Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, Hogwarts, Gringotts, the Leaky Cauldron or anything else in JKR's wonderful world. Except for the little pebble just to left of the front doors of Hogwarts. I put that there. I might own that. Maybe. But probably not.

P.S.- If you recognize something you know I didn't come up with, I don't own that either.

. . . THAT IDEA?

Harry Potter surveyed the scene in front of him: Diagon Alley, the plaza area in front of Gringotts. It was packed with people, from storefront on one side of the Alley to storefront on the other and still more down the street besides, easily several thousand in total. Silent, still, they stood waiting.

On the steps of the bank, goblins. Armed and armored, shields up and weapons pointed ahead, they lined every single step, from the bottom clear to the top where Director Ragnok, Horde Leader and absolute ruler of the Goblin Nation stood watching the scene before him as well, ready for war. They wouldn't go down without a fight.

Behind him, Harry knew, stood the survivors of the Battle of Hogwarts, school children mostly and a few adults as well. They had fought well. They had fought hard. They had fought for their lives, their families and a bright new future.

They had lost.

He had failed them. He hadn't been able to kill Tom Riddle, aka Voldemort, and now they stood naked and injured, surrounded by the remaining Death Eaters, on display as examples to the rest gathered in the Alley.

Tom had already declared their fate: magic bound on the purebloods, male and female, until they were almost squibs and then married off to carefully chosen mates to continue the bloodlines; halfbloods and muggleborns bound completely and given or sold as slaves to those considered worthy by the Dark Lord.

Nor were they the only ones. The neutral families found to their dismay they'd played directly into Voldemort's hands. Thinking they could maintain their neutrality and accommodate whoever won the war, they'd not done any fighting for either side. Voldemort allowed them their beliefs thus reducing the number of fighters from the side of the Light they may have provided had he attacked them.

Once he was victorious however, they'd found the error of their thinking when he'd had them all rounded up, declared them all blood traitors and put them with those survivors from Hogwarts, stating for one and all to hear that if they weren't actively for him, then they were against him and would pay the consequences.

Harry had sneered at their protestations and lamentations when they'd found out, quite enjoying the irony and poetic justice.

They'd all, fighters and neutrals alike, been stripped naked as a humiliation and mark of their new status and herded into the Alley as Riddle had put out the message that everybody who could was to come and watch what happened to those who opposed his new order.

He alone was clothed, to separate him from the others and set him apart. Slavery was not to be his fate.

That was a public execution by Riddle himself, in front of the crowd to show that their Chosen One was the wrong choice, to cow them and show them they had no chance against the unbeatable Dark Lord.

With that thought he looked back over his shoulder. There, standing defiantly head high despite her nudity, stood Hermione, her face expressionless until his eyes met hers and just a hint of sorrow of what might have been showed for a fleeting second. She'd stood thusly by his side, unwavering in her commitment to him, for seven years and he'd only belatedly realized that what he'd felt for her wasn't affection for a friend but love for the woman she'd become. Only at the last minute, before he'd gone to do battle with Riddle, had he been able to tell her his feelings for her, to have one kiss, one glorious memory to take with him into the fight.

And he'd failed.

He sighed heavily. To late now. "Tom, let me talk to those bastards." He said quietly.

Before him, the Dark Lord scowled. "Potter, I've told you before to stop calling me that!"

He grinned at the man's irritation. "Why?" he asked. "We both know you get a kick out of the idea that you lead your bootlicking sycophants around by the nose following your program of 'PUREBLOODS RULE!' when you're even less magical than I am by their standards."

The barest hint of smile graced the noseless man's lips. "True, but I can't let the idiots know that, now can I, Harry?" he shook his head slightly. "Nor can I let you try to rally the rabble against me even at this late date."

Harry actually laughed at that. "Rally them? I've been telling them about you for seven years and half the time they considered me a bigger threat than you were!" He shook his head. "They'd rather believe the Prophet than me when they know it's just propaganda trash, so they deserve what they get. No, I'm through with them. I'm tired and I just want to get it over with. I just want to let them know what I think about them. Come on, what's the threat? You know I'm right."

He looked directly into the man's eyes, felt a probe in his mind and did nothing to even try to stop it.

Voldemort actually chuckled at what he found. With a bow and a sweep of his hand he stepped back out of the way.

He turned his attention back to the crowd. He gave them one long look and inhaled deeply. "Listen up, Sheeple!" he cried out. A murmur ran though the crowd at his term for them. Tough. "That's right, Sheeple! Sheep in clothes. Sheep that do what they're told, who believe what they're told and not what they see. Sheep to be sheared by their new masters until the Judas Goat among you, and there will be those that conspire with them, leads you to your slaughter. And you deserve it!"

The murmurs grew louder, some angry, but he could see some faces that looked embarrassed, knowing he was right.

"You deserve it because you expected me, a student not even out of school yet, to fight your war for you. You deserve it because you let school children fight your battles for you. Where were you three days ago when we fought the people who would enslave you, rule you, decide whether you were fit to live…or die? Do you think freedom is something someone gives you? It is something you have to fight for…and you never did. You outnumbered your enemy by a hundred to one. You had the same weapons they had but two or three of them in your midst and you all scurried to your homes like little frightened mice."

He gazed around at them, choosing his words. "You expected me to fight for you. You expected my friends to fight for you, to even die for you if that was what it took so you could live your measly, ignorant little lives. Well, screw the lot of you. I'm done with you."

He turned and pointed. "Do you see those warriors?" asked as everyone turned to look at the goblins on the bank steps. "They're ready to fight, to die if need be to protect their home, their people and their families. If they do fight and they win, if they do what I failed to do, I hope they round your sorry arses up and shove you down into those caves and tunnels and leave you there while they take your places here on the surface. I hope they treat you as you've treated them."

He sighed, suddenly tired. "As for me, I'm done with the lot of you. I hope Voldemort gives you exactly what you deserve. I hope he screws you all."

With that he turned around, afraid he'd find looks of disgust at what he'd said on the faces of those behind him. But there weren't. Smiles and nods of agreement met him, and Hermione mouthed 'I love you' to him with a smile. He smiled back.

He turned to Riddle. "Alright, Tom, let's get this over with." He squared his shoulders as he faced his killer. Surprisingly, now that he'd accepted his approaching death, he felt no fear of it, only an aching sorrow at leaving Hermione. Well, on the other side someday, hopefully.

"I will say, Harry," Voldemort said as he raised his wand, "I do admire your attitude. You were a most formidable opponent, so I'll make this fast. Avada Kedavra!"

((((((OOOOO))))))

He groaned as awareness returned. Screw the idea that the AK was a painless killer. "Oh shite, that hurt."

"Language, Harry." He heard. Rolling over onto his back he looked up, to find a woman in a white gown standing over him. "Mum?"

The green-eyed red head smiled down at him as she extended a hand to help him up. "Yes, Harry." She said as she pulled him into a hug. "Oh, it's so good to see you, my son."

He returned the hug wholeheartedly. "Mum! So, I guess I really am dead, this time." He said as he pressed his face into the side of her neck as he held her tightly.

"Well, yes and no." She replied as she pushed him out to arm's length and looked at him. "But you might want to get some clothes on first before we talk about that."

He looked down and discovered he was naked. Blushing furiously, he looked around. "Where…?"

"Just imagine them, Harry." She told him with a laugh.

With that, he was suddenly clothed in jeans and a polo shirt, with trainers on his feet, all in white.

"That's better." Lily said with a pleased smile. "And to answer your question before you ask it, to paraphrase a certain book I loved, you're only mostly dead, you're not all dead." She took his hand. "Come on, I'll show you what I'm talking about."

"Not to say I don't believe you, Mum, but the killing curse is called that for a reason. How can I be only mostly dead?" He suddenly looked around. "Hey, this is Kings Cross station."

Lily chuckled. "No, it's merely your idea of a waypoint from the living to your next great adventure."

"The last one wasn't all that great." He told her.

She looked at him with a smile as she led him along. "Not even Hermione?"

He reconsidered. "Okay, parts of it were pretty good, but the rest sucked."

"Blame Albus for most of that."

He heard quite a bit of resentment in her tone of voice. "Dumbledore? Yeah, I kind of figured that out already. So, have you been watching over me or something?"

Her smile returned, more radiant than before. "Of course! Almost from the moment I died. I couldn't come back, something about that curse prevents becoming a ghost, but I could see and hear you. That fool Albus thought he was going to meet you here and see you on your way, the idiot. I disabused him of that notion really fast, but I don't think he quite counted on this, though."

They'd stepped around a pillar and her sweeping hand indicated what this was: a bloodied little figure he recognized from the night in the cemetery. While that Babymort had been blackened and scaly, this one looked as if it had been skinned alive. It cried, mewled and shivered as if in great pain and he couldn't help but hope it was. And then a thought occurred to him. "Wait! This came here with me?" he asked. Lily nodded. "My scar." He exclaimed with sudden understanding. "It was in my scar wasn't it?"

She nodded again. "Yes, Harry, it was."

"And Dumbledore knew, didn't he?"

"Yes, he did, Harry, right from the very start."

"That son of a bitch! He knew! That was why he never trained me to fight, to defend myself! He expected me to have to die!" He felt a rage take hold of him, rising up from deep inside. "Enjoy your childhood, Harry!" He cried angrily, remembering such words once spoken to him. "Live the life of a growing child! Enjoy your friends and your life!"

He walked quickly around in a circle, venting his rage. "He told me that all the time because he knew it was going to be all I had! No wonder I couldn't kill the bastard, I had one of those things riding around in my head!"

Lily stood quietly and let him rage. She knew he needed to get it out of his system.

He finally calmed a bit and sighed, facing her. "This is what you meant by mostly dead, isn't it?"

She nodded. "Yes, Harry. One soul must go on from here, but one can go back…or on. The choice is yours."

Harry heaved another sigh. "Damn it. I'd accepted having to die, looking forward to getting away from all those sheeple and their expectations. To see you and Dad and all the others. To go back and have to put up with all of that again…"

She smiled slyly, almost maliciously. "About that, Harry…"

((((((OOOOO))))))

She forced herself to keep her eyes open, to watch him die, to keep the memory of the event to fuel her desire for revenge in the future. But all her plans were derailed as the green curse struck Harry. It struck him and he started to collapse but a powerful flash raced back to the Dark Lord and he went down with a cry as well.

Everybody froze at the unexpected scene: the crowd, the prisoners, even the Death Eaters were still at the unexpected turn of events.

And then… a collective gasp as Harry pushed himself up onto his knees.

"Son of a bitch, that hurt!"

"NOW!" Daphne Greengrass shouted and threw herself at one of their captors, naked, unarmed and ready to die if that was what was to be. Hermione and the rest of the survivors of the Battle of Hogwarts did likewise. Voldemort's forces had made a mistake in keeping all their captives together: it allowed them to plan and coordinate their actions. Their choices were win or die fighting.

Living as slaves was not an option.

((((((OOOOO))))))

Damn! It hurt as much coming back as it had going! Harry thought as he stood up and looked around. Fighting had broken out behind him between the captives and their guards and a few of the neutrals had attacked their guards as well. The main crowd however stood still, as always, watching and letting others do their fighting for them. They would find that had not been the best choice they could have made. Thanks for the idea, Mum!

He raised his hand towards where the stunned Riddle was only just beginning to stir. "Accio Elder Wand!" he stated and watched as the Death Stick flew from where his foe lay into his hand.

Riddle's eyes widened as he stepped over to him, trying to get up, but Harry dropped down onto his knees on his chest, pinning him to the ground. "It's over Tom." He growled, the amity of only a minute before gone.

"You can't kill me Potter, I'll be back!" The snake faced man snarled back at him.

Harry gave him a grin with a promise of doing just that. "They're gone, Tom." He told the man under him; saw his eyes widen in realization and fear. "They're all gone, and so are you."

Riddle had time for one short scream as Harry stabbed down with the wand, penetrating cloth and flesh before it embedded itself into the Dark Lord's heart. His eyes bulged almost out of his head as his mouth formed an O of shock, surprise and pain. "Rot in hell, Tom!" Harry cried with malicious intent. "BOMBARDA!"

In retrospect, using that spell on the target your wand was stuck into probably wasn't a good idea as the explosion threw him back a good ten feet. He landed hard on his bum.

What it did to Riddle was far worse. His entire chest area simply ceased to exist, blood and gore splattering the area around him, leaving a bit of his shoulders with arms and head attached and from his stomach down.

More horrifying was the fact he wasn't dead. Head rolling from side to side and his arms feebly moving it was obvious something else was keeping him alive.

And then the screaming started.

People engaged in life or death struggles suddenly backed away from Death Eaters who had begun screaming as if they were being subjected to the cruciatus curse and clawing at their arms where their marks were.

Then, they began to fall. One after another their cries diminished, they collapsed where they stood and lay twitching for a few moments before breathing their last.

Harry stood over Riddle, watching him. He'd always wondered just how much those marks were tied to the remains of the man that lay on the ground before him. As the last DE had their magic, or even their life itself, pulled from them and perished and the light of life finally left his eyes, he had his answer.

He turned, to find Hermione and the others all watching him. He met their eyes, asking a silent question. One after another, they gave a silent nod.

He turned back to the crowd, which had finally started moving forward now the fighting was over. They looked happy, cheerful and elated.

He scowled when he didn't see even a single wand out.

An older man, one whom he recognized as one of the Lords of the Light faction, one who while decrying Voldemort's methods followed his philosophy, came forward, all smiles and jubilation. "Mister Potter! Wonderful! Simply wonderful! You've defeated He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named yet again! I'm certain there'll be an Order of Merlin in this for you!"

Harry stared at him. "What makes you think so?" he asked coldly.

The man seemed shocked that he'd even asked the question. "Why, the Wizengamot will surely reward you for what you've done this day!" he responded.

Harry inspected the end of his wand. He'd expected it to be shattered and unusable after that explosion, but it appeared unharmed. Well, it was the Wand of Death.

He used it to shatter the thigh of the man before him with a bone breaker hex.

"I don't think so." He said as the man fell, screaming in agony. He heard stunned gasps of shock from the crowd but ignored them as he looked over at the steps of Gringotts and the ranks of goblins formed there, waiting for the confrontation with Voldemort that now would never happen. "Director Ragnok!" he called out. "Would you care to be a part of the new Ministry I'm going to form?"

"On your word?" the large goblin called back.

"On the blood of those who fought beside me!" he replied.

Orders were shouted and like a well-trained army the ranks of goblins moved down the steps and across the square between the two groups of people, forming a line and facing the advancing crowd which had stopped with cries of fear, disbelief, anger and surprise.

He faced the crowd. "I don't know what part of my little speech a while ago that you failed to understand," he stated loudly, "so I'll repeat the high points: if you aren't willing to fight for your freedom, you don't deserve to have any freedom. You only deserve what you get and right now that is me. So just go back to your homes and your frightened little lives because we," he swung his arm around to indicate the group of ragtag, naked, injured and wounded people behind him, only a few of which had wands they had taken from Death Eaters, "will rule over you. We will make the laws you will follow. We will run your society for you so you don't have to think about doing it yourselves. And maybe if you're lucky your children will come to understand what the price of freedom truly is."

At the front of the crowd one woman stared wide-eyed, first at Harry, then the line of goblin warriors, then at the man moaning on the ground at his feet, then back up at Harry. "But…but you can't do this! You're the Savior of our world!"

Harry pulled Hermione tightly into his side, kissed her on the forehead as she put her arms around his waist and smiled, and only then gave the woman a disdainful, condescending look. "Madam, whatever gave you that idea?"

A/N: Ever think Harry just wants to hit the entire wizarding world upside the head with a beater bat? Yeah, me too. So I came up with this. Hope you like it.