Return to Sender by romulus lupin

Rating: G
Genres: Drama, Humor
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 7
Published: 17/09/2011
Last Updated: 10/11/2011
Status: In Progress

A different take on the infamous "Harry Dies and Is Sent Back in Time" challenge -
what if Harry dies but someone *else* is sent back to fix things?




1. Chapter 1. Kansas ... or Not
-------------------------------



**RETURN TO SENDER**

**Disclaimer**: I would like to acknowledge Aileen Autarkeia for one of the best disclaimers
I have ever read in a long time. To quote from her story "Guarding His Life" ... "As
much as I wish I was, I am NOT British, I do NOT have blonde hair and I do NOT own Harry
Potter."

To which I must add "... and I am NOT female!"

Also, other (hopefully) recognizable characters are the property of their respective creators
and are being used here with no intention of any monetary gain or profit motive. I'm doing this
for fun and would like to express my thanks and appreciation for their creativity which has made
fanfic a totally awesome and wonderful place.

Without further ado ...

**Chapter One. Kansas … Or Not**

Albus Dumbledore was in heaven.

He hoped.

Mere moments before, he was literally flying - the killing curse ripping into his aged,
disintegrating body and he was FREE - soaring above the spires and crenelated towers of Hogwarts as
his ravaged body fell, watching the battle raging far below dispassionately … he was at peace,
secure in the knowledge that everything was going according to plan …

He felt a tug and found himself sucked through a thin, long tube in a sensation like - and yet
unlike - apparition …

And here he was.

He blinked.

The place was … beautiful, and peaceful, and soothing - completely unlike anything that he could
have imagined or envisioned. Truthfully, he'd half-expected angelic choirs, blaring trumpets,
cottony clouds around his ankles, pearly gates and an old man with a large key and a huge tome
…

Not this.

Clear sky, warmth from a brilliant sun, gentle breezes carrying the scent of wildflowers, soft,
deep-green grass as far as the eye can see … The only clouds he could discern were far to the
horizon - on land separated from where he stood by a wide, swiftly flowing river that was black as
midnight, roiling with eddies and whitecaps as if it had its own weather disturbance ….

He blurted out the first thing which came to mind at the grand vista - "Toto, we're not
in Kansas anymore!"

"You can say that again - and don't call me Toto!"

Yelping in surprise, he spun and crouched, wand out and pointed at the threat - and blinked at
the sight of a tall, broad-shouldered woman standing beside an old, barnacled gangplank leading up
to a decrepit, dirty and battered barge. Dumbledore's heart sank as he realized just where he
was even as a part of his brain tried to deny what he was seeing in front of him.

The woman was an impressive sight: midnight-black hair to her shoulders, icy blue eyes in a
tanned, high cheek boned face with a strong chin. She was wearing a sleeveless, heavily embroidered
leather tunic which set off her toned, muscular arms; dark leather pants tucked into calf-high
boots. A sword was slung across her back, the ornate handle visible behind her head; armbands and
bracers adorned her arms.

A whip and a silvery disk with carved runes - a chakram, Dumbledore realized, something he'd
seen decades before at a museum in India - hung from a leather belt around her waist.

He felt the woman's crystal-blue eyes studying him before she spoke, "There will be no
silly wand waving here, old man." Startled, Dumbledore realized that he was still pointing his
wand at her and sheepishly dropped it as she continued, "For one - you're dead, so magic
as you know it doesn't work here.

"For another - we'll get to that in a moment."

Her eyes shifted, dismissing him, and focused behind him - and he nearly jumped again as he
heard faint, nervous tittering behind him.

Turning around, he gaped.

He wasn't alone.

A largish crowd stood behind him - muggles, by the look of them - but there was something … off.
A few were grinning; others looking around in wonder, most were simply lost and confused … and more
than one nodding in apparent agreement with his sentiment about not being in Kansas anymore.

"Welcome to Hades," the woman boomed in a commanding voice - an announcement which
shook Dumbledore to the very core and brought sounds of dismay, and fear, and surprise from the
crowd.

She held up a hand. "Let me re-phrase that," she rumbled. "Welcome to the Holding
Area for Death, Eternity and Serenity - HADES for short."

Dumbledore heaved a sigh of relief as the imposing woman continued, "Before any of you ask,
I'm stepping in for the Ferryman. The old guy needed a break and I've … hem, hem …
*volunteered* for the day. Consider yourselves lucky you got me rather than the old
curmudgeon."

She glanced around and was met by tentative smiles. Nodding, she continued. "A few things -
first, as I said, this is HADES - magical division, which means that wizards and witches are
brought here before being processed, which I will explain later."

Comprehension flooded Dumbledore as he looked at the crowd - *that* was what he'd felt
earlier. He shook his head at having missed the obvious; having attended International
Confederation of Wizards meetings for years, he should have spotted the fact that (a) the crowd was
magical, and (b) it was only magical Britain that held tight to the idea that 'proper'
wizard attire was robes and such - the rest of the world had long 'gone muggle'.

A shame, in his eyes.

"Next, as I told our guest," she nodded at Dumbledore, who'd turned back to
listen, "magic as you know it doesn't work here. No silly wand-waving and if you want to
settle your differences -" Her blue eyes focused on two people who were glaring at each other
- "you do it the old-fashioned way. Hands, fists, feet, teeth - rocks if you can get them -
but no magic.

"IS THAT CLEAR?"

The last sentence came in a tone of voice just slightly lower than a sonic boom and the crowd,
including Dumbledore, quickly nodded.

"Good. Now, I expect that most of you know the drill. You get on the thing there -"
pointing at the barge and gangplank - "where I will bring you lot over the River Styx to the
Plains of Judgment where further processing will take place."

A loud, abrasive voice cut her off: "What happens if we don't want to get on that
scow?"

Dumbledore rolled his eyes - there always had to be a heckler somewhere - and he tensed,
prepared to jump out of the way in case the woman decided to take sword or chakram to the buffoon.
The woman, however, responded calmly: "You don't have to if you don't want to. HADES
policy is to allow you time to think over your decision - whether to cross over or not."

Her eyes, however, turned Arctic-cold as she continued, "Which means I toss you in the
river where you'll stay until the bosses arrive. You can then make your case to them - whether
you move on or go back is up to them."

Dumbledore's eyes flicked to the river - and felt faint as he realized that what he'd
earlier thought were whitecaps were actually people, their pale faces floating in the black, oily
water.

"Next question?"

Dumbledore hesitantly raised his hand, and the woman faced him.

"Albus Dumbledore, my lady. Umm - what about passage? As I recall …"

The woman nodded. "Yes - a coin for passage across the Styx, right?" There were
tentative nods from some in the crowd; others, however, were going through their pockets or were
gaping, looking worried. "Don't worry about it."

She scanned the crowd before continuing, "The management did away with that a few - well,
whatever, ages ago. Too many people arriving, not knowing the customs so the bosses decided to
forego it." She smiled toothily, her white teeth contrasting against her tanned face.
"You can leave a gratuity if you wish."

Dumbledore sighed in relief, although he wasn't *that* concerned. He still had his
moneybag from the day before; he could also feel his bag of lemon drops in a pocket which he would
offer if needed. What really bothered him, however, was that he had to get to someone in authority
- the bosses, as the woman had said - in order to plead his case to stick around for a bit.

It was essential to THE PLAN that he be in a position to meet Harry when the latter passed
through, as he knew the boy must … everything hinged on Harry going back when Voldemort removed the
horcrux in his head rather than crossing the river and staying here …

He was about to ask when sirens - loud, numerous, ear shattering - erupted from everywhere and
nowhere and he gasped at the look of utter surprise and sudden fear on the woman's face as an
atonal voice boomed, horrifyingly robotic in its enunciation: "VALHALLA EMERGENCY! VALHALLA
EMERGENCY! THIS IS NOT A DRILL!"

"Mein Gott!" someone shouted and Dumbledore panicked - whatever was happening
wasn't good and he needed to be safe! He looked around wildly for shelter - saw the gangplank
for the barge and made a running jump for it - only to find hard hands grabbing his throat and
crotch, lifting him into the air … a beat and he was flying, right into the panicking crowd,
bowling the front ranks over as the woman roared, "GET AWAY FROM THERE! FERRY'S IN
LOCKDOWN - GET AWAY I SAY!"

A shaken Dumbledore sat up to see the awesome woman guarding the gangplank, unsheathed sword in
one hand, silvery chakram in the other, eyes promising an unearthly pain if they tried to pass her.
She was magnificent, his addled mind thought, standing there like some mythical warrior princess as
lightning flashed behind her while the flat, atonal voice blared: "VALHALLA EMERGENCY, CODE
BLUE. FERRY ON LOCKDOWN. DESTINY REPAIR TEAMS STANDBY FOR EMERGENCY DEPLOYMENT. THIS IS NOT A
DRILL!"

He breathed deeply to steady himself only to gag at the brimstone-laced fumes he inhaled. He
shook his head - moments before, the air had been sweet and pure, with a hint of flowers and grass
- and he wished desperately that he could cast a Bubblehead Charm right now …

And froze, as a new 'announcement' boomed from unseen speakers: "SECURITY -
IDENTIFY AND ISOLATE ONE ALBUS DUMBLEDORE! REPEAT - SECURITY, IDENTIFY AND **ISOLATE** ALBUS
DUMBLEDORE!"

"Scheiße!" he breathed - "What in HELL is going on?" His eyes bulged as a
steely claw closed around his throat and between his legs and for the second (or was it third?)
time, he was flying … only this time he found himself sliding across the slimy, slippery deck of
the barge, inadvertently cleaning out quite a bit of the thing as he slid over the wooden
flooring.

He rolled on his back and stared up at a sky now obscured by low, dark clouds. He felt the boat
rocking as someone (probably the woman) jumped abroad … some further rocking and he sensed motion,
finally he sat up to see the woman, shoulders bulging as she used a long, thin pole to push them
away from the shore …

A single thought broke through his muddled mind: "Yep, we ain't in Kansas
anymore."

-->



2. Chapter 2. Valhalla ... 
---------------------------



**RETURN TO SENDER**

**Disclaimer:** As stated before, I don't own Harry Potter or any of the other characters
that may be recognizable from books, movies or television. Those characters are the property of
their respective creators and are being used here with no intention of any monetary gain or profit
motive. I'm doing this for fun and would like to express my thanks and appreciation for their
creativity which has made fanfic a totally awesome and wonderful place.

**Chapter Two. Valhalla …**

Albus Dumbledore was fuming.

He was completely out of sorts - bad enough that he was in a place he totally was unprepared
for, bad enough that his throat and gonads hurt from being clawed *twice* but to be caught in
some crisis or emergency which he knew nothing about - and his *name* associated with whatever
it was!

Add to that the fact that he was *imprisoned* on a derelict, dingy barge in the middle of
the Styx, held incommunicado by a silent, brooding, unresponsive woman who was staring at the
riverbank with worried eyes.

The only 'good' thing, as far as Dumbledore was concerned, was that someone had shut off
the sirens and that discordant, strident 'announcer' had fallen silent. There was also the
fact that fog had rolled in - reducing the brimstone that he'd inhaled earlier but, it seemed
to have hidden the barge from those on the riverbank.

A flash of light and he started - gasped as a whimpered "no" escaped his lips.

A young woman with dishevelled, bushy brown hair in bloodied Gryffindor robes appeared on the
riverbank, wiping a bloody face with one hand while the other gripped her wand. She looked around
in shock, turning rapidly from side to side in apparent disorientation before she slumped to the
ground, her shoulders shaking as she shook her head in clear denial of her situation …

"Do you know that young lady?"

Dumbledore nodded, throat tight as he croaked, "Hermione Granger … brilliant witch, top of
her class … intelligent enough for Ravenclaw but with the courage to be sorted Gryffindor.
She's also the best friend, one of them at least, of Harry James Potter, the
Boy-Who-Lived."

He could feel the woman's stare, waiting for clarification but he couldn't respond … his
mind was completely engaged in trying to understand **how** and **why** in the name of
Merlin's hairy balls, Hermione Granger was *here*. Severus was supposed to PROTECT her -
stun her, distract her, lock her up in the dungeons …

She was a key component of THE PLAN and if she were here … He shut his eyes tightly as his
stomach lurched, wild thoughts rampaging through his mind …

How will Harry get THE BOOK? How will Harry learn about the Hallows … understand what was hidden
in the snitch he bequeathed to the boy … realize that he had to die to release Riddle's
abomination before he could finish him off?

His thoughts were distracted by his agitated companion stomping the deck, accompanied by brief
snatches of unsettled words: "Destiny Repair … why declare Valhalla …" Frowning, he
watched as she jabbed at a silver ornament on her chest, mumbling, "Come on, come on … lousy
communicator! What are they doing, sleeping on the job? Come on …"

She paused as more flashes appeared - and Dumbledore blinked at the sight of a headless George
Weasley, his severed head held like a Quaffle under one arm, and Alastair 'Mad-Eye' Moody
in a combat stance scanning his surroundings from a single eye - an empty socket where his magical
eye should be.

Dumbledore flinched as Hermione, who'd looked up at their arrival, screamed and scrabbled
away from the pair - stopping only when, with a cheeky grin, George placed his head on his neck
before holding out his hand to her.

A brief flash and a white blur streaked down, screeching loudly, Hermione looked up and held out
her arm to the diving blur. A quick flap of wings and Hedwig, Harry's snowy owl, landed on her
arm, to be engulfed in a gentle hug from the teen.

"What in Artemis' name is going on?" The woman's distressed whisper was met by
more flashes: Bill Weasley and Fleur Delacour in their wedding finery, with Fleur's sister
Gabrielle in her bridesmaid's attire … Amos Diggory and his wife … Rufus Scrimgeour, shaking
his leonine head in confusion … all of them with blood-splattered clothes or mangled limbs …

It seemed as if their arrival triggered a flood - a continuous stream of flashes signalled the
arrival of more and more people and Dumbledore could only gape as he recognized them: Arthur and
Charlie Weasley with Professors McGonagall and Flitwick, the latter with an empty sleeve flapping
in the breeze, the four seemingly guarding two people in muggle clothing who were tackled by
Hermione Granger …

"Hermione's parents? They're muggles!" He glared accusingly at the quiet woman
standing beside him. "I thought you said this was *Magical* Hades -"

"Love is a magic of its own, Dumbledork," was the cold reply backed by Arctic-blue
eyes. "Besides, didn't you get the memo? THIS -" the woman gestured towards the shore
- "is no longer HADES."

Dumbledore gulped once, twice, before forcing the word through his lips.
"Valhalla?"

The icy-cold eyes held him for a long moment before she turned away, leaving Dumbledore
gaping.

'*Valhalla*,' he thought. '*The Hall of Heroes where champions chosen or
favoured by the gods were escorted, to be feted and honoured …*'

He looked up to see Hestia Jones and Kingsley Shacklebolt arrive with Susan Bones and Hannah
Abbot in tow, followed shortly by the dreadlocked Lee Jordan and the ladies of the Gryffindor
Quidditch team; Pomona Sprout, Professors Vector, Sinistra and Babbling with a crowd of Hogwarts
students from all houses and ages; an obviously pregnant Nymphadora Tonks with her parents, a large
cat with a squashed-in face in her arms. The cat quickly leaped into the open arms of Hermione
before the latter wrapped Tonks in a bear hug.

Dumbledore closed his eyes tightly, biting down hard on his lip as the full impact of where he
was and what he was seeing struck like a Bludger on his chest, driving the air from his lungs.

"Casualties," he whispered to himself. "Fallen fighters of the Light against the
scourge that is Voldemort and his Death Eaters."

He bowed his head in grief - he'd known that the Light would suffer losses but he hadn't
anticipated so many! He couldn't help but wonder if his death had triggered a rampage - hearing
a scream, he looked up in time to see Ginny, Fred and Ron Weasley arrive: Fred mobbed by his twin
and the Gryffindors; Arthur, Bill and Charlie in a many armed hug with Ginny; a visibly raging
Hermione Granger slapping Ron …

Dumbledore felt faint - what had Ronald done to elicit such a reaction from Hermione? Unless
Granger had gone mental at the thought of Harry being left behind? He snorted softly -
'*Idiot!'* he thought. '*So what if Harry was left behind … for as long as he
lives, there is hope for the Light …*'

He blinked as a loud, resounding cheer erupted from the crowd - one look and he was jumping up
and down, fists pumping in the air, the barge rocking erratically as he let out a whoop of such joy
that his companion had to clamp her hands to her ears -

Harry Potter had arrived - dishevelled hair, twisted glasses, dirt- and blood-stained clothes,
Remus Lupin and Molly Weasley behind him. The sad, haunted expression on the young hero's face
morphed into a wide smile as he caught sight of the brown-haired missile heading his way -

He frowned as he watched Harry catch her in mid-leap as a snowy owl looped and dived, barking in
excitement; around their ankles, a flat-faced half-kneazle wound his way between and around their
legs. Behind them, Remus and Molly were being hugged, kissed, embraced, pounded on the back by
family and friends …

'*That wouldn't do!*' Dumbledore thought; '*Harry has to go back - he has
to finish Voldemort off, it was his destiny!*'

He turned to his companion, his words coming so fast that he was near-stuttering: "I need
to go there … I need to talk with Harry, quickly! He has got to go back - he's finally rid
himself of Riddle's horcrux and he now has a chance! He has to go back … PLEASE - I NEED TO
TALK TO HIM!"

He ignored the narrow-eyed, speculative look the woman gave him as he silently ran through his
speech, his inflections, the tone of his voice … he'd hug the boy first, tell him how proud he
was of him, inform Harry of the Hallows and how he *must* go back to finish Voldemort off -
that Harry's destiny was to destroy Riddle so that the magical world could continue in
peace…

He was so engrossed in his thoughts and plans that he didn't realize the crowd on the
riverbank had fallen silent as they watched a shimmering aura like spun gold weaving between and
within Harry and Hermione.

It was the sarcastic, coldly angry voice of his companion which cut through his fevered
thoughts: "What do you mean he's going back, Bumbledork? He's dead!"

He whirled, blue eyes blazing as he replied, "He can't be dead! The prophecy said he is
the only one who can defeat Voldemort!"

"Dead is dead, old man. The only way he can go back now is as a ghost - IF he wants to go
back."

Dumbledore smirked, a superior grin on his face as he educated the clueless woman:
"He's NOT dead! The Killing Curse separates the soul from the body - cast on him it will
only release the accidental horcrux that Voldemort created when he tried to kill Harry in 1981.

"Harry has to go back and finish Voldemort. It's his destiny!

"I need to go there - I need to talk to him, convince him to go back - remind him of his
destiny as the Boy-Who-Lived, the Chosen One prophesied to finally defeat the Dark - urk!"

Steel-like fingers grabbed his robes at the throat and he was dragged to the barge's
railings as the woman whispered harshly: "Kind of hard for The Chosen One to come back when he
doesn't have *any BODY* to go back to, innit?"

Dumbledore struggled to get free from the madwoman's grip - and gaped as he caught sight of
a horrific sight: Hermione had opened Harry's bloody shirt, revealing a cavernous hole where
his chest would be.

The woman continued, "Looks like he's been run through with a sword or a pike
…"

"Wizards don't use sw-" His angry retort was stopped as she cut in: "But
goblins do."

He slumped to the deck as his mind raced: a Horcrux in Gringotts where the prominent Death
Eaters like Malfoy, Lestrange, Parkinson, Nott had vaults … Harry must have learned of one, tried
to get in to destroy it but with Bill here, he had no one to advise him … and suffered for his
ignorance.

Dumbledore's chest tightened. Harry was dead - cut down by goblin pike or sword, probably
with his head staked out on the front of the bank. The Killing Curse would have removed
Voldemort's soul fragment, leaving Harry's body and soul untouched - but the mortal wound
meant that Harry's body, soul and horcrux were gone.

A faint, chirping sound erupted from the woman's chest but Dumbledore ignored it; he
didn't notice his companion turn away as she breathed, "Finally!" to herself. All he
could hear was the sound of wind in his ears; all he could see was the ragged, cavernous wound on
Harry's chest -

The hands gripping the railing started shaking as his mind processed the sight and he knew - his
grand plan had failed. All because of a reckless bint who had more courage than brains … Granger
should have gone to Ravenclaw, he thought … he shouldn't have entrusted her with the book,
shouldn't have made her part of his PLAN, should have tried to separate her from Harry …

He threw back his head and SCREAMED - a loud, wailing, indecipherable wail of sheer pain and
wretched frustration which tore through the landscape, deepening the aching hurt of those on shore
even as they looked around in fear, confused as to the source of that painful wail.

No one could see the fog-shrouded barge in the middle of the river where a despondent Dumbledore
sat, gnarled hands over his face as sobs escaped his throat, drowning out a peculiar humming
nearby; he didn't see blue and silver sparkles forming; didn't feel the sudden rocking as
three forms materialized on the deck.

A squat, barrel-chested man with clearly powerful arms and legs, wrapped in greasy, slimy cloths
appeared. He was bearded, had bushy eyebrows and wild, metallic grey hair which surrounded sharp,
dark eyes which flicked around the deck the moment his form solidified.

On either side stood a young woman wearing sleeveless fur vests, leather pants and knee-high
boots of fur, arms sporting intricate tattoos, short swords hanging from belts, staves in one
hand.

The barrel-chested man took one look at a still-sobbing Dumbledore, and cocked an inquiring
eyebrow at the tall woman on the deck as he asked, "Wot's with the beard?"

The formidable woman cracked a smile. "He's had a bad day, Charon." As the squat
man nodded, she turned to his companions and barked, "REPORT!"

Both young women saluted her with a fist to their chests. The one on the right spoke,
"Captain Janeway's complements, Consort. The Queen asked for some help in locating you and
uhmm …" Her eyes flicked to Dumbledore, who was staring at them. "… *him*.
They'll handle transport to the Queen's location."

The woman nodded. She *should* have told her partner where she was headed but … She'd
gone exploring when things got boring at the office. She'd wandered over here - she hadn't
seen Charon in such a *long* time, had taken pity on the old guy and allowed him to take a
break - How in Hades was she to know that a Valhalla Emergency would be declared?

She shook the thought off and composed herself. A slight tilt of her head and the two Amazons
lifted a confused Dumbledore to his feet, their hands clamped on his elbows on either side. A final
nod to Charon and she tapped the silver ornament on her chest, "Voyager, this is Xena. Four to
beam up."

A tinny, female voice erupted from the ornament: "Roger, Xe. You'll be transported to
Project Tic-Toc. Gabrielle will meet you there."

Xena's eyebrows rose; before she could say a word, she, Dumbledore and his Amazon guards
were engulfed by silvery-blue sparkles as a strange humming filled the air before blinking out,
leaving Charon alone, staring at the shore, wondering how in hell he was going to move that crowd
across the river.

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3. Chapter 3. Project Tic-Toc
-----------------------------



**RETURN TO SENDER**

**The usual:** Don't own Harry, would love to have Hermione, and the jury's still out
on Ron. Am not doing this for money, only for fun and enjoyment. Also don't own any of the
characters or locations that may be familiar and already owned by others.

**Chapter Three. Project Tic-Toc**

Albus Dumbledore was shocked.

He was no stranger to travelling - magical or mundane, he'd done them all: the sucked
through a tube sensation of apparition, the tug-behind-the-navel shock of portkeys, the dizzying
disorientation of floo travel, the discomfort of the Tube at rush hour, the extended trips on the
Hogwarts Express, the initial ear-popping discomfort as the airplane gains altitude …

This was something completely different.

One moment he was **there**; the next moment he was *here*; and the only transition he
could remember was that brief - he couldn't even be sure of *that* - moment when it felt
that he was being dissolved into nothingness before being reassembled again …

Unfortunately for him, shock and awe were not limited to his mind and thoughts. The moment he
solidified, he was bent over, breathing deeply of the surprisingly cold, clean air as he tried to
fight off the vertigo assaulting his body. As the darkness faded from his vision, he blinked.

His first clear view was the floor - for a moment, he wondered if they'd landed in the
middle of a runic circle and he quailed at the thought of disrupting some ritual or ceremony.

He quickly dismissed the thought - the floor and the design that he was looking at was too
clean, too precise - too *simple* for that. He tried to make sense of the design that he was
standing on - all gold and black against the white floor …

And mentally slapped himself when he realized that he was looking at a huge, stylized rendition
of a time turner - a golden hourglass, superimposed on a black rectangle that was, in turn,
surrounded by a golden circle with a black border.

He shook his head, wondering where in Hades the she-devil had brought him - lifted his eyes and
gaped.

He was in an enormous chamber, dominated by the huge, cavernous mouth of a … Tunnel? It
*looked* like a tunnel - four times the height of a man, easily the width of ten or more
people standing with arms stretched to either side.

But this couldn't be a tunnel, he thought. It looked more like the horn on top of a
gramophone that had been all the rage before the Wizarding Wireless - but this was a thousand times
larger, with alternating bands of white and black starting from its colossal mouth to its narrowed
end.

He could also see two silver-grey, metallic half-rings suspended in mid-air inside the thing -
one on each side. For a brief, incongruous moment, he thought of fingers framing a scene - and
blinked, for that was *exactly* what they looked like: elliptical frames that focused
one's attention on the thing's centre - and his heart leaped when the air between the
'frame' shimmered and he was looking at a site that would have made any British magical
nostalgic, even that poor excuse for a wizard Tom Riddle aka Voldemort.

It was Hogwarts by night: massive, ethereal, beautiful - festooned with lights from its numerous
windows, the towers shimmering in the moonlight, the waters of the lake glittering in starlight. It
brought back his first memories of the castle, seeing it as a firstie while crossing the lake …

He snapped out of his reverie when he sensed movement - and stood there blinking in wonder.

Directly ahead of him and in front of the thing's 'mouth' were three … he wasn't
sure what to call the 'furniture' he saw. They looked like a cross between a desk and a
cabinet except they had sloping boxes on top with a bewildering array of flickering lights,
buttons, levers and switches, nothing he ever saw before or could even associate with. Glancing
around, he could see numerous 'cabinets' with similar arrays of bewildering, multi-coloured
lights, buttons, switches and levers as well as glass picture frames with indecipherable pictures,
geometric shapes or cascading numbers dancing across the face …

Past the cabinets on the right side was another huge structure, standing like a skeletal
building, festooned again with an incomprehensible array of lights dancing all over. Beyond that
was darkness - black, infinite, reinforcing his earlier thought that he was in a huge cavern of
which he could see only a small part.

He noticed four people in front of him, clustered around the light-swathed 'desks'. Two
were seated at the centre desk or table - a tall, slim woman with midnight black hair in a bouffant
hairdo; the other a stocky man with an apparently balding head of grey hair. Both wore what
appeared to be white robes - he shook his head as he recognized them as something the muggles
called 'lab coats.' Both were busy flicking levers, pressing buttons, pushing things up or
down, an intense look of concentration on their faces.

The other two stood behind them, talking in low tones. One was a silver-haired gentleman in a
muggle uniform that he remembered well from decades past - a military uniform much favoured by the
Americans who'd infested Britain during the last Great Muggle War, some of whom he'd worked
with in the effort to defeat Grindelwald.

There was no doubt in his mind that the man was a high-ranking soldier, and someone used to
command. To Dumbledore's confusion, however, the soldier seemed to defer to the woman beside
him - a slim, short blonde with tousled hair, wearing what looked, at first glance, to be two
strips of leather and floppy boots. She was in a short, cut-off top and a brown, knee-length skirt
with an embroidered belt and high, leather boots - the whole ensemble showing an enticing amount of
skin which left him cold - the temperature in the place was as cold as he had ever felt in the
draughty halls of Hogwarts in winter.

The blonde's head jerked up, as if she'd felt his eyes on her and he felt himself
impaled by the sea-green eyes which had locked unerringly on his, and he unconsciously braced
himself -

"ALBUS PERCIVAL WULFRIC BRIAN DUMBLEDORE!

"Are you certifiably *insane*, institutionally *senile* or simply too full of
*yourself* to be unable to pull your arse off your head - AND DO WHAT IS **RIGHT** RATHER
THAN WHAT **YOU** THINK IS RIGHT?"

He heard snickering behind him and knew that Xena the She-Devil was taking great pleasure in
this. The two in lab coats and the gentleman in uniform glanced curiously at him but he didn't
miss the amusement in their eyes or the tic in the corner of their mouths.

And that angered him - who was this little pipsqueak of a girl to tell *him* off like some
errant schoolboy? He was Albus Dumbledore, Order of Merlin First Class, Supreme Mugwump of the
International Confederation of Wizards, Chief Warlock of the British Magical Parliament, Headmaster
of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry -

Who was she - who were *they* to treat him this way?

In the coldest, most formal voice he could muster, he replied, "I do not believe I have had
the pleasure?"

The blonde's eyes narrowed and darkened; Dumbledore felt the two guards at his side as well
as the she-devil behind him tense at his words, but he stared back, his very mien indicating how
insignificant she was to him.

She was gearing up to respond when the uniformed gentleman's worried voice stopped her:
"My Lady - Gabrielle - it's starting."

The blonde maintained her impressive glare on Dumbledore for a second before turning back to the
group by the desk, Xena quickly approaching her - and Dumbledore grinned at the victory.

Only to pale when he looked up at the scene playing out on the huge 'frame' within the
tunnel's mouth.

-->



4. Chapter 4. Gotterdammerung
-----------------------------



**RETURN TO SENDER**

**Standard Disclaimer:** Don't own nuthin', not earning anythin' from this.

**Author's Note**: This could very well form part of Chapter 3 but I felt that it works
better this way.

Enjoy (I hope) ...

**Chapter Four. Gotterdammerung**

Albus Dumbledore was pale - paler even than if a vampire had drained him of blood. And he was
feeling deprived of all bones - it was only the fortuitous presence of a nearby chair that he'd
grabbed that kept him standing.

A swarm of cylindrical objects trailing smoke appeared in the 'frame' within the
'tunnel'. For the briefest of moments, his mind's eye brought back the image of German
buzz bombs from the 1940s, the memory doubtless triggered by the silver-haired gentleman in the
military uniform. These objects, however, were not the crude things he remembered … they were
sleeker, thinner, moving faster than he could remember …

And they were headed for Hogwarts.

'The wards!' he thought. He opened his mouth to scream but it was too late - the
*things* exploded in mid-air, creating a maelstrom of sparks and lightning, outlining a golden
dome surrounding the castle.

'YES!' he screamed in his mind as the scene cleared and he fought the urge to jump up
and pump his fist in victory. 'The wards are holding -'

Alas, poor Dumbledore - he'd spoken too soon. A second wave of the flying objects struck the
wards and he gaped in horror as the golden dome blinked and disappeared, in time for a third, a
fourth and even a fifth wave of the flying things fly straight through and strike the castle.

He staggered as his guards released him, allowing him to grab the back of a nearby chair as he
watched the objects striking the castle walls -puffs of dust, followed a moment later by huge gouts
of flame, followed by more and more explosions and he had to turn away, unwilling to think of the
place he'd called home for most of his life turned into a smoking hole.

"Shifting locations," a woman's voice said and Dumbledore had to look - glad, for
the moment that he didn't have to watch the destruction of his castle - only to stare in
wide-mouthed horror.

It was the street containing several shabby offices, a pub and an overflowing dumpster that he
knew stood over the underground space occupied by the Ministry of Magic - he spotted the old red
telephone box that was the disguised visitor's entrance.

The scene seemed to shimmer and Dumbledore whimpered as the whole block collapsed on itself,
obscuring the scene as clouds of dust rose.

"Tactical nuke," the silver-haired, uniformed gentleman said in a detached,
professional tone. "They must have placed it at the lowest level, hoping to use the wards and
depth to contain the radiation."

"How did they bring it in?" Another voice - Xena, Dumbledore thought - asked. The
uniformed gentleman shrugged. "Magical assets, probably. It's not as if there'd be any
shortage of volunteers, given how Valhalla has been taking place."

Dumbledore shook his head violently, trying to force the horrific image and the detached
commentary from his mind - well aware of the wizards and witches who worked or visited the Ministry
daily. His eyes narrowed, however, as the possibility of magical infiltrators was raised.

Before he could turn the thought over, however, he froze again as the scene shifted - and
realized why there were all too few Death Eaters arriving earlier on the banks of the River
Styx.

He'd been surprised to see the Crabbes, Goyles and Flints arrive some distance from the
others - separate from the area designated as Valhalla, he realized. But there'd been so few
compared to the casualties from the light side … And he realized it was because there were too few
of them who'd died or been killed.

It would seem, however, that HADES was due for another major influx of souls as he watched
Diagon Alley in flames, black-robed, white-masked figures running in panic. Some were standing fast
and casting spells, including the green light of the Avada Kedavra, only for the curses to shatter
or bounce against the metal shields held by a phalanx of insect-like men with rounded helmets, dark
goggles and bulky torsos.

These men were already in the middle of the Alley and marching inexorably forward. Behind the
front ranks were many more - some with bulky tanks on their backs, hoses connected to pipes in
their hands which spewed flames like dragon's breath; others had rifles in their hands, the
muzzles spouting flame as shiny bits of metal flew.

People were dying - death eaters in their black robes, ordinary wizards, witches and families in
their everyday robes, hags in their rags … The only structure not burning was Gringotts which was
surrounded by the same golden glow that Hogwarts had before it was blown apart. Dumbledore watched
in horror as people beat on the translucent shield - only for bloody holes to appear on their backs
as the dark-clad soldiers shot them down …

Dumbledore's hands were digging into the chair he was using as support. There was no escape
from the Alley, he knew - anti-portkey and anti-apparition wards were emplaced to stop thieves and
other criminals from easily escaping. With the Ministry destroyed, floo travel was also out - the
magicals in the alley were effectively trapped. Others could portkey or apparate in - but they
would be slaughtered as they arrived.

He didn't hear the oddly detached voice of the soldier as he reported, "They've
taken down St Mungo's like they did the MoM. We're also monitoring simultaneous assaults
across Britain - isolated locations for the most part. Houses, manors and the like … they're
not taking prisoners."

The blonde woman nodded. "Anywhere else?"

The soldier shook his head. "It seems to be confined to Britain; we're getting reports
that the other countries have closed their borders to magical travel."

Dumbledore remembered what happened earlier and understood: Valhalla, the ancient Norse Hall of
Heroes, where champions chosen by the gods are brought by the Valkyries, to be feted and honoured …
Valhalla Emergency, as HADES scrambled to accommodate the wizards and witches of the Light,
gathering them on the banks of the Styx where they were joined by Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived,
the Chosen One, his primary and - as it turned out - his *only* weapon against Riddle …

But Valhalla was only the prelude to the main event - *Ragnarok* in ancient Norse, more
popularly known as *Gotterdammerung* - The Twilight of the Gods …

He glanced at the 'frame' in the tunnel and shivered.

He could only guess at what transpired but he could imagine how: with him dead, Voldemort would
have moved swiftly to take over Magical Britain … with Harry dead, Tom Riddle would have no
compunction about taking over the muggle world. There was no way that Tom in his megalomania would
go for the subtle and slow route of subversion - he'd make his move openly, blatantly,
convinced of the power of his Death Eaters and allies - giants, vampires, dementors, trolls …

And the muggles would fight back - they may have no magic of their own but their machinery and
efficiency in meting out death and destruction was unsurpassed. Threatened by something or someone
they did not fully understand, their reaction would be to kill and burn everyone out, resulting in
an unending spiral of terror and death as the threatened magicals *also* fought back …

His brain locked on something said earlier and he nodded to himself. Too many wizards of Light
had fallen - but there were many he didn't see … Neville Longbottom, Luna Lovegood, the
muggle-raised Dean Thomas, the Irish Seamus Finnegan … some may have fled before the purge but
there would be those, especially the Lions of Gryffindor, who would willingly go over to the
muggles for assistance in wiping out the Dark …

And maybe even allow themselves to be immolated rather than live with the stain of so much blood
on their hands - Death Eater, collaborator, innocent …

He was jerked out of his thoughts when he felt himself pushed back as an angry voice
near-screamed: "You ask who I am?"

Shaking his head, he focused on the small blonde who was standing with fists on hips, blazing
green eyes piercing him as she continued, "My name is Gabrielle of Potidaea - Chief Executive
Officer of Destiny Repair, the entity formerly known as Second Chances Incorporated.

"Which means I AM THE ONE WHO HAS TO CLEAN UP YOUR MESS!

"DO YOU UNDERSTAND?"

Albus Dumbledore stared at her for a long moment, a thousand thoughts running through his mind
before he looked away.

There was no way that he would allow the horrific scenes that he'd seen to play out. He
would find a way to get back, correct his mistakes, starting with finding someone *else* to
bequeath his copy of the Tales of Beedle the Bard to, someone just as intelligent as Miss Granger,
but less reckless and a higher sense of self-preservation … Ginny Weasley, perhaps. She and Harry
had formed a relationship late last year and she was already besotted with the boy …

With a visible effort he stood tall, proud and determined as he turned and met Gabrielle of
Potidaea's eyes squarely.

"Yes, I do. When do I go back?"

-->



5. Chapter 5. Second Chances?
-----------------------------



**RETURN TO SENDER**

**Standard Disclaimer**: Don't own nuthin' except this 'puter and the car ... and
the bank disputes that!

Just a brief note: For those who follow **muggledad's** "The Last Casualties"
(which was posted today) and **chemprof**, whose latest opus "Seriously, Sirius?" was
posted last Sunday ... I was using the same line in early drafts. Must mean that great minds think
alike. :-) I think.

Without further ado ...

**Chapter Five. Second Chances?**

Albus Dumbledore was concerned.

He'd expected his announcement to be met with cheers, commendations, backslaps and
handshakes - not the looks of sheer incredulity from the people around him.

It was Xena who broke the silence: "May I ask, Bumbledork, what makes you think you are
going back?"

It was his turn to sport a look of sheer disbelief and he blurted, "Surely you're
joking …"

"I'm certainly NOT joking, Fumbledore - and DON'T CALL ME SHIRLEY!"

He raised an eyebrow as he asked, "And you are?"

He cringed the moment the words escaped his lips, something Gabrielle said earlier giving him a
mental punch to the gut as a visibly enraged woman gritted out, "Xena of Amphipholis,
Gabrielle's partner and life-mate - currently Destiny Repair's Director of Operations.

"And I ask again - WHAT MAKES YOU THINK YOU'RE GOING BACK?"

Dumbledore fought for control. The none-too-subtle emphasis on the word 'partner'
established the pecking order here - it would be too risky to his plans to antagonize her. She may
be under the small blonde - he shuddered at *that* image - but her title gave her wide
influence in any decisions.

He opted for a tactical retreat. Bowing, he said, "Of course. My apologies."

"Cut the bull-"

He watched with keen interest as Gabrielle stopped the taller woman's rant with a simple
gesture. 'Interesting,' he thought. 'She may be a power here but the final decision
rests with Gabrielle … this should be easy.'

He glanced towards the tunnel and its scenes of destruction before turning back to face the two
women, struck by the disparity in their heights and features but deciding to focus on the smaller
but arguably more authoritative blonde.

"There is a prophecy which states that young Harry will be the one to defeat Voldemort.
Given that I last saw him in HADES, it would seem that he failed … apparently because I was unable
to anticipate all contingencies particularly the untimely demise of Miss Granger, who I'd given
a task obviously beyond her."

He sighed dramatically. "It is my **mission** to prepare Harry for his destiny. It is a
**burden** I have shouldered since before his birth when the prophecy was given to me. It is my
**intent** to ensure that young Harry is properly guided, that he be provided with the tools he
needs to complete his mission.

"As such I, Albus Dumbledore, am the best and most obvious person to go back and set things
right."

He gave his audience a slightly embarrassed smile. "You mentioned that this …
'entity' is named Destiny Repair but formerly carried the title of Second
Chances?"

At Gabrielle's nod, he continued, "Isn't that what I am being granted? A second
chance to fix or mend young Harry's destiny? I am prepared for the challenge … I am ready for
the burden.

"Shall we get on with it then?"

He gave them a beatific smile, ignoring the bemused look that everyone was giving him. As he
looked around, his mind was assaulted by memories long forgotten or, more accurately, long buried -
something that he'd 'lifted' from a muggleborn's mind decades ago.

Something about a tunnel … and time travel … the muggleborn had been laughing his head off
(which was why he'd taken notice in the first place), loudly comparing the imagination and
creativity of the muggles to the straightforward approach that the magical world took …

"Un-be-live-able."

The drawn-out word snapped Dumbledore out of his musing. As expected, it was Xena the She-Devil
who'd spoken, "I haven't seen that much horse shit since Hercules asked me to help him
clean the stables …"

Turning to Dumbledore, she continued, "You haven't answered Gabrielle's question,
old man. The one where she asked whether you're certifiably insane, institutionally senile or
simply too full of yourself to realize that you've got your head so far up your arse that
it's a wonder you could breath."

She ignored his angry glare and addressed her partner: "It's your call, Gabrielle - I
have better things to do."

With that, she joined the others at the desks with the blinking lights, engaging them in
conversation which soon enough seemed to become a technical discussion about the blinking lights,
levers and buttons. Dumbledore frowned as the tunnel's frame shimmered before the scene of
destruction where it stopped began rewinding …

With a silent huff, Dumbledore turned to the young blond who was studying him with a
still-bemused expression. Before he could say a word, she spoke. "What my partner is asking,
Mr Dumbledore, is WHY should we send you back when you all but admitted that it's YOU who
caused the problem in the first place?"

She held up his hand, stopping his protest. "Please, Mr Dumbledore - don't take us for
fools. You've been orchestrating events all this time - the wonder of it all is that no one
seems to have caught on to you before!"

She stopped and shook her head. "No," she said, "it isn't that no one has
caught on to you. The truth is that the previous management - the people running Second Chances -
bought into your grand plan of turning a young man with no real discernible talents or skills, save
for an amazing amount of courage and determination, into an icon for your world!"

"They probably were getting off on using Harry Potter as Fate's bitch," Xena
commented from where she sat. She looked up and saw the glare Gabrielle sent her way and she
quickly turned back to her task as she apologized, "Sorry, love, just reviewing the files
…"

Gabrielle nodded before turning back to the fuming Dumbledore. "Let's face facts, Mr
Dumbledore. You've been orchestrating events from the beginning - from the day you left a baby
on the Dursley's doorstep, ignoring the protests of your Deputy who *told* you that they
were - what was it she said? - 'the worst sort of muggles that she'd seen' -"

"She didn't say that!" Dumbledore protested heatedly. "What she said was that
they were not like us … and in the end she acceded to my views. She saw my point - that it was best
that Harry grow up away from his fame, where it would go to his head -"

"And you did such a *great* job of it, didn't you?" There was no mistaking
the sarcasm in Gabrielle's voice. "You kept him away from the fame - but the moment he
steps back into your world, he's mobbed by people who knows who he is, learns that his name is
in books for something that he doesn't even remember - and later on told that he is the only
one who can defeat a homicidal maniac who's killed more people than he has socks, who's
been using magic and the blackest of arts for longer than he has been ALIVE and then, to cap it
all, you give him a MISSION that he hasn't been TRAINED FOR while telling him he cannot trust
anyone but his SCHOOLMATES - against KILLERS and TORTURERS who've been doing it for longer than
they've been ALIVE …

"WHAT THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING?"

"It was for the Greater Good -" he mumbled - and found himself stepping back from the
incandescent rage of an angry blond as she roared, "YOU WOULDN'T KNOW THE GREATER GOOD IF
IT BIT YOU ON YOUR BONY ARSE, OLD MAN!"

She turned to the tunnel's 'screen' which had reverted to the earlier scenes of the
utter destruction of the magical world - Hogwarts, now a pile of rubble suspiciously like the false
image created by the muggle-repelling wards; the Ministry of Magic, now nothing more than a hole in
the ground in the middle of London; Diagon Alley, still burning as teams of men went from body to
body, systematically checking for signs of life - and shooting each one in the head to make sure;
St Mungo's, another hole in the ground …

"IS THAT YOUR 'GREATER GOOD', OLD MAN? Magical Britain decimated, sixty
**thousand** magical men, women and **children dead** - far too many of them before their
time - a hundred **thousand** non-magicals killed before the Government realized who was doing
it … and all because Albus Bloody Dumbledore thought that it was all for THE GREATER
GOOD!"

Dumbledore flinched at the sheer purity of the vitriol thrown his way - but stood steadfast
against the abuse. There was nothing he could do - there was no escaping the truth in
Gabrielle's words. *He* had failed - there was no one else to blame. It had been
*his* plan from the beginning and *he* had been the composer and conductor of the
greatest tragedy since Wagner created the Nibelungeid.

"And you have the NERVE to say that you DESERVE the chance to go back and FIX THINGS?
I'm of a mind to have you replace Charon - maybe taking souls across the Styx for the next
thousand YEARS will be enough to teach you what the 'greater good' really means!"

It was too much for Dumbledore - Chief Warlock, Supreme Mugwump, Headmaster, Order of Merlin
First Class, Defeater of Gridelwald and Voldemort … He turned away from those angry, accusing eyes
as he tried to control himself.

Why pin the blame on HIM when it was GRANGER's FAULT? All right - maybe it was SNAPE's
fault. He'd given the man a simple task - but he failed, and Granger was killed … which removed
the Golden Trio's brains, which was what led directly to this fiasco!

He wasn't asking for too much, was he? All he needed was to go back to a time when he could
make the necessary changes in his will … make sure that the Tales would go to someone more worthy
and less reckless than Granger …

He glanced at the blonde who kept staring at him with accusing eyes and dismissed his earlier
thought of trying to convince her to let him go. He glanced at Xena and saw that she was still
focused on her console - a glance at the tunnel and he paused.

It was now focused on a 'normal' house in a 'normal' neighbourhood - a house and
a neighbourhood he'd last visited a year ago, when he'd asked for Harry's help in
bringing Slughorn back to the castle. It was the point where things started falling apart - when
he'd decided to tell Harry everything he'd learned of the horcruxes, when he'd started
putting his affairs in order - and formulated his ultimate plan, the plan derailed when he trusted
Granger with the book …

He knew what he had to do.

He took a deep breath. The rush of pure, clean air into his lungs energized and cleared his head
…

They were wrong. They didn't understand - how could they understand? They didn't have
his decades of experience. They didn't have his *years* of fighting for the greater good
on so many fronts. Who did they think they were to make pronouncements on his decisions when they
haven't even gone through *half* of what he went through?

Who were they to question him?

They wouldn't listen anyway.

All he needed was a chance to set things right … and He MOVED.

Grabbing Gabrielle by the shoulders, he spun her around and pushed her into her Amazon guards,
grinning ferally as he watched them falling to the floor in a tangle of limbs

With a speed that belied his advanced age, he was sprinting for the mouth of the tunnel and he
took a running leap - found himself caught in mid-leap before he was flying again - but this time,
he wasn't surprised at the sensation of being *pushed* through a thin narrow tube,
hurtling at unbelievable speeds towards his destiny …

Albus Dumbledore had left the building.

-->



6. Chapter 6. Conversations in the Afterlife
--------------------------------------------



**RETURN TO SENDER**

**Standard Disclaimer**: Not mine, just playing in the sandbox constructed by JK Rowling and
others.

**Author's Note**: A moment of silence for 9/11 and all the people lost on that day and
the days after. Not to toot my own horn, but I would like to dedicate my story "In Flanders
Field" to their memory.

And before I forget, I would like to acknowledge the inspiration provided by **Dunuelos** and
his story "Harry Potter and Afterlife, Inc." (which is one the most brilliant stories out
there) for some of the things that cropped up in this tale.

Without further ado ...

**Chapter Six. Conversations in the After Life**

Albus Dumbledore had left the building.

There was confusion and chaos as the Amazon guards disentangled themselves from their Queen;
they were on their feet in time to watch, awed, as Dumbledore jumped into the tunnel - and was held
in a brilliant glowing field like a fly trapped in amber before winking out, accompanied by a
virtual cascade of eye-blinding sparks as the tunnel went dark.

At the consoles, the scientists and the general were gyrating from sparkling console to smoking
panels even as people rushed in to man the boards and check gauges, shrill cries and sharp commands
barked out as even more people came in with fire extinguishers -

"*QUIET!*"

Everyone froze - eyes turned cautiously, most blinking when they realized that it was the small
blonde who'd issued the command. She was standing alone, arms on hips as she glared at the
tunnel before she glanced at the uniformed gentleman who was standing at attention, facing her.

"General Kirk?"

"I'm sorry, Queen Gabrielle. Time travel was initiated."

"And HOW did that happen? I thought the tunnel was in visual mode only?"

"Gabrielle …" She turned and impaled her partner with her blazing green eyes and Xena
actually stepped back at that implacable glare. "It was my fault."

Gabrielle's eyes narrowed to slits and the others watched Xena actually gulp in
consternation. They couldn't believe it - the tall warrior's reputation had preceded her
and most people in the facility knew to avoid her when she was in a mood …

"Explain."

"Uhm … I was curious, all right? I wanted to see how far we can go with this thing, so I
asked Drs Swain and MacGregor to show me a … hem, hem, a **practical** demonstration."

The tall woman smirked. "I really wanted to take a look at us, you know? Back when you were
a wide eyed babe in the woods, talking your way in and out of trouble … Hey!"

She jumped out of the way of a rolling chair sent her way by the smaller blonde and quickly
continued, wary of other things heading her way. She may be hell on wheels with her chakram - but
Gabrielle could send lethal projectiles her way just as efficiently and accurately.

"Anyway … the set-up here is mission-specific. The only timeline we can access is
Harry's … and, well …"

"Queen Gabrielle." The small blonde turned her eyes to the female lead scientist, who
gulped when the green eyes focused on her. "We encountered a, well, the best way to describe
it is a temporal 'block' or 'lock'. We could only go to a certain point and
couldn't get past it …"

"I ordered Drs MacGregor and Swain to get past it," Xena jumped in. "I authorized
increasing power … we were reaching transportation values when Bumbledork decided to make his
move."

She paused. "Sorry."

Gabrielle maintained her glare on her partner for a long moment before relenting. She took a
deep breath even as she rubbed her face with her hands. She could understand her partner's
curiosity - it had been one of Xena's many endearing traits (and one which, unfortunately, so
few people in their time understood or appreciated) - she shook her head.

There was nothing she could do now - they had to try to get out of this mess, and quickly.

"All right," she said. "Where did the old goat get off to?"

Dr MacGregor glanced apprehensively at Xena before indicating a specific display. Gabrielle
approached, glanced at it … and blinked. She looked up at the still-empty tunnel, shook her head
and looked at the display again before turning an accusatory glare at her partner.

"You set him up."

Xena blinked and responded brightly. "Huh?"

"C'mon, Xena! You heard him - all he was on about was returning in time for him to
change his will, to make sure that someone else aside from the Granger girl was to receive his
'gift' … but to send him *there!*"

She blinked when she realized that her tall partner was staring owlishly at her - Gabrielle
searched her partner's face for any hint of deception or mischief but Xena was totally clueless
and lost.

Gabrielle closed her eyes against the building pain in her head. This was bad and getting worse
… but there was still a chance to save the situation.

"Gabrielle?" She heard her partner's voice and allowed herself to be wrapped in
those strong, loving arms.

"What was I thinking, Xe?" she whispered as she slumped into her partner's
embrace. "When they approached us to take over this place … what was I thinking?"

"The same thing you always do when faced with a situation - if you could help, why
not?" Xena smiled wanly. "You can never resist doing what was right, Gabrielle … even
when it was a grumpy, bad-tempered, crotchety warrior princess looking for salvation."

The smaller woman gave her a warm smile but shook her head, the magnitude of their problem
weighing down on her. She felt her partner's warm hands drawing comforting circles on her back
and sighed before turning back to watch the gyrations of the project staff as they tried to put
their consoles back together. She shook her head. "Thanks, Xe," she said softly.

"You're welcome?"

Gabrielle tilted her head back. "You took a hard choice away from me, love - I was more
than ready to send the sanctimonious git to Charon as a deckhand but that doesn't solve our
problem …"

"OK …" the tall warrior said slowly.

"Our mandate is to get the timeline back on track; problem is we've got only one chance
at it. The Second Chance guys have screwed up so badly that we don't have as many chances to
send someone back …"

"And *Dumbledork* was it?"

The blonde CEO shrugged. "Who else was there? Harry Potter's used up all his chances …
Hermione Granger also … besides, sending either of them back, even with memories intact, meant they
had to work around Dumbledore - either terminating him or marginalizing him to limit the damage he
could do.

"The problem was that everyone was so focused on getting rid of Riddle that they overlooked
the real issue - they got rid of a Dark Lord, but did nothing to clean up the cesspool which
spawned the idiot … give it time, and another Dork Lord will come out of the woodwork and
they'll be running around like headless chickens trying to put him down … or begging the
'Chosen One' to save their arses one more time -"

She sighed. "It's like Hagrid killing Aragog - sure, the beast would be dead but the
acromantulas are still in the forest. Soon enough, another would take Aragog's place, and the
spiders would continue expanding their population and territory until one day they would be on the
edges of Hogwarts and it would take far more than a few wizards to drive them back.

"If they could find enough wizards and witches willing to do so."

"And sending Bumbledore back will solve all that?"

Gabrielle shrugged. "It's an elegant solution - as he said, we owe him at least another
chance to get things right. At the same time, it re-sets everything and everyone back …"

Xena stared at her partner. "Charon's gonna love you - bringing all those souls across,
only to bring them back …"

"You forget, my dear Operations Director, there's a hold on bringing souls across the
Styx until we give the go-ahead."

"I don't mean all those souls there *now*, love - I meant all those who'd gone
before. Harry's dog father, Amelia Bones, the Diggory lad … uhm, you may have a problem with
the last one."

"Oh?" Gabrielle turned to her partner, an eyebrow rising in question.

"I heard something about the Diggory lad being reassigned … Forks, Washington or something
like that."

"We'll check it out. It won't be an issue for some time, anyway."

"OK." The two again fell silent, enjoying the comfort of the other's presence,
until Xena broke the silence. "Uhmm … Do you really think sending the old goat back is for the
best? Given what he knows … chances are that he'll set himself up as the Hero of the Wizarding
World - maybe even Emperor Albus I …"

Gabrielle blinked and called out in a panicked voice, "General Kirk?" The General
looked up from his discussion with the scientists as Gabrielle continued, "Will Dumbledore
retain his memories?"

The General blinked at the question and glanced at the scientists, deferring the matter to them.
The two exchanged a quick look before Dr Swain, the balding, grey haired scientist, spoke up,
"Uhm … no, ma'am. Memory decay will commence anywhere from 30 to 180 seconds from arrival
and merger with his past self … after which the memories from that point forward will …
dissipate."

"Pensieve?"

The dark haired female scientist shook her head. "No, ma'am - even if he were to
download the memories or write notes, they'd just disappear since they're not part of that
timeline, or at least, those events haven't occurred yet."

"Wait, wait …" The scientists and Gabrielle turned to a confused Xena. "I thought
you'd retain your memories when you get sent back … or at least, that's what you said about
Doctors Newman and Philips."

"Begging your pardon, ma'am," Dr Swain said, a quick flicker of fear apparent in
his eyes. "But this isn't a television show …"

He gulped at the elegant eyebrow that was slowly reaching her hairline as well as the slightly
bared snarl and quickly continued, "There are very specific, and strictly followed, protocols
to allow one to retain memories if you're to be sent back … Mr - Fumbledork? - didn't go
through them so …"

"There may be some trace memories, ma'am," Dr MacGregor interrupted. "Nothing
specific though - best guess is either a feeling of déjà vu or a feeling of something important
that has to be done," she said with Dr Swain nodding beside her.

Gabrielle nodded and shared a grin with her partner. The Amazon guards glanced at each other -
they'd seen those smiles too many times before. Those expressions meant infinite pain for those
who'd thought that Gabrielle was just another blonde chit of a bombshell … or that Xena was
just another muscle-bound dyke with an affinity for sharp objects and small blondes.

A sudden beep from the consoles caught their attention.

Dr MacGregor glanced at the monitor and quickly began hitting a sequence of buttons, Dr Swain
quickly doing the same at his panel. Dr MacGregor gave Gabrielle a glance, "Systems online,
ma'am. We should have temporal and visual lock in a few minutes."

"All right." The Destiny Repair CEO felt a large callused hand wrap around her smaller
one and smiled at her partner before settling back to watch the show, as the giant tunnel's
screen flickered to life …

-->



7. Chapter 7. All Saint's Day
-----------------------------



**RETURN TO SENDER**

**Standard Disclaimer**: Don't own, just playing and having fun with characters and
situations brought to life by both their original creators and those who had taken them to
heart.

**Author's Notes.** If some parts of the chapter look familiar ... they are. I have made
extensive use of Chapter 1 of Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone ... as with some other
parts of canon, there are some things which are just *perfect* in terms of their writing -
even parts of the last two books. Too bad that the epilogue does not form part of what I consider
'perfect' writing and characterization.

Hope you enjoy ...

**Chapter Seven. All Saint's Day**

Albus Dumbledore was having a bad day.

Or night.

Whatever.

His mind was a jumble, he wasn't sure what he was doing, he wasn't sure what *day*
or even what *time* it was … and had he been dreaming earlier or what?

He couldn't have been dead, now could he? He couldn't have watched the utter destruction
of his world, a world that he'd spent his life defending, in that huge cavern with all those
strange contraptions, now could he? He hadn't just been berated by that little pipsqueak of a
girl -

He shook his head. No matter - he was at Privet Drive now; all he needed was to fetch Harry and
bring him along to see Slughorn, and then bring Harry to the Burrow to be smothered by Molly and
…

He blinked. What the hell?

The thing in his hand - a Put-Outer? Didn't he leave that in his office as a bequest for
Ronald Weasley … SHYTE!

Everything came together for him then - the darkened street, the familiar houses, the Put-Outer
in his hand and … he peered down the street - the cat sitting stiffly on the fence in front of a
particular house.

November 1, 1981. The night after Halloween.

Number Four Privet Drive.

Everything flooded back - Voldemort gone, baby Harry brought to Hogwarts by Hagrid, his mental
and physical gyrations from London to Scotland and back as he set his plans into motion, issuing
commands and instructions to his staff at the school, at the Ministry and to his Order …

And still the memories continued - the letter to Petunia in his pocket, the instructions to
Arabella Figg to move to this neighbourhood, the upcoming trials of Lucius Malfoy, Severus Snape,
Igor Karkaroff and so many others … the matter of Sirius Black … Harry's Hogwarts letters … the
Philosopher's Stone … Riddle's Diary … Dementors … the Goblet of Fire …

He drew a deep breath and surreptitiously withdrew a vial from his robes. No lemon drops this
time - and he paused. No matter that the lights were out, Minerva in her cat form could see what he
was doing … but he shrugged it off. After the past twenty-four hours - or was it the past seventeen
years? - he needed a clear head.

He downed the vial's contents and shuddered as it went down, grateful as ever that Severus
had seen the Light and turned on his former master. The man was a genius with Potions - and what
he'd imbibed was proof of that!

He began walking down the street and grinned at the surge of energy running through his body and
his mind. As he took a deep breath, he ordered his thoughts …

Did it really happen? HADES, Valhalla, Hermione Granger … Gabrielle, Xena, the Time Tunnel … It
had been so *real* …

Or was it? He heard the vials clinking in his pocket and shook his head. Severus had warned him
about taking too much - but he'd had no choice! It was his burden and his responsibility -
there was no one else who could do what he had to do. He'd borne the mantle of leadership for
decades … and if he needed a little tipple of Severus' wonderful potions so that he can
continue functioning …

'It's for the Greater Good,' he thought to himself, as he sat down on the wall next
to the cat. He didn't look at it but after a moment he spoke to it. "Fancy seeing you
here, Professor McGonagall."

He turned to smile at the tabby, but it had gone. Instead he was smiling at a rather
severe-looking woman who was wearing square glasses exactly the shape of the markings the cat had
around its eyes. She, too, was wearing a cloak, an emerald one. Her black hair was drawn into a
tight bun.

She looked distinctly ruffled.

"How did you know it was me?" she asked.

He grinned to himself as he fell quickly into the routine he remembered so well - "My dear
Professor, I've never seen a cat sit so stiffly."

They continued as they had before - and that caught Albus Dumbledore short. How did he know what
she was going to say even before she could say it? It sure as hell wasn't Legilimency, as he
hadn't even attempted it.

Did that mean that he'd just had a … a *vision* of the future? It felt so *real* …
but then the memories faded and he couldn't remember what they were exactly - was this how
Seers felt? Knowing that they'd made pronouncements, predictions, prophecies - but then losing
those memories immediately after?

Or was it something else?

He gave a great sniff as he took a golden watch from his pocket and examined it, using the
action to cover his confusion. Did this mean that everything that he thought was a dream … had
actually happened? That the world he'd worked so hard to save was going to be destroyed?

Was this, in fact, a **second** chance for him to do what he had to in order to avoid that
horrible, frightening fate?

If yes … what was he supposed to change? Where did he even *begin* to make the change?

"Hagrid's late. I suppose it was he who told you I'd be here, by the way?"

"Yes," said Professor McGonagall. "And I don't suppose you're going to
tell me why you're here, of all places?"

"I've come to bring Harry to his aunt and uncle. They're the only family he has
left now."

"You don't mean - you can't mean the people who live here?" cried Professor
McGonagall, jumping to her feet and pointing at number four.

"Dumbledore - you can't. I've been watching them all day. You couldn't find two
people who are less like us. And they've got this son - I saw him kicking his mother all the
way up the street, screaming for sweets. Harry Potter come and live here!"

"It's the best place for him," said Dumbledore firmly. "His aunt and uncle
will be able to explain everything to him when he's older. I've written them a
letter."

"A letter?" repeated Professor McGonagall faintly, sitting back down on the wall -
Dumbledore stared at her as she ranted … listening as he listed his reasons, all the while that a
niggling doubt began forming in his mind.

Was this **really** the best for the boy?

Yes, he told himself firmly, it would be best to keep him from his fame - as well as keep him
safe from those who would either exploit him or kill him. Best for everyone that young Harry be
kept hidden … allow their world to heal from the ravages of war and rebuild their lives.

They had a monumental task ahead of them. Their world was devastated - economy ruined, so many
witches and wizards dead, tortured or who'd abandoned Britain … and those left just wanted to
get on with their lives.

Harry would be a distraction - people will look at Harry and be reminded of his parents and
their sacrifice, a constant reminder to people of what they had lost: husbands or wives, brothers
or sisters, aunts or uncles …

They'll be baying like hounds for those who'd followed Voldemort and revelled in the
bloodbath the maniac had unleashed - which would only devastate their world even more. He could
almost see the headlines demanding the Veil for the Death Eaters as 'justice' for young
Harry and his parents.

The problem was that those who'd be sent through the Veil were also those who had the means
and capability to get Wizarding Britain up and running. To go after them was to destroy what was
left - there would have been no one left to jumpstart their economy, no one to sit in the
Wizengamot, no one with the experience to head the Ministry's departments …

And very few left to uphold the traditions and customs that had kept Magical Britain safe for
the past millennia.

It would take *years* to rebuild. More, if all that he had left to rebuild were the
muggleborns and muggle-raised who had no idea of their traditions, no understanding of their
glorious history or even a modicum of appreciation for The Greater Good!

What will they do if the Dark Lord came back while they were still rebuilding? True, Voldemort
won't have his original power base of rich and wealthy purebloods like the Malfoys … but his
presence alone would have others flocking to his bloody banner.

The prophecy made it all but inevitable. He knew, the moment he saw Harry's scar, that the
damned thing was well and truly in play - actually he'd known from the moment Severus came to
him and confessed that he'd heard it and run straight to Voldemort … Harry's scar meant
that Voldemort would come back …

And he had to prepare the boy for his destiny.

THAT was the end-all and be-all of his plans - Harry had to be ready for that final
confrontation with Voldemort. The horcrux in his head led to only one scenario: he had to let
Voldemort 'kill' him, destroying the final soul piece and rendering the bastard mortal,
after which Harry, using the element of surprise, finally rids the world of the evil.

The magical world will have its Saviour - and the world he'd fought so hard for, suffered so
much for, will be safe for another thousand years …

Lily's sacrifice had given their world at least ten years of peace - time enough to rebuild,
to bring their economy back on track and most importantly, bring those who'd gone Dark back to
the Light … Severus had done so, borne out of his unrequited love for Lily - why can't the
others? Especially the Malfoys, Parkinsons, Crabbes, Goyles … ten years would be more than enough
to reform them, right?

It was for the Greater Good, wasn't it?

Hiding Harry away would give him the time he needed - as well as giving their world a bright,
shining icon of the power of Love over Hate, of the inevitability of Light winning over Dark … but
it couldn't happen if Harry were around now. The boy would only be a distraction, a constant
reminder of who they'd fought for and who had finally defeated their Dark Lord.

But in ten years, when he was ready to enter Hogwarts and return to the magical world and his
destiny …

He nearly jumped when Hagrid let out a howl like a wounded dog. He'd been so lost in his
thoughts that he hadn't even noticed Hagrid arriving with Harry - and was grateful for that
overwhelming sense of déjà vu that had him responding in a way that would not draw suspicion from
his companions.

"Shhh!" hissed Professor McGonagall at Hagrid, "you'll wake the
Muggles!"

"S-s-sorry," sobbed Hagrid, taking out a large, spotted handkerchief and burying his
face in it. "But I c-c-can't stand it - Lily an' James dead - an' poor little
Harry off ter live with Muggles -"

"Yes, yes, it's all very sad, but get a grip on yourself, Hagrid, or we'll be
found," Professor McGonagall whispered, patting Hagrid gingerly on the arm as Dumbledore
stepped over the low garden wall and walked to the front door. He laid Harry gently on the
doorstep, took a letter out of his cloak, tucked it inside Harry's blankets, and then came back
to the other two. For a full minute the three of them stood and looked at the little bundle;
Hagrid's shoulders shook, Professor McGonagall blinked furiously, and the twinkling light that
usually shone from Dumbledore's eyes seemed to have gone out.

"Well," said Dumbledore finally, "that's that. We've no business staying
here. We may as well go and join the celebrations."

"Yeah," said Hagrid in a very muffled voice, "I'll be takin' Sirius his
bike back. G'night, Professor McGonagall - Professor Dumbledore, sir."

Wiping his streaming eyes on his sleeve, Hagrid swung himself onto the motorcycle and kicked the
engine into life - and with a roar, hurtled down the road, having forgotten to set the thing for
flight, not drive - right into the still-turning Dumbledore and McGonagall, sending both flying
into the air, to land with a loud THUD on either side of the road.

He quickly braked and jumped off the motorbike, staring at the scene with horrified eyes before
he whispered, "I should na ha' done that."

Unknown to him, in another dimension, an old wizard wearing flamboyant robes found himself
holding a mop, alone on the greasy, muddy deck of a dingy, disreputable barge on a river as black
as midnight. He blinked and asked, "What, in the name of Merlin's hairy balls, have I done
now?"

In the Project Tic-Toc control room, a wide-eyed Xena turned to her partner and demanded,
"You're not leaving the boy with *Hagrid*, are you?"

. oOo.

*R. Lupin walks off whistling into the sunset ...*

Please review.

Thank you.

-->



8. Chapter 8. All Soul's Day
----------------------------



**RETURN TO SENDER**

**Standard Disclaimer:** Wish I owned it but since I don't ... on with the show.

**Chapter Eight. All Soul's Day**

Hagrid's first instinct was to panic.

He had, after all, just killed the Greatest Wizard since Merlin - as well as the Deputy
Headmistress of Hogwarts. Accidentally, of course - but who would believe him? He was only the
groundskeeper of the school; he hadn't even finished his OWLS much less his NEWTS and, worst of
all, he's of mixed breed.

And he was the one who delivered Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, to his muggle relatives. Sure,
he did so under Dumbledore's orders - but who would believe him? It could just as easily be
said that he'd followed orders from the Headmaster … and then killed both Dumbledore and
Minerva, in order to deliver the boy to You-Know-Who's followers.

He's half-giant, after all.

He took a deep breath. Sure, he was all that - but he was also a member of the Order of the
Phoenix. He'd fought and bled beside some of the best fighters for the Light - survived several
ambushes by the Death Eaters and had done quite well … least, he was alive while so many others had
been killed or wounded.

Dumbledore - 'great man, Dumbledore', he thought - had trusted him with various missions
over the years … and he wouldn't fail the great man now.

Even if he'd been the cause of the great man's untimely demise.

First things first.

With a speed and grace that most people would never have expected of such a large man, he
approached the two bodies on the road. One look at Dumbledore and he bit his lip, hard, to stop
another howl from escaping his chest. The old man's head was at an unnatural angle, and Hagrid
had more than enough experience with animals to know that his best and oldest friend had gone on to
his next great adventure.

Professor McGonagall, on the other hand …

Touching her neck gently, he blinked when he felt a faint pulse. Quickly, he pulled out a
rolled-up leather satchel from his pocket and unrolled it, his fingers gently touching the various
vials within in a search for a specific one - Blood Replenishing potion, no … burn cream, no …
Pepper-Up Potion - later; and … 'Ahh!' he thought.

Just the thing.

Uncorking the vial, he waved the open end under McGonagall's nose - and was rewarded with
the Deputy Headmistress' eyes shooting open even as she slapped the offending hand away from
her.

She blinked at the sight of Hagrid's face looming above her - opened her mouth to scream at
him for shoving his unwashed socks under her nose - and gasped when she felt liquid fire being
poured down her throat, involuntarily gulping it down at the same time.

She closed her eyes at the liquid heat spreading throughout her body and felt the steam escaping
her ears … shaking her head, she realized that her headache was gone - and memories quickly flooded
through her brain …

The Halloween feast … the panic and confusion when young Severus fainted into the pudding …
Waking up this morning to Filius banging on her door … nearly hexing the diminutive professor only
to listen in shock to the news that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was DEAD … running to the
Headmaster's office in her hastily-thrown on robes, only to learn from the guardian gargoyle
that he wasn't in …

"Hadrid? What -"

She gaped at the tear-stricken face of the groundskeeper and the images in her mind spun faster
and faster - arriving at the Great Hall to the spectacle of a parliament of owls winging around as
the students and teachers danced in celebration … announcing the cancellation of classes for the
day before leaving for the Hospital Wing to check on young Severus (and share a tipple with Poppy
Pomfrey, the school healer) - only to find Hagrid guarding a bed where a baby lay sleeping while
Pomfrey was tending to a still-unconscious Snape … demanding answers from the gentle half-giant and
listening, horrified, to his tale … leaving the castle to apparate here to wait for the Headmaster
… watching Lily's sister and her family all day and becoming increasingly disturbed the longer
she watched … Dumbledore arriving, their talk, Hagrid arriving … and then -

Shaking her head yet again, she looked around and gasped. Dumbledore was still on the road, a
few feet from her - face down, unmoving … her head whipped around to Hagrid who was still on his
knees, weeping, his great shoulders shaking as he tried to keep a howl from escaping his lips …

"HAGRID!" Years of teaching came to the fore - she had long perfected the art of
screaming in a whisper, the single word more than enough to act like a tank of ice-cold water
pouring down on the big man. "Help me up!"

The trembling half-giant gently pulled her to her feet; shakily, she pulled out her wand and
cast a notice-me-not charm around them, ensuring that no one could see them or even give a thought
to their odd presence in this extremely normal street.

Glancing at the still form of the Headmaster, she cut her eyes to Hagrid, who quickly shook his
head even as he collapsed to the ground. McGonagall bit her lip as she felt her world
disintegrating - why now, she thought, why now of all days?

They were supposed to be celebrating - this was the best day of their lives! After nearly a
decade of ever encroaching darkness, dawn had broken through! You-Know-Who was vanquished, her
friends and students were safe … they could raise their glasses to the fallen and get drunk for the
next week, classes be damned …

But THIS?

A faint whimper broke through her roiling thoughts and her head snapped up, her lips forming a
thin line as she drew breath to berate Hagrid for again drawing attention to them - and stopped
when she realized that it wasn't Hagrid.

'Morgana's balls!' she thought. 'Harry!'

She took a step towards the baby in the basket and stopped, the last conversation she had - that
she will ever have - with her friend and mentor crashing through her mind.

He wanted to leave Harry with these people, the very ones she'd watched the whole day, whose
behaviour appalled her. Unbidden, her mind recalled the sight of the rotund young boy, kicking and
screaming for sweets while the horse-faced woman took it, shushing him but looking for all the
world like she was headed straight for the candy store to give the young brat exactly what he was
asking for and more!

She remembered her protest, her disgust at the thought of the young boy, no - the young hero of
the wizarding world - being left here with these people who she'd told Dumbledore would in no
way understand them.

But it was Dumbledore - teacher, mentor, friend, superior … the greatest wizard of their age …
the only one He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named ever feared … the Leader of Light …

And he was dead. Killed in a freak accident by the Hogwarts groundskeeper, a most gentle man who
had undoubtedly been overcome by the thought of leaving a child on a doorstep, on a cold night with
only a blanket and a letter … on a muggle street that was as distant from their world that it may
as well have been on the moon for many of their kind …

She had agreed with Dumbledore's reasoning, she knew - agreed, as she'd always had,
every time he'd turned those twinkling blue eyes on her … against every fibre of her being,
against every maternal instinct she had …

Did she owe it to the memory of the man, the Leader of Light that they had followed for decades?
The man who'd held them together against the encroaching darkness, who'd led the forces of
right against the sickening depravations of the second most evil wizard this century?

It was his last wish, after all. In a way, it was his final order to his followers … and she,
like so many others, was his disciple. She may be his Deputy at school but she, more than any
others, knew that it meant little in the total scheme of things. She was there to ensure that
things ran smoothly, that the teachers were paid, that the hallways were clean, the students
followed the rules and took their tests …

"Perfessor?" She blinked and realized that Hagrid was looking at her, worry in his
dark eyes. She knew what he was going to ask and wished, for the briefest of moments, that he
hadn't had that damned bottle that smelled worse that the locker rooms after a hard-fought
Quidditch game or, even better, that the thrice-be-damned motorbike had run over her instead …

"What are we gonna do?"

It was Sirius' motorcycle, Hagrid told them - and her eyes narrowed at the retribution
she'd exact from that damned boy's hide for even giving it to Hagrid … and just barely
stopped her hand from slapping herself.

Now was not the time for morbid or insane thoughts. She glanced at the Dursley's doorstep
and bit her lip at the sight of those small hands waving in the air, the feet kicking in the cool
night air …

The mantle had passed. For good or ill, she had no choice … Albus was dead but little Harry was
alive. Albus may have had his reasons but those reasons were his, not hers … and her commitments
were to the living, not the dead.

Silent, she walked over to the body on the road and knelt beside it, taking a brief moment for
contemplation and prayer, saying good bye to an old friend and wishing him well.

Standing up, she murmured a soft, "I'm sorry" before summoning his Put-Outer from
his robes. Drawing her wand, she transfigured his body into a large box, wrapped in gaudy paper the
exact shade and colour of the robes he wore this day.

Turning to the wide-eyed half-giant, she said in her no-nonsense voice, "It will nae do to
brang him to the castle as he is, Hagrid." Shaking her head at the Scottish accent that had
manifested itself so easily, she continued, "Straight to the Hospital Wing, Hagrid - and nae a
word to anyone! Do ye understand?"

The groundskeeper nodded violently, his eyes wide as he understood exactly what the Deputy
Headmistress was saying. He didn't need a mastery in Divination to realize that he was deep in
dragon dung if this got out … he'd do as asked and stick to non-alcoholic butterbeer for the
foreseeable future - that, or do his drinking in the safety of his hut or deep in the forest with
only Aragog for companionship.

Hagrid shook his head and blinked when he realized that McGonagall had baby Harry in her arms,
cooing at the little tyke softly as she approached. He opened his mouth to protest, to point out
that she was supposed to leave the baby with the muggles, as per the Great Man's last
instructions - but stopped and gulped when the elderly Scotswoman speared him with wintry-cold
eyes.

"I know wha' he said, Hagrid - I know what he wanted … but he's nae here now, is
he?"

The large man staggered back at her words, guilt crashing through him as those words cut to his
soul. Before he could say anything, however, McGonagall was at his side, one hand trying to wrap
around his huge hand, her suddenly-teary eyes focused on the ground.

"I'm sorry, Hagrid … I didna mean what I jus' said … it was an accident, I know
that. An unfortunate accident …"

The elderly woman raised her head and looked at him with pained eyes. "Albus has his
reasons … he always has his reasons, but he isn't here now. I canna leave the bairn here with
these … these …"

Hagrid's eyes widened at the clearly visible struggle that McGonagall was going through -
she looked ready to spit and that was something that he had never thought he'd ever see from
the prim and proper professor. There was obviously more here than what he'd thought or saw …
best to keep quiet for now and see what was going to happen.

He could always bring baby Harry back here in compliance with the Headmaster's last orders
if he needed to. He'd make sure of that … he slumped. His duty was to the living, especially
the son of his best friends … people who'd respected him, who'd looked beyond his ancestry
and appearance …

He nodded at McGonagall as she continued.

"Go on then, Hagrid. Straight to the Hospital Wing - and not a word to anyone until I get
there." McGonagall smiled, wryly. "How foolish of me … I'll probably be there ahead
of you."

At Hagrid's questioning look, she replied, "I'll apparate myself and the bairn
there - we'll be there before you can bring Albus. In the meantime …"

She sighed as she visibly centred herself. Raising her wand, she gestured and Hagrid watched as
several silvery shapes shot out, heading in different directions. He nodded, recognizing the
messenger spells that were a specialty of the Order and turned to the garish, purple box on the
road.

As he manhandled the box to the motorbike, McGonagall placed her wand carefully in her robes.
Still holding the baby in her arms, she pulled out Dumbledore's Put-Outer and clicked it once,
watching silently as twelve balls of light sped back to their streetlights so that Privet Drive
glowed suddenly orange.

She heard Hagrid starting his bike and stepped back, unwilling to risk another accident and
smiled tightly when the huge motorcycle - still dwarfed by the huge man astride it and with the
large, purple box cradled carefully in his arms - silently lifted into the air and sped off into
the night.

Sighing, she carefully adjusted the sleepy babe in her arms and took a final look around.
Turning on her heel, she was gone.

In a different dimension, Destiny Repair's CEO found herself the recipient of incredulous
stares, and shrugged. "The Second Chance guys interfered before - they reset the time stream
to just before Hagrid got on the motorbike and reminded him to switch the thing to flight before
taking off."

She glanced sideways at her partner. "It's in the files, Xe."

"I see," her partner said slowly. "And if McGonagall decided to leave Harry with
the Dursleys?"

Gabrielle smiled back. "But she didn't, did she?"

Xena nodded and Gabrielle chose not to elaborate. She didn't want to tell her partner that
*if* McGonagall decided to follow the old goat's last instructions, she would have found
herself splinched when she tried to apparate … and would find herself as a deckhand on the old
scow, working beside the man she'd blindly trusted and deferred to.

Gabrielle shook her head. If that had happened, she'd have no choice but to have Xena hunt
down Sirius Black and beat some sense into the old dog … or maybe go after Remus Lupin …

'Or someone else,' she thought to herself as the tunnel's focus shifted …

-->



9. Chapter 9. Moving On
-----------------------



**RETURN TO SENDER**

**DISCLAIMER:** As per the norm, don't own it, ain't making money off it, am just
playing in the playground.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE**: As usual, deepest thanks and gratitudes to everyone who has posted a
review, added this to favourites and alerts. Thank you ... and on with the show.

**Chapter Nine. Moving On**

In a hospital bed surrounded by dividers, a greasy-haired young man blinked - his large,
prominent nose twitching as it sniffed, much like a rat checking its surroundings, even as the rest
of his body tensed, one hand unconsciously groping around for his wand.

The young man experienced a brief moment of panic as his hand grasped nothing but cloth; turning
his head slowly, he released a sigh of relief at spotting his wand on the small chest of drawers to
his right.

He relaxed slightly when the wand was in hand and he took in a few deep breaths to calm his
racing heart even as his senses ranged around - eyes taking in the white sheets he was laying on as
well as the white blanket covering him from the chest down; his nose taking in the astringent,
antiseptic smell that was so distinct from his own preferred smells; his mouth was cottony and dry
and he had to swallow a few times to relieve it.

Finally, his ears twitched as he heard murmuring somewhere nearby - too indistinct to be
identifiable, except that they sounded … familiar.

His brain processed the information even as it analysed the state of his body - sore all over,
the back of his head aching, a small area of his right arm burning just below the elbow …

Cursing silently, he lifted the arm and stared at the skull with a snake coming out of its mouth
- the Dark Mark of Voldemort, faded to near-indistinctness and he bit his lip as memories of pain
flooded his mind …

Halloween.

He'd been sitting at the staff table, silent, brooding, watching the little twerps and
dunderheads celebrating - granted, he admitted to himself, they needed every little morsel of joy
that Hogwarts could provide in these dark and dreary times - while his heart broke at memories of
past celebrations that would never again be …

It was sudden and so completely unexpected, that pain - a searing, agonizing pain that felt as
if his arm was being torn apart … he'd staggered to his feet, clutching that arm tightly even
as he fought to keep the scream from exploding out his throat - and then, nothing.

*What happened?* His dark, beady eyes narrowed as his brain processed the information …
took one glance at his now-faded Mark and widened …

It was the wave of vertigo which made him realize that he was standing by his bed, clutching at
the bed post as he fought the nausea down. It took him several deep breaths but he successfully
fought the dizziness off - he'd suffered much more than this at the hands of the Dark Lord,
after all … and he had to find out *what happened!*

Shakily, he opened the divider surrounding his bed and looked around. As he'd suspected, he
was in the Hogwarts hospital wing … a glance at the window showed starlight and darkness, which
meant that he'd been out for several hours at least. Turning back to the wing, he realized that
the voices he'd heard earlier were coming from Pomfrey's office and he took a shaky step
forward, determined to find out what had happened - and what the future held in store for him.

He'd barely taken a step when he stopped, puzzled.

What was a *baby* doing here?

He shook his head and took another shaky step - he'd never had much to do with babies, after
all. If truth were told, they actually frightened him: so small, so helpless, able to communicate
only with gurgles, arms and legs waving … and that heart rending wail when denied something they
felt they deserved but couldn't get …

And stopped. There was something about this baby that was calling to him. Unthinking, he
strengthened his Occlumency shields before mentally slapping himself - why should he guard his
thoughts from a baby, of all things? The thought made him pause and focus, however … for there was
an … an aura of *something* about the child that drew him …

Unwilling, he stood by the bedside, frowning at the sleeping yet restless child. His gaze picked
up nothing remarkable about it - except for the thin, lightning bolt-shaped scar on its forehead
which seemed to be tugging at his Mark. Frowning, he reached out to touch the scar - and jumped
back in surprise when the child's eyes opened and caught him in their clear, green gaze.

He had to grab for the bed's side lest he fall; unfortunately, there was nothing he could do
but stare at the eyes - `Lily's eyes', he realized. For an instance he felt blind rage
cloud his vision - this, this brat was the spawn of his most hated enemy, the one who'd made
his life a living hell from that first day on the Hogwarts Express, the one who'd stolen the
love and light of his life from him …

Severus Snape bit his lip hard as he closed his eyes. No matter what he thought, there was no
denying Lily's eyes staring at him. There was nothing of James Potter in the child as he now
was, save for the tuft of black hair which - he shook his head in amusement - could just as easily
come from him, or Black or any of a dozen other men.

The eyes, however, they could only be Lily's eyes.

Unthinking, he reached out to touch a chubby cheek - and almost jumped out of his skin when he
felt tiny fingers grab his finger and hold on with surprising strength. He stared at those green
eyes that were looking at him curiously … and frowned when he felt a strange tingling in his Dark
Mark.

He tried to pull away but the baby was too strong; he watched, fascinated, as it slowly sat up,
still holding on to him. Unconsciously, he smiled as he shook his head, marvelling once again at
the trusting nature of babies and little children. They were the only ones - aside from Lily - who
never ran away from him in fear. His smile broadened at the memory of the few he'd known -
those few that Lily Evans had baby-sat for when she was younger, and whom she'd introduced to
him whenever he was around …

Impulsively, he lifted the baby from its bed and cradled it in his arms - Lily's lessons on
holding them properly coming to the fore. He frowned deeply once again when he felt that peculiar
tingling in his Mark; instinctively, he adjusted the now wide-awake babe so that it was cradled in
his other, unmarked, arm while he held the other by his side.

It was awkward but this would only be for a few moments, anyway and he started swaying slowly,
rocking the infant in his arm soothingly … totally unaware that Poppy Pomfrey, Minerva McGonagall
and Filius Flitwick were gaping at him from the door of the Healer's office. All three had
known the acerbic, harsh and sarcastic potions genius - Flitwick and McGonagall had both taken
turns either lambasting him, taking points or watching him in detentions when he was a student (all
too often sharing detentions in order to keep Snape and his friends at opposite ends of the castle
and grounds from James Potter and *his* friends) while Poppy Pomfrey had had him as a patient
innumerable times - as well as having Potter and his friends also in the infirmary - for
non-Quidditch related injuries.

Watching the bitter, caustic young man actually cradling an infant in his arms and being so
gentle about it had all three smiling softly, none of them willing to break the tableau. All three
also had a single thought in mind - what they would give to have a camera on hand right now … the
blackmail potential of having a photo of this tender moment to hold over their youngest and
harshest colleague was something to savour …

“LET GO OF MY GODSON, DEATH EATER!”

Sirius Black had arrived.

Before the teachers or Pomfrey could even blink, a red-hued spell was on its way - straight for
Snape and the babe he held. Instinctively, Snape turned away - protecting the precious bundle in
his arms, his brain moving at light speed to position his body in such a way that the baby
wouldn't be hurt if he fell to the cold, stone floor.

Turned away as he was, Snape couldn't see what happened next - an almighty BONG resounded in
the Hospital Wing just as the spell was about to hit and the older adults gaped as the air around
Snape fluoresced in golden sparkles -

In a millisecond, the spell or curse was speeding back towards Sirius, darker than it had been
when first cast - it was only Sirius' adrenaline-fuelled muscles and combat-trained senses
which made him jump and roll out of the way of the returning spell which ploughed into the wall
behind him and exploded, leaving a deep hole with scorch marks around it.

Sirius, however, ignored the near-miss; still running on his adrenaline high, he'd quickly
recovered his stance and was about to send another curse at Severus when a hand unexpectedly
materialized from behind him and grabbed him, spinning him around …

Right into a fist.

The teachers and Pomfrey gasped when an enraged Remus Lupin emerged from the shadows and grabbed
Sirius Black by the back of his robes and threw him into a medicinal cabinet even as a feral roar
escaped the dishevelled, normally mild-mannered young man: “YOU TRAITOR!”

Remus leaped for a still-shocked Sirius who was lodged within the cabinet, his intent clear in
his yellowed eyes and bared teeth which showed the barest hint of fangs - as one, McGonagall,
Flitwick and Pomfrey had wands out and red jets of magic were speeding for the werewolf.

Remus had jumped aside the moment the stunners were in the air, but he hadn't counted on the
skill and experience of the three. Only Pomfrey's stunner passed through where he'd been a
moment before - Flitwick's and McGonagall's stunners, however, bracketed the Healer's
curse with Flitwick's hitting the enraged man in the back.

It wasn't enough to stun him completely, however - it was just enough to make him pause and
turn, in time for another three stunners to find their marks.

The three released sighs of relief as Remus slumped to the floor; Pomfrey was moving towards
Sirius Black, whom she'd inadvertently stunned when her curse missed Remus - only to stop as a
feminine roar echoed within the Hospital Wing: “WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?”

In another dimension, a tall, dark-haired, powerfully-built woman was also on her feet, staring
at the `frame' within a huge tunnel where events had just played out in all their glory. She
slowly turned around to face her partner and companion.

“I'd like to ask the same thing, Gab,” the tall woman said quietly.

-->



10. Chapter 10. Retrospect
--------------------------



**RETURN** **TO SENDER**

**DISCLAIMER**: Don't own it, don't make money from it, just playing in the
playground.

**Chapter Ten. Retrospect**

Minister of Magic Millicent Bagnold sat on an unoccupied hospital bed, massaging her aching
head, undecided between asking for a hangover potion with a Pepper-Up chaser from Poppy Pomfrey or
a `medicinal' glass of fire-whiskey. Better yet, as she glanced at Minerva McGonagall, maybe a
bottle of single-malt, 12-year Scotch would hit the spot - she was sure her old schoolmate had one
stashed somewhere.

Or a bottle of Goblin brandy, she thought, glancing at Filius Flitwick who was standing, wand in
hand, warily watching a still-unconscious Remus Lupin and Sirius Black. The latter was slumped in a
chair being ministered to by Pomfrey; this, however, did not stop him from shooting murderous
glances at a greasy-haired young man standing quietly in one corner, calmly watching everyone else
- or to throw concerned looks at the other side where an unconscious Remus Lupin lay.

Millicent Bagnold shook her head at the shitty hand that Fate had dealt her - what the hell was
she doing *here**?*

She should be out there, celebrating with the rest of Magical Britain, partying with the best of
them - or getting out of town for a well-deserved and long overdue vacation …

Not sitting here waiting for the shoe to drop. The only thing she was grateful for at the moment
was that the whiskered, twinkly-eyed wanker wasn't around - she had no trouble envisioning the
wrinkly-arsed old goat skulking around, disillusioned, waiting for the right moment to make his
grand appearance, proclaiming, “There's nothing to fear, Dumbledore is here!”

And it had been going oh-so-*brilliantly*, too! Yesterday - despite its ups and downs -
definitely qualified as the best day of her life!

It started with her security detail bursting into her bedroom - good thing she hadn't hexed
young Shacklebolt to the next dimension! - screaming that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was dead, that
the news was all over the Wizarding Wireless which quoted `sources' at the Daily Prophet … she
was preparing to leave for the Ministry, intent on chopping off a few DMLE heads for not informing
*her* about it, when the special edition of the Prophet arrived … and there it was.

Sixteen-inch headlines proclaimed, “**YOU-KNOW-WHO? HE'S DEAD!**”

Below that, in slightly smaller type: “**BOY-WHO-LIVED DESTROYS YOU-KNOW-WHO**.

Finally, the article itself under the by-line of that intrepid reporter and unmitigated bitch,
err, *witch*, Rita Skeeter … and she'd blown her top.

What kind of drunken shyte had Rita put together? James and Lily - dead? Hiding from
You-Know-Who in some `undisclosed location', only for You-Know-Who to find them through means
unknown - to be destroyed by Harry Potter, the `Boy-Who-Lived'?

She vowed to send the Skeeter through the veil for peddling cannabis-induced fantasies to sell
newspapers … She shook her head.

She decided to portkey to the Ministry, afraid of getting splinched because of her blinding
rage. They'd arrived to a total party atmosphere in the lobby - and she *hated* herself
for throwing cold water on the celebration: yes, she'd seen the news … no, she could not
confirm it yet … yes, she'd make an **official** announcement once she met with her Head
Auror who was leading the investigation …

The only thing that stopped her from tearing a few strips off Amelia Bones when the latter
appeared was the younger woman's pinched, angry face at learning that Skeeter had somehow found
out and scooped the whole lot of them - releasing the information even before Amelia could report
to the Minister of Magic.

And *that* was when the **real** celebrations began.

`Yeah, right,' the Minister thought as she rubbed her head. After the `official'
announcement - yes, You-Know-Who was dead; details to follow; Head Auror Bones leading the
investigation; go home, have fun, etcetera - *she* had to deal with the fallout …

Starting with the whiskered wanker who was waiting in her office, spouting platitudes and
twinkling like a demented street lamp. He'd talked her into signing off on a couple of
documents concerning some orphan or other who he said had to be protected for `the Greater
Good' … her mind shut down at that and she'd signed off rather than listen to his bovine
droppings and hoped for a moment of peace -

And then that fascist-loving, goose-stepping male chauvinist pig of a Crotch - err, Crouch! -
*stormed* into *her* office, loudly demanding that she release *her* security detail
to him so that he can go out and arrest the Dark Lord's minions … It had been with the greatest
of pleasure that she'd told the headline-grabbing fool that with You-Know-Who gone, his wide
ranging *emergency* `powers' - especially warrantless arrests and raids - were now at an
end.

And that she *expected* every arrest he made from then on to conform with the law - no
`suspects' arrested on mere suspicion, no prisoners `killed while trying to escape' - and
that he better have a basis for every action he took or she would *personally* throw him
through the Veil!

It had been so worth it to watch the fanatical light dim in the bastard's eyes.

Millicent Bagnold shook her head. True, Crouch had been effective in taking the fight to the
Death Eaters … the only problem was that the idiot's `strategy' of going in with wands
blazing and a `kill them all, let Merlin sort `em out' mind-set, threatened to
*depopulate* Magical Britain - and take out a large part of the muggle population as well!

*He* didn't have to deal with the widows and orphans of the innocents caught in the
crossfire … neither did *he* have to deal with angry foreign Ministers of Magic, screaming
that *her* `people' had cut down harmless tourists because *his* idiots couldn't
tell foreigners from Death Eaters … nor did *he* have to deal with an enraged muggle Prime
Minister who'd screamed at her for a good half-hour because Grouch's - Crouch's! -
minions had blown up a muggle street in order to take down two, **two**, Death Eaters!

Much as she hated the whiskered wanker with his bromides and inanities, she had to admit that he
did have his uses - especially in keeping the gung-ho, gunpowder-sniffing, addle-brained, volatile
schemer of a Crotch in check. Good thing too that she'd been able to place Amelia as Head Auror
over the vociferous objections of Grouch, else she'd have been presiding over a depopulated,
devastated Magical Britain!

She rolled her shoulders, trying to ease the aching tension in them. `Man's work is from sun
to sun, a Minister's work is never done - yeah, yeah,' she thought. She'd finally made
it home late last night … had a celebratory night-cap before heading to bed … only for that damned
patronus of a Scottish wildcat that could only come from Minerva to *sit* on her chest and
*demand* that she join Minerva in Hogwarts for an urgent meeting …

She sighed. If it had been anyone other than Minerva, she'd have told them to bugger a
centaur - but since it was *Minnie*, she'd reluctantly left her cosy bed and gone to
Hogwarts, arriving at the gates just as a clearly sleep-deprived Amelia Bones showed up, apparently
called for the same meeting. A house elf was waiting for them and brought them to the Hospital Wing
where they'd walked into a fight between Black and Lupin …

And here she was, waiting for the piano to drop.

Millicent Bagnold scowled. The longer she hung around, the less chance there was of getting away
for her much-deserved Caribbean vacation. She had no doubt that the whiskered, twinkly-eyed wanker
would be around soon to coerce her to stick around - if only to act as a buffer to keep that
fascist, male chauvinist pig of a Crotch - err, Crouch! - under control.

“Minister?” She nearly jumped at the low voice and turned to see Minerva McGonagall approaching
with a large, steaming mug in hand. The Minister's eyes narrowed - she didn't need an
insipid mug of tea - but stopped when the unmistakable aroma of fresh-ground coffee laced with a
generous measure of cognac wafted into her nostrils.

“You look like you need this,” McGonagall said, smirking - something, Millicent noted, which
didn't reach her eyes. The Minister didn't care, however - her first sip of the scalding
beverage helped centre her thoughts.

“Minx,” Millicent said as she raised the mug in salute, to which McGonagall responded by
sticking her tongue out at her. The two old friends smiled at each other, remembering the happy
days of `The Bitches' Coven' - young Minerva Fraser, the confident and talented Gryffindor;
Augusta Croaker, the stiff and formal Ravenclaw; Dorea Black, the fiery but sly Slytherin and
herself, the shy and unassuming Hufflepuff.

Theirs had been a friendship that so few now remember - war, migration and Voldemort's
(shiver) insurrection had taken its toll. They considered themselves lucky in that they'd only
lost Dorea from their circle - but had to balance that with the loss of Charles and Franklin, and
now, Charles' son James and his daughter-in-law Lily.

“I know, Millie,” Minerva said, interrupting her thoughts. “Nae a thing for us tae do but to
honour the living and protect their legacy,” Minerva continued with a short nod to the corner where
Amelia was playing with a sleepy Harry Potter.

Millicent nodded as she took another sip of her cognac-laced coffee. `Minnie would have made a
far better Minister than me,' she thought. Minerva had the administrative and people skills -
as well as generations of witches and wizards that she'd taught, mothered, pushed when she felt
they were slacking - literally, hundreds of people who deeply respected her and her strict but fair
ways.

It was Dumbledore, however, who'd blocked such a move - pleading, with tears in his eyes,
that he needed Minerva at Hogwarts `to protect our future'. There was more than a grain of
truth in that, Millicent admitted - but only because the bearded wonder spent far too much of his
time *outside* the school rather than *in* it - politicking at the Wizengamot and the
ICW, and lately, `conducting' the war against Voldemort (shake).

And `conducting' it was, Millicent thought sourly.

Rather than leading from the front, the old goat preferred to stay behind the scenes, allowing
his Order of the Phoenix to face the Death Eaters' wands rather than mixing it up - secure
behind some of the best fighters in Britain as well as his reputation as `the only wizard
He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named feared'.

`Yeah, right,' she thought bitterly, `the only one the Dark Lord feared' - so why the
hell didn't *he* become Minister of Magic? Voldemort would have shat his pants with
*Minister Dumbledore* at the helm.

She shook her head - she knew why.

Why should Dumbledore risk *his* bony arse? Better to have someone else targeted rather
than have his lily-white arse and pure as the driven snow heart on the line in case You-Know-Who
got lucky and took him down.

Or worse, that some no-account, no-name Death Eater take *Dumbledore* down and tarnish his
legend.

Crouch was no better, in a way. Sure, he was at the front lines - right behind a phalanx of
strapping lads and lassies and with a dragonhide vest reinforced with magically-lightened metal
plates beneath his fastidious robes …

`Like Dumbledore,' she thought spitefully. `Why should *he* lead from the front where a
lucky shot could kill him and his dreams of becoming Minister of Magic? Better be head of DMLE and
have all those strapping young lads and lassies in front of him to take one for the Kipper … rather
than sit in the Minister's office or at home, waiting for Voldemort (quiver) to come calling
…'

Which is how she, to all appearances an unexceptional witch from a minor matriarchal line in the
Wizengamot with absolutely no interest in politics, found herself `selected' as Minister of
Magic.

She'd been a compromise candidate - elected into office by the ball-less wonders in the
Wizengamot on the urging of Dumbledork and Grouch, a fact that she'd been more than steamed
about … until calm and collected Augusta Longbottom *nee* Croaker laid into her.

As Augusta pointed out, better for her to take the post than have Old Blue Eyes surrender the
Ministry `for the Greater Good' - or have Crotch-Grouch-Crouch wipe out Magical Britain in his
rabid hunt for You-Know-Who's minions!

She'd reluctantly agreed - only to be caught unaware by Dorea's astute observation that
Dumbledork and Grouch were behind her election because they both saw her as perfect BAIT to draw
out the Dark Wanker while they `waited' in ambush …

Millicent felt a feral grin escape her - well, she showed those smug arseholes who's boss!
She remembered the pious Dumbledore `allowing' Alastor Moody to head up her security team,
while the sanctimonious Bartemius Crouch could only offer Amelia Bones to help.

She'd demanded - and got - James and Lily Potter, as well as Frank and Alice Longbottom,
Dorea's nephew and `adopted' son Sirius Black and their friends Remus Lupin and little
Peter Pettigrew. They were all junior Aurors at the time, fresh graduates from the abbreviated
Auror course, and Dumbledore and Crouch let her be, thinking that she'd asked for them because
they were all `family' to her … and enhanced her status as `bait' because they were all
blood-traitors to Voldemort's eyes anyway …

What they didn't know was that she'd asked for them on Minerva's advice - being
their teacher, mentor and head of house at Hogwarts, she knew how capable the group was and could
be. Voldemort (shake) attacked soon after her swearing-in - and gotten his arse handed to him.

He'd tried again, and again, and again until he finally got the message: there were other,
softer targets out there than Minister of Magic Millicent Bagnold … and her security team.

She bit her lip at the thought - wondering, again, whether taking the children as her security
detail was the right move. Sure, they'd beaten the Dark Wanker several times - but she would
always wonder whether it was *that* which led to the Dark Arse targeting the Potters and
Longbottoms - Charles and Dorea had been brutally murdered by Voldemort (quake) himself and
they'd ambushed Franklin - Frank's father and Augusta's husband - in Diagon Alley, all
at times when their children had been on duty with her.

And then the twinkly-eyed, whiskered wanker had come to her, pulling the guilt card, spouting
some portentous shyte about needing the Potters and Longbottoms for a special mission or other
…

She had no problem letting them go - Lily and Alice were both pregnant at the time and she
didn't want them in the line of fire; she'd allowed Remus to go because Dumbledore
wouldn't give up on his idea of getting intelligence from the werewolves … and little Peter -
the guy was all a-fire with some `special mission' that the old goat had in mind for him.

Besides, she smirked to herself, her successful stint as `bait' meant that Crouch *had*
to assign experienced, capable people to her - wouldn't do to have inexperienced juniors taking
over her detail and having them wiped out, not after so successfully fighting off the Death Eaters
and the Evil Wanker, right?

Millicent Bagnold huffed as she realized that her cup was empty. Enough of the memories, she
told herself; she had bigger problems right now. Starting with what to do with Charles'
grandson Harry, now known as `The Boy-Who-Lived' …

She looked at the sleeping boy now cradled in Minerva's arms and sighed. They were old
biddies by now, she thought, able to experience the joy of motherhood vicariously - at least Minnie
had her students, while her numerous nieces and nephews were scattered all over the globe. She
sighed - Minnie's great love had been killed by those thrice-be-damned Knights of Walpurgis,
predecessors of Voldemort's (shudder) Death Eaters … her own lovely husband killed during the
Blitz …

She shook the thought off; time enough for that later. She shifted her gaze to Black and Lupin,
and frowned. What were they fighting about? They were close as brothers, the last time she saw them
… So why was Lupin trying to kill Black?

She dismissed that thought as irrelevant for the moment, and continued scanning the hospital
wing.

She finally saw Amelia at the other end of the Hospital Wing, apparently scanning the area for …
something, and she shook her head. She knew what was bothering the Head Auror.

“Leave it, Amelia,” she ordered. “Skeeter's been able to dig out the deepest buried
information before … this time, at least, she got the word out quickly enough. I'm really
tempted to reward her for `intrepid reporting' or something for that,” Millicent smiled.

Amelia Bones' smile, however, was frosty. “Be that as it may, ma'am, I'd still like
to find out how the hell she was able to do it … we were still gathering evidence when she got the
word out to both the Prophet and the WWN. We didn't see her - and she sure as hell
shouldn't have been there!”

“What do you mean, Auror Bones?” A bemused Minerva McGonagall asked. Amelia looked at Millicent,
who nodded - time enough for the serious stuff later. Some banter would do no harm right now.

Amelia Bones took a moment to gather her thoughts. “I was on the night shift at the Ministry on
Halloween -” she raised a hand at the Minister. “I know, ma'am - I should be resting but given
what's been going on, I wanted to give the guys a break …”

Millicent nodded, knowing Amelia's dedication to her work and the people she worked with.
She'd signed off on Amelia's promotion to Head Auror in an effort to balance and check
Crouch, a decision she never regretted since it kept the body count low and the muggles and foreign
magical governments calm. She gestured for Amelia to continue.

“Around seven o'clock, the magical monitors went crazy - they picked up a huge magical
discharge somewhere in Wales; we sent Aurors to check but the teams couldn't pinpoint the
location and came back. I ordered a higher alert but didn't want to issue a general recall …
figured that since things went quiet immediately after, there was nothing major to worry about.

“Anyway, around ten or so, Alastor floo'd me with a request for an investigative team and
Obliviators to meet him in Godric's Hollow. He claimed that You-Know-Who attacked the Potters
and had disappeared … problem is, the Potters were under a Fidelius and he'd just been informed
of their location …”

“Which would be why your teams couldn't find them,” Filius Flitwick piped up from his spot.
Amelia nodded at the diminutive professor, noting in passing the rapt attention of Black and the
silent Snape as she continued, “The house was a wreck. Good thing that the fire suppression wards
were still active. James … we found James and Lily on the ground floor, someone had placed them
together there, covered them with blankets … upstairs, we found the nursery with the walls and
windows blown out … we found a cloak and a wand which we subsequently identified as
You-Know-Who's -”

“Oh?” Flitwick's high voice interrupted.

“We had Ollivander do the ID … I sent Moody to pick him up and bring him there ASAP; he
confirmed it as You-Know-Who's. Priori Incantatem revealed three Killing Curses as the last
through the wand … James, Lily and -”

“TRAITOR!”

The feral roar followed almost immediately by a loud thud interrupted Amelia's tale, and
they blinked when they realized that Remus had gained consciousness and attacked - Filius Flitwick,
Duelling Champion, had cast a combination tripping jinx and incarcerous on the enraged man.

Even trussed in heavy chains, Remus Lupin was trying to crawl on the floor, incoherent words
escaping his mouth as he tried to get at Sirius Black, who was being held back by Poppy Pomfrey.
Black was shouting as he tried to get away from Poppy, “NOT ME, REMUS - YOU MUST BELIEVE ME!”

Adding to the confusion was Harry Potter, who'd been awakened by the shouts, crying
piteously from Minerva's shoulder, “Unca Mooey … Unca Pa'foo … Unca Mooey … Unca Pa'foo
…”

“QUIET!” The twin roars from Millicent Bagnold and Amelia Bones echoed around the wing, forcing
everyone except the trussed-up Remus and Minerva who had Harry in her arms to clap hands over their
ears.

The deafening silence lasted only a second as Harry let loose a heart-rending wail that only
young children can seem to do, prompting Poppy Pomfrey to bustle up to him while Amelia covered
Sirius. Poppy's wand was out and ready to cast a calming spell on the toddler -

“NO!” wailed the young boy and waved his hands in a `get-away' gesture which unleashed a
wave of magic that everyone felt - and tossed the approaching healer into a wall. Luckily for her,
Flitwick was on the ball, casting a cushioning charm just before she hit.

Another moment of relative silence followed, punctuated by Minerva talking softly to the young
boy in his arms - followed by a sigh of relief as she laid a sleepy Harry Potter on a nearby bed,
where he rolled over as Minerva placed a pillow beside him.

A cautious Poppy Pomfrey approached and, seeing Harry turned away from her, silently cast a
diagnostic charm; after a moment, she sighed as the young boy closed his eyes and fell asleep.

The healer looked at the others. “Magical exhaustion,” she said softly. “He should sleep for a
bit now.”

The others nodded and turned to where Flitwick was levitating a still-struggling and silenced
Remus Lupin to a bed away from Harry and Sirius Black. Poppy Pomfrey's voice - sounding loud in
the silent room - spoke what they were thinking: “The boy's powerful … that was the strongest
case of accidental magic I've ever seen …”

“Strong enough to destroy You-Know-Who?” The quiet question from a frowning Amelia Bones made
everyone look at her. She shrugged helplessly. “As I was saying, the Priori Incantatem on
You-Know-Who's wand showed a third Killing Curse … so who was he targeting?

“Spell residue showed the AK cast at Harry's crib. Given the traces, it looked as if a
shield or something deflected the curse back …”

“Harry?” whispered Minerva.

“Or something Lily did.” Amelia shrugged. “We can only assume but the way things looked …”

She sighed. “It was Alastor who told us that young Harry had been taken away to safety; he
didn't say who but I assumed it was Dumbledore. One of the Aurors - I don't know who -
started going on and on about `the Boy-Who-Lived' …” She shook her head. “I still can't
understand how Skeeter picked up on that …”

“Something for another day, Amelia,” Millicent Bagnold broke in firmly. “Nothing we can do about
it now … the name's out and, short of obliviating the whole of magical Britain, nothing we can
do about it.”

She paused as she went over Amelia's story once again. She wasn't really listening when
Amelia reported in yesterday; all she needed, really, was confirmation that the Dark Lord was dead
- and then she'd had to deal with the press, Dumbledore and Crouch ...

She looked up as Minerva spoke, “I dinna understan' though, why You-Know-Who went after
James and Lily …”

“I can answer that.”

Eyes swivelled to Severus Snape who had been standing quietly in his corner of the wing - and
jaws, even Sirius and Remus', dropped at the haggard, haunted look on his face. They also
realized that he was unconsciously rubbing his right elbow - Amelia's eyes narrowed and her
wand was already pointed at the young man, who nodded at her.

Sighing, he pulled out his wand and handed it, handle-first, to Amelia Bones who pocketed
it.

“Before I say anything else … may I request that the Headmaster join us? I need him to verify
what I am going to tell you.”

Millicent blinked - where *was* the whiskered wanker? She couldn't believe that he was
enjoying a lie-in while they'd been up for hours - and then she caught the pained, haunted
expression on Minnie's face. Millicent started cursing silently in every language she knew -
including Gaelic and ancient Assyrian …

She looked at her old friend who was standing beside Harry's bed, her hands clutching the
covers tightly and looking older than her fifty-plus years - and she could almost hear the piano
falling towards her head -

“I'm sorry, Severus …” Minerva looked at Millicent with devastated eyes. “With
everything's that happened …” She took a deep breath. “I … we … Albus and I were on a … a
*mission* last night and …

“It was an accident. He … he's dead.”

*Shyte!*, Millicent thought, *I really need th**at bottle now!*

In a different dimension, a ramrod-straight General gently informed an incensed warrior princess
that there was no alcohol in the complex to be had for love or money - it was a government
installation, after all.

-->



11. Chapter 11. Prophecy
------------------------



**RETURN TO SENDER**

Disclaimer: Not mine, make no money from it, can't even *make* money from it.

And the beat goes on ...

**Chapter Eleven. Prophecy**

Poppy Pomfrey caught Severus Snape as he swayed drunkenly, looking paler than he'd ever
been. Amelia Bones, however, had her wand jammed at Sirius Black's jaw, forcing the man to
clench his mouth tight even as the Head Auror threw an icy glare at Remus Lupin.

“Quiet, both of you. I don't know what you think you know, but we're going to get to the
bottom of this. DO YOU UNDERSTAND?” The two young men nodded fearfully - they may be experienced
fighters but Amelia, who'd been in charge of Auror School when they went through - had handed
them their bruised asses and battered egos more than enough times for the lesson to sink in.

All eyes turned to Minerva, however, as she stood tall while addressing Snape: “You're
Dumbledore's man, aren't you?” She gave a wintry smile at Snape's surprised look, “I
had to pin Albus to the wall to explain to me why he'd given a young man with no teaching
experience the post of Potions professor and head of Slytherin house.

“You may have your mastery, Mr Snape - but it was gained via apprenticeship, not one where
teaching others is a requirement to gaining one. He started off with his `I trust Severus with my
life' speech but I refused to accredit you … he finally admitted that you were his spy in
You-Know-Who's ranks and he needed you close.”

Severus Snape nodded, relieved that someone at least knew what he'd been doing for
Dumbledore. He was between a rock and a hard place - it was his information, after all, that had
led to the Dark Lord's demise … as well as led HIM to target the Potters.

Black and Lupin would kill him for the latter; the Death Eaters would flay him alive for what
happened to their Master … he could have kept his mouth shut but Lily's child had to be
protected. It was the least he could do for Lily …

His head snapped up as McGonagall addressed him: “As Deputy Headmistress and acting
Headmistress, I'm offering you asylum within Hogwarts. You'll be safe within these grounds,
until we can make a proper determination of what to do with ye.”

He realized that while McGonagall was addressing him, she had locked eyes with the Minister of
Magic whose fair skin was darkening as she listened to her old friend. The two formidable women
stared at each other for a long moment before the Minister broke off first.

“It's your call, Minnie,” the Minister said, ignoring the shocked looks of the others who
would never ever imagine calling the redoubtable Minerva McGonagall *that*.

“Thank you, ma'am … but no.” Eyes snapped back to Snape, who was standing tall in his
corner, his dark eyes clearly conveying his shame, fear, and soul-searing pain. “I… I've done,
done things that no man or woman should do to … to … gain this,” he raised his arm to show the
faded Mark. “You … it cannot … you have to do things **willingly**, of your own free will, both
to gain the Dark Lord's acceptance - and for this thing to be branded and bound to you.”

He took a deep breath, closing his eyes as he continued. “Murder is the preferred method …
muggle or wizard, it doesn't matter. Torture before killing gets you noticed faster …”

He opened his eyes and they involuntarily stepped back at the cold hatred they could see there.
“I chose my father … it was payment for the years of pain he'd inflicted on me and my mother …
I made him pay for every slap, every kick, every hit with his fucking belt and buckle. Not just for
me but for my mother … and … my unborn siblings …”

A heavy silence permeated the Hospital Wing as those in the room stared at the harshly breathing
young man. Minerva, Flitwick and Pomfrey were appalled - they'd dealt with Snape the student
for years, and never once caught a hint of his suffering. They'd always seen him as an angry,
vicious and vindictive young man - and had dismissed it all because of the House he'd been
sorted to.

Flitwick and McGonagall glanced at each other. True, they had their own houses to look out for -
which meant they had, unthinkingly perhaps, gone along with the bitter rivalries that had surfaced
in the past decade or so. The thought hit Minerva hard - she'd allowed herself to get caught up
in those rivalries, allowing James and his friends to constantly prank the other houses … sure, it
had been in fun most times, but the attacks on Slytherin - and Snape in particular - had bordered
on viciousness.

She'd taken points off, true; assigned detentions when warranted, yes - but had always tried
to walk `a fine line' because those attacks had always been answered with retaliation from the
snakes …

She shook her head. Even then, she thought, she was a **teacher** first and foremost … she
knew better - she glanced at the Minister and lowered her head in shame. They'd both been close
friends with Dorea Black - a Slytherin princess if there ever was one - but their rivalries had
never gone beyond the pale and they were all the best of friends … unlike those here, now, who
would be more comfortable cursing each other than having a drink together (after checking the
drinks for potions or poisons, of course).

Sirius Black and Remus Lupin were also gaping at the visibly shaken Severus Snape - mortal
enemy, prank target, all-around git. They'd never liked the spiteful Slytherin but then again,
they'd never looked beyond Houses and robes to see the man beneath. Sirius, in particular, was
in pain - Snape's words brought back all the suffering he'd undergone at the hands of his
demented mother when he'd refused to toe the line and follow in her insane beliefs of purity …
Snape's words about belts and buckles in particular struck a chord in him - he'd gone
through the same, although probably less, at the hands of his bitch of a mother …

“Have you done anything else beyond that, Mr Snape?” Amelia Bones' cold, dispassionate voice
broke them out of their thoughts - and they looked at Snape who was shaking his head.

“It was enough to earn me this, ma'am,” Snape replied as he gestured at his Dark Mark. “I
joined a few raids but spent most of my time brewing potions for the Dark Lord and his people. I
threw a few torture and killing curses around - always aiming for walls or animals …”

He sighed. “I'll gladly submit to Veritaserum questioning and even Legilimency if you feel
the need.”

Amelia Bones looked at Minister Bagnold, who nodded. “Severus Snape, as Minister of Magic,
I'm granting your request for asylum at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, subject to
the following conditions. One, you're to consider yourself under house arrest and confined to
the grounds of the school. Second, you'll place yourself under the orders of Acting
Headmistress Minerva McGonagall. Third, you'll submit yourself to Veritaserum questioning by
Head Auror Amelia Bones at a time to be determined.”

She looked around at the others, and nodded at their tacit acceptance. “So mote it be.”

The ensuing silence was broken by Sirius Black's soft voice: “Snape … I …”

“Save it, Black.” Snape shook his head at his sharp retort. “Later … what we've done to each
other is still too fresh … another time, perhaps.”

“All right. Even then …” Sirius spoke in a formal tone, “I, Sirius Orion Black, hereby apologize
from the bottom of my heart for all the pain, insults and other wrong doing I have inflicted on the
person, name and reputation of Severus Snape. I say this in the hope that I be forgiven for the
reckless and thinking actions of my youth but accept that forgiveness will be long in coming but
something that I can only hope for.

“So mote it be.”

Snape looked at his school nemesis and for a brief moment thought of rejecting the apology but
the thought of Lily stopped him. Nodding, he whispered “I accept,” before looking away.

“All right,” the brisk voice of Amelia Bones broke in. “Mr Snape … you were about to tell us the
reason why He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named went after the Potters. Do you wish legal representation -”

“May I suggest we dispense with the formalities of an inquest for the moment, Auror Bones?”
Millicent spoke up in her formal, `I am the Minister of Magic' voice. “We can make do with the
people here now - unless Mr Snape wishes to include someone else?”

Snape shook his head, knowing that he had no one else to turn to now. He kept silent, finally
sitting on an empty bed as Flitwick charmed a quill into a Dicta-Quill and prepared a parchment
after which Amelia went through the standard deposition needed.

With everything ready, he began his tale. “In January last year, I was in Hogsmeade to meet a
contact for Potions ingredients. I was sitting in the Hog's Head …”

“Excuse me, Mr Snape. Were you already marked at the time?” interrupted Amelia Bones.

“Yes, ma'am.” He took a deep breath before continuing. “I … 'disposed' of my muggle
father -” he didn't see the others blink in surprise - “sometime in 1978, soon after
graduation. I'd been recruited while at Hogwarts, joining the Death Eaters' ranks in my
seventh year … but I wasn't allowed to participate in any … actions until I graduated.

“When told what I had to do to earn my mark, I decided to use my *father* -” spitting out
the word - “rather than join the others in Muggle hunting.” He shrugged, coldly - only Amelia Bones
and Minerva McGonagall realized that he was consciously practicing Occlumency as he related his
tale.

“All right, Mr Snape - no need to go into details now,” Amelia interrupted again. “Please
continue.”

Snape heaved a sigh of relief. “As I was saying … I was at the Hog's Head to meet a contact
for Potions supplies. While I was waiting, I chanced to see Headmaster Dumbledore walk in and
proceed up the stairs.

“I was curious - why would the great Albus Dumbledore be spending time in a pub, especially one
like the Hog's Head? I thought that he was there to meet his own contacts … we already knew
about his Order of the Phoenix and were trying to find out more information about them, their
members and such …

“I waited for my chance and when the barman was busy, sneaked up the stairs. It wasn't hard
to find where the Headmaster went … he was talking to someone and had forgotten to close the door
of their room …

“You can imagine my irritation when I realized that he was there to interview someone for
Divination …”

“Divination?” McGonagall blurted, continuing in a shocked voice, “Sybill?”

“Indeed, ma'am,” Snape responded, for the first time with a hint of amusement in his voice.
“I could see through the open door that the Headmaster was not impressed and had stood up to leave
… but then Sybill Trelawney stood and started talking in a harsh voice, completely unlike the way
she'd been speaking only a minute before …”

He stopped to take a breath; silently, Poppy Pomfrey pressed a glass of water into his hand,
which he sipped thankfully. “What I heard was … `*The one with the power to vanquish the Dark
Lord approaches … born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies
…*'

“There was more but I didn't hear it, I was too busy memorizing what I had heard to really
focus … I must have made a noise or something because the Headmaster suddenly stood and made for
the door … I got out of there, fast - only to see the bartender coming up the stairs - I pushed him
away and ran, didn't look around for my contact but got out … apparated to my home …”

He paused for another drink of water, ignoring his enraptured audience. “The day after, the Dark
Lord called for me. He wasn't … pleased. Some of his followers had been wounded in a raid -
Rosier, I think, as well as Wilkes and both needed blood replenishing and burn potions. They
couldn't go to St Mungo's … the apothecaries were already being watched by Aurors and they
couldn't chance going there, which was why I was supposed to be brewing them …

“Unfortunately, I had also run out - which was why I was to meet with my contact. As I said, the
Dark Lord wasn't pleased and … proceeded to `ask' me why I hadn't done so …”

Snape was breathing heavily at this point. “I … I told him of what happened, what I'd heard
… he performed Legilimency on me to retrieve the information … after which I was let go …”

“A prophecy?” Sirius Black exploded. “The Dark Lord went after James and Lily because of a
gods-be-damned prophecy? He's nuts!”

“Be what it may, Black … I don't believe in the damned things but the Dark Lord apparently
did, and acted on it.”

He sighed as he looked apologetically at the Deputy Headmistress. “The Dark Lord sent word that
he wanted Professor Slughorn's head on a platter and didn't care who did it - even a
student would do. As expected, Slughorn resigned his position and I applied for the opening …”

“But -” Minerva's eyes bulged. “The enrolment lists! What better way to find out who was
born `as the seventh month dies' …”

Snape nodded. “I learned from the scroll that Lily had given birth to a son, Harry James, on 31
July. I tried to owl Lily, to warn her but the owls kept coming back … I went to her sister Petunia
but she didn't want to talk to me - her husband bought a shotgun that she kept close by in case
I decided to drop by …”

“You could have lied, Snape,” Sirius interjected, though there was no heat or rancour in hs
words.

“To what purpose, Black?” Snape replied in the same tone. “The scroll is not hidden - everyone
knows where it is, or have you forgotten that you and your … 'friends' were boasting about
getting in to take a look in your second year? I could lie and find myself dead the next day - the
Dark Lord had servants even among the students …”

Sirius looked away; the man had a point. He may have tried lying - but to what end? You-Know-Who
would have still found out the information and - Black that he was - he could see Snape's point
of view. Better to be alive and try to do something about it, rather than dead and unable to do
anything.

“I went to the Headmaster and told him - confessed that I was the one who was there at the
Hog's Head and had overheard the prophecy and told the Dark Lord about it. I begged him,
pleaded with him to tell Lily, to protect her … send her out the country …” He bit his lip as his
face screwed up at the memory. “He said he would - and then asked me what I would give in return
for their protection, to protect Potter, Lily and Lily's son …”

His voice dropped to a whisper, “I told him anything … anything he wanted, so long as he kept
Lily safe …”

A deafening silence fell on the Hospital Wing, broken only by the sounds of harsh breathing from
its occupants, only to be broken by the harsh voice of Amelia Bones: “So you became
Dumbledore's spy?”

Snape merely nodded.

“And your … duties to You-Know-Who?”

Heads snapped to look at the stern-faced Head Auror. She kept her eyes fixed on the broken
Snape, however. “Come now, Mr Snape - let's be honest here. You may be Dumbledore's man but
you would have been of no value to You-Know-Who if he found out. You would have to continue
providing information to … to HIM so that you can stay in his ranks and gather information for
Dumbledore.”

Snape shook his head. “Not as much as you seem to believe, Madam Bones - and please,” he held up
his hands. “Everything I have said will be verified by Veritaserum anyway so what do I have to hide
now?

“My … assignments were simple - stay within the castle and listen for anything that would be of
interest to the Dark Lord. I was also to watch for potential recruits, both among the students and
the staff … The Dark Lord knew it would take time for me to become a … trusted member of the staff
and of the Headmaster.

“Aside from that, I was to continue brewing potions for him … being a member of staff made it
even easier, since I had unfettered access to supplies here. It was a relatively simple thing to
over-order ingredients because I also volunteered to provide healing potions to Madam Pomfrey and
St Mungo's.” He smiled sadly. “My `contribution' to the Light.

“But what information could I really gather here? The Headmaster's Order never met here -
and I wasn't even a member. As I understand it, none of the staff were also -” He glanced at
McGonagall and Flitwick who both shook their heads, although Madam Pomfrey nodded. The latter was
no surprise to anyone, however; they knew Pomfrey could be counted on to treat anyone because of
her Healer's Oath …

He shuddered. “I was there for meetings when the Dark Lord called … patched them up when needed
…watched as they tortured helpless muggles …” He bit his lip as he glanced at Sirius. “I was there
when the Dark Lord tortured and then had Regulus executed -”

Sirius stopped him with a raised hand. “I know about Reggie, Snape. You-Know-Poo sent his body
to my parents with a warning - drove both of them batty -”

“Later, Mr Black.” Amelia Bones' harsh voice cut in although she gave Sirius a sympathetic
look before turning a cold eye on Snape. “And what about the Potters? Are you telling me that you
didn't lead your Master to their home …”

Snape's answer was drowned out by the feral roar of Remus Lupin, whose lycan stamina had
broken through the silencing charm cast by Flitwick. He didn't try attacking, though but simply
roared, “IT WAS BLACK - THAT TRAITOROUS BASTARD WAS THE SECRET KEEPER!”

In two different dimensions, two people (a short blonde who was much taller than the other, a
diminutive Hogwarts professor) both said at the same time, “No, he isn't.”

Both looked at the incredulous faces staring at them and spoke in an eerie echo that only those
in an otherworldly dimension heard: “What?”

-->



12. Chapter 12. Fidelius
------------------------



**STANDARD DISCLAIMER:** Don't own it, can only dream about it and wish that I were in a
certain Scottish writer's shoes ... never mind if she's in heels that would kill me.

**Author's Note**: Thank you for the reviews, alerts and approval of my work. There have
been comments made about the general 'shortness' of the chapters and the fact that some
chapters could have been longer or should have continued rather than leaving cliffies. I know -
it's been a different style of writing for me but the muses dictate what is happening.

I will try for more frequent updates to shape out the story faster but can make no promises.
Real life is rearing its ugly head - hope it won't scare the muses away.

Without further ado ...

**Chapter Twelve. Fidelius**

In the Hogwarts hospital wing, all eyes - except Amelia - were focused on the small demi-goblin
who was shifting his eyes from Remus Lupin to Amelia Bones. The latter was trembling, wand gripped
tightly in one hand and pointed at the gaping Sirius Black.

Lily Potter had been more than an Auror recruit and member of the Minister's security
detail; there were so few women in the force - and even fewer men or women with Lily's
intelligence, skill and drive - that Amelia had taken the young woman under her wing. It had been a
wrench to let the young woman go into hiding but she'd understood - pregnant and with a madman
targeting her (she and James, after all, were among the handful who'd ever gotten the better of
the Dark Lord more than once), what else was there to do?

She'd realized last night, after Alastor had shown her the parchment with the Potter's
address, the reason why she'd so easily forgotten about her favourite Auror and her lout of a
husband. She had promised to keep in touch and visit them when she could - but never did.

It was the way the Fidelius worked - all memory of where they lived was wiped away and she'd
simply been too busy with the war … she stopped breathing, as something hit her with the force of a
bat to the head. “Minister … Minerva, Filius. Do you remember what I was telling you about earlier
… about Moody?”

Filius Flitwick nodded, his stance indicating that he knew where she was going with this. A
puzzled Minister of Magic answered, “You were saying something about Moody telling you to meet you
in Godric's Hollow …”

“Exactly, although that wasn't exactly what happened.” She took a breath. “Moody called and
told me to get a team together and get over to Bathilda Bagshot's place. I got the alert team
and we floo'd there … he met us and showed us a parchment which said `The Potters live at
Godric's Hollow'.”

“So?” a clearly puzzled McGonagall asked.

Flitwick spoke, “If Black were the Secret Keeper, Auror Bones could not have told us where the
Potters lived, Minerva - not while Black is alive and breathing.”

Flitwick rubbed his face, ignoring the puzzled looks of the others except Amelia. “It's the
nature of the Fidelius,” the Charms Professor began, unconsciously dropping into lecture mode. “The
Fidelius is an immensely complex spell involving the magical concealment of a secret inside a
single, living soul. The information is hidden inside the chosen person, or Secret-Keeper, and is
henceforth impossible to find - unless, of course, the Secret-Keeper chooses to divulge it.

“Disclosure is always by the written word - the Secret Keeper has to write it down and show it
to those who need the information. He cannot speak of it; neither can those he shared the
information with speak of it or even write it out - only the Secret Keeper can.

“In this case, the Keeper - whoever it is - would have given Moody the parchment Amelia
mentioned, which was then shown to Amelia and her people which is why they were able to go to the
Potters.”

“So what?” Remus Lupin growled. “Black must have given Moody the information, which Moody then
shared to Madam Bones and the others -”

“But that's it!” Lupin turned a puzzled eye on Flitwick as the latter continued, “Auror
Bones could not have spoken about it if Sirius is the Keeper! She said it herself - `The Potters
live at Godric's Hollow' - see! I can say the same thing, which means the secret is
out!”

“Filius …” Minerva McGonagall began, as she massaged her forehead.

“The only way for Auror Bones to be able to say the `secret' is if the Secret Keeper himself
were dead.” Flitwick paused to look at the others who were gaping, comprehension beginning to light
in their eyes. “After the death of a Secret Keeper, each of the people to whom he or she had
confided the secret will become a Secret Keeper. The power of the Fidelius will be diluted as more
and more people become Secret Keepers.

“If Black were the Potter's Secret Keeper - and he's here with us, alive and breathing -
Auror Bones would not have been able to repeat that specific information. Remember, Moody told her
to get to `*Bathilda Bagshot's place*' - he couldn't tell her to go to
**Godric's Hollow** where the Potters lived.

“Another thing - the news reports on You-Know-Who? They all said that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named
attacked the Potters at `an undisclosed location'. There was no mention at all of Godric's
Hollow …”

“They do now,” Poppy Pomfrey's voice broke in. She joined the meeting with a copy of the
Daily Prophet in hand which had a photograph of the Potter's destroyed cottage with the caption
clearly stating `Godric's Hollow'. “Although Filius is right - yesterday, it was all about
an `undisclosed location', today -” She shrugged.

“So Sirius could not be the Secret Keeper?” The pain and remorse in Remus' voice was
difficult to overlook and he slumped in his bed. He looked over to Sirius who was sitting in his
chair, tears streaming down his face. “Sirius …”

“It's alright, Remus, old friend. We wanted people to think that I was the Secret Keeper … I
was the obvious choice, wasn't I? You weren't told and yet you knew it would be me … it was
what we were counting on … everyone, even You-Know-Poo, would think I was the Keeper and would go
after me …”

“So who was it, Mr Black?” McGonagall's cold voice interrupted Sirius' rambling.

“Peter Pettigrew.”

Heads snapped around at the cold, emotionless voice with the barest hint of murder and mayhem
audible beneath it - and eyes widened at the sallow face of Severus Snape, dark eyes burning with
frightening hatred, his prominent nose flaring at an unaccustomed rate, his clneched jaw a clear
indication of teeth being ground together even as his pale lips were contored in in a feral
snarl.

He continued in a harsh whisper that hinted at the iron control the man held on his emotions:
“Pettigrew's a Death Eater … Lucius recruited him - how, I do not know; when … I first saw him
at a revel a few months ago -”

“PETER WAS A DEATH EATER AND YOU TOLD NO ONE?”

Only the wands jammed beneath their chins stopped Remus and Sirius from charging the seemingly
statue-like figure of Severus Snape - only the blazing eyes of Minerva McGonagall and Amelia Bones
broke through the red haze of anger the two Marauders had for their arch-enemy.

It was the stonily impassive voice of Snape, however, which served as a bucket of ice-cold water
pouring down on the two hot-headed men: “And why should I tell you - *either of you?*” Snape
snarled. “He was your *friend* … your trusted *companion* …” His pale lips curled into a
sneer as he stared at Sirius - “I owe you *nothing* …”

“Severus!”

The whip-like tone of the Deputy Headmistress' voice cut through the seeming fugue of the
Potion Master's stance - he blinked for a moment before slumping against the wall but they
could all hear his agonized whisper: “I tried owling Lily but the owls came back … tried talking to
Petunia but was turned away … I told the Headmaster about it and he promised to do something …”

His head snapped up as his dark, beady eyes met Black's - the latter stepping back in
surprise at the naked hurt and anger in Snape's eyes - “I'll kill him … wherever the little
rat is hiding, I'll find him and KILL HIM -”

“You will do no such thing, Severus Snape! Neither will you, Sirius Black or Remus Lupin!”

It was a wonder that no one was suffering from pulled neck muscles at the frequent, sudden
snapping of their heads around the Hospital Wing. This time, all eyes (and heads) were focused on
diminutive Filius Flitwick, still standing guard on Harry Potter's bed - his red face and
snapping dark eyes moving from person to person even as the scant hair on his head bristled in a
way no one had seen before.

“Mister Pettigrew CANNOT be the Secret Keeper -” Flitwick's thin, squeaky voice rose, very
much in the manner of a roaring mouse as he overrode their incipient protests - “UNLESS PETTIGREW
IS DEAD!”

The squeaky roar made them all stop and blink in surprise - and Flitwick used the opportunity to
roar, “WELL? IS PETTIGREW **ALIVE** OR **DEAD**?”

“He's verra much alive, Perfesser.”

The unexpected voice in the Hospital Wing - loud, rough, booming and echoing - made everyone
jump even as heads and hands snapped up and around, eyes and wands tracking on the huge, shaggy
haired man in a moleskin overcoat who'd entered the wing.

A split-second later and eyes dropped to the rotund man with heavy jowled cheeks with tears
running down, reddened eyes with dark bags beneath and unkempt, blondish hair standing in front of
Hagrid, his head barely reaching the half-giant's chest. It took McGonagall and Flitwick a
second to recognize their former student - but it was a second too late.

With an inarticulate roar that echoed painfully around the wing, Sirius Black's wand was up
- an intense blue beam shooting out of its tip, headed straight for Peter Pettigrew. There was no
time for anyone to react or even speak - the spell or curse was straight and true, blasting apart
the top of Pettigrew's head and burning straight through the solid mass behind, blasting a
fist-sized hole in the middle of Hagrid's bulk and spraying the empty space behind him with a
fine mist of blood and bits of burned flesh and moleskin.

The occupants of the Hospital Wing could only gape at the shocked expression on Hagrid's
open-mouthed face. Not one of them could move as the gentle half-giant took an unsteady step
forward before tipping over like a fallen tree on top of a headless Pettigrew.

All of them would later deny to themselves that the first words heard in the eerily-silent
hospital wing were a cold, indifferent “Well, he's dead now.” It could only be their
imagination, they would all think since none would really want to discuss what had just
happened.

In a separate dimension, the shocked silence was broken by a rhythmic thumping that could be
heard above the distinctive hum of machinery and air conditioning. Heads - including that of the
dark-haired Director of Operations - turned to gape at the blonde head of Destiny Repair's CEO
as she banged her head on the low table containing refreshments in front of her.

-->



13. Chapter 13. Confrontations in the Afterlife
-----------------------------------------------



**RETURN TO SENDER**

**STANDARD DISCLAIMER:** Don't own this, make no money from it, just playing in a
wonderful, magical playground.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE**: Thank you to all those who reviewed, favorited and added this to their
alerts. And my apologies for the delay in updating ... it wasn't so much a case of writer's
block as painting myself into a corner. Hagrid was never supposed to be collateral damage in the
last chapter ... but anyway ... on with the show!

Chapter Thirteen. Confrontations in the Afterlife

“Toto, we're not in Kansas anymore!”

He didn't know what the words meant but he understood the sentiment - that sense of awe and
wonder at being someplace totally out of your experience (and Hogwarts at night, seen for the first
time as you approached from a small boat in the middle of a dark lake) was one such moment.
He'd first heard those words when he himself was eleven years old and crossing the lake, and he
heard the same thing every year that he'd taken the first years across, starting some forty-odd
years ago.

Unfortunately, his travelling companion was not impressed - it was doubtful if anything around
him had made an impression. He had the face of someone walking the final steps to the
executioner's block - dazed, eyes blank, mind a thousand miles away, his expression alternating
between shock, fear, anger and resignation. He had an idea of where they were and wasn't
looking forward to the experience … least of all, having to face his dear friends and make an
accounting of what he'd done.

“Whar do you think we are, Peter?”

There was no response and the first man peered worriedly at his companion.

They made for an incongruous pair. The speaker was huge - taller than the tallest, wider than
the widest - with a wild, shaggy mane and beard that covered most of his face, nearly hiding
beetle-black eyes. The other was a short, rotund man with mousy brown hair and small watery eyes,
red from exhaustion or tears and wearing dirt-stained wizarding robes that gave him the appearance
of someone who'd been on a drunken binge - or had been crawling through the sewers.

“You're in HADES - the Holding Area for Death, Eternity and Serenity.”

The two stopped - the huge man looking around wildly for a second before dropping his eyes and
gaping at the small slip of a girl with blonde hair and what looked like a fur top and skirt
standing in their path, with a thunderous expression on her face, fists on hips, glaring with
sea-green eyes that were only a shade lighter than the well-remembered (to them) eyes of Lily
Evans-Potter.

The huge man blinked, shook his head and looked again. He had to revise his initial impression:
this was no `girl' - this was a fully-grown woman with an aura to match that of Professor
McGonagall at her sternest.

“My name is Gabrielle, Chief Executive Officer of Destiny Repair Incorporated - and I am NOT
PLEASED TO SEE EITHER OF YOU! You are NOT supposed to be here yet!”

“Oy! Don't go `round blaming me for somethin' I `ad no `and in! Ifn anythin' blame
Sirius Black for sendin' me here … wherever here is!”

Gabrielle's eyes blazed and Hagrid cringed - if he was where she said he was, it
wouldn't surprise him if she started sending lightning bolts his way. He sighed in relief when
Gabrielle visibly relaxed, the tension visibly unwinding and a wry smile breaking out on her
face.

“My apologies, Mr Hagrid … it's been a hell of a day.”

“Hagrid, please … and thankee kindly, ma'am and - oh! Apology accepted - it isn't as if
I - *we* - have been havin' a fine day ourselves.” Hagrid's smile turned pensive.
“Wha' I would like to know, however, is what in Hades - beggin' yer pardon, ma'am -
young Sirius Black was thinkin', firin' curses in the Hospital Wing and killin' Peter
an' meself in the bargain!”

“If the idiot was even thinking,” Gabrielle mumbled to herself.

“Ma'am?”

Gabrielle shook her head. “Sorry, Mr Hagrid … just thinking about some pricks I've met …”
She sighed. “Mr Black had just learned that Mr Pettigrew here was a Death Eater -”

She didn't see Hagrid straightening up and visibly stiffening. Neither did she see the small
flames igniting in his small, dark eyes. Pettigrew, on the other hand, simply slumped beside him in
seeming resignation … and acceptance.

“… and suspects that he led Voldemort to the Potters.”

WHAP!

Gabrielle blinked. She knew Hagrid was a half-giant but hadn't expected the speed and power
behind the backhand he delivered which had Peter flat on the ground as Hagrid roared, “YOU WERE THE
SPY, WEREN'T YOU?! YOU BAS-”

Hagrid paused at Pettigrew's high-pitched response - “I WAS DUMBLEDORE'S MAN! HE GAVE ME
THE MISSION - HE WANTED ME TO INFILTRATE THE DEATH EATERS!” - but it only fuelled the
half-giant's rage. Pettigrew just barely escaped being stomped on by an enormous foot as he
continued screaming, “I WAS THE ONLY ONE, DUMBLEDORE SAID - THE ONLY ONE WHO COULD DO IT!”

Something in that frightened, squeaky voice stopped Hagrid from squashing Pettigrew. It
wasn't the defiant scream of a cornered animal or someone trying to justify his actions or deny
them - Hagrid lowered the pile driver that was his foot, and glared at the shaking man as he
boomed: “TALK!”

“There was no one else! You were faithful to Dumbledore … Sirius would never turn Death Eater -
Remus may be a werewolf but everyone knows it was Dumbledore who took him in! No one would believe
he'd turn on the old man, who'd allowed him to enter Hogwarts!”

Fat, salty tears flowed down Peter's sunken cheeks. “I was the perfect candidate, Dumbledore
said. I was never that bright, not like Remus or Lily; never as popular as James or Sirius; I was
the one always caught by Filch or the professors … Dumbledore said it would be easy to make the
Dark Lord believe that I resented them - hated them … pushed aside, always hiding behind Lily,
James, Sirius or Remus … the eternal sidekick, always there but never seen, always on the side
lines and never the star …”

Hagrid stared at the sobbing man, his insides torn between anger at Peter's betrayal … and
pity for the bawling wreck. He'd tagged Peter for a weakling, and had wondered more than once
why the Sorting Hat had placed him in Gryffindor when he obviously did not display the bravery and
courage of the Lions.

At best, he was a hanger-on, someone who'd gravitated to the biggest and meanest around,
using them to protect him, doing odd jobs for them so they'd keep him - always a follower but
never a leader (and never a really competent disciple at that) - essentially a sycophant to the big
boys.

And yes - James Potter and Sirius Black were the biggest and baddest around: arrogant, cocky,
conceited and proud. They'd come to Hogwarts as if they were the Founders Reincarnated, their
attitudes shouting what they thought of the `little people' - from Filch and Hagrid to their
fellow students, even the professors and the headmaster.

Oh, they'd changed, he knew - James more than Sirius. He wasn't sure what was behind his
change of heart but had noticed it in their sixth year … it was a change obvious to everyone but
the Slytherins and pushed Lily Evans to finally, finally look beyond the arrogant prat of the early
years and acknowledge the young man who would win her heart …

Hagrid shook his head. `There but for the grace of Merlin go I,' he thought as he looked at
Pettigrew - not as handsome or rich as Black or Potter, never as competent or skilled as Remus or
Lily, always existing in their shadow as the eternal hanger-on and water boy … *Least loved,
always, by the mother who craved a daughter* … *Least loved, now, by the girl who prefers his
friend … Second best, always, eternally overshadowed …*

Hagrid blinked - where the hell did *that* come from?

But something Peter said re-ignited his anger: “WHAT D'YEH MEAN DUMBLEDORE BETRAYED US? WHAT
DRIVEL ARE YEH SPOUTIN' NOW, PETTIGREW?”

A massive foot was hanging over the cringing Pettigrew; Hagrid heard someone shouting for him to
stop, but couldn't see anything through the red haze over his eyes at the outrageous claim of
betrayal by that great man, Dumbledore …

There was someone on his arm and he tried to shake it off - but that someone was hanging on
tight, begging him to stop - he realized that the red haze was actually red hair, that he
*knew* that voice and turned, planting his foot on the ground as he gasped, “Lily?”

He blinked at the woman with fiery red hair and emerald-green eyes and gaped at the man with
unruly black hair and round, wire-rimmed glasses behind her - “James?”

Pettigrew was forgotten as his massive arms wrapped around the man and the woman as he sobbed,
even as the other two hugged him, salty huge tears dripping like rain on their heads as he heard a
woman's voice, saying, “Thought you needed reinforcements, love.”

He shook that off - it had nothing to do with him or this moment. He couldn't believe he was
hugging his dear friends … couldn't believe they were here with him - not after seeing their
lifeless bodies and empty eyes in the ruined cottage at Godric's Hollow and he spun around,
fully intending to squash the Pettigrew bug but stopped as Lily and James screamed - “NO, Hagrid,
NO!”

A weeping Lily who was blocking his path: “Enough, old friend … it's over and done with -
we've played our part and it's time to move on …”

James supported her - “She's right, Hagrid. We've done our part, our roles are over …
time for you and the others to take over and move on …”

“But, Lily, Peter -”

“Knew *nothing*, Hagrid,” James interrupted. “Only two people knew where we were staying -
Sirius and Dumbledore. We had Sirius take a wizard's oath not to tell *anyone* - not
Remus, not Peter, not even Minerva if she threatened to turn him into a frog. Should have asked the
same of Dumbledore,” he finished in a bitter voice.

“Wait a minute, wait a minute,” a confused and horrified Hagrid said. “Are you tellin' me
that the Perfesser -”

“Who else, Hagrid?” Lily said in the same bitter tone. “We knew there was a spy among us - they
were attacking our homes, our safe houses, our hideouts. We were getting to be as bad as Mad-Eye:
looking over our shoulders, not trusting anyone - except Dumbledore! *He* was the only one who
knew where everyone lived, the names we used, our missions and plans …”

“We even hid out as Muggles, Hagrid,” James added. “Mr and Mrs Hart and their little boy Harry
Hart - living in a little red house in Loughton, in Essex outside London. Just another ordinary
Muggle family - we didn't even tell Sirius about it because it was a muggle neighbourhood
…”

“Harry was happy there,” Lily put in, smiling fondly. “He had a bestist friend with whom he
played every day. We were over there for dinner when Voldemort came calling … burned the house down
and set off the Dark Mark …”

She broke out in tears as James hugged her tight as the memories of that night played out: the
sounds of fire engines and sirens … running to the window and seeing the flames and the Dark Mark
and knowing that they couldn't go back … a glance at each other, and they'd obliviated
their hosts but they couldn't, they wouldn't obliviate the children … they'd
disaparated away with the screams of the children ringing in their ears …

“We stayed in a small muggle inn that night,” James resumed. “Fawkes found us the next day … he
took us to the Dumbledore cottage in Godric's Hollow where Albus Fucking Dumbledore was waiting
for us, all twinkly eyed and solicitous …”

“Was that when he cast the Fidelius on you?”

James and Lily stared blankly at the dark haired woman who was standing beside Gabrielle,
silently listening. She blinked at their expressions before shaking her head and extending a hand,
“My apologies. Xena - Gabrielle's partner and Destiny Repair's Operations Director.”

They nodded as Lily asked, “Excuse me? A Fidelius?”

Xena frowned. “Uhm … we've been monitoring the situation and it seems that everyone down
there” - gesturing vaguely at the ground - “thinks that you were under a Fidelius. There's some
dispute as to who your Secret Keeper was … Remus Lupin thought it was Sirius Black, who said it was
Peter Pettigrew, which was why -”

“Mr Black blasted you the moment he saw you,” Gabrielle said to a wide-eyed Pettigrew. She
sighed. “Unfortunately, Hagrid here was right behind you …”

“Which is why they're both here …” Xena added unnecessarily.

Lily Potter exploded! “Stupid Gryffindor! He should know better! If I told him once -”

“Now, Lily Flower,” James placated only to step back from her blazing emerald eyes.

“Shut it, James! You know as well as I do that Sirius knows the Fidelius is a myth!” She
didn't hear the gasps around her but James did and blinked at the gathered crowd of souls -
people - awaiting passage across the Styx. He shook his head, vaguely remembering their own passage
through …

Lily's rant was reaching full force: “Idiot! He should have asked first rather than *fired
first* … but no, oh no! Shoot first and let Merlin sort the rest! If I said it once … I've
always said that his brains are in his balls - too bad they're too small and not
connected!”

“Which makes him perfect for a memory charm.”

Lily's train of thought went off the tracks and she blinked at her husband. “*Think*,
Lils … Sirius was the one who told us the Fidelius is a myth, that the Blacks tried for
*years* to get that charm right but never succeeded so could *he* forget? Why would he
*believe* that Peter was the Secret Keeper for a charm that doesn't exist …”

“Dumbledore was part of the team that worked on Memory Charms with the Department of Mysteries -
not just obliviations but also the planting of false memories … that's what Bathilda told us.
And he's one of the best when it comes to charms and spell casting …”

“But why the charade? Why go through all that trouble to make Sirius believe that Peter's a
Secret Keeper -”

“Why not? He blew Peter away the moment he saw him … never even asked why, just drew his wand
and blew him away. Galleons to bagels, Sirius would have gone after Peter rather than look after
Harry …”

“He did, Lily,” Hagrid interrupted and the couple stared at him in horror. “Dumbledore sent me
to Godric's Hallow to check on you … found yeh on the floor, James, dead wit' wand in hand
… I was climbin' the stairs when Sirius was comin' down wit' li'l Harry. I tole `im
I'd take Harry wit' me - Dumbledore's orders. We argued for a bit an' then he gave
me the li'l tyke …” Hagrid's tears were flowing copiously at this point. “He said he was
goin' to go chasin' after a rat …”

He turned to Pettigrew who was sitting on the ground, face hidden in his hands - “Tha' was
you, Peter? He thought yeh were this Secret Keeper and was trackin' yeh …”

The big man sighed as he blew his nose. “Guess it was sheer dum' luck that I ran over him
wit' the motorcycle …”

“Motorcycle?”

They watched Hagrid blush a colour that would rival a hothouse tomato, completely missing the
amused glances exchanged by Gabrielle and Xena who surreptitiously high-fived each other - but both
jumped at Lily's enraged scream, “HE WAS GOING TO LEAVE HARRY WITH PETUNIA? IS HE NUTS?”

“It was for the Greater Good.”

Heads whipped around in surprise; they - and the waiting crowd - had become so engrossed in the
discussions that no one realized that the barge had arrived - the gangplank was down and they'd
been joined by a dirty old man in filthy grey robes, grease-stained white mane and a beard that
reached to his waist - it took the Hogwarts alumni a moment to recognize their eccentric,
flamboyant and flashy Headmaster.

Their surprise didn't last - raising his hand imperiously, the old man repeated himself with
all the force his considerable experience imbued him: “IT WAS FOR THE GREATER GOOD!”

They gaped as the dirty, dishevelled old man rolled his shoulders and straightened into a ramrod
posture, shook off his tattered, dirt-stained robes, took off his glasses and cleaned them off
before putting them back on and peering benignly at the assembled crowd.

For the moment, he wasn't the deckhand of the barge that brought souls across the River Styx
- he was the one, the only, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore - the Greatest Wizard since
Merlin, Order of Merlin First Class, Leader of the Light, Defeater of the Dark Lord Grindelwald,
Headmaster of the premiere school of magic, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Supreme
Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot - and it
was time for him to say his piece.

“WE WERE AT WAR!” His voice thundered, and the crowd gaped - “AND WE WERE LOSING!”

He glared at the assembled crowd, lingering for a moment on his former students and the two who
were the bane of his current existence. “Voldemort has had years - decades even - to build his
forces and his strength, delving deep into the blackest of magic, gathering followers from the
foulest creatures and feeding his evil into the hearts of men - corrupting their souls, pulling
them from the Light and leading them down the road to Darkness.

“We could not hold him back - not unless we wanted to tread the same dark path that he'd
blazed! He wanted us to kill as he killed, to destroy as he destroyed - he wanted the Light to
feast on the same darkness that he revelled in, corrupting each and every one of us to his
ways!”

His blazing blue eyes focused on individuals as he continued, “You, James! You, Lily and Hagrid.
Even you - Xena, Warrior Princess and Queen Gabrielle of the Amazon Nation.” He smirked at their
surprised faces. “What? You thought I didn't know - that I spent all the time in that forsaken
barge ignoring that drunken lout of a bargeman? He's told me tales of your exploits … how many
souls he brought across the river after every one of your rampages!”

He raised a hand to stop Gabrielle's response. “Oh, I know all about her redemption - about
all the battles she fought at your side - for you and with you … all in the name of the Greater
Good! There isn't that much difference between us, is there?

“EXCEPT THAT I WILL NEVER DESCEND TO YOUR LEVEL! I will not allow my people to kill for the sake
of killing - to murder and slaughter those who've been led astray by the honeyed words and
false beliefs of Voldemort! We are better than he is -”

“So you'd rather that we die like innocent lambs rather than fight fire with fire?”

“Are we wizards and witches or not?” he said, dismissing James' angry retort. “We have the
*skills*, we have the *power* - we have the *spells* to STUN, to DISARM, to PETRIFY
AND TIE THEM UP! WE DID NOT HAVE TO KILL - surely you knew that?

“Each murder committed - I know what you felt you had to do, Lily, James, Hagrid - each person
*murdered* by you, no matter your justification that they were trying to kill you first - is a
*stain* on your souls. Could you not see what it was doing to you? Each person you destroyed
without choice, without giving them a chance for redemption … could you not feel the darkness
seeping into your very souls?

“You say you will fight fire with fire! Send the Killing Curse at you and you will send one
back! Use the Cruciatus, and you will use the same to torture information out of those captured in
raids - what? We cannot use Veritaserum anymore? We have no Legilimens amongst our ranks?”

“But we were LOSING, Albus!” James Potter shouted even as his wife tried to hold him back. “Stun
one and the others would revive him! Shield against a curse - and there were others waiting for
your shield to break so they could send more at you! And if all else fails, there is always the
Killing Curse which could not be blocked - not when they send five, ten, fifteen or more at you at
the same time!”

Albus Dumbledore turned sad, pained eyes on James. “I see that I've failed you -”

“FAILED ME? YES YOU DID, YOU OLD FOOL! When Voldemort came calling, did I meet him with the
Killing Curse? NO - I dodged, I transfigured, I summoned things in his path - and he LAUGHED! I had
the chance to use the Killing Curse as he walked up the lawn - but NO! *Avada Kedavra* is too
evil for the likes of him - there was no honour in striking him dead -”

“Even if you tried, it would have been useless, James.”

“WHAT?”

“*The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches … born to those who have thrice
defied him, born as the seventh month dies …”*

“What are you blathering about?”

“Prophecy, James, Lily … a prophecy conveyed to me, confirmed when I checked the Hall of
Prophecies - it was there, a crystal sphere labelled with the initials of the Seer who spoke it and
my initials as the recipient of the prophecy: `*S.P.T. to A.P.W.B.D. Dark Lord and
(?)'*.”

“Drop the other shoe, Dumbledork.” Dumbledore blinked at Xena's sarcastic words, and turned
to meet Warrior Princess' blazing blue eyes. “Tell them the **whole** prophecy - the one
which sent *you* down the road of darkness that you've been bleating against.

“No? Of course not - why should you tell them? They don't deserve to know, now would they?
Even if they're dead because of that thing, they don't have to know *anything* …”

“Xena.” The tall woman stopped at Gabrielle's soft voice. The latter glared at Dumbledore
who turned away, stubbornness clear in his face. She turned to the Potters. “What he told you was
only the first part of the prophecy - the part that was overheard by a spy in the Hog's Head
where Fumbledore was meeting with Sibyll Trelawney, descendant of Seers but with no real talent of
her own. She was trying to convince him that Hogwarts needed a Divination professor …”

“A spy?” The whisper came from Lily Potter's pale, bloodless lips. “Peter?”

Xena shook her head. “No … Dumbledork hadn't *given* Peter his mission yet. It was
Severus Snape …”

“Sev? He *heard* the prophecy and brought it to Voldemort …”

Gabrielle interrupted Lily. “What Snape *didn't* hear was the second part of the
prophecy.” She glanced at Dumbledore who'd turned his back on them. “It continued, `… *and
the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not… and
either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives… the one
with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies'* …”

Lily Potter slumped as James caught her, but it was a near thing. Lily whispered, “Born as the
seventh month dies … HARRY!”

“Or Neville Longbottom.”

Heads turned to an expressionless Xena, “Frank and Alice's son was born the day before Harry
…”

“So it could have been Harry or Neville …” James began.

“Or anyone of a thousand magical babies born around the world at the same time,” Gabrielle
interrupted. She smirked at the surprised look on Dumbledore's face - it was obvious that he
hadn't thought of *that* … but then again, she reflected, neither did the megalomaniacal
Dork Lord. She shook her head at the thought - `*Idiots! Two fools too full of themselves to
engage their brains …*” and was reminded of Lily's scatological remarks - `their brains are
in their balls, too bad they're too small and not connected.”

She shook her head of the disturbing idea and turned to James and Lily. “Unfortunately,
Voldemork only heard the first part of the prophecy …”

“*… mark him as his EQUAL*,” Lily whispered. “He didn't know the rest - if he did, he
wouldn't have gone after us!” She stopped and turned to Dumbledore, her eyes blazing even as
James held on to her for dear life. “YOU KNEW HE LEARNED ABOUT IT! Severus went to you, didn't
he? DIDN'T HE? Severus went to you to tell you that Voldemort knew - which was how you were
able to warn us that he was hunting us and told us to hide …”

Dumbledore turned to her, his sad face confirming her thoughts - and stepped back as her shrill
scream rent the air: “YOU FUCKING BASTARD! YOU SET US UP - THAT'S WHAT PETER MEANT, ISN'T
IT? YOU WANTED VOLDEMORT TO FIND US SO THAT HE COULD MARK HARRY AS HIS EQUAL, SETTING THE PROPHECY
INTO PLAY!”

“IT WAS FOR THE GREATER GOOD!” Dumbledore roared, buffeting Lily with spittle and the
personality that made the old man the only one that Voldemort ever, truly feared. “How many lives
were SPARED when he turned to you rather than his enemies? How many more muggles LIVED when he
stopped hunting them because all his time, all his ENERGIES were spent looking for YOU?

“WHO ARE YOU TO CONSIDER YOURSELVES BETTER THAN THEM? WHO ARE YOU TO CONSIDER YOUR LIVES WORTH
MORE THAN THE THOUSAND OR MORE WHO LIVED BECAUSE VOLDEMORT STOPPED HUNTING THEM BECAUSE HE BECAME
OBSESSED WITH YOU?”

“How many died because Voldemort was looking for them - because YOU WANTED HIM TO FIND THEM?”
The softly spoken words that rose to a frenzied crescendo came from Peter Pettigrew - they had
forgotten that he was standing there, silent as he listened to things that he was unaware of … and
realized the role he'd played in the old man's mad scheme.

“You USED me, old man … you told me to infiltrate the Dark Lord's ranks - but that
wasn't the plan, was it? You wanted me to TELL THEM where to find James and Lily … but no, oh
no … that was too simple, too straightforward for you …”

“Voldemort's too smart for that, Peter,” Dumbledore began in a condescending tone. “Why
should he expect anyone from the Order to turn traitor … even one with a pathetic sob story like
you? He needed to trust you and your information …”

“AND YOU GAME ME THE INFORMATION!” Pettigrew faced James and Lily, tears streaming down his
face. “He was always scribbling during Order meetings, remember? He'd doodle or scribble, then
ball up the parchment and throw it over his shoulder …” James, Lily and Hagrid's eyes bulged
out as they realized what Peter was saying. “I always cleaned up after the meetings … there was
always something there … a name, an address … a date or time for a meeting or the meeting place for
the Order or the DMLE …”

He turned to the unbending Albus Dumbledore: “How many Order members did you give up so that the
Dark Lord can `trust me', *Headmaster?* You gave me the locations of Gideon and Fabian,
Edgar Bones …” He glanced at the Potters, “the Harts, who were `a muggle family with ties to magic
living in Loughton' … Dorcas Meadowes …”

His hoarse voice dropped to a whisper. “The McKinnons.”

“Marlene? Oh shite, Peter …” Lily whispered. Sirius had been dating Marlene `siriusly' a few
months before their deaths and was on the verge of a proposal when - she blinked at Peter's
crumpled expression. “Peter?”

The face that turned to her was a totally devastated man with an uncommonly heavy burden on his
soul. “Lucius Malfoy told me to join him … the Dark Lord was there and told me that it was time to
`prove my loyalty' … I was at his side when he attacked the McKinnons …”

Pettigrew's face went blank as he continued, the tears now a river down his face, “Marlene
was captured. Voldemort told me … told me …” He turned to James and Lily, a desperate plea for
forgiveness in his eyes. “I had no choice … I channelled my anger at what I had to do … crucio,
cutting hexes, stingers as she was petrified … and then I killed her.”

He glared at the silent Dumbledore who was standing with head bowed. “I could have refused and
Marlene would have been raped first, they'd have played with her for *hours* and
they'd have made me watch before killing us both. I kept telling myself this was for the best;
that this was for the *greater good* - better to die with dignity at my hands than be
*used* by those *animals*.”

“Sirius woulda killed you if'n he'd known,” Hagrid said softly. Peter nodded - in his
mind, Sirius had been more than justified in firing that curse at him - it was a small step in the
atonement he felt he owed … too bad that Hagrid was in the line of fire from the angry, raging
Gryffindor …

Pettigrew shook himself off and wiped his nose on a dirty sleeve. “We held a memorial for her
and Dorcas, remember? I didn't want to attend, knowing what I had done but I had no choice …
Dumbledore would have found me and *compelled* me to join while the Dark Lord would rage and
scream and curse me for avoiding the meeting and getting information …”

He glared at the still silent Dumbledore. “I cleaned up as usual and there it was … `*The
Potters live at 22 Holly Road, Godric's Hollow*'. I sent owls to you and Sirius before
my meeting with Lucius …”

“It never arrived, Peter,” James said softly. “There were owl-redirect wards at Godric's
Hollow and Sirius' apartment … *security*,” he spat. He glared at Dumbledore, “So it was
all an elaborate plot …”

“A plan that WORKED!” Albus Dumbledore proclaimed as he glared around him, a small bit of
satisfaction bubbling within him at the sight of the assembled crowd taking a step back.
“Voldemort's been defeated, his body destroyed … it will take him *years* to return. In
the meantime, the Prophesied Child, the Boy-Who-Lived, the *Chosen One* will be protected and
safe … he will grow up in a safe environment protected from magic and those of magical society who
will try to use him, to corrupt him to their dark ways …”

“Safe?” Lily Potter near-screamed. “You placed him with *Petunia and Vernon who hate
magic?*”

Dumbledore didn't hear her - or chose to ignore her. “In time he will be ready to return to
the Magical World … he will enter Hogwarts where he will learn to be the wizard he should be, the
one prophesied to defeat the Dark Lord.”

He shook himself and glared at the now-gaping Xena and Gabrielle. “Which is why I *need* to
be there … it is my destiny to train the Chosen One, to teach him what he needs to defeat the Dark
Lord - to show him the True Path of Light, to understand that *nothing* must stand in the way
of the Greater Good …”

“You son of a bitch.”

It was the first time that they'd heard Hagrid speak so articulately, enunciated so
perfectly … and spoke so, so, softly. He had moved so carefully and silently that no one realized
that he was now standing in front of his idol, the man who could do no wrong, who'd protected
him and gave him a job after the fiasco with Aragog and Tom Riddle …

“You fuckin' son of a bitch.”

An enormous foot lashed out and caught Dumbledore in the groin - but the kick was delivered with
such power and intent that Dumbledore didn't crumple to the ground - he flew into the air like
a Pele-kicked football and landed in the middle of the River Styx where his mane and beard could be
seen as the current dragged him away …

“'EY THERE - WAT YOU DO DAT FER? WHO IN HADES D'YOU THINK WILL CLEAN THE DECKS NOW, HUH?
WHO'S GONNA BE GUARDING THE BARGE WHEN I TAKE TIME OFF, *HUH?*”

The crowd blinked at the sight of a dirty, dishevelled Charon, the boatman of the Styx, standing
toe-to-toe with a flustered, shocked Hagrid who was stuttering and sputtering in an attempt to
explain the unexplainable …

No one saw a shocked, mouth-agape Xena staring at the River and the new flotsam adorning it … or
saw Gabrielle, once Queen of the Amazon Nation and current CEO of Destiny Repair Incorporated, flop
on the ground while trying to rub away a massive, skull-splitting headache …

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