A/N: This is a two-part story, Prologue and Chapter 1 here, with Chapter 2 and Epilogue to follow. Rated R for a brief and not too smutty sex scene, a few naughty words, and some gory violence. Be warned that this does NOT have much of my usual very tasteless humor and sexual innuendo, but there will be a small dash of it. But, I believe that it will be an interesting and worthwhile tale. Please enjoy, and thanks for the reviews.
A Simple Matter of Timing
Prologue: Beginning of the End
I, Harry Potter, have decided to tell the real story of my defeat of Voldemort, aka The Dark Lord, aka Tom Riddle, aka the piece of inhuman excrement who was responsible for making most of my early life so miserable.
It must be told now, since I am the only living person who knows all of it. One other did know most of the story, but she's gone, and very soon I'll be joining her.
The tale is not long, but it is somewhat complicated, as you will see.
* * * * *
I lived at Hogwarts during what would have been my seventh and final year of school, and I was joined by most of the student members of Dumbledore's Army, including some who had graduated already, as well as some of the school faculty. Additionally, some members of the Order of the Phoenix moved in. Officially, the school was closed, but it was a perfect headquarters for our part of the "good side" in the war against Voldemort.
Following the end of my sixth year, much of the summer holiday months and a good deal of September were spent in recasting old protections and forming new ones in and around the school castle and grounds. Nominally, Minerva McGonagall was the new Headmistress of Hogwarts, but she really presided over what had become an informal military camp.
To the surprise of almost everyone in the magical world, the war ended much more quickly than any thought possible. In the end, Voldemort lost for many reasons, but several of them, both of strategic and tactical natures, were of great importance.
First, he failed to follow up with attacks in the immediate aftermath of Dumbledore's murder, when the morale of his opponents was at its lowest. In particular, his failure to remove from the war what would become "Fortress Hogwarts" proved to be a very large factor in his downfall.
He had one additional chance at eliminating Hogwarts when the Minister of Magic attempted to take it over, which came to within a hair's breadth of provoking a civil war within our side. No one ever knew exactly what he intended to do with the school, but after a standoff of several days between us, the students, and two dozen Ministry Aurors, a truce was arranged, and the Minister and a few personal assistants entered into a private meeting with Headmistress McGonagall and Professor Flitwick. The Minister and his people emerged from the meeting looking as shaken as if they had been pimp-slapped by the Devil himself. McGonagall refused to discuss anything about the meeting, and all that a cheerful and smiling Professor Flitwick would say is that he had "reasoned with" and "explained things to" them.
Later, the small professor had a private conversation with Hermione, Ron, and me. He told us that he was aware both of the prophecy and of much else discussed by Dumbledore with me, and that our hunt for and destruction of the horcruxes was of the greatest importance, and that no one, including puffed up politicians, would be permitted to interfere.
Next, Voldemort failed to appreciate the importance of the change in leadership at the Ministry of Magic. While Rufus Scrimgeour was every bit the equal of Cornelius Fudge, in terms of being a slimy political git, he did grasp the nature of the situation. He was immeasurably more ruthless than was his predecessor in prosecuting the war in general, and in carrying it directly and preemptively to Voldemort's manpower base, pure-blood families, in particular. In fact, it is possible that he acted as viciously as he did, at least in part, to salve the bruising that his ego had suffered at the hands of Professor Flitwick.
Also, Voldemort underestimated the value of allies, and he seemed interested only in recruiting specific types of dark creatures, with undeniably terrible characteristics and powers, but which were relatively few in absolute numbers. Further, he antagonized groups that might have remained neutral in the war, such as the House-elves and Goblins.
The Elves held in bondage conveniently became free agents whenever some of the more notorious Auror killer squads dispensed summary judgment to all members of pure-blood families on the dark side. Those particular Elves became invaluable as spies against Voldemort, because of their ability to move inconspicuously among the households of remaining active Death Eaters.
A couple of drunk Death Eaters - possibly, they were just plain stupid - in broad daylight attempted to rob Gringotts Bank Headquarters in Diagon Alley. A vault guardian dragon roasted one of them beyond recognition, but the other only was chewed up and partially dismembered by a group of young junior teller Goblins. The Dark Mark on his arm, if not much else, remained clearly visible.
Upon realizing that the war could cost them gold, a patriotic fervor swept the Goblin community, and a large contingent of young fighters, raised on stories of the glorious - from the Goblin point of view - rebellions of centuries past, joined with us.
Also, our side was able to keep control of the dragon reservations in Eastern Europe, thus depriving Voldemort of additional very deadly allies, and a slow but steady trickle of freedom-loving wizards and witches from around the world began to join our side.
Finally, and fatally, Voldemort failed to learn in time that his enemies had discovered the secret of his horcruxes. Before he comprehended what had happened, thanks mostly to Hermione Granger and a few other Hogwarts students including yours truly, all of his soul parts were found and destroyed, leaving Voldemort with no means of future reincarnation, should he lose the war.
Ultimately, Voldemort found himself facing a situation analogous to that of Germany on its eastern front in the Second World War. This was summarized neatly by a Muggle historian thusly. The Soviet Union was too big, too cold, and had too many people. While in our war, weather didn't matter, geography was of some significance, and Voldemort was out-manned, in terms of the sheer numbers of people who could wield wands and fight. In trying to maintain a presence throughout the British Isles, his forces were stretched too thinly. Historically and theoretically, the numerically smaller side always loses, if and when a conflict can be converted into a war of attrition.
By the middle of March of the New Year, Voldemort had to accept that he was losing the war. His losses, including almost irreplaceable dark creatures such as vampires and werewolves, who required long periods of time from their creations to attain full control of their powers, were mounting. Slowly, but surely, our side was grinding down the size and effectiveness of his forces. Increasing numbers of new allies on our side were replacing our losses, but his sources of new fighters had dried up.
He made the only rational decision remaining. He proposed a cease-fire, wherein all hostilities immediately would stop, and talks would begin concerning a possible final end to the war. He suggested a simple method for determining the victor, and he promised that if he should be the winner, complete amnesty would be given to all participants in the conflict. He insisted that as the victor, his only conditions for peace were to be his assumptions of the positions of Minister of Magic and Head Warlock of the Wizengamot. Also, he insisted that members of the magical world should give careful consideration to "reasonable" future proposals concerning the status of pure-blood, mixed-blood, and Muggleborn witches and wizards.
On the other hand, if he should be the loser, then all Death Eaters and other dark allies would surrender and submit themselves to justice. He urged but did not demand that such justice should be magnanimous.
Of course, everyone at Hogwarts dismissed this idiocy out of hand, but unfortunately, far too few of the others supposedly on our side did so. In due course, Rufus Scrimgeour and fellow Ministry slimeballs agreed in principle to Voldemort's proposal, though their own jobs and power would hang in the balance. The clamor from the magical press demanded that the proposition must be agreed to, since ANY end to the war would be preferable to its continuing.
The only catch was that Voldemort's "simple method" for ending the war was that of a single combat duel between him and me.
Part 1: Under Sentence of Death
In spite of the intense pressure from outside, as I noted, everyone at Hogwarts was opposed. They knew that neither Voldemort nor his followers could be trusted to keep any agreement, regardless of the outcome of any "honorable" duel.
Professors Flitwick and McGonagall informed me privately that arrangements could be made for me to leave not just Hogwarts but the entire country, and to hide away long enough to train myself for a more even chance in a duel. Others, including Hermione and Ron tried to convince me to leave, as well.
Of course, I accepted the challenge.
What else could I do? I mean, it was my destiny to do battle sooner or later with Voldemort, according to the famous prophecy. Ironically, whether or not it actually was true was irrelevant. Voldemort believed it to be true, at least the part of which he was aware, and he intended to act upon that belief, so it mattered not what I thought.
My life up to that time, such as it was, had NOT been very pleasant. I had become fed up with the entire situation, and I wanted either a change in it for the better, preferably, or, lacking such, an end to it. Notwithstanding the wailing, gnashing of teeth, and breast-beating by almost everyone in Hogwarts, I was determined to go through with my decision.
I reasoned that I had some chance, however small, of winning. While Voldemort certainly had the advantages of magical knowledge, experience, ruthlessness, and willingness to do anything to win, I had some of my own. My youth would give me both greater quickness and more stamina, and there was the still as yet unknown mysterious "power" that the prophecy alleged that I possessed, of which Voldemort was unaware.
I almost changed my mind, when the politics of arranging an allegedly simple duel intruded. Negotiations - petty haggling might be a more accurate term - over the precise conditions dragged on for three days!
First, agreement was made for each participant to appoint a "Second" to handle the negotiations. Professor McGonagall recommended Professor Flitwick to me, and I agreed readily, remembering that he did have a background that involved dueling, and that very recently, he had been quite successful in ridding Hogwarts of the Minister of Magic and his company through mere talk.
Two days were spent in meetings at the neutral site of The Three Broomsticks in Hogsmeade, which location was necessary because of Voldemort's choice as his "Second," Severus Snape. Truce or not, had the treacherous, greasy bastard set foot inside the castle, personally I would throttled him until his eyes popped out. Dobby, the House-elf, and a dozen of his fellows had been VERY fond of our late Headmaster, and they had been "tutored" for several months by Hermione as to the necessity for them to become more assertive of their rights. One shudders to contemplate what they would have done to Snape, if they were given the chance.
Anyway, Professor Flitwick presented to me a twenty-seven-page document, delineating - I am NOT making this up - the "preliminary basic agreement!" Upon perusing the stack of parchment, twenty-six-and-one-half pages were nothing but a massive list of "weapons" and "aids" NOT to be permitted in the duel! While it was gratifying to see at the beginning of the section that the ancient Greek aspis, the Macedonian sarissa, and the Roman pilum and gladius were banned, it did strike me as more than trifle odd that an entire catalog of banned military weaponry really was deemed to be necessary.
My eyes began to glaze over when I read terms such circumvallation and contravallation, onager, ballista, catapult - aha, there's one I understood! - and siege towers. 'SIEGE TOWERS!' I thought, 'what the bloody hell was going on?' I looked at the professor, confusion evident on my face. "I don't see spit balls proscribed, and there seem to be the grave omissions of flyswatters and cast iron frying pans," I said.
"Not to worry, Harry" he said, with a twinkle in his eyes. "Obviously, our adversary is confused and stalling for time! I suspect that he was taken aback by the swiftness of your reply to his challenge, and he's attempting to discover the nature of the secret weapon that you may have in store for him."
After one more day of talks, the conditions for the duel were agreed to by the negotiators and then approved by the principals, Voldemort and me. The date and time would be in three days, on April 1, at 12:00 Noon, which time was chosen to avoid either participant from jockeying for and getting an unfair position of having the sun in opponent's eyes. 'How appropriate,' I thought, 'April Fools Day!' The venue would be the Hogwarts Quidditch Pitch. The only persons permitted to observe, but ONLY to observe, would be each principal's "Second" and two witnesses from each side. The weapons were to be wands, one per participant, and any and all magical charms, spells, curses, including those of a wandless nature. Banned were any and all magical partners, whether human or creature, and inanimate objects, devices, etc., whether magical or Muggle in nature. Literal hand to hand combat, without any weapons, was permitted, in the unlikely event that we should find ourselves physically close enough for it. Finally, the duel was to end only in death.
The worst part of the waiting was . . . the waiting itself. I had a brief meeting to review basic dueling tactics with Professor Flitwick, Remus Lupin, and Nymphadora Tonks. With the latter two, over the past few months whenever time permitted, I had learned quite a lot of practical value, and I had improved both my reaction time and overall accuracy. However, both of them betrayed their fears of the outcome by their expressions. Tonks looked like she had been crying, as well.
Over howls of protest from Hermione and Ron, I had chosen Remus and Tonks as my witnesses. I did not trust Voldemort or Snape any further than I could throw them, and when informed of the identities of his witnesses, Belletrix Lestrange and Lucius Malfoy, my resolve stiffened to prevent any harm from coming to my two oldest and best friends.
Before I knew it, it was the day before the duel. Nothing much happened in the morning, save for a rather spectacular and heated argument between Ron and Hermione at breakfast. I spent the day walking around the castle, as if I were in some sort of trance. At supper, I noticed a peculiar seating arrangement. All of the witches, regardless of age or house affiliation, were sitting together, apart from the wizards, who were scattered about the Great Hall in pairs and small groups.
After finishing my meal, I made a slow and possibly last tour of the hallways of Hogwarts. I visited briefly with Moaning Myrtle, and after some aimless additional walking, I found myself in a certain corridor, just outside the Room of Requirement. 'I wonder,' I thought, and being unable to resist, I performed the necessary steps and entered the room. It was utterly bare, save for a single sheet of parchment on the floor.
I picked it up and read:
Harry,
Don't worry. All will turn out very well.
Mr. X, "The Power the Dark Lord Knows Not"
P. S. Have fun tonight! I KNOW you won't do anything that I wouldn't!
I began to shake so much that I almost dropped the parchment. I did so NOT because of either the message or the cryptic postscript. It was because the sheet was in MY handwriting!
* * * * *
I made my way back to Gryffindor Tower, and without a word to anyone sitting in the common room, I decided to turn in early. I figured that if this might be my last night on earth, then at the very least, I was entitled to a decent sleep. I retired to the dorm room that I shared with Ron, but he wasn't there. However, someone else was, and she was sitting on my bed, holding my pajama top to her chest and softly stroking it, and crying. It was Hermione.
I backed away from the open door. I didn't think that she had seen me, so I deliberately scuffed my feet loudly on the stairs, and then I walked to the open doorway. Hermione had quickly dropped my pajama shirt, and she was sitting stiffly on my bed. She arose as I entered the room.
"Hermione," I said, feigning surprise, and I hesitated before continuing, "are . . . are you okay?"
"Harry," she said, "we need to talk."
"ARE you okay?" I replied, looking at her face and trying to make contact with her eyes, which she refused. "I didn't hear much, but I did see part of your argument with Ron this morning . . . are you and him - "
"We're NOT okay . . . we're not anything right now. We've agreed to disagree and to try to remain as friends . . . and ONLY as friends," Hermione said.
"Oh, I'm sorry . . . but, about you, is everything okay?" I asked.
"Harry . . . uh, yes, I'm fine," she said, her head lowered, "but, we really do have to talk. The, uh . . . all of the witches here had a meeting . . . you probably saw us together at dinner, and . . . and we all agreed on two things."
"Oh?" I said.
"We . . . we don't think that you should be alone tonight, and we . . . uh, that is, all of us have agreed also that each of us is willing to . . . to be with you," Hermione managed to stammer, keeping her head lowered that entire time.
"Uh . . . er, WHAT?" I managed to say, for lack of any better rejoinder.
"Since I've known you the longest, I've . . . I've been delegated to find out which one you'd like to . . . to have with you tonight," Hermione said. Finally, she looked up, and I was both gratified and slightly amused to see that I wasn't the only person in the room with a very red face.
"Er, do you mean by 'to be with you' and 'to have with you' what they sound like they mean?" I asked.
"Uh . . . yes, Harry," she said, looking down again.
"And . . . and EVERY witch in the school said that she, er, WANTS to do this?" I said.
"Yes, Harry," she said, starting to shuffle her feet, "so, if you'll tell me whom you . . . want, whether it's Ginny or Cho or Lavender or . . . whomever, then I'll go and tell her . . . and . . . and . . . "
I couldn't reply for a while, as I was recalling the "Have fun tonight!" part of the message that I had read only minutes earlier. Of course, this had compounded the shock I felt at learning that every witch in the school wanted to be with me tonight. Finally, I recovered enough to find my voice.
"Ah, Hermione," I said, "why don't you go downstairs and thank everyone, and tell them that I appreciate their kind offers, but - "
"Harry!" Hermione interrupted, "you really should - "
"Quiet!" I said, as I cut her off by putting my forefinger on her lips. "You didn't allow me to finish! I was about to add that I've made my choice, and that after you thank them, then . . . then I want YOU to come back up here."
"ME!" Hermione exclaimed. "How could you want me, Harry? I . . . I . . . there are so many others who are so much - "
"GO!" I said, but only after I shut her up by giving her a quick but forceful kiss right on her lips!
Her eyes widened, and she backed away. Then, just as she turned to run out of my room, I thought I saw the tiniest bit of a smile begin at the corners of her mouth.
I undressed and got into bed.
When Hermione returned, she was wearing a very plain, very opaque, and very long, white nightgown. I wasn't sure whether I should be disappointed or not. I mean, I didn't really expect her to walk through the common room adorned as a Victoria's Secret model exactly.
She smiled at me and uncapped and drank the contents of a vial that I hadn't noticed. Then, she touched her lower abdomen with her wand, that also I hadn't noticed, and mumbled a charm.
"Er, those . . . the potion and charm are for contraception and disease prevention, I guess," I managed to stammer, my face burning.
"Now, Harry," she said, ignoring my question and reaching out and stroking the side of my face, "don't you worry about anything. I know exactly what I . . . what you and I are about to be doing."
She unbuttoned and removed the shapeless gown, and revealed that nothing was underneath it save for a not so shapeless and very nude Hermione!
For several seconds, I was speechless.
"I . . . I . . . I know I'm not built as impressively as - " Hermione began, with a very pretty blush appearing, but I cut in.
"Her . . . Hermione, you're BEAUTIFUL!" I said.
"Harry, I - " she began again.
"I MEAN it!" I said, "you . . . you look fantastic!"
"I guess you do mean it!" she said, blushing more deeply and giving me a meaningful look, after glancing down at the bedcovers near the middle of my body.
My face must have reddened even more, as I noticed out of the corner of my eye that a certain part of my lower anatomy was expressing its approval of Hermione's beauty in a most spectacular manner.
"My goodness," said Hermione, with a very wide smile, "besides the words from your mouth, it sure looks as if another part of you REALLY means it too! I've heard of men 'rising' to the occasion, and THAT looks really beautiful, also!"
Without another word, she climbed into the bed, and for the next couple of hours, I had about as spectacular a time as is possible. I came to appreciate the old comical description of sex as being "the most fun one can have without laughing."
After the first two all-too-brief episodes of the evening's physical aspect, Hermione was able to have as much "fun" as was I. She really did seem to know what she was doing, in both a practical and a theoretical sense, but I never considered asking her how or with whom she had learned it. The reason I did not do so is quite simple.
I loved her, in every meaning of the word. Put another way, I loved her at that precise moment, in the present tense, and truly I did not care about anything in her past.
We said a lot of things to each other, as well. We came to realize and appreciate that our love was mutual, and that it had been so, if foolishly unspoken and unacknowledged, for as long as we had known each other.
Eventually, we fell asleep in one another's arms, utterly exhausted.
* * * * *
The next morning, Hermione woke me in a most unusual manner. She had awakened earlier and had discovered that although I remained fast asleep, a certain part of me was not. I refer to the early morning syndrome that afflicts many males in their teen and early adult years, which involves the pressure of a full bladder causing said body part to retain a rather extraordinary quantity of blood.
When I opened my eyes, reached for and put on my glasses, I saw that Hermione was observing the aforementioned part of me quite carefully. I felt her hands apparently assessing the level of, er, firmness of it, as if she were contemplating a purchase of a piece of fruit.
In other words, she was observing the situation less with a lustful expression and more with her sometimes infuriating purely academic curiosity!
"Uh, hi!" I said, and I let out a moan upon feeling a particularly vigorous squeeze from her.
"Good morning, Harry," Hermione answered, and she hesitated briefly before continuing, "er, Harry, does . . . does THIS happen very often?"
"Well, no, if you mean to ask if I wake up with a beautiful young woman holding onto 'Little Harry' like that," I managed to blurt out, and I gave her a wide grin. "If you mean the, er, present condition of it, uh, yes, it happens on quite a lot of mornings."
"You may call it 'Little Harry' if you wish, but I sure won't!" Hermione said and giggled. "No, what I meant was . . . oh, hell, what I've got to know is . . . is how DO you manage to use the toilet when it's . . . it's so strongly pointing in the wrong direction?"
I grinned more broadly at her blushing smile, and I reflected that there was very little in this world that could compare with its heart-aching beauty. Well, there was what I saw last night when she took off her gown, AND there was that magical look on her face, when we finally got things exactly right . . . but I digress.
"Well, I just hold it in until . . . until it becomes possible to urinate in the usual way. In an emergency, when I REALLY have to go . . . it's not easy, but usually, I have to do a handstand in front of the toilet bowl, and then just let things go," I said, trying mightily to keep a straight face.
"HARRY!" she replied. "You're not telling the truth!"
"Different guys have different ways of coping," I said, "for instance, your recent very good friend Ron Weasley generally, er, used to - pardon the expression - take the matter firmly in hand, and, er, manually resolve the 'hard' situation."
"What!" Hermione said.
"ALWAYS, he forgot to use a silencing charm, and he used to find some assistance in yelling the name 'Hermione' a lot," I said, grinning.
"WHAT! Oh, my God! I REALLY did NOT need to hear that, Harry!" she replied.
"Now, Dean Thomas was in strong agreement with Ron in principle, but being a more creative sort, he had an exotic but precise mathematical system," I continued, undeterred by Hermione's outburst. "He received imaginary assistance on Mondays, Tuesdays, and Wednesdays from Parvati Patil, Ginny Weasley, and Padma Patil, respectively."
Hermione looked shocked, but then she began to laugh. I continued.
"Then, things became more interesting. On Thursdays, it would be Parvati AND Ginny, on Fridays, Ginny and Padma, and on Saturdays, Padma and Parvati. While the Creator may have rested on the seventh day, Dean 'enjoyed' ALL THREE of the ladies on Sunday mornings," I finished.
Hermione was laughing harder now, so I went on.
"Now, Neville Longbottom, being a gentle and somewhat shyer soul, simply made for the privacy of a shower stall, and he did whatever he did there," I said. "Seamus Finnigan, on the other hand, was practical in his own unique way."
"Oh? I'm not sure I want to know - " Hermione said.
"Ah, but I AM sure that you don't, but that's tough!" I said, interrupting. "Let me put it this way; you've never seen any of Seamus's dorm mates EVER sit outside on the grass at the base of Gryffindor Tower, most particularly directly under certain high windows, have you?"
"What!" Hermione exclaimed, "you mean that he urinated - "
"Yes," I said. "But, it took us a while to break him of the habit of singing off-color Irish pub songs as he did his business. We still refer to a particular dorm window as 'Finnigan's Loo,' if you must know."
Hermione was laughing harder and harder. Finally, she was able to speak, "so, Harry, that's leaves one person, namely, YOU. What do you REALLY do on such mornings?"
"I cannot tell a lie," I said, "usually, I run down to the Hogsmeade train station, walk out back to the tracks, and use 'Little Harry' to pound in any loose rail spikes!"
"Is . . . isn't that a bit painful?" Hermione asked, through very loud giggling.
"Well, some of heads of the spikes do get bashed and a bit bent up, but they never complain!" I said.
"HARRY POTTER, you are so full of it!" Hermione said, continuing to laugh. "Since you refuse to tell the truth, I'll just have to use my imagination. Speaking of which, I think that maybe I can find a new way to take care of the immediate situation at hand!"
She did - take care of it, that is - in the most wonderful manner imaginable!
Finally, Hermione left to return to her room and to take care of her own various sorts of morning business. After I did likewise, including shaving and taking a brief shower, I returned to my room and got dressed.
Just as I arose and headed for the door to leave, there was a knock on it.
I opened it and looked at . . . MYSELF!
To be continued
A/N: Second and final chapter (plus epilogue) will be posted very soon.