AN: I OWN NOTHING

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Epilogue

"So, Harry. As Lucius doubtless has informed you, he will be meeting with a reporter soon"

Harry looked up, into his lord's gleaming eyes.

"He did, my lord"

"You mentioned, did you not, that there were events in your childhood that you would not like to be elaborated on?"

Harry nodded.

"Then you should tell Lucius"

"I-I. I killed two of the muggles. I don't want that coming out"

Lucius nodded. He was aware of Harry having killed one, by two? That was news to him.

"And-and I don't want it published. How the one treated me"

"What did he do?"

Harry looked back at the Dark Lord and averted his gaze.

"He-he did stuff to me"

"And how is Lucius to know what the reporter must not publish exactly?"

"Mr. Roberts. Just tell the reporter not to publish anything about Mr. Roberts"

"Harry"

Lucius had never heard the Dark Lord speak in such a gentle, loving tone.

"The more the wizarding world understand how terrible muggles are, the better our position will be"

Harry didn't say anything, didn't even look up.

"In fact, if the way you were treated comes to light, it would provide a perfect opportunity for you to take your revenge. If that place burned down a few days after the horrors it caused were made public knowledge, people would happily believe that it was someone who wanted to take revenge for the way their savior was treated"

Harry looked up, finally.

"I don't want to be looked at with pity. With...disgust" he all but whispered.

"And why would that happen?" The Dark Lord asked, but a horrible suspicion was dawning in Lucius' mind.

"Because-because he raped me"

Lucius' fist tightened around his cane. The Dark Lord seemed utterly unaffected by this.

"Harry. The choice is entirely yours. I appreciate why you don't want this to be published, just as you surely appreciate why I would like it to be. If you wish, I will personally accompany you to pay your respects to your childhood home"

Harry was silent for a long while.

Eventually, he spoke, voice cracking as he did. "Just-don't let them say that I had anything to do with his death. They can say he killed himself, but that's it"

Dark triumph roared in the Dark Lord's eyes.

"And I would like to visit it, my lord. One last time"

The Dark Lord smiled. "Excellent" he hissed.

As Harry was discussing the upcoming article with Lucius and the Dark Lord, Maeve Parkinson was clasping hands with her daughter.

Lance held his wand over their linked arms and grimaced.

"And do you swear, to never tell anyone what your father and I will now discuss with you, until such time as I absolve you of your Vow? To not discuss it with anyone other than your father and I, until such time as I absolve you of your Vow?"

Pansy gritted her teeth.

"I do"

A line of flame encircled their hands.

As Maeve Parkinson told her daughter news that made her shake with fear, Theo Nott's father was leading him to their home's cellar.

A bound and gagged muggle awaited him.

"You are not going to only cast these spells on a muggle at your initiation. I need to see that you can do it"

Theo could barely tear his eyes away from the pitiful form before him.

"Dad, I don't- I don't know if-"

"You don't know what? If you're strong enough to do what needs to be done?"

Theo gulped. He could feel his father's gaze boring into him. He raised his wand.

As Theo Nott showered, retching and crying, Igor Karkaroff met with one of his sixth-year students. He wished to see where the boy, one Oskar Poliakoff was standing with regards to an offer that had been made to him.

As Oskar Poliakoff announced his desire to join the Death Eaters, Fenrir Greyback raved in front of a small crowd of werewolves. He spoke passionately, bits of foam flying from his lips, telling of the glories they would see once the Dark Lord had conquered. He ranted about how werewolves were treated by the wizarding world, how they were denied jobs, denied housing, denied food.

As a pack of werewolves howled, Albus Dumbledore composed a letter to an old friend. As usual, the post for Defence Against the Dark Arts was in need of being filled. He wanted someone he could trust, someone who could hold their own in a fight.

Someone paranoid enough to see hints of Voldemort's return where even Albus was coming up dry.

As Albus Dumbledore finished his letter to Alastor Moody, a wizard named Cuthbert Yates was finishing his own writings. For weeks and weeks, he had been compiling everything he could about Azkaban Prison, and he would shortly be returned to England for a few months before he had to come back to Hell.

Spun by dozens of individuals in dozens of locations, the Dark Lord's web was tightening. The chain grew, link by link. Soon, the time would be ripe for the web to drop, for the chain to lock into place. Soon, the Dark Lord would strike.

And when he did, the world would tremble.

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YEAR 4 SHOULD BEGIN BEING POSTED SHORTLY

UNTIL THEN