Disclaimer: I swear on my life and magic (if I had any) that I am not JK Rowling and do not own Harry Potter.

A/N: Just a little parody riff on one of my pet peeves about Harry Potter fanfic. I honestly don't think the originator of magical oaths quite thought things through.

Harry awoke in his familiar four-poster bed, unused for the past year, but still the only bed he had truly called home. From the shadows stretching across the grounds outside the window, it must be nearly dinner time.

He rose and stumbled lazily down the stairs. Ron and Hermione were waiting for him in the Common Room. He nodded to them wordlessly, and they followed him down to the ruins of the Great Hall.

The pain was still there—no less for finally getting the day's sleep he desperately needed. Fred, Remus, Tonks, Colin—and for that matter, Dobby, Moody, Hedwig, and Dumbledore, and dozens of others lost. Far too many. He didn't think this day would ever be a joyful one for him. At best, it would hold the relief that the being once known as Tom Riddle would never hurt anyone again.

He didn't really want to go to the Hall. He would much rather meet with his friends in private—with the people who could actually see through the fame. He'd never liked being the Boy-Who-Lived, and that wasn't a tenth the adulation he would receive now as the Man-Who-Won. But that was where almost everyone he did want to see was, and he couldn't avoid it forever.

They had just reached the destroyed and Entrance Hall, where a team of elves were already scrubbing the blood off the marble steps, when they heard a voice from the shadows, and a girl with blond hair and green-trimmed robes stepped out.

"Potter?" she said nervously.

With a shout, three wands were pointed at her, tips glowing with curses about to fly.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! I'm on your side!" She held her hands up.

They recognised the girl now: Daphne Greengrass had remained stubbornly neutral while most of her fellow Slytherins were flocking to Voldemort. They remembered seeing some Slytherins fighting for the Light with Slughorn in the battle, but none of them had approached them, which made Daphne's action a little suspicious.

"Just stay where you are, Greengrass," Ron said.

"Oh, honestly, Weasley, you know I was telling off the Death Nibblers for all of sixth year. Plus, I was the one who nailed Greg's dad this morning. I just wanted to thank you for finally getting rid of that bastard. A lot of us did, but all the other Slytherins are scared to talk to you."

"Well, sorry if we don't feel too trusting around Slytherins."

"Ronald," Hermione warned, forcing down his wand and lowering her own.

"You know what, Weasley? Here." Daphne drew her wand and said, "I, Daphne Greengrass, swear on my life and magic that I do not now nor have I ever supported the Death Eaters. So mote it be." An aura of white light briefly flashed around her. She remained standing and, apparently, alive.

Harry's and Hermione's jaws dropped. They stared at her, speechless in mingled shock and fury, until Harry finally found his voice again.

"YOU CAN DO THAT?!"

"What?" Ron and Daphne said in unison.

"You just swore on your life and magic like it was an actual spell!" Hermione said.

"Well, it is," Daphne said. "If you break the oath, you die."

"Yeah, I'm impressed, Greengrass," Ron replied. "I take back what I said."

But Harry was livid. "Ron, why didn't you ever tell me you could do that?"

"Why didn't I ever read about it?" Hermione yelled.

"I didn't think it was important."

Smack!

Ron reeled and stumbled from Hermione's slap. "Didn't think it was important?" she screamed. "Ron, if we'd known about that, Harry could have convinced everyone Voldemort was really back after fourth year and made this whole goddamn bloody war a hell of a lot shorter."

Ron backed away in terror. Did Hermione Granger just swear at him?

Harry didn't look much friendlier: "Even if you'd just told us this past year, Ron, we could've made a deal with Griphook that was enforced with an oath and saved some time with that Chamber of Secrets business."

"Harry, you can't just go making oaths all the time," Ron whined. "It's really dangerous. No one ever does it."

"Ron, do you remember how many times all of us almost died all the way back to first year? I think I'd prefer risking my life making oaths. Hell, I could have proved Sirius was innocent in third year!"

"We could have cleared up all those lies everyone was telling you about in fifth year," Hermione added.

"And what about when everyone thought I was the heir of Slytherin in second year?"

"And when no one would believe you didn't put your name in the Goblet of Fire in fourth year?" She glared at Ron at that one.

"Hey, I said I was sorry about that."

"But I still don't get how I never read about magical oaths anywhere," Hermione said. "Daphne, you're from a Noble House. Why wouldn't they write something like that down?"

Daphne had watched the exchange with slowly growing horror. All those things Potter had been through for the past seven years—she remembered most of them herself, and easily half of them could have been avoided if someone had just thought to tell him what every pureblood knew from so early on that they usually forgot it. "I…I don't know," she stammered apologetically. "It's an old tradition, but practically no one's used it since Veritaserum was invented. I guess…I guess it's so rare that…no one thought it was important."

"AUGH! And seriously, what kind of an oath is "So mote it be"? I mean what is this, 1390? There's nothing extra-magical about Middle English. In fact, shouldn't it be in a language you understand?"

"I'm sorry, Granger, it's just always been that way." She started backing off.

"Well, there's a lot of things that have always been that way that need to change," Hermione grumbled. "Come on, let's go get dinner."

Daphne ran ahead of them as they resumed their trek to the Great Hall, Ron keeping his distance to avoid the ire of his friends.

"You know," Harry mused, still thinking of all the ways this information could have helped him, "if we'd known about magical oaths, Snape could have proved to us that he was really on our side."

Hermione stopped. "Well, wait a minute, Harry. Maybe Ron's right. I mean, if Voldemort was so paranoid, why didn't he demand an oath from Snape? And why didn't he demand an oath from Mrs. Malfoy that you were dead?"

"Huh, I don't…" Harry's eyes widened. "Hermione, he was raised by muggles! I'd bet galleons to knuts he never knew about magical oaths either."

"And his followers were all too afraid to tell him. Merlin! If he'd known…"

"Who knows what could have happened—there is something seriously wrong with the magical world."

"Yeah, tell me something I don't know. But come to think of it, the Ministry could have demanded loyalty oaths from all of its people and got rid of all Death Eaters and spies. Maybe they could have sorted the whole thing before it had even started."

Harry started pondering that, trying to apply just a fraction of his friend's intellect to the problem. It was no good trying to work backwards, he decided. The real question was how history would have changed if everyone had the sense to use magical oaths from the start. Riddle probably still would have gone dark, sure, but he might well have been forced to fight for his cause in the political arena. The thought made his blood boil—but now was not the time.

The trio was greeted with thunderous applause for the third time that day as they entered the Great Hall. Harry forced a smile as he was embraced by friends, acquaintances, and admirers alike. But at the side of the Hall, away from both the celebrants and the mourners, was a tight knot of people who looked rather worried. As soon as a gap opened in the initial crush, a few of them approached him, led by Professor Trelawney and Mundungus Fletcher, of all people. They nudged Dung forward.

"Hello, there, Harry," Dung said with a nervous grin. "So, uh, he's really dead this time?"

Harry groaned. "Yes, Dung, he's really dead."

"Are you quite sure, Mr. Potter?" Trelawney asked. "I have been watching the portents and—"

That was it. Harry raised his wand. He'd had enough of this for one lifetime. "I, Harry James Potter, swear on my life and magic that Lord Voldemort is permanently dead. So may it be."