Questioning Quirinus

Summary: One responsible adult does not like Dumbledore's glib explanation for how a troll got in. She lets it go, but reacts when the next incident happens.

Thank you: to all who reviewed my previous works. In response to some very valid points brought up in reviews, I have updated my profile to describe some limitations in my writing, which are likely to continue for some time.

Legal Disclaimer: anything you recognise in this story belongs to someone else, most likely to JK Rowling and/or her business partners. Any characters you don't recognise are mine. The specific plot in this fic may be mine; I say "may be" because fanfiction is vast, and one can never be sure there isn't a very similar one elsewhere. I'm not getting anything out of writing this.

Canon related disclaimers: it's been years since I read canon, and I can't be bothered to dig out and read the dead-tree versions I have in some bookshelf somewhere. As such, there may well be canon inaccuracies. Worse, they may be coloured by years of reading fan fiction!

October 31, late evening, Hogwarts headmaster's office

Minerva McGonagall was angry. Three of her lions had nearly been killed by a mountain troll, and only - as she had put it - "sheer dumb luck" had saved them.

How would I face Lily and James when I finally meet them? she had thought to herself. Not only do I not do anything about Dumbledore putting him with that horrible woman, he nearly gets killed barely two months into his first year at my school?

(It was interesting that Dumbledore also thought of Hogwarts as "my school", but the same word - my - had very different interpretations in the minds of the two professors. With Dumbledore it was like a possession, while Minerva meant the word as a responsibility.)

After seeing to the three children's safety, and escorting them back to the common room, she had gone to her own office, to resume her interrupted dinner. The house-elves, who would put the staff at a seven-star hotel to shame, had of course prepared her meal again, fresh and hot. Mimsy, the Hogwarts elf assigned to her, would not countenance anything less!

Having finished her dinner, she made her way to the headmaster's office. Her anger had been dulled somewhat by the passage of time, even if it was only a half-hour, and by a good dinner in peace and quiet, but she still had questions and concerns.

The conversation, as usual, had started very nicely, but - unusually - had degenerated quickly.

"Albus, I need some answers", she said, after the usual pleasantries had been dealt with. "How did a mountain troll get into a school, Albus?"

Dumbledore had not been expecting to be questioned on this. Of course, he had his suspicions, but it would not be wise to air them with Minerva - and definitely not when she was in this mood.

"I believe it may have wandered in from the south-east side of the school, Minerva", he said. "As you know, our protections are somewhat weak there - it may have climbed the wall".

Minerva was not satisfied with the reply, but she knew that is all she would get. She rose from her chair, dismissing herself from her superior's office.

November 9, Hogwarts quidditch pitch

Professor McGonagall and Professor Flitwick were, as was often the case, sitting together, watching the match between Gryffindor and Slytherin. After the headmaster's stubborn attitude about the troll, she no longer felt motivated to curb Jordan's digs, funny or otherwise, at Slytherin - let the headmaster deal with Snape's anger.

At the moment, though, jibes at Slytherin were the furthest thing from her mind. Her seeker, the son of her favourite students, was dangling helplessly from a broom, about to fall to his death. As she and Filius prepared to run down to the pitch and help him land as safely as it was possible to, she noticed a few things.

First, there was a commotion in the rows below where she and Filius were sitting - Snapes' robes were on fire and Quirrell had fallen over. Second, she noticed a student run away, underneath the seating area, flitting through the supports; due to the angle of the seats and the gaps between them, the girl could be seen only from her row. Finally, she realised that the broom appeared to have righted itself, and a few seconds later, Potter had the snitch. In his mouth, to be sure, but it was legal.

November 9, Professor McGonagall's office

Hermione was sure she would be expelled. It was clear that Professor McGonagall had seen her light Snape's robes on fire, or at least guessed that it was she who had done it. Receiving the summons from her favourite professor was one of the lowest points in her life so far, and the fact that the summons was for one hour later made it worse.

The suspense had been killing her, and, despite Harry and Ron assuring her nothing would happen, she was a wreck. Even Harry's profuse thanks for saving his life, and proclaiming her his knight in shining armour - tongue-in-cheek- could not cheer her up.

As such, when she knocked on Professor McGonagall's door, waited to hear her say "enter", and finally did enter, she was almost in tears.

Minerva was shocked - she had no idea what had happened to Hermione. She swept round her desk, went right up to the trembling, sobbing, girl, and gave her a hug - she instinctively knew nothing less would do.

"What is it child? Did someone hurt you?"

Hermione looked up at her teacher. That didn't sound like someone who was about to expel you.

"I- I- I thought you- you were going to ex- ex- expel me", she sobbed.

"I see", said Minerva. Tightening her hold on the frightened child, and smiling gently at her, she asked, "and why would you think that?"

"Be- Because I set fi- fire to Professor Snape's ro- robes", mumbled Hermione in a very low voice.

Deciding against saying she was not audible, and making her say it again louder, Minerva said, "I noticed you did that. Now, while I cannot condone actions like that, I would like to understand why you did this before I take any action".

Before Hermione could reply, she let the girl out of her embrace, and guided her gently to a sofa. Asking Mimsy for a teapot and two cups, she served tea, while waiting for a response.

"Hagrid told us that only a very powerful jinx could make the broom try to unseat its rider like that. And I know you need to maintain eye contact to perform such a jinx, and I noticed Sn- Professor Snape doing just that, while also muttering something. I was sure he was trying to kill Harry - he has never liked him, from the very first day, before he even knew anything about him - and I was desperate."

"Hmm, that is indeed a good reason. And to reassure you, Ms Granger, I did notice that the moment you did that, Mr Potter's broom righted itself."

Hermione looked at her like she had just been given a new lease on life.

"But", continued Minerva, "we don't really know it was Professor Snape. We need to determine what else may have been going on there that you may have missed."

"I see", said Hermione. "Should we ask someone else? I'm not sure anyone was even looking there."

"No my dear", said Minerva kindly. "Have you ever heard of a pensieve?"

Hermione, of course, hadn't. Minerva did not possess one, but she had borrowed Dumbledore's pensieve a few days ago in order to view Quirrell's "fainting fit" after he had announced the presence of the troll. (Of course, she gave Dumbledore some other reason for wanting to borrow it).

She pulled it out now, watching the fascinated excitement in the girl's eyes as she learned something that was not even in the curriculum.

Eventually, having extracted a copy of the girl's memory, and assuring her it would be destroyed as soon as she could, she sent the girl on her way.

Hermione went back to the common room in high spirits. She had not been expelled - in fact she had received no punishment at all - and she had learned something new!

A few minutes later

Filius and Minerva exited the pensieve, after carefully reviewing what had happened. It was clear that Quirrell was also doing the same thing - muttering a curse while staring fixedly at Harry. It was certainly possible that Snape had been muttering a counter-curse, but there was no way to know for sure. For the present, they decided to focus on Quirrell - partly because of the suspicion over the troll incident, and partly because Snape would be a much harder nut to crack, enjoying Dumbledore's protection as he did.

Their first impulse was to invite him to her office right away, on some pretext or other, but they realised that could be dangerous. He would be on high-alert right now, and who knew how he would react when summoned, whom he would harm if he thought he had been found out.

So they decided to wait a few days.

November 17, Professor McGonagall's office

In fact, they waited more than a week, till the next Sunday rolled around, to allay suspicion as much as possible, while keeping their fingers crossed that nothing else would happen in between.

In preparation for the confrontation, and not being sure of Snape's loyalties, they had previously asked him to come to her office, to discuss something mundane. Filius had quietly put a sleeping charm on him - in the goblin language, Ghukliak, so that even Dumbledore would not be able to revive him. They had then set him aside, preparatory to the main "event".

Professor McGonagall had already sent a message to Quirrell, asking him to meet her in her office at 3 pm. Of course, Professor Flitwick was also waiting with her. (In fact, they had also informed and invited Professor Sprout, but she had declined - she did not like confrontations much, as they well knew).

Quirrell entered McGonagall's office to see her and Flitwick sitting at a sofa. They greeted him, then invited him to sit. Mimsy, as expected, produced a tea set, and they spent some time enjoying the hot cup of tea and the light, fluffy, tea cakes that went with it.

"We asked you here", said McGonagall eventually, "to ask why you were trying to curse Mr Potter's broom".

The sudden non-sequitur took Quirrell by surprise. Recovering quickly, he said, "wha- wha- whatever do y- you me- mean, Pro- Professor McGonagall?"

"We've seen pensieve memories from several students who were watching - it is quite clear that his broom started acting up a few seconds after you were seen chanting under your breath, while staring at the broom without blinking."

(Of course they only had one, so the "several students" part was a bluff.)

"I would like to see those pensieve memories."

"We have returned them. This is not a court - we don't need to show you all our evidence merely to ask your opinion on the matter. Believe me those memories will be brought out if we take this to the DMLE, but we are trying to avoid scandal and resolve this within Hogwarts."

"Then why isn't Professor Dumbledore here?"

Filius signaled Minerva to stop for a second. "I see your stutter has mysteriously disappeared", he said - half question, half statement.

"I rather thought it was a fake", said Professor McGonagall, before Quirrell had a chance to speak. "Just like the fainting fit was fake, when you rushed in to the great hall announcing there was a troll on the grounds", she said coldly.

"Oh yes I was meaning to ask you about that", took up Filius, not waiting for Quirrell again. "Aren't trolls your speciality? Why would the thought of a troll in the dungeons cause you to faint?"

Quirrell was left looking from one to the other, like watching a tennis match. They were questioning him, but not giving him a chance to respond, so he decided he would not respond, but simply wait and see where they were going.

They were going quite far. After a brief silence, Professor McGonagall said, "Professor Quirrell, we will give you a choice. Leave the castle, never to return, or we will bring in the DMLE".

Quirrell thought for a bit. "Isn't that Dumbledore's job?"

"He is, currently, incapacitated". Another bluff, but convincing enough to fool Quirrell.

Quirrell did not know what to do. He could not fight these two, and he did not want to make as big a decision as leaving the castle, without his master's approval. He debated with himself in this fashion for a few moments, then decided he had no choice but to ask his master for advice.

(His master had long bemoaned the fact that they could not converse "in his mind", so to speak. Since he was facing the other way, legilimancy could not be used for communication, so they actually had to speak to each other. They had nearly been discovered a couple of times, but escaped narrowly when the person who found Quirrell apparently talking to himself merely assumed his interlocutor was disillusioned or just didn't want to be seen.)

"Master", he called. "I need your guidance". So saying, he took off the turban, and turned around.

Voldemort was no fool. He, too, knew he could not fight these two - not as a mere spirit possessing an ordinary wizard. Quirrell's magical prowess was just about average.

However, he knew there were at least two of his faithful nearby. One, had been testing his patience, especially by saving the boy from the jinxed broom - oh yes he would be having an explanation from him, and it had better make sense or he would forfeit his life.

The other, he could sense, but had not seen, for obvious reasons. He, too, would pay for leading him into a trap ten years ago.

But first, these two would help him. Summoning any of his faithful who happened to be nearby was easy enough. He willed his magic to the dark mark he had placed on the inside of Quirrell's arm - invisible to the outside - and waited.

Far away in the Gryffindor common room, a rat woke up.

Peter wasn't sure why his master was summoning him.

For years now he had both waited for, and feared, this very situation. His reward for betraying the Potter's had, of course, never materialised, but would it turn into punishment for what eventually transpired? Or would he get some long-delayed gratitude from his master? Odds were low on that, he knew from past experience. Still, he had better obey, or the consequences would be worse!

Two boys and a girl watched in amazement as an animal that had always been lazy and lethargic, to the point that sometimes people wondered if it were even alive, suddenly leapt out of his owner's pocket (yes his owner was that disgusting) and raced for the common room exit as if it had wings. Since it was a Sunday, and the weather was unseasonably good, students were going in and out all the time, so it did not have to wait long for the portrait door to open, and the rat rushed out.

The three children followed - one out of some vague sense of duty to a pet, the other two out of curiosity.

Of course, Voldemort could not afford to behave as if he was waiting for someone. He needed to engage these two in conversation, and switch to battle mode once he had the numbers on his side.

Even before they had gotten over their shock at seeing the dreaded Dark Lord's face revealed by removing the turban, he started speaking.

"So, you two are going to give ultimatums to me?", he growled. "I think we should allow our dear headmaster to decide, don't you agree?"

However, his hopes of not starting the fight yet were dashed. Both Minerva and Filius were appalled, and certainly somewhat scared, but everything they had heard about him was that he cursed first and talked later. That he was talking meant... they looked at each other and realised they had both come to the same conclusion. For some reason, Voldemort was stalling and seemed not willing to fight, so they needed to take full advantage of the situation.

(Both of them also realised the implication of that last bit - it was very much possible that Dumbledore knew about Voldemort being in the castle. That would require a much more serious discussion, when time permitted.)

Before Voldemort could properly react - cursing Quirrell's slow reflexes - he was encased in two layers of bindings, one from each professor.

In a way, Voldemort was glad. He knew he would have lost eventually - Quirrell had not only slow reflexes, he was also weak compared to these two - so this allowed him to not waste his strength. Time enough to get his revenge when Severus and Wormtail appeared.

(It was completely lost on Voldemort that his possession was a substantial part of the reason for Quirrell's relative weakness and loss of power, but again, not even Quirrell had realised that, so it was a moot point!)

They batted a few thoughts back and forth, quickly and efficiently.

"DMLE?", said Minerva.

"Or the goblins. Keep Albus out of it - Voldemort seemed to want to bring him in; makes me wonder".

"Could just be a dirty trick from him, to drive a wedge among us?"

"No point taking chances when we have a better alternative", Filius ended the debate.

Minerva turned to the floo...

It was hard - rats can be incredibly fast - but it took the children very little time to figure out that the rat was heading toward the office of their own head of house, Professor McGonagall. As such, even though they lost him a couple of times in the beginning - when he was really going all out - they managed to catch up soon enough.

And then he began to slow down, which helped.

For his part, Peter was scared. Clearly his master was in the transfiguration teacher's room. He had so far avoided being seen by her - even during the years he was "owned" by Percy - because he was pretty sure she would figure out he was an animagus. Not only was she a preeminent transfiguration mistress, her own animagus form would give her additional senses to help.

As a result, he went slower and slower, having two reasons to dread the destination.

The door was shut. He could not simply push it open with his snout. He would have to become Peter.

The pre-teens gasped, but luckily were quiet enough not to be heard. Of course Peter had his own distractions and may not have heard the sharp in-drawn breaths anyway.

Minerva turned to the floo, and so missed the silent entry of the short, balding, overweight, man. However, he stank like someone who has not had a bath for months - even without being a cat animagus she would have noticed.

Voldemort - who had only been bound, not silenced - shouted at him: "Wormtail, kill these two, then unbind me. And where is Severus?"

Peter was never the best under pressure, and the killing curse is not the kind of thing weak wizards can trot out full bore. He opted for stunners, but missed both Minerva and Filius. He then decided to cut his losses and make sure at least his master was free, so he sent a finite at Voldemort. Luckily, it worked.

Just when Voldemort, wand raised, was turning toward Filius - probably he thought he was more fit to die, being a half-breed, than McGonagall - the door slammed open and three children ran in.

Of course, the children were not even remotely expecting anything like this, so they had barged in, intending to inform their professor that one they thought was a rat for all these years was in fact not.

Harry immediately collapsed from the pain in his scar. Very close on that, Voldemort realised what a golden opportunity this was, and bellowed: "Accio Potter!" Their precious boy-who-lived would be the perfect bargaining chip to get the stone. And who knows, after getting the stone he may be able to kill the boy!

Unfortunately, Harry slammed into Voldemort full body. Which was bad enough - if only for the stench of death around him - but worse, wherever they touched, Quirrell's body started burning.

Meanwhile, Professors McGonagall and Flitwick had immediately turned on their attacker - in short order, they had him bound. As with Snape, Flitwick used a Ghukliak spell, this time to prevent Voldemort from freeing him.

(At the back of her mind, Minerva recognised the man, of course, and she had immediately processed what this meant, but right now they were in a battle with a dark lord, and one of her lions appeared to be in trouble, with two others not far away).

Harry was screaming with pain - he was being bombarded both from inside, via his scar, and from outside. True, Quirrell was getting the worst of it - his skin was blistering and flaking off in large pieces where Harry touched it - but you can't not be burnt when something you touch, starts burning!

Neither Minerva nor Flitwick were able to get a spell to Voldemort, because they would almost certainly have hit Harry, while he attempted to fight off both Voldemort himself, and this mysterious burning that happened wherever he touched Quirrell.

In a desperate attempt to get another angle, Filius quickly moved to the other side of the duo. It would also help by not presenting a combined target should Voldemort return his attention to them - he would have to deal with one adversary on each side.

Ron was frozen solid. It appeared he knew enough to vaguely guess who this was, and the collective memory of the wizarding world - as much as he had absorbed - was enough to effectively petrify him.

Hermione had no such problems. She did not know who this second face was, and she was angry as hell. If she were asked, she may have guessed, but she did not have the time to even think about who it could be.

I did not save him from a jinxed broom for him to die now, she thought savagely, looking around for some way to help. Professor McGonagall's office was certainly crowded enough with all sorts of things - mostly mementos, it would seem.

Quirrell's body was badly burnt in places, and Voldemort finally realised that he was being harmed by touch. He held Harry away, then bound him with a spell that anchored him to Professor McGonagall's large desk. Pointing his wand at him, he turned toward his would-be interrogators, presumably to either gloat or make some demands...

...and received a beater's bat full in the face, smashing his nose, part of his upper jaw, and dislodging seven teeth.

Never underestimate the sheer physical strength of a healthy twelve year old girl, who was used to carrying twice or thrice the normal amount of books her peers would carry, when she is on on an adrenalin-high from seeing her best friend in extreme pain.

Quirrell was, if not dead already, certainly not going to live much longer.

Well, a normal wizard with those injuries would have easily made it, wizarding medical care being what it was he may not have stayed more than one night in a hospital. But being possessed by a malevolent spirit for several months was always going to have repercussions. He would never wake up, despite being sent to Madam Pomfrey, then on to St Mungos.

Meanwhile, Voldemort's spirit escaped the ravaged body. It attempted to possess Harry, but the mudblood was in the way, and there was no way he would sully himself by passing through such a creature.

The spirit decided to go around the girl. It could have gone either way round, but, judging the half-breed to be the lesser problem, he chose to go round from the side where Professor Flitwick was waiting, wand raised.

He chose... poorly.

Professor Flitwick jabbed his wand right into the middle of the nebulous shape, chanting something in Ghukliak, and the spirit suddenly found himself bound in a vaguely box-shaped structure.

Wordlessly, the spirit screamed. You could almost hear him saying "what magic is this?" or something, with its "hands", so to speak, pressing at the shimmering outlines of the box.

It was also clear Flitwick was having to actively maintain the spell, so he would be out of action for any fighting.

Gritting his teeth, he signed to Minerva to come closer. With his off hand, he pulled out a necklace hidden beneath his clothes, touched a charm on it, and muttered something.

"We need to get to the main gate as soon as possible. A goblin team will meet us there to take over - I can't keep this spirit bound for much longer".

"Would it help if I used a wizarding spirit binding spell to reinforce the Ghukliak spell you used?"

Filius nodded, and Minerva added her contribution to holding the spirit. They weren't out of the woods yet, by a long shot, but it was something.

By this time, Professor Sprout had reached them - her curiosity having finally won over her reluctance to get into a confrontation - and she also added her magic to the same wizard binding spell.

"Ms Granger, Mr Weasley, please take Mr Potter to the infirmary. Mind you do not tell Madam Pomfrey anything - just ask for treatment and tell her I will explain when I return."

Hermione seemed to want to object, but one look at Harry convinced her. She nodded, and the three left, with Harry being supported by both his friends.

When they were almost out of the castle proper, the headmaster caught up with them.

"What are you doing? Where are you taking him?" he screamed at them.

Professor McGonagall rounded on him while Filius continued on - they really needed to get to the gates before the spirit managed to break out of the binding.

"That is the spirit of Voldemort, Dumbledore!" she screamed back. "We need to get him out of the castle immediately. Now that you're here, you can make us a portkey. Quickly now", she said.

Dumbledore was not having any of that. Harry would need to confront his destiny sooner or later, and having him be captured was not going to help at all.

"Aah, Minerva, you do not understand all the issues at stake here. I will forgive you, since you mean well, but I cannot allow this to continue. Young Harry has to me-"

Professor McGonagall did not wait to hear what "young Harry" had to do. Dumbledore was standing very close to her, with his wand out. She knew she could never win against him in a fair fight, but she also knew he would never, ever, imagine her being blatantly mutinous.

She plucked his wand out of his hand, and sent her highest powered stunner at him.

Dumbledore was knocked clean off his feet, to go flying nearly half way down the front hall. Minerva was shocked; she did not think her stunner was that powerful! Before she could think on this any further (and realise that the wand had felt strangely "in tune" with her thoughts of protecting Harry), she felt the wards of Hogwarts settle on her.

"What is it", asked Pomona, who had been completely ignored by Dumbledore during his short-lived intervention.

"The- the wards", whispered McGonagall in awe. "I have them".

"Then what are you waiting for? Make a portkey for Filius!"

And she did just that, using her handkerchief as a portkey.

(For months afterward, these three would discuss how exactly the wards had come to her. The best guess they could make was that Hogwarts was pissed off at Dumbledore's brinkmanship, and was just waiting for either Minerva, as the correct deputy, or someone competent and credible, to oppose him. As soon as that happened, Hogwarts transferred the wards. But this was all just guesswork.)

The goblin team was waiting when they appeared just outside the gates, and Ragnok - who had come himself on receiving the SOS from the duelling master - immediately recognised what the spirit was.

He and his team of twelve warriors first reinforced the goblin binding that Flitwick had laid on the spirit, then they started a longer chant to permanently bind the spirit. Loosely speaking, the chant asked magic to hold captive the spirit within, and to keep it whole and healthy but unable to break out, until it could be sent to its final "reward" by being sacrificed in the ritual chamber deep within goblin territory.

Why "whole and healthy"? Because it was considered bad luck to offer a damaged spirit as a sacrifice in the ritual.

Well, whether the bad luck part was true or not, the converse certainly turned out to be - the chant brought them good luck. For as they chanted, they saw several streams of thick, black, smoke - including two from the castle - join the spirit. There were also about fifty or more wisps - much thinner - that joined in.

Until that happened, Ragnok did not know which of three possible methods Voldemort had chosen to cheat death. This made it clear that he had used the horcrux method, but worse, it seemed he had made several!

However, Ragnok did not, at first, understand what the smaller wisps were. Clearly, he had not made so many horcruxes, yet... then he remembered the mark on death-eaters' hands, and realised that each of them was also a mini-horcrux of some kind.

"You just realised something that shocked you", said Flitwick.

Ragnok explained what they were seeing, as well as his "educated guess" explanation, to the three professors. "I do wonder what this means for the death-eaters, though - how does it affect them to have these mini-horcruxes be in their bodies, and to then have them leave so suddenly and violently!"

By this time, the chant had ended, and they had a black, semi-transparent, rock, about the size of a large pendant, inside which, if you looked carefully, you could see a churning, roiling, angry, vapour.

They quickly took themselves off to their ritual chamber, deep within their mines, and completed the ritual. There was no simple explanation for what happened there, but in only a few minutes from the time they left the gates of Hogwarts, the spirit of Voldemort was dead. At least it was no longer in this world.

The rock retained a shrunken, corpse-like image of Voldemort within. Anyone who had ever seen him, if they looked at the rock carefully, would recognise the form. Ragnok ordered the rock mounted on his ceremonial head-dress, the one he used only on very (very) special occasions. The rest of the time, the head-dress was mounted in a display case in his office.

And there Voldemort's form lay, till the end of time, helping to accessorize the king of one of the races whom he had had nothing but contempt for.

Precisely two seconds after Professor McGonagall felt the wards settle on her, an obliviation that was laid on Madam Pomfrey was destroyed.

Suddenly she remembered what Harry's scar was. She remembered her initial, hesitant, diagnosis of it being something malevolent and connected with you-know-who, way back those ten years ago. She remembered calling in an old friend from St Mungos, Healer Warren Ashwell. She remembered his confirmation and elaboration of what that precisely was. A horcrux - she had heard the term for the first time, and Warren had been telling her that he knew some wizards in Japan who had had experience with such and could get rid of it.

Then Dumbledore had walked in, heard them out, and calmly obliviated them both. Since Warren was much more powerful and influential than herself - she was after all one of his employees - Dumbledore had hit him first, then turned to her.

Oh how she hated him when she saw that, and realised how powerless she actually was in the second or two that she was allowed to hold that thought before it was wiped away. Now all that hate came back. A second later, she grinned maliciously - if her memory was back, it could only mean something bad had happened to the manipulative bastard who had cast the spell!

(Again, this was a bit of a mystery. The permanence of an obliviate spell was not tied to the casters magic, power, authority, or life. Like in the case of Minerva and the wards, they would eventually conclude that firstly, Dumbledore had drawn on the castle's magic to power his spells, and secondly, Hogwarts did not like to be used for nefarious purposes, so it must have silently modified the spell so that its effect would cease when Dumbledore was no longer in charge of the castle. They wondered how many more things would come undone like this!)

Now Harry's scar had started bleeding, followed by something dark leaving it, in the form of a thick smoke, causing Madam Pomfrey even more concern - she was already agitated over the fact that the children obviously knew what had happened but were not telling her, potentially risking a misdiagnosis.

However, the bleeding stopped very quickly. Then, to make things even more mystifying, Harry's burns started healing up just as fast - much faster than Poppy had ever seen anyone heal up with the best medical care.

For a doctor, anything that could not explained was something to be looked on with suspicion. She put a hand on Harry's shoulder, and gently asked him, "Harry, what is happening? Are you alright?"

"Harry, your scar is gone", interjected Ron.

"I'm feeling just fine, Madam Pomfrey", said Harry. "In fact I've never felt better in my life - it's as if I was carrying some heavy weight around all this time, and now that weight has been lifted."

It was abundantly clear to Madam Pomfrey that the horcrux her friend Warren had spoken of, and which she was only able to remember now, had left Harry. She smiled at her patient, settling him down, and decided to wait for Minerva to stop by.

About half an hour later, Professors McGonagall, Flitwick, and Sprout arrived at the hospital wing, with a badly injured Quirrell floating behind them.

"Do what you can for him, Poppy", said Minerva. "But only as much as your Hippocratic oath requires you to".

Poppy raised an eyebrow, and started working on the body. There was not a lot she could do - he would need to be sent to St Mungos. She conjured a medical-transfer stretcher, and went with her patient through the floo. It took about ten minutes to process his admission into the wizarding hospital.

She returned through the floo, to find the hospital wing rather more crowded than she had left it.

Amelia Bones, the head of the DMLE, was there, along with a tall, handsome, black auror, interrogating - what? Pettigrew? Isn't he supposed to be dead?

And then the floo turned green, and her friend from St Mungos stepped out of it, with two aurors behind him. Amelia recognised them as two of the four who were on duty at St Mungos that day.

"What is it, Auror Ingram?" she asked.

"Healer Ashwell reported having just gained back some memories that he was obliviated of more than ten years ago, and reported it to us. He said it was the headmaster who had done that, so we came here to figure out what that is all about."

Epilogue

That evening, and late into the night, St Mungos was filled with purebloods - mostly wizards, with a witch or two here and there - whose left arms had completely burned off, and whose magic was down to just above squib levels. No one in the wizarding world could make head or tail of this. The four who knew - three professors and one DMLE head, who was the only person they informed - were not telling. The goblins of course would never bother telling anyone.

Severus Snape, in his bound state, suffered the same fate. The Ghukliak spell he was under, did not fail, and - unable to even shout for help - he passed out from the shock and pain. He lost a lot more magic than those who made it to St Mungos in good time, but even without that, who ever heard of a one-armed potion master?

Dumbledore was retrieved from where he had fallen when Minerva had hit him with his own wand. A lot more than just two obliviations came out, and he looked alll set to be sentenced to a long life in Azkaban once the trial was done. But he kept insisting that Voldemort would return.

By the next morning, Amelia had had it with him. She needed him on trial, but there were still a lot of people who would believe him, and vote to turn him loose again. She needed someone to override his story, and she knew exactly who that was.

She floo-called Minerva to see if she could ask her new friend King Ragnok to send a statement about Voldemort.

"No", said Minerva. "I will not. I have a better idea".

Amelia nodded.

"Isn't it odd that we class them as magical creatures, yet we also know that one word from their king is sufficient to override someone of Albus's reputation? Send Barty to them, and request his presence in the Wizengamot to testify. Let us make the first move to treat them as equals".

When Amelia approached Bartemius Crouch, head of the department of international co-operation, she found him to be somewhat more tractable than she had ever expected. He seemed to have had a shock of some kind - perhaps someone he was friends with had been among the people who turned up at St Mungos - she did not know and had no intention of asking.

(No one except Winky would ever know this, but Barty, junior, was dead. Barty, senior, was busy working on some papers, when his son's left arm suddenly started burning. Since he was silenced and imperiused, he could not call out for help, and the fire had spread to the bed itself, attracting Winky's attention. Since Winky also was under strict orders not to help him in any way, except give him food and water, she could only rush up to her master and inform him. By the time Barty senior had come down to the basement where he was holding his son captive, he was dead.)

That afternoon, at a special session of the Wizengamot, Ragnok himself had come to the Wizengamot to testify that Voldemort was truly dead.

The goblin king had never, in all history, entered the wizarding ministry or any of its chambers, but he was mollified by the gesture of sending the head of the department of international magical cooperation rather than the goblin liaison office, and had agreed.

But equally, since this was a historic event, he had worn his ceremonial head-dress.

Dumbledore was left speechless when shown what was left of Voldemort. His final defense having failed him, he collapsed back onto his seat. With that admission of defeat, his supporters lost their steam. To be honest, those who had children, grandchildren, nephews, or nieces, currently or very recently at Hogwarts, were already ill-disposed toward him due to the clear danger he had put their children in. The Weasleys were the most notable example of this group, Arthur Weasley showing his mettle when he stared down a Dumbledore-patented "I am so disappointed in you" look.

As a result, facing such a huge storm of hostility, Dumbledore was lucky to not get the kiss, but life in Azkaban. He died, unloved an unlamented, some years later. The news only made the both of the seventh page of the Prophet, and the Quibbler did not feel the need to announce it at all.

After Dumbledore's trial, there was the equally sensational trial of a supposedly dead Order of Merlin award winner. The results were predictable, and Harry found himself with a godfather. A sobbing, hysterical, wreck, for now, racked with guilt about having abandoned him in favour of running after the traitor, but a godfather nonetheless.

Thankfully, he got better in time for the year-end, and Harry never went back to the Dursleys.

Life, for the rest of the wizarding world, went much better after these incidents. The goblins began to be respected a lot more (as if you didn't already need to respect someone who holds your money for you!). This gradually led to better recognition of other sentient species.

Harry lived a normal life. Of course, he never forgot who he owed this to. Minerva McGonagall became an honorary aunt/grandmother ("But only when we are in school, Harry", she had said).

And Hermione? The girl had saved his life twice - once by setting fire to Snape's robes (even if it turned out to be Quirrell, it did help!), and once by wielding a beater's bat so expertly. Sure he had saved hers too, but who's counting?

Harry and Hermione stayed best friends all the way upto near the end of third year, when a Hogsmeade trip for three turned out to be just the two of them due to Ron having fallen afoul of some prank that ended with him in the hospital wing. To the end of their lives they would never agree on who actually started it by saying "it's like we're on a date, if it's just the two of us" - each claimed the other had said it - but the fact remains that one of them did, and the idea took root in each of their heads. Blushing, they had gone back to Hogwarts, but they knew things had changed for them from then on.

And the rest, as they say, is ... well it was a perfectly normal childhood, leading to a perfectly normal boyfriend/girlfriend relationship, and then on to a perfectly normal courtship and marriage. Which, to any self-respecting raconteur, is a big sign saying "enough already; give the readers' imaginations something to work on!"