The Butcher of Hogwarts

Disclaimer

Harry Potter and associated content are the property of their respective owners – I am definitely not one of them.

Notes

The story has mostly followed canon till the escape from Gringotts. There are a few minor divergences that will be explained in the appropriate context.

Italicised paragraphs are flashbacks.

Some reviewers have pointed that the narrative in this chapter is somewhat hard to follow. To clarify, there are three different narratives in this chapter.
— The first one is the main narrative. It describes things as they happen in the present (from the characters' point of view). It is written in indefinite and continuous tenses. For example — Harry did something, Harry was doing something etc.
— The second one describes something that happened in the past (from the characters' point of view). It is written in perfect and perfect continuous tenses. For example — Harry had done something, Harry had been doing something etc.
— The third one describes flashbacks. It is written in italics. While it looks similar to the first one, the narrator is describing events that happened in the past (from the characters' point of view) by putting themselves in the same timeframe as the events.

I still like to think that the narrative is clear from the context, but I added the explanation above based on the reviews I got. Please read and let me know what you think.

It was a nice warm sunny day in London. Diagon Alley, the primary commercial district of magical Britain, was teeming with witches and wizards going about their business. The only sign of anything unusual was the sight of some strangely dressed people looking at various storefronts selling merchandise that they had only heard of in fiction and myths — merchandise ranging from flying broomsticks to wands, from parchments and quills to robes and cloaks, from owls to snakes. . . While most of them were looking with a sense of awe and curiosity on their faces, there we some who were barely concealing the disgust or fear they felt.

They were muggles — people born without the gift of magic in their blood. One might wonder about the presence of muggles in a magical shopping district — especially since the Statue of Secrecy enacted by the magical governments all over the world forbade witches and wizards from revealing the existence of magic to muggles. But these were special muggles. They were special because they had at least one child that was magical — and hence, were exempt from some of the restrictions imposed by the Statue.

The reason for the presence of the muggles in Diagon Alley was simple — as any long-time business owner in the street could tell you — the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, arguably the premier school of magic in all of Europe, had started dispatching letters inviting students for the upcoming academic year. Many of the establishments in the alley expected to see more business in the upcoming few weeks than the rest of the year combined.

One of the muggles wandering in the alley was a Mr. Joseph Evans, who was escorting his fifteen-year-old daughter, Lily. Lily was going to start her fifth year at Hogwarts on the first of September. Ordinarily, she would have come with both her parents — but her sister, Petunia, who was not a witch, had refused to set foot in what she called the Freaky Alley. Mrs. Evans had decided to stay back with her.

The Evans parents were in the strongly in the camp of muggles who had been delighted to discover the hidden world of magic — not repulsed by it. Mr. Evans smiled at Lily who excitedly explained about anything that looked even remotely interesting.

They were walking towards Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions when it happened. Lily found herself sprawled on the cobbled street — she had not been paying attention to where she was going as she excitedly talked about the latest model of telescope she had seen displayed in one of the storefronts.

Her eyes widened as she realised what had happened — she had run into a noble looking wizard wearing rather expensive looking robes. While she couldn't discern his features because he had kept his hood up, she could tell he came from one of the rich pureblood families — no-one else would bother with such an attire just for a stroll down the Diagon — even if they could afford it in the first place.

"I apologise, Miss. I wasn't looking where I was going," said the unknown wizard, offering his hand to help her up.

"It was my fault. I got a bit carried away. I am really sorry," apologised Lily, more than a little intimidated.

"It is quite understandable," the wizard chuckled as he waved his wand to help her father gather her things which were all over the place.

"Thank you!" Lily said shyly. She had been afraid that the wizard might end up calling her names — or insulting her heritage. It is something she had gotten used to over the last four years at Hogwarts. But she didn't want her father to hear any of it. She knew he would not let a slur against his daughter lie — and any retaliation could potentially land them in heaps of trouble.

"Think nothing of it, Miss. Now, I must be going. I have some rather urgent business to attend to," replied the wizard as he stepped towards the Gringotts Wizarding Bank.

The last thing she noticed as he turned away was his eyes, which were the exact same colour and shape as her own, except they appeared to be glowing slightly.

Harry Potter's emotions were all over the place. He had just met the woman — girl — who would go on to become his mother. He wanted to talk to her, to tell her who he was, but he couldn't really do that — not without raising some awkward questions. He may not have been an expert, but he was confident that no teenage girl would like to meet her future son who was older than herself — especially if the son in question looked like the carbon copy of a boy whose guts she hated. So, he had behaved like a somewhat snobbish stranger. He was glad he had had the foresight to keep his hood up and apply the Notice-Me-Not charm on his face.

He took a deep breath to compose himself before entering his destination — Gringotts Wizarding Bank. He couldn't help but reminisce about the last time he had been into the bank. He could remember it as it had happened yesterday — even though more than two months had passed — at least from his prospective — since that fateful day that had set into motion the chain of events leading to his current predicament.

Harry, along with his closest friends, Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger, had broken into Gringotts. One might think they wanted the riches contained within the deep caverns of the bank, but they had never even thought about it. Their sole objective had been the capture of a small golden cup which had once belonged to Helga Hufflepuff — one of the founders of the Hogwarts, and arguably, the modern British magical society.

While the cup in question was supposed to have tremendous historical value, and perhaps some magical properties, that is not what Harry and friends were after. The cup was also one of the anchors protecting Lord Voldemort, perhaps the worst dark wizard in the history, from being killed. It was a Horcrux — a container that held a portion of the self-styled dark lord's soul.

And they had succeeded in what most would have claimed to be a fool's errand! Thanks to some skilled wand work by the trio, and a lot of sheer dumb luck, they had managed to escape with the cup and nothing more than a few minor scratches and burns. However, their escape had not been subtle. It's hard to be subtle when you escape one of the most heavily secured places in Wizarding Britain, situated in a busy shopping centre, riding a dragon, of all things.

The Dark Lord had found out about the stolen Horcrux in a matter of hours. So terrible had his rage been upon hearing the news that he had killed the news-bearer on the spot, along with many of his minions in attendance. Thanks to the connection he had shared with the Dark Lord, Harry had witnessed these events unfold through Voldemort's own eyes. The very same connection had allowed him to figure out that the last remaining inanimate Horcrux was at Hogwarts. Believing that it was not very likely to be stolen from Hogwarts, Voldemort had decided to try and secure the other Horcruxes first — which, unknown to him, had already been destroyed.

Not willing to risk Voldemort moving the Horcrux elsewhere, they had decided to try and beat him to it — or rather, he had decided to. Hermione hadn't wanted to go there without a plan, but he had managed to convince her somehow. He now wished he hadn't. Not only had they failed to find the Horcrux, they had no means of destroying the one they did have — having lost the Sword of Gryffindor at Gringotts. In the hindsight, it was obvious that there just wasn't enough time to comb the castle before Voldemort came calling.

It wasn't a battle; it was a massacre. They had barely managed to evacuate the younger students when Voldemort had attacked with a huge army of Death Eaters, giants, dementors, inferi, trolls, werewolves, vampires and countless other dark creatures. The once legendary defences of the castle had crumbled against the determined onslaught of Voldemort's curse breakers within minutes. And then they had been sitting ducks. There was no time to organise any kind of defence. The anti-apparition and portkey enchantments meant to protect the castle from intruders had turned on its inhabitants — they couldn't even run away. They had been surrounded, literally and figuratively.

The defenders of Hogwarts had fought bravely. They had taken out a large chunk out of the invading army, but they were outnumbered at least three to one. Voldemort hadn't even bothered to join the battle — he had simply waited in the Forbidden Forest with his top lieutenants. Halfway through the battle, he had asked for Harry's surrender in exchange for sparing the remaining defenders. Having no other choice, Harry had complied, despite vehement protests from his friends and allies.

It was all for naught, though. Voldemort had reneged on his promise. He had wanted to make an example of what happened to those who continued to defy him. Harry had watched helplessly as Voldemort and his minions had slaughtered his friends, his teachers, the remaining students, the remnants of the Order of the Phoenix and anyone else who had taken up arms against him. He had gone nearly catatonic at the sight of the bodies of Ron, Hermione, Ginny, Luna, Neville, Remus, Tonks, Fred, George, Arthur, Molly and countless others piled together.

Having slaughtered almost everyone, Voldemort had finally released him from his bindings. He hadn't bothered with a duel or monologue this time. Apparently, he had learnt his lesson from their past encounters. The bindings had barely vanished when he had hit him with a Killing Curse.

And Harry had found himself facing his old headmaster at a place that reminded him of King's Cross.

"You are dead!" Harry exclaimed.

"Indeed," Dumbledore exhaled.

"Then I guess I am dead as well," sighed Harry.

"Not quite, but it doesn't really matter either way now, does it?"

"What do you mean?"

"What have you done, Harry?" Dumbledore looked at him with a look of extreme disappointment on his face.

"What have I. . . done?" Harry blinked owlishly. Then it came to him — the battle of Hogwarts — the deaths of his friends — he choked back a sob.

"Why did you have to kill Severus, Harry?"

"Excuse me?"

"You are, or should I say — were — a Horcrux," Dumbledore sighed, nodding towards the ugly baby-like creature stuffed under one of the chairs. "I had instructed Severus to inform you of this when it seemed like all the Horcruxes, except for the snake, had been destroyed."

"Wait, Snape knew about the Horcruxes?" asked a surprised Harry.

"No, he did not. I had merely requested him to inform you if there ever came a time when Voldemort grew overly protective of his snake — more so than he usually is."

"And what exactly was I supposed to do with the information?"

"You were supposed to surrender to Voldemort and let him hit you with a Killing Curse. Your willing sacrifice would have protected the rest of your friends from Voldemort's wrath — just the way your mother's did for you. You ruined my carefully constructed plan by killing poor Severus before the battle even started."

Harry couldn't help himself, he chuckled mirthlessly — which turned into a full belly laugh within moments.

Dumbledore was not pleased. "Did I say something humorous, Harry?"

Harry was beyond furious, "What did you think I'd do when I encountered the traitor?"

"Severus was no traitor," Dumbledore replied. "I had complete faith in his abilities to protect himself. What I had never expected was for you to curse him when his back was turned — with the Killing Curse, no less! I thought I had thought you better"

Harry was left gaping for a few moments.

"How was I supposed to know that?" he finally asked. "From where I stood, it looked like a do-or-die situation. I needed to end that duel so Professor McGonagall could help me."

"You could haven incapacitated him. . ."

"Yeah, that's worked out so well in the past," Harry replied sarcastically.

Dumbledore opened his mouth to say something, but Harry beat him to it.

"You have to be kidding me," he said in disbelief as realisation dawned on him. "If Snape was not a traitor, that means. . . that means, you planned your own death! You knew Malfoy had succeeded, didn't you? That is why you were so unfazed that night when I told you I had heard them celebrating," he accused.

"Of course, I did. I was already dying because of the curse from the ring. . ."

Harry's mind went in overdrive as he started connecting the dots. "That doe Patronus was Snape's?"

"Indeed."

"And the idea of using six Harry Potters to escort me? I always found it hard to believe that someone like Mundungus had come up with something as elaborate as that — only you could've come up with something that convoluted. And I don't reckon that the Death Eaters appearance that night was simply bad luck."

The look on Dumbledore's face was enough to answer his question.

"Why?"

"Severus had to remain in Voldemort's good graces. . ."

"You. . . you bastard!" shouted Harry, suddenly feeling extremely angry. "We lost Mad-Eye so your precious pet Death Eater could retain his cover? The rest of us barely escaped with our lives that night! How many other members of the Order did we lose thanks to him?"

"Those were necessary sacrifices. It was imperative that we kept a spy in Tom's ranks. Everyone who joined the Order knew the risks."

"I am sure they did," Harry scoffed. "I am sure they knew that their illustrious leader could sell them out to Voldemort whenever it was convenient. . ."

"Convenient? A sacrifice is never convenient. Don't presume to lecture me about things you can't hope to comprehend, Mr. Potter!" The old wizard finally allowed some of the anger he was feeling to seep into his voice. "You don't understand. . ."

"Oh I understand, alright — I understand better than I ever did! It was for the fabled Greater Good, wasn't it?" Harry hissed back.

The wizened old wizard looked taken aback at having his past thrown at his face.

"Is that why you refused to teach me any more magic than was absolutely necessary? To ensure that I couldn't fight the destiny you had planned for me?"

Dumbledore sighed.

"I never expected you to be able to defeat him in a duel. . . I seriously doubt I could defeat him in a duel, if I may say so myself. He has got decades of experience over you. The gap in the level of skills is simply too huge to bridge with a — what is the phrase — a crash course, in magic." Dumbledore sighed again, "Had everything gone as I had envisioned, Voldemort would have used the Killing Curse on you the moment you surrendered. Your willing sacrifice would have provided everyone else with enough protection to survive the night."

"In case you did not notice, I did end up surrendering myself to the tender mercies of Voldemort. . ."

". . . only after you had killed so many of his Death Eaters. You made him angry enough to want to make an example out of you. He normally wouldn't have wanted to spill magical blood — at least not publically. Trust me, I know Tom very well."

Harry was stunned into speechlessness, his respect for the man he had once seen as a mentor dropping to rock bottom.

"You don't even see it, do you? The gigantic flaw in that grand plan of yours?"

"What flaw is that?" the old Headmaster asked testily.

"Your entire plan was based on how you expected everyone, including Voldemort, to behave. It depended very heavily on everyone acting their part perfectly. . . There was no margin for error. . . No contingencies. . . All it took to unravel your grand plan was some slight divergences from the course you had – envisioned," Harry said the last part mockingly.

"I am sure. . . "

"Spare me," spat the boy-who-lived. "Between Voldemort's tendency to kill his own followers, and Snape's status as the traitor in the eyes of the Order, what were the odds of him even staying alive till the end? And it is war. Did you really expect me to stun them all so they could be happily revived by their comrades? Just how naïve are you?"

For the first time in Harry's memory, Dumbledore seemed to be at a loss for words.

"What happens now?" asked Harry, when Dumbledore didn't seem inclined to speak anymore.

"You have to make a choice, Harry," said Dumbledore, looking terribly lost. "You can choose to move on, or you can go back. . ."

The choice was easy for him — he had no desire to go back. But a voice in the back of his head, one that sounded a lot like a combination of Sirius and Ron, told him that if he was going to end up dead no matter what, he might as well to do as much damage as he could to the abomination that had destroyed everything he had ever cared for.

"I want to go back!" he proclaimed.

The King's Cross had faded away slowly and he had found himself lying on his back. Every bone, every muscle in his body had seemingly protested his decision to come back.

Opening his eyes a fraction, Harry had found Voldemort standing with his back to him, monologuing away as usual. The Death Eaters were hanging on to every word, laughing and jeering at appropriate moments. That is when he had noticed something that was slightly in his favour. Voldemort's wand — the Elder Wand — which he was holding lazily, was well within his reach. With lightening quick reflexes honed from being a seeker for years, he had snatched the wand away and cast a Sectumsempra before the Dark Lord or his Death Eaters could even comprehend what was going on. Taking the opportunity, Harry had made a run for it, covering his retreat with as many curses as he could fire while running. He needn't have bothered, though. By the time, the Death Eaters had started retaliating in earnest, he had already crossed the edge of the anti-apparition enchantments.

As he had crossed the boundary, he had turned around and cast the one curse he had never used before — not because he didn't think he could cast it — but because he didn't think he could control it.

"Arcesso Fiendfyre!"

The last sight he had seen as he had turned on the spot to disapparate was that of Voldemort, devoid of his wand arm, staring in shock at the hellfire advancing rapidly towards him, consuming everything in its way.

As he had succumbed to the sensation of being squeezed through a narrow tube, he had realised, too late to do anything about it, that he had a tag along.

Fortunately for him, the apparition had turned out to be more jarring for the passenger than it had for him. He had managed to disarm, stun and bind the tag-along before they could recover from it.

He had apparated to Grimmauld Place without thinking. But he would reflect later that it was probably the safest choice. With the death of everyone who knew the secret of the place at Hogwarts, he was the only secret keeper left. The only other Order member alive was Mundungus, whom Hermione had obilivated months ago — while they were still searching for the Slytherin's locket.

And that is how he had found himself in the basement, three days later, staring at the occupant of a prison like cell built in the corner farthest away from the door.

"Rennervate," Harry intoned, pointing the Elder Wand — which he was using as his own since he had found out that it worked better than the one he had stolen from Draco at Malfoy Manor — to the prone figure behind the bars.

The target of the spell stirred weakly. Being stunned for three days straight is not exactly healthy, after all.

"What is the meaning of this? Release me immediately!" the female prisoner shouted once she had gathered her bearing.

"And why would I do that, Bellatrix?" asked Harry, suppressing every bit of emotion he felt.

"Potter?" asked the dark-haired witch, finally realising the identity of her captor. "Do you really believe you can keep me captive here for long? I'll get out of here in a matter of minutes, and when I do, I swear to the Dark Lord, I'll — "

"What? You'll kill me?" Harry cut her off mid tirade. "Your master has been trying to do that since I was born. I'm still here, ain't I?"

"In case you didn't notice, the Dark Lord annihilated all your forces at Hogwarts, Potter. Do you honestly think you can win on your own? Or that anyone will come to your aid after the example he set?"

Harry's shoulders slumped, the memory of his friends' dead bodies all too fresh in his mind. Bellatrix noticed this and pressed on in her irritating mock baby voice.

"Ooooh, is little baby Hawwy gonna cwy now? All his little fwiends are dead!" she cackled away madly.

"Shut up!" roared Harry. "Don't you dare insult them. They were braver then you or your pathetic master. Crucio!"

Bellatrix screamed. Unlike the last time she had faced Him, Harry had figured out how to cast the curse. She would later reflect that the curse was more painful than even Voldemort's.

Harry lifted the curse after a few seconds.

"Seems like you finally learnt how to cast that curse," the deranged witch remarked softly once she had recovered enough. "Your friends may have been brave, but you are a filthy coward. You couldn't even die honourably, could you? You ran away — as always, didn't you, you spineless filthy half-blood?" she nearly shouted the last part.

It was a low blow — especially since Harry himself felt that way to an extent. He quashed the feeling, not wanting to show weakness.

"Did you know your master is a filthy half-blood himself? Or has he been pretending to be a pureblood? In fact, according to the latest ministry classifications, the son of a squib and a muggle is a — a mudblood," Harry sneered, the last word making him feel incredibly guilty as he remembered the look on Hermione's face every time she had been called that.

"What are you babbling about, Potter?" snapped Bellatrix, outraged. "The Dark Lord is the heir of Salazar Slytherin. There is no way he can be anything but a pureblood. You are lying, you — "

"Am I now?" Harry smiled cruelly. "Do you even know his true name? Tom Marvolo Riddle," he traced the fiery letter in the air — not unlike the way Tom had done in the Chamber of Secrets.

"Is that supposed to mean — "

Harry waved the wand rearranging the letters into "I AM LORD VOLDEMORT"

" — something?" Bellatrix's eyes widened for a fraction of a second, before they narrowed. "And that proves everything," she continued sarcastically. "Did the old fool invent this crackpot story, or did you come up with it all by yourself?"

"Tom told me himself."

You are lying! You dare besmirch the Dark Lord's heritage? He will teach you your place — like he did your blood-traitor of a father — "

Harry could feel blood rushing to his head. "Do you even know what a blood-traitor means?" he ground out, trying to keep his temper in check.

"Someone who betrays their blood — like your father —

"Really? Was it my father who betrayed his blood? Was it him who killed his own family?" Harry shouted, abandoning any attempts to control his temper, "Take a good look at yourself and tell me who the blood-traitor between you and my father is!"

He slammed the door shut behind him, not waiting to listen to her response.

Harry was so lost in his thoughts that he hadn't realised that he had reached one of the counters that was free and had spent the last couple of minutes staring at the goblin behind it without saying anything. As one would expect, the goblin was thoroughly annoyed.

'So much for the first impressions,' thought Harry.

"I am sorry, I was lost in thought. . ."

"That is none of my business. You are wasting my time," sneered the goblin.

"I hope this is a suitable compensation for your time," replied Harry, placing five Galleons on the counter.

The Goblin looked slightly mollified, "What do you want?"

"I am here for a pre-arranged meeting," replied Harry.

Very few people knew that while Gringotts was officially a bank, the goblins provided a variety of other services for the wealthier clientele — for the right price, of course. Secure anonymous meeting rooms were one of them. They were normally used by those wanting to meet in a neutral territory. The goblins guaranteed that any foul play would be duly punished.

Harry had always found it amusing that wizards trusted goblins more than they trusted other wizards — despite the well-known fact that the goblins held the humans in contempt — and would rebel at the first opportunity they got. Wizards were so afraid of other wizards defrauding them that they would rather let goblins control their economy than let a wizard start a banking institution. The distrust, along with the lack of financial or economic studies — or even real mathematics, for that matter — in the wizarding world was the reason behind Gringotts' monopoly over the economy of magical Britain. According to Hermione, muggle-borns and half-bloods had floated the concept of a human operated bank at various points in the history. They had been shot down unanimously by the Ministry of Magic and the Wizengamot.

"Do you have the token?" asked the Goblin.

Harry produced the scroll he had received confirming the meeting.

"This seems to be in order. You are a bit early. Silvershark here will take you to a waiting room. As per the protocol, we cannot let you enter the actual meeting room until all the parties are present."

Harry nodded. He had expected nothing less.

As he waited for other participants to arrive, he continued his trip down the memory lane.

Harry hadn't had a clue about what to do with the insane witch he had somehow managed to capture. He had tried to cast the Killing Curse the moment he had realised her identity, but hadn't been able to summon the required hatred in his anguish and grief. Eventually, he had relieved her of all her weapons and tossed her in a cell in the basement.

He had spent the next two days wallowing in his misery, and trying to heal himself to the best of his abilities. He had never been as good at it as Hermione, but he didn't have her any more — a thought that had sent him into another bout of depression.

Fortunately, the potions cabinet had been well stocked from the days when the house had served as the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix.

Unfortunately, the same could be said about the liquor cabinet.

Having woken up horribly hung over for five days in row, Harry had finally stepped out of Grimmauld Place for the first time since the fateful night — under Glamour Charm and the Invisibility Cloak. His objective had been to get some food and news. The first one had proved to be easy — he had had a lot of practice during the last nine months on the run. He had simply grabbed some food from a muggle deli when no one was looking. He had left enough money to cover the costs.

The second item on the agenda had proved to be difficult, though. He had wanted to avoid the wizarding world completely till he could figure out the situation. He was not naïve enough to believe that he had killed Voldemort with last curse he had cast.

After what felt like hours loitering at the entrance to the Ministry of Magic, he had finally managed to nick a copy of the Daily Prophet with liberal use of Confounding, Notice-Me-Not and Summoning charms. Mission accomplished, he had walked a few blocks away before apparating back to Grimmauld Place.

THE BUTCHER OF HOGWARTS STILL AT LARGE

The Daily Prophet had printed an account of how he had supposedly held the students and the teachers hostage at Hogwarts and how he had burnt them all alive along with the school, when his demands had not been met. The article had gone on to praise the private citizens who had collaborated with the Aurors to try and deal with the Potter menace — they were slated to receive an Order of Merlin each. The official death toll of the battle had been reported to be 597. The bounty on his head had been raised from 10,000 to 20,000 Galleons.

Harry had tossed the paper into the fireplace in disgust.

Later that day, Harry had found himself descending the stairs leading to the basement once again, this time carrying some food and a shallow stone basin with odd runes and markings and runes along the edges — a Pensieve. It was one of the things he had liberated from Dumbledore's office after his death.

He found Bellatrix sitting in a corner of her cell. She looked up upon hearing the footsteps.

"What do you want, Potter?" she asked in an icy voice.

Harry levitated the food between the bars towards her, not trusting her enough to step closer to the cell. For a second, it seemed like she might reject it, but eventually her hunger won over her pride and she dove in, having gone hungry for five days in a row.

While Bellatrix was attacking her food, Harry conjured a stool and placed the Pensieve over it. He then withdrew some silvery strands of memory from his temple and deposited them in the basin.

"What the hell are you doing, Potter?"

Harry continued depositing memories without responding. Once he was done, he waited patiently for Bellatrix to finish her meal, which, unsurprisingly, took a short time — he had only given her enough to keep her alive, after all.

"Do you what this is?" Harry asked, pointing towards the basin.

"Of course, I do, moron. What are you trying to pull now?"

Without responding, Harry tapped a rune on the bowl, causing a projection to rise out of it. It showed a younger Harry running towards something.

"What is this memory?" demanded Bellatrix.

"This is my memory of the Chamber of Secrets. Now shut up and watch."

"If I say so myself, Harry, I've always been able to charm the people I needed…"

"Voldemort, is my past, present, and future, Harry Potter. . ."

"You see? It was a name I was already using at Hogwarts, to my most intimate friends only, of course. You think I was going to use my filthy Muggle father's name forever? I, in whose veins runs the blood of Salazar Slytherin himself, through my mother's side? I, keep the name of a foul, common Muggle, who abandoned me even before I was born, just because he found out his wife was a witch? No, Harry — I fashioned myself a new name, a name I knew wizards everywhere would one day fear to speak, when I had become the greatest sorcerer in the world!"

"You stand, Harry Potter, upon the remains of my late father," he hissed softly. "A Muggle and a fool. . ."

"You see that house upon the hillside, Potter? My father lived there. My mother, a witch who lived here in this village, fell in love with him. But he abandoned her when she told him what she was. . . He didn't like magic, my father. . ."

Bellatrix had watched wide-eyed as Harry played memory after memory. Once he had exhausted his own memories, he had proceeded to the set of memories Dumbledore had once shown him — taking care to avoid the ones that talked about the Horcruxes.

As the last memory had ended, he had vanished the stool and marched out of the basement — leaving a shell-shocked Bellatrix behind. While he had accepted that he couldn't bring himself to kill her in cold blood, there was nothing stopping him from tormenting her mentally. It had given him a modicum of satisfaction to know that his plan had not been a colossal failure.

Life at Grimmauld Place had settled in a rhythm for Harry. He would wake up, often with a massive hangover. Drinking till he passed out was the only way he could keep his nightmares at bay. Fortunately, the liquor cabinet had enough of hangover potion to last him for a while — perhaps longer than the liquor itself would — given the rate he had been consuming it at.

Once every few days, he would go out to forage for food and news — that is how he had found out that the bounty on his head had gone up to 25,000 Galleons. He had tried to keep his outings as rare and unpredictable as he could after that.

Once his injuries had healed, Harry had thrown himself into learning as much magic as he could. The Black family library — what was left of it after the great purge of 1995 anyway — had proved to be very helpful.

For some reason, he had found himself spending at least a couple of hours in the basement talking to Bellatrix. He had no idea why he had bothered. He was supposed to hate her — and at some level he did. But his hatred, his rage — his emotions — they all had felt muted, as if they had belonged to another Harry Potter. The only thing he had truly felt was hollowness — a strange detachedness that he couldn't begin to explain if he tried.

Bellatrix, on the other hand, apparently had a Multiple Personality Disorder. On some days, she had almost been sane — well, as sane as someone like Bellatrix Lestrange could be. On the other days, she had reverted to her deranged self — raging and throwing tantrums. Harry had learnt to leave her well alone when she was like that.

Travelling back in time had never been a part of his plans. He hadn't even known that it was possible to travel beyond a few hours in the past. No, he had thought of a very different plan.

He had never been under any delusion that he could take down Voldemort by adding a few extra spells to his repertoire. The power, skill and ruthlessness that Voldemort had displayed at Hogwarts had forced him to re-evaluate his own capabilities.

He hadn't planned on hiding out for the rest of his life at Grimmauld Place either. Though he thought it may have been ironic to hide out under the Invisibility Cloak — the same way his ancestor had allegedly done from Death.

No, he had planned to get out of Britain — out of Voldemort's circle of influence. He had realized that Aberforth had been right — he could never be safe in Britain. Harry had wished he had listened to him before he had charged into Hogwarts.

The only thing that had kept him going was the hope of returning to his homeland one day and exacting his vengeance on the monster that had destroyed everything he held dear.

Unfortunately, he had run into a snag the moment he had started planning his extended foreign trip, He had realised that he had no clue how to travel out of the country. He didn't have a passport — the Dursleys had never felt the need for him to have one — nor did he have any documentation in the muggle world to get one. And if there was a magical version of a passport, he couldn't very well march into the Ministry to get one. He had figured he'd need to build a completely new identity before he could go anywhere.

Money had turned out to be another problem. Between the inheritance from his parents and Sirius and his reluctance to splurge, he had a small fortune in wizarding currency. While he couldn't be considered filthy rich by any standards, he believed he could easily lead an upper middle-class life for years before he'd run out. Fortunately, Hermione had had the foresight to empty his vault before breaking into Gringotts. But Galleons, Sickles and Knuts were accepted in very few countries. The magical societies in most countries had simply adopted the muggle currency of the country. And the Goblins were unlikely to let him step into Gringotts ever again — even if he were willing to accept the measly exchange rate of five Pounds per Galleon.

Given that he was still being hunted aggressively, Harry had realised that he would need to wait for some time for things to settle down before he could even try to flee.

He had wished he could visit Andromeda and his godson, Teddy. However, he had never known where they lived. And he hadn't dared to send a message — afraid of putting them in more danger.

Six weeks had passed since the battle of Hogwarts — and Harry had yet to find a way to get out of the country. Worse, the hunt for him didn't seem to be showing any signs of slowing down. The total bounty on his head had reached 33,000 Galleons. Apparently, some prominent members of the society had joined hands to add to the 25,000 Galleon bounty that the Ministry had already placed on his head.

Desperate for any progress, he found himself walking towards the basement — praying that his captive would be in one of her rare cooperative moods. He did not really want to do this, but he had exhausted all other avenues. And he could always obilivate her of the conversation.

After the usual barbs and insults, he tried to steer the conversation in the direction he wanted.

"Have you ever been outside Britain?"

"Of course I have. The Blacks had dealings as far as India and China back in the day. I travelled a few times with my father and uncle," replied Bellatrix.

"How did you travel. I'd reckon it's hard to apparate that far. . ."

Bellatrix gave him a look that made it clear what she thought of his intellectual prowess. "We took international portkeys," she ground out.

"Ah. . . portkeys. Forgot about them," admitted Harry, mentally kicking himself for not thinking of them earlier.

"Obviously," sniped Bellatrix.

"And what about documents? Do you need a passport?"

Bellatrix narrowed her eyes, "Planning to run away, are we?"

Harry turned pink at being caught so easily.

"It won't work. The only place you can get a portkey is at the Ministry. . ."

"I could always make my own. . ."

"You are welcome to try," snapped the deranged witch. "You will have the law enforcement of the destination country at your back the moment you land. . ."

"What about the documents?"

"You need an International Travel Authorisation Letter, which, once again, can only be issued by the Ministry of Magic. Normally, you get one along with the international portkey. Trust me, you don't want to be caught in foreign territory without one."

Harry's shoulders sagged. He had guessed as much, but to have it confirmed made it real.

"How do I know you are not lying?" he asked suspiciously.

Bellatrix scoffed, "Go ahead and try for yourself. Just remember, you'll be extradited faster than you can say the word."

"I guess I could always travel like a muggle. I can confound them into thinking that I have all the documents I need. . ." Harry mumbled, mostly to himself. Bellatrix heard him nonetheless.

"Of course, you could travel like a filthy muggle," Bellatrix sneered. She may not be her insane self now, but one mention of muggles — or muggleborns for that matter — was often enough to drive her over the edge. "Why don't you give up your wand and then you can spend your life flying around in those contraptions to your heart's content?"

"What is your problem with muggles anyway?" Harry asked with genuine curiosity. He had heard pureblood fanatics raving about muggles, but Bellatrix's hatred had always seemed to be at a more personal level. "What did they ever do to you?"

"Muggles are barbarians! Didn't they teach you history at Hogwarts? Do you not know how they have prosecuted us throughout the ages? Thanks to them we can't even live freely! No! We have to hide our magic around them — as if we are the ones who are the freaks of nature. . ." Bellatrix was ranting now. "And remember the so-called World War you talked about?"

Harry did remember. A couple of weeks ago, he had somehow gotten into an argument with her about the World Wars, the Nazis and the parallels that Voldemort had with Hitler.

". . . think we were unaffected? No, those flying contraptions that rained fire from the sky did not discriminate between muggles and wizards! What right did they have to drag us into a war we had nothing to do with?" Bellatrix looked at him challengingly.

"How was it different from what your Lord and his minions are doing? Are they not dragging muggles into a war they have nothing to do with?"

"That is different!"

"Oh? How so?"

Bellatrix struggled to come up with answer — just like every other time he had dug deep into the roots of her beliefs. Finally, she turned the question on him, "How can you, of all people, not have a problem with muggles, Potter? I heard your muggle family were not exactly the pleasant sort?"

"That is simple, I judge people on their individual merits. I don't believe in stereotypes. . ."

"So you don't believe all Slytherins are evil?" she mocked.

Harry snorted, "Maybe when I was a naïve wide-eyed kid. . . When the only Slytherins I knew about were Voldemort and Malfoy and his ilk. One had murdered my parents, and the other was a snot nosed brat whose only talent was whining to his father. . ." He paused for second then spoke — in a tone reminiscent of a young Draco, "I am telling my father. . . Wait till my father hears of this. . ."

Bellatrix had an amused smile on her face, "He did do that, didn't he?"

"Yeah. Now that I think about it, if I hadn't met him and maybe, Ron, before the sorting, I might very well have been a Slytherin. . . The hat certainly wanted me there. . . I asked it to put me anywhere but Slytherin. . . I really wanted to stay away from Malfoy. . ."

Bellatrix was looking at him strangely, as if seeing him for the first time. "You are a strange one, Potter. Somehow, I just can't see a stereotypical Gryffindor becoming a Slytherin. . ."

There was an awkward pause in which Harry reminisced about his first year at Hogwarts. Unfortunately, that brought back the memories of his friends which he had been working very hard on keeping suppressed. He finally broke the silence, more to distract himself than anything else, and said, "You never answered my question. . ."

"Which one?"

"What did the muggles — or muggleborns, for that matter — ever do to you?"

"Weren't you listening. . ."

"That's not what I mean. Your hatred has always felt more personal – not like the rest of them. . ."

There was another awkward silence when Bellatrix seemed to be contemplating her answer.

"Nothing," she replied after a long pause.

"Really? Then why?" asked Harry, bewildered.

"I just follow my Lord's doctrine," replied the barely sane witch, pausing for dramatic effect, "To. The. Letter." She looked directly into his eyes emphasising the last three words.

Harry was stunned. He had never expected that for an answer. But then, Bellatrix had always seemed more fanatical than the rest of the Death Eaters put together.

"Why? What did he ever do for you?"

For a second, it seemed like Bellatrix was going to slip under the cover of insanity as she did so often, but then she spoke in a barely audible voice, a haunted look in her eyes.

"He saved me from the hell my life had become," she replied.

Harry didn't speak, hoping she would say more.

"What do you plan to do to me, Potter?" she finally asked, shaking herself out of her stupor.

"Huh?"

"If you are planning to get out of the country, it's not like you are going to keep me with you. . ."

Harry had considered his options in the past. It was true — he didn't have the resources to detain her indefinitely, regardless of his travel plans. She was a very capable witch. Sooner or later, she was going to find a way out. That was simply not something he was willing to consider — she was too dangerous to let go. The only other option was killing her, but while he had killed in the heat of the battle, he doubted he could bring himself to do it in cold blood — no matter how much he hated her.

"I don't know," he finally replied.

Bellatrix didn't respond. She seemed to be deep in thought — as if she was trying to decide something. After a while Harry realised that she wasn't going to say anymore. He vanished his chair and was about to leave the she called out.

"Wait!"

Harry turned back, "What?"

"What if I. . ." she hesitated, "what if I told you there is a way you can fix it all?"

"Fix what, exactly?"

"All of it."

"What do you mean?"

"When the Dark Lord heard that you had taken the Horcrux from my vault — yes, I figured out what it was months ago," she snapped when Harry showed signs of interrupting. "As I was saying, when he heard about it, he was furious, but more importantly, he was afraid. He disappeared for a couple of hours. . ."

Harry knew he had gone to secure his remaining Horcruxes.

"Once he came back, he ordered the inner circle to organise the attack. Normally, I'd be among the ones organising the forces, but he asked me to stay back. Once everyone had cleared out, he told me about a contingency plan in case things went wrong at Hogwarts. I was supposed to execute it if anything happened to Nagini. . . I suspect the snake is his second Horcrux. . ."

"More like the seventh," mumbled Harry, before he could stop himself.

"Seven?" whispered a shocked Bellatrix. "How is that even possible? And you destroyed them all?"

"Four of them. Hermione had the cup with her — and we never found the one hidden in Hogwarts. . ." Harry knew he wasn't supposed to tell anyone. But he didn't think it mattered anymore. Voldemort knew anyway.

"Did you make one yourself?"

"What? No!" Harry protested. "I'd rather die than do something that horrible!"

"How did you survive then? I saw you getting hit by the Killing Curse. Narcissa verified that you were dead. And the Dark Lord cast at least three Cruciatus Curses on your body. You didn't even twitch. No one has a pain tolerance that high!"

Harry hesitated, not sure if he could tell her. "Can we get back to the plan?"

"No. I need to know what kind of a person I am dealing with before I can tell you a secret as dangerous as this. I am not betraying one Dark Lord for another."

The irony of being judged by Bellatrix Lestrange, of all people, was not lost on Harry.

They stared at each other stubbornly for what seemed like ages — neither willing to give an inch.

Harry finally relented, "I did die. I was the sixth Horcrux. Tom didn't know about it, of course. . . The Killing Curse destroyed it, and I somehow survived. . . Perhaps I should have tried it on the other Horcruxes. . . Could've saved us a lot of trouble. . ."

Bellatrix gave him another one of her looks that clearly said, "What an idiot!"

"The sword — it was one of them, wasn't it?" she asked after a while, almost excitedly.

"No, that is what we were using to destroy them. It was imbibed with Basilisk venom from the time I used it to kill that ruddy thing in the Chamber of Secrets. Can we get back to the plan now?" Harry asked irritably.

It seemed like Bellatrix wanted to ask more questions, but decided to hold her tongue for the time being. "The Dark Lord has travelled extensively across the world. During his travels, he has found some esoteric magic and unique tools. One of them allows you to — for the lack of a better expression — travel back in time."

"You mean — like a Time Turner?"

"No, not like a Time Turner. A Time Turner doesn't allow you change anything that has already happened — and even the most powerful Time Turner is limited to a few days. We are talking about years — even decades — and you can change whatever you want."

She paused to let the implications of it sink in.

"How far did he want to go back?" Harry finally asked, feeling nervous at the prospect of Voldemort having access to such power. It was one thing to kill people, but the ability to prevent people from being born by altering the time line in the hands of someone like Voldemort was too scary to even think about.

"Twenty-three years."

"Why twenty-three?"

"The ritual allows you to travel only a certain number of years — seven, thirteen, twenty-three, thirty-seven — the magical primes. . ."

"The magical. . . what?"

"You didn't study Arithmancy, did you?" Harry shook his head. "Certain numbers have magical properties. . ."

"I have heard that before. . . So why twenty-three? Why not one of the others?"

"Don't ask me — I don't claim to know everything that goes on in his head," Bellatrix snapped.

"Why are you telling me all this?" Harry asked, suddenly very suspicious.

Bellatrix gave him an irritated look, "Isn't it obvious? I am asking if you would want to go back and fix things."

Harry had initially refused. He still remembered Hermione's warning from their third year.

"Awful things have happened when wizards have meddled with time," she had said.

But he had finally come around when Bellatrix had informed him of the magnitude of Voldemort's plans. Apparently, his explanation of the kind of power muggles were capable of wielding when driven into a corner had scared her more than he had expected.

Once he had come around, Harry had originally wanted to go back seven years, the lowest possible allowed by the ritual. He was afraid that the further he went, the more damage he was likely to cause by his actions.

But it turned out that choice had never been his to make. The ritual had already been prepared and Bellatrix did not know how to alter it. Voldemort had apparently figured out a way to convert rituals into tattoos — a technique common among Japanese wizards. He had prepared the ritual and imprinted the tattoo on Bellatrix — ready to be executed with the addition of the final component.

It was the final component that had Harry reconsidering his decision.

The final ingredient, according to Bellatrix, was the willing sacrifice of a powerful witch or wizard. She had apparently been devoted enough to Voldemort that he had trusted her with it.

Harry may have been many things, a cold-blooded killer he was not. He had almost decided to drop the idea when Bellatrix had set him straight.

"Even if you don't kill me, the Dark Lord will. I was not supposed to participate in the battle. I was to stay at his side at all times — ready to perform the ritual at a moment's notice. I defied that order by coming after you. And he will make it a lot more painful than it must be."

Harry still hadn't been convinced.

"Look Potter, my life is forfeit either way. At least this way, my death will not be completely meaningless," she had almost pleaded with him.

Harry had completely understood the sentiment. After all, he had chosen to return from dead with similar motives.

And that is why he had agreed to go through with it — however reluctantly.

The goblin — Silvershark — informed Harry that it was finally the time for the meeting and guided him to the massive ornate doors of a meeting room. The other participants were already waiting at the door with another goblin.

"You have exactly three hours. Your time will start the moment the door is closed," Silvershark informed them, pointing to the giant hourglass kept on the ornate table.

The door closed behind them as they entered the room, sealing it from all forms of spying, divining and scrying.

Harry finally took down his hood as the elderly couple sat on the opposite side of the table.

"Hello, Grandfather! Grandmother!" he said lamely, wishing he had come up with a better introduction.

Story Recommendation

Delenda Est by Lord Silvere. It is a great story — one of the two that inspired this one.

Author's Notes

Thank you for reading. I'd like to clarify a few things before someone points them out.

— Bellatrix didn't change overnight. There were a lot of factors involved. They will be revealed over time.
— If the chapter feels a bit rushed, it is because I didn't want to reiterate things already explained in the books. Upcoming chapters will be more descriptive.

Let me know what you think! Constructive criticism is welcome.

Published: May 11, 2017
Last Updated: May 30, 2017