but. . . I don’t think that he wants to see anybody right now. He was. . . God, Remus, I’ve never seen him acting anything like this! What the hell. . . I mean. . . Remus, can you tell me what happened at that trial to upset him like that?”

Remus sighed. She’d find out anyway, through others or through the papers.

“We managed to prove Harry innocent.”

She blinked. “Harry Potter?”

“The very one.”

“So he actually. . .” She looked astonished. “You mean it’s true? What you’ve been announcing for weeks. . . that he was framed by Deatheaters? And that You-Know-Who is actually. . . still out there?”

“Yes.”

There was a minute of silence.

“I thought that you had gone insane. . . when you were kidnapped, you know.” Linda continued. “Or that Potter was manipulating you. Had hexed you. That’s what Sirius always claimed. I. . . I’m sorry, Remus.”

“That’s alright, don’t worry about it. I wouldn’t have believed it either if I hadn’t. . . seen the truth.”

“You really were in his Pensieve then?”

“Yes. And those scenes – the murder of the Weasleys and the conviction afterwards – those scenes which we saw in his Pensieve were also shown in court today.”

“You brought Potter’s Pensieve to the trial?”

“No, no. Cho Chang wanted a brain-view. She said that she did it in order to see how the Weasleys were really murdered. . . Harry was unconscious at the time. But I think she also did it to. . . to prove Harry innocent once and for all. Because Sirius was claiming that Harry was resistant against Veritaserum. And she wanted to. . .”

Remus paused. “I do not know her motives, of course, but I think she just wanted to show people what Harry had gone through. And to see for herself, of course. It’s. . . it’s the best explanation, really. Everything else is rubbish. If she’d just done it for truth’s sake, she could easily have waited for Harry to wake up. We knew it wouldn’t take weeks or months, just a couple of hours at most.”

“Why was he unconscious anyway?”

“Some prat of an auror overdosed his Veritaserum.”

Linda remained silent.

“Well, I’ll better go in now.” said Remus. “I don’t think that he’ll do anything stupid, but. . . if there’s anything of his old self left in him, he’ll feel like shit right now.”

Remus entered the room and closed the door quietly behind him.

The office really had seen better days.

One of the bookshelves had been ripped out of the wall, probably by the use of magic. Files were lying all over the ground, pages ripped out, torn parchments. The few wooden chairs that usually stood in front of the desk were lying in a corner, broken. A sword that had always hung on the wall – a present from some Asian Minister of Magic – stuck out of the valuable leather armchair behind the desk.

Sirius was standing in his free-time corner with his back to Remus.

The CD player was broken – literally - probably by the help of the sword. The table was lying sideways on the floor, its glass surface shattered. A vase had been thrown against the wall, now lying on the floor in fragments among a couple of red roses.

Sirius was facing the wall, standing next to the fridge. The fridge looked okay. Sirius had opened its door and taken out a bottle of water. He threw it against the wall, too, where it shattered into pieces.

Sirius was shaking all over, swaying while he stood and sobbing loudly, every now and then releasing a desperate scream as he threw something as hard as he could.

Remus didn’t quite know what to do. He watched for a while as the man took the contents of his fridge apart. Then he decided to make himself known, for he was sure that if Sirius had noticed him enter, he would have reacted already.

“I would think twice about destroying that bottle of wine, Sirius. As far as I know it is very old and very valuable. Wasn’t it a birthday present from the Minister?”

Sirius stiffened and halted for a moment out of sheer surprise, and then he threw the bottle against the wall with a loud yell and even more strength behind it than before.

Then he turned around to face Remus.

Their gazes met for a moment before Sirius turned to look at the floor.

Remus had never seen his friend in that or even in a similar state. Sirius’ hair was wild from running from the courtroom to his office and from tearing some of it out, his eyes were red and swollen and his face was tear-washed. New tears kept leaking out with his continuous sobs.

“I. . . I’m so. . . I’m so . . . “

Sirius didn’t manage to finish the sentence. Instead, he fell to his knees and buried his head in his hands.

Remus looked down at the mess on the floor which had been a proud man less than an hour ago. Slowly and wordlessly, he walked over to Sirius and kneeled down in front of him. He carefully drew Sirius’ hands away from the face and then gently pushed the face to his body so that Sirius’ forehead rested on his left shoulder. He kept one hand in Sirius’ hair and laid the other one onto his back.

At first Sirius was again too stunned to react. Then he threw his arms around Remus and buried his head deeper into the other man’s shoulder. The shaking of his shoulders increased as his sobs got even louder and went over to desperate wails.

They knelt like this for a long time.

The fights between Harry Potter and the Dark Lord Voldemort were a lot like the biblical David fighting Goliath. Harry was totally overpowered, and if he wanted to win or even get away with his life, he would have to be very cunning and very lucky on top of it.

At the time being, Harry was jumping and running around in the room, trying to dodge the Dark Lord’s curses, and trying to think of a way out. His brain didn’t seem to work peoperly, though. All Harry could think of was how hopeless the situation was, how he could never win against Voldemort with all the power he had now.

The few curses Harry had managed to hurl at his nemesis had all his him square on without showing any effect whatsoever.

Lord Voldemort found his game very amusing.

“You know that I could kill you any second, I hope, Harry?”

Harry couldn’t spare the breath to answer, still dodging curses left and right.

“You’re not talking to me, my friend? Did I do anything to offend you?”

And suddenly the curses stopped. Harry immediately put the strongest shielding charm onto himself that he was able to cast, although he knew that it would not hold Voldemort off for long if the maniac really decided to kill him.

“Alright, Harry. I decided that it would be a shame for us to part forever without having one last decent conversation, so let us take a little break.”

Harry couldn’t believe it. Once again Voldemort was hesitating to kill him. That had happened before. That had saved his life before. He had time now – a little time. He had to use it, somehow. What to do? He had to think. . .

“I find it interesting how you still fight for those naïve fools and Muggle-lovers, Harry. I simply cannot understand why.”

“I wouldn’t expect you to”, replied Harry, getting angry.

“These people cannot give you any reward for your work”, said Voldemort as though he was explaining a simple fact to a small child. “They cannot give you any power the way I can, Harry. You will lose your life for nothing but a few stupid, ignorant people who do not even deserve the pathetic lives they’ve got. These people you call your friends, they not only betrayed you, they are a disgrace for the wizarding world.”

Harry snapped.

“The only disgrace to the wizarding world is you, Voldemort! Look in a mirror, you don’t even look human anymore. You’re a monster, a freak. You slay decent people because you claim they have bad blood, yet you’re a MUDBLOOD yourself, the son of a bastard of a Muggle and a witch who was as much of a pathetic freak as. . .”

Harry couldn’t continue the sentence because something happened, something huge that had only happened once before.

Voldemort lost control over his magical powers, the powers of his cursed medal.

- - - - - - - - - -

Remus watched his friend sitting on the sofa with his head in his hands, still sobbing occasionally. Remus knew that Sirius deserved all that he was feeling now and even more, yet he couldn’t help feeling sorry for him. The Deputy Minister seemed to be hurting really, really badly.

Sirius slowly lifted his head to look at Remus, and then dropped it again.

“I . . . I . . . oh my God . . . “. His voice was still strangely rough from crying. Suddenly, he chuckled. “There isn’t really anything I can say, is there?”

“Oh, there is plenty”, replied Remus.

They were both silent for a minute.

“Do you know why you did it?” asked Remus finally. “Why you believed Fudge over Harry?”

Sirius hesitated. “I . . . I just didn’t see why he would lie. I thought he . . . I mean, he gave me the position in the Ministry. He helped me out when I . . . when I had nothing.”

“You had a lot more than nothing, Sirius.”

“Yes, I know”, Sirius whispered. “I had all I could have asked for . . . and I lost. . . I lost it all, Remus. The only thing I didn’t have was a job, a task, something to work for. I felt worthless, see. I was so happy when he gave me the job. I thought he was a saint. I thought the world of that . . . of that . . . “

“Bastard?”

“Yes”, whispered Sirius.

“And Harry, Dark Wizard and murderer, would lie in order to save his neck, of course. That would make sense.”

“Yes.”

Again, they were silent for a while.

“Why are you here, Remus?” Sirius asked quietly.

Remus waited for a moment before answering.

“When you ran out of that courtroom, you looked as though you needed a friend rather badly.”

Sirius lifted his head and looked at Remus with tearful eyes. “Will you be my friend, Remus?”

Remus smiled slightly.

“I’ve always been your friend, Sirius.”

Before Sirius got the chance to answer, embrace Remus, burst into tears or do whatever he would have done in response to that statement, the office door burst open and a group of masked men in black robes stormed in.

Deatheaters.

When the medal suddenly radiated off a huge wave of magic, Harry was sure that all was lost.

The sheer power that hit Harry all of a sudden was incredible. He knew instinctively that he could never defend himself from it. He had to attack, throw himself into it. . . something.

What exactly Harry did would be hard to explain later on. He opened his mind to whatever it was, let the magic run through him, and pushed forwards with his own magic. He was in Voldemort, Voldemort was in him.

He knew what Voldemort knew.

Spells, curses, dark magic, so very dark that it corrupted one’s soul. Plans of killings, big plans of taking over Hogwarts, taking over England, taking over the world.

He shared all of Voldemort’s memories.

Killing his father, killing Muggles, killing Deatheaters, killing enemies. Fighting Dumbledore, fighting Harry Potter. Being in school, studying, out of school, studying more, hours in the library, hours on end, to get more knowledge, more and more and more. . .

He could feel the pride, the anger, the hatred of the Dark Lord.

The Dark Lord, Lord Voldemort, most noble and powerful of all wizards, making the wizarding world glorious as it should be, stopped by Potter and Dumbledore, those muggle-loving fools, didn’t know what was good for them, using their talent for the unworthy, pathetic muggles, muggles that were taking over too much, had too much space, were powerless, the powerless taking the space of the powerful, the worthless taking the space of the worthy, the mighty, the glorious. . .

Harry could feel the power coming from the medal of the Dark Lord, which was around his neck, which was in his soul.

Power, so dark, so evil, more evil than Voldemort himself. Power from hell. It would spread evil. It would create hell on earth. It was strong, the mightiest power on earth. It pulled Harry. He had to be near that power. He had to have that power. He had to be that power. . .

No.

The power would make him the strongest person on earth. Together with Voldemort and the medal, he could have everything, everything he wanted. . .

No!

Harry desperately searched for his own memories, his own morals, his own mind. This power was bad, was evil, wanted to destroy. He didn’t want to destroy, he loved the world, he wanted to live there, be happy there. . .

The power was shaking. It didn’t like Harry’s thoughts. It couldn’t understand. It had to fight. . .

Harry thought of Ron. Ron, his best friend. He had loved him more than his own life. They had had so much fun together, were always there for each other, would have died for each other without hesitating.

The power was shaking more and more. It couldn’t stand it. It couldn’t stand these emotions, this love. . .

Harry thought of everything he was fighting for. All his friends. Hermione, Dumbledore, Snape. . . he wasn’t afraid of dying if only it saved them. They were worth dying for. Even the others. They had betrayed him, yes, and he still didn’t hate them. He was still protecting them, because he wanted them to live. . .

The medal was shaking. It would burst. It would explode. Soon. It would. . .

It calmed down. The power stopped flowing. Voldemort left Harry, and Harry left Voldemort.

Harry stood up. He didn’t remember falling to the ground. Shakily, he looked at his enemy. Fire, a strong, all consuming, magical fire, was spreading from where Voldemort was lying on the ground, spreading through the whole room, probably he whole building. The fire was sheer power, or was it anger, or was it fear?

Voldemort was gasping loudly, apparently a lot worse off than Harry. The monster stared at Harry in pain and panicked. Harry had fought his power. Harry had almost. . . almost. . .

Not saying a word, not casting another spell, not giving Harry the chance to follow up his mental attack with a physical one, the Dark Lord apparated to safety, away from his greatest enemy, the only one that could seriously harm him.

For a moment Harry just stared at the empty space where Voldemort had just been. He had just attacked the medal of the Dark Lord. He had almost destroyed it. He had almost. . . almost. . .

Harry only came to his senses when the bottom of his robe caught fire. He put it out with some effort. It wouldn’t kill him, but it was a nuisance. Knowing that he wouldn’t be able to apparate because of the wards – Voldemort hat made Apparation possible only for himself and his Deatheaters – Harry started to run out of the room, a shield protecting him from the fire. In the hallway, he heard a scream for help that made him panic once more because he recognized the voice immediately.

Albus.

“Where are you!” he yelled. Harry hated feeling so helpless. “Albus!”

“Harry!” A distant shout. “The holding cells. . .”

Harry was there in less than a minute.

Snape and Dumbledore were together, up against a wall, trying to hold the flames off with combined powers. It was getting close as the fire was spreading more and more.

“Thank God you’re here, Harry”, gasped Albus, looking totally exhausted. Harry extended his shield around his two friends also, and together they made their way out of the building. Neither one of them spoke a word until they finally reached the exit.

Just outside the building, the people had gathered: Everybody who had been at the trial or in any other part of the Ministry building was there, talking, pointing, and crying. Most of the people were overwhelmed with everything. Some people had been injured by the Deatheaters, but miraculously, nobody had been killed.

Hermione wondered whether Harry was okay.

This attack had only been meant to scare the people, Hermione thought. The Deatheaters could have done a lot more harm if they had wanted to. But it had still worked. Voldemort had demonstrated his power to the world. Everybody would fear him now. Maybe some people would join him out of fear. Hermione wasn’t really sure what the plan behind it was. What good was the people’s fear for Voldemort?

She hoped that Harry had somehow survived. It had been minutes since she had left the building with everybody else. How long can you survive against Lord Voldemort in a life-or-death duel?

Then the fire broke out. It was a magical fire, obviously, because it spread faster than a normal one, looked darker, and burned things down faster, too. Some aurors tried to extinguish it. Fools. As if they could do something against a curse of the Dark Lord. . .

Hermione just hoped that this fire wasn’t some morbid sign of triumph that Voldemort had cast after killing. . .

No, he’s not dead!

But Voldemort couldn’t be dead either, because Harry, surely, would never create such a terrible fire, and why should he? So if Voldemort was alive, how could Harry, after all this time, still be dueling him? Shouldn’t one of them have turned out the winner now, while the other one would be . . .?

No girl, you must not think that!

When Harry finally did run out of the main entrance together with Dumbledore and Snape, Hermione knew she had never felt more relieved. Of course, Harry had had to play the hero, first making sure that the whole building was empty of people.

But of course it wasn’t, and she knew it.

Anyway, if Harry was alive and well, then was Voldemort . . .

Don’t get too hopeful.

Hermione ran up to Harry, who was stared at in amazement by everybody that could see him, and soon the crowd had only one subject left: Harry Potter, the innocent man, hero of the wizarding world, had once again fought Voldemort and lived. How he had done it, nobody had any idea.

“Harry!”

Harry smiled slightly as Hermione ran up to him and hugged him fiercely.

“I’m so . . . I’m so glad you’re okay . . . I thought you were . . . Harry, I thought that Voldmort had . . .” Hermione started to cry.

“Shh . . . I’m okay . . . he didn’t even hurt me, Mione. I’m fine”, he whispered.

“You were gone for so long, I thought . . . God, Harry, I was so scared . . .”

“I know. Look at me, Mione. I’m fine” Harry whispered. He was uncomfortably aware of the stares they were getting from the huge crowd, and Harry was sure they would have got those stares even if he had not had a sobbing Hermione in his arms.

“Harry . . . Remus and Sirius, they . . .”

Harry drew away. “They what?”

He looked around, but the fact that that he didn’t see them amongst all those people didn’t necessarily mean that they weren’t there, did it?

“They’re still in the building”, informed Hermione. “I’m not sure if you can still go in there, the fire . . .”

“Of course I can still go in. It’s not that bad”, Harry replied.

He turned to Dumbledore, who was talking to some aurors, explaining why Snape was not dangerous, not evil, didn’t need to be locked up, and anyway, there was no place to lock them up, wasn’t that right?

“Albus, there are still people in there, I’m going in. Can you try to get the power down?”

Albus didn’t look surprised. “I will do what I can, and I am sure that there are many willing to assist me. Do you want to go alone?”

“Yes.”

“Alright.”

Without any further words, Harry entered the building, ignoring the Oohs and Aahs of the people behind him.

“Stupefy!” yelled Remus, sending one Deatheater to the floor, unconscious.

It didn’t make a difference at all, they were so many.

A second later, he himself was hit by a Cruciatus which made him drop his wand and fall, too, but screaming in pain. It was ended when Sirius took the Deatheater out, before struggling to defend himself from three others.

Before Remus was back on his feet, several men started throwing spells at him. He knew his shield wouldn’t hold up forever, and neither would Sirius’. It wasn’t going well at all.

When a fire broke out of nowhere suddenly, it surprised the Deatheaters as much as them. From one moment to the next, everything was in flames. It was what saved them in the end.

With a loud yell, one of the attackers realized that he was on fire – and a magical fire, too. It could not be put out as easily. When some of the other Deatheaters went to help the man, it looked much better for Sirius and Remus.

A minute later, half of the attackers were stupefied, the fire on the one man was finally put out, but as a result, the Deatheaters had the disadvantage now. It took another two minutes to end the duel; the Deatheaters were down.

“Let’s see if we can do something against this fire”, suggested Sirius.

They could not. Every spell they tried, every curse, was no use. Trying to put it out without using magic (stamping on it, suffocating it, using normal water) didn’t work either.

“Awesome. We survive fighting ten or so Deatheaters to be killed in some magical fire”, commented Remus.

Sirius didn’t reply.

“HELP!” screamed the werewolf. “CAN ANYBODY HEAR ME?”

Sirius snorted. “Oh come on. Like anybody is running around in here who can help us with this . . .”

“Shh!” snapped Remus. “Listen!”

Now Sirius heard it, too. There was a distant shout.

“HELP!” they screamed together.

A minute later, after a lot of panicked yelling on both sides, and the very second when Sirius’ long robe caught on fire, Harry magically blew the door into thousands of peaces and stormed into the room, carrying a lifeless blonde in his arms.

“Linda!” gasped Sirius.

The fire on his robes immediately extinguished when Harry stepped in between Sirius and Remus. “She’s just unconscious, nothing to worry about.

“How . . .”

“A shield”, Harry explained. “Can one of you take the girl? I’m rather busy with the fire.”

Sirius gathered his secretary up in his arms, and the three men made their way out through the building, neither one saying a word because of the concentrated look on Harry’s face.

Caitlyn couldn’t understand how people could take it. Like aurors, for example, fighting those terrible . . .

For no money in the world would she ever encounter on of them if she could avoid it.

It still hurt like hell, every nerve in her body. It was tearing her apart. Of course the aftereffects were nothing, absolutely nothing, compared to the original pain, which made you want to die . . .

It had been her first time under the Cruciatus curse, and for no money in the world would she subject herself to it again. She would rather die first.

You mustn’t think about that!

No, dwelling on it was the worst thing she could do now. It would only hurt her. It would only distract her from her mission, her very important mission. Lives depended on it, because as far as Caitlyn knew, she was the only one that had managed to disapparate from the gruesome massacre.

Must get help!

The mediwitch tried to forget about her own sorrow and focused on the task ahead. Get aurors. She knew that the Potter trial was being held at the Ministry headquarters. Surely, they would have a lot of security there. The aurors would come to her aid immediately. The patients would be saved. They had to be.

She disapparated again, to the front yard of the Ministry headquarters.

With a surprised gasp, Caitlyn materialized in the middle of a huge crowd. What were all those people doing there? What was going on?

In the background, the Ministry building was totally burned down.

What the . . .

“Are there any aurors around?” she asked a random person standing next to her.

The man ignored her.

“Can somebody help, please? I need . . .”

Nobody even looked at her.

Looking around, Caitlyn noticed that the people looked pretty worn, to say the least. A lot of them were crying.

What had burned the Ministry building down?

Caitlyn couldn’t make any sense of any of it, but she knew that her emergency needed immediate attention, and nobody had even answered her so far.

She cast a Sonorus charm onto herself.

“HELP!”

With her voice magically made so loud that the people near her clasped their hands onto their ears, the mediwitch had everybody’s - and really everybody’s – attention at once.

“I NEED HELP! AURORS!”

A woman pushed through the crowd to her. She knew her from the newspaper articles. Hermione Granger, the Hogwarts teacher that had been kidnapped by Potter, driven insane, and after being rescued started announcing the traitor’s innocence.

Hermione Granger was known to be a powerful witch. Caitlyn didn’t care if she was insane, as long as she could help.

“What’s wrong?” Hermione Granger asked.

“St. Mungo’s! It’s being attacked by Deatheaters!”

Screams and wails followed. The crowd was scared, many of them having friends or relatives in the hospital. Deatheaters were now in St. Mungo’s, too. No place was save.

“Are you leaving, Harry, or are you too tired?” Granger asked a man that had just walked up next to her.

Caitlyn stared at him. She opened her mouth to cast a spell, to warn the people, to scream in sheer panic. Didn’t they see the man? Standing here, amidst the crowd, was the powerful mass murderer, feared traitor, Harry Potter. The Harry Potter. . .

“So tired that I’ll rest while a group of innocent people is being slain by Deatheaters? Hermione, what do you think of me?”

The very moment Harry Potter and Hermione Granger disapparated together, Caitlyn fainted and dropped into the arms of a shocked man standing behind her in the crowd.

Sirius watched Harry, Hermione, and a moment later Dumbledore disapparate.

St. Mungo’s was under attack by Deatheaters. This was as bad a situation as there could be. They had to be quick to save as many people as possible. They had to follow a strategy. The job had to be done properly, it was vital.

Sirius quickly conjured up a big wooden box and stood upon it, so that his head could be seen above the crowd.

“Aurors!” he yelled imperiously, “to me! Then divide into sections of no more than ten people! We will attack from different locations and work our way up from –“

He stopped suddenly as he realized that his men were not following his command as usually.

He swallowed and looked around. The aurors were looking at him with disgust, anger, and mistrust.

Sirius sighed quietly. He understood why they didn’t trust him, a man who had betrayed his own godson, who only had the position that he held because his boss could get him to do anything he wanted.

Somebody tugged at his robes. Sirius looked down into Neville Longbottom’s serious face.

“Mind if I take over? No offense, Sirius, but this isn’t working, and we have to be fast here”, he said.

Sirius nodded and jumped down to the ground without looking at any aurors again. Then he walked a few steps away and watched as Neville assembled the aurors and yelled out the exact orders that he, Sirius, would have given the men. They disapparated. All this happened in no more than thirty seconds.

Then Remus walked up to him.

“So you’re not planning to fight at all, Sirius?”

Sirius sighed. “I’m not an auror anymore.”

“That’s rubbish, and you know it”, snapped Remus, sounding a little angry. “Nothing has changed in the last half hour or so. You haven’t been official fired or anything. And even if you weren’t still –“

“Everything has changed, Remus! I cannot rightfully command these men, call myself a civil servant, after what I have done . . .”

“Will you HEAR ME OUT!”

Sirius was silent at once.

Remus’ voice resumed its normal, quiet tone. “Even if you were not an auror, you don’t need to be, Sirius! Hermione is fighting right now! Dumbledore, McGonagall, Harry of course . . . Damn it, Sirius, I’m far from being an auror, but I’m going right now, with or without you. Who knows, maybe I can save a life.”

Without another word, Remus turned around and apparated away.

For a moment, Sirius just stared at the place where the man had been. He couldn’t help smiling a little.

“What would I do without you, Moony?”

Then he followed his friend.

It took a long time to get the situation at St. Mungo’s under control.

The aurors were as many as the Deatheaters, but they were less experienced and worse trained duelers. The aurors barely managed to protect themselves from the masked men, protecting the patients of the hospital was beyond their ability.

What saved them in the end was the presence of individual non-Ministry fighters like Hermione Granger, Minerva McGonagall, Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter. Dumbledore’s strategic and effective dueling style amazed all those who had never witnessed the old man fight, as did the sheer power that Potter put behind each of his spells and curses, taking out up to five Deatheaters with one spell.

Potter and Dumbledore ran through the building from bottom to top, making the Deatheaters unconscious and running on.

When the mass duel had finally ended, the casualties were nine dead aurors, one dead Deatheater of a low rank, who had accidentally stumbled in front of a killing curse that had been meant for Neville Longbottom, and a rather large number of St. Mungo’s patients and staff that they had been too late to save.

Still panting heavily, Harry Potter could be found leaning against a wall after the battle, looking at the battlefield that was meant to be a place of recovery from illness, not a place of death.

“This is so wrong . . .” muttered Harry to nobody in particular.

“Yes, it is.”

Harry turned his head. He hadn’t noticed Hermione coming up to him. She looked worn and as tired as he felt.

“Look at all those bodies”, continued Harry. “This is a hospital, for Merlin’s sake. This house is supposed to be peaceful and . . .”

He didn’t continue as a Deatheater sprang out of one of the rooms adjacent to the hallway. He must have hidden there. They had missed one.

“AVADA . . .”

The aurors stared in shock and surprise. They hadn’t expected this. They were caught unawares. They didn’t know what to do.

They didn’t do anything.

“. . . KEDAHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

Hit in the chest by a fast red light emerging straight from Harry’s hand, the man flew twenty meters through the air before crashing into the wall at the very end of the hallway, headfirst.

Harry Potter blacked out simultaneously with the Deatheater.

His head hurt. Oh, his head hurt so much . . .

“. . . the worst case of magical exhaustion I’ve ever encountered, Albus . . .”

Harry knew that voice.

“It’s no wonder either, after everything he went through yesterday. I mean, first being overdosed with Veritaserum, I don’t understand how they let these incompetents work for the Ministry in these dark days . . .”

It was Madam Pomfrey’s voice.

“And then, fighting the Dark Lord, God only knows what the poor boy must have gone through. It’s a miracle he got away with his life, Albus . . .”

The presence of both Madam Pomfrey and Albus Dumbledore could only mean one thing . . .

“And then, the duel at St. Mungo’s! As much as we all appreciate Mr Potter’s . . . dedication – I’m sure he saved many lives again, no question . . . but Albus, the boy must really learn to be more careful when he’s fighting, and to stop when he notices that he’s getting exhausted to the point of collapse. I mean . . .”

Harry was in the Hospital Wing. The freaking Hospital Wing of Hogwarts.

He wouldn’t be able to leave the darned place until Madam Pomfrey decided he was completely fit again . . .

. . . which would be ages . . .

Harry groaned quietly, less out of pain than out of frustration.

“Aah, Mister Potter!” exclaimed the suddenly cheerful voice of the mediwitch. “It’s good to have you with us again. I have certain medications that I want you to take before you fall asleep again, which I know you will soon . . .”

Harry groaned again.

“Yes, dear, I know you’re hurting. I’ll be just a minute. Don’t fall asleep, Mr Potter!”

Hurriedly, Madame Pomfrey left the room.

Harry opened his eyes when he felt a hand on his shoulder. It was the hand of a smiling Albus Dumbledore.

Harry tried to smile back.

“How are you doing, Harry?”

“I’m fine”, said Harry lazily. He was already feeling very tired again.

“I’m sorry this really isn’t a good time for a chat, Harry, but I must say I’m really curious. Can you tell me what happened when you fought Voldemort? How you survived it?” Albus asked quietly.

“Yeah . . . yeah, tell you”, answered Harry, but instead of talking, he just closed his eyes again and nuzzled himself deeper into his comfortable hospital bed.

“Yes, I understand you’re tired, Harry. It must have been very hard, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, t’was hard. Curses and all . . .”

“How did you manage to flee? What did you do?”

“Didn’t flee.”

“You didn’t flee?” Dumbledore sounded surprised. “But if you didn’t flee, Harry, how are you still alive?”

“He fled.”

“Voldemort fled from you?” Dumbledore was beginning to get worried. Was Harry delirious?

“Yeah.”

“Why, Harry? Why did Voldemort flee?”

“Almost . . . killed him.”

Harry’s voice was getting quieter and quieter.

Dumbledore couldn’t believe his ears.

“What . . . Harry, you just said you almost killed-“

“Yeah, almost. Next time . . .”

Harry had a smile on his face.

“Next time I’ll finish him off . . .”

The smile on Harry’s face as he fell into a deep sleep would have been a lot wider had he seem Dumbledore’s gaping mouth, a very extraordinary sight.

Author’s Note:

I know it has been ages since I last updated this, and I’m really sorry about it. I’ll try to update more regularly from now on.

My exchange year in the States was awesome. There are no words to express how great it was. I was in Marietta, GA. My high school was great. I was in Marching Band, Indoor Drumline and Jazzband. The people were great and I made some good friends. Church (I’m a catholic) was a lot more fun than it is here, too. A great experience, I’d go back immediately if I could. Germany’s cool, too, though. But I recommend an exchange year to everybody who gets the chance.