As we learned from the patronus charm in an earlier chapter, any spell can be evil if it's used in the wrong way. Like how James Potter taught Peter to be an animangus – look at the evil Peter managed because he knew that little spell. Evil accidentally unleashed on the world by a guy just trying to have a little fun …

14. a series of unfortunate events

Part 1 – A Crisp September Evening in a Castle Far, Far Away
Harry's Fifth Year of Hogwarts

Staff meeting are, by definition, a rather dry and tedious thing. The real fun, Albus Dumbledore thought to himself, always began when the official meeting ended and the staff, no longer 'on the record', felt free to air their true grievances. For this first meeting of the new school year it was especially true; with Dolores Umbridge barely out the door he could already hear several staff grumbling her name while others were quietly snickering as they pointed to her 27-point Ministry Suggestions for Age-Appropriate Teaching handout. Perhaps she could dethrone Harry Potter as the person most complained about … then again, sourpuss extraordinaire Severus Snape was still in the room.

The official unofficial complaints began when Septima Vector started in on the unlucky ratio of male to female students in her NEWT classes. Albus nodded courteously as he tuned her out to mentally debate which robes to wear to his brother's surprise birthday party – the mud brown ones with the dancing pigs on the cuffs or the pink ones (with no special adorations, the pretty-princess-pink color was quite enough on its own). Deciding the pink would annoy his brother the most, he mentally 'checked in' to find that Vector was still quoting percentages and probabilities that were sure to drive most of the staff to the bottle (reason number 17 why alcohol was no longer allowed at staff meetings). Pomona Sprout in particular was already eyeing up the teapot in a suspicious manner, her wand resting comfortably in her hand. It was time for him to act.

As the Arithmancy professor took a moment to flick to her next chart, he saw his opportunity. "Perhaps one of the male students can be tricked into dropping your class or can somehow be found to be, as the Brits would say, 'too stupid to continue'," Albus helpfully suggested.

"The Brits don't say that – nobody says that," Minerva McGonagall shouted, even as Sybill Trelawney loudly whispered "aren't we 'the Brits'?"

Albus chuckled to himself, even as he picked the spitballs from his beard, pleased that once again one of his insane comments completely derailed a professor's rant. He owed so much to Xeno Lovegood for that bit of advice. Eyes twinkling, he thanked the stars that Severus hadn't figured his strategy out yet.

As the mumbling over his comment died down, tiny Filius Flitwick took over the whining. He yet again complained about the quality of the Turkish coffee in the staff room, although he changed up his normal routine by also commenting on the bitterness of the Chocoballs. As he carried on, Trelawney quietly began trying to convince Madam Hooch that she was in imminent danger from broom-rot while Hooch, for her part, was using her wand to add salt to the Divination Professor's chocolate éclair. Meanwhile, at the far end of the table, a few of the staff were passing around a parchment. Albus' magically-enhanced eyesight could just make out 'ways to make Dolores' across the top.

Feeling he'd let Filius ramble on long enough, Albus promised to find even sweeter sugar for the coffee. Filius nodded his appreciation as Albus motioned for someone else to speak. To everyone's surprise, Argus Filch spoke next. That is to say, he surprised everyone by complaining about something other than the heathens known as students. Apparently Mrs. Norris had been missing all night and only turned up this morning smelling of cigar smoke and cheap wine. Albus nodded his thanks to his Deputy when she firmly told the squib that was a personal, and not staff, problem while somehow managing to disparage both his noticeable comb-over and his dental hygiene. Minerva took cats behaving badly quite seriously, and personally.

Then finally, the moment Albus both feared and looked forward to the most: Severus Snape tapped his spoon on his teacup and all eyes turned to the Potions Professor, knowing he was ready to speak. "Something must be done, Headmaster!" ('All together now', Albus mentally thought.)"Potter has gone too far this time!" (And indeed, at least two professors where mouthing the words along with Severus.)

"First week – pay up, Minerva," Filius whispered. Luckily, Severus was working himself up for a rant of grand proportions and therefore missed the comment and accompanying jingle of coins. A vindictive Severus was known to be a bit free with the laxative potions.

As Severus continued on about 'Potter's arrogance' and 'just like his father', two phrases Albus desperately wished he could outlaw, Minerva bravely interrupted. "Now Severus, I think it hardly appropriate to punish the boy for … well, I'm not even certain he's had the time to do any rule breaking yet this year, discounting those ridiculous detentions she has given him. After all, he happened to be speaking the truth—"

"I am NOT talking about that, Minerva, I am talking about something much more sinister."

"Yes, because speaking the truth is such a sinister thing for a teenager to do," she snorted.

"You want to talk sinister," Charity Burbage piped in, "I caught two Seventh Year boys trying to convince a couple of girls that Death Eaters were looking to sacrifice virgins so they should give up their chastity post haste."

"That's nothing," Pomona Sprout countered, "yesterday I caught a Ravenclaw – a Ravenclaw – trying to smoke bubotuber leaves. Said he heard Muggles smoke plants all the time so it had to be safe!"

"I believe we are getting off topic," Albus announced with a louder than normal voice. "Severus, I believe you were telling us of some horrific act Mr. Potter has perpetrated?"

"As I was trying to explain, I gave him a much deserved 'T' on his first potion and he has retaliated by doing … something … to my washroom," Severus sneered, thought to those that knew him the longest and the best, Albus and Minerva especially, it seemed more of a pout.

"I'm sorry, Severus," Pomona good-naturedly began, "but did you say washroom? What, did he … tinkle on the seat or forget to flush or some such thing?"

Once again, soft snickering could be heard.

"No," he tried to calmly reply, but any idiot (and since to Severus everyone in the room was an idiot, it could just be said everyone) could see that he was anything but. "He hasn't done something in my washroom, he has done something to my washroom. Since I first began teaching here, I have always used a specific washroom just down the hall from my classroom. The second pink door on the left. It has the best lighting and the stalls have plenty of elbow room so you can twist around easily, and when I went to use it this morning it was gone." To emphasis his point, he added, "Gone, I tell you." Then, for effect, "GONE!"

"Come now, Severus," said school matron Poppy Pomfrey, known to all as a very no-nonsense type. "Surely you of all people are familiar with this castle's habit of moving things … staircases, doors, rooms, why the entire hospital wing moved just a few years back, and you certainly didn't hear me complaining."

"Nor blaming a student," Minerva added in a huff. She was probably still sore that Severus had lost her the bet.

Several of the staff muttered their agreement while Trelawney loudly whispered "but why would he need elbow room in the loo?"

"The better question is why you think Mr. Potter had something to do with this missing room, Severus," Pomona, ever the fair and unbiased Hufflepuff, said.

Severus' answer contained pretty much every nasty thing he could think of about James Potter, only attributed to his son. None of which the staff hadn't heard dozens of times since Harry's first year. More to the point, none of which gave any proof that Harry had done anything to said loo; in fact there was no proof that anyone had done anything nefarious in this instance. Poppy had, after all, been entirely correct in regards to the moving rooms of the castle, and everyone on staff knew it.

Albus cleared his throat, earning the attention of everyone at the table. "While I am not familiar with this particular loo of which you speak, I myself having always been rather fond of the facilities on the third floor of the east tower – the view from the second stall window is breathtaking and the plush carpet—"

"Albus," Minerva barked, interrupting what was certain to be a very detailed to the point of disturbingly so description of a men's (at least she hoped) loo.

"Yes, yes … back to point … while I can certainly understand your sorrow in losing what you consider premium facilities, I have to agree with Poppy and the rest of the staff, Severus. Harry cannot be held accountable for the very magic of the castle, and though you haven't actually asked it, allow me to clearly state that he cannot and will not be sanctioned in any way, up to and including expulsion, for this missing restroom. Am I clear?"

With one sharp nod, Severus acknowledged his boss's statement. Then, like the true Slytherin he was, he spent the rest of the meeting sulking and plotting his revenge.

:D

Part 2 – a Spooky Old House Somewhere in London the day before New Year's Eve
Harry's Fifth Year of Hogwarts

'Oh my sweet Merlin,' Hermione thought as she, along with Harry, Ron and Ginny, continued to listen to the painting. No, this wasn't the uptight Phineas Nigellus, former Headmaster of Hogwarts whose portrait hung in Harry and Ron's room. This was Phineas Ferbius, a long-forgotten nephew on a dead branch of the Black Family Tree unfortunately named after the dead Headmaster or, as he liked to call himself, 'the other dead Phineas'.

His painting had been found shoved behind the dresser in the girl's room back at the end of summer, and in one of those lucky co-incidences that should never be questioned but so often happen in Harry's life, he'd mentioned that his other portrait (or, to be more correct, his other frame) was likewise lost somewhere in Hogwarts. It hadn't been hard for the trio of adventurers to follow his clues, find said frame, liberate it from its obscurity, and have it relocated to a strategic location conducive to information gathering. Now, months later, the trio-plus-one were listening as Phineas filled them in on some of the more interesting things he'd heard while listening in, aka, Things Harry Really Should Know but that We Won't Tell Him, or THRSKWWTH, for short. Harry suspected Hermione was already working on badges.

"Can you repeat that?" Harry asked, once he'd knocked his head a time or two to make certain his ears where clear and he was hearing correctly.

"The one with the power …" Phineas recited, and Harry listened again, and again, to make certain he was not only hearing, but understanding, this … this prophecy that was the root of all evil in his life. Glancing at Hermione, he saw that she, too, had already worked out the full implications of 'either must die at the hand of the other'. Ginny appeared to be close to working it out as well while Ron … well … he was Ron so he'd probably missed the subtly of that phrase to zero in on a more obvious part, like marked as an equal.

"Harry, mate, he really did mark you!" Ron eventually exclaimed, pointing to Harry's scar just in case Harry and the others hadn't figured it out yet.

Secretly, Harry was rather pleased with the whole 'marked as an equal' part, since, as Ollivander had so quaintly put it, Voldemort did great things – terrible yes, but great. Hell, even Dumbledore admitted good ol' Riddle was a truly exceptional wizard. Yes, marked as an equal wasn't all that bad, he internally marveled as he remembered a certain not only talented, but also rather fetching, sixteen-year-old. The witches must have been flocking to him like thestrals to a class full of menstruating Hufflepuffs.

"How very lucky you have such a memory for words," Hermione praised the portrait, bringing Harry back to the present, "though why Professor Dumbledore would repeatedly quote it to himself is beyond me."

"When one can do little more than listen, they might as well make it an art form," Phineas proudly replied. "And all the portraits of Hogwarts know the Headmaster likes to talk to himself. Thinking aloud, he calls it, but we all think he's just a few brain cells short of sanity."

"So this prophecy … it's the weapon they've been all uptight about." Ginny reasoned. "Well, that's just absurd. How is a prophecy a weapon? It's not like you can hit someone over the head with it."

But Hermione understood. "I think it's more the unknown; maybe Voldemort doesn't know that it names Harry as his equal or that it says Harry can defeat him."

Ginny seemed to take offense to that idea. "So what if he doesn't know, he's been trying to kill Harry for years and only an idiot would think that's gonna stop – no offense Harry – so it's pretty much a given where this is all headed, isn't it? I mean, at least this tells us Harry has a fighting chance, but how is Tom not knowing that a benefit to us?"

"I didn't say I agreed, Ginny," Hermione countered. "I think it's a pathetic waste of manpower to guard a prophecy as if it's all that important. If they'd put that much effort into really guarding Harry he wouldn't have had to deal with those dementors by himself last summer."

And right then, Ron once again proved his worth to the group by stopping Hermione before she got on her proverbial soap box. "You're both right," he declared, chopping his hand between the girls as if to separate them. "There really isn't any weapon, the adults were just playing a game with us by calling it that and making it seem more important than it is. Berks, the lot of them. And now, to find out what it says … keeping that a secret isn't worth my dad's life, I can tell you that!"

Ginny nodded her agreement and even Hermione had to admit Ron had a point.

"Kinda makes me wonder what other bunk they've been hiding from us." Ron gave the portrait a pointed look.

"Oh, there's just so much," Phineas gleefully offered, so very happy to finally be allowed to talk to living people again. So what if he told the entire Black family about Lady Black's much-to-personal relationship with a centaur. Did that really need to earn him banishment? The wedding probably would have been interrupted by someone else anyway. "Did you know that Dumbledore is certain there is much more to this mental connection the lad seems to have with the dark one? He's been keeping his distance from you," he looked Harry straight in the eye, "because he fears that Vol Demort fellow can somehow see through your eyes and … well, I didn't really pay attention to that part, it was rather boring. Oh, but did I mention he's come up with this idea to have that dreary fellow Snape teach you something called Occluminty, which is supposed to protect your mind from outsiders."

"How does that work?" Harry asked.

"They haven't been too clear on the details, but it sounds like they just break into your mind as many times as it takes for you to manage to block them."

"Sounds delightful," Harry muttered.

"Sounds like torture," Ron corrected. "Image how pissed Sirius must be to find out Snape gets to play in Harry's mind. Ick, I just thought of what kind of stuff is in there. On second thought, poor Snape."

A smart slap to the back of the head was Harry's only response. Then he frowned, realizing he had just pulled a Vernon. Then he smiled, realizing he'd done it out of love, not hate, so it was probably alright.

"I wouldn't do it, Harry," Ginny was saying while Harry was smiling. "Snape would be really nasty about it."

"I don't believe you'll have a choice, lad," the portrait explained. "That crowd is rather certain that Mister Demort has figured out that you can see into his mind thanks to your experience with that snake, and they think he could plant a false vision into your mind to trick you into leaving the safety of the school."

"And they are going to warn him of this when?" Ron bellowed.

"I do not believe they intend to. Don't want to scare him."

"Yeah, well, maybe they should scare him," the redhead snapped back, before taking a deep breath and looking to his friend. "I hate to say it but maybe those lessons aren't such a bad idea. Imagine the stuff You Know Who could put into your brain." He visibly shuttered as he considered the possibilities. "Like, what if he shows you Malfoy without his makeup … or Snape giving him a mani-pedi."

"How is that going to get Harry to leave the school?" Ginny demanded, turning on her brother. "Seriously, how?"

"It just could," Ron stubbornly insisted. "Harry, you understand, right?"

"No," Hermione cut in, her patience with Ron at an end. "Harry needs to stop those lessons at any cost. If the adults find out we know things we aren't supposed to know, they'll start asking questions we don't want to answer." She looked to the smiling Phineas to make her point.

"And we lose our only source of real, useful information," Ginny continued.

"But how do I stop them, if all the adults – even Sirius – are so set on doing this?" Harry asked, cleared bothered as it dawned on him that even his own godfather, his sworn protector, had drunk the 'keep Harry in the dark' juice.

"Fake sick," Ginny suggested.

"No, it needs to be something that will completely stop them, not just delay." Turning to Harry with a very serious look on her face, Hermione continued. "Be rude to him, Harry. Terribly rude. Destroy his lab. Destroy his office. Hell, tell him you're gay and have a secret crush on him. Whatever it takes to keep him out of your mind."

"Even my manly pride," Harry whined, having turned a distressing shade of gray at her last suggestion.

"Even if you have to wear lipstick and call him honeybuns," she firmly commanded.

Ginny, feeling sorry for her friend, gently rubbed his arm to comfort him. "It'll be all right. At least we all know you're a real man."

The feeling of Ginny's hand on his arm was rapidly banishing not only all thoughts of Snape and pride, but strangely also Cho from his mind. "Alright, I'll do it," the brave, manly Gryffindor stated, hoping his voice hadn't really just cracked.

"You'll just have to be skeptical of any more visions you get," Hermione added, a knowing smile on her face as she watched Ginny absently continue to pet her friend's arm. Susan Bones was in for quite the surprise if she thought she would be the one to soothe Harry's heart once Cho had viciously trampled it to bits (as every witch in the school knew she would).

In a surprising show of depth, Ron noticed how the others were all distracted; Hermione watching his sister, Ginny petting Harry, and Harry gazing into space with a goofy grin on his face, and internally cackled. His plan for world domination was finally under way. It was time to come up with step two.

Not knowing the monumental shift going on in the quartet's dynamic, Phineas gleefully continued spilling the Order's secrets. "Now, have any of you ever heard the term horcrux?"

:D

Part 3 – A Mid-Summer's Night on a Lonely Island in the Cold Sea
Between Harry's Fifth and Sixth Years of Hogwarts

Manly pride, Lucius Malfoy realized, had been his downfall. He should have sucked it up and went to Dumbledore for clemency, much as he suspected Snape had honestly done, as soon as he'd confirmed Quirrel's fate. But, he mused, perhaps it mattered not.

Leaning back, the cold wetness of his cell wall seeping into his robes, he remembered the unexpected visit from his beloved wife that had changed everything. It had been a bleak day, like so many others since he'd been incarcerated, when Narcissa had arrived, appearing like a shining angel descending into the very pits of hell, for even his imagination thought too much of itself. The guards, either in recognition of his superiority or return for his wife's gift bags 'o gold, had given them privacy.

At first he'd thought her inane chatter about mundane events was in deference to his compromised health – in other words, that she was 'babying' him. Her complaints of Bella's erratic and unbearable behavior had seemed pretty run-of-the-squib, and her mentions of Potter and his cohorts new celebrity status for having lured a group of Death Eaters to their doom were nothing less than expected. He still cursed himself for not seeing the major flaw in his plan; that being that nothing with Potter ever went according to plan.

However, it was as she explained the task the Dark Lord had assigned to his little Draco for the third time that it dawned on him his wife was stalling.

Now certainly, the details about Draco were important. After all, he'd been ordered to help Death Eaters infiltrate Hogwarts and kill her Headmaster. Should be simple for an under-trained, under-age boy, right? Even in his admittedly Azkaban-affected mind he could see the Dark Lord's evil intent. He loved his boy, he was reasonably certain, but he'd have to be blind and stupid not to know that Draco had the cunning of a rabid puppy. If that hat had actually bothered to look into the boy's mind, he'd have been a Hufflepuff for certain. So yes, there was cause for concern regarding this 'reward', yet the way Narcissa was carrying on about it … the way she was looking to the ceiling as she spoke … how she was basically saying the same thing in several different ways … "enough, woman! Just tell me the real reason for your visit," he'd jumped up and spit out.

He'd stood there, looking down at his wife, surreptitiously trying to comb his lanky, Snape-ish hair with his fingers, when she looked up to face him and he saw her tears. He knew then this would be bad.

"We've lost the manor," she suddenly wailed, taking him completely by surprise. 'I'm having an affair and am carrying a mudblood's love child', he'd almost expected. 'I caught Draco dressed as Dumbledore and reading Care and Feeding of your Phoenix', wouldn't have been much of a surprise. But this?

It took him a minute or two come up with a reasonable reply. "However could that happen? Surely there is enough gold in our false accounts and hidden vaults to pay whatever fines the Ministry could have levied."

"No, no. Not that lost. Lost as in it's disappeared. It was there when I left to buy Draco new pants – he seems to be going through them at an alarming rate lately – and was gone when I returned."

"Gone," he stupidly repeated, trying to wrap his mind around such an unbelievable feat. He could only think of one or two dark rituals that would work, but who could have done it, and where would they have found that much olive oil? There was that curse put on the house by the carpenter that was imprisoned instead of paid, but that was more than a century ago, so surely not. Perhaps his wife was merely confused?

Seeing the gears moving in her husband's mind, Narcissa was quick to harshly whisper (she couldn't shout without attracting the guards, after all) "Don't look at me like I'm a simple mudblood! I wasn't in the wrong place. It was our home, our land in Wiltshire – the same lane, same trees, same muggle-killing fence as always – just the house itself is no longer there."

"And the Dark Lord …," Lucius hedged, though he really didn't want to know.

"Will be back from his journey to the continent in little over a week, and still intends to stay with us. In our manor. That apparently doesn't exist anymore."

Lucius dropped into his seat in defeat. The Dark Lord would not take this kindly. Reaching across the table, he took his wife's hands in his, softly caressing them with his thumbs. When she turned her head up to look at him, he'd said the only thing he could think to say. "I hear the rain in Spain falls mainly on the plains."

With a deep breath, Narcissa had straightened her back and raised her head. "I believe it does," she'd replied, a true smile making its way onto her face. She'd left shortly thereafter, and he'd known their lot was set. In another day or two she would have him out of here (with her looks, his money, and a little thing called black magic his freedom was a foregone conclusion) and the three of them would be safely in Saskatchewan, living as Mr. and Mrs. Mallory Wigglesworth and son.

The Dark Lord could kiss his rosey, pure-blooded arse – if he could find it.

:D

Part 4 – An Unusually Sunny Day in April at Hogwarts School for Heroes and Bad Guys
Harry's Sixth Year of Hogwarts

Walking away from his friends, Harry silently berated himself. "Time for me to face my destiny," he muttered, repeating his last words to them. "How could I make that the last thing I possibly ever say to Ron and Hermione? Why couldn't I say something like 'I'll be back' or 'I'm gonna make him an offer he can't refuse'? No, I come up with something so stupid Ron just might have them put it on my tombstone if I die. Stupid!"

"Er … Harry," Ginny started, but she didn't get any further.

Turning around, Harry saw his chance and he took it. Pulling her close, he swore, "I'm going to love you forever," before giving her a passionate kiss.

Pulling away, Ginny gave him a confused look – sure, the kiss was nice and all but wasn't that a bit dramatic if he was just going to find Neville? "Ah, thanks? … love you too … but I was just going to tell you that Seamus said he saw Neville headed toward the greenhouses."

'Damn,' he thought, 'now I have to say something else'. If only he could think of something last-word-worthy to reply with. He'd totally wasted the only good line he had!

"You were just looking for Neville, right?" Ginny asked, suddenly suspicious of Harry's lack of response.

Still without a good line, Harry just stood there, twiddling his wand and looking around the castle grounds as he furiously thought and thought.

"Harry," she half asked, half demanded, for Ginny was a master at making a single word convey an entire paragraph.

"Yeah," he finally replied, for Harry was a master at making a single syllable convey an actual word. Plus, he was just plain out of awesome lines. They don't just drop from the sky, you know.

"You were just looking for Neville, right?"

"Well ... you see …,"

"So help me, if you are about to say you were off to face your destiny, I will hit you so hard you won't be able to tell your wand from your wand."

"You mean you didn't hear what I said just before I left?" he asked incredulously. "Like, three minutes ago?" It hadn't been the best line ever, but surely it was somewhat memorable.

"I heard what you said in spirit, sweetheart," she assured him. "But I don't see how I should be expected to catch every single word when you just have so much to say and we all have so little time." And then a strange thing happened. As she continued to talk her tone changed from contrite to aggressive. "In fact, I would think that at such a monumental time, with such important things going on, that you would cut the words to a minimum and just get on with it already. You're not going to defeat Tom by speaking at him, you know. It's going to take action. Because actions speak louder than words, Harry. Louder than words!" By the end she was nearly shouting.

'Double damn,' he thought. Not only had she managed to make him feel guilty because she hadn't listened to him, but she'd done it with a great tag line to boot. And she was clearly waiting for him to say something … "It's not what you think," he quickly blurted out. And thankfully, it wasn't. "I was actually off to find the twins."

"The twins? As in my twins?" she asked, clearly suspicious.

"Well, more your mum's than yours, I should think, but yeah, those two." Then, because a witty line popped into his mind, "Seamus hasn't seen them, has he?"

"Are you mocking me?!"

"N—no, my love. Never. I just meant … you don't suppose anyone knows where they've gotten to, do you? I mean, the last I saw them, they were throwing rocks at all the Death Eaters trapped in the Whomping Willow. But I do think Fred had said something about wanting to try that switching spell on the Carrows to see if anyone noticed a difference – and last I heard those two were still running around the dungeons looking for fresh mudbloods, which is pretty stupid since only the Slytherins are in the dungeons today and there aren't too many muggleborns in that house."

"Alright. I guess it does make sense you need to find them. But after that, you're going for Neville, aren't you?"

"Once I've seen them I'm going to – look!" he yelled, looking and pointing his wand behind her.

She didn't want to … she knew she shouldn't … but like Ron with a present, when someone shouted 'look' and pointed somewhere, she just couldn't help herself. She looked.

And Harry ducked and was gone. Without a memorable line, but needs must.

Luckily for him, he spotted Fred and George batting at a piñata that was suspiciously snake-like shortly after escaping his girlfriend. He still had at least twenty minutes before his deadline to turn himself over ended; hopefully enough time to not only finish his business with the boys but also come up with a great line for greeting Tommy Boy.

:D

Part 5 – A Different and Not-as-Sunny but Still Rather Nice Day in April
Same Bat-Year, Same Bat-Castle

"Freedom!" Harry shouted from the middle of the quidditch pitch with his arms spread wide. He earned a few strange looks but didn't care; Voldemort was dead and he was alive and free and, by golly, it felt good. He did drop his arms and stop spinning, though, no reason to get the crazy-Harry rumor mills started up again quite so soon.

Taking a deep, cleansing breath, he gazed around for his prey. He just had this one little loose end to tie up, then he could sit back and relax while (for once) the adults took care of the bad guys. He'd already checked the kitchens, all the female showers he could find, and Snape's office. The Forbidden Forest was his last best guess. Spotting a flock of birds and thestrals flying up from one particular spot, he strolled off in that direction.

He found his prey quickly stuffing something couch-sized under what appeared to be a muggle-made canvas tarp. Approaching cautiously because, well, it was the twins … in the forbidden forest … and it was the twins, he slowed his steps and held his wand in a classic offensive grip. One of them looked up while the other seemed to give a swift kick to whatever was under the tarp.

"Harry, old chap," one called, the other promptly adding, "how are you this bright, sunny day?"

"Brilliant, actually. Not having a homicidal maniac trying to kill you does wonders for the human spirit." He took another moment to enjoy his freedom.

A high-pitched squealing noise from under the tarp brought Harry back to the present. He gave the twins a few minutes to take care of their business, studiously observing an owl in a nearby tree as it tore a rat to pieces small enough to eat – can't testify to what you didn't see, after all. He didn't turn back until one of them said, "all better now."

Looking again, he found the twins standing side by side in jeans and sloppy shirts that would have been identical had they not been different colors. It took a moment, but eventually he worked out that the one on the left, in the dark purple shirt, was George. It had been Lavender Brown, which made sense when he thought about it, who had clued him in to the differences in the two boys – how George's pinkies twitched when he was nervous or up to something, which was most of the time (Fred's fingers, in contrast, were always well behaved) whereas Fred tended to tug on his earlobe when you put him on the spot.

Putting his deduction to the test, he spoke to the one in the teal shirt as he said, "guys, we've got to talk."

As he gave his earlobe a little tug, Fred agreed, "You are absolutely right. You promised to explain just what you needed us to do for you yesterday."

"Not the what so much as the why," George added.

"True, we know the what. We need the why," his twin replied.

Harry had long suspected they talked like that just to see if they could make people dizzy trying to follow the conversation, so he'd trained himself to take it in stride. "Alright," he conceded, "but there's stuff you need to know first. Allow me to monologue."

Fred turned to George and stage-whispered, "must be something he picked up from Voldemort." Then to Harry he said, "monologue away."

Always one to think better on the move, Harry paced around the clearing as he spoke. "So, let's see. It all starts with a little misunderstood boy named Tom. Who, it turns out, was really evil. Grew up and made himself several horcruxes – you know what those are, right?"

"We, too, have ways of spying on the Order," George evasively offered.

Giving him a knowing nod, Harry continued, "well, we found out what they were and where they were, and worked around the Order and their useless quote-unquote guards and went after them. Using various means, we destroyed them as we found them. Eventually, there were only two left and it was time to finish it. Huh, guess there wasn't that much you needed to know after all."

Fred and George shared a look. "So, what we did …," Fred began, hoping Harry would take the hint. He rather thought he would, but then the boy was best friends with Ron and Ron certainly never got the hint.

"What you did was nothing short of brilliant," Harry enthusiastically continued, having picked up what Fred was putting down. "In hindsight, I wish we'd thought of it sooner. That locket was a bitch; messed with our emotions and nasty as hell to destroy – though I suppose it was worth it to see Dumbledore drink that horrid potion for nothing. If only he'd asked, we would have told him we'd already found that horcrux in Sirius's house."

Fred and George shared another look. "Er …"

But apparently Harry really could monologue after all, and he was on a roll now. "That barmy old coffin dodger … he deserved so much worse than a few night terrors, some bloody noses, and loss of bladder control … he knew about them all along, well, since the diary anyway, and looking back I think he suspected about my scar as far back as the rebirthday. And he tried to keep it to himself. Didn't anyone ever teach him that sharing is caring?" Turing toward the castle he could just see over the tops of some trees, he shook his fist in the air and shouted, "SHARING IS CARING, YOU BLEEDING NUTCASE!"

George and Fred shared another another look. "Ah, Harry…"

"Hypocrite, that's what he is. Going on and on about how evil Riddle was for making a few souvenirs, when all along he had his own."

At this point, Fred and George were pretty much doing nothing but sharing looks. "Are you saying Dumbledore has a horcrux," one of them bravely asked.

The question brought Harry up short, and he turned a bit pink as he explained. "No … Merlin no. At least, I don't think. But … he has his own souvenir, in a way. Did you know that he never actually killed Grindewald? Nope, locked him away in a tower somewhere like his own personal Rapunzel. Hermione thinks, er, that they were in love with each other, actually. I think he's just bonkers. Maybe it's both.

Deciding they really didn't want to know any more, as what they'd already heard was disturbing enough, the twins bravely tried to shoo Harry away. "That's great, Harry. Thanks for telling us. But we're a bit busy now so—"

"I get the hint," Harry interrupted. "But we really do have a bit of unfinished business." He braced himself, half expecting them to turn this back on him. He still remembered that day, right after Cedric had been killed, when the twins had tried to cheer him up and somehow (the firewhisky, probably) it had turned into a game of Truth or Dare or Pickle which had indirectly led to all of this. It had seemed like a good idea at the time (again – firewhisky), but the look of absolute horror on Ron's face this morning … he shuddered as he contemplated the evil he'd unwittingly unleashed on the world.

"It's like this. I know I was the one to dare you to learn it, and you did and it ended up being more helpful than I'd ever imagined. When you stuck it to Snape, it was just the pick-me-up I needed after a truly horrible summer. Watching him run around looking for that loo, the way he pinched his legs together … that was good stuff." The memory nearly brought tears to his eyes. "And hiding the portrait for us in the kitchen at Grimmauld Place, giving us our own personal spy-zone was a goldmine. Life was so much easier once we knew what was really going on – I shudder when I think of all the stupid mistakes I probably would have made."

"Just doing our part," Fred said, sharing a pleased look with his twin.

"Above and beyond, more like. Then when Ginny suggested we find a way to take the Malfoys with all their money and power away from Riddle, I thought it was a long shot, but once again you two came through. Although, I still think it would have been more fun to hide the people instead of the house. But that one move shortened the war by months if not years and that's all on you two. And guys," he said, turning a bit serious as he looked at his nearly brothers, "your help hiding the thing in my scar is probably the only reason I am standing here today and Riddle is the one decaying in the ground. If his soul had been able to find his last horcrux - my horcrux," he said, jabbing his scar with his finger, "he would have stayed anchored to this life. But he couldn't find it so he was forced to move on when I destroyed his body."

"Like we said," George said with false modesty, "just doing our part." He winked at his twin, who winked back.

"BUT," Harry continued as if George hadn't spoken, and the force in that one word got both the twins' attention. They stopped sharing looks and gave him their full attention; they were dealing with the Man Who Vanquished, after all. "You need to realize that Ron did his part too. That locket and the ring – no one but Ron was stupid enough to take those on – and he deserves to celebrate this victory as much as anyone. So you need to take the Fidelius Charm off his penis NOW, and I DON'T want to know how you managed to get it on in the first place – and if you promise to never abuse the spell again I'll let Hermione keep thinking he accidentally did it to himself."

** end chapter, but not really **

BONUS SCENE: So I lost the original file and had to rewrite from memory. Then I found the original file and remembered how much I like this part, but couldn't make it fit into the new version, but it's still funny so I'm adding it here.
About the Same Time Lucius Makes his Escape at Harry's Own Private Prison

Harry Potter was standing just to the side of an open window pretending to dust a row of knickknacks, but in actuality was listening with great delight to the conversation taking place in the driveway. It had been a rough few weeks since his beloved Godfather had died so valiantly falling through a curtain, but he was trying to "Stay Positive", as Hermione admonished him to do, and watching his uncle flounder like a fish out of water was positively doing wonders for his state of mind.

It had started about an hour previous, when Harry had found himself answering a knock at the front door to find a pair of "please-men" standing on the stoop.

"Can I help you gents?" Harry had shyly asked, glancing nervously between the two. They were nearly mirror images of each other, from their heights to their matching uniforms, even their matching cropped haircuts. One, however, was free of facial hair while the other had a very impressive handlebar mustache and (though it was hard to be certain due to the way the man was holding himself) half a pinky missing. It was this one who spoke up.

"I'm Sargent Cagney and this is officer Lacey. Is this number four, Privet Drive? Home of Vernon Dursley?" Seeing Harry's nod to the affirmative, he continued, "Is he your father, son? We've official business with the man."

Seeing the look of horror spread across Harry's face, the other officer was quick to assure, "your pa's not in any trouble, son."

"That's nice, I suppose, but he's not my father – Vernon Dursley is only my uncle who I've been forced to live with since my own parent's heroic deaths." Turnabout, Harry had long ago realized, was fair play. If his aunt and uncle could make up stories about his parents so he would look bad around the neighborhood, he could do the same to them. "Yes, it was very tragic," he continued when he saw the looks of sorrow on the officers' faces. "They were in the Peace Corps, you see, building a school for underprivileged children … and orphans … yes, underprivileged orphans. That's when some greedy corporation decided it wanted the land so they could build a factory to make cheap tools and sell them for huge profits here in the homeland."

"One morning, as my mother was tending the deaf children, she realized she could smell smoke. She sounded the alarm evacuating the area, but as they were leaving my father heard the unmistakable sound of a small, blind child calling, 'help, help, I'm blind and I can't see'. So naturally, he ran back into the burning building, found the boy, and tossed him through a window to safety. But the roof collapsed before Dad could get out."

Cagney surreptitiously wiped a tear from his eye (allowing Harry to see that he was, indeed, missing part of his pinky) as Lacey asked, "but what of your mother?"

"Oh, well … just as the roof collapsed she noticed a stray kitten sitting too close to the building, and she rushed forward and scooped it up, tossing it into the safe hands of a nearby shaman. But she was too close and when the building exploded she was caught in the blast." Seeing the looks of pity in the officers' eyes, Harry went for the kill. "With the school gone, the company was free to build their factory, but Uncle Vernon assures me he had a plaque honoring their bravery hung in the smaller cafeteria."

"But enough about me," Harry casually ended his story, having noticed that Ms. Nosey Across the Way had taken notice of the visitors and taking perverse pleasure in knowing that it would soon be obvious he was not the reason they were here. "You gentlemen have business with my uncle?"

"We're here about his stolen car," Lacey supplied, turning back to business. "You wouldn't happen to know anything about it, would you?" By this point Cagney had pulled his notebook out and looked ready to take notes.

"Oh dear," Harry managed to say in a concerned voice, "he hasn't called you up here for that, has he? I'm so sorry, officers, that he's wasted your time today – and you being so nice, too – but the car's not been stolen. Vernon Dursley's car is right where it belongs in the driveway of number four, Privet Drive." And as he said this last part, he gestured with his hand toward the neat little Fiat that was quite plainly sitting exactly where it belonged.

"Why, so it is," Cagney exclaimed. "I hadn't even noticed it sitting there until you pointed it out. Now why would your uncle report it as stolen then not tell us it was back? Does he think we have nothing better to do then drive around Little Whinging?"

Looking as concerned as he could, Harry purposely looked around the neighborhood, then back into the house, before stepping closer to the officers, pulling the front door closed behind him. In his quietest voice, he explained, "I fear he's gone round the bend. Not only does he keep insisting the car's been stolen, he keeps claiming there are invisible people watching us all the time. At first, his delusions weren't that bad; he'd tell people that my parents were drunks killed in a car crash and – and you remember that Sirius Black fellow that escaped a few summers ago – well he's been telling people that Black's my godfather, if you can imagine. He insists I go to some school he's made up that's supposed to be for criminals."

"Oh, you poor lad," said Lacey as placed a comforting hand on Harry's shoulder, his concern for Harry evident. "Is there any other adult in the household?"

"My aunt, but she just plays into his delusions. I think she's afraid he'll turn violent again if she doesn't."

"Violent," Cagney repeated with just a hint of anger in his voice.

He paused a moment, wondering if he should really continue. A brief image of the inside of a cupboard convinced him he should. Looking around again, Harry moved closer still, appearing afraid to share his next secret. "When I was eleven, he went quite mad for a spell, insisting there were people after us. At one point he packed us all up in the dead of night and drove us from place to place until we finally ended up in this rundown hut on this rock-like island out in the sea. He insisted he needed to keep 'them' from finding us and even had a shotgun with him. And when I was twelve, a bird flew in an open window during a dinner party and he decided I was responsible. Now my bedroom locks from the outside and whenever he thinks I've been bad he locks me in and they feed me through a cat flap in the door. There were even bars on the window at one point. I'm actually afraid … he's been muttering that I'm somehow responsible for his 'missing' car. Like I just magically made it disappear. If you don't believe him and charge me with some crime, I don't know what he'll do to me."

At that point, Harry had to cover his mouth with his hand to keep from laughing out loud. Biting his lip had the added effect of bringing tears to his eyes.

"Son, why don't you go inside and send your uncle out to us. We'll take care of it from here."

Yes, Harry's summer was much improved from that point on, and he was certain Sirius would have approved.

** end bonus **

So there it is, poor Harry accidentally unleashed evil into the world by convincing the twins to learn how to use the Fidelius Charm. Given how they abused Apparition, it should have been obvious they'd overuse it. I imagined them hiding all sorts of things … the gnomes Molly told them to toss over the wall … the mess in the kitchen when they have chicks over … anything and everything of Percy's they can find. Accidental evil, indeed.

On the other hand, I do think that would have worked with the horcrux in Harry's scar. Imagine that for a moment – no need to sacrifice himself and when he finally dies of old age (or from eating those questionable snails Hermione had cooked) the last bit of Riddle finally crosses over.