DISCLAIMER: This story is a sequel to "Harry Potter and the Portrait of What Looked Like a Large Pile of Ash", written using the online Botnik app. This might not make much sense unless you've read "Portrait" first. That being said, it might not make much sense even if you have read "Portrait" first.

You have been warned.

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HARRY POTTER and the REST of the SENTENCE

Book II in the Botnik Saga

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CHAPTER ONE:

"Hermione And His Face"

Harry could hear her face now, with wide shiny eyes. Uncle Vernon's goblin applauded and Fudge shook his shaggy black hair with anger. Hermione looked up eagerly to say something; Fudge cleared his throat and said in a low voice:

"Could someone do something about the memory?"

"Not of the room," the door of the brain room behind them announced.

"Oh, " said Fudge.

Harry and Hermione looked at each other in disbelief. Harry asked coldly:

"I could not see his face in his hands: he had forgotten the potion all over the last few hours! See where Malfoy was up to the castle?"

"The earshot," he said in a low voice, still looking completely bemused.

Harry clambered out of the window as he helped Hermione prepare dinner on a tray of pies. Harry felt as though he had been stupid to survive the Killing Curse. He fell forward into the firelight, however faint it sounded. Freedom.

Harry quickly ran back to the Burrow, which echoed as loudly as he could speak. Mrs Weasley sobbed harder than ever as she strode toward Harry. Aunt Petunia looked positively little next to her. He asked her face when the cake had finally landed in the middle of the room. She said:

"Malfoy rapidly reached for it to finish his own fake meal. Harry, who would not budge?"

Harry's feverish eye imploded.

"He will be paying much pain."

Meanwhile, at the Ministry, Hermione Granger's first day stung. Harry had taken off and Fudge shook with rage. She cried.

The goblin's invisibility cloak billowing behind him, he turned and gazed down on the sofa where Bellatrix had never thought to look. He couldn't forget his feet, or the past. Lord Voldemort. Mr Staircase. Alecto. Ron and his magical maladies that had taken him from view. No, the goblin could not think of anything else. As for the first Dark Lord… he would be paying with much pain.

Suddenly, Harry was there. Hagrid growled in Harry's eyes and immediately began to argue at Harry about his own quivering fingers. Harry yelled "Ogden!" at the Gryffindor and Hagrid roared with laughter and promptly his eyes closed, his heart leapt out of his mustache, and his entire head was covered with a wave of magical firework.

"The wizard is dead", said Harry. "He has been poisonous, but now he is dust. …Hermione, say something!"

She whispered:

"The Portrait of a fat pile of ashen Sirius wouldn't understand."

"No, he didn't," Harry knew.

Hermione raised her eyebrows at him.

Dumbledore quietly appeared beside them.

"Just passing by," he whispered. "But the knees of Harry's enemy are supposed to find asiatic anti - smoke wizards very sick. I think that Harry should be very concerned."

Dumbledore stood there for a moment, wondering how best to do it, and then he breathed air toward them, and turned, and walked away.

"That was impaling!" bellowed the goblin.

Harry had to admit that he had a very good point.

He sighed, and, taking a deep bite out of Hermione's head, he began tearing. Everyone was going to die. Everybody. And then he would pay for all the evil dark shadows beneath his misery. He would be promptly paying, with much longer pain.