When Harry slid into his seat at the Gryffindor table on the Wednesday before the end of term, he didn't really expect much to happen. The papers, of course, were still all aflutter about everything, but he was largely ignoring that now. Fleur was a voracious reader anyway, and would let him know if something came up.
Dumbledore was notably absent from the head table again, which bothered him not a jot.
"Do you know what you're doing for the summer, Harry?" asked Neville once they had all tucked in.
"I have no idea yet, Nev," shrugged Harry. "I'll be in France with Fleur and her family, but that's all I really know right now."
"We will 'ave a good summer," smiled Fleur. "I cannot wait to take you on a tour of ze area."
Harry felt a rush of pleasure at that concept, and not just because of Fleur. He had never actually had a real summer vacation before, instead spending them all forcibly holed up at Privet Drive. To actually be able to go out and do things for the summer? That would be incredible!
"I can't wait," he said softly.
Fleur reached over and brushed his cheek, the soft look in her eyes telling him that she understood his reaction. "It will be wonderful, mon amour," she assured him. "And zere are plenty of ozzer things we can do as well."
"I should get your contact information," noted Hermione. "My parents and I often travel to France in the summers, and it would be nice if we could stop in and see you."
"Oui," smiled Fleur. "Zat would be magnifique! We can go shopping, too!"
The girls might have devolved right there into a discussion about shopping that only girls can appreciate, but they were interrupted by the arrival of the mail. Hedwig came to light on Harry's shoulder, and Fleur reached up to detach a scroll from her leg. Half the school stared openly at this; Hedwig was notoriously protective of her master's mail.
"What?" she asked when she saw that Hermione was among those staring.
"I'm surprised she let you do that," breathed Hermione.
"She knows who Fleur is," smiled Harry, reaching up to scratch his familiar. "Of course she'll allow it."
Fleur shook her head with a grin and skimmed the missive before handing it to him. He was surprised to see that it was a summons from Madam Bones — and an official one, at that. He was quite grateful that Dumbledore wasn't there to cause problems.
"We'd better go right after breakfast," he sighed. "I don't know what she wants, but whatever it is, it's probably important."
"Oui," nodded Fleur.
They finished their breakfast quickly after that; neither wanted to dally. Madam Bones struck them as the sort of woman who didn't mess about. If she was sending an official summons, then she had very good reason to do so, and keeping her waiting would not be wise.
They made their way back to the carriage after saying goodbye to their friends, and from there they took the floo to the Ministry. Harry made a mental note to learn to Apparate as soon as he could; it would be a lot more convenient.
All talk in the Ministry Atrium stopped when they appeared, but other than the usual whispers that tended to follow him in public, people left them alone. The latter suited Harry perfectly, but the quiet scrutiny sent a shiver up his spine. He sincerely hoped that he was less famous in France than in Britain.
Fleur had assured him that it was indeed the case, but he wouldn't truly believe it until he experienced it.
Harry came very close to hexing the wand checker when he leered at Fleur — but clearing his throat at the man seemed to do the trick. It was as though he had simply locked in on Fleur, and not noticed that her husband was standing right next to her. And given that her husband held the Order of Merlin and had recently bagged the Dark Lord Voldemort, nobody was going to challenge him.
It was one of the few aspects of his fame that he was actually thankful for.
Once they were through the gauntlet that was the atrium, they made their way quickly to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, which was a hive of quiet activity. Harry had once heard Vernon refer to this sort of place as a "gopher pit." Numerous Aurors and other employees worked quietly away, occasionally popping up out of their holes to converse over the top of the cubicles.
It was all of ten seconds before they were spotted by Auror Tonks.
"Wotcher!" she greeted, sporting hair that was vivid, Gryffindor red today.
"Hi," smiled Harry. He couldn't help it; the girl's obvious cheer was contagious. "Madam Bones sent for us."
"Yup," bobbed Tonks, gesturing for them to follow her. "Over here, she is."
Fleur chuckled at the spunky Auror, and Harry was glad that she wasn't the jealous sort. Not that Harry would ever betray her; he'd meant the oath he swore at their wedding. No doubt, so did she.
Tonks led them into Madam Bones' office, and the woman quickly sent her on her way. She didn't offer them a seat, however. Harry thought she looked rather distracted.
"The message wasn't actually for a meeting with me," she said quickly. "The Department of Mysteries wants to talk to you. Follow me please."
Harry frowned, but followed just the same. He knew of the Prophecy, of course, and that was the only thing he could think of that would have them contacting him. Except–
"Maybe zey want to check your scar," mused Fleur. "To ensure zat it was 'andled correctly."
"Maybe," frowned Harry.
She gave him a reassuring squeeze, and he refocused his attention back on Madam Bones, who was setting a brisk pace through the Ministry corridors.
They soon found themselves many floors deeper into the building, standing in the middle of a circular room, with eight doors surrounding them. As soon as the door closed behind the trio, the room spun. It was an odd magical effect; Harry could tell that the floor was what was spinning, but with the lack of sensation, it actually seemed as though the walls were moving instead.
"Croaker," ordered Madam Bones to no-one and nothing in particular.
There was a solid thunk from a door to their right, and she quickly led the way through, though she made sure to hold it open for them. Harry had the sense that getting lost in this place would be a bad idea. It was probably called the Department of Mysteries for a reason.
At the end of this new hall was a single office, the occupant of which was an older graying gentleman. Harry wasn't sure why he was showing his face; rumor had it that nobody knew who the Unspeakables actually were. Either way, he supposed it didn't matter.
"Ah, Amelia," the man said. Turning to Harry and Fleur he added, "and these must be the Potters. You can call me Saul Croaker. I'm the current Head Unspeakable."
And Harry suddenly understood. They could call him Saul Croaker, but it was highly unlikely that was his real name — or even his real appearance. Interesting.
"You two have caused quite the ruckus over the past few months," he continued, oblivious to Harry's bout of understanding. "We've enjoyed watching the results, I must say. It's about time that bastard Malfoy paid for his crimes, for one."
The darkness in the man's voice made Harry think that this man – or someone he had known and loved – had been a victim of the Death Eaters in the last war, and maybe Malfoy specifically. No surprise there; there weren't many who hadn't been touched in Harry's experience. In fact, the only ones who had come through relatively unscathed were those of a Dark persuasion.
And that was all thanks to Albus Dumbledore; he was the one who handicapped everyone, preventing them from fighting back with lethal force, even when lethal force was used against them.
"He got what he deserved," shrugged Harry.
"Indeed he did," agreed the man known as Croaker. "But alas, as amusing and frankly satisfying as your efforts have been, only one of them is the reason you're here today. Specifically, the capture and current disposition of one Tom Marvolo Riddle." Frowning slightly in thought he added, "That isn't short for Thomas, did you know? His mother actually named him Tom as his full name."
"I don't even know who his mother was," shrugged Harry, deciding that he had no objection to playing whatever Croaker's game was, at least for the moment. "Dumbledore hasn't exactly gone out of his way to let people know who their Dark Lord was, or even that he was apparently a half-blood. Strange considering how much support that might have stripped from him during the war."
"Strange indeed," agreed Croaker. "But then, Dumbledore is also a blood supremacist, just in a different way than Riddle or his bunch. He would rather save the life of a pureblood murderer than protect the life of a half blood or muggleborn student from the same. Draco Malfoy comes to mind."
"Zen why does 'e 'ave ze reputation as ze champion of muggleborns?" wondered Fleur.
"Luck mostly, on his part," smiled Croaker. "He helped a few, and it got around. Besides, he doesn't actually want them dead; he just doesn't want them having significant influence on Magical Society. They're too progressive, and he'd rather our society stay mired in the 1800's, which is when he was born."
"Makes sense," nodded Harry. "From what I've seen, nothing will change his mind, either. He's stuck in his ways."
"Exactly," agreed Croaker, seeming pleased that Harry understood. Then he turned much more serious. "But we've gotten off track. Are you aware that you are the subject of a Prophecy, Mr. Potter?"
"I am," he nodded. "But I don't know what it says, and I'm not so sure I want to know."
"Smart lad," nodded Croaker. Seemingly changing the subject he asked, "Are you willing to take the life of Tom Riddle?"
That seriousness of that question, and the abrupt nature of it, made him blink hard. "I'd rather not if it's all the same to you," he frowned, "but I would if it came down to it."
Fleur stirred from her ongoing study of Croaker and gave Harry's hand a gentle squeeze. "Riddle ees a monster," she agreed. "'E needs to be put down. Zat does not mean we prefer to be ze ones to do eet. Neizzer of us would 'esitate, though."
For his part, Croaker seemed inordinately pleased with their responses. "Excellent," he replied. "Much though I wish I could spare you the trouble, we have reason to believe that you do need to be the one to take this step, Mr. Potter. There is deep magic involved, and we don't want to find out if we're wrong. It could be disastrous.
"You already know of the Horcruxes. We have now confirmed that they have all been destroyed, including the one that resided in your scar – though why Dumbledore didn't–"
Croaker broke off suddenly and shook himself. "No, let's not go there right now," he said. "The important point is that they're gone. Riddle is now theoretically mortal again, but there are other things he has done to himself. We Unspeakables believe that there is a very strong probability that someone else killing him will not actually work, and may release him again, possibly in an even worse form."
Harry didn't need to guess at Croaker's aborted comments regarding Dumbledore. He, too, figured that Dumbledore knew of the Horcrux Tom left behind in his scar, and did nothing about it. Unless they somehow got Veritaserum into the old goat, he would probably never learn the truth of that.
And maybe not even then; as one of the few remaining alchemists, Dumbledore might be able to actually beat Veritaserum somehow.
Focusing back on the present, however, he considered his options – and the simple truth was, there weren't any. If he needed to be the one to put Tom down, then so be it. The bastard had killed his parents, so he wasn't going to balk, no matter how many nightmares it caused.
Thankful that they had given him the time to think it through, he turned to look at Madam Bones. "Are there any legal issues?" he asked. "I don't want to get hauled up for murder for offing a Dark Lord."
Croaker smiled again; it was clear that he was impressed with the question.
"That's been taken care of, Mr. Potter, though I didn't understand why until now. The Unspeakables, though me, negotiated a full pardon for both you and your wife for any actions taken in relation to Tom Marvolo Riddle. The order is classified "Omega", which means that even Fudge doesn't remember signing it, though it is magically certified so he can't back out of it later."
With that she handed over a piece of paper, and Harry quickly read it through. It was exactly what she said it was. Fleur also read it, and nodded thoughtfully.
"Does it 'ave to be known to ze public zat 'e was the one to do ze deed?" she asked. "'Arry does not like ze attention."
Harry nodded sharply. "Good call, love," he agreed.
"That won't be a problem," Croaker assured them. "We'll take all the credit if you want."
"Please do," nodded Harry.
"So you're willing to do this?"
Harry looked Croaker straight in the eye. "If that's what it takes to get rid of him for good?" He said. "Yes."
"Excellent. Follow me."
While Harry was surprised at the suddenness of it, he still stood — handing his wife up while he was at it — and followed Croaker out of the room, with Madam Bones bringing up the rear. He had the distinct sense that she was there just as a witness. Or maybe to be his advocate if it came down to it.
Either way, he felt better for her presence.
Croaker led them through the maze that was the Department, and Harry could barely keep track of the route. He doubted he would be able to find his way out of this place by memory. It was probably done on purpose; if you couldn't find things, then you couldn't steal or destroy them.
Soon enough they were in a different room, this one rather large. Steps – or perhaps stone seats – ringed it, going down to the center where a tall archway stood on a dais. A curtain of sorts hung in the center, blowing in a nonexistent breeze.
Just looking at it gave Harry a feeling of foreboding.
On one side of the dais was a spindly table, upon which was a small glass orb, lit from within with a soft white glow. On the other side was a crib that had seen better days. Behind the crib stood another Unspeakable, this one with his hood up and his face obscured.
Croaker directed Harry to the crib. "That's Riddle," he explained. "All you need to do is toss him through the veil here, and that's it."
"And zat will keel 'im?" asked Fleur skeptically.
"It is called the Veil of Death for a reason," noted the other Unspeakable omniously. The voice was so nondescript that Harry couldn't tell if the speaker was male or female.
"If you say so," he shrugged. "I'm sure as hell not touching that thing though."
And with that he drew his wand, even as the Unspeakables both chuckled at him. A quick levitation charm had the unconscious creature lifted out of the crib, and he quickly tossed it in the direction of the Veil. He was quite surprised when it vanished.
And even more so when the little orb stopped glowing at almost the exact same time.
"And so it ends," intoned the unknown Unspeakable. And then they nodded to Croaker and turned and left the room.
For his part, Croaker palmed the darkened orb. "Come," he said with a gesture. "Let's go back to my office."
Harry wasn't sure what he expected, but the whole situation was so sudden and so surreal that he didn't feel any different as they made the trek back. He thought he should feel guilty or something for taking a life, but he just felt… nothing. Maybe a small amount of relief that Tom was gone, but he'd largely assumed that already, so it was minimal.
He really wasn't sure what that said about him.
As though sensing his confusion, Fleur gave his hand a squeeze, and he turned to find her smiling proudly back at him. He quickly realized that her opinion was all he cared about in the end; if his wife was okay with it, who was he to complain?
They would discuss it later, he was sure.
Once they were seated back in Croaker's office, the man put the orb down on the desk in front of him. Harry studied it carefully; it was clearly important, but he had no idea how or why. Apart from the bronze stand, the orb was seamless. He had no idea what it was.
"You don't know what this is?" asked Croaker, as though reading his mind.
"No sir," he frowned.
"No guesses?" prompted the man.
"I thought maybe some kind of monitor on Riddle to make sure he actually died, but something tells me it's more than that."
Croaker smiled in that pleased way of his again. "Indeed," he agreed, "it could be said to be such a monitor after a fashion, but it is so very much more. This, Mr. Potter, is what we refer to simply as a Prophecy Sphere."
Harry perked up at this. "So the fact that the light went out means that whatever the Prophecy was, it's done?" he asked hopefully.
"Exactly," Croaker chuckled. "Would you like to hear it now? It was given to Dumbledore by Sybill Trelawney of all people. Her only known true prophecy."
"There's another one actually," he said absently as he considered his options. If the Prophecy was fulfilled, then he supposed there was no harm in hearing it. He was curious, and had only been worried about screwing things up somehow simply because he knew what it said.
"Another?" asked an astonished Croaker. "Do you know what it said?"
Harry felt it something of an accomplishment that he'd surprised the man. He closed his eyes and recalled the event in question so he could get the wording correct, and repeated it word for word.
"I thought it meant Sirius Black at the time, but it actually referred to Peter Pettigrew."
"No wonder you were so 'esitent to 'ear zis prophecy," mused Fleur. "Zat would 'ave been disastrous if you 'ad acted on eet wizout knowing ze truth."
"Indeed," agreed Croaker thoughtfully. "Prophecy is Perilous they say, and they are usually right. You were likely very wise not to listen to this one until now, when it's already completed."
"I would like to hear it," admitted Harry after a moment. "Seems to me that if Dumbledore was the one who heard it originally, it will probably explain a lot about his interest in my life."
Croaker chuckled and nodded as he tapped his wand on the sphere. The image of Sybill Trelawney rose from the orb and began to speak in the same harsh, guttural tones that he'd heard once before. When the recording ended, Harry was flummoxed.
"That twaddle was what had Dumbledore all up in my life?" he asked in astonishment. "Is that glow magical? Because that thing could've been fulfilled in 1981. All the conditions are met."
Croaker blinked at that. "That's a very good point, but yes, the glow is magical. It won't go out until the Prophecy is completed."
Harry shook his head, feeling a surprisingly deep sense of loathing toward his former Headmaster. He suddenly realized that his subconscious had still hoped that there was something that might excuse the old criminal's behavior, though now that was clearly no longer the case. In fact, it made it worse.
"You realize that Dumbledore committed Treason, don't you?" he asked quietly.
Croaker's eyebrows went up, but it was Madam Bones who asked the question. "What do you mean?" she frowned.
"I think I see where you are going, mon amour," frowned Fleur, "and you are right. Not just against ze British eizzer." Turning toward Bones and Croaker again she added, "What would ze correct course of action be if you 'eard zis Prophecy, and zen ze presumed subject was orphaned?"
Croaker' eyes widened. "Oh my," he breathed. "You take that child and raise him right, teaching him all you can to make him a force to be reckoned with. Which in and of itself could be considered 'not living' in the same sense as what Dumbledore did to you, but far less harmful."
"I don't disagree with that," frowned Bones, "but how does that equate to Treason? That's a serious charge."
"Simple," said Harry, closing his eyes against the anger welling up inside. "The prophecy says that the one with the power approaches. Not 'the first one'. Not 'one of many'. Just 'the ONE'. The clear implication is that there won't be another. Dumbledore kept me completely untrained and made me weaker at every turn." His voice falling to a whisper, he concluded, "he was setting me up to die. To fail. And that would have meant that Voldemort won. Possibly forever."
There was a stark silence in the room in the wake of this declaration. Each of them were clearly considering the implications. Fleur's arms came around him as he struggled against the incredibly powerful sense of betrayal that arose within. This was so much worse than just stealing his money!
"Saul?" asked Bones faintly. "Is his interpretation correct?"
Croaker was staring blankly at the wall, clearly disturbed by Harry's statements, but suddenly shook himself and sighed a heavy sigh when the question finally registered. "In a word, Amelia?" he said. "Yes. Prophecies are known to be very specific that way. And I didn't see it until he just pointed it out."
"Merlin!" she breathed.
Harry just shook his head, though. "It doesn't matter anymore," he said quietly. "Tom is gone, and the Prophecy is fulfilled. And we can't change the past."
"I am going to string that son of a bitch up by his sodding beard," growled Amelia lowly.
"It's not worth it," sighed Harry softly, leaning back into Fleur again. "He's already going down hard for stealing from my estate. Even if he misses out on a stay at the Azkaban resort, nobody will ever respect him again, let alone trust him. That's honestly a much worse punishment for an egotistical bastard like him."