Authors Notes: Finally, it is time for the last little story of the Pyromaniac Series. I wasn't too happy with Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows but it did have its special moments, which is more than I can say for Half-Blood Prince. After this, there will be no more chapters. It isn't set in stone, but I'm pretty sure I won't be doing any more scenes.

Now, this takes place during the chapter of Bill and Fleur's wedding.

-x-X-x-

Harry watched with lazy hooded eyes as Luna Lovegood wandered away. Suddenly, disturbing Harry's good mood, Ron reappeared with an elderly witch clutching at his arm. Her beaky, red-rimmed eyes and feathery pink hat gave her look of a bad tempered flamingo. Harry liked flamingos so he smiled as politely as one such as himself could.

“...and your hair is much too long, Ronald, for a moment I thought you were Ginevra,” Harry snorted loudly at this, earning a glare from Ron which he ignored. “Merlin's beard, what is Xenophilius Lovegood wearing? He looks like an omelette!” Harry shook with laughter. At last, he had found someone that liked to insult people as much as he did. “And who are you?”

Harry blinked as she barked at him, before smirking. “Har-”

“Oh yeah, Auntie Muriel, this is our Cousin Barny.” Ron answered quickly, interrupting Harry. He again received a glare from the Weasley to which he rolled his eyes. He'd be sure to light the pricks hair on fire later, along with the rest of the Order's, for making him polyjuice into this plain, slightly chubby muggle-boy. He felt dirty just standing still in such a disguise.

“Another Weasley? You breed like gnomes,” Harry snorted again, much louder than before. This old biddy was starting to amuse him greatly, and severely annoy Ron, a big bonus in Harry's opinion.

“Isn't Harry Potter here?” She asked suddenly. Harry quirked an eyebrow in question which went unnoticed. “I was hoping to meet him. I thought he was a friend of yours, Ronald, or have you been merely boasting?”

“No - he couldn't come -” Ron replied flustered.

“Hmm. Made an excuse, did he? Not as gormless as he looks in press photographs, then.”

“Definitely not,” 'Barny' injected.

“I've just been instructing the bride on how best to wear my tiara,” She shouted at Harry, ignoring his injection. “Goblin-made, you know, and been in my family for centuries.”

“Impressive,” Harry said, nodding. “It must have a wonderful history.”

“Of course,” Muriel boasted before continuing. “She's a good looking girl, but still - French.” Harry snickered. “Well, well, find me a good seat, Ronald, I'm a hundred and seven and I ought not to be on my feet too long.”

Ron gave Harry a meaningful look as he passed, to which Harry merely clicked his fingers, a small flare of fire forming, jumping in the air before fizzling out. Ron paled at the sight before he hurried away as fast as he could, pulling his aunt with him.

Harry remained at the entrance, lazily directing people to their seats as he continued to click his fingers, fire jumping from one hand to the other, looking very much like a juggling act. At first, people were startled at such a display, but then figured he was apart of the entertainment. He didn't bother correcting their assumptions, continuing in his little game until Ron returned much later.

“Nightmare, Muriel is,” Ron said, mopping his forehead on his sleeve.

“I think she's great.” Harry commented.

“You would,” Ron muttered as he flattened his hair.

“Did you say something?” Harry asked loudly, Ron starting in surprise at the loudness. He then realized just what Harry was doing.

“Harry! What are doing,” He hissed urgently. “Stop that!”

“Whatever for?”

Ron was cut off from replying by the timely arrival of Hermione.

She was wearing a floaty, lilac-covered dress with matching high heels, her hair sleek and shiny. Harry had only seen her hair like that once before, at the Yule Ball. He had to admit, she looked half-way decent when she actually attempted to do something with that bush she called hair, but Harry knew very well that magic could make even a hag look desirable when correctly applied.

Ron blinked rapidly, his eyes widening in awe. “You look great!”

Harry felt like slapping him.

“Always the tone of surprise,” She replied, though she was smiling, flushing slightly at Ron's compliment.

“Why wouldn't there be surprise?” Harry asked mildly, finally bored with his little juggling game. He was now trying to see how long he could balance a small flame on the end of his nose. “I mean, you normally look like a twelve-year old boy. At least you got those teeth of yours fixed awhile back, right?”

Hermione glared at Harry, her jaw clenched in anger, rage twisting her face into something even more unpleasant, Harry mentally joked, before she continued to Ron in a strained, shaky voice. “Your Great Aunt Muriel doesn't agree; I just met her upstairs while she was giving Fleur the tiara.  She said 'Oh dear, is this the Muggle-born?' and then 'bad posture and skinny ankles'.”

Harry chuckled before pouting childishly as the flame on his nose burst at his lack of concentration, fading into nothingness. “You're lucky she didn't see your hair before you prettied it up. She'd of been at it for hours,” Hermione exploded, unable to keep quiet any longer. Harry would have thought she'd of gotten used to it by now, but she seemed to get even easier to bait as time wore on.

“Why you nasty little-” Hermione began.

“You talking about Muriel?” George enquired, re-emerging from the marquee with Fred. Harry ignored them as they talked around him, his mind once again focused on the task at hand. Focusing intently, sweat ran down his brow as he concentrated on the tip of his nose, were a decently sized flame sprouted. He found it was harder to use his powers while under polyjuice. It felt clogged, but easy enough to manage as his juggling act showed.

He continued with this for a minute or two until he was interrupted by a harsh shriek from beside him, nearly bursting his eardrums.

“Viktor!”

Harry felt like slapping her, maybe even punting her between the legs, but settled for glaring at her flushed face as she babbled excitedly. Turning, he smirked slightly at the sight of Ron's ears turning red as he looked at Viktor's invitation in disbelief, unable or unwilling to believe it. To be honest, Harry himself was a little surprised at Viktor's appearance, but remembered how well he got along with Fleur in the later stages of the tri-wizard tournament.

“How come you're here?” Ron asked loudly, staring the international Quidditch star - and one time personal hero - in the eyes.

“Fleur invited me,” Krum replied, eyebrow raised in question. Harry decided it was time to leave them to their little love triangle.

“Have fun,” Harry threw back over his shoulder at Krum as he wandered away, the Bulgarian giving him a strange look.

Strolling inside the marquee, Harry spied the group of young, hot Veela cousins and smiled slightly. He was definitely looking forward to meeting them later on after shedding his disguise, hopefully along with his clothes.

Settling down in second row, Harry waited as the last of the guests were shown inside. It wasn't long before the service started, Ron and Hermione sitting on either side of him, the formers ears still coloured red along with his entire face while Hermione was in a similar state for a whole different reason, eyes glazed slightly.

Music played as the groom stood along with his best man, the bride entering shortly after on her fathers arm. Fleur looked like she was literally gliding while Monsieur Delacour bounced besides her, beaming at everyone gathered. Fleur was wearing a very simple white dress and seemed to be emitting a strong, silvery glow. While her radiance usually dimmed everyone else by comparison, today it beautified everybody it fell upon, or as well as it could in Ginny Weasley's case, whom followed them in with Fleur's sister, Gabrielle, both wearing gold dresses.

Gabrielle stared at Harry the entire way up as she moved to the front, giving him such a lust filled look despite his temporary appearance that he almost forgot she was only eleven. Harry groaned softly under his breath; he'd definitely have to visit a few of those cousins later.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” A slightly sing-song voice sounded, coming from the same tufty-haired wizard who had presided over Dumbledore's funeral. “We are gathered here today to celebrate the union of two faithful souls...”

“Yes, my tiara sets off the whole thing nicely,” Muriel said in a rather carrying whisper. “But I must say, Ginevra's dress is far too low-cut.”

Harry was about to laugh rather loudly, not caring where he was when Ginny suddenly glanced around grinning, winked at Harry, and then quickly faced the front again. Fred and George were very lucky he didn't spray the backs of their heads with vomit in that moment.

The rest of the ceremony was rather boring and Harry felt like leaving several times, by stopped himself from doing so. Then it was all over, the walls of the marquee disappeared as the wizard from Dumbledore's funeral flicked his wand as everyone stood on his command, a canopy left in its place that was held up by golden poles, with a glorious view of the sunlit orchard and surrounding countryside. Next, a pool of molten gold spread from the centre of the tent to form a gleaming dance floor as the chairs floated above their heads. They grouped together in the air around small, round white clothed tables which settled back down smoothly.

“I'm going to the crapper,” Harry announced as a gold-jacketed band trooped towards a podium, several people shooting him outraged looks. “All that boredom upset my stomach.”

“Har-Mmph!” Hermione almost screamed in indignation before Ron slapped his hand over her mouth to stop her from blowing Harry's cover.

“We should go and congratulate them,” Ron said quickly, nodding towards Bill and Fleur who vanished amid a crowd of well-wishers seconds later.

“Go on without me,” Harry said, grabbing a bottle of butterbeer from a passing tray. “Seeing Fleur brings back too many memories.”

“Erm-Like what? Are they painful?” Ron asked, interested and slightly concerned. Hermione had shrugged off Ron's hand and was now glaring at Harry, which he ignored. It was becoming something of an art form, ignoring the muggle-born girl.

“No, not particularly. She's getting married and I'm sure the last thing she wants me remembering today is that cute look she gets when she tongues your balls,” Harry took a sip, smirking inwardly at Ron and Hermione's looks of outraged shock mixed with disbelief. “Oh, didn't I tell you about that? Funny. I'm sure I'd mentioned it before.”

“Wha-What?” Ron asked dumbly. “When... when...”

“Fourth year.” Harry answered simply, spying Fleur's Veela cousins out the corner of his eyes. “Look, I better go before I shit myself.”

With that, Harry quickly made a beeline for the Veela, hanging back amongst the crowd until they separated from everyone else and moved around the side of the house. Harry followed and smiled to himself as his skin flared orange, heat-waves visibly rising from his body. He sighed as fake skin began peeling from his body, his body shrinking back to its original size, hair and eye colour returning to normal. When he was done, he reached into his pocket and retrieved his glasses, perching them on his nose before tapped his robes with his wand, the clothes shrinking to fit comfortably.

“That's better,” Harry commented to himself as he rounded the corner, finishing off his butterbeer in two large mouthfuls. “Hello ladies.”

-x-X-x-

Harry groaned as he stretched, his back popping delightfully as he wiped his sweaty brow. Bending down, he grabbed his boxers, slipping into them before putting on his pants and under-shirt. A few feet away lay two naked women, wrapped around each other as they slept; a third partially clothed Veela slumped against a tree, her ample chest heaving as she gasped for breath, her bottom half fully exposed.

The Chosen One gazed at their exposed flesh with lust as he finished dressing himself, before wiping his steamed up glasses on his robe and putting them back were they belonged. He wanted to continue, the third girl having plenty more to offer but thought he better not give the Order a bigger heart attack than he probably already had with his disappearance. He couldn't be bothered dealing with more nagging than was necessary.

Twirling his wand, his security charms fell, a faint shimmer remaining as the last of the magic dissipated.

“I'm heading back the party,” He told the third girl as he strolled off, not bothering to cover them in any way. He could care less if someone found them in such a state.

Approaching the party, Harry noticed it was now in full swing, almost everyone gathered on or around the dance floor. Looking around curiously, he spied Luna Lovegood swaying on the spot, alone, while several feet away, Viktor Krum seemed to be having a heated discussion with her father, Xenophilius. By the look on Krum's face, Harry wouldn't have been surprised if it broke out into a fistfight. Whatever it was, it had the normally calm Quidditch star furious.

“Where have you been!?”

Harry sighed as he turned towards the source of such a horrible screech. “Here and there,”

“We have been looking everywhere for you,” Hermione ranted, Ron quickly appearing to try stem the flow. He was unsuccessful. But Harry wasn't. “And what happened to your disguise? What have you don-”

“For fuck sake, shut your mouth,” Harry snapped. “You piss me off. Go talk to someone who actually wants to be near you.”

Harry blinked as he finished, suddenly realizing the lack of music. Turning his head, he found out why.

“What are you looking at?” He snarled as everyone stared at him with varying looks of shock and outrage.

Instead of a reply, something large and silver came falling through the canopy over the dance floor, startling everyone present. Graceful and gleaming, the lynx landed lightly in the middle of the astonished guests. Heads turned as those nearest it stepped back in surprise, Harry and Hermione's little ruckus forgotten amidst this new development. Then the Patronus's mouth opened wide and it spoke in the loud, deep, slow voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt.

Harry's eyes narrowed dangerously. He knew this wasn't going to be good.

“The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming.”

The reaction was immediate as the lynx vanished silently.

Harry swore as he was jolted by the panicking crowd as they ran in all directions, carrying Hermione and Ron away from him. Left and right people were apparating away, the enchantments around The Burrow broken. He watched as people trampled all over each other in their desperation, cloaked and masked figures appearing amongst the chaos; then he saw Lupin and Tonks, wands raised as they bellowed “Protego!”, a cry that was echoed on all sides.

“Harry!”

Ignoring Hermione's frantic cry, Harry charged straight at the Death Eaters, forcefully pushing several people out of the way. Raising his right hand, a stream of fire lanced from his palm like a rocket, impacting against the chest of a large Death Eater who exploded in a ball of flames, his agonizing cries dwarfing everything else.

Ducking below an unknown curse, Harry brought his hand up to his mouth, kissing his palm in a mocking gesture before blowing across it at a group of Death Eaters, a jet of flames spurting forth from his throat. He watched with psychotic glee as the dark wizards screamed in terror before being engulfed in an inferno. When Harry ended his attack, nothing remained but ash and small charred bone fragments remained.

Looking around, he watched as several unknown Order members appeared from under disillusionment charms and invisibility cloaks, joining the already chaotic skirmish. Harry weaved in and out of the remaining guests who had stayed to fight instead of flee, sprinting up behind a large Death Eater who had Tonks under the cruciatus curse.

Igniting his hand, Harry dropped to his knees and reached between unaware man's legs, his flaming palm gripping the wizard's balls through his pants. The resulting scream was unlike anything Harry had ever heard in his entire life, rivalling that of a Banshee in sheer octaves alone.  

Seeing Tonks staggering to her feet, the Chosen One left the now sobbing man sprawled on the ground, searching for his next victim. It was then that he felt a feminine hand grip his shoulder tightly. Reacting on instinct, Harry spun violently, wrenching his shoulder free as he brought his glowing hands up. He watched in surprise as Hermione and Ron vanished from sight mere moments later with the tell-tale sound of apparition, realising that they had been trying to side-along him away to safety.

Snorting, he continued his search before he was forced to abandon it.

Spinning on the spot, he apparated with a sharp crack, avoiding several curses that crashed into the patch of grass he had just occupied as he appeared on the roof of The Burrow, gaining a bird's eye view of the battle unfolding between Voldemort's followers and the Order of the Phoenix.

Grinning a touch madly, he held his palms open at his sides, two spheres of broiling compressed fire erupting to life. Gripping the balls of fire like they were solid, his right arm reared back. “Hey assholes!” He screamed, attracting the attention of many. “Catch!”

Throwing the ball with all his might, screams of pain filled the yard as it exploded violently upon contact with the ground, throwing several people off their feet as a wall of fire expanded outwards from the initial impact zone, flash frying everyone within a twenty meter radius. When the flames cleared and the smoke parted, several molten, charred corpses remained standing as they had been in their final moments, looking like deformed statues.  

Cackling insanely, he went to throw the other compressed ball when a curse drilled him between the shoulder blades from behind. Harry cried in shock as he was flung from the roof, his hand loosening enough for the ball to slip through his fingers. All fighting ceased as the miniature bomb hit the roof, The Burrow exploding in a torrent of flames and debris. The resulting shock wave blasted everyone off their feet and crumpled the standing corpses to ash, carrying most through the air quite a distance.

Landing in a crumpled heap from his long fall, Harry groaned before he snarled viciously, turned to see who had cursed him from behind. He blinked in shock as he saw Voldemort himself, floating in a black mist that looked to be an extension of his body above where The Burrow once stood.

“Harry Potter,” Voldemort hissed in delight. “You are mine!”

Instead of replying, Harry threw both of his arms forward, a giant ball of flames erupting from his outstretched hands. Voldemort was barely able to swerve out of the way before he landed quickly, swiping his wand in a fast zigzag motion. The ground rumbled as several thick, long vines burst from the earth underneath the Boy-Who-Lived, wrapping themselves around his legs, forcing him into a kneeling position. Before he could struggle, two more vines ensnared his arms, pulling them taut against his sides, palms faced towards the ground.

Struggling with everything he had, Harry frothed from the mouth like a rabid dog, his eyes bulging wildly in their sockets. If there was one thing he hated more than water, it was being held captive, free-will stripped from him.

“Harry, Harry, Harry,” Voldemort mocked, staring down at his only remaining obstacle. “You really should have left when you had the chance.”

“Fuck you!”

“Such language. Here, let me help with that.” A quick twirl of a Yew wand had another vine shoot out of the ground, wrapping itself around the lower half of Harry's face. His eyes took on a psychotic glint as he thrashed harder against his prison. His mind was racing, trying to think of a way out of this. His wand was trapped within his robes and there was no way he could burn himself out fast enough to avoid a casual killing curse... unless...

Harry glared at Voldemort with all the hatred he could muster, ceasing his fruitless struggling. He had no other choice.

Voldemort's eyes narrowed as he saw his nemesis' posture relax completely. The insane teenager who had only moments before looked like he should be in St. Mungo's mental ward was now as calm as he had ever seen, like his life and the lives of many others weren't moments from ending. Curiosity getting the better of him, he locked eyes with Harry, delving deep into the boys unprotected mind.

Before he had even retreated back into his own mind, Voldemort's body went rigid, his face twisting into one of shock. Regaining control of his body, he bellowed a retreat order seconds before attempting to apparate away.

He was too slow.

-x-X-x-

Less than hour later, muggle news stations around the world reported that an atomic bomb had been detonated on English soil, destroying miles upon miles of farm land, among various towns in the surrounding area. The Royal Family as well as the muggle Prime Minister were evacuated to secure locations in fear of a second strike while countries all over the world went into high alert. The final death toll was unconfirmed for weeks after the blast and the cause a complete mystery, tests indicating the power of the blast more powerful than any other bomb ever made. The lack of radiation was also something that baffled many for years to come.

It wasn't until the blast zone was being searched days later after it was deemed radiation free that something was found, that something being the naked body of a black haired, seventeen year old boy with emerald green eyes, whom, to the puzzlement and disbelief of muggles everywhere was still very much alive.

He wouldn't awake for several years, even after being taken back in by magical society, where he would lay in St. Mungo's under the best care money could buy until one day, mere days after word got out about possible Dark Mark sightings that Harry Potter vanished from his hospital bed, leaving nothing more than a few scorched sheets.

Several days later, various pureblood family homes went up in flames, the cause unknown.

-x-X-x-

The. Fucking. End.

I hope you all enjoyed reading it, though I know some of your probably hate the end. Sorry if the chapter doesn't deliver, I'm a bit rusty in my writing. Can't be helped.