Author's Notes: Lisa725 rules.  My first child will be named Lisa725 and he will likely hate me for it.  But this is the compensation that must be made, and I am a man who, if nothing else, outsources my debts to those closest to me.  May he grow to be a feeble and weak willed boy so that his revenge is less likely to make with the overly bad owies.

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Chapter 4 - The Beginning of the End

Look, everybody, I can fly! All it cost me was my parents, my soul, and my will to live. Maybe if I give up free will I can live forever and be psychic. Oh wait, that's already been taken - bugger. I so wanted to know what was going through Hermione's head when she decided to stop being the smartest witch of her age and started chasing boys.

I wonder if Hermione and Ron know that their friend has become a freak? I doubt it; what with having futures to worry about: NEWTs, Quidditch matches, snogging, in Ron's case what's for lunch. I can't believe that shit ever mattered to me. I've spent the last six years of my life paying attention to such trivial nonsense.

Like trying to live a normal life.

I know now that there's no such thing, and I'm worse for it. It's better that my friends never have to figure that out. It takes all the flavor out of living. At least I've got a cause. I've had it all my life, but Dumbledore was too busy hiding it from me for me to know. Well, my eyes are open now, and when I'm not a snake-horse hybrid seeing the world as a Dali painting, they see that my cause is putting the “fuck you” into Voldemort's plans.

Just like he did to me.

xxx

Hogwarts wasn't the same, and the plain truth in that statement made it all the more poignant. Harry gazed at the grounds as he flew above them. Maybe it was just the way his Thestral eyes perceived it, but everything about the once great school looked dead to him. Whether that was truly the case or not it didn't matter; everything about Hogwarts felt dead as well.

He landed on the grassy banks next to the lake. There was no way to tell how far he traveled, but it had certainly seemed like a great distance. That he'd managed to complete the trip wasn't all that remarkable to him; the fact that he'd done so in a mere couple of minutes was. Though in the end he figured it to be just another box to tick off on the “when I grow up I'm going to be a freak” list.

“No good can come from this,” Slytherin said.

The words grated at him, as they were the same ones Gryffindor had spoken to his parents. “So, is that just a founder thing - telling people what's best for them?” Harry snipped.

“It's the truth, whether you want to admit it or not”.

“In my experience, the truth isn't something people like you are capable of speaking”.

“You mean Slytherins?” Salazar snapped back.

“No, I mean people who have spent too much of thier lives telling others what's in their best interest…and also Slytherins.”

“Speaking in generalities now, are we? And here I thought I was cast to fill the role of bigot in this tragedy.”

“Fine, then that makes me the lead. So stop with the lecturing and change me back!”

“Have it your way,” Slytherin said with resign.

Pain tore through his skin and bones as the transformation traveled through his body. He flew across the country in a couple minutes, but it seemed to take an eternity for the change to complete. The pain remained even after he was human again. It left him crumpled on the grass shaking and praying to whatever god would listen to end his pain or take his life, whichever would be less of a bother. No one answered his prayers.

“Will it always hurt this much?” Harry asked, cringing.

“Until you learn to control the change on your own, yes.” 

He got to his feet despite the pain. The morning dew had left his clothes - at least the parts not caked in dried blood or ripped away - soaked through and sticking to him. Harry gave himself a once over and then cast a drying charm.

“Oh, that's much better,” Slytherin mocked, “good as dress robes now.”

Harry looked down at his now dry, tattered, and bloody clothes. It was good enough for him.

He moved on to the castle without another word. He half expected alarms to go off or perhaps an Auror guard to come for him. Instead the gates opened unceremoniously to reveal an empty castle behind them. Seeing that it was summer, the school would be empty save a few staff members. That was fine by him; he'd no clue what to say were someone there. So, with no particular plan in mind, he decided to let his feet lead the way. They took him to the Gryffindor common room, where the Fat Lady began to make a fuss about something; but he paid her no mind. It occurred to him that a nap was just the thing he needed, and he wasn't going to let some over-exuberant oil painting get in the way. He fell asleep as soon his head hit the pillows on his four-poster.

He woke up in the hospital wing.

“Honestly, Poppy, I'm beginning to believe young Mr. Potter is made of miracles,” the headmistress said.

“That's not the half, Minerva. There's not a mark on the boy. He's as healthy as ever,” Madam Pomfrey said.

“But how can that be? The sight of him when he arrived, I can't even imagine the horror he must have experienced to come here looking such a fright.”

“I can't explain it, though that is hardly a first considering the patient. Still, this is beyond belief even for Mr. Potter.”

“What of his color Poppy? I don't think I've ever seen such a thing - at least not on a person still living. He's so ashen, and he has huge dark circles beneath his eyes. Surely, he's suffering some sort of magical ailment - a poison perhaps.”

“It's not just the color. He's cold as death as well, but I've run every examination I know. Aside from severe magical exhaustion, he appears to be fine. I honestly cannot explain it. We'll just have to wait until he wakes and hope that he can offer an explanation.” Madam Pomfrey pulled the sheets on the hospital bed back over Harry's body and covered him with extra blankets.

“I'm anxious myself to hear what explanation you plan to offer,” Slytherin said. “Or are you just going to continue pretending to be asleep so you can avoid the situation all together?”

Harry realized then the downside to having another conscious entity within his head.

“It's been a while; refresh my memory if you will.” Slytherin went on, “Isn't hiding behind the guise of sleep instead of facing the problem you've put yourself into the opposite of the legendary Gryffindor house courage?”

“You can take Gryffindor and stuff him straight up your arse,” Harry responded.

“Yes, wel,l I'm sure that would be a very interesting way to pass the weekend.” Still, you cannot go on forever hiding behind the protection of a nap.

“Has there been any further discussion as to what's to come for him?” Madam Pomfrey asked.

“Kingsley Shacklebolt is currently speaking with the minister about that very subject. He and Alastor are doing their very best to prevent the ministry from detaining Mr. Potter,” McGonagall answered.

“Can they do that, Minerva?” Pomfrey asked with shock.

“Things are returning to the way they were during the first reign of terror, I'm afraid. The ministry is growing more martial by the day, and people are becoming too afraid to question.”

“But surely you can do something as the Headmistress.”

“Perhaps if Albus were still here. Every day it's made clearer to me that the authority once held by this position had mostly to do with the person that once held it.” McGonagall pulled her robes tighter around her. “Is it getting colder in here?” she asked.

Harry lay listening to the conversation, growing more agitated by the moment. He started to get up but heard the doors to the infirmary bang open. The unmistakable sound of Mad Eye Moody thumping in angrily told him he should wait just a bit longer.

“The time's coming when disputes are better resolved at wand point than pointed politics.” Moody followed with a line of explicatives too accent laden for Harry to understand. “Long overdue if you ask me!”

“Please maintain a civil tone in my infirmary Alastor,” Pomfrey scolded.

“Nothing else remaining civil; don't see a need for me to have to be any different,” Moody shot back.

“There's been a decision then?” McGonagall asked.

“Oh, aye, there's been a decision. Scrimgeour's got a mind to keep the lad detained at the ministry. Say's the Unspeakables ought to give the boy a once over,” Moody said.

Madam Pomfrey gasped from the other side of the room where she was gathering another blanket. “The Unspeakables, but why?” she asked as she placed the blanket over Harry and rubbed the side of his head.

Kingsley spoke up before Mad Eye could continue. “The Minister seems to think it odd Harry would somehow be able to escape from Voldemort and just walk into Hogwarts. That he came looking the way he did, but without any lasting injury only strengthens the Minister's case for caution.”

“Are you running a hospital or a meat locker in here, Pomfrey?” Moody asked.

“Alastor, please!” Minerva scolded.

“You know you're getting old when being right has lost its appeal,” Slytherin said calmly.

Harry's need to lash out was boiling inside him, and the founder's words rung true. Still, something inside him needed to believe this wasn't the end of it - that these people wouldn't let him down.

“Don't grasp too tightly to your faith Harry,” Slytherin added.

“I swear to Merlin, founder…” Harry seethed.

“Please don't think me to be mocking. I say this in earnest,” Slytherin stated matter-of-factly.

McGonagall continued, “Kingsley you sound as if you believe the Minister is doing the right thing here. Surely…”

“Not at all, Minerva. I'm simply making it known that Scrimgeour is standing on solid ground - even more so with the recent attack at Hogwarts. Him,” Kingsley said, nodding to Harry, “in this place. It's a liability that is easily argued against.”

“He's only a child!” Poppy exclaimed.

McGonagall's eyebrows rose. “Then perhaps we should take advantage of that fact. If the Minister refuses to see considerations beyond what this boy means to the war, then we shall force him to acknowledge that Harry is a friend and person foremost.”

“So you think bringing on the lad's friends and making an opportunity for the press to note this is going to sway things?” Moody said.

“You don't spend as many years with Albus Dumbledore as I have and not pick up on the nuances,” Minerva answered.

“Fat lot of good it'll do you, mark my words. Scrimgeour's not one to give a rat's arse on the court of public opinion,” Moody scoffed.

Harry had heard all he would tolerate. These people continued to take for granted they knew what were his best interests. Quite frankly, he was about as willing to let this happen as Voldemort was likely to win a best tan contest.

“There are going to be questions,” Slytherin warned.

“They can stuff their questions up your arse as well for all I care”.

“It's going to get pretty crowded in there.”

Harry sat up and threw the covers off of him. A wave of cold pushed across the room that turned all attention to him and instantly silenced the people in the room. He didn't say a word; he just sat staring furiously at each of them. Madam Pomfrey broke the stillness of the mounting standoff by rushing to Harry's side.

“Lay down, Mr. Potter,” she commanded before she even reached him.

Harry pulled away from the lady's outstretched hand. “Don't touch me,” he said with a sneer.

“Mr. Potter!” The nurse scolded.

Harry just shrugged off her reprimand. “I'm not going to the Ministry,” he said forcefully.

The witches and wizards exchanged puzzled looks. “I don't think you should worry yourself about these things, Mr. Potter,” the Headmistress said as she crossed the room to his side.

“I heard everything you said. Don't play games with me,” Harry threatened.

“Well I don't know what you heard but…”

“Everything!” Harry snapped, interrupting McGonagall.

“You will mind your tone, Harry,” McGonagall snapped back. “As I told you, these matters are not your concern at the moment. Now, I must ask that you allow Madam Pomfrey to attend to her ministrations.”

Madam Pomfrey reached again towards Harry without waiting for his response. She placed her palm flat over his forehead only to jerk it away just as quickly. She winced and coddled the cold-seared hand in her other palm.

Harry looked to the nurse and then glared back at McGonagall. “I told you not to touch me.” He watched as the breath the Headmistress gasped in response showed clearly in the air between them. “You don't listen very well.”

McGonagall glanced over to Moody and Shacklebolt, and both wizards drew their wands. Harry looked calmly at the Aurors. “You can't hurt me, and I'd rather not have to hurt you. Just let me pass, and we can forget I ever came here.”

A jet of red light sent Harry hurtling across the hospital ward unconscious. “No need to hurt you lad. The way I see it, a proper stunner will do the trick nicely,” Moody said.

Madam Pomfrey led the charge to Harry's side. Both she and McGonagall were scolding Moody as they made their way. Shacklebolt halted the two witches before they could get to Harry. “Don't touch him just yet.”

Harry's eyes snapped open. “Is that the best you got, Mad Eye?” He was on his feet and shoving past Kingsley and the two witches faster than they could react. Moody barely had the time to train his wand at Harry before the boy's fist was driving through the man's face.

Another stunner spell to the back of the head sent Harry toppling over Mad Eye. He blacked out again only to wake up a moment later bound in ropes extending from Shacklebolt's wand.

“You might want to work on paying better attention to your surroundings, Harry. Blind rage will only get you so far in life,” Slytherin drawled.

“Shut your damn mouth, Slytherin!” Harry yelled. The already pale, shocked faces staring at him paled further upon his announcement.

“Administer the potion, Madam Pomfrey,” Shacklebolt ordered.

The healer waved her wand over Harry's mouth, and he was involuntarily moved to accept and swallow the potion she poured down his throat. Everything grew heavier than he could bear, and sleep overwhelmed him despite his struggle against it.

xxx

“Harry…”

The voice summoned him from dreams of friendship and laughter that felt so real. The world that welcomed his return was cold and confined; it felt like hell.

Normally, the expectation for those situations ought to be the other way around; another reason not to be Harry Potter.

“Harry.”

Hermione? When did she get here? Where the hell have they got me anyway? If his last experience proved anything, pretending to be asleep had its advantages. Still, he had to figure out where they put him. The five star furnishings diminish quickly when you break the host's jaw.

“Harry, I know you're awake,” Hermione said curtly.

She really can shift on the know-it-all, bossy tone in an instant. Not that it concerned him at the moment.  He took in what his senses offered. On his back, that was his position. The surface beneath him was hard and cold. It matched the feel of the air in room against his skin. There was no breeze, and Hermione's voice had a familiar echo to it. The air smelled like burnt oranges and bleach.

“Maybe we should just come back later.”

That sounded like more of a plea than a suggestion.

“Oh, Ron, please. Do sit down. I know Harry's awake, and we need to be here for him.”

“I'm not sure that's even Harry anymore, Hermione. You heard what McGonagall told my mum and dad.”

Never fails. Pretend you're sleeping long enough, and you'll always find the truth in the situation straight away.

Hermione scolded Ron with a stern whisper. Harry could imagine the veins in her neck bulging with frustration. Ron started to argue back, and Harry knew all to well where this would lead.

“Why am I in the dungeons?” Harry questioned without opening his eyes or sitting up. That stopped their argument dead.

“I knew you were awake,” Hermione said smugly. “How long have you been letting us on?”

Harry sat up slowly and set his legs off the side of the uncovered wooden bed that was chained to the wall. “I asked why I'm in here.” It was as he suspected: He was inside a dungeon cell somewhere near the potions laboratories.

“You've been listening to us then, is it?” Hermione snipped.

Harry responded by shifting his glare to Ron. His friend didn't have a semblance of guilt in his look - not even for knowing that he'd been caught talking poorly about Harry. Instead Ron looked at him as if he didn't recognize his best friend going on six years.

“Are you going to…”

“I asked a question,” Harry said, cutting Hermione off and sending a hard glare directly at her. She gasped as she felt the cold air of his temper push over her.

“I…y-you attacked Professor Moody…a-and yelled something about S-Salazar Slytherin.”

Harry let the hard glare fall from his face and turned his gaze to the floor between his legs. It was hard seeing Hermione so completely shaken by him. She feared him, and he could feel it emanating from her. “He was never our professor,” Harry said softly. His tone an act of amity for scaring his friend, but he left his response intentionally curt.

“Harry,” Hermione said cautiously, “are you…okay?”

Harry looked up at her as if she'd completely lost it. Hermione held his gaze for only a moment before she looked down and started fidgeting with her hands. She looked to Ron who put on his doe-eyed, dumbfounded look in response, and then started babbling.

“That's a stupid question, I know, but…”

Slytherin began to speak over Hermione as she continued ranting. “Harry, I know you have no interest in taking my advice. I'm reluctant to admit it, but I understand why you feel this way.”

Hermione continued, “…you just, well after we heard that Voldemort killed your family…I mean, I'm sorry I didn't mean for that to sound so careless, but what I'm trying to say is…”

“Harry, you need to prepare yourself for the idea that you don't belong with these people any longer. What you've experienced has changed you. I know this is hard to accept, but I also know that you can feel I'm right.”

“…and McGonagall said that when you came here you looked an awful fright, and now…now your eyes…a-and your skin…it's gray, the things you're saying…”

“I'm not going to ask you to trust me, but I promise you that I will always be honest with you. I will try to tell you why I think certain things will help or hurt you. I'm telling you now that this exchange with your friends is going to hurt you.”

Hermione's chin trembled terribly until she couldn't contain the tears, “…and the way you're looking at me now,” she forced out. “Are you even our Harry anymore?” The pleading look that she set on him as she blurted out her last nearly destroyed his will.

“You must make your own choices though,” Slytherin finished.

Harry sat there looking at Hermione and Ron. His face was fixed with a look of shock, and his mind was torn between the agony of seeing his best friends' suffering and the words of the Slytherin living in his head.

“SAY SOMETHING, YOU IDIOT!” Hermione screamed through a violent sob.

Apparently thinking time was up. Ron's face and hair were playing the role of the glaring red buzzer signaling as much.

“I-I don't know what I am anymore,” Harry could only whisper.

“W-what…what does that mean?” Hermione's tone was still biting, and Ron was still imitating a bright red fire hydrant.

His mind couldn't handle the split between what he wanted and what he knew was right; it stripped him of his ability to inhibit himself and left him with only the truth. “I don't think that I'm…Harry anymore.” His face twisted with confusion as he tried to make sense of his own words.

Hermione stood and grasped the cell bars between her and Harry. Ron tried to hold her back, but she shrugged him off. “Harry, will you look at me?” She no longer cried, but her bloodshot eyes showed that her newfound resolve was only surface deep. Harry reluctantly complied, showing that his composure wasn't far from being lost as well.

“Do you still love me? Love us?” She extended a summoning palm back at Ron to clarify.

Harry looked between the two people who had always been there for him. Ron stopped imitating a fire hydrant and started in on his ghost face impression. His mind fought furiously with his heart, and he almost wished that Slytherin would tell him what to say. But there was only silence and the question looming over him. His gaze fixed with Hermione's. “I…I ca…I can't - yes,” he reluctantly answered.

Hermione's face brightened, her smile reached her eyes, and she gave a look of complete relief. It was so affecting that Harry thought he might get house points for getting the question right.

“You're going to be fine. Everything is going to be alright,” she confirmed.

This snapped Harry from his daze. “What?”

“It's…you're still Harry,” Hermione said.

“How can you know that? You have no idea what I've been through.” Flashes of killing Dementors and Death Eaters passed through his mind. He looked away from Hermione. “You don't know what I've done.”

“I'm not saying…” Hermione stopped as she felt another cold wave of air around her. “Dumbledore told me…”

“Dumbledore?” Harry snarled.

Hermione took a step away from the cell. “Y-yes, b-before he died.”

Harry stood and walked slowly to the bars. “He told you what? That love was going to save us? That as long as we stood by each other, everything would be fine?”

“Well…yes.”

“You think love is going to kill Voldemort, is that it?” Hermione opened her mouth, but Harry cut her off before she could say anything. “Maybe if we just shower him with hugs and puppies, he'll keel over, right? After all, he just needs a shoulder to cry on and a willing ear.”

“That's not what I meant, and you know it,” Hermione snapped.

“Of course not. He is a Dark Lord, after all.  Clearly what you mean is true love. Maybe a blind date, let destiny take its course. What do you think, Ron? Who's Voldemort's type?” Ron shivered at the name. “Not a Weasley, of course. I'm thinking that having a woman shudder in fear when she says your name in the throes of passion would be a right mood killer.” Harry looked back to Hermione. “You don't think Bellatrix Lestrange would be open to the notion, do you?”

“Stop it, Harry!” Hermione yelled.

“You haven't a fucking clue, not about Voldemort, about me, and especially about whatever bullshit Dumbledore fed you.”

“I know he died trying to save us!”

“Is that so? You know that do you?” Harry said, sneering.

“I do.” The tears were flowing again, but they didn't hinder the conviction in her voice.

“I have another theory. He died because between him and you, it's a contest on who spent more time ignoring me last year when I flat out told them Malfoy was up to something.”

Hermione's face went white.

“You think Dumbledore was gushing with love when he found out Malfoy was the one who let the Death Eaters into Hogwarts and his favorite spy sent him pirouetting off the Astronomy Tower? I'm going to say no. But what the fuck would I know, I only had a first person view of it all.”

Ron took Hermione into his arms, and she cried against him. “Why is he doing this?” she sobbed.

Ron looked over his girlfriend's head at Harry. “You're not Harry. I-I don't know what you are any more, but you're not Harry.” He held his shaking girlfriend tighter as she let out another hard sob. “You're a bloody arsehole - that's what you are.”

Harry stared straight back at him. “And then some.”

The door to the room opened, and McGonagall, Mad Eye Moody, Shacklebolt, Remus Lupin, and Scrimgeour filed into the room:

“I think that will be quite enough, Mr. Potter,” The headmistress said firmly.

“Been listening in have you?” Harry replied tersely. “That's how things are going to be?”

“Aye, Mr. Potter. Were it up to me, you'd not have the luxury of a talking to at that,” Moody barked.

“I'm sure if it weren't for Madam Pomfrey you wouldn't even have the ability to talk, much less the luxury of it. How's that jaw feeling by the way?”  Harry said.

“You little shite! A wee man it is who talks so big while hiding behind the protection of ministry rule. Let me hear you spouting off like that when there nay another around to see to your safe passage,” Mad Eye responded.

Harry felt his rage burn to the surface. He gripped the bars in front of him as tightly as he could and a coat of ice formed over them from his hands outward. “You haven't vigilance enough for the hell I'd rain down on you, Mad Eye.”

“What has he done to you, Harry?” Remus Lupin gasped.

Harry looked over to his parents' friend and saw the pain pouring from his eyes. He felt ashamed for a moment, but the presence of the minister looming just behind Lupin pushed aside the emotion. “No more than what he'd see done to me,” he replied, pointing to Scrimgeour.

“Mr. Potter, I'm simply here to ensure that the safety and well being of the public isn't under threat,” Scrimgeour said as he stepped past Lupin. “As well as to see that one of our most precious citizens hasn't been irreparably harmed.”

“Fuck off. At least Voldemort is honest about his intentions,” Harry shot back.

“Mr. Potter,” McGonagall admonished.

“Harry!” Remus gasped.

“Bloody hell.” Ron blurted.

The minister raised an open palm that demanded silence.

“Got a pair the size of me magic eye…” Moody added just as the sounds of the others faded in response.

“I must insist that you refrain from speaking that term,” Scrimgeour said calmly.

“Voldemort is not a term, sir. It's the anagram of a hypocritical bastard who gets off watching wankers like you cower at the sound of gibberish,” Harry said and watched as a confused and angery look grew over the minister's face. “Oh, I'm sorry, were you referring to the other? In that case, I'll have to clarify. In this instance, fuck off is not so much a term, but rather the nickname I've found in my experience that most succinctly covers how to address the current Minister of Magic. As by an example, I would acknowledge you as such.”

Harry extended his closed hand in front of him, raised his middle finger and cocked his head to the side.  Slowly, he looked down to his hand and then back to Scrimgeour.

“Good day, Minister Rufus 'fuck off' Scrimgeour.”  Harry lowered his expressive gesture and wrapped his hand back around the bars of his cell.  Leaning forward he said,  “I'll have to ask that you not take it personally. Unfortunately, the title comes with the job, sir.”

The sound of Mad Eye snorting was the only thing preventing a dead silence from falling over the room.

The minister's face turned so red Harry actually saw the lost relative to the purple vein that lived in his uncle's forehead. “Shacklebolt, detain this thing at once. Take him to the ministry holding cells until further notice.”

Harry calmly walked to the back of his cell and sat back on the wooden bed. “I'm a thing now? Honestly, his parents name him Rufus, and he's miffed at being called a fuck off. And we wonder why the government's corrupt.”

Shacklebolt approached the cell and opened the door, his wand trained on Harry. “Mr. Potter, you've got two options here.”

Harry just started back defiantly.

“One, you stand and come with me willingly. Or two, I make you.”

Harry stood and looked to his two best friends. “Hermione, I'm sorry it turned out this way. I'm sorry that you didn't listen to me better last year.”

“Silence, Mr. Potter!” McGonagall snapped.

Harry ignored her. “Ron, I'm sorry that I can't be your mate any longer. I'm sorry that you're so afraid of me now that six years of friendship can't help you look past it.”

“Kingsley!” McGonagall pleaded.

Harry looked over to the Headmistress and held up his hand to the advancing Auror. “But most of all, I'm sorry you people can't see the truth. That the society you nurture and protect, the fabric of your culture, is the very entity that birthed Voldemort. Tom Riddle came to you the same as me, an outsider, his childhood grown in the Muggle world, but his hatred nourished by the magical world. Everyday you look at the problems of your culture. You manipulate, and scheme, and plot to use the people that would help or hurt you. But you never think on why those people are there, why they do what they do. Why did hundreds of Death Eaters fall in behind a man who is the very type of person they aim their prejudice at? But Riddle does. And that's why you've already lost. So, I'm sorry. I'm sorry that no matter what I do, you fucking people are doomed to misery. Because Tom Riddle isn't the dark lord that haunts you, he's just the physical representation of the piece of shit society you people have generated for thousands of years.”

“Slytherin, could you change me to my animagus form now, before these people take the time to pick up their jaws and turn me into a puddle of curses,” Harry asked.

“You know, technically as a founder of the school for The Piece of Shit Society, I should take offense to what you said,” Slyherin replied.

“Nah. It was the same for you in your day as it is for me now. You saw the truth as I see it. If it were any other way, your name wouldn't be mud in the history books.”

“A point well made.”

Harry looked back to his friends one last time. “Goodbye.”

Shacklebolt strode forward and took Harry firmly by his arm. Harry didn't bother with his rage, even though he would have liked to see the Auror flinch in pain just from touching him. Scrimgeour looked at him with hatred so evident that Harry knew there was no hope justice would ever be part of society where this man ruled. He felt the tinges of pain that signaled the coming of his animagus change and grit his teeth in preparation.

Shacklebolt went flying across room. Mad Eye took another shot to his jaw. And Scrimgeour might have caught a passing hoof to the family jewels, totally on accident of course.

“So, you had a location in mind last time we were out for a fly,” Harry said as he circled one last time over Hogwarts' grounds.

A point of light came into his vision. “The end will begin where it all began,” Slytherin replied.