Deliberation

I see, out of the corner of my eye, Remus fall under a conjured boulder. Dawlish shouts, "Incarcerous!" and then comes to help Scrimgeour.

I really do not like these odds. Two on one – knowing that Ernie cannot help me, and that the Wizengamot will not. Most of them would just end up injured, not helping me in the least.

Dawlish's spells – fast, and fueled with his determination to see me fall – force me to stop Apparating around Scrimgeour, to stay in one place and block spell after spell.

I can feel much of my energy dissipate. Blocking a spell takes more energy than casting one, and far more energy than Apparition. The more tired I get, the lighter my beard becomes – as if the white hairs represent my exhaustion. Presently, I have an awful lot of grey hair.

I feel water soaking through my jeans at the knees, and the next thing I know I have fallen, my knees making a dent in the earth. Dawlish conjures rope around my hands, binding them. Scrimgeour moves forward, putting his wand right under my jaw.

"Ha!" He grins, and laughs evilly. "See? See? The Great Potter, Defeated!" Scrimgeour turns to the Wizengamot. "You were fools to put your trust in him, fools! The government is capable of protecting you – even from insurgents like these! If even Potter, the Killer of Lord Voldemort, can be himself defeated, who stands a chance? His power is broken!"

"You truly believe so?" I mutter, gritting my teeth.

"You're on your knees, aren't you?"

I see Ernie in the tree cover, about thirty meters away.

Stun Dawlish on my command, I ask him, using my skills as a Legilimens.

"Answer me!" Scrimgeour's wand feels like it's going to leave a bruise on my throat.

"Defeated and broken are two different things, Minister. For now…"

Now!

"…I am neither."

"What –"

Dawlish falls to the ground, distracting the Minister from finishing his sentence, and from keeping me immobile. I burn through the rope tying my hands, and Change. Now a wolf, I jump on Scrimgeour, knocking him to the ground, and put my teeth dangerously close to his throat.

I growl, low and deep in my chest. "Drop the wand," I say, in a voice barely recognizable as my own.

He drops his wand. Fear-smell rolls off him in waves.

"This is how you escaped Azkaban, isn't it?"

"Aye, so t'is. I melted the door to confuse you."

He shivers, and tries to breathe. With my weight on top of him, that isn't a likely event, so I stand, front paws on his arms and rear paws on the earth.

"Just like your godfather…"

I snap my jaws, making Scrimgeour jump. "Sirius was innocent," I snarl, "and a good man. Leave his name be."

He quivers again. "What – what are you going to do to me?"

"Not kill you. You will have a trial – more than you deserve, that."

"Trial? F-For what?"

"My godfather's lack of one." All this talking in wolf form is starting to really sting my mouth. A wolf is really not made for talking, and speaking as one hurts like hell.

I move my paws off his arms and Change back into a human, putting my foot on Scrimgeour's chest to keep him from getting up. I summon his wand, sticking it in my belt next to mine, the wand that was formerly Dumbledore's.

Every time I use it – not that often – I can almost sense him, as if he's staring over my shoulder. Eerie.

I look around in the crowd for Auror Proudfoot. Seeing him, I beckon him over. "Would you mind taking him into custody?" I look behind me on the wharf, to the stunned Special Operations troops, Schwarzkopf, al-Habshi, and the corpse of Thicknesse, "And take care of them?"

Leo Proudfoot grins. "I'd be happy to, Lord Potter."

I step off Scrimgeour's chest, letting Proudfoot arrest him. I call to Kingsley Shacklebolt, seeing him in the crowd, saying, "Obliviate the Muggles, please?"

He nods, "Yes, sir."

I turn to the members of the Wizengamot – the ones that are there, anyway, which happens to be most of them. "I could boast," I say, "that I am more powerful than anyone else alive. I could say that, if I wanted to, I could be the next Lord Voldemort. I could declare that I am able to do many things that are beyond the grasp of most people. Each of those statements is true.

"But it is not our abilities, but our choices, that we must be judged on. I chose to kill Voldemort. I chose to kill Pius Thicknesse. But, in the same way, Minister Scrimgeour chose to let Voldemort grow, not willing or not able to destroy a festering evil. Voldemort killed many people – and he chose his path. The Minister appointed Thicknesse to positions of power, where Thicknesse chose to do evil – performing sadistic experiments.

"I killed only because I had to. Can they say the same?"

Silence.

Now I have seven lives on my conscience – Cedric, Sirius, Dumbledore, Voldemort, Greyback, Malfoy, and Thicknesse. I must bear their deaths forever.

One of the Wizengamot starts to clap – Martin MacDougal? – and the rest follow him.

I sigh inwardly.

I killed people. To keep others safe, yes, but I am still a murderer. And they applaud me.

Outwardly, I smile wanly, and wave my hand at Remus, unbinding him and healing the assorted cuts and bruises from his fight with Dawlish. I help him up, and he whispers in my ear, "Thicknesse needed to die. Well done, my Alpha."

I did it so that he would not have to. I put my hands in blood, so others could stay clean. But I am done with this. I have fought enough.