September 26, 2012
Proofread on November 28, 2012
Proofread by CodeGeassAddict [2686493]
Written by RahXephon [847246]

Author's Notes: I got bored with The Star Alliance, so I'm starting a new work that will hopefully keep my interest. It is a bit closer in nature to The Star Empire, although I will be extra conscious that it will not stray beyond the M-rating.

WARNING: This fic contains distasteful violence and vague descriptions of extremely unpleasant acts. This fic is meant for adults, and not for the weak-minded.

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. I do not own Mass effect. This is a fan-based work and I derive no income from this writing.

The Star Hegemony

A Batarian Greeting

Hero. Savior. Chosen One. Harry Potter was known by many names, many of which he never wanted. Yet the Wizarding World, in their superstitious bouts, kept adding more and more names to the young befuddled wizard. Basilisk Slayer. Tri-Wizard Champion. And the Vanquisher, for defeating the menace known as Voldemort.

After spending a lifetime of tortuous conflict and horror, the adolescent hero hoped that his tale had finally ended, and that fate was finally satisfied by the sacrifices he had made.

But Harry Potter was wrong. Oh-so painfully wrong.

As his life went on, his scars remained. The nightmares and guilt that continued to torment the haunted hero split apart his marriage. His miraculous feats combined with his everlasting fame caused him to hide away from the world as we know it. But in the end, it proved his downfall. If he thought his days of acquiring titles left and right was over, he had another thing coming.

It started when Harry visited the Burrow after his latest Floo calls went unanswered. What he encountered was enough for him to expel the contents of his stomach.

The first body he encountered was George, his neck twisted cruelly to his back. His mouth was agape in surprise. He probably never realized the danger he was in, since his wand remained quietly in his pocket, forgotten and cold.

As Harry eventually recovered from the gruesome sight, he drew his wand and crept inside the house from the back. As soon as the door squeaked open, he met the second victim, Molly. From the burning and overflowing pans, it appeared she was just in the middle of cooking supper when the surprise barged through. Though the signs showed that she put up a hefty struggle, she proved to be no match against the assailants when she lost her wand, along with the rest of the arm that held the weapon. After being literally disarmed, the intruders evidently threw a quick blasting curse at her face, pulverizing the skin and splintering the skull. Bits of brain tissue were still dripping out of Molly's ruined façade.

After making sure that the Burrows was secure, Harry collapsed on the front porch and let out his emotions. Even after the horrors of Voldemort's reign of terror, he could never get used to the atrocities. The fresh sight of bodies overtook his emotions. Only Bill and Charlie, who had long moved out, escaped the carnage. As for the rest of the Pureblood family, well, at least it was over.

Percy, despite his stuffiness, proved to be a Weasley to the end. Yet seeing him disemboweled and hanging from his own intestines made Harry regret that he never truly reconciled with the bright and promising man. Ron, a loyal friend to the end, even if there were some bumps in the road, had his eyes poked out and his favorite Quidditch broom stuffed right down his throat, through the stomach, until the tip of the sports broom ripped out of his backside.

All of these atrocities paled in comparison to what had happened to Ginny.

'Oh god,' Harry thought as the tears readily streamed from his grieving eyes, 'She didn't deserve all of this.'

The assailants spared the best for last. First, they tore off her clothes. Since the feisty redhead didn't go down quietly, the criminals evidently burned her hands to ashes, preventing her from using her wand any further. Then, heedless of propriety, they held her down, beat her mercilessly with their fists, and tortured her mercilessly with countless minor jinxes as they had their fill of her orifices. Harry scarcely wanted to remember the abomination that was left of what used to be Ginny. He only hoped she died peacefully in the end, though all evidence pointed towards the opposite.

Even as Harry picked himself up and investigated the cause of these events, more and more of his friends were struck. With increasingly gruesome fantasies, everyone from Hermione to Professor McGonagall fell victim to these indecipherable attackers. While the men at least met a fairly swift death, the women on the other hand were not so fortunate. The people who did this weren't criminals. They were beasts. Creatures to be hunted... and put down. And Harry was on the hunt.

As the deaths slowly permeated throughout society, so did the hysteria. The public, in their usual sheep-like manner, began to question any number of unsubstantiated theories. Fed by the sensationalist Daily Prophet, the increasingly manic witches and wizards soon learned of one, common thread to all of the deaths: the victims were all related to Harry Potter.

The conclusion was forgone in their minds. Harry Potter was a murderer. A monster. A pervert. Even as the Boy-Who-Lived tried to brush off the wild accusations, the Wizarding World continued to lap up the crazy stories. It didn't help that Harry refused to show any restraint once he found his first few leads to the conspiracy.

The bumbling wizard Harry finally caught was a nobody. A gopher. A disposable footsoldier. Yet he was part of the plot, and therefore just as guilty as the hitwizards who committed the crimes. After applying a somewhat creative interrogation, Harry finally deposited the half-mad and heavily bleeding suspect to the Aurors. A few days later, the criminal died despite the furious efforts of the healers of St. Mungo's.

While the poor fellow didn't have much to say, the few contacts he worked for proved to be more fruitful. As Harry slowly explored the hierarchy, he eventually uncovered the true reason for their madness.

This was the moment when Harry thought that the title of Master of Death would come back to haunt him. The dark wizards wanted to pry the Deathly Hallows from his broken soul. Knowing that they couldn't match the killer of Voldemort in an even battle, they intended to slowly weaken his support structure. By wiping out his allies while isolating him further from society, they could slowly drive Harry mad. It was a cunning and devious plan and one where Harry was utterly helpless to prevent. By the time he learned the full plan, the Daily Prophet had already done their marvelous job.

By now, the few allies Harry had left had all gone into hiding. Despite his pleas for assistance, they all turned him down, afraid of catching more attention. Friendless, Harry held up his shoulders and ceased asking for help. He was done with the Wizarding World. If they wanted to be his enemy, then so be it. He ignored the public, the Ministry and the Aurors and unleashed his full might on the conspirators. He started to interrogate not only the conspirators themselves, but also their spouses, and soon widened his net to aunts, uncles, sons and daughters.

The body count went through the roof while the horrors multiplied. Harry stopped holding himself back. Why should he hold on to his morals when his enemies had none? Soon he lowered himself to the level of his pursuers, doing things like cutting off their toes and feeding them back to their owners. It wasn't just about gathering information anymore. Harry just wanted payback. The more screams the better. And if his prisoners finally begged the cold wizard to end their lives, Harry would laugh at their face and prolong the pain for at least another day, if not more.

The women were especially delectable when he could get his hands on them. Harry couldn't help it, of course. He was a growing man, and having a woman connected to the conspiracy meant he couldn't let up his routine just because they were of the opposite sex. Hell, he could even kill two birds with one stone by exacting punishment on the screaming and sobbing mothers and maidens while simultaneously relieving his stress. After finally overcoming his reticence and his guilt at this last act of violation, Harry went about it with an addicted relish. The activity turned out to be so pleasurable that he didn't dispose of his soiled victims like he did with their husbands or fathers.

Rather, he kept the most attractive alive, and imprisoned them in one of the countless hideouts he possessed throughout the British Isles. While the victims spent most days in quiet solitude, the few times Harry returned to the hideout would repeat their agony again and again until Harry's formidable magically-enhanced libido was expended. Sometimes, Harry went a little overboard, and the bruised and bloodied females couldn't be revived.

'Oh well,' he would always think as he dumped the bodies into the ocean, 'There's plenty of other girls to hold my attention.'

As Harry's coterie of prisoners increased, so did the public's anxiety over his vigilantism. While a handful of diehard fans remained, even they were forced to abandon their worship of the Boy-Who-Lived as the Aurors accidentally encountered one of his safe houses.

The Daily Prophet had a field day when the details leaked from a Ministry that was already unsympathetic to the former hero. As far as Rita Skeeter and the other reporters are concerned, they felt vindicated. As the stories of sexual torture and exploitation continued to filter through an already hostile public, their patience has finally run out. Harry Potter was officially wanted.

While the original conspirators slowly diminished in size, scope and influence, Harry increasingly began to clash with the Aurors and other Ministry personnel. While he hadn't intended to direct his ire to the magical government, it was natural for him to make the transition. Soon enough he began to target the most corrupt Aurors. Then he expanded his hunt to all of the Aurors. Eventually, every witch and wizard was his enemy.

'How did it come down to this?' Harry would wonder whenever the remnants of his conscience would filter through his revenge-addled mind. 'Why am I fighting against innocent people?'

Yet these doubts were soon wiped out as he began to recall how much the backwards people hated him. None of them had any appreciation for his efforts to save their society. He fought so hard so long, sacrificing much of his teenage years, losing many friends and all for what, mere bigotry and hatred? Well Harry could punch back just as hard.

'If they are too stupid to appreciate my efforts, then they aren't worthy of being saved anymore.'

While Harry clouded some of his activities with excuses like trying to save the muggles, deep down the hero-turned-villain knew he just wanted to kill them all because they wouldn't leave him alone. Only by destroying the Wizarding World in its entirety would he finally be rid of their ceaseless hounding.

In the end, he came close. As a century passed, and as the Deathly Hallows continued to maintain his adolescent youth, he obtained the key to absolute victory. After torturing the world's most eminent magical researchers and mystics, all of them female of course, the now unquestionable Dark Lord puzzled the disparate pieces into a harmonic whole that could only be described as pure, elegant beauty.

'So that's it. That's how magic exists. That's why the Hallows exist.'

Grinning madly, Harry soon concocted a plan and enacted it with deathly efficiency born out of many decades of guerilla warfare. He stole precious artifacts. He sabotaged many facilities. And all the while, he exhorted his army of slaves – some of the women living more than half a century under Harry's boot – into enchanting the essential components of their own downfall.

When the Machine – for Harry didn't bother to name the incredibly complex contraption – finally had its last empowered pieces fit in, the Dark Lord apparated to the place that started it all.

Hogwarts. Well, the broken ruins that still remained standing after Harry unleashed a swathe of destruction on the venerable castle whilst slaying as many children he could get his hands on. Decades later, the fallen castle was never rebuilt, but still retained much of the potent ambient magic that continued to feed on the ley-lines that cross the enchanted location.

Even as the remaining battle-hardened Aurors and their international colleagues got wind of Harry's plan, their attempts to pierce through the incredibly thick shield that the Machine emanated failed spectacularly. As the powerful witches and wizards continued to bombard the shell with heavier and darker spells, they failed to realize that all of their efforts merely fed the hungry Machine and charged up its reserves. When the swirl of magic soon came close to overflowing, Harry pulled the trigger.

The Wizarding World died. So did Hogwarts, and everyone else in the vicinity. Only scraps of clothes and bones survived from the wizards who stood the furthest away from the Machine. The ones who were closest to the dome were evidently vaporized into ashes, and those ashes were obliterated from existence.

As magic soon began to die, killing off the goblins, vampires, and many other magical creatures, any trace of Harry Potter disappeared. It was believed that he perished from the gigantic explosion along with all of the other Aurors.

They were wrong.

"Wake up, new guy!"

A harsh slap rudely ripped Harry from his dreamless sleep. As his turbulent mind began to process his tangled memories, his enchanted eyes fell upon the rough and bearded fellow who pulled the wizard from his rest.

"You'll pay for that, you worm." Harry ominously said as his fingers started to scrabble for his Elder Wand…

…Only to grasp empty pockets. Panicked, Harry opened his eyes wider and saw that instead of the enchanted battle robes he normally wore, he now wore a flimsy muggle worker outfit. The orange pants and white shirt stank incredibly like sweat that was definitely not of his own. "What in the name of Merlin?!"

Before Harry could contemplate this change, a meaty fist planted in his face, causing him to see stars. Without his protective charms, his body was as frail as any muggle. 'Damnit, I was too complacent.' Harry thought as he nursed his face as he continued to glare upon the large intruder. 'If only if I studied more rituals.'

"You'll learn not to talk back to me soon enough, kid." The man said, and turned on his heels. "Now get out of your damn cot and assemble at the mine."

'The mine?' Harry wondered absently as he drew himself up from his cot – to call it a bed would be a travesty – and studied the tiny cell he had ended up. The bare metal walls were not totally smooth. Rather, they were ribbed with pipes, and other things that he had no idea what they were for. Much of the exterior had a light coating of rust, and the general state of the room left the wizard no doubt that this place was old. Half a century at least, if not more.

Besides his cot, there was a small hole in the floor that Harry figured was the toilet, and a sink that probably doubled as his tap water. As Harry limbered to his feet and began to wash his face, he spat out the foul taste of the rank liquid that flowed down the tap. 'This is practically poison!'

Having barely any clue what was going on, Harry scowled at his sink in disgust and firmly stepped out of the cell. Hopefully he would bump into a cafeteria soon and get some decent grub. 'At least this prison doesn't look magical. Did I fall unconscious after the deed? Did the machine rob me of my magic? It would explain how I ended up in a muggle prison. They could have at least let me witness my own trial, though.'

There were a few jarring sights, to be sure. The architecture was not quite as.. expected of what he knew of muggle prisons in the twenty-second century. Strange lights, odd corners and occasional machines of indecipherable purpose met his curious eyes. When he stopped to touch the metal wall, he couldn't figure out what metal or alloy it was made of. 'And who the heck builds metal walls?'

Harry passed by many cells, and more and more men began to join his aimless journey to the end of the hall. None of them were as confused as the wizard. Instead, their eyes were weary. Despite the increasingly crowded hall, none of them struck up a conversation.

After a few twists and turns, Harry reached a large chamber filled with industrial equipment. While it was immediately apparent that the large man wasn't joking that this was a mine, the tools looked strange and unfamiliar. These weren't the drills, pickaxes and other crude tools he had been expecting. Their design was utterly unfamiliar to Harry, though their function was abundantly clear.

'Oh Merlin, do these fucking muggles expect me to operate a muggle device? And for how long?'

As the crowd of men began to fill the chamber, they automatically filed into neat rows. Harry went with the flow and took a random position in the back. 'No sense attracting attention.'

Then he received the major surprise of the day.

Expecting a tough, grizzled warden to step to the front, Harry was utterly baffled as some strangely armored monster hovered into the chamber atop a hovering platform. 'What the hell is that four-eyed thing?! And how the hell is he able to levitate that platform?'

Despite the utterly alien sight in front of them, none of the human laborers kick up a storm. As Harry tried to pin the creature down as a demon, magical creature or eldritch abomination, the figure spoke up in a loud, warbling voice that was obviously artificially translated by some device.

"About time you pinkskins showed up, you slow-pokes! Even my great-great grandfather can crawl faster than you sorry lot!"

After a few minutes of mindless insults, Harry slowly adjusted to the fact that he might not be in the right dimension. 'Did the Machine malfunction? Merlin-damnit, I shouldn't have trusted my slaves so much with the production. They sabotaged it somehow.'

Without his wand, ring, or cloak, he was as defenseless as a muggle. Even though he didn't want to tolerate the indignity of manual labor, he saw no choice but to play along. 'Whatever this alternate Earth is, I doubt the Hallows will stay missing for long. They always have a habit of crawling back whenever I get sick of them and throw them away.'

Early on in his career as a budding Dark Lord, Harry had tried to surrender to conspirators by leaving behind the Hallows. Yet it soon turned out that none of them could be taken from him while he was still alive. As the three Hallows were reunited once again, only the true Master of Death was worthy enough to wield their powers. And the only way for someone else to become the Master of Death was to kill the current title holder.

Harry quickly gave up on surrendering once he found out that gruesome fact.

"Now," The four-eyed alien continued with his speech. "Some of you might have wiped enough dirt from your eyes to see you have some new colleagues. They're freshly captured from one of your race's remaining escape ships, so show them the ropes if you hope to meet your quota. You all know the penalty for failing to meet the quota."

A shiver ran through most of the crowd at that warning.

"However, fresh captives also come with upsides." With a cruel grin, the alien reached down with his hand to something behind the safety plate and lifted up a scraggily dressed but mildly attractive brunette. The girl looked feisty and defiant, and despite the pain of being lifted up by her hair she spat out expletives while trying to punch the alien the face.

"Very lively." The alien warden commented as he calmly poked the woman with an electrified stick. The woman quickly shrieked and lost all of her fight. The alien continued to grin. "As you see, Ashley Williams is one of many unspoiled females, just waiting for your crooked and tiny pink skin flashlights to enter her pussy. The rules are the same as before. The overseer who manages to mine the most iridium at the end of the week will get a full night with this lass."

The woman, Ashley, started to shiver in terror as practically every miner in the room leered at her virgin body. Harry had to admit he eyed her appreciatively as well, though it was a shame that most of her curves were hidden by her standard utilitarian outfit. 'Oh what the hell am I thinking? I gotta find a way to escape this alien prison! I can get bitches later once I get my wand back.'

As the introductory speech has ended, the platform hovered away and the men were herded through the chamber and to a side room, which turned out to be a changing room. Most of the people automatically started to open the lockers and retrieve a thin full-body suit colored in garish orange. Harry curiously approached one of the lockers, only to fail abysmally at figuring out the locks. Soon enough some other foul-minded human bumped him from his place.

"That's my locker y' fuckin' new guy!" The man snarled as he effortlessly opened his locker and retrieved his own suit.

Harry dearly wanted to cook the man's spleen for his insolence, but he restrained himself with some difficulty. 'I'm not the top dog anymore. Without my magic, I can't do anything rash. These fellows look like they can rip off my limbs from their muscles alone.'

Thus, with gritted teeth, Harry bowed his head and asked, "Where is my locker?"

He only got a wad of spit on his face as reply. As Harry wiped off the gunk with trembling fingers, he saw that a few sprightly men were already finished changing and started to go back to the chamber. With increasing alarm, Harry felt he needed to be done as well, or attract unneeded (and unwanted) attention.

"Hey, new guy! Over here!" Someone called further down the row.

Hoping that this wasn't some cruel joke, Harry hesitantly wandered over to the person who called for him. The black guy already finished changing, but he didn't leave the room like the others. With seemingly no worry, the firm and fit man reached for Harry's sleeve and pulled it back to reveal a string of alien numbers.

"This is your number." The older man pointed out. "All of these lockers are ordered from low to high. Your own suit should be at the end of the room, over there."

"I… I can't read this alien script."

The helper looked non-plussed for the moment. "You… can't? But it's so easy! This is a 7, that's a 5, and…"

"And…?" Harry trailed off, a bit miffed that the guy paused in his instruction.

"You don't have a translator implant, do you?"

"A what?"

Harry's clueless face evidently told the more seasoned prisoner enough.

"I'll guide you to your locker this time." The man said as he shook his head in pity. "I guess the last escape ships must be in a sorry state if they can't afford to implant passengers with translator packages anymore."

"Escape ships? Implants? What the bloody hell are you talking about?!"

Harry's outburst only drew more attention and he quickly quieted down. He had to remember not to put up his Dark Lord act now that he was anything but a wizard. As the black guy reached Harry's locker and helped the boy open the lock, he helped the confused and bewildered Harry put on the strange and futuristic suit.

"And this is how you put on your helmet." The black guy instructed, and warned Harry that he should always make sure the vacuum seal is properly secure.

The suit quickly did some strange things, including making Harry's face plate glow with alien symbols. "Whoa, what is this?!"

"That's your heads-up display. It's in Batarian as well, so I guess you can't read any of them yet. Anyway, our time is almost up. We better return and pick up our mining gear."

As the man marched out, Harry hurried to catch up, only to trip from the weight of the suit that felt like half an armor. "Wait! What's your name? And why are you the only one who's helping me?"

"It's Jacob. Jacob Taylor." The man introduced himself with a friendly smile behind his faceplate, which contrasted hugely with the snarling faces of the other miners. "Most of these slaves here have been here for years, maybe decades. Some are even generational slaves. Offspring of other, older slaves. They don't know much about how it's like to live freely, even if they are confined to small and shoddy freighters or passenger ships which escaped the Batarian conquest."

Harry felt completely out of his depth as Jacob casually referred to many strange things. He gathered that the four-eyed aliens were the Batarians, and that they evidently conquered Earth and her fledgling space colonies, but much of the details are vague, such as what year the conquest took place and what the date was this day. He didn't dare ask his helper any of this though, afraid of making himself look weak. The century-old wizard knew just enough about prisons that it was better to be overestimated than underestimated. Heck, his former playthings often exhibited the same behavior.

In fact, this Jacob looked like he could handle himself in a fight. His easy confidence masked a body trained for combat. Unlike the lumpy builds of most other miners, Harry recognized a warrior when he saw one. It also didn't appear that Jacob spent many years under this Batarian regime. 'If people like him still exist, then that means humanity isn't a total loss.'

As Jacob guided Harry to his unit and helped him learn the controls of a futuristic drill, he wondered whether this alternate universe, dimension, or whatever possessed any wizards or witches. Might there be one here, amongst the countless ranks of prisoners? Unlikely. Any competent wizard could blast his way through the alien guards, though provided that he has a wand. Wands, and wood for that matter, appear to be very rare at this location.

"I'm in another work detail so I can't help you any further than this." Jacob remarked as he finished instructing Harry with the rudimentary controls. "Just keep your head down, listen to what your overseer tells you to do, and no matter what happens, do NOT cause any trouble. Just endure whatever the men pile up on you and tough it out."

The helpful man quickly disappeared, leaving Harry alone with a drill that he could barely figure out. A large door quickly opened to the outside world, and the miners all picked up their gear or drive their vehicles out. With a hefty lurch, Harry picked up his drill and awkwardly held it bridal style while he walked out of the chamber.

When he finally reached outside, Harry suddenly stopped, and gaped at the alien landscape that greeted his astonished eyes. Expecting to see some rural Earthern landscape, he instead saw nothing but rock, rock and more rock.

And space. A vast, open horizon of pure dark blue space greeted his sight. What was more disorienting was the harsh blue glare in the corner of his face place. When the wizard turned his face, he gasped as he saw that the bright blue glow was actually a sun. 'I'm not on Earth anymore. I'm not even in the same solar system. This.. this is somewhere else!'

Where, Harry had no idea. As the boy took his next steps, he noticed that walking became more difficult on the rocky surface. His thick soles started to do something.. strange. 'They're sticking to the surface like a magnet. Does that mean..'

Experimentally, Harry let go of his heavy drill. The extremely slow fall confirmed his suspicions. 'This rock isn't a planet at all! I'm on a moon, or an asteroid.'

The full weight of this depressing mine suddenly crashed down on Harry. As he mindlessly walked across the dirt trail towards one of the many mines, he tried hard to figure out a way to get out of this floating rock in space. 'Apparition? No way in hell can I cross trillions of kilometers in a single jump. Portkey? The magical energy required for that will probably drain me to a husk.'

No matter what magical means Harry conjured up from his memories, none of them bar the darkest and demonic allowed him to escape this inhuman place. And all of them were for naught so long he didn't possess a wand.

'I'm fucking trapped and lost in space and expected to work my ass off for these ugly four-eyed aliens. What else is fate putting me up with?'

The answer soon became clear when the big guy from before walked in front of Harry and pushed him back with a meaty gloved palm. "Wrong way, kiddo! You're one of my boys, idiot! Can't you read your HUD assignment?"

"N-n-n-" Harry started to reply through his microphone in his helmet which transmitted his words to other nearby workers in this airless asteroid.

The big guy only growled further and punched Harry in the kidneys, causing him to lose his composure.

"Pathetic! Pick yourself up, kid, and scram towards your spot! You better learn quickly kid. I got one of the better crews around Delta-349. If you're gonna screw up somehow and make me fail to reach the highest quota, then…"

The overseer's face turned positively scary to Harry then, and that was saying a lot as he hadn't felt fear in a long time. "Then what I planned to do to that bitch Ashley, I'm gonna let it out on you. If I were you, I'd better work hard."

With that ominous warning, the overseer strolled away with a swagger. A few nearby miners who overheard the conversation through their helmet speakers transmitted their unsympathetic laughs.

"Overseer Stenson is on a roll!"

"Hey, do you think Stenson will let me have him once he's done?"

"By the time the rest of us have our turns, that skinny kid will be as dead as a rock!"

Their disgusting taunts turned increasingly vile as Harry entered one of the many mines dotted throughout the dark and unforgiving asteroid. He wanted to swing his drill at one of his many tormentors to teach them a lesson, but he knew that was exactly what they were waiting for. Still, the indignity of being reduced to.. a prison bitch was extremely intolerable.

'They won't be laughing once I get my magic back… if I get my magic back.'

Stenson soon spread out his work detail to several spots to begin drilling and other work, and soon enough Harry was operating his own machine against a surface. 'What if.. that previous life is all a dream? A fantasy? What if I'm not a wizard?'

No! He shouldn't be thinking like that, he shouldn't lose hope. Once he begins to accept this sorry existence, it would be all over for him. He had to remain strong and keep faith. Faith in his magic, and faith in his own strength.

'Just because I never used wandless magic doesn't mean I'm a squib. The Elder Wand is strong, yes, and perhaps I relied on it too much. But fuck me if I can't cast a simple spell or two without a wand.'

Harry wordlessly cycled through all of the spells he had at his disposal. Soon enough he ended up on what remained to be his signature spell even as he expanded his repertoire into the Dark Arts. Even when he has taught himself the darkest of curses, and the mightiest of charms, the simple Expelliarmus has somehow kept coming back to him in his darkest moments.

He had to admit that while most of his other spells were flashier, they also often resulted in quick deaths. Harry seldom wanted his enemies to die quickly, especially if they were delectable females. A quick Expelliarmus followed by a decent Incarcerous conveniently disarmed and tied up most witches of middling strength while keeping their luscious bodies unscarred. Harry would have plenty of fun with his captives later.

So, with a devious mind, the wizard mentally prepared himself for this task. He picked one of the most annoying workers who drilled not too far away from his own spot. When nobody seemed to be paying any attention to Harry, the boy made his strike.

"Expelliarmus!" He furiously whispered, hoping that the noise of heavy breathing from other workers would mask his incantation.

For a short moment, his target seemed to lose grip of his drill. The surprised miner was experienced enough however to grasp the handles of his tool with lightning speed, but the results were more than enough to confirm Harry's theory.

Despite the taunts, despite his new and miserable state, Harry found cause to smile. He still had his magic.

End notes: Just a new fic. I'll be writing some more chapters quickly and see how much interest it will attract. For those who are unfamiliar with my writing habits, I'm sure you have noticed a few glaring grammar and style errors. That's because I write my chapters in one go (I wrote this chapter in 4-5 hours) and usually never go back and re-read them. I'm lazy and I hate proofreading my own work. I usually write a whole sleuth of chapters first before returning a few months later to go over them again to fix the most obvious mistakes. I admit that this does not present the most enjoyable reading experience for you, but I would rather expend my limited time and energy churning out new content rather than perfecting old work.