Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Magical Maturity	By : Jim_Ohki Category: Harry Potter AU/AR > Het - Male/Female Views: 46440 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 16
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any other series referenced within. Expanded disclaimer inside.

Chapter List
- 6
- 7
- 8
Disclaimer: I make no claims at ownership of any copyrighted characters, places or events used herein. The only thing I make a claim to is this fic, which originated in my head and any original characters created by me herein. The following was made for public consumption at zero profit, and is not for sale except to the owning companies. Yes, I dream big.

Special Notes: Right, well . . . not much to say. Visit my forum if you want, now that I know I can load it with polls I might just do that. For this piece, the death and destruction begins.

Magical Maturity; Arc One Part Seven

By: (Driver) Jim Ohki

2300; Friday, August 26, 1994; Quidditch World Cup Stadium

“That was just . . . awesome!” Harry looked like he was crying in joy from the match, earning amused looks from his guests. The Irish National Team had just swung by the Box for the trophy, shaking hands with their Bulgarian counterparts and the spectators present.

“Oh yes, fun,” Hermione had been uncomfortable since Viktor Krum had eyed her body, driving her to distraction. “Can we go now?”

“Bastard better not be a Hogwarts this year,” the leader of the group grumbled to himself, making certain to not be overheard. That reminded him to have a meeting with the vast crowd of girls on the First after the Feast or as soon as the blasted vow of silence lifted. The Yule Ball was going to present a problem unless it was sorted out beforehand. “Right, our portkey doesn’t leave for another two hours so let’s wander around; see the sights; meet up with friends . . . where’d that Elf go?”

He’d been looking from person to person and noticed that the guardian of the unused chair had finally gone, which was strange as Bartemius Crouch hadn’t come back to the Box after fleeing.

“There’s something odd going on here,” Tonks muttered, her eyes shifting about much like her mentor. The only thing she lacked was the ability to look through her own head in that regard.

“Right; everybody keep your eyes open and stay close,” Harry did what came natural to him when called for and took charge. “I’d rather it be nothing but . . . Tonks, think like a bad guy for a minute. How much of a target is this little get-together?”

“Now that the game itself is over,” she started slowly, working the scenario through her mind. “With the people getting drunk and stupid . . . very much a target.”

“Let’s go,” his demeanor had hardened as his led them out of the Box back to the Tent City. Being paranoid was doing nobody any favors; hopefully there wouldn’t be any mayhem beyond people having a good time.

Once they’d reached the ‘Land of a Thousand Portable Houses’ did Susan, Hannah, Padma, Parvati and Su split off to head back to their families and/or lodgings for the night. Each had seen the serious look in Harry’s eyes as he scanned the surroundings, keeping a look out and decided to relay a message to the respective adults.

“Ron, would you quit it with the Harry-Bashing please?” the voice of Fred/George -it was impossible to tell- drifted out of a tent the four were passing. “We get it, you’re jealous that he got to meet Krum; enough little bro.”

“Penny?” Percy had looked out the flap to see his ex . . . standing right next to the subject of the conversation. This would definitely not bode well if it wasn’t handled with care.

“Gred, Forge, Douche and Backstabber,” he greeted the Twins jovially before deadpanning at the other pair of Weasley’s present. “You two I don’t know, so . . . Harry Potter at your service.”

Bill and Charlie had wandered out of their temporary room at the new voice, wondering who had dropped by. There, surrounded by four girls, stood the Head of House Potter etcetera et al. One of those girls was giving Ron the evil eye while another was issuing the stink eye to Percy. The blond simply swayed from side to side, looking everywhere but at what was in front of her. The last -and oldest, not that they’d be dumb enough to voice that- had taken up a guard station surveying the crowd. As for the young Lord himself; the eldest brothers of the brood noticed that his eyes were looking around the area, taking in the surroundings.

“Boys, why so quiet?” Arthur wandered out of another room, before seeing why they weren’t still celebrating. “Ah, Lord Potter . . .”

“Unless it’s a formal setting, Harry works just fine,” he interrupted the Weasley Patriarch, surprisingly ‘warmly’ if that was possible. “I just wanted to say hi to the Twins and that I’ll be seeing them at Hogwarts. Oh, and since you’re here; Tonks,” he gestured to the Auror at his side, “and I believe that something odd is afoot tonight. Keep alert because we . . .”

He didn’t get to finish as what at first sounded like a roar of voices turned into a cacophony of screams. Those outside the tent turned to the left, looking for the cause of the chaos and found a nasty surprise in the form of masked wizards running amok.

“Death Eaters?!” Tonks was blown away that the group would apparently surface now of all times. “Sorry Harry, gotta go!” was her parting words as she ran into the crowd that was going the other way, trying to reach the troublemakers.

“Arthur!” aforementioned Potter barked, getting the man outside of his tent. “Take these three to the Burrow with your family, I’ll be along shortly to pick them up.”

“And where are you going?” Hermione demanded, not wanting to leave his side as confusion descended on the hundred thousand Magicals that were running about. The answer she got was silence and a right index finger pointing straight at the cloaked wizards.

“Go, now,” he turned to Penny and Luna, before facing the oncoming wizards. “Ruin my good time?! Your arses are mine!”

The screaming masses didn’t notice at first as the floating Mundane were yanked out of the air before being set down gently in a copse of trees. What got their -and the Death Eaters, for there happened to be no other group brazen enough to dawn masks- attention was a passing shockwave that picked up dust and debris, lowering visibility before magic of every color began to fly. While the followers of the Dark Lord and other rioters shielded themselves they were still surprised by the power behind the onslaught.

As the noncombatants fled, Harry marched forward into the breach. From the outside, all that could be seen was confused combat; due to the low visibility it had become difficult to know who was shooting at who.

Aurors and Ministry workers that had gotten separated fought anything that moved -sometimes a troublemaker, sometimes themselves, sometimes Harry-; the Death Eaters hunkered down as they didn’t have their attention split; random Magicals flung curses of every variety; then there was Harry walking through the mess laying waste to all he encountered. It was by design that he wasn’t attempting to be lethal yet as that would just be wrong -at this time, as there were good guys in the melee- in his eyes.

While the four sides of the battle traded fire -in some cases, quite literally- from the wood came a shout and a streak of lime green heading into the sky. The masked wizards looked at and attempted to flee; attempted being the key word there as Harry was having none of that.

He jabbed his right hand at the Dark Mark before making a fist. As he did so the skull portion of the Mark was crushed like a conjured tin can before the entire thing was ripped out of the sky, dissolving as it fell. His left hand had been dishing out Transfigurations and Animations like they’d been declared illegal; one of the robed figures could be seen running back and forth being chased by a fake bear. Another had a Tanuki attached to their face, hitting them over the head with a frying pan of all things.

“It’s a trap!” a third Death Eater managed to wheeze out after having their head turned into what looked like a Herring. A fourth went from being combat capable to an addition to the wood as a tree at the wave of a hand. Herring-head promptly tried cutting his friend down after a Confundus made him think his skull was an axe.

A fifth member of the attacking force made a tactical error firing an Avada Kedavra at Tonks. She had ducked out of the way, letting the curse sail over her into the trees. Harry had seen the action and pointed both hands at the offending party.

Nobody quite knew what happened next; all that could be pieced together was that the poor sod wound up taking flight after being lit on fire with the equivalent of Napalm; whatever it was the Magicals weren’t aware of it and didn’t know to smother the flames. Nothing anybody did -Vanishing, pouring water and the like- could put the fire out after they’d found the guy two hundred meters away next to a pond of all places.

Harry, meanwhile, paid no mind to the fool he just cooked. While five of the Death Eaters were effectively out of commission there were still six more causing havoc. There was no help to be found from the crowd; they were either fleeing in terror or continuing to join in the riot, swelling the meager numbers exponentially. Some of the troublemakers were doing so just because they could, some were drunk and some believed in the Pure-Blood Movement. Sorting out who was doing what for which reason wasn’t his problem though; he was more concerned with keeping Tonks -along with himself, that voice of Hermione that was his conscious roared at him- alive and give his guests for the game a chance to escape.

The riot grew as every Ministry worker joined the fray, even Bagman and Crouch. Shouts, spells, screams of agony, cursing, threats, yells of terror, bellows of pain . . . madness encompassed a good portion of the Tent Field. Harry was getting angry with the sheer stupidity around him as the ‘Good Guys’ kept using schoolyard jinxes trying to capture the instigators while the ‘Bad Guys’ were in it for the mayhem, death and destruction.

“Time to get a load of me,” he growled to nobody as he formed his army of clones. He had been hoping to not have to use this skill; however as the congregation from Beauxbatons was nearly overrun by some of the scum looking for a good time he had no choice.

Everybody paused briefly as a wave of Harry Potters crashed into the masses, sending the riot from somewhat-controlled chaos into pure anarchy. He no longer bothered to sort by association; instead he hit every person in his path with pure power sending bodies flying in all directions. For a time the clones had to pull back to the original for the various fighters had a decent push going. Then he pushed back and crushed their resistance and, if necessary, their skulls.

“Holy Merlin!” Tonks dove under a flame-cutter that would have bisected her, returning fire with a tripping jinx. She could see Harry . . . just about everywhere mowing the opposition down like so much grass. He appeared to be beyond fed up with the chaos around him as he had turned to the left before bringing his right arm -from left to right- across the battle zone. More bodies took to the skies from the shockwave as even more dust was picked up. Visibility had nearly zeroed, making continued combat a real bad idea. She took note that the one that had sent the cutter was suddenly a head shorter.

The best sight to behold now graced the scene as each Harry, numbering in the hundreds, had fire-whips going from both hands. Rioters that were not so far gone started surrendering left, right and center as the flames of death twisted through the air like so many snakes creating quite the light show. Unfortunately there were those in the crowd that wanted to keep going.

0200; Saturday, August 27, 1994; The Burrow

“What the devil are you doing in this house?!” Molly Weasley roared, brandishing a frying pan at Hermione. She’d been awoken by the unexpected arrival of her brood and, as the chaos they’d left behind had to be explained, it took time to sort everything out. Then Arthur got into row with her, trying to go back to the site of the battle. That argument had lasted two hours, before he finally caved in knowing that she was overly worried.

“She’s here because Harry asked me to bring her here,” her husband took the pan out of her right hand while giving her a stern look. “Don’t you dare start in on her or her companions; he will hear of it when he gets here.”

“He’s . . . coming here?!” she panicked, wondering what kind of mood he would be in.

“Sorry about this,” Penny was playing peacemaker; rather she was trying to at any rate, “he used Mister Weasley as an excuse to get us out of there before engaging the . . . well, I don’t reckon they were Death Eaters but . . .”

“Right; okay,” the Matriarch of the Weasleys looked conflicted and confused, shaking her head at the goings on. “Fine, she can stay until he comes to get her; then would somebody be kind enough to tell him that she is not welcome here?”

“Oh go boil your head!” Luna had enough of the attitude, somehow looking fierce while at the same time looking spaced-out. “She never did anything to you or yours; you know that Ronald started the whole thing by being his usual berk self. It’s not her fault his wee-Ron is the size of a peanut.”

“He tried something with you?” Hermione broke into the conversation, feeling slightly vindicated.

“Well, to be honest he was six at the time,” the blond had the grace to look contrite. “But he didn’t understand Ginny being a girl; he kept checking her knickers looking for something that wasn’t there and showing his like it was the greatest thing since Snorkacks. One day over at my house he tried that with me; my mum promptly took him home and never let him come back.”

“Do it once and they never let you forget,” Ron grumbled, going into full pout mode. If it ever got out that he had issues in his trousers he’d never get a date.

“Why is this the first I’m hearing of it?” Arthur turned to regard Molly, waiting for an answer.

“Like she said; he was six!” she threw her arms in the air completely exasperated. “It was an honest mistake, something I tried to explain to Celestine but she wouldn’t hear of it. Something about a possible interference with her future opener; whatever that means.”

The Head of House Weasley face-palmed, knowing exactly what his wife was talking about. No wonder Luna’s mum had been overprotective of her in regards to being around his boys. Knowing his luck House Potter was charged with seeing to Luna as she matured. If his sons had touched the young Lovegood there would be hell to pay. Serendipitously he looked around at his family; while the Twins and Ron were confused Bill, Charlie and Percy understood what the subject matter was as shook their heads when he met their eyes.

Ginny had been paying attention and kept silent, knowing what was going on thanks to the teachings of the Diary. Tom Riddle had researched Family Magic rituals and, more importantly to the at-the-time budding Dark Lord’s mind, how to properly corrupt them. She knew that there were two ways to mess with an Opening: a general corruption that permanently binds the witch’s magic or the ‘proper’ way which changed the very soul of the witch. The youngest Weasley had no way of knowing it, from having leftovers from the sixteen year old Riddle, that later in life he’d done just that to Bellatrix creating the perfect follower.

After all, witches only hit sixteen once. It’d taken twenty years for him to perfect his technique and make it irreversible. The rumors he’d allowed to be spread that he’d sacrificed his junk in one ritual or another was the perfect diversion in that regard.

“Where the bloody hell are we?!” shouted Amelia Bones, drawing all attention in the Burrow to the backyard. She was beyond surprised at the sudden change of scenery; the only thing preventing her from going back into the fray was that Susan had attached herself to her Auntie and wasn’t letting go. Seeing Arthur Weasley lightened her mood significantly; there was only one place that looked like his in the entire Isles.

Those that were unaware of Harry’s new talent were gawking as half a dozen clones wandered between the groups now talking to each other checking for any injuries. Tiny Su Li had engaged in rapid-fire Chinese with her parents while the Patils were going back and forth in Hindi.

“The fighting was getting fierce,” Susan could be heard explaining the battle to Hermione, Luna and Penny. “Even though the idiots in masks were subdued the crowd, being mostly drunk and stupid, kept right on going. One of the Bulgarian visitors started lighting everything Irish in sight on fire. The Ireland folks didn’t like that at all, forming ranks to march into their territory. From nowhere came Harry . . . well, a lot of him wielding fire-whips which scared just about everybody. That was after some dolt had tried to conjure a Dark Mark which was promptly destroyed.”

“Did you see that transfigured bear gnawing on that one’s head?” Hannah had wandered into the conversation after sitting her mother down in a chair conjured by a clone.

“What about the frying pan wielding Tanuki?” Su turned in the direction to add before turning back to her parents.

“What a bunch of idiots,” Luna grumbled. “First those supposed Deadly Excretions or whatever they’re called, then the crowd rioting . . . they must be dumber than Ron is when he farts himself awake.”

“Who-wha-huh? Whatever’s going on here . . . better knock it off,” the target of the jibe spoke up, having been ushered into service as a waiter/spy; Molly was not amused by the early hour visitors yet needed information as to what was going on. He’d caught only part of the mutterings as he wandered by.

“Fart yourself awake recently?” Hermione sneered, giving her all to get a good score on the ‘Snape Scale of Sneers’. She took great delight in his face imitating a tomato even as he turned to glare at Luna. The blond was completely unfazed, simply swaying in place studying the stars.

“I was five,” he growled, wanting the crowd out of his yard if for no other reason than he was cranky. Between Krum losing, the riot, and the fact he hadn’t eaten in five minutes he was in a foul mood. It was bad enough that for the second time in a few hours he was going to cross paths with Harry; right now he had to appear tolerant of his tormentors.

“What are you on about? You did it yesterday,” George deadpanned, having heard a funny and investigated while Fred ran interference. “Woke the whole bloody tent. Dad thought there was an elephant; Charlie a dragon; and Bill a mummy that wasn’t done right in there with you.”

“Ugh,” Hermione’s face had scrunched up in disgust, “thank Merlin that Harry has manners! Tell me, did you need to check your drawers?”

“Oh yes, Perfect Potter!” Ron mumbled and scowled, his temper set to maximum burn. He ignored the jibe at himself, instead focusing on his one-time friend. He didn’t seem to realize -or rightly care, for that matter- that he was being overheard as he wasn’t nearly as quiet as he thought he was. “Always gets what he bloody well wants including girls; loaded to the gills with coin and can’t bloody share; everybody’s favorite Golden Boy of Gryffindor while the rest of us struggle through!”

From the skies the sound of a heavy metal object falling at a good clip was heard briefly before Ron found himself under an anvil with ACME printed on the side. The sudden random action had earned goggle eyes all around before those aware of how fickle Magic truly was backed away to avoid damage.

Harry made an entrance into this scene. While Molly was busy trying to move a three hundred pound anvil -completely missing that she could Vanish it- nearer to the Orchard there was a flash, a lengthy pause, another burst of light then a third before he appeared with somebody slung over his shoulder sliding backwards on his feet. Marking his passing were twin trails of flame that burned nothing, fading away rather quickly as he came to a stop just before colliding with Amelia and set the Auror -the robes gave their identity away- on their feet.

“Don’t do that again,” those that recognized Tonks had raised eyebrows as she stumbled about drunkenly. “That felt like I was using a Portkey in the middle of Flooing.”

“Isn’t that an impossibility?” Hannah looked towards the Ravenclaws scattered around the yard, knowing that they would have at least heard of such magic beforehand even as a passing reference.

“I’d believe she’s referring to the effects on her body,” Su shrugged, watching as the Original Harry conjured a couch for the Auror to lay down on. “Between feeling pulled down a drain and the hook behind the navel is the different effects on the eyes in each mode of transport. Oh my . . .,” she trailed off, looking green as her imagination supplied imagery she didn’t want. She wasn’t alone in that regard; everybody that heard her and understood what she was saying appeared ready to be ill.

“There you are!” a tall, dark-skinned Auror appeared with a ‘Pop!’ of displaced air, looking ragged. He completely ignored Harry and had started talking to Amelia. “Initial reports from the riot: seven hundred eighty-three injured, twenty-nine dead, property loss valued at thirteen million Galleons at least and a transfigured bear we can’t seem to get rid of.”

“What about the Tanuki?” Luna appeared worried for the conjured raccoon-dog, but being herself it was hard to say if she was or was making a joke.

“Right, the frying pan wielding beast from hell,” was the grumbled response. He wasn’t even aware that he’d just answered a question not from his boss. “Dawlish won’t be in for a while; seems the thing took a liking to him and won’t quit humping his leg . . . and he, for some unknown reason, likes it. The raccoon-thing that is, not so much the humping of the leg.”

Harry had the grace to look embarrassed and the brains to keep his mouth shut about the Tanuki being his fault.

“Barking,” Amelia tutted while shaking her head, “howling mad. Right, are any of the dead of the Crunch-n-Munch variety?”

“Seems a good bit of the crowd not in Chez Azkaban,” the yet to be named Auror grinned. “Nott, Crabbe, Goyle, Avery, Bulstrode, Parkinson, both Carrows, Macnair, Yaxley, Flint and Selwyn of all people. Some had Marks and some didn’t; we know of four that were Inners.”

Harry held in the bark of laughter as the list was committed to memory. Pansy would appreciate this little impromptu gift.

“Umbridge is going to love that,” the Head of the DMLE deadpanned, complete with half-lidded stare. If there was a silver lining to the events of the night the high-ranked Death Eaters that had avoided prison-time or death were now permanently out of the picture. “Did we ever find the one that conjured the Dark Mark?”

“Crouch seems to think it was his Elf,” the reply was emotionless, telling the Auror’s belief to the matter. “Caught her with a wand he did, along with Bagman and Diggory. Rubbish if you ask me; no House-Elf would willingly use a wand knowing of the punishments forget using one to cast a piece of magic that would lead to their death. He gave her clothes on the spot before storming off, from what Amos told me.”

Unnoticed by all but those that knew of him, Dobby had appeared soundlessly and listened to the conversation that wasn’t being muffled in the least. It seems the two had forgotten about their surroundings or were still in battle mode meaning information over security. The excitable Elf looked ready to show them that his kind didn’t need wands for magic; just like his old Master had found out. Instead, he got an instruction from his new Master and Friend -oh yes, it deserved the capitalization- to find the Elf in question and bring her before him. Just as quietly and quickly as he’d appeared he was gone, earning a few raised eyebrows in Harry’s direction to which he shrugged slightly as if saying “Wait a moment, I don’t know either.”

“All right Kingsley,” Amelia had digested what she needed to know, although she had no idea that he knew where to find her. “Go back to the field and commence clean up operations. Once,” she paused long enough for a quick Tempus, revealing that it was going on three thirty in the morning, “morning shift reports in have them take over and relieve those on station. Hogwarts starts in four days; we have until then to fix this mess.”

Nodding in acknowledgement he disappeared the same way he arrived, leaving his boss to do whatever it was he had interrupted. Half a second later a pair of Elves appeared, one looking angry and the other distraught.

Well, that came to a stop in the presence of Harry. His magic, being as strong as it was, usually caught the attention of the nearest Magical Beings within a quarter-mile radius. Getting within feet of him was just awe-inspiring for those that hadn’t had a chance to get used to it. Thus, why even human Magicals have issues containing themselves around him sans the blasted scar.

“Great Master Harry Potter sir,” Dobby would never change his address to his ‘boss’, “this beings Winky, sir. She’s beings freed for beings a goods Elf. Master musts be helpings Winky!”

“Don’t worry Dobby; I fully intend to,” he looked from one Elf to the other, noting that this was the same as the one he’d seen in the Top Box. “Winky, I know you are a good Elf. I saw you earlier . . . well, last night at any rate doing what your previous, ah, employer told you to do by holding his seat. Even though he never used it, you stayed until the end of the game before leaving. I could tell that you were terrified being up that high from the ground; I know a few people that have the same problem,” he smirked at Hermione, who huffed and crossed her arms. “So, since I know that you’re a good Elf needing a home; how would you like to work for me?”

The female Elf went from depressed to elated in the span of a heartbeat. She quit wringing her ears, allowing them to perk up as her eyes enlarged threatening to fall out of her head. Before anybody -especially Hermione, who looked outraged at the goings on- could object Winky had latched onto Harry’s offered right hand.

The bonding process was rather unique for those watching. There weren’t any lights, sparkles, waves of magic or anything of the sort. Instead, one Winky became three hundred in the blink of an eye. Then, just to add to the crowd there were three hundred Dobbys, each picking a clone of his new coworker and vanishing to either the Battlements or one of the other multitude of properties Harry owned.

“See Hermione? I offered, she accepted and is now as happy as a clam,” he turned to look at the number one objector to House-Elf enslavement. “The difference between me and people like Malfoy is that I’m not going to abuse the trust she’s showing in me.”

“That, and House-Elves do die if unbonded for too long,” Luna stared off into the predawn light making itself known. “You know Harry is far too kind to abuse his Elves; if he does get upset with them he’ll talk to them and treat them like he wants to be treated.”

“Oh all right,” the brunette gave up on freeing the Elves before even starting. In its place was the desire to see their treatment improve from abusive families as a whole. Her look softened as she gazed at Harry. “You do have a point, both of you.”

“Great!” Molly chimed in, trying to hide her nervousness at being near the powerhouse under a chipper attitude. “Now that that’s sorted, can you get her out of here?” She jabbed her right thumb in the direction of Hermione earning a fierce scowl in return from everybody present. The scariest had to be from the fourteen year old boy in front of her as he was the only one with an eye-glowing thing going on.

“Fine,” Harry growled, glare set to maximum. Without turning his head he addressed the others. “Let’s get out of here, since somebody has it stuck in their head that they are never in the wrong.” He waited for the others to leave before turning to the Head of House Weasley. “House Potter will remember this behavior from Houses Prewett and Weasley; you tread on thin ice as it is. Arthur, thank you for your help tonight, however House Potter will be unable to repay this debt due to your wife not knowing when to shut her gob.”

The Harry clones, that everybody had forgotten about, had already left with the Abbots, Bones’, Patils, Li’s, and Tonks thus they weren’t around to witness the byplay.

1300; September 1, 1994; Hogwarts Express

“For the love of Morgana!” Harry was banging his head against a wall, entirely fed up with the traffic wandering by his car. Knowing that his responsibilities couldn’t be put off due to the school year he’d arrived at King’s Cross an hour early and convinced the Engineer to get one of the club cars out of storage for his personal use.

Well; convinced in the way of jumping into the Engine, throwing the thing in reverse nearly crashing into the end-of-track barricade then threatening to drive as fast as he could all the way to Hogsmeade.

Needless to say he got his private car. Instead of there being compartments the entire vehicle had open seating in bench-rows facing inwards lining the walls. This let the rather large group see each other without much craning of the neck.

The problem came not long after leaving the station in London. The Engineer, in a fit of pique, informed the entire train where Harry Potter could be found. Within moments people started coming and going, making the noise level entirely too high with the door to the next car nearly constantly open. Some of the visitors, especially the First Years, had come by to ‘see Harry Potter, the Eighth Wonder of the World’ -what the Engineer called him; some had come by just to say hello while some -Malfoy and his crowd- made their seasonal appearance and made fools of themselves.

Two hours later; the comings and goings of the students showed no sign of slowing down. As if back for more Malfoy had returned with his bodyguards, Millicent Bulstrode -who appeared extra sulky-, and Theodore Nott while Pansy was nowhere to be seen.

Since her father had been dumb enough to run with the Death Eaters that caused mayhem at the World Cup and promptly lost his head, she had avoided the Malfoy scion.

“What have you done to her Scar-head?” the leader of the group demanded, earning a deadpan look in return. He mistook the expression for confusion and elaborated. “Pansy, Scar-face! What have you done to her?!”

“Nothing, really,” was the drawled answer while he buffed the fingernails of his right hand on his shirt. “If anything, find her now dead father and ask him why he was a douche.” His eyes came up to meet Draco’s. “Now, could you quit acting like a five year old? Maybe find a dictionary to enhance your insults? Something like this, perhaps: ‘your Mum is a two-knut whore and your daddy was Voldemort’s cock puppet’.”

The entire car went silent, eyes popping from just about every head in disbelief. He had never really returned fire before and was now letting the Slytherin teen have it; both barrels. So shocked were they by the salvo that they completely overlooked the usage of the Dark Lord’s name.

“Or maybe even: ‘your daddy’s ancestor was cursed by a Veela to be a pretty boy with a tiny and useless tool’,” Harry was having no more of the young Malfoy. “I could go into quite a few about your Mum but as she’s a cousin of mine -and hasn’t done anything to me yet- I’ll leave it as it is. Maybe you, Crabbe, Goyle and Nott should go sit in a circle a pull one out of each other. Oh, wait, you can’t ‘cause they couldn’t find your junk hard let alone in its current state. Now then, son of a cock puppet, please make like a tree and leave.”

Malfoy’s face had almost reached the stage of red that would take it out of the pink range. Almost, but not quite leaving it looking like a kiwi fruit. The way his expression appeared pinched made it hard to tell if he really had to go to the toilet or was upset not only by the insults but by the laughter that was starting to build.

His back-up was no help; Crabbe and Goyle didn’t understand a word that just passed out of Potter’s mouth while Nott had stepped away with both arms up in surrender. Bulstrode continued to look sulky, not even paying attention to her surroundings.

With a grunt of anger Draco turned for the door, trying for the impressive robe billow and flubbing it as he tripped on them. Getting up, face now red due to bruising, he stormed out of the car with the Slytherins that had come in with him and slammed the door shut hard enough to shatter the window.

“What was that?” Padma Patil wondered, looking between Harry and the now repaired -and locked- door.

“Hmmm?” he was distracted for a moment, before her words filtered into his brain. “Oh, that was me showing Ponce E. McFerret what teenaged insults sounded like. While most of the time he sounds like an uneducated broken record, he really needed the demonstration that I’m no longer playing nice. I’m surprised he didn’t make any of his usual, snazzy comebacks about his old man though.”

That was something that had been bothering him for the better part of a month. Word of Lucius dying had gotten around but not the circumstances behind it. If Harry didn’t know better he’d have sworn that somebody would have made a stink about it; instead all he’d encountered was silence. This really set him on edge as it was the silent crowd he had to watch; they were the ones most likely to exact revenge. Then again, Dumbledore may have his fingers in this pie too.

“That wasn’t nice,” Susan Bones chided quietly, blushing while doing so. It was still hard for the young teen to draw attention to herself.

“Nice and Draco Malfoy in the same sentence is the herald of Armageddon,” Hermione looked nonplussed to be dishing out her own style of witty comments. “I’d say an oxy-moron but that’d be an insult to oxy-morons everywhere.”

“Speaking of Ron,” Luna chimed in from nowhere, earning raised eyebrows all around. “Word around the train before we left the station is that he failed last year and has to repeat Third Year again.”

“How did that happen?” Parvati’s gossip-senses were tingling. “More to the point, how did we miss it when the grades were posted?”

“Neville heard from his Gran,” Hannah replied for the blond, having been visiting her childhood friend one day, “that Dumbledore went to the Board to pass a student that had failed. The Headmaster made it sound like he’d just missed the cutoff for passing; instead when Augusta Longbottom reviewed the grades she found that Ronald Weasley scored Trolls across the board all year. When pressed Professor Dumbledore admitted that the boy hadn’t even tried to apply himself; he’s still missing assignments from September of last year.”

“Let me guess,” Harry groused, wondering why if Ron failed so miserably he was at the World Cup, “our illustrious leader assumed he could do what he wanted anyway and doctored the Grade Report; thus keeping Ron’s parents out of the picture?”

“Auntie mentioned something like that,” Susan blushed harder, but forged on. She could have been a Gryffindor plowing on even though she was embarrassed by the attention. “Madam Longbottom had Floo-called, wondering if she had any legal action she could take against the Headmaster for the attempt. Apparently he was in the room when she did so, presumably from Hogwarts, as within moments the question was withdrawn.”

“Ah, ickle Ron-Ron,” Blaise Zabini deadpanned, complete with half-lidded glare at nothing. “Yes, we even heard of his sheer lack of motivation in the Dungeons. Even though he had -still does, actually- detentions coming from his ears he never did any work unless the Professor in question for the class was hovering over his shoulder. We heard enough grumblings from Snape alone in that regard.”

“Professor Lupin looked like he was going to eat Weasley,” Daphne agreed, nodding her head. “Considering that he was our best DADA teacher to date and a werewolf that’s saying something right there.”

“Lupin was laid-back, very mellow,” Tracey Davis looked deep in thought. “He’d grace everybody, I mean everybody, with a smile and kind words . . . except for Ron. There was something that just rubbed the man the wrong way.”

“Do any of you remember a time Ron might’ve gone nuts over his rat?” Harry had an epiphany as to the real reason his father’s friend had been not-so-nice to his ex-friend. Granted, considering that he’d not bothered to try for the whole year -apparently with backing from Dumbledore- that didn’t set right with the brains of the Marauders.

“Near the end of the year,” Hermione didn’t want to spend vast amounts of time talking about the ginger that had been a total berk to her. “He was overheard ranting to Dean and Seamus that Crookshanks had eaten it but never came to me directly. I only found out ‘cause they told me.”

“And did Lupin’s mood improve or get worse when the rat went missing?” Harry pressed, leaning forward to look around the car.

“It got much worse,” Pansy appeared in the door, having been keyed into the lock. “He nearly yelled at Millicent for botching the handling of a Grindylow.”

“Peter you son of a . . .,” Harry’s eyes narrowed, glaring out the window opposite his seat. He did take note that the others looked confused and had a quick mental debate about informing them. “That rat wasn’t one; he happened to be an Animagus in hiding for the past twelve years at the time. While the man accused of betraying my parents rotted in Casa de Dementor, he sought out a Wizarding family in hopes of hearing any news about his Master. He must have heard something in the Castle as to the whereabouts of the Shade of Voldemort and left to hunt what’s left of him down. His name; Peter Pettigrew.”

Those that were familiar with the name fell out of their seats, looking completely shocked while the few that had the bare facts blinked owlishly.

“Peter was friends with three other boys during his time at Hogwarts,” Harry elaborated, seeing that not everybody got it. “My Da, James Potter; my Godfather, Sirius Black and Remus Lupin. The four were the biggest pranksters of the time, nicknamed the Marauders. In truth Peter was nothing more than a hanger-on; he followed the biggest bad in the sandbox. According to my Da’s journal, the three had become Animagi to run with Lupin on the nights of the Full Moon. Peter began acting oddly in Seventh Year -nineteen seventy-eight, seventy-nine- and after graduation, distancing himself from the group; disappearing for days on end and whatnot. While, as the weakest of the four, he was never suspected of it this was the time I figure he got his Dark Mark.”

He sighed, knowing that his parents were looking for the good in people rather than the bad. If they had been just as suspicious of Peter as they had Remus they might be alive this day. Shaking off the rather depressing feelings he carried on.

“Now we fast-forward a bit,” he leaned back in his seat. “For a length of time -my birth to October twenty-ninth of the following year- yes, Sirius was the Secret Keeper of the Fidelius Charm. I see every single one of you took notice of the date; on the thirtieth of October a switch was made from my Godfather to Rat-Man. Twenty-four hours later my parents were dead. Peter is the betrayer of the Potter Family and will die a most horrendous death if I ever get my hands on him.”

“Why did they switch?” Luna was confused, not an easy feat to accomplish with her.

“The switch was done on the suggestion of Albus Dumbledore,” his voice, and expression, were flat as eyes widened all around the car. “I’m undecided on Whiskers; I might just toss his arse out of the Castle tonight or maybe duel him to the death. I really don’t know and right now don’t rightly care.” He opted to change the topic. “So, what else did I miss last year?”

“Quidditch,” the Chaser Trio deadpanned at the same time, bringing up another issue. They alternated, creating a Triplet-Speak, “We didn’t get the Cup last year by not having a Seeker that could . . . well, Seek. McLaggen bullied Wood into letting him on the team; that worked about as well as Snape announcing he had found the cure for Phoenix-Sphincter.”

“Where do Magicals come up with these names?” Hermione was wide-eyed in disbelief. Then again, with the Mundane technical names of diseases that were at best difficult to pronounce unless one were highly educated there wasn’t much difference.

“The first reported case was some old guy that got buggered by a Phoenix,” Su looked like she wanted no part of the conversation but made an effort any way. “Since the guy had no clue what he had until the burning-death-rebirth thing -causing the muscles to be replaced every decade or so ruining any control- started in his arse he’d spread it around. Seems he wasn’t too picky about bed partners: old, young, men, women, human or not it didn’t matter.”

“That’s just wrong on so many levels,” Harry groused, shaking his head. “Right; is there anything else I missed besides Ron being himself, Professor Lupin being a real DADA teacher or Quidditch?”

The next few hours of the ride was spent in general conversation. Since the door to the next car was locked to those Harry didn’t want to see at the moment, the group had the chance to sit around and get used to each other in peace.

“There’ll be none of the old House Rivalry between us,” Harry was putting his foot down while he had the chance. “If this . . . idea of my House is to work there can’t be any of the mayhem that goes on in Hogwarts. I’m supposed to wait until we hear it from the Headmaster but as I happen to own the Castle and Grounds . . . there won’t be any Quidditch this year. Now that we’re half way to Hogwarts the vow of silence has lifted on an event taking place throughout the year.”

Everybody leaned towards him, listening raptly.

“England, France and Bulgaria have gotten it in their heads to make another go at the Tri-Wizard Tournament,” he was cutoff immediately by those that knew their history.

“Oh bollocks!” Daphne nearly raised her voice to shouting levels as her eyes tried to leave her face.

“The last time the Tri-Wizard was held all three Champions died!” Tracey looked panicked at the revelation.

“Oh, it gets even better,” Harry calmed the crowd slightly, before dropping another explosive cauldron on them. “The First Task involves Dragons; Dumbledore, as the Headmaster of the Host School had to get governmental approval to bring them into the country near populated areas and the School. I’m not talking hatchlings or juveniles, I mean the big ones; nesting mothers and their clutches to be precise.”

The cacophony of sound was great as they all tried to talk over each other. He let them go on for a bit to vent their emotions before waving his hands around the car silencing them.

“No doubt he expects another attempt on me,” this caused even wider eyes all around, even though it didn’t stop him. “I say that because Dumbledore has requisitioned four Dragons from the Romanian Preserve: Swedish Short-Snout, Chinese Fireball, Welsh Green and Hungarian Horntail. As you can imagine, when I heard his speech as to why the Tournament and the Dragons were a good idea I felt he was completely off his rocker.”

“Now, unlike everybody else -including Beauxbatons and Durmstrang- I have an out,” by getting it out in the open he eased many worries. “I’ve been studying the rules and history of the Tri-Wizard: rule twenty-eight-b states that governmental officials are prohibited from participating; four-thousand-eight-f states that the owner(s) of the Host location are again, prohibited. This means there is no chance at all that I’ll be forced in; the Goblet of Fire will reject my name . . . well, so long that somebody doesn’t mess with the charms already on it. Even if they do breaking out the rulebook will be in my favor.”

Hermione started waving her arms, trying to get his attention and the Silencio lifted and having no success. She had noticed the books he mentioned around the Battlements and now understood why they were out.

“The biggest thing about the Tournament,” Harry went on, softening his gaze, “is the Yule Ball. Oh yes, I can tell by your reactions that you’ve figured out the Dress Robes requirement this year. We need to come up with an idea of how we’re going to handle the Dance; I refuse to ask one and leave the rest out for it’s not fair to them.” Now he lifted the silencing charm, waiting for their input. “I’ve even invited Penny and Tonks, so that they aren’t left out.”

He tuned this part of the conversation out, knowing it was for his health to not try to tell a group of females what to do. There were times when he would get assertive, no doubt about that, but at the same time he was applying some self-preservation to the mix.

Women in general were scary like that.

So, as the noise washed over him, he turned to gaze out one of the many windows. The weather, that had been grey and gloomy when they’d left King’s Cross, had decided to make the ground its own personal toilet. The cloud-cover had turned black from the thickness and rain fell in waterfalls -not buckets, cauldrons or even barrels but hard enough to look like one was inside a rather large waterfall.

While gazing out of the window he felt the train begin to slow, which was extremely odd but given the washout/slide potential in the mountains there might be a problem with the tracks. This idea was quickly discarded when he noticed that the glass was frosting over; something that was an impossibility with the remaining summer warmth.

“What’s going on?” somebody shouted as the lights died, plunging the car into darkness after the train came to an abrupt halt. It was a good thing that the seats faced each other; if anybody had been facing towards the front of the train they would have been tossed on the floor. The darkness was quickly corrected by Harry creating glow-spheres of pure magic, sending them to float along the ceiling from one end of the car to the other.

“It seems the Ministry for Misfits has moved the Dementors,” his voice was the hardest they had ever heard it, “because of my Godfather. Although we know the Rat fled last year Sirius probably has no clue and has been spotted making his way to Hogwarts. I’d wager he figures I’m in danger from Peter and is wanting to insure he doesn’t finish the job his Master started.”

“There’s something boarding the train!” Parvati reported, briefly pressing her face against the window before backing away due to how cold the glass was.

Screams erupted from the car in front of them as students were exposed to the Dementor’s Aura at close range. While they couldn’t get into the last car thanks to the sophisticated magical lock on the door the rest of the train had no such security.

“Fudge the fuckstick must die,” Harry growled, as he stuck everybody to either their seats or each other before they could panic and try to aid their friends; this would just get them in the way. “Stay here; somebody has to clear the train of Snape’s relatives.” Another wave of his hand had quieted the car again, this time because of the translucent stag standing before him.

“Amelia Bones, Dementors on the Express for no bloody reason; tell Fudge he better run very far, very fast for the students are being exposed to their Aura,” the emotionless stern voice was back, before the aptly named Prongs ghosted out the rear of the car for London. After it left he waved both arms around his person, creating a small herd of five stags. One he willed aside to message McGonagall at Hogwarts as he still had respect for her leaving four to combat the Dark Creatures.

“Am I ever glad I learned the Patronus Charm,” he mumbled to himself, although with the silence in the car he was overheard rather easily. Then the herd charged the forward through the train as he followed, not having to change the way the door was locked insuring security behind him.

The screams of the students changed pitch as they were caught off guard by the apparitions of stags running roughshod on the Dementors. The noise level increased as those same creatures let out high-pitched bellows of pain from the manifestations. Those bellows turned into death keels when Harry made his presence known as he walked calmly into the fray.

One of the Dementor’s had Cho Chang ready for soul extraction but didn’t get the chance as its skull was turned into so much paste. Its partner/brother/whatever noticed and turned from Marietta Edgecombe, having already pulled her soul out of her body. When Harry saw the lifeless husk, knowing that the loss of one’s essence was permanent, he went into a berserker-style rage and hit the foul beast with a maximum power Evanesco. He may have had issues with both girls for picking on Luna over the summer but he wouldn’t want a Dementor to be the last thing they would ever see.

Under normal circumstances the magic wouldn’t do much; when cast by the equivalent of a pissed of Merlin however the results were as desired. The Dementor was simply Vanished into the nothing, taking with it every soul it had ever ‘eaten’.

Harry also multiplied himself, having one clone stay in the compartments he passed not only making certain any Dementors he missed didn’t try for a free snack but also seeing to the traumatized.

Original-Harry kept marching forward as the herd of Prongs did their job pushing the boarders along the train. Every now and then one would get brave enough to float over them to get at him and he would respond by using a fire-whip to take its’ head off or douse the thing in his magical-Napalm turning it into so much ash.

By the time he killed thirty Guards of Azkaban the main body had been pushed off of the train. It was here that the Patronus’ showed their true power and detonated in the crowd, blowing another eighty to hell and back.

When Harry made it to the Engine he found that the Engineer was Kissed; probably one of the first victims. Being glad that he’d messed with the controls earlier in the day he settled in for the long haul of trying to operate a fifteen car train smoothly. The students on board were scarred and scared enough; no sense in making it worse.

1900; Same Day; Hogwarts Great Hall

Albus Dumbledore didn’t look like an old man or a congenial grandfather. No, as the students shivered in their seats from exposure to Dementors he looked every inch the man that had gone toe-to-toe with Grindelwald and Voldemort. Needless to say, he was pissed; four Kissed students and two adults. Sara Fawcett, Marietta Edgecombe, Zacharias Smith and Marcus Belby were forever lost along with the Hogwarts Express Engineer and Stewardess also known as the Cart Lady; eighteen close calls such as Cho Chang while the rest of the students suffered from the Dementor’s Aura.

As he surveyed the masses, he took note that a few had yet to make their appearance. One in particular he was looking for; Harry Potter had found a way to kill Dementors and knew a piece of magic half of his staff couldn’t do. The Headmaster knew, just as Harry did, that those that had their souls taken were permanently lost; it would be far more merciful to hit the husks with a Killing Curse and be done with it. Doing so was easier said than done though for casting that particular curse took something that not a lot of people had.

The desire to see Death itself, up close and personal.

Before he could shake himself out of his thoughts, he noticed that Argus Filch was shutting the doors to the Entrance Hall before they swung back around fast enough to smack the walls drawing every eye in their direction, flinging the poor Caretaker clean across the Great Hall.

There, flanked by Hermione Granger and Luna Lovegood stood a just-as-angry-as-the-Headmaster Harry Potter. The teen looked ready to spew fire as only a Dragon could while the girls were partially hiding behind him, each poking their heads around his shoulders looking worried, as if somebody would attack them . . . well, either that or that somebody would set off the walking nitroglycerin bottle that was Potter.

“Who, in their right -or wrong, in this case- mind allowed Dementors near the Express?” he demanded; Pose of Death, Standing Variation set to maximum. The tone of his voice coupled with his expression told any and all what they needed to know: somebody was going to die as painfully as possible. “Let alone why those that survived swarming the train are now holding station here at Hogwarts and getting reinforcements from Azkaban?”

Dumbledore had heard from his sources in the DMLE that Britain was one hundred ten Dementors poorer; considering they only had five hundred as the procedure to make more was outlawed at the same time the Statute of Secrecy went into effect was saying something. The Ministry was metaphorically on fire from so many people -innocent children to minding their own business adults- getting Kissed in one go it wasn’t even funny. He had been told that Fudge had barricaded himself in the Minister’s Office and refused to see anybody face-to-face while Amelia Bones stomped around the place like a Nundu laying waste to all in front of her.

“What, couldn’t handle a few Dementors?” Snape sneered from his spot at the Head Table, before his hands flew to his throat as he started choking. From across the Hall people could see Harry with his right hand extended and in the shape of a C-clamp.

“I find your lack of faith disturbing,” even though his voice was low it boomed as if amplified . . . almost as if he was talking into a metal trashcan. “You shouldn’t talk Snape, if this wasn’t Neutral Ground I would kill you where you stand.” He lowered his hand to which he took the glare from the Potions Master, as he massaged his sore throat while getting his breath back, with the care of the animated armor -that is, none at all. “I know you know about the Blood Feud; so here’s how it’s going to work at the School. I’m bringing in my own private tutor and you are going to enjoy being a thestral’s cock sleeve. We stay away from each other and life will go on . . . so long that we don’t meet outside these walls.”

“One hundred points from Gryffindor!” the man sneered as severely as he could, which turned to confusion when the gems in the Points Glass didn’t so much as wiggle. “What the-? Piece of junk, I said one hundred points from Gryffindor! Damned contraption, why aren’t you working?! All right, fine; detention for the entire year Potter!”

“How about ‘no’ and you go suck Ron’s ass?” was the quick comeback, earning wide-eyes from just about everybody. Snape’s were bulging to the point that they appeared ready to fall out of his head. The Weasley in question tried to hide from the few looking in his direction; while it was awesome seeing somebody -anybody, really- have a go at the Potions Professor he only wanted to be an observer.

“Harry,” unsurprisingly Hermione appeared to have had enough of the disrespect, that was before she continued. “I know you want the man to pay for what he did but sucking on Ronald’s bum is a guarantee of death. Besides, they both might like it and keep going back for more.”

“Burn,” the Weasley Twins whispered to each other, looking awed at the goings on. While their hatred of Snape was only eclipsed by Harry’s they were still worried that he might go that one step too far. Jokes and comedy are one thing; getting hurt or hurting somebody else was a line they didn’t want to cross . . . most of the time. The things they had come up with but never used due to the danger level was astounding and would no doubt insure their expulsion if the Staff ever knew.

That, and after the Chaser’s got a hold of them after that one prank too far . . . both shivered in remembrance.

Now the Potion Master was apoplectic in rage and nothing he did seemed to work. Just as he was about to draw his wand the animated armor that everybody had seen but overlooked as decorative marched into the Great Hall. He thought that the Headmaster had summoned them to get rid of the Potter menace; instead his beginnings of a smug look turned to shock when one of the armor marched up to him and punched him square on the nose.

“Harry-,” Dumbledore started, only to be interrupted. He really didn’t like the fact that he’d lost control of the situation. This was a quirk of his; even if it was just appearances sake he had to feel in control.

“Ah, go call somebody that cares,” he made a left-to-right slashing motion with his right arm. “You are the one that’s supposed to see to our safety and yet you let Dementors near the Castle and twice -twice!- you’ve let one form or another of Voldemort in. Well, thrice if you count his original schooling but I digress; for a Headmaster you suck major goat scrotum. You know that my Godfather is innocent -no, don’t even try that,” Harry wiggled his fingers, disarming Dumbledore. “I told you as much and that I have proof yet you let Fudge the Frightened do whatever he wants? Well congratulations are in order; the six that got Kissed are your doing; not mine, not Sirius’, not even those foul creatures that should have never been created to begin with.”

“Mister Potter!” McGonagall wasn’t trying to chastise him, rather she wanted the conversation to be had in private. There was no reason to air the dirty laundry for all and sundry to see.

“Ah, sorry,” he caught on, knowing he was going to hear it later from various people. There was one thing he had to do with witnesses though and forged ahead. “As the Heir of the Four, and thus the owner of the Castle, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry is hereby on probation. If standards do not increase within five years I’ll have no choice but to shut the doors . . . permanently. Hear me out!” he yelled the last bit to be heard over the din he created. Eventually he had to create purple sparks to get everybody’s attention.

“Standards such as education are extremely lax; I did some research and found that the Fifth Year Beauxbatons students are getting into Spell Creation, a course we don’t even offer. Durmstrang students sit for the Defense Mastery in their Sixth Year; I agree with part of their philosophy. You have to know what you’re fighting to counter it. Other standards are student interactions; there’ll be no more of this Pure-Blood Propaganda Machine around here. What you choose to do outside these walls is your choice; it is not welcome here.”

“If you can’t do the course you can’t do the course,” he continued as the other students began to really think about the situation. “Over the summer -once I moved into my home- I tried my hand at Arithmancy in my spare time. I’m absolute pants at it so I know I couldn’t pass the course here. Runes, on the other hand . . . ooh, yes~. I found that I’m gifted with Runes; reading, writing, using, destroying- you name it, I can do it. Speaking of, excuse me for a moment.”

A platoon of animated armor marched into a squared-U formation, the opening facing the doors to the Great Hall, stopping between the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff tables midway to the Head Table. Once they were in place the floor melted downwards into a staircase.

“You two wait here,” he turned to look at Hermione then Luna. “Where I’m going nobody can follow.” With that he disappeared down the stairs, leaving those in the Great Hall befuddled.

Their lack of understanding lasted all of five minutes before the Castle seemed to come alive. The various forms of flame -candles, fireplaces and torch sconces- brightened to the point of being blinding, which when coupled with the sudden shine of the polished armor didn’t help in the least. Those that had spent enough time in the Mundane world recognized the sound of something large powering up, yet couldn’t identify exactly what that something was.

As the sound faded into a steady hum in the background from the open staircase came the crashing of what sounded like entire kitchens worth of pots, pans, ladles, silverware and various other utensils cascading to the floor.

“I’m okay!” Harry’s voice traveled up the stairs, earning more than a few laughs.

TBC

A light hearted ending here, which is good considering the events of this part.

Again, not much else to say other than visit my forum (link address in my profile) and two thumbs way, way up for the readers and reviewers.
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Magical Maturity