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Part Five: Voldemort Reborn.

Susan, Hannah and Hermione sat side-by-side waiting in the darkness for the final task to be finished.  It was only the anxiety of not knowing how Cedric and Harry were doing that kept spectating this final event from being utterly boring.

There had been a short period of amusement, not long after Harry had entered the maze, when there had been a confrontation between Ron Weasley and Draco Malfoy.  Draco had chosen a seat directly in front of Ron and upon sitting had lowered the hood of his cloak, which allowed a huge rainbow colored mass of tight curls to escape.

There was silence throughout the student section of the stand for several seconds as the sight of the Slytherin prince’s newest head covering sank in. Ron had reached out and tapped Draco on the shoulder.  “Down in front.” 

Turning his head to face Weasley, Malfoy asked in his most imperious tone, “Excuse me?”    The individual strands of the aforementioned multi-hued mop continued to move in hypnotic spirals for several seconds after Draco’s head had stopped moving, spoiling the effect of his attitude.  

“Look, I can’t see the field; can you do something about your hair?”  Ron paused, peering at the rainbow afro in suspicion.  “Speaking of your hair, have you done something different with it?  You look different somehow Malfoy.”

In the seats behind him, George and Fred Weasley exchanged guilty glances as they observed first-hand the results of Ron having been their principle test subject for pranks just a few too many times.

“I’ve done nothing different,” Draco spat, busily employing that tactic favored by the Malfoy clan for generations; Deny, Deny, Deny.

“Really?” Ron asked.  “I could have sworn you looked different somehow, but anyway I can’t see the field with your hair in the way.”

From there the discussion between the two rivals had descended into what some generous souls might have called violence.  The pair pushing each other a few times before beginning what could only be called, an epic slap fight.  The twins and Draco’s bookends made a few halfhearted attempts into stopping the embarrassing altercation, before all four backed off when a furious Professor Flitwick came thundering up the bleachers to confront the battling pair.  After several moments of attempting to calm the situation, the crowd was treated to the Charms instructor grasping both of the fighters by their ears, and escorting them away, all the while chastising them for ‘embarrassing Hogwarts’ with their childlike behavior.

The waiting became worse by the minute until at the 83-minute mark when red sparks sprayed into the sky over the maze.  The instructors clustered for a moment before Professor McGonagall, easily identified by her tartan sash, entered the maze, only to emerge a few minutes later levitating a badly burned Fleur Delacour. 

“Merlin,” Susan breathed as the runic arrays showed, in graphic detail, the wounded French champion being levitated into the medical tent.  “How horrible!  I wouldn’t have thought a Veela could be burned.”

“I’m sure Professor Dumbledore knows what he’s doing,” Hermione said, trying mightily to convince herself.  “The staff must have taken precautions to keep anyone from getting hurt.  Fleur probably just lost her concentration for a moment.”

Hannah nodded in agreement while Susan looked at her two friends as if they had lost their minds.  All year long, the Champions had been subjected to horrible dangers and the majority of the students still thought that the tournament was safe.  It had never occurred to her that Hannah and Hermione shared in that delusion.  Still, Harry had a plan.  He hadn’t told her what it was, but he had a plan, Susan was sure of it.  No one who could make deals with Dragons and Merfolk could possibly be inconvenienced by a mere hedgerow maze.

At the 107-minute mark, the murmuring of the crowd was broken by an odd sound, one that Hermione associated with the cartoons she had watched as a child.  A sort of low pitched ‘TWANG!’  That unusual sound was followed by the sight and sound of a screaming Viktor Krum arcing through the air over the hedgerows.  The three girls exchanged looks.

“Was that part of the task?” Hannah asked, while trying to figure out exactly what a flying Krum might mean.

“I don’t know,” Hermione answered truthfully.  “I can’t imagine what that might…”  That was when the bushy haired Gryffindor spotted Susan’s calm demeanor.  “You aren’t worried.”

“Harry,” Susan said quietly, “has a plan.”

“A plan?” Hermione asked incredulously.  “He’s got a plan?”

“Harry has had a plan for every task in this contest,” the redhead said simply.  “I don’t know what, and I don’t know how, but he’s going to be fine.”  A grin puled at the edges of her mouth.  “And he’s going to win too.”

“Sue!” Hannah protested, “I know you think he was talking to dragons and the Merfolk, but you can’t possibly believe…”

“Talking to dragons?” Hermione interjected, “what do you mean by that?”

“Harry is a parselmouth as you well know,” Susan said quietly.  “Dragons speak parseltongue.”

“But…” Susan could see that Harry best friend was conflicted between what she had read in her textbooks and her belief in Harry.  “Dragons are supposed to be mindless beasts.”

“And snakes are erudite conversationalists?” the redhead asked.

“Well, no but…”

TWANG!

The three girls’ eyes flashed to the maze in time to see a screaming Viktor Krum once again flying in a ballistic arc over the maze.

“Why the hell is he doing that?” Hannah asked.

“I don’t think he’s doing it on purpose,” Susan said before nudging her fellow ‘puff.  “Check Chang out.”

“Crying again?” Hannah snorted.  “The bint was like a waterworks when she dumped Cedric, and now she’s sobbing for Krum when he flies without a broom?”

“You’ll forgive me,” Hermione smirked, “if I find the idea of Cho breaking up with Cedric to be a good thing.”

“Yeah, you would,” Hannah snarked.

“My love life aside,” Hermione sniffed.  “Are you seriously expecting us to believe that Harry can talk to dragons?”

“Hermione, you are brilliant, but sometimes I think you’re blind.  What is more likely, that Harry can talk to dragons or Harry could defeat a dragon with the magic he knows?”

“Well… I suppose what you’re saying makes some sense…” Hermione said hesitantly.

“Tell her about Harry’s nieces and nephew,” Hannah said with a grin.

“Nieces and nephew?”

“Hermione,” Susan said lowering her voice though she was sure no one was listening to them, “do you remember the rumors back in March about dragons being seen near the Forbidden Forest?”

“Yes,” the brunette replied cautiously.

“At the first task, the Horntail’s eggs hatched just as Harry was retrieving his golden egg.  He was the first living thing the hatchlings saw, and they bonded to him.”

“Bonded to him?” Hermione asked, “What does that even mean?”

“According to my insane friend, the little dragons all think Harry is their uncle.”

Hermione paused for a moment while taking that bit of information in and comparing it to what she had managed to learn about dragons.  “That doesn’t make the slightest bit of sense.”

“That’s what I told her,” Hannah agreed.  “Personally, I think associating with your friend Harry had driven her ‘round the bend.  You should see the necklace Harry gave her, telling her he got it for babysitting the little dragons.”

“A necklace?”  Clearly, Hermione decided, the Hufflepuffs were not as stable as their reputations would lead one to believe.

TWANG!

Again, Viktor’s flailing form flew through the air over the hedges.

“Ok,” Hannah pronounced.  “He’s got to be doing that for the fun of it now.”

A weak spray of red sparks appeared over the hedgerows.  That left only two competitors in the maze.

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Soon, it was going to happen soon.

Barty Crouch Jr. stood transfixed standing apart from the other professors, in the shadows of the towering seats, trying and failing to use Moody’s magical eye to see what was going on behind the hedgerows.  Karkarov had been just too protective of his champion and Crouch had been unable to get close enough to Krum to put the boy under the Imperius, so his plan ‘B’ had fallen to the side.

It really did not matter, one way or the other; his master would be regaining a body this night.  The Dark Lord had said that he wanted Potter, but he would settle for any of these children.  First the Veela had failed and was removed from the maze, and then Krum had broken his leg.  That left Potter and Diggory alone in the maze.  His Master would reward Crouch for his work, of that Barty was sure, but to get Potter… His Master wanted that prize beyond all others.

His left hand tingled for a moment, the signal that it was time to renew his polyjuice dosage.  Crouch fished out his flask from the pocket he kept it in; raising it to his lips he discovered it to be empty.

Had forgotten to refill his flask after his last dose?

A feeling of panic gripped his mind, as he tried to calculate the time he had left in this form.  To extend his supply of polyjuice to its fullest, he had only given himself a one minute buffer between doses.  A chill ran up his spine as he realized that he has wasted almost half that time trying to deal with the shock.  He backed further into the shadows, and removed Moody’s eye.  There was no way he would make it back to his quarters before he changed, and being blinded when his real eye came back would only hinder his escape.  He was struggling with the straps that held the wooden peg to his hip for much the same reason when the change started.

“Do you need help with that Professor?” a sultry voice asked, startling Crouch, who looked up as he felt his face resume its normal shape.

“Who are you?” the voice screeched.  “Incarcerous!”

The man stood upright as the ropes began encircling his body.  He began struggling when another spell was cast.

“Petrificus Totalus!” Crouch’s limbs stiffened inside the ropes that now bound him head to foot and he pitched forward face down onto the ground.  The paralysis prevented him from screaming as his leg attempted to return and was crushed by the peg leg strapped to his torso.  Crouch found himself being roughly rolled onto his back, and a pair of strong hands gripping the lapels of his robes, and his body was lifted from the ground.  Into his frame of vision came the enraged face of his tormentor. 

“Who are you?” Seventh year Hufflepuff Hope Gwinn’s enraged visage demanded.  “And what have you done with Professor Moody?”

“Miss Gwinn?  What are you doing?” Minerva McGonagall’s voice broke through Crouch’s haze of pain.

“This man was impersonating Professor Moody Professor,” the girl said, allowing Barty to fall to the ground so that his body rolled allowing him a view of the maze as the hedgerows suddenly withered away to nothing, signaling that someone had taken the cup.

Inside his paralyzed, damaged body, Barty Crouch Jr. rejoiced.  He had won.  His Master would be reborn!

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The first indication that the tournament was over was a sudden flash of light from the runic displays, then the audience was treated to the sight of the hedgerow withering away, followed immediately by Hagrid rushing onto the pitch to retrieve his creatures.

All eyes were drawn to the gleaming white pedestal in the middle of what had been the maze, and the huge acromantula near it, that was busying itself scurrying off.  Near the pedestal, a haggard Cedric Diggory was struggling to his feet. 

“Cedric!” Hermione cried out.

“That’s my son!” Amos Diggory called from the VIP section.  “My Cedric has won the Triwizard Tournament!”

However, the way the now upright Cedric hung his head showed to the crowd that Amos was not correct in his assumption.

Susan bolted to her feet, her face white, her earlier confidence gone.  “Where’s Harry?

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Harry felt his feet slam into the ground; his left leg gave out, and he fell, face down into a puddle of some foul smelling liquid. Released from the portkey paralysis, Harry’s hand spasmed as he fell, allowing the Triwizard Cup to bounce away. Spitting out a mouthful of what he sincerely hoped was mud; Harry raised his head in an attempt to take in his surroundings.

“What the hell is happening to me now?” he screamed out to the world.

Harry climbed to his feet, and looked around.

He had apparently left the Hogwarts grounds completely; having obviously traveled miles... perhaps hundreds of miles... because even the mountains surrounding the castle were gone. He found himself standing in a gloomy and overrun graveyard; the outline of what appeared to be a small church was just beyond a large tree to his right. A hill rose to his left. Harry could just make out what looked to be a large and imposing building on the hillside.

No one had said anything about the cup being a portkey.  Harry paused for a moment to wonder why it seemed that every time he was introduced to a new form of magical travel only a few months later it would be used on him without as much as a by your leave.

Shaking off that thought, Harry looked around the graveyard. It was completely silent and slightly eerie. Was this supposed to be part of the task?

If so, it did not make much sense. Only one of the Champions could have taken the cup, unless some of them decided to share the cup for some stupid reason. So why would the contest continue after the cup was taken? None of this made the slightest bit of sense.

That was when he noticed something... or someone moving in the mist. Bitter experience had taught him that this could not possibly be good. Squinting tensely through the darkness, Harry watched the figure drawing nearer, walking steadily toward them between the graves. Harry could not make out a face, but from the way it was walking and holding its arms, he could tell that it was carrying something. Whoever it was, he was short, and wearing a hooded cloak pulled up over his head to obscure his face. As the figure got closer, Harry saw that the stranger seemed to be cradling something it his arms… perhaps a baby… or was it merely a bundle of robes?

Harry lowered his wand slightly as the figure stopped beside a towering marble headstone, only six feet from him. For a second Harry and the short figure simply stared at one another.

Without warning, Harry’s scar exploded with pain. It was agony such as he had never felt in all his life; his wand slipped from his fingers as he put his hands over his face; his knees buckled; he was on the ground and he could see nothing at all; his head was about to split open.
 

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“Crucio!”

There was a certain joy in the infliction of pain. That was a lesson Tom Riddle had learned in the orphanage so long ago. A smile spread across the face of the newly reborn Dark Lord. The boy's body convulsed against the ropes holding him in place. Potter had never experienced the pain curse before, but despite that, the boy did not scream. Voldemort was sure that the gag was at least part of the boy's grunting silence, but it was good to find that his victim had at least some fight in him.

Voldemort released the curse, and watched as the boy hung limply in the ropes that bound him to the headstone of Voldemort’s father, yet still managed to maintain a disconcerting eye contact with his torturer.  Looking into those bright green eyes Voldemort had to chuckle. The night was ringing with the sound of the Death Eaters’ laughter. They had not been laughing earlier when Voldemort had used the same curse upon several of them, but they seemed to find the boy's pain hilarious.

“And to think, some of you believed that this boy destroyed me. Only a fool would believe that this boy could have ever been stronger than I,” Voldemort lectured his Death Eaters. “But there will be no question in any one's mind. Harry Potter escaped me by luck alone. Now I will demonstrate my power by destroying him, in front of you all.  There will be no mother to die for him this time.  No Dumbledore to hide him away. I am not without compassion however; I will give the boy a chance. He will be allowed to fight me, and you will be left in no doubt which of us is the stronger. You will have to wait for your meal just a little longer, Nagini,” he proclaimed.

The snake looked up from where it lay, seemed to roll nonexistent shoulders in a manner that suggested a shrug, and then returned its attention to what appeared to be a magazine of some type.  Voldemort blinked.  Was his familiar reading?  No, he could not allow himself to be distracted, not now.  Still, the Dark Lord wondered how a language such as Parseltongue could possibly have a written form considering the vast majority of the creatures that used it were for the most part were unable to manipulate the world around them.

“Now untie him, Pettigrew, and give him back his wand.”

The rat animagus gestured with his wand, freeing Potter, who scrambled to his feet as soon as he was released.

There was a moment, perhaps, when the boy looked like he might have been considering running for it, but his legs shook in fear as he stood on the overgrown grave, as the Death Eaters closed ranks, forming a semicircle behind their lord.

Pettigrew searched the area where Harry had collapsed from the pain in his scar and returned with Potter’s wand, which he thrust roughly into the boy’s hand without meeting his eye. Then Pettigrew returned to his place among the watching Death Eaters.

“You have been taught how to duel Harry Potter?” said Voldemort softly, his red eyes glinting through the darkness.

The boy said nothing, but nodded.

"Excellent," Voldemort enthused while wondering just when a fourteen year old would have taught dueling.  Not that it mattered, the boy was about to die. “We bow to each other. Harry,” said Voldemort, bending a little, but keeping his snakelike face upturned to Harry. “Come now, the particulars must be observed… Dumbledore would like you to show manners… Bow to the man who will kill you, Harry…”

The Death Eaters were laughing again. Voldemort's lipless mouth was smiling. Potter bent slightly as well, the boy also maintained eye contact. Some part of Voldemort's mind approved. The boy knew he was going to die, but rather than cower he was facing it like a man.

“Very good Harry,” Voldemort said softly, “you face me, straight-backed and proud, the way your father died… Now, we duel.”

Voldemort raised his wand, smiling when he was the boy doing nothing that might defend against the Dark Lord's attack. Before casting, he noticed that the boy's eyes were no longer locked with his own, but were focused somewhere behind the Dark Lord.

"What the hell is that?" Potter screamed pointing with his left hand, a look of terror on his face.

Voldemort and all of his Death Eaters whirled in place to defend against whatever had so distracted the boy and they found... nothing. Confused, but still on guard, the Dark Lord called out, "There is nothing there Potter. What did you see?"

Silence answered Voldemort. "Potter?" he asked again as he returned his attention to Harry Potter.

Only to find the view of the boy running as if the hound of hell were nipping at his heels.

The reborn Voldemort blinked marveling at the audacity of the boy before raising his wand. "Take him," he ordered his Death Eaters, "but do not kill him, the boy falls to my power!"
 

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Harry tried to ignore the injuries he has sustained in the maze, as well as the residual pain of Voldemort’s Cruciatus, and concentrated on putting as much distance between himself and the Death Eaters as possible.  All around him pulses of light showed that they were trying to stop him, though rather than giving chase; they stood their ground and cast spells at him.

Wizards.

Harry jinked around a large ornate tombstone when an orange curse he didn’t recognize hit the stone, fracturing it.  The upper half of the statue of some woman fell from its pedestal and onto Harry, pinning him to the ground.  Before he could even begin to free himself, a Cruciatus Curse again hit him. The pain was so extreme, he no longer knew where he was… it was like knives of electricity were piercing every inch of his skin, his head was surely going to burst with pain, but somehow he knew that he couldn’t scream, he wouldn’t give the bastard the satisfaction.

And it stopped. Harry struggled to sit up, his legs still pinned under the fallen statue; his entire body shaking uncontrollably.

“Afraid to face me Harry?” Voldemort asked from where he stood, not having moved from his original position, “Perhaps you need a little help?  Would you like this to all be over Harry?  It could be you know, it would be so simple for me to end your little life.  Just think, no more pain, no more fear.  Would you like that Harry?  Ask me to end it.  Ask me.”

Harry did not answer. If he was going to die, he wouldn’t do it with a whimper.  Those pitiless red eyes were telling him that death was coming, and there was nothing he could do about it… but he was not going to play along. He was not going to obey Voldemort… he was not going to beg…

“So far I’ve demonstrated the Cruciatus curse to you Harry,” said Voldemort softly.  “I believe a famous young man such as you should know all three of the Unforgivables.  Before I re-introduce you to the Killing Curse, I’ve heard rumors that you have a certain resistance to the Imperius curse.  Let us see how you like mine. Ask me to end your life Harry.  Imperio!”

Harry felt a sense of wellbeing wash over him. It was as if his mind had been wiped of all worry… It was such a delight, not to think, not to fear, it was as though he were floating, dreaming… just ask.  Just ask that it be over, then this feeling would go on forever… just ask… just ask…

I will not, he heard himself say, in the back of his mind, I will not surrender to anyone, ever… I won’t do it, I won’t say it…

Just ask…

“Fuck you!”

Those emphatic words burst from Harry’s mouth; the shout echoed through the graveyard, and the dream state was gone as if it had never existed.  Harry hissed in pain as the aches that the Cruciatus Curse had left all over his body rushed back to the fore, as the realization of where he was, and whom he faced returned as well.

“Fuck me?” said Voldemort quietly, and the Death Eaters were not laughing now horrified that anyone would so defy their Dark Lord. “You dare to defy me Harry, even now?  You cannot run from me any longer Harry. Does your defiance mean you are tired of our duel? Does this mean that you would prefer me to finish it now, Harry?”

Harry lay pinned behind the ruined headstone and knew that it was over. There was no hope… no one to help. He watched as Voldemort raised his wand and took aim.  It had not been that bad a life.  Sure, the Dursleys were arses, but he had gotten to know Hermione, Ron and the Weasleys, and he had gotten to fly.  He had done magic.  He had met Susan.  He had danced with Susan, he had kissed Susan and she had kissed him.  Harry pushed an image of Susan’s face to the front of his mind, her eyes, her lips, the taste of her…

Voldemort was ready. “Avada Kedavra!”

A jet of green light issued from Voldemorts wand.  Harry watched as it arced across the distance that separated them. This was it.  Would it hurt to die?
 

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“Where is Harry Potter?” Susan demanded.

“Miss Bones, you should go back to the castle with the rest of your classmates,” Albus Dumbledore said calmly, his eyes twinkling.

“Bugger that,” the redhead spat.  “Where is Harry?  What are you doing to find him?”

“Susan Amelia!” Auntie Amelia said, shocked at her nieces’ language.  “Respect your elders.”

“Bugger that as well, Auntie.” Susan swore hotly.  “My elders have subjected my boyfriend to facing a Dragon with no training; to retrieving me from the lake when he couldn’t swim by making him believe that if he failed I would die, and you forced him into a maze on the bloody castle grounds where he disappears because you bloody idiots never noticed that a Death Eater was impersonating someone who was supposedly one of both of your oldest friends?  What precisely am I supposed to be respecting?”

“Susan!”

“Sadly Amelia,” Dumbledore interrupted, “Miss Bones is correct, we have all failed our students badly this year.  Miss Bones… Susan, already your Aunt’s aurors have determined that the Triwizard cup was a portkey, and they are toiling to unravel the trace of that device.”

“But until then, Harry is alone, facing Merlin knows what.”

The old man had nothing to say to that, so he just nodded sadly.

“Fine.  If he doesn’t come back, I’m going to make sure the world knows who is at fault here.”  The young woman turned on her heel and marched back to her friends.  The three of them were plainly ignoring the order to return to the castle, as were the three remaining champions.

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Harry watched as the burst of green energy seemed to crawl toward him.  Any second now, it would be over.  If only…

A burst of white-hot flame intercepted the killing curse in midflight.  The Killing curse may not be shielded against, but it turned out that dragon fire disrupted the curse utterly.  There was a thundering smash as an enraged twenty-five ton Hungarian Horntail landed between Harry and the Death Eaters.

~ Who dares? ~ Kiska roared. ~ Who dares threaten one under my protection? ~

The Death Eaters cowered before the enraged dragon, but Voldemort stepped forward ~ Stand down Dragon ~ he bellowed in response.  ~ This matter does not concern you! ~

~ I say Harry Potter is my concern Little Wizard, he is family.  You, on the other claw, are not. ~ She responded.  ~ Run away now, and I may let you live. ~

Harry found himself wondering why Voldemort had decided that screaming at a dragon was a good idea.  The raven-haired wizard was startled when a jet-black horntail the size of a Clydesdale horse landed next to him.  ~ Uncle Harry, are you all right? ~

~ Sweetie? ~ He asked.

~ This is why you should not go out without Auntie Susan, ~ she said, throwing the statue from his body with a swipe of her massive fore paw while keeping her eyes fixed on the Death Eaters. ~ Look at the trouble you’ve gotten into without her. ~

~ You have to get out of here Sweetie, ~ Harry said as he climbed to his feet.  ~ These men will kill you. ~

~ They might try, ~ the dragon sniffed.  ~ Mum has a plan. ~

~ You do not seem to be running Little Wizard, ~ Kiska thundered.  ~ Are you that anxious to die? ~

“Kill the dragons!”  Voldemort barked to his Death Eaters.

It took a moment, but the Death Eaters seemed to decide that they were more frightened of their reborn master than they were of the two dragons before them.  Lucius Malfoy stepped forward and raised his wand.

And died messily when a blood red dragon the size of a horse, swooped in from above with claws slashing.  ~ First you fools hurt my Uncle Harry, and then you threaten my MOTHER? ~ The Dragon roared.  ~ Make your peace with your maker wizards, for now you face the wrath of Ron! ~

Thumper landed hard, crushing a pair of Death Eaters beneath her feet before gutting a third with a sweep of her tail spikes.  ~ The wrath of Ron?  Wouldn’t you frighten them more if you went by your real name Flaming Fart? ~

Juno swooped in to a landing, cutting a Death Eater with a silver forearm in half with the boney leading edge of her left wing.  ~ Pick on Ron later Thumper.  I’ve taken care of one of the wizards that hurt Uncle Harry, but the others are getting away! ~

A curtain of flame engulfed the fleeing Death Eaters, snuffing their lives before they even realized they were under attack.  Cuddles swooped down for a landing.  ~ No they aren’t. Hi Uncle Harry, we’re here to rescue you! ~

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The Dark Lord Voldemort stood stock still trying to understand what had happened.  One moment, freshly reborn, he had been about to kill the child somehow responsible for his spending almost a decade and a half as a wraith, then a dragon appeared speaking Parseltongue, and then another dragon landed, and almost before he could blink his Death Eaters were slaughtered by what appeared to be a family of the beasts.

How did Potter get allies among the dragons?

When did dragons become intelligent enough to coordinate an attack like this?  How were they speaking Parseltongue?  Everyone knew that dragons were mindless beasts.  How had it all gone so wrong?

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Harry finished being messily sick behind one of the tombstones.  The sights and smells of the eviscerated Death Eaters had gotten to him.

With an empty, yet still queasy stomach, Harry stood and wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his Triwizard uniform, once again taking in the results of the short, yet vicious, battle.  Dead Death Eaters were everywhere, with body parts strewn everywhere.  He felt his gorge rising again, but fought it down.  He turned to face the only surviving enemy in the graveyard.

“How did you do it Potter?  How did you enslave these dragons?”

Draconic laughter filled the air.  “Enslaved?  What makes you think I did anything like that?” Harry asked.

“How else would they obey your commands?”

“You haven’t heard me issue a single command,” Harry pointed out.  “Kiska and her family are not my servants, they are my friends.”

“But how did you teach them parseltongue?” the Dark Lord demanded.

“Teach them?” Harry asked incredulously.  “Do you mean to tell me that you never even tried to speak to a dragon?  I didn’t teach them anything.  Here is a news flash for you.  Dragons don’t speak snake, snakes speak a bastardized version of dragon.”

“But they’re beasts!”

“They’re people,” Harry said dismissively.  “Dragons speak, and laugh and have dreams.  They’re just bigger than us.”

“Fine Potter, you have me captured, but do you really think you can hold me?  That your pitiful Ministry will be able to confine me?” Voldemort laughed.  “I have a body again, and I will be free!  Sooner or later your guard will be down and I’ll end you.” Voldemort extended his arms to the side, his wand held loosely in his right hand.  “I surrender.”

Before Harry could speak, Kiska rumbled.  ~ The problem, little wizard, is that you are not Harry’s prisoner, you are mine. ~

~ Meaning what, Dragon? ~ The Dark Lord asked.

~ Meaning, I do not take prisoners. ~ With those words, Kiska unleashed her fire breath, incinerating the reborn Dark Lord.  The massive she-dragon then turned her attention to the Dark Lord’s familiar.  ~ Will we be continuing this fight snake? ~

Nagini immediately lowered her head in submission, ~ Don’t bother on my account, ~ she hissed.  ~ I never really liked the human in the first place, he always wanted me to eat his defective followers, and you can imagine what they would taste like.  You’ve done me a favor really. ~

Harry ignored the conversation between dragon and snake while never taking his eyes off of Voldemort’s corpse.  The Dark Lord’s body lay on the ground; lifeless with no hint of the vaporous wraith he had witnessed leaving the burning body of Professor Quirrell first year.  Could it really be over?

Before he could dwell on it, he found himself mobbed by the young dragons.

~ Uncle Harry, are you all right? ~ One called as she galloped up to him.  Harry somehow knew that this one was Thumper.  ~ You were in so much pain! ~

~ Uncle Harry, we were so worried. ~ One of the others added.

~ Who was worried? ~ Ron scoffed.  ~ Not me, I just wanted into the fight! ~

~ Don’t listen to him, Uncle Harry, Ron was the one who was the loudest about coming to help you,” Thumper said, ~ Flaming Fart was sooo worried about you. ~

~ I was not! ~ Ron said butting his head into Thumper’s side.  ~ The only thing that worried me was that one of you clumsy idiots might have hurt him when you tried to protect him. ~

“Uncle Harry was fine,” Sweetie said, a hint of pride in her voice. “I was with him after all.”

~ Thank you all, ~ Harry said, trying to head off a fight, ~ you all saved my life. ~

~ It is what one does for family, ~ Kiska said simply.  ~ We had best be going, all the magic that was expended here is sure to attract attention.  That metal object, ~ she gestured toward the Triwizard cup where it lay in the tall grass, ~ seems to be imbued with same wizard travel magic used to move me and my clutch to your school.  It should get you away from here Harry. ~

~ That’s what got me here. ~ Harry admitted.  ~ I think you’re right though, I doubt the Ministry would take kindly to the idea what you killed these people, no matter what kind of monsters they were.  Thank you again. ~

~ Come along children, ~ Kiska said.  ~ We will visit Harry another time when there is less threat of being attacked. ~

~ Uncle Harry, ~ Cuddles said quietly… or at least as quietly as a two ton dragon could manage.  ~ Maybe you could come visit us. ~

~ I’d like that Cuddles, maybe I can work something out… ~  Harry suddenly found himself flat on his back being licked by a forked tongue as long as his arm and twice as thick.

~ I miss you so much Uncle Harry,  ~ the dragon sobbed.  The saliva assault on Harry was joined by her sisters while Ron stood to the side rolling his eyes.

~ It is time to go children, ~ Kiska insisted.  ~ We really must be going before more wizards arrive. ~

~ Yeah, come on, ~ Ron agreed.  ~ It’s all you can eat water buffalo night, and I don’t want to miss it.  Later Uncle Harry! ~ 

~ Bye Uncle Harry, ~ the girls chorused as they launched themselves into the air following Ron and their mother.  Harry lay on the ground and watched the six dragons make the jump into the Dragon’s travel technique, each of the doing it individually this time rather than riding on their mother’s back, and he started to laugh.

He still hurt all over his body, and suspected that he was injured far worse than he knew, but damn, his life was weird.  It took most of ten minutes until he had enough control of himself to struggle to his feet, still giggling.  Harry limped over to the Triwizard cup, and stooped to reach for it when he realized that there was no way in hell the Dursleys would ever allow him to go to Romania to visit his dragons.  He paused and thought for a moment, and then he limped over to where the Dark Lord had fallen.  Truth be told, there was not a lot left of the man, dragon fire being what it was, but there was a piece that might be useful in proving his story.

He picked up his proof and hobbled over to the second thing he wanted to take with him.  He shoved his proof under his left arm and hefted the second by grabbing a handful of hair and dragged it toward the cup.

Upon reaching the cup, Harry made sure he had a good grip on his evidence and grabbed onto the cup.  For the second time that day he felt the sensation of a hook behind his navel and his feet left the ground.

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