Dumbledore sighed as he pounded the gavel signalling the end of the Wizengamot session, feeling about two hundred years old rather than a single century. He began to gather up the legal briefs that covered today's hearing, but the sight of the crowds converging on Lucius Malfoy as he stood and had the shackles on his wrists struck off caused his stomach to twist unpleasantly. His secretary could pick them up and deliver them to the seldom used office he held at the Ministry. He needed to leave now.

For a moment, he considered heading off to his estates and actually resting, but Minerva's last Floo call had sounded as if she was about to snap. It had been months since he had been able to spend more than a day or two at Hogwarts to attend to his duties as Headmaster and Minerva had only recently been appointed Deputy Headmistress with the death of poor Desmond. He really couldn't afford to upset her further, not with the arguments they had had over the Potter boy's placement.

So, with a brief wistful thought of a new pair of socks, a package of chocolate frogs, and a warm fireplace, he called upon Fawkes and vanished in a whoosh of flame. It would be just as well to remind those on the Wizengamot that it was still wise to step softly around him, even if it seemed to have done little in these trials. The only convictions they had gotten were from defiant confessions by fanatics that seemed to see going to Azkaban as a test of their loyalty.

Settling down at his desk, he allowed Fawkes to step across to his perch, then grimaced at the stacks of parchment littering the edge of the ornately carved furniture. Those would likely take the better part of a year to get through. Without the runes he had carved into the surface, they would have been well above his head even when he stood assuming they hadn't spilled all over the floor. As it was, they appeared to be only perhaps half a foot in height and arranged neatly enough.

Resigning himself to his fate, he reached out and grabbed the first sheet on the first pile. That should be the most urgent of his responsibilities if the minor wards were still operating correctly.

The paper read "Defense Against the Dark Arts Instructor" and he took a moment to pull his spectacles off and rub the bridge of his nose. He had no idea what had possessed him to allow his Deputy Headmaster to take on the position last year. His only defense was that the war had him more distracted than he had been since 1945.

Leaning back in the nicely cushioned chair that had served generations of Headmasters at Hogwarts, he closed his eyes and thought about the problem. The next several weeks or even months would be spent pushing through the sentencing for the Death Eaters based upon the minor offenses they had pled to in order to escape Azkaban. It would probably take him through to the new school year at this point and would certainly leave next to no time for searching for someone willing to actually take up what was rumored to be a cursed position.

Not that the Board of Governors or the Wizengamot would agree that it was cursed and let him disband it and restructure the curriculum. If he couldn't find the rune structures necessary to support such a long standing "curse", it obviously didn't exist and was simply a silly superstition and poor candidate selection by himself.

He had no idea how he was going to go through the extremely time-consuming process of persuading someone to give their time to the school in such a dangerous position. Not when he was obligated to attend the farce that remained of the Wizengamot hearings. Most of Voldemort's followers would likely get off with no more than community service, it was-

He paused.

That could just work.

Harry panted as he watched Wormtail scurry forward like the rat he was to pull the robes over Voldemort's shoulders. The man was terrifyingly inhuman and he seemed to have little concern for his follower as he got used to having a body again. For a time, the two conversed back and forth though and Harry was treated to the sight of him taunting and torturing the betrayer of the Potters.

If it weren't for the fact that he was probably next and whatever he had done with the Dark Mark hurt him almost as much, he might have even enjoyed it.

The Dark Lord's monologue afterwards concerning how many of his followers would be brave enough to return did confuse Harry a little, but he shrugged to himself. Whatever kept him from killing Harry was all to the better and it was definitely an improvement on the rather terrifying history lesson detailing what a complete psychopath the man was afterwards.

That went on for a good five to ten minutes before Voldemort scowled to himself and looked around, apparently impatient for whatever he was expecting to happen. He whipped his wand over at Wormtail, where he was sobbing over his bleeding arm and attempting to staunch the flow, and lifted him in the air to pull him over to himself.

"Wormtail. Where are my Death Eaters? Tell me!"

A sob wracked Peter and he sniveled out, "I don't know, Master, I am here am I not? Surely they will come. B-b-be patient, though p-perhaps you might, it is just, my arm you see..."

At this, Harry blinked and said, "Umm, followers? You mean Death Eaters?" He snickered. He wasn't sure exactly what was going on here, but there was no way that Voldemort could be this out of the loop, could he? Wormtail maybe, I mean, rats don't really have a lot of opportunity to read the paper or textbooks over the years, but you would think Voldemort would have done a little research while he was in Quirrel at least.

When Voldemort's attentions whipped back to him, Harry cursed in his head. He hadn't really thought that through. Oh well, nothing to do about it now.

"What was that, boy?" He flung away Pettigrew with a wave of his wand and turned his attention fully upon the Boy-Who-Lived. "What are you laughing about, you little pustule!"

The Crucio that followed let Harry know that laughing had been as poor a choice as he expected. After he finishing gasping though, Voldemort raised his wand slightly and Harry felt his head being tipped back.

"I will ask again. What do you know, boy?"

Harry blinked, then finally just said cautiously. "Umm, they're all dead." He paused, then corrected himself. He wasn't sure exactly how well Voldemort could detect lies. "Well, not all dead, some are insane, there's a few in comas. I think one or two might have just lost their magic. Oh, and there's at least one that is petrified."

Voldemort hissed and Harry interpreted it as "deceit" in Parseltongue. He didn't particularly want to let Voldemort know about that little ability though, so he waited until it was repeated in English. "You lie. I looked up the court records myself, the fools in the Wizengamot pardoned nearly all of my traitorous followers. All received a simple two year sentence of community service save those truly loyal, who accepted Azkaban on my behalf."

"Well, yes. Oh, I did forget about the Death Eaters in Azkaban, but they received the Dementor's Kiss last summer. So I guess they fall into the coma category."

Voldemort's eyes narrowed and Harry would have slapped a hand to his head as his scar flared with pain, instead he screwed his eyes shut and for some reason that helped.

"You do not lie... How, how is this possible? If that fool Dumbledore could not get my followers convicted, how is it that he managed to push through a Kiss on those already imprisoned?"

Harry peeked with one eye and when that didn't cause any pain he opened both again, watching as Voldemort paced, his robes flaring wildly. Pettigrew was no longer crying, he was much too silent in fact and Harry wasn't entirely sure he was still alive.

Shrugging, he figured it wouldn't hurt any worse to tell Voldemort than it would to try and deny him the knowledge. He wasn't sure what the psycho would do with it anyway. "Well, I don't know if you heard, but last year, Sirius Black escaped from Azkaban. There was a big stink over it and it came out alright in the end other than Wormbutt escaping, but since he was supposedly your number one follower the Wizengamot didn't want to take any chances on him freeing your other followers. They passed a resolution condemning them in... I think Dumbledore said June or maybe July, and they were Kissed just before this school year."

"Black? Potter's best friend?" Voldemort's high pitched voice cracked. "That stupid ruse that Wormtail concocted destroyed my most loyal followers? Damn you, Wormtail! Crucio!" The red light that flashed out of his wand as the Dark Lord turned on Pettigrew didn't seem to do much. The body didn't even twitch, though he certainly saw Voldemort's eye do so after he stopped casting. "You worthless excuse for a wizard. You let yourself bleed to death?"

Harry grinned. So long as Voldemort didn't bother to blow up the corpse or something, that right there was Sirius' ticket to freedom. Having him alive would have been better, but this would do given how much influence Dumbledore had. He had to distract him before the rage he could see building spilled out.

"So, yeah, that was pretty much the last of your marked followers I think." He winced as Voldemort whipped around to him again, but the man didn't bother with a Crucio this time.

"What of Malfoy?" The man's voice was supernally calm.

"Permanent petrification my second year of Hogwarts. Your basilisk did him in actually, when he followed us into the Chamber of Secrets."

"Why, pray tell, would Malfoy have been at Hogwarts at all. No, how, did you... Never mind, just tell me what happened."

Harry fought a grin off of his face. Second year had been awesome. Not the petrifications and deaths, but the end had just been poetic irony. "Well, Malfoy finally lost his last appeal to get out of community service during my first year at Hogwarts. So he was our Dark Arts professor for second year. Way better than you, by the way. I know you were trying to be all incompetent and stuff, but we learned a ton from Malfoy." And Draco being all weepy and crying all year had been priceless.

Voldemort frowned. "Wait, Dark Arts professor?"

"Well, Defense Against the Dark Arts, technically," Harry allowed. "Most students just call it Dark Arts anymore though, given our usual professors."

"I am beginning to despise this word, but why would Malfoy have been the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor at Hogwarts. Surely, Dumbledore would have prevented one of my own followers from gaining access to the students, let alone you."

Harry shrugged and fought to keep a grin off of his face. This was by far Dumbledore's favorite story ever and he told it at the drop of the hat to almost anyone that he trusted because his faction in the Wizengamot meant the associated laws couldn't be repealed. "Nah, he's the one who got them all to take the position. They all have to serve two years of community service as the Dark Arts professor for Hogwarts. It was part of the deal he made with the Wizengamot when they wanted to give them all reduced sentences. They take a binding oath not to harm the students while they're there and then serve two years service."

He paused for effect as he saw Voldemort's eyes start to peer into the distance, his control broken enough that he was muttering to himself as he pieced it together. Finally, Harry added, just in case Voldemort didn't get it (or maybe just to rub it in before he did), "Though, just like it's been for the past 40 years or so, they never actually survive more than a year." And given the mandated second year... well, the curse had to be particularly thorough to insure they weren't coming back.

Voldemort's jaw worked, his eyes burned with a red fire, and he finally let out a wordless scream. It really was a beautiful sight. Harry had a little experience with the Pensieve in Dumbledore's office, the Headmaster had shown him a few memories of the Death Eaters who had come begging to get out of community service and dropped particularly choice pieces of information for it.

Harry had been really surprised when Dumbledore started pulling him in during third and fourth year, after the diary had come to light.

That wasn't really important right now though. What mattered was that he was trying his hardest to keep this memory pristine just so he could show it to Dumbledore, Sirius, Remus, and his friends. Assuming he survived this anyway and the best way to do that was to keep Voldemort talking.

When the screaming and cursing of Dumbledore started dying down, Harry continued his story. "Anyway, Malfoy had a plan to try and survive your curse. He gave your diary to a first year girl before classes began in the summer, basically avoiding the oath he had to take when he was sworn in as a Professor. That led to a little mini-you or something possessing her and letting your basilisk loose on the school that caused all sorts of problems.

"Professor Malfoy was basically hoping for you to get strong enough to take her over entirely, but she ended up down in the Chamber of Secrets where he didn't have access to her, so he followed me and Ron down there to rescue her. We went down into the Chamber and mini-you was kind of sucking Ginny's lifeforce out to create a new you.

"It was really getting near to the end of the school year though and Professor Malfoy was impatient, so he started trying to order mini-you to declare the curse null and void before he was completely done. Apparently you weren't any more keen on taking orders when you were a 6th-year than you are now though, so mini-you called down the basilisk. The professor ended up petrified then bitten by the basilisk and things got pretty hectic, but at the end I had killed the basilisk, destroyed your diary, and the day was saved."

That had been a good day. Scary, but good. Malfoy was pretty much permanently petrified because if they ever let him out the Basilisk Venom would kill him almost instantly. Draco still seemed to have some hope, but he couldn't see Fawkes or another phoenix ever crying over Lucius Malfoy and as far as he knew two years of research by the Slytherin still hadn't uncovered anything else that could counteract the venom.

Voldemort by this point, was completely silent and Harry decided not to press his luck too far, so he shut up.

"I assume," the snake-like man finally said in his high pitched voice, control apparently reacquired, "That a similar story can be told for each of the years subsequent to my death. Ten Death Eaters murdered through an act of legislation, plus the 11th in your second year of school and another half dozen last summer. Why..." He paused, eyes closed as he thought through the problem. "No, the Philosopher's Stone was a trap. I knew as much when I found out about it and possessed that fool Quirrel. Dumbledore was apparently a step further ahead of me than I thought, however, if he did not arrange for a patsy to fill it. No wonder the little coward moaned so about taking the Defense position, despite his worthless mind nearly being shredded by my possession."

Walking up to Harry, Voldemort used a finger this time to push up his chin, capturing it despite Harry flinching away from the expected burning sensation. It didn't come, which actually made Harry more scared than he had been earlier. He had kind of been hoping there was a chance that might prevent him from being killed outright.

"As you can see, Potter," his enemy said, "I have overcome your mother's foolish protection. Her sacrifice will ultimately have been in vain. My power is greater than it has ever been, even without my followers. I will know, however, what happened to the rest. While they were never great in number, still I had more than have been accounted for in your little tale. Severus at the least..."

He paused, then his eyes widened abruptly. Harry fought to keep a grin off of his face and hoped it had been long enough. Voldemort grabbed his shoulder a moment later, the chains falling off without even a gesture on his part, then turned, his hands digging into Harry's collarbone painfully. There was a lurch and then it felt like Harry had been flung into a wall headfirst. He stumbled to his knees as Voldemort's grip failed, but recalled the lessons of Professor Malfoy and Moody and rolled away before diving behind a gravestone.

"Portus." The word was followed moments later by a curse from Voldemort, but Harry didn't waste the time to look and see what he was doing. Instead he got to his feet, still crouched, and darted from gravestone to gravestone as quietly as he could. He wished he had brought his Cloak into the 3rd trial, but his best bet of surviving, other than Voldemort never finding him, was to retrieve his wand.

Flashes of red light were beginning to fly through the air and a quick glance up revealed that Voldemort was as well. He paused for a moment, flabbergasted by what he had been told was an impossible feat, then his eyes widened as Voldemort seemed to hone in on his position.

Abandoning stealth, Harry dived over the gravestone he was standing behind as a flash of green light lanced down where he had been standing moments before that. Rolling and ignoring the flash of pain from where his arm had been laid open by Wormtail, he ran like he had never run before. As soon as he was within range of Pettigrew's body he dived, snatching up the wand that was poking out of the corpse's pocket and rolling over and over until he landed on his back facing Voldemort in the air.

The actinic green light of a Killing Curse was already boiling out of the wand that was pointed at him and Harry was thrown momentarily back to the dueling club from second year. He had learned a lot that year about protecting himself against other wizards, but that first lesson had always stuck the best.

"EXPELLIARAMUS!"

The red lights of stunners and disarming charms were already flying towards Voldemort from what seemed like a dozen directions, combined with other curses he was sure would do far more than that, and bouncing off of whatever shield the Dark Lord had erected around himself. Still, it was the only thing that came to mind and he had to try something- he couldn't just lie there and die like some lump or sacrificial lamb.

When the spells met, Harry was completely unprepared for the weird golden light that speared out from the point of collision and connected his wand to that of his enemy. Beginning to float off the ground as the effect increased was even less expected, but it just kept getting more unbelievable as it went- the unearthly music, the ethereal whispers, Cedric, the old man, and then... his parents.

When they returned, Harry felt his heart soar and he never thought he could be so happy. The old man and Cedric just gave him nods and encouragement, then went to distract Voldemort, his mother and father, however, came to him and placed their hands upon his shoulders. As Dumbledore, Snape, Remus, and two or three others walked out of the gloom though, they didn't bother with exortations.

"Harry," his mother said, her voice filled with a fondness and love he had never heard directed towards himself prior to this moment, "you have done an amazing job here. Regardless of what happens... well, it seems as if Voldemort is finished here anyway. So I wanted to take the moment to tell you how very much I love you."

His father grinned and took a moment to wave to a dumbstruck Remus, then said, "Same here, kiddo. Don't ever let anyone tell you that we didn't love you. We won't linger long after this, but know that we're always here." He let one hand hover over Harry's heart, and despite the smoky, shadowy form that he held, Harry could feel a slight pressure.

His mother bent over and kissed him lightly on the cheek as his hands started to shake from the pressure of holding his wand, then said, "Go ahead, Harry. Break the connection when we say." His father and mother held up their hands to the others who were by this point simply staring at the spectacle, pointed at Voldemort, then held up one finger, two fingers, and as they raised the third finger whispered, "Do it now."

Harry screamed out the last word at the same time and then wrenched his wand away from Voldemort. As Dumbledore, Remus, and the others took advantage of the moment of surprise and the charge of the old man to overwhelm Voldemort, Cedric's shadowy figure had floated over to a witch and wizard that Harry didn't recognize while Harry's own parents stayed with him. As they watched Voldemort fall from the sky together, apparently unconscious, he had the pleasant experience of receiving the first hug he could actually remember from his parents even as they faded away.

It had been a good day.

When the service lift doors opened and he stepped out into the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic, the first thing Sirius saw was Harry breaking into a wide grin. His godson just about apparated across the room, stopping just before he plowed into him and then stared up at him anxiously.

"Well?"

Sirius raised an eyebrow, then looked around. "Well what? I'm standing here, aren't I? I'm free!" He was less than impressed with Harry's dismissive snort. The least the brat could have done was congratulate him on his escape from a Dementor's Kiss on sight sentence.

"I knew that was happening," Harry said with a wave of his hand. "Dumbledore said he had the votes for it with Pettigrew's body. I want to know about the other thing!"

"Oooh, that..." Sirius pretended to search himself, patting down pockets. He couldn't really help himself after all this time- he had 11 years of teasing and pranking to make up. "I think I have that judgement around here somewhere."

"Just tell him, you prat." Remus stepped up to the pair after having taken a more sedate pace, smirking as he cuffed him on the shoulder.

Sirius scowled at his friend, then shrugged and grinned widely. "They said yes. Not much call for blood wards with Voldieshorts on lockdown and every known and potential Death Eater either dead, disabled, or pissing his pants over the invincible duo of Harry Potter and Dumbledore."

"YES!" Harry jumped, his fist rocketing into the air. "No more Dursley's!"

"Ahh, there is one thing that didn't quite work out in my favor, though," Sirius interrupted. This caused Remus and Harry to turn to him, Harry stilling his impromptu celebration.

"What is it?"

Sirius rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "Well, unfortunately, during the questioning the whole Animagi thing came out. Dumbledore couldn't get them to drop the charge entirely for time served." Which was complete bullshit honestly, he had a good 13 years in Azkaban and illegal Animagus was a five year sentence.

He shrugged. "But it's not too bad. All I got was a couple years of community service."

Harry and Remus both blanched, then dived for the service lift, pounding the buttons even as they yelled imprecations at Dumbledore that Sirius was 99% sure couldn't be heard from the caribbean island he had recommended to the old man after the trial was over. It was apparently going to be his first real vacation in something like 20 years and despite the whole 'not freeing Sirius from hell on earth when he had the chance', he thought the man deserved it. He could get behind a few of the other comments though.

He shrugged. He wasn't sure why spending two years helping out in the extensive spell damage ward at St. Mungos was worth calling for the overthrow of the Ministry, but he was sure he'd find out eventually.