Worries

Voldemort was playing with Morgan.

At the moment, she was on his back, the music was turned on, and he was playing a kangaroo.

Tom had never had so much fun in his life. Torture and raids didn't compete.

Originally, when Morgan had been Made, he'd given her an ability to display cuteness and be likeable to get Potter to care for her.

Now, Harry was her Dad, and he found that the charm worked on himself, too.

It made him happy. Being Morgan's Grampa became easier and easier, common sense returned to him and asked all those nasty questions: Is conquering Wizarding Britain not an awful lot of work? Why would you ever even need the damn place? And he was a half-blood himself. Sure, most Muggles were horrid, but so were most wizards, and Muggles did have some brain cells more than wizards. Their legislation proved it, their education, and the simple fact that when there would have been five armed Muggles against a hundred armed Muggles, the hundred would have shot back and done something, most likely, while five Death Eaters could easily subdue a hundred other wizards.

Jump, jump, jump.

Sometimes, he just wished he could stop the damn job of being a Dark Lord. A reason why most of his plans lately still were ridiculous, even though he knew it. He just didn't want to succeed anymore. He'd lost his drive to kill people.

He would have to talk to Harry.


Theodor Nott was in the Throne Room, again, for target practice.

Unforgivables only could be practiced sensibly on living things. Wood doesn't scream.

"Imperio! Do the chicken dance!"

Apparently, Morgan found the Imperius Curse amusing.

It had taken a lengthy explanation from Harry that yes, she should only use it with permission. Not at all at other times.

Of course, it had still been fun to see Bella try and dance a waltz with herself.

He was so caught up in his memories that he didn't notice Tom whispering into her ear.

"Do you think this is a good idea?"

Tom nodded.

No. It wouldn't be a good idea.

"I'm not sure what Dad would say..."

"I'm sure he'll be fine with it."

"Okay, if you say so."

Harry didn't know what to do.

"What is this about, you conspirators?"

Tom smirked at him.

"Nothing. Morgan, cast the spell."


The Order of the Phoenix was growing rather worried.

There were news from Snape that the Dark Lord had showed uncharacteristic behaviour lately, including an odd tendency disappear into his private quarters more and more. As if he was planning for something that could decidedly shake up the war.

With Harry now on his side, they weren't sure about they're chances of winning.

They were currently meeting, Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger, both nineteen years old and recently enganged, sitting beside each other. Apart from Ginny, who still wasn't out of school, the entire Weasley Family, including a sorry Percy and a recently-wedded Bill and Fleur, was there. Other attendants included former DA-members Neville Longbottom and Hannah Abbott (soon-to -be Longbottom), Susan Bones, Anthony Goldstein, the Patil twins, the former Gryffindor Chaser Trio, Ernie McMillan, Justin Finch-Fletchley and Michael Corner, even though strangely enough neither Zacharias Smith nor Marietta Edgecombe nor Cho Chang had ever shown any interest in joining.

The last year hadn't seen any deaths, apart from a few Death Eaters. It was almost as if Harry's continued presence had changed something, as many hoped beyond hope.

One of them was Dumbledore. He was sure Harry had gone Dark - hell, the boy had cast the Cruciatus! - but he still hoped for redemption. He'd see to it that Harry's terms should the war end with them winning would be good, that he'd have a chance. He just didn't know how yet.