The Fall Of The Dark Lord

The Fall of the Dark Lord

Epilogue

Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic, sat in his living room before his wide fireplace as a huge storm raged outside. He was dressed in red striped pajamas, fuzzy slippers and a neat little fez that rested on top of his rumpled gray hair. He glanced up at the portrait of Merlin that he had hanging above his fireplace as he lit his pipe. However Merlin was not there. He had hung a sign on his chemistry table that stated, "Gone to Bermuda."

Fudge puffed on his pipe and then reached for the day’s issue of The Daily Prophet. He unfolded the paper and scanned the articles. The very first one, on the very front page is what caught his eye first.

 

Harry Potter Still Missing

It has been nearly a month since the Fall of the Dark Lord was felt at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Since that time The Daily Prophet, as well as many other well-known and respected papers has been trying to set up interviews with the world’s savior, Harry Potter, who of course is the same person who defeated Lord Voldemort the first time nearly 17 years ago.

It was reported three weeks ago that Harry Potter disappeared from him muggle home at Number 4 Private Drive in Little Whinging Surrey.

 

Fudge did wonder what had happened to Harry. He had missed several meetings that had been set up with the Ministry in order to straiten out many confusions, especially with his animagus registry. Harry must have been confused when he was making out his forms, because he marked down almost every animal on the list, and being able to transfigure into—well—anything you wanted—was just impossible. He continued the article.

Since then, Harry has still not been found although many people have had sightings of him across England.

"I was tossing gnomes when I heard a scuffle come from my barn out back," one witness said, "and when I went to check it out, there he was, in a black cloak, holding some bright glowing thing. He was telling a white barn owl to flush all the rodents out of my barn. Why they were doing that I’ll never know, but when he heard me he looked up—and that’s when I saw the scar—and then disapparated, the owl flying away too."

Sources have said that on that faithful night those many weeks ago, Harry proved to be animagus, turning into a large black griffin to face Voldemort. Harry supposedly has other forms, always black with his lightning bolt scar always on his brow. Likewise, there have been many sightings of a black cat.

"I don’t know how it got down there," an Edinburgh resident said, "but I heard a great commotion in my basement, and when I opened the door a great black cat bounded out carrying a fat squirming rat in its mouth! I didn’t get a good look at the cat, because it then escaped out of my kitchen window, but what I did see was a white slash on its forehand, right above the eyes."

 

Fudge chuckled to himself and turned the page, now convinced that the article was a bunch of bologna. "What would Harry Potter want with a rat?" He shook his head and puffed on his pipe.

"A lot actually."

"Ahhhhh!" Fudge cried as a voice came out of nowhere. He leapt out of his chair and turned around to see Harry Potter standing right behind him, a white barn owl resting on his shoulder, his clothes in tatters and covered with mud.

"What are you—how did you—why are you—"

"Well, not just any rat, but a specific one you see," Harry continued, ignoring Fudge’s confusion and shock. He walked into the room and stood in front of the fire. "I hope you don’t mind, it is very wet and cold out there," Harry continued, ringing out a part of his cloak in front of the fire, paying no mind to the fact that Fudge was having a panic attack. "Why don’t you come sit back down so that we can talk, Minister Fudge." Harry motioned Fudge to sit down in his armchair again. Fudge stumbled over and plopped back down in the seat. Harry noted the fuzzy slippers, "That’s—uh—a very interesting outfit sir…"

"How did you get in here!?!" Fudge was finally able to spit out.

"Oh, I let myself in."

"But I didn’t here you…"

"Do you have a license for that?"

"Not yet."

"You do know that’s illegal, don’t you?"

"Yeah. I’m not very worried."

Fudge rubbed his temples, "OK, why are you here?"

"I’ve come to ask—actually to demand—a favor."

"And what would that be?" Fudge asked, regaining his superior tone, sitting back in his chair.

"I want Sirius Black pardoned."

"Sirius Black!?! Are you insane? The man’s a convicted killer! Thirteen people with one curse! You’re crazy! Why would you ask me to pardon a—a madman like that—who, may I remind you—is still an escaped criminal—who has been sentenced to the Dementor’s kiss?"

"Because he is innocent."

"You’re mad!"

"I have the proof."

"And what proof is that!?!" Fudge snapped.

A small smile curled on Harry’s lips, "Sirius Black is wanted for the murder of twelve muggles, but more importantly, one wizard, correct?"

"Yes."

"A wizard named Peter Pettigrew?"

"Yes."

The smile on Harry’s face vanished as he reached into the pocket of his cloak, and soon held out a very fat rat, its tail twisted around Harry’s middle finger so that it was squirming about helplessly in midair.

Fudge howled at the sight of the rat, "Ack! Get that disgusting thing out of here! How dare you bring such vermin in my house!"

Harry ignored Fudge’s exclamation. The barn owl gave and excited hoot at the sight of the rat. "For the last time, Hedwig," Harry said, "You can’t eat him." The owl gave an indignant crackle and flew up to perch in front of the Merlin, which was still empty.

"This," Harry said to Fudge, "is Peter Pettigrew."

"What!?!"

"It’s true. In fact, I distinctly remember trying to tell you this five years ago, remember? When Black first escaped and was captured at Hogwarts?"

Fudge’s eyes became the size of saucers.

"You do remember. You see, here’s what really happened. Peter here," Harry bounced the rat painfully by its tail several times, "was the man who sold my parents to Voldemort, in fact, he lead Voldemort right to our door, didn’t you?" he asked the rat, who only continued to squirm about.

"After Voldemort was thrown from his body, and seemingly defeated, Peter here thought, ‘Oh my gosh, Sirius is still alive, he knows I betrayed everyone, and now that my master is dead, I don’t have anyone to protect me!’ And he also figures that all the other Death Eaters know that he was the one who sent Voldemort to the Potters, therefore, they will all think that he’s a traitor as well. So you see, he was screwed on both sides, weren’t you?" Harry gave the rat another painful shake.

"So here’s what Peter figures out. He’ll set up Sirius Black—who would no doubt track him down and turn him in, if not worse—so that it appears that he murdered Peter, thereby sending him to Azkaban. With Black out of the way, and himself dead, no one could come after him. Brilliant, no? That is if you don’t mind spending your life as a rat.

"He got cornered by Black in the middle of a street, screamed out that Black had betrayed the Potters, cut off his own finger, and cast a curse with his wand behind his back, killing everyone within twenty feet. While he was smoke-screened he transformed into a rat and escaped down the sewer, leaving his finger behind as if it was the only thing left of him. You see, Peter Pettigrew was an unregistered animagus."

Fudge sat in his chair dumb struck.

"Still don’t believe me?" Harry stepped closer, extending the rat even further, "Look at his front paw. The right one."

Fudge leaned forward, "It's silver…why is it…"

"Voldemort gave him a new hand, because Pettigrew cut it off as part of the spell to resurrect him. Believe me. I was there, remember?"

Fudge pondered for a second, shaking his head, "Doesn’t prove a thing!" He sat back quickly again, convinced beyond reason, but too stubborn to admit that he was wrong.

"Doesn’t prove a thing?" Harry’s eyes narrowed and he dropped the rat. It bounced on the floor with a squeak. Harry stepped on its tail so that it couldn’t get away.

"Ack!" Fudge squealed again, pulling his feet—fuzzy slippers and all—onto the chair, "Don’t let that thing loose in my house!"

Hedwig gave another excited hoot.

"No, Hedwig, you still can’t eat him," Harry said sternly.

She answered again with a disgruntled hoot.

Harry held his hand out over the rat. A bright blue-white light shot out of his palm and hit it. He took his foot away as the rat twisted about. There was another flash and the rat stretched back into Peter Pettigrew. He sat on the floor wringing his hands, tears leaking out of his watery eyes.

It looked as though Fudge’s eyes were going to fall out of his skull. He pointed his shaking hand at the pathetic man sitting on the floor in front of him, "That’s Peter Pettigrew!!!"

"Yes, I know. I distinctly remember telling you that."

"But—but—but—but—he’s DEAD!!!!"

"Nope," Harry said, "He’s just as alive as you or me." Harry reached down and pinched Pettigrew’s cheek very hard, causing the man to cry out in pain. "See?"

Fudge drew his legs up and hugged them, his nose poking between his knees and his eyes large enough to resemble a bullfrog. He stared at Pettigrew as if he was staring at a zombie.

Harry crossed his arms and spoke over Pettigrew’s whimpering, "I want Sirius to have a full pardon. I want you to give a public apology for imprisoning him, and I want him compensated for being in Azkaban for twelve years. Get your guards here now. You don’t want this vermin in your house? Well I don’t want him roaming about free any longer—rat or otherwise—and I especially do not want to carry him in my pocket anymore!"

Fudge continued sitting there, staring aghast at the would-be dead man.

"Go!" Harry shouted.

Fudge—who was already jumpy—shot out of his seat, losing one of his fuzzy slippers as he apparated to the Ministry of Magic to retrieve the guards to bring Pettigrew in. Harry walked around to the armchair and sat down facing Pettigrew. He sat back in the chair folding his hands and stared the little man in the teary eyes with an unreadable countenance.

Pettigrew got up on his knees in front of Harry, "Please," he pleaded, "Please—Harry—don’t—don’t do this…What would your father think?"

"My father?" Harry said, his eyes narrowing, "If I’m not mistaken, my father said that he was going to track you down and kill you for betraying them if he survived Voldemort. Do you remember that?"

Pettigrew gave a horrible sob and fell backwards again, "Why—why didn’t you—just kill me—then…"

"Well, for starters, as I told your master, ‘I’m not about to become a murderer for the likes of you.’ Second—although I don’t think you deserve to live—death is too nice a punishment for you. You deserve to suffer in Azkaban the way Sirius did. You need to pay for the twelve people you killed, and for what you did to my parents."

Pettigrew had his face covered with his hands, his pointed nose sticking out from between his fingers.

Harry leaned forward, his elbows on his knees. "You’re a coward. You sold them to the enemy and didn’t even have the decency to stay and watch." Harry made a motion with one hand, "Come here."

Pettigrew looked up, and with a trembling lip crawled closer to Harry.

Harry lowered his voice, "You don’t even know what he did to them, do you?"

Pettigrew shook his head slightly.

Harry’s hands shot out and caught Pettigrew on either side of the head. He started hollering bloody murder in fear, and suddenly he had images of Voldemort’s attack on the Potters almost 17 years earlier flashing through his mind. They started with the short duel between his master and James, when James’ wand was shattered and he was left defenseless—and continued in flashes of memory up to when Voldemort pried Harry from Lily’s stiff arms. Upon reaching that point Harry let go of Pettigrew, who fell onto his back horror-stricken, the tears now not only leaking, but pouring from his eyes.

"Some friend you were—weren’t you?" Harry snarled, sitting back again. He removed his glasses to wipe away his own standing tears. It didn’t matter that he’d seen the images over a million times, they still affected him. He doubted that he’d ever become desensitized to them. Harry put his glasses back on and looked away from Pettigrew, his disgust almost too much for him to bear.

It took about another ten minutes before Fudge returned—still in his pajamas and missing one fuzzy slipper—with three large burly wizards from Azkaban. They shackled Pettigrew and disapparated with him in tow.

"So where are they taking him?" Harry asked the still shaken Fudge, getting up to stand in front of him.

"To a holding cell in Azkaban, until the trial."

"Which will be?"

"Three months."

"No. Not soon enough. Move it up."

"I’ll see what I can do. How soon would be accept—"

"Next week."

"Now—now see here Harry—I can’t just—move trials like that—"

"Sure you can. You’re the Minister of Magic, and you’ve imprisoned an innocent man for 12 years—not to mention—also nearly had his soul eaten by a Dementor. Now," Harry paused, "it might just be me, but I would think you would want to clear this little—misunderstanding—up as soon as you possibly could—especially—since the would-be guilty party is still on the run and wanted dead or alive. Now, should something happen to Sirius Black—who is and innocent man, may I remind you—in the time it takes to prove Peter Pettigrew guilty, what will that make you look like?"

Fudge tried to say something, but his voice was lost. His jaw moved, but no sound came out.

"I think you see my point," Harry said. He put his hands on Fudge’s shoulders and looked into the old man’s eyes, "Please Minister Fudge. I want my godfather pardoned as soon as possible. I want him proven innocent. I want the whole world to know that they’ve made a horrible mistake. I don’t want his name breathed in fearful whispers anymore. I don’t want him to be the monster spoken of in children’s horror stories anymore. And I want him compensated."

"Like what?" Fudge mumbled.

"Some land—a house—maybe a job since no one will trust him enough to hire him."

"I’ll see what I can do. We certainly want him compensated—Lord yes. The land—all depends on where he wants it—"

"Near Ottery St. Catchpole."

"That could probably work…" he mumbled. "You—or he after it’s safe for him to come out—will have a lot of paperwork to fill out…"

"Whatever it takes."

"Speaking of paperwork—you missed your appointments with the Ministry—you need to reschedule them."

"Of course."

"And I have to fine you for apparating without a license…"

"I understand." Harry turned towards Fudge’s door, "I’ll talk to you soon Minister Fudge."

Fudge stood in his spot for several seconds absorbing all the events of the night. "Harry, where are you going?"

Harry opened the door, calling Hedwig, who flew over to perch on his shoulder again, "It’s stopped raining, I’m going home. Good evening to you Minister." Harry nodded his head and walked out the door.

Fudge paused for a few more seconds before going to the door and calling down the street, "Harry, what do you plan on doing now?"

Harry turned back, "There’s an opening at Hogwarts. It seems that last year’s Defense Against The Dark Arts teacher was so traumatized by the attack that she resigned." Harry gave a mischievous smile and waved to Fudge before disappearing down an alleyway.

He scratched Hedwig on the back of the neck, "New start, Hedwig. New family. New life. It’s going to be great." He laughed to himself as he walked down the ally, "I can’t wait to see the look on Snape’s face when I get his job." His voice faded as he continued into the darkness, "So, Hedwig, where should we go first? To see Hermione, or back home to the Weasleys?"

The owl answered with a short hoot.

"Right," Harry laughed, his voice barely audible from the back of the ally, and his form nearly invisible in the dark to any onlooker as his form vanished completely.