If the Fates Allow

Chapter 17

His dark mirth

I am dead; dead, but in the Elysian fields

(Benjamin Disraeli)

"So, how long have people in the underworld been playing Quidditch?" Harry asked, sitting at a table in his parents' lovely little cottage, sipping some sort of a drink called 'Ambrosia Essence'. It was deliciously sweet, just like the cottage that stood next to a little creek, surrounded by ever-blooming lilac-bushes. Harry had found it quite amazing that people in the underworld were 'living' pretty much the same as the living ones.

"Well," Sirius scratched his jaw, looking contemplative. "For about three hundred years, so I heard."

"Yeah, before Hades got the idea of introducing Quidditch, people here used to play cricket and golf and ostrakindof..."

"That's ostrakinda," Lily corrected her husband. "It is an ancient Greek chasing game."

"Yeah, and there was ephedrismos... another stupid ancient Greek game," Sirius continued, "no wonder old Hadie got bored of it, they were really, really stupid games. When he first heard about Quidditch, he immediately knew that this would be the game worth playing... at least that's what he said. According to my uncle Alphard some decades ago they were also experimenting with basketball, but the skulls they were using for balls weren't springy enough and just wouldn't bounce back from the ground."

Harry grimaced, imagining two dead teams trying to dunk skulls. "Tell me, why are you using skulls as Quaffles?"

"Oh, those aren't real skulls, but they're pretty good imitations, eh?" smiled James. "Hades thought it'd be fashionable to play with skull-shaped Quaffles, that's why we're using them. Not that I love them too much- but I got used to them over the years."

"Why, how long have you been playing for Elysium?"

"Nine years now, Lils too. Sirius joined shortly after he died, so he's been playing for seven years..." James's expression turned sour. "We make a good team together, but we still haven't managed to beat the wretched Tartarus yet. We are counting on you, son. Show 'em and catch that Snitch!"

"And what's the Snitch made of? Baby-skull?" Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Nah, it's always a Golden Snidget," waved Sirius.

"Aren't those almost extinct...? Isn't their usage in Quidditch forbidden?"

"Why, where do you think all those Golden Snidgets went after they died?" smirked James. "Here, obviously. So we can play with them."

"Wow, does that mean that all sorts of animals end up in the underworld, too?"

"Yeah, they do, but most of them are put into a restricted area somewhere beyond the mountains of Elysium. They can't endanger us, and we can't endanger them."

"Endanger?" Harry blinked. "Can the dead also get injured?"

"'Course they can. We felt quite solid to you when we hugged you, didn't we? And if someone's solid, they can get hurt. Of course we can't die again, but we can obtain injuries, especially from the Bludgers. The Beaters of Tartarus are horrible, I'm telling you," replied Sirius.

"What're they using as Bludgers?" enquired young Potter.

"Boulders. Granite boulders. You know, granite's the hardest type of stone- so it can hit really badly."

"And who else is on the two teams?"

"Well, let's see..." James started counting. "First Elysium... the three Chasers are Lils, Padfoot and me, the Keeper is Ricky- I mean Godric- Padfoot's presence has rubbed off on me," he winked at his son, "the Beaters are Julius and that idiot Alcibiades..."

"Why's he an idiot?" asked Harry.

"Oh, you'll see when you meet him, just wait," Sirius grimaced.

"...and Julius? What Julius?"

"Caesar," replied Lily.

Harry's eyes widened like two huge golden Galleons. "Julius Caesar on your team?"

"Yeah," grinned James. "Pretty good Beater, just a little annoying when he embarks on long speeches criticising how Hades runs the netherworld... you know, the politician... Well, yeah, you're the Seeker, so that's our team. As for Tartarus... one of the Chasers is Rasputin, he rather reminds me of an older version of Snape..."

Lily rolled her eyes. "Don't even listen to him, dear, he just hates poor Severus."

"Pooooor Severuuuus?" James pretended to be shocked. "Well, anyway, their other Chasers are Grindelwald and Henry VIII. Their Keeper is Sal Slytherin and the two Beaters are Cesare and Lucretia Borgia. As for the Seeker, it's Brutus."

"Who's Brutus?" Harry asked.

"Caesar's illegitimate son, also the traitor who organised the conspiracy against him. Nasty bloke, if you ask me," shrugged Sirius.

"Um- how many people do you know here?"

"Quite a lot. Why?" said James.

"Because," Harry took a deep breath, "there's someone I'd like to meet."

"Dumbledore, by any chance?" guessed Sirius. "You'll meet him for sure, he turns up for each Quidditch match."

"No, it's not Dumbledore," Harry shook his head. He still felt some sort of a defiant resentment towards his onetime headmaster. "It's... my daughter."

"Your... what?" Lily's eyes widened.

"My daughter, Daphne," Harry whispered. "She died two weeks ago... she was only four years old, my poor little angel."

"I had no idea you had a daughter at all!" Sirius said incredulously. "Aren't you a bit too young to be a father?"

"Oh, come on, Padfoot, he's twenty-three!" James defended his son.

"Yeah, but if his daughter was four, then he must've been just nineteen when she got conceived!" Sirius reasoned, looking slightly exasperated. Lily shot him an 'it's-not-like-you-didn't-have-sex-at-that-age-Sirius' look.

"I was only eighteen," Harry interjected.

"Hah! The little tyke! He must've been a real heartthrob, my son, if he got to..." James began, but Lily's piercing look silenced him.

She sat down next to Harry and took his hands into hers. "Tell us about Daphne, Harry. I want to know all about my granddaughter. And then... we might try and find her."

* * * * *

"Blinky!" Draco shouted, his voice reverberating off the marble walls of Malfoy Manor.

"Y-yes, my lord?" the house-elf appeared and bowed so deeply that her nose touched the floor.

"Where's my wife?"

"Blinky does not know, sir," the house-elf shook her head nervously, her huge bat-like ears flapping around her head. "Mistress told Blinky she was leaving to visit her mother and father five days ago, and she hasn't returned so far. Blinky believes Master will find her at the Burrow."

"Hm... yeah, that's possible," Draco nodded.

From Greece he had directly Apparated to his manor to check on Ginny. He knew pretty well that his wife still had feelings for Potter, and Potter's death must have been a real tragedy for her... actually he feared she might harm herself, just like he had feared for Phaedra... He quickly chased the thought of Phaedra out of his mind and decided to visit the Weasleys at the Burrow and claim his wife back.

At that moment someone knocked on the door. Blinky hurried to open it, and to Draco's greatest surprise none other than the Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt entered, followed by Auror Nymphadora Tonks.

"To what do I owe the honour of your visit?" young Malfoy looked at the newcomers with a rather unfriendly expression.

"I thought it was obvious," Tonks said with her arms akimbo. "Harry Potter."

"What about Potter?" Draco grunted.

"We'd like to hear the story of his death," replied Minister Shacklebolt seriously.

"Ask my wife, she'd be able to tell you more," Draco said through gritted teeth.

"I doubt it," Tonks shook her violet head. "She's in no condition to tell anyone anything. She's in a state of shock."

"Oh, how terrible," Malfoy said sarcastically. "Okay, what do you want to hear? That Potter died after having eloped with my wife? That my wife is feeling so miserable because she's mourning her dead lover? There, you have it. Now you may go."

"Mr Malfoy," Kingsley spoke up. "I hope you're aware that Harry Potter's death will have a great impact on Great Britain's wizarding community. People will want to know details. However, before I talk to the press and disclose the sad news, I'd like to hear your version of events, and I'd also like to reach a compromise with you."

"A compromise?" Draco arched his silvery blond eyebrows at the Minister.

"Exactly. I take it Mr Potter passed away while with your wife- however, I believe that it wouldn't do any good to either the late Mr Potter's or your and your wife's reputation if this came to light. So please, Mr Malfoy, do inform us how things happened, so that we can tell the press our... how to put it... euphemised version of the tragic death."

"You want to deceive the press?" Draco knitted his eyebrows.

"We have to, if we wish to protect the good will of the Boy Who Lived, and also yours. If we can count on your cooperation, Mr Malfoy, then please, speak on."

For a moment Draco regarded Shacklebolt and Tonks with a dubious expression, but finally nodded. "All right. Come and have a seat, Minister."

* * * * *

That evening Draco went to the Burrow to collect Ginny, and take her back to Malfoy Manor, but the Weaselys wouldn't even let him go near her room.

"Don't even dream of taking her, you wanker," hissed Fred.

"Or...?" Draco sent him a challenging look. "What will you do?"

"Hm..." Fred looked contemplative. "What shall we do with him, George?"

"Force-feed him our new Laxative Lollies?" George suggested.

"Wouldn't that be too rude?" worried Fred. "I mean, not to Malfoy, but to us... imagine how the Burrow would stink!"

"Not that it doesn't stink already," Draco muttered under his breath.

"Do you want us to beat you up again - like we did in our final Hogwarts year? Remember it, Malfoy? It was for a similar snide remark..."

"Of course I remember it," Draco replied coolly. "That was when you two and Potter got sacked from your Quidditch team. You got what you deserved, and if you just touch me now, you'll get a much, much worse punishment."

"Whaaat?" Fred said sardonically. "There's no Umbridge anymore to chuck us out of any team. What do we have to lose?"

Draco folded his arms and looked at them superciliously. "You don't want to know, believe me. And if you don't want to lose anything, let me get to Ginny."

"Hah, as if I was scared of you!" George snapped.

"What's going on here?" Mrs Weasley descended the stairs with a strict expression. When she spotted Draco, her face turned even stonier. "What do you want here, Mr Malfoy?"

"To see my wife, dear mother-in-law," Draco said, enjoying the way she winced at the 'mother-in-law' part.

"I'm sorry, but she doesn't wish to see anyone. Not even me," Molly shook her head.

"Oh, you can be sure she'd like to see me," Malfoy said. "I'm her beloved husband, after all."

"The day when you're her beloved, will be the day when Dementors start kissing each other," Fred murmured.

"Oh, is that so, Weasley?"

"Shut up, Malfoy, or..."

They never knew what George wanted to say, for Ron Apparated into the kitchen with a crestfallen expression.

"Told Hagrid," he sighed, then looked around. "What's this jerk doing here?" he pointed at Malfoy.

"I've come to see my wife, Weasel. Is it forbidden?"

"She doesn't wish to see anyone, especially not you," came Hermione's voice from upstairs. "Anyway, I've given her a sedative potion; she'll sleep for at least a day."

"Yeah, so clear out, Malfoy!" added Ron.

"I'll clear out; when I've told you what I wanted," Draco replied.

"We're not interested in anything you want to say!" declared Fred.

"Not even in how the Minister wishes to deal with the press?"

"The press? What'd you mean by that?" George frowned.

"You can't be this thick, Weasley," Malfoy smirked. "Shacklebolt plans a press conference in which he's going to announce Potter's death. I just wanted to tell you what he's going to tell the press so that you wouldn't accidentally tell anyone the opposite."

"Why?" Ron demanded. "What's he going to tell the press?"

"I take he won't mention Ginny's involvement, or am I wrong?" asked Hermione.

"You've always been the only one to have brains, Granger," said Draco. "Yeah, that's it, Shacklebolt's made up a story about Potter dying in a secret Ministry mission - so to say: dying like a hero... leaving out the unpleasant details of him eloping with my wife and being wanted by the Greek Magical Law Enforcement for murder."

"Murder???" all the Weasleys plus Hermione gasped.

"Oh, yeah, you didn't know that, did you?" Malfoy seemed to enjoying their shock. "Potter killed some Sicilian bloke two weeks ago, that's why the Greek Aurors were after him. He died in a fight with his pursuers... he was on the run, he died as a fugitive, a criminal..." the Weasleys' complexions were steadily turning redder and redder. "However, the Minister wants everyone to remember him as a hero, to make sure that neither his reputation, nor that of the Malfoy and Weasley families will be tarnished. So try and keep your big mouths shut about the real events. Potter never killed anyone. He has a damn big bright halo over his head and is playing the lute up in heaven." Malfoy's voice was extremely sarcastic. "Also Ginny never left England, she has always been totally faithful to me."

"And what about the Greek Magical Law Enforcement?" Hermione asked glumly. "What if they get the Daily Prophet for a bit of language-studying and see an article in it, saying that Harry died... a hero? Won't they disclose that he was actually wanted?"

"Not likely, Granger," Draco shook his blond head. "The Greek Aurors knew Potter by the pseudonym Dudley Dursley. They have absolutely no idea that it was the Great Harry Potter whom they saw die. Ah, speaking of greatness, Auror Tonks suggested the Minister should come up with some memorial ceremony for Potter. I don't know yet what it'll be - not that I care, either - but he'll talk about it in the press conference. I just though you ought to know. Well then, if Ginny's asleep, I can't see why I'd want to stay here any longer."

"We're heartbroken, aren't we, boys?" Fred smirked. "Off you go, Malfoy!"

* * * * *

"Well, I think this must be it," Lily said, stopping in front of a gate that was overgrown with bindweed. A white board over the gate bore the legend: 'Elysium Kindergarten'.

Harry peeked into the garden to see a number of children from three to six years old playing. Some of them were watching little handmade ships sailing on a nearby creek, others were chasing each other with cheerful yelps, while others yet were sitting on the grass, holding what seemed to be dolls. A couple of children were passing a sky blue ball to each other (it seemed that Hades didn't want the kids to play with skulls) - one of them hurled the ball high into the air, so that the others wouldn't be able to catch it. The ball fell back into the grass and started rolling down a small slope towards the gate. A little girl ran after it, squealing with delight as she chased the naughty blue ball that just wouldn't stop. "Got you!" she shouted and jumped forward, falling prone onto the ground, but finally holding the ball in her tiny hands.

As though she hadn't hit her knees at all, she jumped up to rejoin her mates, but as she lifted her head, she found herself facing the gate and facing...

"Daddy!" she shouted and dropped the ball, totally forgetting about her game.

"Daffy..." Harry whispered, then wrenched open the gate and crouched down to gather his daughter into his arms. "Oh, my little angel... I've missed you so much!"

"Is that why you've come here, too?" she asked, her huge green eyes sparkling with happiness.

"Well..."

"I'm so happy you've come, Daddy! This is such a nice place, you'll love it too! I like it very much, the only thing I didn't like is that Mummy and you haven't come here too. Will Mummy also come? When will she come? Will you both stay? Or will you take me back to the Circle?"

It became obvious to Harry that his daughter was unaware of having died. Obviously she just thought that she had been sent to kindergarten and her parents would take her away from here any moment.

"No, dearest, Mummy won't come... at least not for a while."

"Why noooot?" Daphne pouted.

"Because..." Harry almost said 'she's not dead yet', but he suddenly realised that he shouldn't ruin his daughter's illusionary world. "She's very busy, you know. She'd like to come, because she also misses you terribly, but she just can't. That's why she sent me to you."

"And why can't you just take me back?"

"Didn't you just say you loved being here?" Harry asked.

"Yeah, I do, but it's still better being with you and Mum," the little girl shrugged.

"Hey, Daf, are you coming?" a blonde girl shouted. She looked one or two years older than Daphne, so Harry thought she must have died at the age of five or six.

"No, I'm with my Daddy now!" Daphne shouted back.

"Your dad?" the blonde girl's eyes widened and she ran up to them. "You mean... Harry Potter?"

Harry raised an eyebrow at his daughter. "Do people here know who I am?"

"Of course they do," Daffy nodded eagerly. "I told them all that my daddy was Harry Potter! And most of them were very envious!"

Harry had to hide a smile.

"Does this mean, Mr Potter, that you're also dead?" asked the blonde girl.

"Er... no," Harry shook his head.

"Why would he be dead?" Daphne knitted her eyebrows.

The blonde girl paled and Harry realised that she must have been told not to tell Daffy that this place was the underworld. She had obviously forgotten to keep her mouth shut and accidentally let it slip.

"Daffy dear, let's talk, shall we?" Harry scooped his daughter up.

"Hey, what do you think you're doing with that child?" came the angry voice of Brünhilda, the kindergarten teacher. She was a squat, very blonde young woman, giving the impression that she was either from a German speaking country or from one of the Scandinavian ones. She had a friendly face, but now she looked like a mother tiger trying to defend her cub. "I'm waiting."

"I'm this child's father and I have every right to take her with me," Harry replied.

"Her father?" Brünhilda gaped at him. "You mean... Harry Potter?"

"Yeah," nodded Harry, feeling slightly uneasy. It seemed that he'd have to endure people staring at him even in the underworld.

"But... but your scar?" stuttered the kindergarten teacher, gawping at his forehead.

"Hidden," he shrugged.

"And... who are they?" Brünhilda pointed at three other people standing behind Harry.

"My parents and my godfather."

"Your... parents?" little Daphne gasped. "But... they're dead, Dad! You said they died looong ago!"

"I'm sorry, Mr Potter," said Brünhilda. "We just didn't feel it appropriate to tell her that she... well, she's just four years old and she only came here two weeks ago... we didn't want to shock the poor little thing. I fear you will have to tell her."

"Right-" Harry nodded. "I'm taking her with me, then, Miss..."

"Krüger," beamed the kindergarten teacher. "Take care of her, Mr Potter."

"I will," smiled Harry and turned to leave, but she called after him:

"Oh, and Mr Potter?"

"Yes?"

"How did you die?"

"Fell through the Styx," the young wizard replied. "But I haven't died, Miss Krüger."

With that he left, his parents and Sirius in his wake.

Brünhilda followed him with her eyes, feeling slightly confused.

"Who was that?" asked another kindergarten teacher who had just emerged from behind a lilac bush. "He seemed familiar to me."

"Harry Potter," replied Brünhilda.

"That means he died?" breathed her friend, her complexion turning as white as a sheet.

"Actually he says he hasn't died... he says he just fell through the Styx," Miss Krüger shrugged.

"Thanks heaven," sighed her friend, whose pale face enhanced the beauty of her golden-red, curly hair.

"Do you know him?" Brünhilda arched an eyebrow at her.

"We've met... sort of," her friend replied quietly and gazed after Harry's receding figure.

* * * * *

"Er... well, so... the Time Freezing Charm... well, it's a sort of- it's a thingie with which one can... freeze time?"

"Enough of this!" Voldemort snapped, his red eyes sending fire-bolts at Goyle. "Haven't you read the set books?"

"Please, don't be mad at me, my lord, I tried... I swear I tried, but you know I'm quite a slow reader..." muttered Goyle, staring at his feet.

"Which of the set books have you at least started to read?" demanded the Dark Lord.

"Er... Extremely Evil Things for Everybody?"

"Just to inform you, its proper title is Extreme Evilness for Everyone! Have you at least taken that book into your hand?" asked Voldemort.

"Yes, I have!" nodded Goyle vigorously. "It has a very nice cover with cute little serpents, my lord!"

"I'm surrounded by idiots," Voldemort rolled his eyes as Bellatrix entered his chamber with an extremely satisfied expression on her face.

"My Lord," she bowed slightly, "I've brought you something that will make you very, very happy."

"What is it, Bella?"

The female Death Eater handed him the Daily Prophet of 2^nd September. The headline said: THE BOY WHO LIVED HAS PASSED AWAY

"Well, well, well, what have we here?" Voldemort's mouth tucked into a smirk. His smirk widened and widened as he continued reading through the article. "Mr Draco Malfoy, eye-witness of the tragic events expressed his deepest regret at Mr Potter's early death. 'He was so young and brave- I admit we have never been on the best terms with each other, but I feel it would be some sort of a sacrilege to keep silent about his wonderful deeds- he died a real hero, on a secret mission against the Dark Side. I only happened to be unfortunate enough to be near him when it happened- but then again, I was fortunate enough to see it and be able to recount it to you'-" Voldemort read out the second paragraph of the article. "Interesting, very interesting... I believe the Malfoy boy's gone mad to talk about Potter like that..." He kept reading. "...and, as a tribute to the great Mr Potter's memory, the Ministry of Magic has decided to erect a statue of him at the place where he - according to his best friends - had always been happy: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Headmistress McGonagall has given us her consent to erect the statue near the Quidditch pitch, where Mr Potter played Seeker for the house team of Gryffindor. The inauguration of the Potter Memorial will take place at noon, 10^th September. All those who have known, liked, or even revered the Boy Who Lived, are welcome to the ceremony... blah-blah-blah..." Voldemort looked up from the newspaper.

"Well, what do you think, my Lord?" said Bellatrix.

Voldemort leaned back into his armchair, a diabolic grin on his face. "This means the only person who could ever kill me is dead. Now he can surely not prevent me from becoming immortal."

"Does this mean we no longer need the child?" guessed Goyle.

"You idiot!" snapped the Dark Lord. "Of course we still need the child!"

"But... boss... I mean, my Lord... haven't we just kept her to blackmail Potter?"

"Get out, Goyle!" Voldemort pointed at the door.

"But..."

"I said get out!"

"Okay, okay..." the bulky Death Eater backed out of the room.

"Arghhh. I'm really surrounded by idiots," sighed Voldemort. "I wonder what he has been doing whenever we did the ritual on the child..."

"Probably daydreaming of huge, juicy beefsteaks?" Bellatrix suggested.

"Whatever," the Dark Lord waved. "The only thing that matters is that I still need Amrita. Even with Potter dead." His face turned extremely satisfied again. "I love the sound of Potter dead. Music to my ears..."

"What about the Papafotiu boy now, My Lord?" enquired Mrs Lestrange.

"Carry on looking for him, of course. Even if Potter can no longer kill me, I could still die of age! Brrr..." he shuddered at the thought. "I want to triumph over age, triumph over death... and I need that bloody parchment for it!"

"Certainly, my Lord," nodded the woman. "What do you think about throwing a party now?"

"A party?" Voldemort blinked, as though he wasn't sure he'd heard her well.

"Yeah... a party only for your faithful Death Eaters, of course. I'm sure they'd love to celebrate Potter's death together with you."

"Hmmmm, yes, that's possible..." the Dark Lord said contemplatively. "But you know, I have another idea for having fun."

Bellatrix examined her master's features and saw devilish delight on them. "Judging by your expression, my Lord, it must be something really wicked."

"You can count on that, Bella. You can count on that..."

* * * * *

"They've gone off their rocker," Harry muttered, gazing at the Daily Prophet. "A statue... at Hogwarts..."

"Yeah, I knew you'd find it interesting," said Persephone. When she had spotted this article in the newspaper, she immediately sent for Harry who had been training on the Quidditch pitch for the great match that was to take place the next day.

"This means they all think I'm dead... and what's that rubbish about Malfoy praising me like that? Has he gone totally mad? Perhaps those Aurors hit him very badly on the head..."

"This seems rather fishy to me, son," said James, who had also left the pitch, curious what the Queen of the Underworld had to say to Harry. Godric had been livid, of course, shouting that they needed to train if they wanted to have a chance against the foul team of Tartarus, but James had only waved indignantly and told him 'calm down, Ricky, we won't play any better tomorrow if we tire ourselves out today...'

Strangely Beater Julius Ceasar agreed with him, adding that giving the team too much of a workout could also ruin the team spirit and would result in another dreadful defeat.

'Team spirit? Have you turned into a PR manager?' Sirius had joked while the other Beater, Alcibiades nodded his head, his blond locks swaying around it in the morning breeze.

'Right there you are, Julius, old mate, it wouldn't do us any good if we overworked...'

'Afraid of looking worn tomorrow, Alci?' Sirius had told the blond Beater who had pulled a mirror out of his toga and was carefully examining his visage. Harry had had to suppress a fit of laughter - this Alcibiades, who had once been a great commander of the Athenian army but a terrible buffoon when it came to clothing, strongly reminded him of one Gilderoy Lockhart. Fortunately he didn't have peacock feather quills... Harry was sure, however, that both Alcibiades and Gilderoy would turn green with envy if they got to know that he, Harry, was going to have a statue soon.

Now, having read the article, his heart ached at the thought of his best friends and Ginny mourning, believing him to be dead while he was very much alive and thoroughly enjoying his stay in the netherworld so far. He had also managed to explain the predicament to his daughter who, despite her four years, turned out to be clever enough to understand and accept things. However, she still missed her mother. Harry also wondered what Phaedra could be doing now, but not even in his wildest dreams would he have thought that his wife would seek consolation in Draco Malfoy's arms...

He gave the newspaper back to Persephone and headed back to the pitch with his father to continue their training. The previous day he had met the team of Tartarus that had booked the pitch for the afternoon and Harry immediately understood why everyone in Elysium hated them. For once, they were the most unsympathetic group of people he had ever met, and the snide remarks they shouted at the team-members of Elysium were nastier than anything the Slytherins had ever made up, Weasley is our King included.

The Tartarus Chaser Rasputin had claimed it to be unfair that a living person was playing on Elysium's team and had gone with Salazar Slytherin to Hades to demand that Harry be banned from playing. They had got just even angrier with Harry when Hades laughed at them and sent them to hell. 'We're there already, dupe,' Salazar had said through gritted teeth and decided to get young Potter out of Elysium's team, no matter what means they'd have to resort to. The only problem was that if they killed Harry, then they'd lose their grounds for complaint that a living person shouldn't be allowed to play and then he'd also remain here in the Underworld forever to play against them... They needed to think up something devious. 'A nasty injury will do, Rasputin,' Slytherin had whispered to his friend as they left Hades' palace.