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Harry Potter and the Spirit of Revenge
Chapter 1: The Man-Who-Died

Please Read and Review. I'd like to know what I'm doing right (to keep doing it), and what I'm I doing wrong (to correct it).
Disclaimer: Later chapters will contain multiple POVs, and slow burn subplots.

"Avada Kedavra!" A hissing voice said, full of hate and despise.

"It's not fair!" A young voice replied, this one full of loss and anger.

"Avada Kedavra!" The first voice repeated, a sickly green light pierced the darkness.

"it's not FAIR!" A young man yelled, illuminated by the poisonous green light for a moment.

"Avada Kedavra!" Again the first voice, a simple echo in the darkness.

"IT'S NOT FAIR!" A young man raged in the unfathomable darkness.

A scratching sound and a spark of light interrupted. In front of the young man, a spark of light, warm yellow in colour, illuminated a tall figure, with broad shoulders and the stance of a dangerous man to cross. He used the match to light a cigarette. His face was dark and angular. His eyes glinted in the dark like the edge of a knife.

When the man spoke, it was with a voice both rough and pitiless. "No. It is not fair. Hell, life itself is not fair." He blew a cloud of smoke through his nostrils. "What will you do about it? It doesn't matter much anymore."

"I..."

The man snorted. "You're dead, kid." Then, he smirked. "You are not even a ghost. Just accept it and move on."

Harry Potter felt anger, more anger than anything he had felt in life. "I don't know if I can even do something, but I won't rest until that bastard is deader than me!"

"Would you kill him?" There was a bit more light around the man, Harry noticed then the muggle clothes; a pinstriped green suit, with a matching hat; white shirt with a black tie and black leather shoes. The lapels were quite broad, cut in an old-fashioned style. The man looked like he belonged to a gangsters movie. "Would you be willing to pay evil onto evil?"

"Yes!"

"What about Dumbledore? Won't he be disappointed on you?" the man arched an eyebrow.

"My parents are dead because of Voldemort. My godfather was thrown into Azkaban because of him. I went through Hell because of him!" Harry said, his voice bitter and venomous. "A guy who could have been my friend has been murdered in front of me just because Voldemort didn't have any use for him. He has hounded me, my family, my friends. He has tried to kill me several times and now he has done it. I am dead because of that monster. I don't care about Dumbledore's disappointment anymore. That criminal and all his followers must pay for all the pain they have caused!"

The man arched an eyebrow. "Don't you trust that God's Justice will get them in the end? If not in this world, then in the next?" There was a slight tinge of cynicism in the man's voice.

"I have seen very little justice in my life." Harry's fists trembled in silent rage. "I'd rather make my own justice."

"Even if you are denied Heaven?" The man asked.

"I don't care anymore!" Harry answered, his anger spent, but his will unbroken. "I died surrounded by murderers! I'm sick and tired of watching criminals go free and good people to die at their hands!"
The man looked away, his eyes lost in remembrance. "We are more alike than I had thought." He said bitterly, blowing another cloud of smoke.

"Who are you?" Harry asked, his voice neutral.

The man took his hat off, revealing himself as a redhead, with wavy hair. The colour was close to the Weasley's, except for a white stripe, zigzagging in the middle. "My name is... was... James Brendan Corrigan. Police Detective, New York City. And I was murdered back in 1939."

Harry shook his head, "Are you trying to pull my leg? You don't look a day over forty! Even a wizard would look older than that. Or are you some kind of ghost?"

Corrigan snapped his fingers, and the whole place lit up. "Kids these days..." he snorted, “Not a ghost, not exactly. But close.”

Harry looked around. They were inside a building, an empty warehouse. "What? Where are we?"

"This, kid, is an abandoned warehouse in the docks of New York, late 1939. And this day, is the day I died. Pay attention over there," He pointed at the other side of the building. "that's where the main show is playing out."

Harry tapped a wall, "What's this? It doesn't feel like a pensieve."

"Nope. Not one of those things, kid, whatever they are. These are my memories, we are inside my head. You can't change things, but you can touch them. You can't move even a speck of dust, but you can feel it."

Corrigan shook his head towards the other side of the warehouse. "Now pay attention, or you'll miss the show."

At the back, three men lowered a fourth man into a metallic barrel. The man was tied up with thick ropes, in a way that would make it impossible for him to free himself.

Harry looked closely at the man's face. Surprised, he looked at his companion.

"Yeah, that's me, kid. I was a proud idiot back then. Stubborn as a mule and almost as smart. I got a hot tip that was actually a big damned set up, and following it cost me my life. That guy there, the one who isn't doing anything, is Gats Benson. A gangster, a crook and a murderer. The other three are just hired muscle, thugs who would kill their own mothers for spare change. I had been making myself a nuisance to Benson, and he got me good."

"They got me from behind, knocked me down, tied me up, and... well... you seem to be a smart kid. I'm sure you can work out the rest."

Harry nodded. "They killed you. Is that it?"

"Had it been just me, things would have been very different." Corrigan exhaled another mouthful of smoke. "But they also got my partner. And worse, my gal."

In the meanwhile, the bound Corrigan tried to escape from the half-filled barrel. Only to be pushed back in, the lid was secured with a few hammer blows on the edge.

The three underlings rolled the barrel to the wharf, and dropped it in the murky waters.

Suddenly, Harry and Corrigan stood underwater. A few pitiful bubbles emerged from the barrel, while the sediment settled back at the bottom.

"Didn't take me too long to begin to die. Though having my lungs filling with hardening cement felt like an eternity. Nasty way to go. That stuff burns your lungs at the same time it suffocates you." Corrigan shook his head, "You got it easy. A light show, a bit of pain, and poof. Afterlife express. You should reconsider your choices. I've heard Heaven is nice this time of the year."
Harry dismissed Corrigan's words. "What happened then? You wouldn't be showing me this unless you had a point."

Corrigan dragged another lungful of smoke. "No, I wouldn't. You see, I got a new job on the side before the night was over. But unlike you, I didn't get to have a chump on my side to show me the ropes, to tell me what I was getting myself into. But what can I say? The rules of this game change from time to time, and you are always the last guy to get the notice. I want to get one thing in that noggin of yours. Don't follow me. You are now in serious danger of falling to the same trap I did."

The scene changed. Corrigan's spirit ranted in the dark. His words almost the same as Harry's. The young man noticed, and turned towards the man next to him. Corrigan looked at him sideways. "Told you. Alike."

A voice that came from nowhere and everywhere answered Corrigan's rant with a promise and a sentence. "You are not worthy of Heaven but not deserving of Hell either. Your spirit shall walk the Earth, you will be the focus of the anger of the murdered dead who seek retribution. Confront Evil. Confront and comprehend. Until you understand why people choose the paths they take, you'll wander the face of the Earth. Seeking to rid the world of Evil. A task you must ultimately fail."

"After that, I came back to Earth. A wandering, avenging spirit. The very literal wrath of God. With the power to do anything I could imagine." Corrigan shook his cigarette, dropping some ash on the inexistent floor.

Suddenly, they were back to the dirty warehouse. A woman was tied up to the columns that held the roof. While a man was in the process of being roughed up, his face was a mass of bruises, his lip was split, and a think streak of blood ran down his chin. The woman wore a beautiful pink dress, and judging from the faces of the thugs, she would be so much worse once the boss gave the order. Gats Benson was apparently about to start on her himself.

Corrigan walked in, looking perfectly healthy, as if nothing had happened. "Let her go, Benson. It's Judgement Day."

thugs sprang into action, but nothing they did managed to even touch Corrigan. Punches never connected, and bullets passed right through him, accidentally killing one of the thugs. After a few moments, only Gats Benson remained, still clutching his machine gun as a talisman. It didn't do any good to him. With a simple movement of his hand, Corrigan willed him to melt.

A few moments later, all that was left of Gats Benson was the echo of a tortured scream, a small pool of noxious pink slime, and his expensive, tailor-made suit.

Corrigan spoke again. "When I came back, I could do anything, except to actually live. If you take this deal, you'll become more than human, and so much less. Very few things will be able to hurt you, and even less will be pleasurable. Your emotions will grow cold, except for one. Your anger will be apocalyptical if you let it run wild. Your senses get dull, you won't taste food, everything you touch is cold. You'll only be able to smell one thing, blood."

“You seem to manage it rather well…" Harry noted.

Corrigan laughed. His laughter was cold, and sharp as a knife. There was no actual humour in it. "I was already like this when I died, kid. I was a god-damned bastard. Cold hearted. Angry at the world. Angry at God and everything else."

He gestured at the only two people left in the place. "The only people I didn't hate were my partner, Waylon Grant, my partner. He was a really good man; ugly as sin, but loyal as a dog and smart as a fox. And my gal, Clarice Winston. Now, let me tell you, she was quite the woman…"

Corrigan's eyes misted for a moment. "She was… happy. In her own way, I guess. More than fifty years later, and I still have no idea what the hell did she saw in me that was worth her time. But she managed to crack my shell and drag me back into the human race. Sometimes, I wonder what would have been of us had I not gone to that trap… but what ifs are a sucker's game. What matters is what actually happens."

"Once I dispatched Gats Benson and all his goons, I realized Clarice had been shot during the fight. I got careless, cocky. I decided to play with them instead of simply send them to Hell with a swift kick on the head. Clarice paid the price." A spot of red grew in the middle of her torso. "And then, I chased her to the Afterlife and dragged her back into this valley of tears. Hell… Right at that moment, she had a guaranteed entry to Heaven, and I made her lose it." Corrigan crushed his cigarette. “That came back to bite me in the ass decades later. But that´s a story I won’t be sharing with you.”

He kept silent for a few seconds. Harry did the same, not wanting to intrude in Corrigan's thoughts. "Anyway, I broke our engagement that very night. I was nothing but a ghost. I was solid if I wanted to, but I was no less dead. My body had stayed behind in that damned barrel full of concrete. What right did I have to drag her into my… existence? I should have let her go to Heaven. I lost track of her almost as quickly."

Corrigan got his emotions back under his control. "Anyway, I got back into things. All I knew was how to be a cop. A god-damned good one, even if every cop in TV says the very same thing.” He smiled bitterly, “I kept on that little charade for years. Back then, the war on Europe was only a matter of when it would start. I got involved with a group of superpowered guys. And I went and got myself a ludicrous suit. At least I wasn't the worse in the bunch. I kept it simple." A gust of wind enveloped them, and for a moment, Harry saw a very different man next to him. Paler than a corpse, clad with what seemed to be a swimming suit, a long hooded cloak, gloves and short boots.

As silly as it should have looked, there was a definitive air of menace in the figure. The hood threw a deep shadow over the man's face, deeper than any shadow Harry had ever seen. Only two white slit couls be seen, where his eyes should have been.

"The Spectre." Corrigan went back to looking normal again. "That's what I was called. The Avenging Ghost. The Astral Avenger."

"So, as I was saying, I joined forces with some other so-called mystery men, and we formed a team to fight the Nazis. Strictly home front, as that damned to hell tyrant held a relic that would have turned any superpowered being into his slave if we crossed some kind of mystical barrier. Anyway, after the war ended, I went back to being a cop, but got caught into some magical backlash, and spent twenty years not knowing who I really was. When I got my memories back, I saw that the world was even worse than before, and went on to punish the guilty."

A series of images floated around them, grotesque executions of murderers and criminals of all kind. Muggers, assassins, terrorists, serial murderers, even some that seemed to use bastardized versions of magic. The means the Spectre

used to kill them were as varied as their targets. And each and every one was uniquely suited to their sins.

Harry's green eyes shone in the darkness.

"Now," Corrigan continued, "I am tired of it all. I'm ready to lay the mantle down and rest. But the bosses have decreed that I have to leave a successor. A righteous soul who is willing to continue the job. They sent me to you. They want me to show you what the job means, and I want to dissuade you. Take the advice, kid. Leave it here. Go to Heaven. You have a ticket to go in, no questions asked. You'll meet your parents again."

"Show me what Voldemort is doing now." Harry hissed.

Corrigan sighed, and nodded gravely, "Very well." He waved a hand, and Harry was once more in Little Hangleton Graveyard.

Voldermort stood proudly over Harry's corpse. Laughing like the maniac he was. "So you see, my friends! The Golden Boy is no more! He lays in the mud like a slaughtered sacrificial lamb!"

The Death Eaters around him bowed and bent their knees. "What are your orders, Master?" Harry recognized the voice, Lucius Malfoy.

"Today, we rest. We let the fools worry for their lost saviour. Tomorrow, at first light, drop the body in front of The Daily Prophet, and send the head to Hogwarts. Deliver it to Dumbledore right during breakfast. I want every student to know the fate that had befell to the Boy-Who-Lived."

Voldemort continued. "By the end of the year, we will have the Ministry in our hands. Then, we will start the cleansing. First, the mudbloods shall be collected, tortured, and executed publicly. Unless, they prove themselves… docile... useful even."

A smile was clear in Lucius' voice. "Master? There is a particularly annoying mudblood at Hogwarts, One who doesn't know its place. It has publicly humiliated my son and House Malfoy."
Harry tried to punch Malfoy, but his fist passed through him.

Voldemort looked at Lucius. "I know what you mean." He hissed the name, "Granger. The mudblood who consorted with Potter." Lucius nodded. "Yes, you can have it. I think young Draco will enjoy… breaking its will, showing it its proper place at his feet."

"Thank you, my lord."

"ENOUGH!" Harry turned to Corrigan. "I won't allow this! Whatever you have to do, do it! Give me the power to stop them! I won't let Hermione to suffer like that!"

There was anger and sadness in Corrigan's voice. "Very well, kid. It's your show now. It's gonna hurt. And for what it may be worth, I am sorry." A green and white cloud detached itself from Corrigan's body. For a moment, Harry saw a screaming skull in the middle of a green whirlwind of rags. Its teeth were long, pointy fangs, and in its eye sockets two demented orbs shone green over white, full of barely contained anger and madness. For a moment, Harry saw that those eyes were the same colour as his own.

The cloud surrounded Harry, wrapping itself around his body; a pain a thousand times worse than the Crucio curse ran through his body. With a mighty roar, Harry found the strength to tame the pain, to bend it to his will. The worse pain seemed to concentrate on that hated scar on his forehead.

As soon as he asserted his will over the wrathful spirit now joined to his own soul, the stench of a million open graves suffocated him, but he didn't waver. An ocean of blood called him in his fury, but he didn´t recoil. The anger of thousands of victims screamed at him, but their fury didn´t faze him.

"Avenge me!"

"Avenge ME!"

"AVENGE ME!!!"

Harry welcomed the tide. "I will." His voice was a mere whisper, raw and wrathful.

He noticed a red… thing… trying to crawl away from him. Instincts he had not possessed before told him what it was, and he stomped his foot over it, erasing the soul fragment from existence.
Harry looked at Jim Corrigan for a moment, nodded brusquely, and vanished.

sighed. "Good luck, kid." And he vanished too, inside a bright light, blinding in its purity.

Author Notes:

One of my all-time favourite characters is the Spectre, from DC. The original spirit of revenge.

His first appearance was in (the ironically named) More Fun Comics, issue 52 (Feb 1940), co-created by Jerry Siegel and Bernard Bailey. (Interestingly, he shares one of his cocreators with Superman). However, the Spectre is so powerful that it is very hard to write good stories about him. Usually, the creative teams lose steam around issue 4.

Still, the Spectre has enjoyed a certain niche popularity for decades, and there are some very cathartic stories featuring him. The Michael Fleischer and Jim Aparo run in Adventure Comics 431 to 438 was legendary for its boldness in portraying violent and gruesome deaths. It was later collected in a four-issue miniseries called The Wrath of the Spectre, including several stories that had been written, but not drawn.

From then on, DC tried to revive the series several times, but always dealing with the power level in one of two ways. By giving him absurdly powerful enemies, or reducing his power level. Neither approach worked well in the long run.

It wasn't until the John Ostrander and Tom Mandrake run, in The Spectre Vol. 3 (issues 1, Dec 1992 to Issue 62, Feb 1998) that the Spectre finally came to its own. This time, the focus of the stories was on the human half of the character, Jim Corrigan, and his very human defects, which inevitably tinged his view as the Spectre.

I highly recommend both the Wrath of The Spectre collected edition and The Spectre run by Ostrander and Mandrake. The first codified the Spectre's behaviour, and the latter is simply an incredibly good story, that poses deep questions about justice and vengeance.

Corrigan´s death and first adventures as the Spectre as narrated here were taken from the first few issues of the Ostrander and Mandrake run. They play better than previous tellings of the story.
After Ostrander and Mandrake finished, the Spectre as a character has never found its way again. They set the bar so high that no other creative team has managed to do justice to the character.
For this fic timeline, the final issue of the O&M run actually happened in 1994.

Chapter Text

Harry Potter and the Spirit of Revenge

Chapter 2: The Boy-Who-Came-Back

Please Read and Review. I'd like to know what I'm doing right (to keep doing it), and what I'm I doing wrong (to correct it).

Voldemort enjoyed the attention of his sycophants. They were paying him his due as the most powerful wizard in history, it was right and proper to see them grovel at his feet.

“And soon, the whole world will be ours! We shall remake it into what it always should have been!”

A lone pair of hands clapped. A slow clapping, conveying both mockery and sarcasm. “Nice speech. How long have you been rehearsing it, Tommy-boy?”

“What?” Voldemort turned around, ready to blast the impudent intruder.

“It was a simple question. I don't expect them to know, but you should; it's your speech, after all.” The speaker was sitting on a tombstone, the perfect image of insolence and disrespect.

Every Death Eater gasped. Potter was alive? He got an Avada Kedravra right to the chest! There was no way he could have survived that! Not again!

Harry waved a hand, and his wand flew back to his fingers. “Now, where were we? Oh, yes. Killing each other!” His voice reverberated strangely, as if coming from some other place, instead of his mouth.

Voldemort cast another Killing Curse at Harry. The boy caught it with his own wand. The clothes on his body changed gradually, while he moved his wand lazily, playing with the deadly spell as if it was nothing more than a simple toy. His champion clothes simmered, turning into an old-fashioned green robe with a hood covering his head. A tunic, white as a funereal shroud, could be seen under it. While from under the robes, a pair of green gloves flowed like water to cover his hands, even flowing around his raised wand. Dark green shoes replaced his old boots. At the same time Harry's face paled quickly, becoming as white as a bloodless corpse.

Somehow, the Death Eaters found themselves transfixed by the changes in the boy, no one dared to breathe, much less move while the deadly spell twirled around Harry Potter's wand.

Although the green light of the spell illuminated him, a deep shadow concealed the upper part of his face, his eyes glowing white, with two green dots in the centre. “Hey, Lucius! Catch!” A minute movement, and the trapped spell flew faster than ever at Lucius Malfoy. Propelled by the force of his fear, the Death Eater ran away, weaving between the tombstones, dodging the spell, while the green ball of light chased lazily after him, zigzagging impossibly.

Right when the elder Malfoy passed between Crabbe and Goyle, his own bookends, the spell split in two, hitting his two co-conspirators. They fell to the ground with barely a surprised gasp, their open eyes looking blindly at the night sky. His surprise was enough to make Lucius stumble. The proud pureblood fell to the ground, and desperately turned his head back, looking at the pitiless eyes of Harry Potter. Idly, he finally realized they were the same green colour of an Avada Kedavra, yet, not as merciful.

“What?”  Harry sneered, his voice now had an unearthly sound, as cold and hollow as an open grave,”Did you think I would go easy on you, Malfoy? No, I have better plans for you.” At a wave of his wand, Lucius Malfoy fell back to the ground, screaming behind his silver mask. A white light surrounded him, and his body began to change. It was like an animagus transformation, but entirely unwilling.

The other Death Eaters looked powerless at their companion, as white feathers ripped through his skin, and his neck elongated agonically, amongst the sickly cracking of bones and flesh. Soon, instead of the proud patriarch of Malfoy House, a white peacock trembled in pain, chirping pathetically. Its white feathers stained with mud and dry leaves.

“He looks so much better now, don't you think, guys?” Harry laughed.

Finally, it was Voldemort who reacted, “Expelliarmus!” Harry's wand flew from his hand to Voldemort's.

“Nicely done! And I thought you couldn't do other spells, Tommy-boy!”

As soon as it was in his grasp, Voldemort snapped the wand in two, throwing the pieces to the ground. Prepare to die, Potter!” he hissed.

“Aw, that was a good wand.” Harry shrugged, dismissing the loss of his wand as if it didn't matter to him at all. “You know what? About dying? I already did that part. Got a new part-time job on the side. But I seriously doubt you'll like it. In any case, it is time for me to get some experience under my belt, you know, to impress the boss.”

Harry gestured with his right hand and a new wand manifested in his grasp, an exact copy of the one Voldemort had just broken; a gesture later, the dirt and stone under Voldemort followed his movements, forming a giant fist. Voldemort felt a crushing force enveloping him. With a pained gasp, he apparated away, crashing painfully against a force dome. He stumbled back, barely keeping himself standing. The Dark Lord turned around, looking at Harry with murder in his red eyes.

“Ah, ah, ah. I hope you won't mind if I take a page out of your playbook, Tommy!” Harry laughed again, mockingly wagging a finger. “This is actually a good trick. Stop your enemies from leaving the slaughter before time!” Harry walked leisurely towards Voldemort. Somehow, he seemed to grow with each step. “And it seems my enemies have been very obliging. I mean, I won't even have to look for them!” More stone hands surged from the dirt, each one lunging to trap a Death Eater in their stony grasp. However, the hands were slow, and only one or two men were caught.

“What are you waiting for, you idiots?! Kill him!” Voldemort roared. “He can't survive all of us!”

Galvanized by their Master's anger, all the Death Eaters still free made liberal use of their favourite spell.

“AVADA KEDAVRA!” they screamed at once. Multiple green spells crossed the cold air of the cemetery.

The first one stroke Harry in the left shoulder. The rest impacted the chest or the arms. One even hit Harry in the face. For a moment, he stood there, arms hanging loosely at his side, eyes dull and the mouth hanging open. Silently, he fell to the ground; his eyes wide open to the night sky. Gradually, his appearance returned to normal. The stone fists crumbled to dirt and small rocks, releasing their prey.

The group closed warily on the body of the young boy, wands pointing at him, ready to unleash a new assault on him, should he move even a finger.

“What happened?” Yaxley asked. “Since when is Potter actually powerful?”

Macnair shook his head. “I don't know. But that was strange. He was burning magic as if there was no tomorrow.”

“And there wasn't! For him!” another Death Eater, Nott, chuckled morbidly, soon the cemetery's silence was broken by a series of laughs, celebrating the joke. Still, no one dared to take their wands back from their position. Not without the Dark Lord clear permission.

Voldemort pushed roughly his way in the circle around Potter's corpse. The laughter stopped immediately, except for one.

It was way colder than the others.

The corpse began to dissolve in green smoke. Soon there was nothing but a few wisps of smoke, barely visible.

The laughter continued.

The Death Eaters and their Master formed a circle around the place the corpse had been. Voldemort hissed a command in parseltongue. '<Nagini! To me!>'

'<On my way, Master!>' The giant snake answered, from somewhere behind a crypt.

'<I don't think so!>' Harry Potter's voice hissed too. And a giant-green gloved hand descended from above, picking Nagini up as if it wasn't bigger than a worm. The men raised their eyes, to find an absolutely chilling vision.

Harry Potter, again in his green robe and white tunic, stood impossibly tall over them. He must have been at least 300 feet tall, maybe even more.

Nagini turned and twisted, trying to bite the giant hand that held her. Finally, she found her target, sinking her fangs in the flesh. Harry smiled. “Can you believe it? It tickles!” Harry turned his hand around, and a thick stream of poison fell down from above, right onto the masked face of a Death Eater.

The man screamed as soon as the poison hit his face. Desperately, he tore away his partially corroded silver mask, blackened by the venom, revealing the melting flesh around his eyes. The Death Eater nails dug deeply into his skin, desperately trying to relieve himself from the burning pain, but only succeeding into ripping away chunks of melted flesh.

“Avery!” Macnair screamed. Just as the other man ripped his own eyes with almost fleshless fingers, screaming until his last breath. As Avery's corpse fell to the ground, Macnair turned to the giant Potter, who was steadily being attacked with all kind of dark curses. He raised his wand, and shot a stream of dark spells at the giant.

The Spectre showed absolutely no effect from any of the curses. The apparition was too busy examining Nagini and hissing at the giant snake. Voldemort's brow furrowed more and more with each hiss from the Spectre's lips.

“Enough! I'm trying to have a serious talk here!”  He said, stomping a foot on the ground, knocking everybody down with a shockwave so powerful it knocked down several tombstones and almost demolished a crumbling mausoleum. “Wait for your turn. I'll get down to you in due time.”

While the Death Eaters stood back up, the new Spectre tilted his head in concentration. To Voldemort's horror, two gloved fingers pinched Nagini's head, somehow penetrating flesh and bones without harming the snake. The hand pulled away, dragging a twisting cloud of black gunk and smoke. He turned his cold eyes towards Voldemort, then back to the twisting black smoke he held. “So. That's how you did it,” the Spectre growled. “Your pet here was so sure you would return from death I just had to see for myself what she was talking about. And guess what? She's not a pet anymore. Much less yours.”

Nagini curled around the Spectre's wrist, and hissed down at the Death Eaters. The Avenging Ghost smiled coldly at them. “I have better things to do than wasting time with you lot.”

He raised his left hand to the heavens, fingers open wide. “I recall all the broken fragments of your soul, Tom Marvolo Riddle, worthless son of a Muggle and an inbred Squib! Deceiver of a world! Liar, I call you! Murderer, I name you! Come here, soul pieces defiling priceless treasures! Gather here and come to your doom!”

From the Spectre's fingers, four streams of pale green light surged shooting towards the horizon.

“ Liar! You dare insult the Dark Lord! You will pay for this, Potter!” Macnair, enraged beyond belief to hide his fear, manifested his favourite axe, a magical copy, sharper and deadlier than the original, and charged against the giant before anybody reacted.

“ Sure I will.” The Spectre looked down, and flicked his fingers towards Macnair, as the man raised his axe. A coppery object shot from his hand, hitting Macnair's head, and embedding itself painfully into his forehead. Soon, a second object followed the first, embedding into the right temple; and a third, to the left temple. There was no fourth. “Keep the change.” The Spectre added, coldly.

The Death Eater closer to Macnair recognized the objects. Three knuts.

The copper coins began to push in, crushing Macnair's head. The executioner dropped the axe, and tried to pry the coins from his head. To no avail. A few moments later, the coins met each other; inside Macnair's brain, killing him instantly.

In the meanwhile, the other Death Eaters kept their barrage of spells.

Soon, a small ball of purplish light arrived, crossing the unseen barrier that kept the enemies from fleeing. “Ah, this one was close, Tommy-boy! The others will arrive soon.”

A cold sheen of sweat covered Voldemort's brow. He recognized the ball of light. He had performed the Horcrux ritual not one, but several times, and knew perfectly the appearance of a fragment of his own soul. “ Kill him! Kill him now!” he screamed, foaming at the mouth. And renewed the attack. Still with no apparent effect.

Another ball of light arrived, followed by a third and a fourth. The Spectre closed his hand around the balls of light. “Only one more, Tommy! Only one missing.” He said, and crushed the fragments in his fist. “But before destroying it, I want to get rid of interlopers."

He gestured with his right hand. “I'd prefer to give you the time and attention you deserve, guys, but I'm in somewhat of a hurry.” All the Death Eaters present felt an irresistible pull at their left arms, forcing them to present them for inspection, the Dark Mark clearly visible in each of them. “No Imperius defense for you this time, murderers! You thought this brand gave you permission to kill, maim, rape, and terrorize people? Well, I say that today, that belief will come back and bite you!”

Meanwhile, at Hogwarts

The scene of the Third Task was a complete chaos. No one knew what had happened. According to the spells cast by Dumbledore, the Tri-Wizard Cup had been already claimed, but instead of appearing at the judges' table, the winner, whoever it was, had not arrived.

Eventually, the maze had been cleared, revealing two of the champions, both unconscious. They were taken to Madame Pomphrey to be examined.

Dumbledore was practically being assaulted by the other two Headmasters, Madame Maxine demanded, with her heavily accented English, to know what had happened to her student, why she laid unconscious in the middle of the maze, while Karkaroff threw wild accusations against both Hogwarts champions.

Suddenly, the Durmstrang headmaster grabbed his arm and screamed in agony, followed a moment later by Hogwarts' Potions teacher, Severus Snape; and surprisingly, the DADA teacher, Alastor Moody.

No one knew it at that moment, but in Azkaban, every Death Eater imprisoned inside was screaming their lungs out. Come the morning, the High Security cells of Azkaban would contain cold corpses instead of prisoners.

Little Hangleton Cemetery

The animated snake in the Dark Marks came to life, somehow raising itself from the flesh, and sinking its fangs into their bearer, corrosive venom flowed into their veins, eating them from the inside.

“Not you, Wormtail. You get to live for a little while more.”

The rat animagus was dragged from behind a tombstone, pulled by his left arm. He tried to resist. Completely in vain. The silver hand he had been so proud a moment before had turned into fine silvery chains. By reflex, Peter Pettigrew tried to change into his Animagus form, hoping to escape as a rat, but it was impossible. The change was stopped a moment before taking hold of his body, almost knocking him out with a wave of pain.

All around them, Death Eaters screamed and trashed on the ground, their flesh burning and melting, eaten by the venom their own Dark Marks injected in their veins. The Spectre smiled coldly at the sight. “Now,” he whispered, “ it all comes to an end, Riddle. Death calls for you and her call will not go unanswered this time. Your foul anchors are no more. Now, face your final fate. And die for the very last time.”

A movement of his hand, and Voldemort rose in the air, like a puppet pulled up by the strings. He hovered in front of the Spectre's face, who took him in his left hand, like a toy.

And squeezed. “All that was Lord Voldemort dies tonight. With no one to mourn your passing, murderer. No one will miss you, deceiver. And you won´t even get the cold comfort of a grave, monster."

As the Spectre closed his fist around him, Voldemort screamed, “No! You cannot kill me! I am the greatest wizard who ever lived! I am Lord Voldemort! Lord Voldemort!”

“What you are, 'Mylord',”  the word was full of mockery, “is nothing but a bad memory. A fraud. Mere ashes in the wind. In the end, you are nothing. Tom Marvolo Riddle, son of a Muggle and a Squib, won't trouble anybody again. So swears the Spectre.”

The Spectre blew, and the feared Lord Voldemort, master of the Death Eaters, was carried in the wind, as nothing more than specks of dust. For long minutes, a last scream echoed in the wind.

Finally, silence returned to the Cemetery of Little Hangleton.

Chapter Text

Harry Potter and the Spirit of Revenge

Chapter 3: The Ghost-Who-Wanders

Please Read and Review. I'd like to know what I'm doing right (to keep doing it), and what I'm I doing wrong (to correct it).

Little Hangleton Cemetery

His anger spent for the moment, the new Spectre stood immobile for a minute, just watching the horizon. The lights coming from the muggle houses in Little Hangleton soothed him. Next to him, a very subdued Nagini curled up, and seemed to be sleeping. Somehow, the air of menace that surrounded the gigantic snake had dissipated along with the dark cloud Harry had extracted from her head.

Gradually, Harry Potter replaced the grim avenger from beyond.

It took several minutes for the nocturnal insects to resume their usual activities. Until then, a pathetic chirping and a pained moaning were the only sounds in the cool night.

Harry smirked. His vengeance on Voldemort and his followers was almost finished. He sat on a tombstone, and putting his elbows on his knees, he spent the next few minutes thinking.

On the ground, close to a dead body, the Tri-Wizard Cup lay forgotten.

Hogwarts

The scene was a complete chaos, not only Karkaroff, Snape and Moody had fallen to the floor, screaming in agony; a few Seventh Year Slytherins had done the same. They had all trashed uncontrollably on the floor, desperately grabbing their left forearms, screaming in pain. Dumbledore had vanished the sleeves of the victims robes to allow Madame Pomphrey to examine the patients, only to find the Dark Mark in all of them, even in Alastor Moody's arm!

Somehow, the snakes branded on their skin had become real snakes, and bitten their owners, poisoning them fatally. Madame Pomphrey had quickly admitted defeat, as the venom was beyond anything she had ever encountered. Not even the Healers called from St. Mungo could do anything. The poison was incredibly potent, maybe on the level of basilisk poison, although not as corrosive.

'Why would Tom kill his own followers?' was the question in the old wizard's mind. 'And how? This magic goes beyond dark…' conjuring a very long stick, he poked at the snake in Severus Snape's weakly convulsing body. The creature released its prey, and ignoring the stick, hissed a warning to Dumbledore. A moment later, it sank its fangs back into the Potions Master's skin.

The animated snake seemed determined to remain there until the man it was attached to was dead and buried.

Somewhere in the stands, Hermione Granger looked around, her brown eyes darting from one place to another, looking for Harry Potter. She whispered, more to herself than to actually tell somebody else her thoughts. "Something is wrong. Very wrong… Harry should have been back by now."

She descended the stairs as fast as she dared, intent on asking the Headmaster or any Ministry employee about her missing friend. Her heart felt heavier than a lump of lead inside her chest.

Little Hangleton Cemetery

Harry stood, and walked silently to where two human bodies remained. Cedric Diggory's corpse, still with his eyes open; and his own corpse, wounded and empty. Harry knelt down to pay his respects to the fallen, true Champion of Hogwarts, carefully closing Cedric's eyes.

He stood up, and crouched next to his own corpse. 'I wonder…', he thought, next to the body that once had housed his soul.

Harry touched the corpse's forehead, where the hated scar split the skin, still raw and red. It didn't bleed anymore. Idly, he straightened the old eyeglasses over the body's nose.

"I am a ghost. A Spectre. But maybe… maybe there's still a way…"

"Yup, maybe there is one, kid." A new voice broke the silence. Harry turned around, to face a strange apparition.

A thin man, pale as a corpse, and wearing a strange red suit. Tight as a second skin, with a tall collar that rose to two points above and aside his head, a big letter "D" over his stomach; impossibly seated on a thin, dry branch that would have broken under the weight of a small bird.

"Who the hell are you?" Harry asked, his fingers curling into claws, ready to attack. His robes flared green again, and his face paled in an instant.

The apparition jumped down from his perch. "Wowowow! I come in peace, Spec!"  The apparition raised his empty hands in surrender. "The name is Deadman. Aerealist extraordinaire, master of trapeze, and wandering ghost, at your service. Deadman was my professional name back when I was alive. Boston Brand, at your service. But you can call me Boston, if you want."

"By the way, Corrigan sent me. He was a total hard ass, but he thought you might need a friend, somebody to talk with, somebody who knew more about the big world out there, and most importantly, who wouldn't freak out at your new… um… lease on life? He was lucky to find me in the way up. I usually don't hang much in Limbo, that place is depressing as you have no idea. Anyway, here I am."

Placated for the moment, Harry returned to his normal look, while the red ghost sat on the air, legs crossed in lotus position. "For starters, you might want to try exactly what I think you were thinking of trying. Your body wasn't physically hurt, so you can still go back into it. Just keep in mind that you'll have to leave a tiny bit of your power to keep it animated while you are doing your stuff. If you don't, it will go back to being dead, with everything that comes with it."

Harry scoffed his voice returned to normal, and the ghostly mantle receded. "Yeah, sure, and what do I have to do for that, uh?"

Deadman shrugged, "Well, if you want a demonstration, just let me show you how it is done!" he hesitated a moment, before continuing, in a much less enthusiastic voice, "Please don't take it the wrong way… I just realized it will be somewhat disrespectful, but I am not going to mess with your recently vacated body; and I already have the former owner's permission, just so you know it. I met this guy Cedric in the other side, I was talking with him when Corrigan found me. When he heard I would be meeting you up, he said you have to remember what he told you when his spirit appeared. Not your fault, buddy."

With those words, the dead acrobat jumped down from his unseen seat, and like a diver jumping from a high platform, dove into Cedric Diggory's body, disappearing inside. A moment later, the corpse of the true Champion of Hogwarts stirred, blinked twice, and sat up, creaking his neck. "Maaaan… It really feels weird…" He worked the mouth for a few moments, like he was trying to get rid of an offending taste.

'Cedric' sat up, and after a few warming exercises, jumped back and forth all over the cemetery. He did cartwheels, walked on his hands, twirled and twisted impossibly, demonstrating an agility that the Hufflepuff had never shown in his life, as far as Harry knew. Finally, he sat down on a rock that maybe once had been a tombstone. "It doesn't matter how many times I do this, it's always a rush!"

Harry sat down on another slab of granite, watching 'Cedric', "You were right, it was disrespectful." He watched the other for a few seconds, "Why are you glowing green?"

Deadman waved 'Cedric's' hands for a moment. "Uh… you can see that? It's an effect of my hijacking bodies power. I thought I was the only one who could see that. And I can only see it directly, mirrors and recordings don't show it. I have no idea of what it does means. Or even if it actually means anything, you know…" He answered, scratching his head. "If you don't mind, I would like to go back with you to that school of yours, from what little I have seen of this magical world of yours, you could get blamed for Cedric's death if you go back alone or with his corpse."

Harry sighed. "Yeah… I can see it would probably go that way. Okay, you go back with me, say goodbye to Mr. Diggory posing as Cedric, and go. I don't mind having you around, but possessing a dead body is creepy."

"Let me tell you… hijacking living bodies is not exactly a picnic. I always end up running either into or away from danger."

"You will have to tell me more later. Right now, I am not really sure what to do. I just got rid of the biggest threat to Magical Britain, and…"

"I know, it feels somewhat anticlimactic, right? Been there, buddy; maybe I'll tell you about it someday."

"Yeah… it's like the biggest question in the world is 'Now what?'" Harry looked at his hands for a moment.

"Far from me to tell the Spirit of Most Gruesomest Revenge what to do with his… um… life, but maybe getting back to your body before it begins to get ripe could be a good idea…"

Harry smirked tiredly. "So… what do I have to do?"

Deadman/Cedric crossed his arms, "Just step into your body, if things go as I think, you will simply get back in, and reanimate your body. Easier than putting your long-johns."

Harry nodded, and stepped into his own corpse. Deadman waited patiently next to him, while Harry got reacquainted with his corporeal form. Eventually, the body pushed itself up, standing like a toddler, a bit unstable. He almost fell down, but Deadman grabbed him by the arm while Harry got his bearings. "Breathe deeply a few times before you try to walk. Believe me, it is a bit disorienting the first few times. I speak from looong experience. Well… unless you got the good ol'adrenaline pumping, but I don't recommend that."

Harry moved with difficulty. "I think the curses did worse than I had thought. Everything hurts…

"Yeah, that's normal, if I may apply that word here, pal. By the way, you need to breathe deep a few times more, your body needs to remember that."

Harry obeyed, he could feel the night smells around him, but strangely dulled. He could feel the cold air in his throat, carrying the somewhat pungent smell of Nagini, of the dry grass that covered the hill, of melted flesh and exposed bones. But as if he was a long way from the place.

Gringotts

A light buzzed on Ragnok's desk. It was one he had hoped would never turn on in his lifetime. The goblin tried, futilely, to suppress a shudder. He called for his personal squad of guards. Without a word, he beckoned them to follow him into the deepest level of Gringotts. Before descending from the mine cart, he held his hand up, with a gesture that held a very clear meaning for any goblin, "Don't ever speak of this to anybody."

He walked briskly to the oldest vaults vault 6, vault 5, vault 4, 3, 2, 1. The ones set in the most secluded place.

And he kept walking further along the oldest tunnel. He needed to be sure.

A few minutes later, Ragnok stood in front of a vault that hadn't been opened in centuries. The only vault in Gringotts that had no number. The vault that held the only account in Gringotts that would never, ever, be closed.

On the iron and lead door, the image of a woman's face, surrounded by a tangled mane of wild hair; had silently screamed in total immobility, not ever moving a fraction of an inch in living memory. But tonight, the eyes of the sculpture shone with a dreaded white light, and the mouth moved slowly, as if trying to remember some long forgotten words.

Under the screaming mask, a decorative scroll that had been empty before, now showed a name.

The name of the new owner.

Ragnok wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. Hurriedly, he and the guards returned to the upper levels of the bank. Ragnok dismissed them

The goblin sat heavily on his chair, and chose the best piece of parchment, the rarest quill, and the most expensive ink at his disposal. He had a very important letter to write. He made sure his personal owl looked perfectly imponent. The bird of prey preened for a moment, presenting its wings for inspection. Ragnok studied the creature for a few moments, and nodded, satisfied.

The successor of the Banshee would be notified immediately of his new responsibilities, and Ragnok hoped to avoid a storm of wrath that would probably arrive to his door very soon.

Author Notes:

One of the most intriguing aspects of the Ostrander-Mandrake run, was the introduction of a whole set of previous Spectres, starting right in the Year 33 AD (for a very, very specific reason). Very little was shown of the previous Spectres, but it was very interesting to see the character reinterpreted through different cultures.

The first Spectre, Caraka, hailed from India, a murdered family man, who raged at the gods for the murder of him and his family. The goddess Kali gave him the choice to go to his next reincarnation, or to take the mantle of the Spectre and get revenge for his family (whose souls had been reaped by an evil wizard), condemning himself in the process.

200 years after Caraka, a new Spectre was chosen, this time, a woman who was later called a banshee by a warrior. Little is known of her beyond that. Not even a name, or if Banshee was the name she took. For this story purposes, she acted in what now is Great Britain.

The next few Spectres were only shown in a single panel each. A Frenchman killed during the Revolution (most probably a noble),a fearsome looking Arabic warrior, and finally, Corrigan's immediate predecessor in the role, a Native American, who indirectly and unknowingly set events in motion for Corrigan to be the next Spectre. (there is another panel in the montage, but the characters in it can't be seen clearly. Later on, in Issue 27, first part of Desecrations, two more Spectres were added to the list, a black man and a black woman, but no info was shown about them).

Most of this was shown during DC's Zero Hour event, which had the premise of resetting or adjusting the story of many DC characters. In the Spectre's case, issue Zero (Oct 1994) set the stage for one of the most satisfactory endings in comics history.

The whole Desecrations saga (The Spectre, Issues 27 to 31, Mar 95 to Jul 95) set a very high bar, using the background of the Spectre to an incredible degree; not only the things set in that particular run, but taking stuff from the long history of the character, bot good and bad.

Chapter Text

Harry Potter and the Spirit of Revenge

Chapter 4: The Hero-Who-Died

Please Read and Review. I'd like to know what I'm doing right (to keep doing it), and what I'm I doing wrong (to correct it).

Little Hangleton Cemetery

"You know, I might have a better idea. After all that happened, your pal deserves to go as a hero. Don't you think?"

Hogwarts,
Hospital Wing

Right before Madame Pomfrey's astonished eyes, four of her almost dead patients shimmered and changed. The scarred face of Alastor Moody, Retired Auror and currently Professor of Defence Against the Dark Arts, became the face of a young man, whole and unscarred; but even in agony, it was a face full of malice and evil, right down to the bone. It took her a few moments to recognize him as Barty Crouch Jr.

The supposedly dead Barty Crouch Jr., in fact.

A quick look at the Slytherin students revealed three adult men, she didn't recognize them, but judging from their features, they were battle hardened Death Eaters.

"I need a Hogwarts elf, please?" she whispered. And a moment later, a young elf popped in.

"What can Jeckie do for Hoggywarts Healer?" the elf asked, with a respectful bow.

"Just a moment, Jeckie." Quickly, Madame Pomfrey added a powerful immobilization charm to each and every patient on the ward. It would be really bad if the patients, who to the last man were marked as Death Eaters, managed to get out at any point later.

Once she was sure nobody would get out of her vigilant eyes, she turned to face the Hogwarts elf, "Bring Madame Bones immediately, please; she will want to see this."

Obediently, Jeckie popped away.

Poppy Pomfrey returned to her work. She held no love for any Death Eater, but she refused to do a lazy job. If these men died, as they probably would, she wanted to be sure she had done all magically possible to deliver them to a cell in Azkaban. And for them to stay right there, their minds and whatever passed for their souls slowly rotting in their cells for as long as possible.

Madame Xanadu's Parlor;
New York City

An immortal woman examined the spread of her tarot cards. "Hmm… I think it's time for me to travel back to England once more. I hope this new Spectre will be more open to hear what I have to say. And that I will be able to help him."

Hogwarts,
Site of the Third Task of the TriWizard Tournament (Quidditch Court)

Meanwhile, Dumbledore had his hands full, trying to control the crowd threatening to overrun him and the Hogwarts staff.

Somehow, Miss Hermione Granger managed to get to him, she had to scream to be heard by the old wizard. "Headmaster! Where are they? Where's Harry?"

"I don't know! I need a moment to examine the place, Miss Granger, but I can't get away now!"

Suddenly, a lone figure popped next to the judges table, holding the TriWizard Cup, the teen tried to walk, but after two hesitant steps, his knees buckled, and he fell to the floor; the cup fell from his loose fingers.

The frantic mob stopped on its track. Wizards and witches looked at the young man who could barely keep himself from collapsing completely by using all his will. He looked up, his eyes focused on Dumbledore.

His voice cracking, the boy begged, grabbing the Headmaster's robe with the strength of desperation. "Headmaster… Death Eaters… a blood ritual… Help… Help… The cup… portkey… help…"

A scream cut the silence. "Cedric!" Amos Diggory pushed his way through the now silent mass of people. He knelt next to his son, holding him up. The teen smiled weakly, "…Father…"

"What did he say? What did he say?" Cornelius Fudge demanded.

Amos glared at the Minister. "Shut up, Cornelius!" he turned to the Headmaster, "Dumbledore! I need help here!"

Madame Maxime shushed them all. "Shsht! Young Monsieur Diggory is zrying to speek."

Amelia Bones arrived then, followed by a couple of Aurors and a distressed Hogwarts elf. She looked at the pained face of Cedric, took out her wand, and cast several field diagnostic charms at him. "He's in a bad shape, I read signs of… it can't be! All three Unforgivables! Kingsley! Take him to Saint Mungo's right now!"

Cedric grabbed her wand arm, for a moment full of desperate energy, "No! You have to rescue Harry! He threw the Cup at me! The Cup! It's a Portkey!" his energy deserted him, his eyes closed slowly, and his muscles relaxed almost completely.

Amos looked at Madame Bones, "Do it, Amelia! I'll get my son to Mungo's!"

She nodded, "Be careful, Amos. Take a moment to focus or you will splinch yourself or Cedric."

Amos Diggory nodded gravely, breathed deep few times, and disappeared from view, along with the body of his son.

Meanwhile, Amelia Bones quickly assembled a group of Aurors. She turned to Jeckie, "I'll check with Poppy as soon as we come back, tell her Mr. Potter will most probably need her help." Jeckie nodded twice, and popped away.

Gringotts,
Director's Office

Ragnok crumpled yet another sheet of parchment. After his third try, he had switched to using regular parchment. He would compose the letter for the Banshee's heir, before copying the text to the valuable sheets.

It was no easy task to inform an entity capable of razing a whole country to ashes and rock that they had a new account at their disposal. Consisting of a vault and quite a high number of irreplaceable relics dating from even before Atlantis sunk into the ocean. The vault even contained a relic brought from a land where the sun never set down. Wherever that could even be, Ragnok had no idea, nor inclination to find out.

The Banshee had been very clear when she opened her vault at Gringotts. Her instructions were that whoever wielded her power in Britain was to be notified of their new responsibilities.

In any case, with young Mister Potter change of living status, all his vaults and legacies would be immediately transferred to the Banshee's vault, to keep them from being claimed by the corrupt Ministry of Magic, should they manage to get their heads out from their arses for long enough to notice it.

It would not do to have an entity of such power angry with Gringotts.

Little Hangleton Cemetery

While Deadman set the scene at Hogwarts, Harry had been busy, remaking the Death Eater's corpses into a shocking display. After all the times he had been called a delusional attention seeker, he was to make sure he wouldn't be dismissed so easily this time.

Avery's corpse had been un-melted, and the Dark Mark on his forearm now had an animated snake pumping venom into his veins, just as all the others.

Lucius Malfoy lay unconscious on the ground. His new albino peacock body had not taken the stress well, fainting on a ghostly white puddle next to an old mausoleum. Let the DMLE puzzle over why there was a Malfoy white peacock in the middle of a muggle cemetery, during what seemed to be a ritual.

Nagini was safely hidden in a small dimensional pocket Harry created for her, she would be warm and comfortable. Later, when they had the time, they would have a long talk, preferably with somebody else. Harry was the sole owner of divine level power, but apart from confronting evil with it, he had no idea of what he could do.

Wormtail… well… the rat animagus had been knocked unconscious, his silver hand remade. Now he lay aside the upturned cauldron Voldemort's homuncular body had risen from. The snake in his Dark Mark bit his flesh, but wasn't pumping much venom. Just enough to keep him unconscious. Another thing for the Aurors to puzzle over. As long as they recognized the cowardly man for what he was, and what his continued existence meant for Sirius Black, Harry didn't care. For good measure, and taking advantage of the state Peter Pettigrew was in, Harry proceeded to modify his memory, wiping out the las few minutes, he left everything else intact, so the last Death Eater could be interrogated.

And almost certainly sentenced to death for his multiple crimes, while freeing Sirius, of course. Harry smiled coldly, and kept on working. A duplicate of Voldemort's body lay now on the ground, face down, as if it had fallen as it tried to exit the cauldron, knocking it down in the process. Its red eyes looked blindly at a clump of grass leaves a few paces away. Its hands grabbed twin fistfuls of grass and dirt, as if the Dark Lord had died painfully just as he had been reincarnated into an homunculus body. Vindictively, Harry made sure a thick stream of drool fell from his open mouth, forever locked in an idiotic gesture.

A little magical residue, and the scene would tell a very different tale from that had happened there that night.

Harry retied himself to the tombstone, making sure the wound in his arm bled a little.

All that was left was to wait.

Hogwarts,
Site of the Third Taks of the TriWizard Tournament (Quidditch Court)

Minister Fudge insisted on going with the group, until a very annoyed Amelia Bones set him straight. "You saw the state young Cedric Diggory arrived. He said there were Death Eaters involved. If you are going with us, you better be ready to fight. And to fight hard."

That took the wind off his sails. "Um… Amelia, on a second thought, i think it will be better to leave this in your capable hands." Seeing the fear in Minister Fudge's eyes, the people closest to the group began to retreat slowly. This was the signal for the crowd to finally disperse. No one wanted to be there, should the dreaded Death Eaters make an impromptu visit. Soon, the sound of dozens of aparattions became mere background noise, until the Quidditch court was almost empty.

Madame Bones nodded, satisfied of having rid herself from the dead weight. She had called for reinforcements after setting a ward around the Triwizard Cup. If Cedric was right, anybody touching it would be sent to whatever place the portkey had been surreptitiously set up to, aside the judges table.

It was at this point that a water beetle set itself on Amelia Bones' cloak. The head of the DMLE directed the best Aurors at her disposal to form a circle around the TriWizard Tournament cup, "Very well, people. At my signal, grab the cup with your off-hand. Be ready to shoot first and ask questions later. If you see Mr. Potter, protect him. Any Death Eater is to be captured and brought to a cell. But don't hesitate to put them down hard of you have to."

"Amelia, I must insist on your people to use only Stunners. I will accompany you, or course. If there's any chance Voldemort has been resurrected, you'll need my help."

She exhaled an exasperated breath. "Listen to me, Dumbledore. You saw the state poor Mr. Diggory arrived. He had been obviously tortured! I appreciate the offer to help, but if you even even think I will allow my people to risk their lives going into a possible ambush by using stunners, you are out of your mind. You want to stick to harmless spells, fine! But my people and I will respond accordingly to any attack. Is that understood?"

Dumbledore's lips thinned into a line. "I'm afraid I cannot allow that, Amelia."

"Fine! Stay then!" At her signal, all the Aurors grabbed the cup and were portkeyed away, leaving a stunned Dumbledore behind.

A young witch almost ran to the Hospital Wing. There was a chance that once the Aurors rescued Harry, they would take him to the Hospital Wing for First Aid, before they took him to St. Mungo's for long term treatment.

Hermione Granger intended to be there, waiting for him.

While she ran, she did something she wouldn't have done in other circumstances.

She prayed.

St. Mungo's Hospital
Emergency Ward

"We're losing him! More magic! I need a Revitas potion, immediately! Sandra! Keep pumping magic in his core!"

Ministry of Magic
Several Locations

The WWN had fallen silent after the signal that the Cup had been claimed. At first, to keep the listeners in suspense, then, because the anchors had no idea of what had happened to the Champion who had claimed the cup.

Hesitantly, the voice in the Wireless said that several members of the public had fallen for some reason or another.

The expected cheers and boos for the Champion of the TriWizard Tournament never arrived, replaced instead by screams of pain and horror, as many wizards and witches at the Ministry fell to the floor, tortured expressions setting their faces into screaming masks. Without exception, all of them grabbed their left forearms, howling and screeching like souls condemned to Hell.

Which, after all, they were.

St. Mungo's Hospital
Waiting Room

"Sorry, old man. For what it's worth, you have my condolences. I hope you'll find some comfort in knowing your son might have saved Harry Potter's life." Deadman had left Cedric Diggory's body behind, and was about to get back to Little Hangleton Cemetery. But he hesitated before leaving. Watching the worried father pacing around in the waiting room, he wished he could be heard by the man.

"We are very sorry, Mr. Diggory. Your son fought bravely, but in the end, the spells he was subjected to were too much for his body. I… I don't know from where did he manage to get the strength to return."

Amos Diggory sat on a chair, his heart breaking into pieces. He raised his hands and buried his face in them.

Several hours later, Amelia Bones would find him there, sobbing softly.

Seeing her, he finally had composed himself, and asked for the Potter boy.

A Dingy Pub,
Somewhere in London

A dishevelled man wearing a dirty trenchcoat sat straighter in his seat at a dark booth. He looked around, searching for the source of a deep chill that made his very soul shake in fear. Quickly, the took three packages of sugar, a fistful of peanuts, and a safety pin.

He poured the sugar over a white handkerchief (that somehow managed to remain pure white, despite everything the blonde man had done during the previous week), and then prickled his left index with the safety pin, dropping exactly seven drops of blood on the peanuts.

The man wrapped the sugar and the bloody peanuts with the handkerchief, shook it thrice, and let it fall on the table.

He examined the patterns of blood and sugar around the peanuts. The bloodstains had formed the image of a hooded man, wrapped in a long cloak. The face was hidden in shadows.

"Bloody hell," the man hissed through clenched teeth. "A new Spectre… here in England…" Quickly, he gathered his stuff, put several notes on the table, and exited the bar. Suddenly, getting rip-roaring drunk seemed to be both the best and the worst idea in the universe. He called for a taxi, thinking 'I think it's time for me to go back to the colonies. Things are gonna heat up over here…'

Just as he boarded the taxi, he said, "To the airport, quick."

"Sure, guv", the driver said, stepping on the pedal.

Constantine ran a quick inventory of what he had at hand. 'Great, ', he thought. 'I'm going to have to ride on a synchronicity wave. I hope there's one today.'

Author Notes:

One of the most strange ideas DC has published in their long time in the business was the basis for the Warlord book. Basically, Travis Morgan, a USA pilot, flew a plane through a hole in the North Pole, somehow ending up in a high fantasy land; with magic, castles, barbarians, wizards, and even dinosaurs! (1st Issue Special Vol 1, Issue 8; November, 1975)

This place, called Skartaris by its inhabitants, was thought to be located inside the Earth, according to an old, (currently discredited) theory that had been used in several novels. In short, the Earth is hollow, the interior surface is habitable, and in the very center there's a little sun.

Travis Morgan ended up settling down in Skartaris, having a multitude of adventures that Conan himself would have been interested to hear while drinking a few tankards of spiced wine or heavy ale.

At this point, the DC Universe really begins to take notice of Harry's new job. Both Madame Xanadu and John Constantine have realized there is a new Spectre. In The Spectre, volume 2, Madame Xanadu was a recurrent ally of Jim Corrigan, though their relationship ended up very strained, due to her having deceived him in that volume, aiming at usurping his power to create an earthly utopia. She even got to partly realize that goal in The Spectre Vol 3, Issue 7 (June, 1993), though Corrigan managed to wrest it back from her. (personally, and due to my disgust with Gene Colan's work, I will definitively not be checking out The Spectre volume 2, so any references to the events there, will be taken from the DC Wikia).

Later on, Madame Xanadu was instrumental on curbing Corrigan's desperation and grief over Amy Beiterman's fate.

Ragnok is not exaggerating, the Spectre really is capable of razing a country so completely not even bacteria can survive his wrath. Just ask anybody in the DCU about Vlatava (The Spectre Vol 3, Issue 13; December, 1993). So, John Constantine's attitude is understable. The man has a finely tuned survival instinct, and being anywhere close to a new Spectre has its dangers. Especially for somebody so marinated in guilt as Constantine.

Chapter Text

Harry Potter and the Spirit of Revenge

Chapter 5: The Girls-Who-Wept

Please Read and Review. I'd like to know what I'm doing right (to keep doing it), and what I'm I doing wrong (to correct it).

Little Hangleton Cemetery

"Merlin help us..!" Hissed Auror Kingsley Shacklebolt, seeing the place they had arrived to. It was the creepiest and most sinister cemetery he had ever seen. Had he been familiar with Muggle entertainment, he would have wondered which horror movie sets had been inspired by this place.

Quickly and efficiently, Amelia Bones swept the area with her wand, ready to attack or defend. She half-whispered towards her back, still scanning the place with her piercing grey eyes, her monocle didn't reveal anything out of the ordinary in the immediate area, "Auror Tonks, revealing spells; the rest, ready to cast."

"Yes, Boss!" Her Aurors chorused, followed by their respective spells at the ready. A moment later, the youngest of the group spoke again. "M' am? I'm reading two living signals, both human and very weak. Over there." She pointed towards what seemed to be the centre of the old cemetery, at a point hidden from view by trees and bushes that had been allowed to grow wild for years.

"Very well, three groups; Shacklebolt, with me, center; Tonks and Savage, right flank; Proudfoot, Dawlish, left flank. Everybody ready to attack. Silencing charms protocols are in effect as of now."

Everybody nodded, taking turns to apply the charms to hide their presence for as long as possible. The dry leaves cracked and broke under their feet, but not a single rustling sound was heard.

Slowly, the three groups advanced towards the signals Tonks has located.

A water beetle animagus perched herself at the top of a high bough, and watched with rapt attention to what happened next.

Hogwarts

Hermione Granger sat on a hard chair, just outside the Infirmary of Hogwarts. Waiting. She bit nervously a fingernail. She hated that particular nervous tic of hers, and had worked hard to crush it since she was six years old.

Even with how much better she had become since, tonight she had a heavy feeling crushing her heart, she just knew something awful had happened to Harry.

During the years they had been friends, Hermione had developed a very subtle link to Harry Potter. It was one she normally wasn't aware of, as its existence clashed with her very logical and ordered view of the world.

But tonight, that sense had made itself known as a gnawing feeling at the bottom of her stomach.

She wouldn't know until later, but she wasn't the only student at Hogwarts who simply knew that something terrible had happened.

Albus Dumbledore stood for a moment at the same spot, completely surprised by Amelia Bones' parting words. He shook his head slowly, musing on how Amelia's refusal to listen to him could mean the deaths of people who could still be redeemed and turned back into productive members of society.

Not even once he spared a thought for their victims, who mostly were actually productive members of society. Or rather, societies, as the Death Eaters preyed on both Magical and Muggles.

Very soon, he would have to look at that uncomfortable fact.

Madame Maxime watched the scene for a moment, then turned to her own students. She ordered a few of the highest years to organize the return to France. She had no wish to stay in England after seeing what had happened to the Four Champions.

Yes, four. Reluctantly, she finally accepted that young Mr. Potter was a true champion, despite the irregularities surrounding his entry to the TriWizards Tournament. He had shown courage, ingenuity, and honour during the First and Second Tasks.

The fact that one of her students certainly owed her life to Mr. Potter's heroism was what had begun to change her opinion about him. He may have saved the life of another, if Fleur Delacour was right about what had happened in the maze. The poor girl had barely managed to tell her that Viktor Krum had attacked her, and then she was saved by Mr. Potter

It would have been trivially easy for him to just leave both Delacour sisters to their fates, but he had protected both.

Msr. Delacoeur would have to be informed of that, preferably, in person.

As soon as Mlle. Delacoeur was released from the Infirmary, the Beauxbatons contingent would be on their way back to France.

Luna Lovegood's eyes lost their focus for a moment. As she was the pariah of Ravenclaw, wandering alone the empty halls of a mostly abandoned section of the castle, no one noticed the dulling of her eyes, nor the stream of tears that fell down her face. She leaned on the wall for a few seconds, and exhaled a trembling breath.

She walked a few, hesitant steps more, until she found a place between two suits of armour. Luna slid down to the floor, hugged her knees, and wept with all her heart.

She knew. The voices in silence whispered at the edge of her awareness. They rarely told her anything she could understand, so she usually believed that they were strange creatures only she and her father could even imagine were real.

Tonight, the whispers were clearer. And she knew, without a shade of doubt, a terrible, heart-crushing truth.

Harry Potter was dead.

Luna Lovegood's shoulders shook with each sob, and soon her robes were soaked in tears. She had never met him, never talked to him nor exchanged owl mail. But she knew he was the hope for the Wizarding World as surely as she knew about nargles and crumple-horned snorkaks.

Suddenly, the voices in silence changed their whisperings.

Harry Potter was dead.

Harry Potter was back.

Hurriedly, Luna dried her tears with the sleeve of her robe, and listened like she had never listened before.

A minute later, she stood up, and walked directly towards the Infirmary.

There was a very important task to do.

Little Hangleton Cemetery (Inside a Hidden Dimension)

In a dimensional pocket no magic could ever find, an old Maledictus slept easily for the first time in decades.

It was warm, soft, and welcoming. There was no need to hide, to flee. There were no orders to poison lives. Nor to kill or devour. There was no fear, nor regrets, if only for a moment. There was only her, Nagini.

She dreamt of her old life, back when she still had the body, mind, and soul of a woman. Cursed before birth to transform into a snake. She saw faces that she had thought forgotten. Emotions that had lain buried at the bottom of her heart resurfaced.

Shame, loss, anger, resignation. All of them very well known to her.

Hope.

That was… new.

She remembered few details of the road that had ended with her being subjugated to Lord Voldemort's will. But the terrible things she had been forced to do because of their link as Master and Familiar, those were very clear in her mind.

Had she been able to, she would have wept bitter tears.

Her remembrances brought her to this very night. Oh, she had been corrupted so completely by the monster that she had been actually proud to announce her condition as a Horcrux, expecting to intimidate the white and green ghost.

Instead of fear, the Spectre had spoken to her. Not as to a monster, nor an animal, but to a person. "{I know what's like to be a puppet. Let me cut your strings.}" he said softly, in impeccable parseltongue. And with a simple movement of his gigantic hand, he had freed her from Voldemort's soul piece. Of his evil.

How could she refuse him now? Whatever he asked of her, she would gladly surrender it of her own free will. She had nothing, yet she would give him everything.

Even if he decided to kill her tomorrow, she would die free of evil.

She could die happily by his hand, as she knew there would be no malice in him. She knew that her death by his hand would be a release, not a punishment.

Had she been able to, she would have smiled. A sad smile, true, but a smile in the end.

She dreamt again, back to the first half of the century, and hoped she would meet her friends one last time. If only to ask their forgiveness in the way to her own private Hell.

Little Hangleton Cemetery

"What in the name of Merlin happened here?" Tonks whispered. Her hair cycled quickly from red to black and back.

"If I were to risk an opinion, I'd say that something went horribly wrong with a blood ritual." Shacklebolt answered, examining the upturned cauldron, and the deformed body next to it. He was careful not to get too close to the scene, wary of the bald, noseless corpse, just in case the thing wasn't dead.

Prodfoot reported, next to the prone body of the Fourth Champion. He and Dawlish had rescued the boy from the tombstone he had been tied to, like a macabre ornament. The young man now rested on a conjured stretcher; his right arm covered in field bandages. The bandages were already staining red. "M' am, Mr. Potter is badly hurt, he has lost a lot of blood and needs a healer urgently. My scans show him to have been subjected to repeated Cruciatus, and at least one Imperius. I… I think he somehow managed to survive a Killing Curse too. We will have to match the magical signature to know who did it."

Madame Bones nodded, and using a piece of string, created a portkey. "Take him to St. Mungo's immediately. The key word is Celerity. Proudfoot, you are his bodyguard, don't let him out of your sight for a single second, if the healers protest, do not yield. Call on my authority if needed. Dawlish, once he is being attended to, go to the Ministry and send a couple of Unspeakables here, they will conduct a complete investigation of this place. I want to know exactly what happened here. Then you will gather two other Aurors and report back to Proudfoot. The life of Mr. Potter is your responsibility. You four will work in shifts of two. Proudfoot is in charge until relieved."

Once she handed them a couple of portkeys set to their current location, the two Aurors levitated the unconscious body of Harry Potter, and portkeyed away.

Deep into his own mind, Harry Potter listened to every word.

It was Madame Bones who found the other living body. "This is impossible!" She said, "This man is supposed to be dead!"

"Boss?" Tonks looked at the balding man, "Who's that man?"

Bones cast an Incarcerous at the unconscious man, wrapping his body in thick ropes. "Unless there are very heavy glamours involved, this is Peter Pettigrew." She directed the ropes to release his left arm, with a cutting charm, the sleeve fell off the dirty robes, revealing a metallic hand, and the Dark Mark, with the snake biting the flesh. However, the snake looked translucent, as if it was barely there.

Bones continued through clenched teeth, "If this is the real Peter Pettigrew, then what Potter said last year could be true, Tonks! I will apply some glamours to his face, I want him to look as different from himself as possible. I want to put so much Veritaserum in his belly his ancestors will be telling the secrets of the Great Beyond next Halloween!"

A few minutes later, Peter Pettigrew was completely unrecognizable. Instead of his blond hair, watery blue eyes and sickly pale complexion; he now had light brown hair, black eyes, and coppery tanned skin.

"Tonks, you and Shacklebolt will get this prisoner to the special holding cells under the Ministry, he is to be kept isolated and unconscious, is that clear?"

Kingsley Shacklebolt answered, "It is, Madam Bones." He was already thinking he would have to find a way to notify Dumbledore about the prisoner.

They secured the area, and they waited for the reinforcements.

The water beetle was already composing her next article for The Daily Prophet.

Hogwarts

Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic, sat uneasy on a conjured chair. On the outside, he seemed to be deep in thought, waiting to be informed about whatever had happened to Potter and Diggory.

A mere mask.

Actually, he was quite worried. Young Diggory had talked about Death Eaters. Had it been Potter, he could have dismissed the very idea as a childish attention-grabbing ploy.

But Cedric Diggory was a whole other barrel of apples. The lad had never shown any inclination towards such childish displays, and therefore his words carried a lot more weight than Potter's. plus, his father had a good name in the Ministry, unlike the Potter boy.

Fudge sighed discreetly. He set his green bowled on his lap, and tapped his fingers on it.

He would have to get word from Amelia Bones about the events. Preferably, before anybody else found out, if only to prepare some spin to make himself look good.

Surely his dear friend Lucius Malfoy would have some idea about the situation. And surely, he was on his way.

Yes, all he had to do for now was to stay seated, look ministerial, and wait for Lucius.

Draco Malfoy leaned back on his chair in the Slytherin common room, laced his fingers at the back of his head, and allowed himself a smug grin. Standing behind him were his usual bookend, Crabbe and Goyle, looking vacantly at nothing in particular. They were there just to act as dumb muscle.

Draco's attention went back to his favorite thought of the years. Surely by now, the stupid half-blood was dead, killed by the Dark Lord, and probably tortured and humiliated before dying.

It could not be any other way.

In his head, he began to compose a letter for Father, reporting on his own point of view, among the spectators at Hogwarts. He wasn't completely sure, of course, but he would be willing to bet a good amount of Galleons that Potter's disappearance had been part of a brilliant plan of the Dark Lord, and probably with the help of his own Father.

He would have to think on an appropriate way to ask to see those memories, doubtlessly they would be enough for a good Patronus.

Little Hangleton Cemetery

Lucius Malfoy lay unconscious still. His white feathers stained with mud and debris.

In a few minutes more, he would wake up, trapped in the body of one of the creatures he liked to keep on the terrains around his Manor.

He would have the mind of the proud patriarch of the Malfoy family, one of the foremost Death Eaters, worthy of the confidence of his Dark Lord. With all the knowledge, smarts, and plans to make the Pureblood movement the only government of Wizarding Britain available to him. The riches his family had gathered by means fair and foul were his, and only his. No one else could even touch those resources.

And he had absolutely no way to put them to use.

Author Notes:

This chapter is very light on the DC side, as only a little time has passed since we saw the DC characters, Madame Xanadu is planning her return to England, and John Constantine is on his way to the airport.

Chapter Text

Harry Potter and the Spirit of Revenge

Chapter 6: Waiting to Know

Please Read and Review. I'd like to know what I'm doing right (to keep doing it), and what I'm I doing wrong (to correct it).

St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries
Reception

"By Merlin! What happened?" Healer Richardson asked as soon as he saw the body of the teenager appear alongside two Aurors on high combat alert.

There were a couple of patients waiting for their turn, one of them almost fell from his chair at the sudden arrival of the three strangers. He had a set of dragonfly eyes instead of his original ones; the other wizard waiting for his turn whimpered while grabbing his belly, distended to four times the normal size. It made a very strange bubbling noise.

Auror Proudfoot grabbed Richardson by the shoulder, "We are not sure, but he was severely wounded. He needs blood replenishing potions, and who knows what else. His arm was cut to extract blood, and our field spells were not enough to close the wound." He turned around, and addressed the rest of the healer staff present, he showed his Auror shield, holding it high, "By order of the DMLE, everybody inside this room, be they patient, Healer or Nurse, is as of now subject to full non-disclosure until released by written order of Madam Bones. That means no communication to the outside. Every healer must give an oath of confidentiality…" Proudfoot saw the Healer in Chief taking breath, and interrupted him, "This is in addition to your regular Healer´s oaths, sir. This patient is not only in URGENT need of medical attention, he is also a possible witness to at least one crime, very probably more. The other patients will be attended to, but won´t be able to leave the building until further notice. This will be a long night, and I apologize for the inconvenient."

A moment later, the Healer in Chief nodded gravely, and at a gesture, two Healers and three nurses ran to get Harry into an examining room. Proudfoot followed them, "Dawlish, I´ll stay with the lad, get to the Ministry."

Dawlish saluted quickly, and ran to the floo.

Over the protests of the healing staff, Proudfoot dragged the most uncomfortable chair he could find into the healing room, and popped himself on it, watching every procedure like a hawk. He knew his words had not been wrong. This would be a long night.

Proudfoot didn´t had any way to know, but in a close room, another team of Healers and Nurses was trying desperately to save Cedric Diggory´s life, while his father paced around the waiting room, hoping against hope that his son could be saved.

Hogwarts,
Hospital Wing

Hermione Granger occupied an equally hard wooden chair, just outside the actual Infirmary, Madame Pomfrey was there, busy attending to the people who had mysteriously fallen ill back on the Third Task site; but she fully expected her to put Harry on his usual bed as soon as he was found.

She had no idea of what was happening inside, there were very strong privacy charms on the door. Apart from her own breathing, there was an almost absolute silence.

The only sound was a set of light footsteps, coming closer and closer. She listened hard, in case it was Harry, arriving on his own. But no, that little hope was stomped by simple logic, why would Harry go there alone, if he was healthy enough to walk without problem?

Soon, another girl, a small blond, sat next to her. "Hi. I´m Luna Lovegood. Nice to meet you, although I had hoped it would be in a better moment." She sounded a bit… not completely there, Hermione thought, as if most of her attention was somewhere else.

The Griffyndor student furrowed her brow, it took her a moment to recognize the girl. Her silvery eyes were a bit red and puffy, as if she had been crying. The way her wand was carefully nestled behind her right ear, the butterbeer corks hanging from a thread around her neck, and the small radishes dangling from her ears. Even though she tried to stay away from the rumour mill, only one person in the castle would be using such accessories: "Loony" Lovegood.

"Hello, Luna. I´m sorry, I…" Hermione had to pause. "I´m waiting for Harry Potter."

The blonde smiled, tilting her head to the right, "Not the best place for a date, but who I´m I to say anything about anybody else´s tastes?" Luna smiled at her companion.

Hermione had to laugh at the idea, releasing a bit of the tension in her stomach. Luna continued. "I bring you an important message from the Blibbering Humdingers, I think. I am not too sure if were they or the Dabberblimp, but that´s not important now." She exhaled softly, gathering her courage. While Hermione looked at her without any idea of what to say, Luna brought out a wooden tablet, a piece of parchment and a few magical crayons from her school bag, and began to draw quickly.

"The important thing is that when Harry returns," she whispered, not pausing in her drawing except to change crayon, "he will need you at his side. He will return changed and not. He will be cold and lost, thinking he has nothing left." Her hand moved so fast Hermione barely saw the end of the crayon over the tablet of wood Luna used to support the parchment. "He will need a reason to go on on being himself. You can help him." Her slightly protuberant eyes fixed themselves on Hermione´s own, still her hand moved over the drawing.

"There will be another Harry too." Luna stopped, and blew on the parchment. The colours began to move, almost like a magical portrait. "He´s different from Harry, but he is still Harry. He´s ancient, and he´s very, very angry." The Ravenclaw student put her drawing in Hermione´s hands.

The bushy-haired witch took the drawing, and gasped. The drawing represented a strange figure surrounded by what could have been Death Eaters. A thin man in green robes and a white tunic, the hood he wore hid most of his face in a deep shadow, but the mouth could be seen, snarling in anger. The figure raised his right arm, clenching his fist. Soon, he was surrounded by skeletons.

There was a sense of menace in the figure. It also seemed somewhat familiar… it took Hermione a long moment to remember. Two years before, there had been reports about a small Centro-European country, Valdava? No. Vlatava. Yes, that was the one. A chill crossed through Hermione´s spine.

A war correspondent had managed to broadcast about fifteen seconds of the event, although the sound of bombs and missiles dominated the scene. The image was blurry, and the man´s hands shook terribly; but it was clear enough to see what was happening. A giant figure in the distance, his body was white, and he wore a long, hooded, green cape.

He was holding something in his hands, and shouting unintelligible words at his fists. Then, he seemed to put whatever he had in his hands onto the top of two close hills. Then the giant turned around, and shouted again. At this point, images of half decomposed corpses rose in front of the camera, flying towards the giant. Finally, he crouched, striking his fists against the ground.

A wave of fire, dirt and small rocks surged around him; and in a moment, hit the place from where the reporter had been transmitting. The image was cut down in a blur of static noise.

Vlatava had been razed down to the bedrock. She had thought the reports had been exaggerated, but according to the scientific teams sent to investigate, not even bacteria had survived the scouring. The few living creatures found were close to the country borders, and could be explained as having simply meandered into the country. Close to the capital, there was nothing alive.

Only two survivors were found later, delirious, and almost dead of hunger and thirst. The notorious criminal, Count Vertigo, supposedly the last survivor of the Royal Family of Vlatava, and General Hafza, leader of the other army involved in a bloody civil war that made the Balkans look like Hogsmead between weekends.

Both men raved about having been unjustly punished by the Spectre, a disproportionate punishment that had cost the life of every woman, man, child, and living creature in the country. Since then, Vlatava had been quarantined by the UN, and only a few scientific teams were allowed into the sterile desert, and then only with heavily armed and armoured guards.

If that monster was after Harry, his friend wouldn´t have any chance!

Luna brought her out from her memories by the simple means of holding her hand. "He will need you more than any other time. Be his anchor. Be his tower. Be his friend. Don´t let him lose himself. The consequences for the world, and for his soul, could be terrible!"

Hermione looked into Luna´s eyes, not really understanding what was being asked of her.

Luna shook her head, as if trying to rid herself of an annoying insect. Her eyes focused on Hermione. "Oh, you should go to bed. He won´t come back today. Not here." She stood up, and rearranged her robes, spreading a few bits of crayon on them, forming colourful streaks over the cloth. "Nice talking to you. I´d like to do it again sometime. It was almost like having a friend." She turned around, and skipped away, still holding her tablet and crayons.

"Luna! Wait!" The blonde turned halfway around. "I… Thanks for coming to tell me. I´ll stay a while more. I´ll look for you tomorrow, and we can talk some more, okay?"

"I look forward to talking to you a bit more. Give my regards to Harry and tell him I won´t care either." The dazzling smile on Luna´s face lit the place, making Hermione forget for a moment that Harry was still missing.

Before Hermione could manage to ask what Luna had meant, the small blonde disappeared behind a corner.

Hermione sat on her chair again, and took the drawing Luna had left behind. A chill went up and down her back, watching the Death Eaters turn into skeletons, before the picture reset, and the cycle repeated every five seconds.

She would need to check the Hogwarts Library, looking for anything it might had about the Spectre.

And once she was back in the Muggle world, she would do the same in Crawley. Maybe her Aunt Marie, as a diplomatic attaché, might know something about the Spectre. She would have to owl her parents, asking for a way to contact Aunt Marie. Hopefully her uncle´s family were back in England.

Hermione hoped her cousin was in the country too. She was the most sensible person she knew. Not only in the Muggle world, she was the most sensible person she knew, period.

St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries
Emergency Room Nr 4

Healer Richardson wiped the sweat on his forehead with a clean piece of linen, and leaned back against the wall, utterly tired. "Well… That was harder than it should have. But we finally closed the wound in the arm. He will have a big, jagged scar, but he will recover." He turned back to Proudfoot, who stood immediately, the vertebrae on his back creaked ominously. "You guys brought him barely on time. I had never had to administer so many blood-replenishing potions to a single patient. It´s a miracle the poor boy was still alive when you got him here."

"I feared it would be too late. I hope he recovers." Proudfoot admitted, with a sigh. "Now, I will need to keep watch over him. Dawlish should be back soon with another two Aurors. Can the patient be moved to a private room?"

"Yes. I already have instructed my staff. Just give him about half an hour to stabilize, and we will move him."

Either noticed a red-clad ghost sitting Indian style over a platter full of empty potion vials. The ghost paid close attention to their conversation. "Damn, Spec. You should get an Oscar for that performance." The ghost commented, shaking his head. "Yo! Spec! Everything went well on my side. How about yours?".

A ghostly image of the new Spectre coalesced next to Deadman, as invisible and inaudible as the former acrobat´s spirit. From the dark depths of his hood, the otherworldly voice answered. "It went well. The DMLE is now investigating."

Ministry of Magic
Department of Mysteries
Hall of Prophecies

A crystalline sphere containing a prophecy made over ten years before rested on a tripod. A dusty card hung from a cord tied to the tripod, declaring to the world that the prophecy had been made by Sybil Trelawney, to Albus Dumbledore; concerning Lord Voldemort and Harry Potter.

The sphere misted until it was completely opaque, and with a noise like the stone of a forge cooling during the night, cracked in two.

It wouldn´t be long before somebody came looking for it.

Author Notes:

I´ve been reading several fics inspired by Reptillia28's 'Don't Fear the Reaper' challenge, where Harry is returned to life again and again by Death, his memories erased, to correct his repeated tendency to die without fulfilling his destiny. One of the guidelines in the challenge involves pairing Harry with "…some Granger girl…" Now, my default shipping happens to be Harry/Hermione, but… although this is not an answer to that particular challenge, I will be taking this bit to see what happens.

Being a long time fan of the DCU, I´ve been trying to find a way to introduce "…some Granger girl…" into the HPverse. Readers with long memories (or Google…) will know who I am talking about.

The often mentioned scouring of Vlatava was depicted in The Spectre issue 13 (Dec 1993), though I´m retconning it to 1992.

Chapter Text

Harry Potter and the Spirit of Revenge

Chapter 7: The Death-Who-Screamed

Please Read and Review. I'd like to know what I'm doing right (to keep doing it), and what I'm I doing wrong (to correct it).

Quintessence Plane

Floating in the void of space, stands a tall man. Incongruously, he simply wears a blue suit that was almost black, a high-collared blue cloak, a fedora of that same colour. The lack of air doesn't seem to bother him at all. His right hand clasps the left, while he looks intently at the Earth, floating serenely next to him.

The man's voice was barely heard in the silence. "A new Spectre has been chosen. The youngest so far." The Phantom Stranger's eyes, eternally hidden in shadow, peered into the globe, finally settling in Britain. "And after almost two millennia, it is a magical. Things are changing."

He turned away from the globe. Last time, he had been delayed. This time, he would talk to the new incarnation of the Presence's Wrath immediately. Hopefully, it would be early enough.

Suddenly, he stopped, and conjured an image of the new avatar. A wave of his white-gloved hand revealed the human guise of the new Wrath avatar. It was a boy of about 12 to 14 years old, with messy black hair and round spectacles. A scar shaped like a lightning bolt marred his forehead. There was a white owl standing on his shoulder.

"What a coincidence. Another boy of prophecy and fate. Maybe they should meet. Both need a friend."

The Phantom Stranger restarted his walk, and exactly seven steps later, he vanished gradually.

Hogwarts; Owlery.

Hermione Granger used the time before curfew to write a letter. She addressed it to her father. In short, she asked him to check on his sister-in-law, Marie Granger, to see if she was back in England, and also to ask if Hermione's cousin was also in the country.

Once she had released the school owl with its precious cargo, Hermione ran back to the Hospital Wing. To her disappointment and worry, Harry wasn't there. Madame Pomfrey barred her access to the Hospital Wing, simply standing in front of the door. She looked at Hermione impatiently, "Miss Granger, I strongly ask of you to return to your common room! The DMLE will arrive shortly, and they could retain you as a witness if they think it necessary. I'd rather save you from the trouble."

"Thanks, Madame Pomfrey." Hermione bowed her head, "I'll go immediately. Will you let me know about Harry?" she pleaded.

"Yes, child. As soon as I know myself. Now go!"

Hermione ran back to Gryffindor Tower, she reckoned she would arrive with barely a couple of minutes to spare.

Her steps slowed as she approached the Fat Lady portrait. The common room would be a hotbed of gossiping.

Just what she needed…

She hoped to avoid the interrogatory she would surely be subjected to if she managed to get to her bed quickly enough.

To her relief, the Twins were waiting for her right next to the entrance, their faces creased with worry for the boy they thought of as an honorary brother. The left twin waved at her, she thought it was Fred. "Hermione! Any news of Harry?" The other one spoke a moment later, "Is he okay? No one could tell us anything."

Hermione sighed. "He didn't came back… I'm not sure what happened. Madame Bones and several Aurors went to wherever the Cup was keyed. But…" she bit her lip. Hesitating before sharing the other news she had," Luna Lovegood fears for him… Have you ever heard of …the Spectre..?"

Fred scratched his ear, thinking. He shrugged, and his brother answered, "No… who's that?"

Hermione looked around, "Is there some place we can talk? I think in there it would be…"

George nodded brusquely, "A circus? Yeah. And Ronniekins is doing all he can to be the main attraction. Come, we know of a secret passage near." Quickly, the two Weasleys guided Hermione to a corridor. One looked around, and pushed into a brick. The other twisted a relief in the wall, tilting his head towards a solid looking part of the wall. "Push that panel, Hermione, and walk fast. We will follow you in."

She followed the instructions. The panel swung over itself, revealing a long corridor. Hermione almost ran to the other end, finding a small room. There were a couple of tables with chairs. Veritable mounds of books on one, while the other was covered with a mess of parchment pieces, containing diagrams, maps, and alchemical notes.

Fred and George arrived just after her. "Please excuse the chaos. We think better in here."

"Now, who is this Spectre? Some kind of ghost?"

Hermione unfolded Luna's drawing, showing it to the Twins, "Luna drew this, she says Harry will have a… I'm not sure if I understood what she tried to tell me. I think it is a Doppelgänger, a ghostly double of Harry. There are legends about them in the muggle world, that if one sees his own Doppelgänger, it is an augury of bad luck, maybe even death. Or that it is an evil twin, keen to replace the original. Luna told me there would be another Harry. I may be very off-course, but all my instincts tell me Luna is right."

Fred examined the drawing, and felt the skin of his arms crawl with dread. "I never heard about any Spectre, but this guy looks familiar…"

George took the drawing, "Very familiar… White skin, green robes…"

They looked at each other, "…Deathly powers…" they said, echoing each other.

George raised an eyebrow, "Sounds like a legend."

"Very old, very old." Fred stood up, and began rummaging amongst the piles of books set in one bookcase, while his brother did the same at another. A minute later, he pulled a very old book from the shelf. The covers were green-tinted leather, almost falling to pieces. "We found this book in here, under stasis spells; it is very, very old, maybe even older than Hogwarts itself." Quickly but carefully, he flipped the pages, until he found what he was looking for.

He showed the page to Hermione. It was an old style wooden engraving.

It showed a slender woman, standing tall among a group of soldiers, all of them dressed in what seemed to be roman armour. She seemed to be taller than a fully grown troll. Her features were beautiful, but her skin was white as chalk, her eyes shrouded in shadows, except for a single green dot where the iris should be; and her black hair was a tangled mess. A green robe wrapped itself around her torso, leaving her arms and legs free. Her bare feet floated over the ground.

Fred tapped the edge of the engraving with his wand, and the image began to move. The woman's hair floated behind her, almost billowing like Snape's robes. The robe fluttered around her.

The woman raised her head and opened her mouth. She seemed to scream in rage, her beautiful face twisted into a mask of pure, distilled wrath.

All around her, the soldiers grabbed their throats, while their bodies withered until only skeletons remained. The woman looked around, nodded satisfied, her robes wrapped her body like a shroud, and pulled themselves tighter and tighter, until she disappeared. A moment later, the scene replayed itself.

Hermione shuddered in dread. "Who's that?"

George tapped the engraving again, and the image froze again. "We don't know for sure. The book is a diary by some guy who supposedly met a guy who survived an encounter with her. The writer was collecting old stories, and supposedly met an old man who in his youth had been a soldier in the Roman Army. But this is written in some old Latin dialect. We just don't know enough to fully translate the text. He calls her the Banshee."

Hermione sat down on a stool, thinking. She looked at Luna's drawing, then at the engraving. The similitudes were clear. The Banshee and the Spectre could be relatives. Both were named after ghosts. Both killed their enemies in gruesome fashion, and both were very pale-skinned, with a preference for wearing green clothes.

Little Hangleton Cemetery.

Madame Bones and Tonks examined carefully the place. An auto-quill wrote Madame Bones' observations, while Tonks operated a camera to record the scene, Isaac Savage watched over the two as they worked, ready to defend them in case of an attack. "Adult male, wearing Death Eater robes and mask. Removal of the mask reveals an individual tentatively identified as Waldon McNair. The mask and robes correspond to previous sightings of Death Eaters and confiscated evidence during the Blood War. Priori Incantatum reveals the last spells cast with the wand in the man's right hand are repeated castings of the Killing Curse, preceded by Cruciatus and Scourgify spells. The man's left forearm shows…" she paused for a moment, "the Dark Mark. However, the snake has been animated, biting the arm and possibly injecting an unknown venom. Preliminary observations coincide with the apparent cause of death of Severus Snape, Igor Karkaroff, and..." she hesitated for a second, "Alastor Moody, directly witnessed by myself and several others at the grounds of Hogwarts. Additional note, the animated snake in the victim is visibly receding back on the skin. Quick, Tonks, check the others' left arms!"

A minute later, Madame Bones resumed her dictation. "A cursory examination of the other corpses present reveals that all of them present the same Dark Mark, plus to puncture wounds in a position concordant with the presence of animation of the snake in the Dark Mark."

She then put the body under a stasis spell, conjured a sheet, and covered the corpse. Then, she and Tonks proceeded to the next body. Their findings were very similar.

Meanwhile, perched on a different bough, a water beetle watched attentively. Listening to each and every word.

Hogwarts
Headmaster's Office.

Hogwarts Headmaster Albus Dumbledore paced around, completely baffled, and worried out of his mind.

The silver trinkets that monitored Harry Potter had exploded during his absence. He had no way to know where he was, his level of magic expended, not even if he was alive!

His whole plan to finally defeat Voldemort hinged on Harry Potter being able to end the threat of Tom Riddle once and for all, him dying before that was unconceivable!

Dumbledore sat heavily on his gaudy chair, and popped a muggle sweet in his mouth.

Hogwarts
Kitchens

Down in the kitchens, all the house elves had stopped in their work. All standing silently around one of their own. None knew what to do or what to say. This had never happened before.

Close to a foot over the hard stone floor, an elf floated immobile. His hands clutched his heart, and his eyes wept constantly. Somehow, his eyes had changed. The irises still kept their green colour, but the sclera was completely black.

"Dobby… What bes happening to youse?" the oldest elf asked, worried. Not daring to touch the floating elf.

Dobby's voice echoed in the kitchen, but his lips didn't move at all. "Great Master Harry Potter being dead… Dobby being a bad elf… Dobby lives, Master is dead… Dobby lives… Master is dead…"

Chapter Text

Harry Potter and the Spirit of Revenge

Chapter 8: People-Saving-Thing

Please Read and Review. I'd like to know what I'm doing right (to keep doing it), and what I'm I doing wrong (to correct it).

Ministry of Magic
Holding Cells
Special Section.

Kingsley Shacklebolt wiped his brow. 'I can barely believe this…' he thought, as he maneuvered the unconscious body of the only other survivor of the Cemetery into a holding cell. 'Peter Pettigrew… alive…' He shook his head while he put the body into the rickety bed, adding a stasis spell, just in case the man woke up with any ideas of escaping, and also to try to keep him alive for as long as possible. Kingsley closed the magically reinforced door and stood guard outside.

He needed to notify Dumbledore of this. But he wouldn't dare to abandon his post, as his instruction from Madame Bones were very clear. Sending a Patronus with a message would be too risky. Both to send, as he didn't know if somebody would enter the place while he cast the spell, and for Dumbledore to receive, if he was not alone. No, he would have to deliver the message directly or by Floo.

He conjured a one legged stool, and sat. Should he begin to fall asleep, he would fall down, waking up instantly. (1)

St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries
Room 12

Harry Potter rested peacefully, watched over by Aurors Proudfoot and Dawlish; while Fleischer and Mandrake (2), the two Aurors who had arrived with Dawlish, patrolled the halls.

The two men kept silent, but Dawlish was getting restless. Proudfoot silenced him with a glare.

St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries
Room 12 (Astral Plane)

"Well, Spec. It seems you have made a big splash in the wo… What happens?" Deadman's cheery chatter changed in a moment to deathly serious.

The Spectre stiffened, rising his head as if following a smell. "Blood. Blood is being spilled as we speak." He disappeared instantly.

"Oh, joy." mused Deadman. "Now, how do I follow him?"

Little Hangleton Cemetery.

Madame Bones and Tonks collected and numbered their respective parchments, and bagged them carefully. "Now what, Boss? This is going to open a lot of canned worms."

"Yes." Madame Bones whispered, "At a minimum, the Wizengamot will be in disarray, while the Dark Families get the successors to their missing Heads of House." She waved a hand, encompassing the corpses littering the eerie peace of the Muggle cemetery.

Tonks smiled. "Well then, at least for a little while they won't be able to mess with any law they don't like."

"That wont last long, Tonks."

Several quick cracks broke the silence before the young Auror could answer, both Aurors assumed fighting stances, each one covering the other. It was not necessary. Three figures held their hands up. All six hands empty. "Director Bones." A heavily distorted voice addressed her.

The one in the middle bowed their head. It was difficult to even try to guess their gender. The Unspeakables uniforms were full of disguising charms, the only feature anybody could use to tell them apart was their height.

The Unspeakable continued, "Allow me to identify ourselves, I am Croaker, to my right, is Flyer, " the figure nodded slowly, "And to my left, Firestorm." A jerky nod from the third Unspeakable. "We will conduct the forensic investigation, Director, once you release it to us."

Madame Bones nodded back to Croaker. "I deliver this crime scene to you." she said ritually, "My preliminary observations have been recorded, my partner's too. We will add them to your team's according to the stablished procedure. We have followed the protocols to the letter, and the scene has been minimally disturbed. Except for Mr. Potter and a suspect currently in custody, each body present when we arrived is in the exact same position we found them."

Croaker surveyed the place. "Duly appreciated, Director Bones. We will soon have our own timeline of the events for your own perusal."

Three blocks away from Purge & Dowse, Ltd
(abandoned department store; actually St. Mungo's location)

Robert Green lay on a pool of blood. He had been mugged a few minutes before. He had resisted, and had been repeatedly stabbed in the gut. His hands clutched at his belly, trying to stem the flow of blood.

As he lay dying, a strange vision appeared in front of him. It was a young man, whose clothes were hidden under a long green coat. His face was pale as a ghost, what little he could see.

"…h..lp… …me…" Robert tried to beg, though even breathing required a superhuman effort.

The figure knelt next to him. "Have courage. Help has come." The figure touched Robert's shoulder, and a wave of relief coursed through his body. The pain receded, and Robert breathed deeply.

With infinite care, the lad picked him up, as if he was weightless. The world shimmered around them, and the last he knew, he was in what seemed to be the reception of a hospital.

St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries
Reception

Suddenly, a man appeared in the Reception room, carrying a bleeding man, who, judging from his clothes, was a Muggle. The Welcome Witch jumped to her feet at the sight. "I don't know who do you think you are, young man; but unless you are an Auror bringing a victim of Muggle baiting, you have no right to bring Muggles here!"

The hooded man looked at her for a brief moment, and the temperature of the room dropped ten degrees, despite the charms that normally kept a constant and comfortable temperature.

A deep voice, hard as stone and cold as ice answered her, "I am the Spectre. You will take care of this man. His life is escaping with his spilled blood."

"But he's a Muggle!" the woman insisted, while the two wizards who waited for the release of the order prudently backed out as much as they could.

"A Muggle you say, as if his life was worth nothing in your eyes." The white eyes, glowing deeply in the shadows of his hood, seemed to promise swift and painful retribution. "The lives of those who attacked him are forfeit already. Will you add more?"

The witch relented then. She waved her wand to call for a Healer. The Spectre deposited the body on a Muggle-style stretcher, conjured silently and wandlessly, to the amazement of everybody present.

The witch explained the situation to the Healer. Unlike her, the man was not as quick to judge, and began to work immediately, pushing the strange contraption to an Examining Room. "I will need a Blood Replenishing potion, Sandra. Dilute it to half potency." He looked quickly to the Spectre. "Otherwise, on account of him lacking magic, the potion could kill him."

The Spectre nodded once, and vanished from view just as Deadman ghosted through the wall. "Dang it! Missed him!"

Hogwarts,
Gryffindor Tower,
Common Room

The Twins knew enough secret passages for the three of them to enter the Gryffindor Common Room without being noticed, completely bypassing the Fat Lady's portrait. Hermione even managed to get to her bed, still thinking on what she had learned.

She changed quickly to her pyjamas. Once in her bed, she had trouble to fall asleep. The images from the book turned around constantly in her mind's eye. Alternating with the images from the TV news segment about the razing of Vlatava.

The Banshee and the Spectre.

Her mind kept trying to find a connection between the two.

Sleep would take long to come to the young witch.

Ministry of Magic.

Though Shacklebolt had no way to know it, the man he wanted to talk to had been right in the same building.

Hogwarts,
Hospital Wing

"Finally!" Madam Pomfrey exclaimed when she saw Director Bones enter the Infirmary, followed by Nymphadora Tonks. The two seemed a bit shocked.

"Sorry about the delay, Poppy." Madame Bones sat on one of the uncomfortable chairs available, while Tonks poured herself a glass of water. "We had to investigate a crime scene. Mr. Potter is now at St. Mungo's, and I want to check on him as soon as possible."

"I cannot argue with that. I had hoped to give you a full report on this, but Mr. Potter has priority. So I will just give you the summary." She breathed deeply, and pulled the sheet that covered one of the bodies. "This man is not Alastor Moody, as you can see. Unless I'm very mistaken, this is Barty Crouch Jr."

Tonks snorted without humour, tilting the glass a bit towards her. "Tonight, dead men walk and die, Boss!"

Poppy stared at her, "What do you mean? Who else?"

"Disregard that, Poppy. Part of an active investigation. Don't repeat that to anybody, please. And that goes triple for you, Novice Auror Tonks! Unless you´d like to take the night shift in Knockturn Alley for the next month. Is that clear?"

Chastised, Tonks lowered her eyes. "Crystal, boss. It won't happen again."

Bones nodded once and turned to Poppy. "Let me check on him." She cast a few charms on the body. "Polyjuice. That means there's a chance the real Alastor Moody is still alive." She pinched the bridge of her nose. "This night keeps getting better and better…" she hissed.

"Oh, that's what I thought too. All these men were disguised as Seventh Year Slytherin students." She waved at the other bodies. "I'm sure there was more Polyjuice involved. Unlike with Severus Snape and Igor Karkaroff. Those two were actually themselves."

She passed a stack of notes to Tonks. "These are my findings on each one."

"Thank you, Poppy. I apologize again. Go to sleep. May I use your Floo to get some help to remove them to the Ministry lab?"

"Of course. Just warn them to not touch their left forearms, those snakes are quite nasty, and they don´t like it when somebody tries to pull them off the flesh." She paused at the threshold, "Please, could you let me know about Mr. Potter? I'd rather wait to know before retiring."

"Yes. He was in bad shape. I sent him to St. Mungo's with two of my people. I'll go there as soon as the bodies are removed."

"Thanks."

London,
A Dilapidated House.
A room far from the street.

Two career criminals poured their loot over a crate. Wallets, bills, watches, and assorted jewellery. Even one of those new portable phones!

A single candle tried futilely to cast some light in the dirty room, but the only thing it did was to illuminate a very small area.

"Not a bad haul for two hours of work, don't yah think, Raffy?"

"Yeah, but that last one punched me!" Raffy rubbed his cheek, where a bruise slowly spread, turning black.

"And I made him a few new navels, so? You got your revenge, didn't yah?" Joey opened a bottle of beer, passing it to Raffy and taking another for himself.

"Yeah, you sent him straight to Hell, Joey!" Both men laughed

"Not the first, not the last, Raffy!"

"Wrong."  From the shadows, a new figure coalesced. A cowl almost hid his ghostly face in the darkest shadows, while a green cloak fell down over his shoulders like a shroud. His cold voice made the candle light grow dimmer. "He lives still. And your time on Earth grows short. For tonight, it will be you two who will enjoy Hell's hospitality."

Joey pulled his switchblade, the same he had used before the same movement, he stabbed the standing figure right in the heart. A cold laughter followed, while Joey tried to pull the blade to attack again. He couldn't. it was as if the switchblade was a strange sort of Excalibur, set not into stone, but in flesh.

He couldn't even release the blade.

"So eager are you to see spilled blood? So be it."

A few drops of blood fell down to the garbage covered floor. A moment later, the blood flowed freely, as if the edge had cut a major vein. But the figure didn't fall. Joey pulled harder at the blade. The man didn't even sway. It was as if he was a statue, but his lips opened in a predatory smile.

Raffy decided it would be best to simply flee. But the door was jammed. And his hands stuck on the handle. The Spectre stood impassible, as blood flowed freely from his chest. Soon, the floor was completely covered in thick, warm blood.

Joey screamed.

Impossibly, the blood kept flowing.

No human body could contain so much blood!

Author Notes:

(1) I'm not sure where did I read about this trick. It was a safety procedure at a factory that used some quite volatile substances. An employee was supposed to watch over the mixing machine, and stop it should it's temperature rose too much of if there was some other warning sign. But as it was a very boring job, the men eventually fell asleep, and the mix exploded. The solution was to give them a stool with a leg at the center. They could rest their feet comfortably, but would fall down should they succumb to sleep.

(2) Aurors Fleischer and Mandrake are a little homage to Michael Fleischer and Tom Mandrake. Fleischer wrote the Spectre's run in Adventure Comics, beautifully illustrated by the late, great Jim Aparo (collected as Wrath of the Spectre), and his stories practically codified the Spectre's behaviour for decades to come. Tom Mandrake drew almost all the issues from the 3rd volume of The Spectre, written by John Ostrander. Mandrake did an outstanding job in drawing the most grotesque scenes possible for the title. The scenes set in Hell are amazingly detailed, for example, and he has a great talent for drawing regular people, heroes, villains and monsters. His illustrations of Hell are quite disturbing.

Chapter Text

Harry Potter and the Spirit of Revenge

Chapter 9: Long Wait

Please Read and Review. I'd like to know what I'm doing right (to keep doing it), and what I'm I doing wrong (to correct it).

St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries

It took a while, as the team of Aurors removed the corpses from the Hogwarts Hospital Wing, but Director Amelia Bones finally had the chance to go to St. Mungo's to check on Harry Potter's health.

To her surprise, she was almost assailed by the Welcome Witch. "Madame Bones, Thank Merlin you're here! I wish to make a serious charge."

Mme. Bones sighed. "Have you spoken with the Aurors I sent?"

"No, m'am. They are either in a room, watching over a patient, or patrolling the halls. Neither has even stopped for tea."

Bones nodded, she expected the men to act professionally. She turned to her companion. "Auror Tonks, please take the report while I check in on our witness." The young Auror nodded, and brought out a sheet of parchment and a quill. Madame Bones turned back to the Welcome Witch, "Who attends to the patient I sent with Auror escort?"

"Oh, that would be Healer Richardson, he must be with the patient now, Room 12."

While Tonks did as instructed, and the two wizards waiting in the same room asked when they would be allowed to go home, Amelia Bones strode to the room in question. She knocked at the door, a simple code that identified her. Dawlish opened the door a few seconds later. To Bones displeasure, the man had his wand hanging loosely from his fingers. Proudfoot, on the other hand, covered the door with his own wand. "At rest, gentlemen." She addressed Healer Richardson. "How's Mr. Potter?"

"He lost a lot of blood, but he's going to be better soon." He answered. Sadly, he shook his head. "Young Mr. Diggory, on the other hand… he… he didn't make it."

Bones face paled. "Is his father still here?"

Richardson put his hands in his pockets. "In the Waiting Room for Family, Madame Bones. We have a monitoring charm on him, just in case he…" the Healer left the words die unsaid.

"I understand, Healer Richardson. I understand too well… I'll go talk to him." She turned to her two Aurors, who immediately stood in attention. "Your replacements will arrive soon. Go home, eat something, and rest. I'll see you later."

She sent a quick Patronus message to the DMLE , asking for two Aurors to relieve Proudfoot and Dawlish.

A Transcontinental Flight
Somewhere Over the Atlantic Ocean
Economy Class

At the moment, John Constantine was almost certain his multiple sins had finally caught up with him.

It was, pure and simply put, the most insidious, devious, and awful torture he could imagine. He could handle pain, death threats, and assorted violence of almost any kind with a wink in his eyes and a smirk on his lips.

He had faced demons, cultists, heroes, villains, gods and monsters more than once. True, his victories had always costed him more than it was fair.

But this was self-inflicted torture.

Being squeezed between two over-overweight tourists, perspiring heavily and wheezing each and every breath? Who insisted on talking loudly over him as if he wasn't even there? In a place and time he didn't dare to use magic? At least, not until the plane was well over the Atlantic Ocean, hopefully far enough from England that the new Spectre wouldn't catch the smell of his magic.

It was making him reconsider his current course of action. Maybe facing a new and probably still traumatized Spectre, just after their ascension into the avatarship for the Divine Wrath wouldn't be so bad.

St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries
(Astral Plane)

Deadman and the Spectre spent a good while just talking. Deadman had decided to simply ignore the brief absence of the Spectre. He knew very well that somebody had been sent to their final rest, and had no wish to discuss it.

Instead, he spent the time educating his young companion about the bigger world he was now a part of.

The boy in Harry Potter' soul wondered at the tales of his ghostly companion. Despite everything he had to contend with in life, there was still a place for a child with bright eyes, listening to tales of heroes and villains. Where good people still could hope things would be okay.

In a dimensional pocket near the Spectre, Nagini slept and dreamed.

She awoke with a start.

What would she do?

Right now, she was in a perfectly comfortable place. She felt better than she had been for decades. Ever since her curse had locked her in her snake form.

Years of hiding, of avoiding people, of killing small prey to survive, those years were a slab of stone over her heart.

For a moment, she wished she had had the simple mind of a true snake. Not being able to feel the prison her own body had become.

Her unblinking eyes tried to find something to look at in this warm white expanse. There was nothing but herself.

Herself and her thoughts.

She missed her friends. Even her old life as a circus freak attraction would be better than this descent into the snake she turned into. Just enough of a mind to feel human emotions, and enough animal instincts to have to act as a snake. And feel remorse after the fact.

But the worst was being dominated by another. One who made sure she enjoyed obeying his orders. Voldemort made a big show of treating her like a precious pet, but it was only a show. She had as much of a chance to disobey as a puppet had of cutting its own strings and keep on moving.

Nagini curled up, hiding her head in her coils. Despite the warmth, a chill ran all over her spine.

She remembered that emotion very well. It was pure and unadulterated fear.

Despite everything, she still could fear for her life.

She had no way to know what she felt was not her own fear.

It was the fear of two small time crooks.

It was the fear of two murderers who had killed for a few coins, without any remorse.

It was the fear of two criminals who had finally met their doom. In the shape of a young man dressed in white and green, whose body was the source of a tide of blood.

Enough blood to drown them.

New York City
Greenwich Village
Hokus & Pokus Occult Curioso

"Very well, my children. Pack everything and be ready to send it to London." The owner of the fortune telling place snapped close a small suitcase. Technically, she could always travel through the Oblivion Bar, but as she wanted to establish herself legally back in the land of her birth, changed as it was, and changed as she herself was; she preferred to travel over the ocean in a mundane way. She directed the small group of helpers with a few commands, "You'll know where, once I have made arrangements for a suitable place in mundane London."

"Yes, Madame." A fat man answered, while a woman of Asian descent, with short, black hair hung up the phone, "Your plane ticket awaits you at the Lexair booth in the airport. It was the first flight available, and I managed to upgrade it to First Class without overcharge. I also called a cab for you, it will be waiting you in the street." She passed a slip of paper to her mistress, "This is its ID number."

"Well done, Kim. Help your companions to pack. Make sure to send everything to my warehouse, and to have everything properly packed for an airplane trip to London."

All of then nodded, and without any other word, they obeyed, quick and efficient, as always.

Madame Xanadu took her suitcase, took her keys from the old porcelain plate by the door, and left.

Fudge Manor

Cornelius Fudge had waited for a long while for his friend Lucius Malfoy. The wealthy pure-blood never arrived to Hogwarts.

The Minister sighed heavily, as he sipped some tea in his study. The Floo connection was inactive at the moment.

Fudge was worried. He had not had any news of Lucius. He had thought about calling Lucius' wife, but it was very late now, and he decided against it. Still, he would call her tomorrow, as early as socially acceptable.

The Moon
JLA Watchtower
Monitor Room

J'Onn J'Onnz watched a multitude of screens in the wall, alert for any crisis that would need the involvement of the Justice League of America. As always, relatively minor problems all around the world needed attention. He called the heroes closest to each one, and usually, the problem would be solved in a few minutes, hours at the most.

He took a mug full of steaming chocolate, and leaned back on the chair. "Things are quiet tonight." He whispered.

A soft voice answered. "Appearances can deceive, J'Onn J'Onnz."

The Martian Manhunter stood up in a moment, to confront the intruder. He found himself facing an old ally. An honorary member of the JLA.

"Phantom Stranger!" He relaxed a bit. Just a bit, the Stranger was no threat, but he always appeared with a warning and cryptic advice. Never to just have a chat or to greet old friends. He had been nominated for full membership years ago, but didn't take on the offer, without even mentioning a reason. So, his status had been downgraded to "Honorary Member", giving him limited privileges that he never used, and no defined responsibilities beyond whatever he imposed on himself.

One of the standard operating procedures of the JLA was to always pay attention to his warnings and advice.

"What's happening?" asked the last son of Mars.

The mysterious man spoke with a level voice. "A new host has been chosen. A new Spectre has risen. He will come to help when his help is required. I ask you that the JLA wait for him to come."

"Who?" J'Onn asked, partly worried, partly relieved. He himself was one of the most powerful heroes on Earth, Superman-level, but the Spectre's powers were so far above his own that he was, comparatively speaking, on the same level as a new-born kitten. Jim Corrigan, the man who had been the Spectre for decades, had been finally laid to rest. J'Onn had attended his funeral and his releasing of the Spectre-force. The Spectre was one of the most powerful forces in the whole universe, and had prevented catastrophes on a cosmic level, but the still-recent razing of Vlatava weighted heavily in his mind.

"A young man this time." The Stranger's voice interrupted his musings, "I will talk to him about his responsibilities. Hopefully, he will listen. I ask for the JLA to keep some distance, but be ready to welcome him into the world. His existence has been very insular."

"Very well. I will call for an emergency meeting right now. I think the JSA should be included too, after all, the previous Spectre used to be a member." He tapped a series of keys in the computer console, and turned back to face the Stranger.

The man wasn't there anymore. As always, once his presence wasn't required anymore, he vanished as if he had never been there.

The first answer was, predictably, Batman's.

J'Onn explained the situation, keeping information from the Dark Knight Detective would be a grave breach of professional courtesy.

And it would be useless anyway.

Vancouver, British Columbia, Canada
St. Paul's Hospital , Room 319

Meanwhile, at a hospital room very far from England, a young woman slept an uneasy sleep. She had been there for almost three years, in a deep coma. She had no relatives nor friends to visit her.

Officially, she had been rescued from a car crash after spending half an hour under water.

That was a lie.

Officially, she had a name.

Also a lie.

She had brown eyes and short brown hair.

Even her face was a lie.

She had been a costumed hero once. Until she and her partner had been manipulated as pawns in an old and complicated power game between Order and Chaos.

Now, she lay on a hospital bed. Waiting to be found and released.

She had no idea her fate would lead her back to the place where she had been gifted with power.

And into a new world, where magic prevailed.

Hogwarts
Gryffindor Dormitories (Girls' Side)

Hermione Granger opened her eyes in the dark, looking upwards. She turned around, and once again, tried to sleep. But she only managed to entangle herself in the sheets.

Sleep would be long to come.

Hogwarts
Gryffindor Dormitories (Boys' Side)

Ron Weasley snored peacefully, next to the only empty bed in the room. There were very few things capable of disturbing his appetite or his sleep; so, the fact that he could sleep soundly despite his supposed best friend disappearance would not endear him to the female third of the Golden Trio. He turned around, dreaming of the impossible victory of his favourite Quidditch team.

Outside, a white owl tried to rest on a branch. She tried to find her companion, but their link felt strangely frayed, close to breaking. Hedwig didn't dare to fly to her friend for fear of cutting their link.

She put her head under her wing, and barked sadly. The sound was barely audible, even to herself.

A nearly silent rustling caught her attention. Her head came back out from under her wing.

Next to her was a brown owl, with almost resplendent feathers. It was also smaller than her, but was soaked in so much magic Hedwig could practically hear it.

The brown owl hooted supportively, and Hedwig resumed her vigil.

Hogwarts
Kitchens

Finally, after long and painful hours, Dobby's body could not resist more. Still crying, the house-elf floated back down, until his bare feet touched the hard stone floor. His legs gave up under him, and he fell down slowly.

Before he hit the ground, the other elves caught him with magic, and levitated his unconscious body back to his bed. A nest built from discarded sacks, half empty pillows, and a quilt lovingly made of old socks.

Dobby closed his eyes, and sleep claimed him.

The oldest elves shook their heads, not knowing what to do.

A broken voice took the decision for them, "Winky bes taking care of Dobby, Winky doing that." The female elf arranged the clothes, making sure her friend was comfortable. "Dobby bes comfy now," she caressed Dobby's forehead. The only truly free elf in England trembled fitfully.

Malfoy Manor

Narcissa Malfoy paced around, dressed with her best set of robes. Lucius had instructed her to wait for him, showing the impeccable image of the highest echelon pure-blood wife.

She was not sure of the reason, but she suspected it would have something to do with the Dark Lord. She had caught Lucius grimacing and covering his left forearm with his right hand. He had suppressed his pained moan immediately, reducing it to a simple gasp.

She had everything ready for Lucius' return.

Hours ago.

Still, she waited and waited.

The arrival of a Hogwarts owl bringing a letter from Draco had given her hope Lucius would return soon.

And so, she waited.

London, A Dilapidated House
A Room far from the street.

Next day, another thief would open the door to the abandoned building, only to be knocked off his feet by a wave of semi-coagulated blood, and the corpses of his two friends.

By the time their bodies would be found, their executioner would be long gone into the night, and into the body of a murdered teenager.

The autopsy would later reveal that both men had really drowned in blood.

Their deaths would be a mystery to baffle investigators for decades to come.

At least, to those investigators who adhered to a scientific or materialistic point of view. Those with more open minds or the necessary experience would suspect who had relieved the crooks of their worthless lives.

But they would only voice their suspicions to trusted friends, and most wouldn't even do that without some drinks in their bellies.

Author Notes

I'm not going for an action filled story here. I want to focus on the characters inner monologues and emotions for a while, along with some vignettes to set the scene for later.

It always seemed to me a bit weird that the bigger heroic community didn't pay more attention to the Spectre. Sure, the guy tended to focus on small-time criminals, but any entity with such power should be watched, preferably from afar.

If you're familiar with the JSA title from back in the late 1990s-early 2000s, you probably know where in the continuity I'm working at. There is a big battle in the horizon for the Spectre and some friends of his predecessor.

Chapter Text

Harry Potter and the Spirit of Revenge

Chapter 10: Time to Mourn

Please Read and Review. I'd like to know what I'm doing right (to keep doing it), and what I'm I doing wrong (to correct it).

Note: "{Parseltongue}"; "(Gobbledegook)"

St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries
Room 12 (Astral Plane)

"Now, if you excuse me, I need to check on Nagini, she is…" the Spectre hesitated. "Sorry, I'm not sure how to call her."

"Eh, don't sweat it, Spec." Deadman shrugged. "In this business there are times you know what you have to do, but don't have the faintest idea of how to explain it. Been there more than a couple of times. Just don't do anything you might regret later. I'll be here if you'd like to talk some more. If you don't, that's okay. Rama knows I would have used a friendly dace when I started this job."

The Spectre nodded, his robes pulled tight around him, until he disappeared.

In the dimensional pocket, a green-clad shape unfolded into being.

"{Nagini. I am back.}" he whispered, and the snake raised her head, and bowed a moment later.

"{Master.}" she answered, deferently.

"{I'm no Master.}" the Spectre hissed, a flick of his hand and a simple stool appeared. The Spectre sat on it. Looking awfully tired.

"{Then, what should I call you?} she pleaded.

"{Harry. Just Harry.}" the Spectre pulled his hood back, revealing the face of a young man of about 25 years old. As Nagini watched, the young man shrank into himself, until he looked like a teenager of 13 or 14 years old, his face tense, but somewhat… satisfied? Pleased?.

Suddenly, he looked up, and smiled. There was a deep fatigue in his smile, and also pain and relief.

"{Harry then.}" Nagini repeated. "{What are your orders, Harry?}" her voice was fearful and hopeful.

"{I have no orders to give. So, let's talk. Tell me how did you end up enslaved to Riddle.}"

Nagini bowed again, Harry could have sworn she was ashamed.

"{I am old, Harry. And I wasn't always like you see me now. There was once a time I was a woman.}" she averted his eyes.

Harry's hand touched her neck delicately, turning her head until he could see her eyes. "{A curse?}"

Ashamed, Nagini shook her head, breaking contact with his hand. "{Yes. I am Maledictus. A curse passed from mother to daughter. We gain the ability to turn into a giant snake and become human gain. Until one day, we can no longer do so and are instead forevermore trapped in our serpent form,}" her face didn't change; but hearing her voice, Harry thought she would be crying now, were she human.

"{Would you let me see?}" his eyes shone white behind his round glasses. His voice irresistible. She nodded, staring into his eyes, her own pupils dilated so much her eyes turned into two black orbs.

To his own surprise, the Spectre turned into smoke, and entered Nagini's eyes.

Gringotts
Owlery

"(Never in my life have I seen so many death notifications at the same time, Senior Account Manager Sharpstone.)"

"(You are young, Runner Darkblood, you are young. I have seen this many, back during the Blood War. Only once, but then, that was a whole line that was snuffed in a single night. From great-grandparents, frail with age, to mere toddlers, several families wiped out in a single night.)" The goblin shuddered. "(However, this time, it seems the tables have turned, and it was a harsh judgement or a bloody vendetta. Instead of a single family wiped out from the land of the living, multiple families are now lacking a Head of House.)"

"(What do you mean, Sir?)" The young goblin asked, while tying another letter to a Gringotts owl.

"(Note the names. All followers of the Dark One. Confirmed or suspected. Free or in prison. Even a few who held perfect reputations. And many of them, Heads of House. Whatever happened, it held nothing back. The Wizengamot will be half-empty next session.)"

The goblin grinned. "(Get the word out, the private rooms must be all ready by tomorrow morning, young Runner. We are having a lot of wills read. Several vaults will change hands. There are many Galleons in commissions in our way, Gringotts shall not be unprepared. Now, go!)"

Runner Darkblood ran away as fast as his legs could carry him. A few minutes later, a small army of goblins got to work on the private rooms used for the reading of wills, preparing everything for the tide of grieving relatives.

Grieving was the official word, most of the people who would attend tomorrow would do so out of mere greed, willing to fight their own blood in the name of receiving a few knuts more.

"(Maybe I should ask for a few platoons of warriors, in case things get heated.)" Sharpstone mused, tenting his fingers in front of his wizened face. "(Who am I trying to deceive? Things will get bloody heated. Better to get the wand-boxes ready too.)" No will would be read in the near future without a magical box holding the wands of every wizard and witch involved in a reading.

Cleaning blood would be a chore he didn't want to inflict on the cleaning crews, unless it was absolutely necessary.

It reduced his commission.

Meanwhile, in his office, Ragnok finally transcribed his letter to the new owner of the Banshee's vault. Very politely, he asked for Harry Potter to present himself to Gringotts at his earlier convenience.

St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries
Private Waiting Room

"Amos?" Amelia Bones knocked softly at the door of the room where Amos Diggory had received the bad news. "May I come in?"

A choked sob answered, and for a moment, the director of the DMLE feared her long time colleague would be too deep in mourning to answer, but the door opened, and the beaten face of Amos Diggory appeared.

"Amelia. I…" he sobbed, but managed to recover his composure after a moment. "I am sorry, Cedric… he…"

"I know, Amos, I came to offer my condolences. Cedric was a good man."

Amos wiped his face with a handkerchief. "The Potter boy, is he… is he okay?"

"The Healers managed to save him. Thanks to Cedric we managed to rescue him, barely in time. He will recover."

A sad smile appeared on his face, but it lasted only for a moment; "I'm glad. Then my son's death was not in vain." He seemed to find some strength in his own words. "The ones who killed him? Did you and your people catch them?"

"Not exactly, Amos. Something happened, and except for young Potter and another one, we found no one alive." She paused, "I can't really tell you more, at least until the investigation is done. The Unspeakables are now reconstructing the events, as best as possible."

"I understand. Procedures must be followed, right?" A grim smile spread over the normally affable face of her friend. "I hope they all died in pain." Amos nodded twice to himself, smoothed his vest, and put his robes straight.

"Amos, if there's anything I can do to help, just let me know, please." She wrapped her hands over his right hand.

"I wish there was, Amelia. Most probably, my family won't recover from this blow, but I will do all I can for the Potter boy. My son died trying to save him, and I won't allow his sacrifice to be wasted."

Amelia squeezed Amos' hand, in mute support. "Go home, Amos. Amanda (1) must be half-crazy with worry now."

He nodded brusquely, and put his eyeglasses back on, "I… yes… you're right." He walked out, holding his head high in an obvious effort to steady himself. "Merlin… she didn't even want to attend to the Task…" he shook his head sadly.

"I'll accompany you to the floo, I need to authorize your exit, please don't talk to anybody else about what happened."

A flash of anger crossed his eyes, but it lasted only a moment, "I won't." he squeezed her hand back, "Procedures must be followed." He said bitterly.

St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries
Private Room

"Well done, everybody. Go back to your usual duties." Healer Briggs wiped his brow with a cloth.

Robert Green rested comfortably on a narrow bed. His wounds closed and blood replenished. Briggs would have to write a report for the DMLE about what had happened. He didn't cherish the idea of discussing the strange man who had demanded the muggle to receive treatment, but he would have some corroborating witnesses.

He cast a last charm on the man, seeing there would be no lingering effects.

Not even a scar. The most the man would remember would be thought of as a nightmare.

First thing on the morning, he would be taken back to London, put on a taxi driven by a cousin of his, a squib who usually had the job of returning St. Mungo's sporadic Muggle patients back to their own world, and sent home.

Hopefully he wouldn't have too many problems to get back to his life.

Obliviate was such a useful spell…

Ministry of Magic
Department of Mysteries

Pain.

Pain deeper than he had ever known.

Every muscle, every joint. Full of deep and overwhelming pain.

It was even worse than the Dark Lord's Cruciatus. He had been subjected to it several times during the Blood War, usually due to the incompetence of other Death Eaters, though after the first time he mostly managed to deflect the fault to somebody else.

In the few times he had suffered the Cruciatus, the Dark Lord had held the curse on him for almost three seconds, but the effects lingered for days after.

This was worse.

He shook his head, and the movement was strange…

He looked around. He was in a cage, there was straw under his head. There was something white next to him. He closed his eyes, the colour shone in the gloom, the reflected light hurt his eyes.

The prisoner gulped, and realized he couldn't feel his teeth with his tongue. Startled, he tried to touch his face, to see the damage, he wanted to scream.

He had no hands anymore, instead, a feathered… white… thing… came into his view. His scream turned into a shrill. Desperate, he tried to run, and fell over the straw. His head hit a metal dish on the floor. Water sloshed in it.

He managed to stand on clumsy legs. His knees were set backwards, and walking was a series of mistakes, but he finally stood over the dish. He peered at the surface of the water, waiting until it settled down, so he could look at himself.

The eyes of a bird returned his stare.

Horrified, Lucius Malfoy stared at the reflection for a long time.

What had Potter done to him?

WHAT?

Hogwarts
Headmaster's Office

Dumbledore had finally managed to get things under his control. Right now, he was in his office, deep in thought. What could these events mean for the fight against Voldemort?

Especially when all the silver trinkets that tracked his location and health had exploded. He considered himself lucky not to have been there. His office was empty when it happened.

There were silver fragments inbedded all around the shelf he had them on.

A person standing there would have been hurt or killed. The fragments had hit the furniture and walls with incredible speed. Several portrait canvases had been practically destroyed by the pieces.

One, Professor Heliotrope Wilkins' portrait, had been damaged beyond repair. Her painted figure looked surprised, immobilized by a long piece, nailed into her forehead.

Dumbledore had taken that portrait down, and after repairing carefully the canvas, he had attempted to reactivate the magic that animated the painting.

It had been an exercise in futility. The magic of the trinket had dissipated the magic in the painting, effectively killing Professor Heliotrope Wilkins' last remnant.

Still, he counted himself lucky that she had been the only victim. All the other portraits had been making the rounds on their spare portrait frames.

The Moon
JLA Watchtower

The first JLAer to arrive had been, predictably, the Batman. He sat immobile on his chair, waiting for the others.

In front of him, an open folder, containing the file he had compiled about the Spectre. The most powerful hero known to him. Practically, the most powerful entity known.

Jim Corrigan had worked with him several times, and though he wouldn't ever admit it, the Spectre managed to creep him out.

The Batman suppressed a shudder. According to J'Onn, there was a new Spectre. It had been a very short time since Jim Corrigan had been finally laid down to rest.

He hated meddling with magic. It threw him off his game. He wasn't able to really trust in his instincts, and had to resort to trying to logic out things that logic had no measurable effect on.

He frowned under his mask.

'Absolute power corrupts absolutely.' he thought. There was nothing the Spectre wasn't able to do.

The Phantom Stranger had done the JLA a really big favour with his warning.

Author Notes:

According to the Potter Wikia, the name of Mrs. Diggory wasn't mentioned. As I really like it, I chose Amanda, as a nice alliterative name, Amos and Amanda sounds good, don't you think? I briefly considered Andrea, just to make an Amos 'n Andy joke, but reconsidered.

Chapter Text

Harry Potter and the Spirit of Revenge
Chapter 11: Echoes of the Past, Rumblings of the Future.

Please Read and Review. I'd like to know what I'm doing right (to keep doing it), and what I'm I doing wrong (to correct it).

Note: "{Parseltongue}"

St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries
Room 12 (Dimensional Pocket)

The Spectre walked around in a place that didn't exist anymore. The place and several blocks around it had been obliterated into dust during World War Two. He pulled back his hood, exposing his face to the cold night air. In an instant, the Spectre reverted to his original form, a small boy of 14 years old, thinner and smaller than the average. And instead of his Champion robes, he was once again wearing Dudley Dursley's cast-offs.

The place was a small conglomerate of tents and carts, all brightly painted, and managed by smiling carnies; but the scent of subtle decay was all around him, and the smiles and the joyful voices clamoring for attention sounded fake and hollow to his ears. The crowd milled around excitedly. He could see their emotions in their eyes. "{Nagini?}" he said, "{Where are you?}"

"{Mast… Harry? I am here. I can see you.}" Her disembodied voice answered. "{Can't you see me?}"

"{No. But I can feel you all around me. Where are we?}"

"{This is a place I would really like to forget.}" she sighed. "{The circus.}" she spat the word as if it was as bitter as ashes in her mouth. And it was.

"{I have never been to one.}" He answered, as neutrally as he could, "{The closest I have been to a circus is a dead acrobat. And I just met him a few hours ago.}" Harry looked around, "{Where are you?}" he repeated.

"{Look for the Big Tent… the show is about to start.}"

Harry walked about, until he found the tent. "{I'm going in. U… unless you'd prefer I wouldn't.}"

"{…No. Please go in. I have carried this shame for a long time. I am sick of it. I… I need you to understand who I am. Who I was.}"

Harry shook his head sadly, "{A… are you sure..?}"

There was a small measure of a broken pride in her voice. "{I am.}"

Harry entered the tent. No one reacted in any way to his presence. The ringmaster, an ugly, balding man with a dirty and unkempt beard, wearing a threadbare suit, brandished a whip and a baton, walked around a round cage; while in the dark tunnel of canvas that was the performers' entrance, an exotically beautiful young woman, , wearing a sequined green dress, waited for her cue. Harry thought she had to be close to 16 or 17 years old. She looked around. It was clear to him she was scared, and wanted to be anywhere else.

"Good Ladies and respectable Gentlemen!" the ringmaster bellowed, turning around in the spotlight.

"{This, Harry, this is what I had to endure for years, just to have something to eat and a place to sleep. Paraded as a monster, as a freak, for the entertainment of the jeering masses.}" She said. A cold growl sounded from Harry's throat.

"{Freak.}" he spat the word. "{I've been called that. I was not a freak then. I am now.}" he said bitterly. Nagini waited until Harry shook his head.

"{Are you okay, Harry?}" she sounded worried, "{Do you want to stop?}"

"{No.}" He wiped his face with a hand, his eyes shone green in the bright lights of the tent. "{Funny. When I was a kid, I always wanted to see a circus. Now…}" he said, sadly.

"{The lights and colours hide many things, they dazzle you into not seeing the dirt, the pain… the sadness. The show must go on, they say.}"

"{…I realize that now…}" He sighed.

In the ring, the fat ringmaster kept on with his spiel. "Now, in our little show of freaks and oddities, I present you, a Maledictus!" The audience gasped when Nagini entered the cage. "Once trapped in the jungles of Indonesia, she carries a blood curse!"

Harry tightened his fists while Nagini walked meekly to the center of the cage. Her naked feet stepping over dirty straw and wood shavings. "Such Underbeings are destined, through the course of their lives, to become, permanently, into beasts!" The public gasped again, delighted with the small chill running down their backs. "But look at her," the man continued, injecting a note of pity into his voice. Harry was sure that pity was fake. "So beautiful, yes."

The young Nagini looked around. Her mouth set in determination. If this was her lot in life, she would face it with dignity.

"So desirable…" the ringmaster raised his voice again. Despite himself, Harry felt drawn to the narrative he was presenting. Even knowing what would surely happen in a few seconds. "But soon, she will be trapped forever in a very different body. Every night, when she sleeps, ladies and gentlemen, she is forced to become…"

Nagini raised her head, hey eyes fixed on the distance. She missed her cue, and the ringmaster repeated his words. "She is forced to become!" and banged the bars of the cage. The sharp sound broke her revelry. She arched her back, and threw her head backwards. Her arms wrapped around her torso, as if they had no bones!

Harry gasped. Nagini's head descended, lower and lower, as she contorted her body, until her head passed under her own legs! Her arms fused with her torso. Her head elongated and her shoulders and neck fused together. Coil after coil appeared around her. Scales covered her legs as both fused into a long serpentine tail. Her beautiful dress disappeared, turning into scales covering her skin. Only a few seconds passed before the woman had been replaced by the snake. A gigantic snake that raised her head six, eight feet in the air, and hissed threateningly to the audience, showing them two sharp fangs, each one as long as a dagger.

The audience went mad, clapping, whistling and cheering.

Satisfied with the audience's approval, the fat ringmaster continued. "Over time, she won't be able to turn back. And she will live forever, trapped in the shape of a snake."

The lights dimmed, and the circus disappeared, leaving Harry standing in the dark.

"{This was my life. Night after night. Two shows, with a matinee Saturdays and Sundays.}" she almost sobbed. "{He didn't care that each time I changed, I risked becoming the snake forever!}"

"{I had a brief reprieve from this fate when I got involved in the fight against Grindlewald. I met wonderful people who didn't care about the snake. They cared about Nagini, the woman.}"

Several faces floated around in the dark. Two women, one blonde and one brunette, they looked like they were sisters. A fat man with a pencil moustache, whom Harry immediately compared to his hateful uncle, but this man seemed jovial. A man with a narrow face, unkempt red hair, and sad blue eyes, who seemed somehow familiar. A teenager with dark hair and deeply set eyes who somehow echoed Harry's own facial gestures.

Then, almost like an afterthought, a man with a short beard, full of authority.

This last man disturbed Harry for some reason. He looked very familiar. He shook his head. Most probably, the men and women Nagini remembered were dead by now. The Grindelwald War had happened decades before. Long before Harry, or even his parents, had been born.

"{I can barely remember them now; I forgot their names, and barely can remember their faces now, when the curse has a complete hold on me.}" Nagini continued; "{The last years of the Grindelwald War are clouded to me. The next thing I can remember clearly happened in the 70s.}" She laughed bitterly. "{And no, I was not a hippie snake in the 60s…}". Harry kept silent.

"{I was enslaved by a would-be-Dark Lord. Taken to Albania, of all places. He was an idiot, and when he was killed by an angry mob of the same muggles he had tried to enslave, his hold on me broke, and I managed to escape. I lived from rats and rabbits and other small animals. Until Voldemort found me, and bound me to his will. He was always talking about how the only creature good enough to be his familiar would be a snake, a magical snake. He knew I was one as soon as he saw me. He never even asked if I wanted to be his familiar. He forced me. Then, with the help of his servant, he killed a British witch to make a Horcrux out of me. I…}" She fell silent for a long time.

"{I…}" she sobbed. "{I had to…}" she steeled herself to say the next few words. The words that would seal her fate. "{I had to eat her for the fragment of Voldemort's soul to bond with my own.}"

Harry's fists trembled. He raised his head and somehow, his bright green eyes locked into hers, even though they were invisible in the dark. "{Did you try not to…}"

She sighed, helplessly, "{I couldn't even try to resist. The bond was total. I was barely an extension of his will. I couldn't do anything but watch myself…}"

"{Until you freed me, I was practically a part of him. His thought, his wishes, his arrogance, they were mine too. I couldn't even think otherwise. He didn't even need to speak to me. He only did so for the feeling of power ordering me around gave him,}" she paused, and continued with vehemence in her voice. "{Do you have any idea of what it means to me to be free of that? To be myself again? Even in this cursed body? Even if you decide to release me from my curse the only way it can be done? To die being myself again is something I had lost hope for.}"

"{Is there any way to revert the curse?}"

"{Not even Merlin himself could release me… The best I could hope before was for me to lose my mind completely before I die. And the curse I carry in my blood is so cruel that I cannot die except by violence.}"

"{I am not Merlin.}" Harry said through clenched teeth, his head low and his fists still trembling. "{I am the Spectre!}" He changed to his other form in a blink. "{I wield the wrath of the murdered dead! I am the avenger of innocents! Destiny has played a cruel joke on you, Nagini!}" He turned to smoke and came out from Nagini's soul. He reformed back into the dimensional pocket."{And I won't stand idle while you suffer!}"

He waved a hand, and the dimensional pocket was no more. They stood on a tall tower.

Nagini looked around, her snake eyes drinking the landscape as a man dying of thirst would drink the sweet water of an oasis. "{This is a beautiful place.}" her voice smiled. “{I… I feel like I have been here before. With friends. But so long ago… So long ago…}"

"{The Astronomy Tower, at Hogwarts. No one will disturb us here.}" He licked his lips. "{I am very sorry for what I have to do, Nagini. Forgive me. For I can see no other way.}"

"{Free me, Harry. I am ready.}"

The Spectre raised his hands over his head. An eldritch wind surrounded them, the green robes flapped around him like the wings of an infernal bat.

Nagini screamed.

The Moon
JLA Watchtower

The Flash yawned, and drank a cup of sugar with some coffee in it. "A new Spectre? Well… I don't know about the rest of us, but am very willing to welcome our new eldritch overlord." Several JLAers rolled their eyes at his antics.

The Batman gritted his teeth. "We have to try to establish contact with him. The sooner the better. I worked with his predecessor several times. Such power cannot be left unwatched." He pushed a photograph towards the third Flash. it was a square jawed man, with brown hair and a notorious skunk stripe. "Corrigan was active from the early 1940's to a few weeks ago. He received the power as an adult, and had time enough to get used to manage it. The new Spectre is a complete rookie."

He thumbed a remote control embedded in the desk, and a series of pictures appeared in the screens around the table. Each screen showed the same images. "I don't want a repeat of this fiasco." The face of an emaciated clown appeared in the screens. Batman's voice grew tense. "A few months ago, the Spectre tried to judge the Joker. It backfired. Spectacularly."

Superman leaned forward. "What do you mean?"

"Briefly, the Joker managed to usurp the Spectre's power. God-like power, in the hands of a homicidal maniac."

Not a single hero failed to gulp heavily. Even Superman wiped his forehead.

"We are indeed lucky the Spectre managed to reclaim his power soon enough to prevent a catastrophe."

"However, this new Spectre, a teenager, according to the Phantom Stranger, has no experience with handling such power. We must make sure he won't abuse the power he now posseses."

Wonder Woman tapped a fingernail on the polished surface of the table. "The Stranger asked us to wait for him to contact us."

"Yes. I propose we send somebody to keep him under vigilance. England's metahuman community is small, compared to the USA, and somewhat bizarre. I will contact the Knight to alert him and the other heroes about this new Spectre. I also propose we reactivate Zatanna's membership. As a magic user, she is better equipped to watch over a magical entity. I will also contact the JSA to get them involved, the original members still active worked with the Spectre during WWII, and are familiar with his abilities. I propose to ask them one of them to accompany Zatanna."

"All in favor?"

Author Notes:

The addition of Nagini to the cast of the Fantastic Beasts movies changed her from a monster into a victim. I tried to extrapolate what has been shown of her story so far, and leave some wriggle space to try to avoid contradicting the next part of the story. I will probably fail anyway, but I like to try to anticipate this kind of stuff. Probably a consequence of being a Game Master for several RPGs.

The story Batman alludes to is an official part of the pre-Flashpoint canon. It happened in The Spectre Vol 3 #51 (March, 1997). The cover is really striking, with a Joker the size of a building, wearing the Spectre's cloak and hood, and wielding a gigantic mallet, about to strike a Batman who doesn't know he is in danger

Chapter Text

Chapter 12: A Messenger From Beyond the Grave.

Please Read and Review. I'd like to know what I'm doing right (to keep doing it), and what I'm I doing wrong (to correct it).

Hogwarts
Astronomy Tower

Nagini's body lay on a soft mattress, hastily conjured by Harry. He had discarded his Spectre guise, but kept on the aspect of an adult Harry. In a way, it was liberating to know how he would have looked if Riddle had not murdered him back at the Cemetery. On the other hand, knowing he would never actually grow into that adulthood weighted heavily on him. Jim Corrigan still looked exactly the same as he did when he was murdered, back in the late 1930's. About the only concession the man had granted to the passing of time was the cut of his tie. Apparently, he even kept on wearing a hat.

Harry lowered his eyes, the Maledictus's body had recovered the appearance of a beautiful woman of Asian descent. Her hands rested peacefully over her belly. A modest green dress covered her body. The long mane of black hair had spread around, framing her head.

Her face in peaceful rest after all her suffering, relaxed and peaceful, almost smiling; contrasted sharply with the storm that raged in Harry's heart.

He knelt beside her, and took her hand in his. "Sleep, Nagini, sleep and dream," he said. Softly, he caressed her hair.

A shadow intruded on his thoughts for a moment. And then retreated respectfully. An unknown man held his white-gloved hands up, both empty of any wand; signaling no hostile intent.

Harry turned to face the intruder. "Who are you?" he asked, cold fury in his voice.

The figure wore an unusual combination of clothes; certainly eclectic, but far from the absurd and ignorant eccentricity of wizards and witches who had never been to the Muggle world. Harry had seen enough examples of that back during the Quidditch World Championship.

He observed his uninvited guest, the tall man wore a sharply pressed black suit, a white turtleneck jersey, a high-collared long cloak, a fedora of the same colour, and a golden medallion hanging from his neck. Somehow, despite the dawning sun's light, the man's eyes were hidden by a deep and disturbing shadow. To Harry's changed senses, the man's silhouette screamed Magic at a level that was hard to imagine. But he couldn't sense a magical core, as was the case with wizards and witches.

The man bowed his head, and a deep voice answered softly, "Men call me the Phantom Stranger. I wish not to intrude in your privacy, yet I must speak to you about very important matters. Whenever you are ready, just call for me and I will attend."

"Just like that?"

"Just like that. When you took the mantle of the Spectre, with all the might it carries with it; you accepted duties and responsibilities you may not be aware of at the present moment. I am familiar with the last incarnation of the Spectre, and several others that preceded James Brendan Corrigan. For a long time, it was decreed any new host of the Spectre Force would start their tenure ignorant of those who preceded them. Now that said decree has been lifted with the passing of Jim Corrigan, I can and will answer your questions as best I can."

Harry snorted, "Yeah, sure."

The Phantom Stranger looked at Harry with a peculiar expression on his face. "I am well aware of your Headmaster's habit of keeping important information to himself, for far longer than it is prudent. I myself have fallen in that same trap in the past. However, I promise I will do my best to answer you, although there are some matters I am not allowed to discuss, or that I simply lack knowledge of."

Harry looked at the Phantom Stranger for a long time before deciding. "Very well. I will call on you later today. I have matters to attend to myself."

The Stranger nodded, and gradually vanished, as silently as he had arrived. The noise of Apparation or a Portkey completely absent, just as Harry's own travels had been absolutely silent since returning to the world.

Harry sat down over the edge of the Astronomy Tower, pondering his lot, until the light of the sun spread all over the landscape.

'A new day, full of promise and hope. For everybody else.', he thought grimly. With a wave of his hand, Nagini and Harry vanished from Hogwarts.

Left behind, the mattress would be, a few hours into the future, a source of aggravation for Argus Filch, Hogwarts caretaker. He mumbled and ranted about brats and their nocturnal proclivities for a whole five minutes.

Until he realized two very interesting things.

One, the mattress was quite good, it looked nothing like the hard mattress he had been using for 30 years. And two, being a forbidden object left on a place where it had no right to be; well… he could simply claim it for himself.

Azkaban Prison

Two jailers walked leisurely through the dreary and dark halls of Azkaban Prison. One guided a floating cart, full of trays with bland and tasteless slop to feed the prisoners. The other kept his wand ready in his grip. Should anything try to attack, be it a prisoner or a Dementor, he was ready and willing to attack them back.

As soon as they entered the cells hall, his hair stood on end. He looked around, not finding anything out of place. "Jensen? There is something…"

His partner nodded gravely, as if not daring to disturb the place, in case they woke a hungry beast. Somehow, it felt as if they had stepped into Death's house.

It took them only four steps into the hall to realize why they felt so strange. Both stopped at the same time, trying to find the anomaly.

It was the silence.

Normally, the prisoners taunted the guards, howled their madness, or rattled the bars of their cells.

Not today. The silence was so deep and oppressive they could almost hear their own frantically beating hearts.

After a shared look, they reversed their way, one still guiding the cart, the other even more ready to defend, holding his wand so tightly his knuckles were almost white. The pair left the cart in the kitchen, and walked as fast as possible to the warden's office, to inform him and to ask for reinforcements.

Ten minutes later, a group of six hardened Aurors stepped back into the cells level, all had their wands in hand, looking around, ready for anything. A break-out, an ambush, an attack, an invasion.

Anything except for the legitimately happy laughter coming from the very last cell.

St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries
Staff Room

"So, in short, the muggle doesn't know who brought him here, nor why."

"No, m'am. According to him, he was mugged by two hoodlums, who stabbed him in the stomach several times, and left him to die. The green robed man simply appeared, did something to dull his pain, and brought him here. He lost consciousness then. He barely remembered being given something to drink, and then awakening on a bed. As a matter of course, he has already been Obliviated and sent to his job. It would be useless interrogating him now."

"Of course. In any case, I doubt he knew something else about this… Spectre." Madam Bones sipped a bit of her coffee. Certainly not the traditional tea; at this hour, she needed the caffeine to stay awake.

"The Welcome Witch wants to lay charges against him." Auror Mandrake added.

"Really?"

"Really. The man threatened her, and brought a muggle to St. Mungo's; the other witnesses corroborate her narrative. That includes a Healer and a Medi-witch, and the two wizards who were waiting for their turn."

"Hmm… It seems our mystery man really wanted to save Mr. Green. I wonder why?" Bones tapped her fingernail on the table. Idly, she wondered if the muggle's surname had anything to do with the strange man's choice of attire, or viceversa. She discarded the idea almost immediately, that would be grasping at straws.

"No idea, according to Green, he had never seen the man. We got a partial description out of him, just approximate height and body type, not much in the way of his face or hair. From the other witnesses, we do know he wore round eyeglasses and was clean shaved. No one could see the colour of his eyes. Old style robes, the cut was one that was popular about 20 to 30 years ago. That, and the fact he called himself 'The Spectre'. I don't know what kind of street name is that, but is seems to show an inclination for the Dark."

"Saving a Muggle would seem to contradict that, especially as said Muggle had not been harmed by a magical. Though I must admit his threat to the medical staff was very direct. Have a Junior Auror or two check the muggle newspapers today, and for the next week," she paused, "even the disreputable ones that The Prophet gets unfavorably compared to. If this Spectre delivered on his threat against the men who tried to kill Green, there is a chance it will be reported. I want them to look for violent or suspicious deaths in a radius of…" She thought for a moment. "Just where did Green say he was attacked?"

Mandrake checked his notes, "Three blocks from here."

"Very well, ten blocks around St. Mungo's, everybody knows Muggle criminals tend to stay close to their bolting holes, lacking the ability to travel instantly." She stood up and barely contained a mighty yawn. "I'm going home. Send me a message when you have something."

"Yes, boss." Mandrake put his notes away in a secret pocket of his robes, and resumed his watch over Harry Potter. The kid had not even stirred a little since he had been brought to St. Mungo's.

Hopefully, he would recover.

Deadman listened to the Aurors. Normally, he disliked getting into the minutiae of police procedure, but seeing the way magicals worked was strangely fascinating. Even if they actually did their jobs in a way quite close to their mundane counterparts.

Meaning, as boring as possible, and keeping their asses covered.

"Or arses, as this is England." Deadman chuckled, smiling to himself.

Hogwarts
Great Hall; Gryffindor Table

Hermione Granger awoke with a start, the night had not been kind to her. Her dreams had been plagued by nightmares. She kept watching as an immobile witness as Harry fled desperately, closely followed by the Man in Green; until her friend burst into flames, screaming in unbearable pain, while the Man in Green smiled cruelly.

She would have called him the Banshee, but as banshees were female spirits, she didn't.

Tired to the bones by both worry and lack of sleep, Hermione dragged her feet to the Great Hall.

The last few remaining classes had been suspended, while the DMLE investigated the events of the Third Task.

Her eyes were closing when the mail owls entered the Hall like an aerial stampede. All of them bearing black envelopes with the Gringotts seal.

Almost all of them landed on the Slytherin Table.

Paling, the students took the envelopes with trembling hands. More than a few Slytherins paled even more as they read the letters. The rest had calculating expressions on their faces for a brief moment.

Hermione looked at the Staff table, to find Dumbledore 's face reflecting a deep sadness.

Turning back to the green and silver table, she noticed a pattern. All the students who had received a letter had prominent bonds with the Pure-blood supremacists. With a gasp, she realized that the deaths of Karkaroff, Snape, Moody, and the Slytherin students had not been an isolated incident.

Whatever had happened, it had struck at the very heart of the Deatheaters.

All the students who received a black envelope had relatives who were confirmed or suspected Deatheaters. Parents, uncles, brothers, and even grandparents.

Except for one.

Draco Malfoy had not received an envelope.

The pale blond face was pinched in deep thought. His usual bodyguards and thugs stood silently from the table, leaving him almost alone. Crabbe and Goyle walked rigidly to the Staff Table, letters in hand. Soon, a line had formed in front of Dumbledore's throne.

All the students who had received the black envelope, all of them from Slytherin, along with a single Hufflepuff and three Ravenclaws, asked for the same thing.

Permission to go home for a funeral.

Or several.

Their faces set into neutral masks, probably due to either Pure-blood or Slytherin House customs. Still, they looked dazed, as if the most solid mountain in their worlds had crumbled to dust in a single moment.

Seeing that, not even Ron Weasley was in the mood to comment.

He preferred to stuff his face anyway.

Azkaban Prison

The only still occupied cell at the Deatheater level held Mrs. Adrienne Del Rey, an elderly witch, who had been sentenced to a week in Azkaban for some potion related accident. Nothing really grave, but for some reason, Madame Umbridge had insisted that Mrs. Del Rey was to be put in the same level the Deatheater were.

And this was the day for her to be finally released.

"Glad you came here, boys! You missed the show. The most fun I have had in years!" The witch cackled happily. "You should have seen them writhe and scream!" Her eyes practically sparkled with glee. "Those bastards got what they deserved at last!"

She paused, stood up, rubbed her hands together, and smoothed her prisoner clothes. "Now, where is the food, boys? I want to go back home and tell my sister our families have been avenged, once and for all." Her laughter echoed over the silent cells. "I may even rent a pensieve to show her! Ow, that will make her day! Nay! The year!"

The Moon
JLA Watchtower

Batman stood alone in the observatory. The rest of the JLA had returned to their places, once the meeting had been adjourned. The blue globe of Earth floating serenely in the black space. The blue eyes hidden behind the white eye-slits of his mask betrayed no emotion at all.

Next to him, the Martian Manhunter watched his adoptive planet with both worry and hope.

A long time passed before one of the two chose to speak.

"I think it would be reckless to go." The martian said softly.

The human didn't answer.

"I am sure the Phantom Stranger has things under control."

Silence.

"So far, the Stranger has not led us awry."

The Batman turned away from the window, without answering. His almost silent steps soon were just a memory.

J'Onn J'Onzz sighed. Batman was hard enough to deal with in the best of times. The man simply didn't like to lose. And whenever he was about to lose, he managed to do something else to achieve a victory; and most admirably, never compromising his ethos. The Manhunter mused that might be the reason he had survived, and thrived, for so long, in the company of gods.

A moment later, J'Onn went immaterial, crossing floors and walls, until he arrived at the transport room.

Just as he knew, the Batman arrived a moment later. Still silent.

"If you insist on going personally, I will go with you." The green Martian said, pushing the button that opened the door to the teleporter tubes. And then inputting a series of coordinates ha had memorized a long time before, before the JLofA's (1) satellite had been destroyed. "I even have a secret identity in England that will help with red tape. And I have also dealt with the Spectre before. At least with Corrigan."

Finally, a reaction. Batman nodded, before stepping into the clear tube.

Before they were sent down to Earth, the Martian Manhunter thought that Batman's stubborn ways might not do very much against the Spectre, unless he himself managed to soften his friend's abrasiveness.

Author Notes:

(1) It has been brought to my attention that there is an apparent error in nomenclature about the Justice League acronyms. Back during its original run, first in The Brave and the Bold and then later in their own title, the team was known as the "Justice League of America", abreviated as either JLA or JLoA. after the title ended after the Crisis in Infinite Earths, it was reborn after the Legends event, this time simply as the Justice League, or JL for short. A few issues later, the team was granted international status by the UN, and was officially know as the Justice League International, or JLI. Still later on, the team got enough members to justify forming two teams. So the JLI was divided in the Justice League America (JLA) and the Justice League Europe (JLE).

Since then, the team lost its UN sponsorship, and reverted to just being the JLA. At this point of the timeline, the JLA has a base on the Moon, the Watchtower, and a good number of members, and although they are not officially sponsored by the UN, many countries all around the world still welcome the JLAers' help in emergencies.

Especially, the Martian Manhunter's, as it was shown in his own title, some years later, that he was active all around the world. He is specially popular in Brazil, where he is know as "El Hombre Verdad". Personally, I think it is a mistranslation, as it would be more appropiate to call him "Homem Verde" (Green Man).

"Hombre Verdad" is actually Spanish for "Truth Man".

In the Martian Manhunter title, during the Ostrander-Mandrake run, there was a loose miniseries called "Revelations" (Martian Manhunter, Issues 20 to 24; cover dated July to November 2000), showing J'Onn's interactions with several heroes, long before he even revealed his existence to the world. According to his backstory, the Martian Manhunter arrived to Earth sometime before the 1970s (I don´t have the issues at hand at the moment), assuming the identity of a murdered detective, John Jones.

However, J'Onn did also assume several more identities along the way, always somebody who had died before their time. Those identities were spread all over the world. Some male, some female, young, old, of any descent, and any occupation.

He used most of these identities sporadically, keeping John Jones as his primary identity. The other identities were also useful to keep an eye on the metahuman community, starting with the just arrived to Earth Kal-El, better known as Superman. Using a couple of his identities; a black farm worker, and later a school teacher in Smallville; J'Onn watched over the young kryptonian, and eventually put him to the test when he started his Superman career, taking the appearance of Jor-El, Superman´s biological father.

The series also chronicled J'Onn's first encounters with Green Lantern (Abin Sur, long before Hal Jordan), Batman (at the beginning of his career, when it was npt clear to the public at large if the Batman was a hero or a monster), the Spectre (plugging a hole in continuity), and a tale about the JLI (and addiction), that might very well be apocryphal, but it is still very funny.

I am keeping this background as part of my other story, Stranger Visitations. J'Onn has not yet shown his green face in Tokyo-3, but he is still around.

Ah, from a purely geeky point of view, I really loved the "Revelations" subheading in the MM covers. Each one was different, and incorporated a relevant image into the text. The Superman chapter had the "S" sigil at the end. In the Batman and Green Lantern chapters, the "O" was replaced by a Batsignal and the GL symbol, respectively. In the JLI chapter, the "O" was replaced by a chocolate cookie (you'll need the context to get the joke, and though originally, the chocolate cookies were identified as Oreos, eventually DC changed the name for the generic "Chocos"), and in the Spectre chapter, the text was done in a similar style the Spectre´s book had.

Mrs. Del Rey is an original character, an homage to Lester del Rey, a Science-Fiction writer, and very influential editor, founder of Del Rey publishing house. He wrote one of my favourite ever novels, Nerves, a tense story about a nuclear catastrophe. Is you can find it, check it out! Although the science is a little funky (superheavy isotopes!), it is a great yarn. It has nothing to do with the Spectre or Harry Potter, but it is very well done.

The scene is also a reversed homage to a very tense moment in the Ostrander and Mandrake run in The Spectre. Basically, the Spectre walked into the death row section of a prison, examined the souls of the prisoners, and executed them in gruesome ways, mostly out of frame. Only one prisoner survived, as he was actually innocent, not only of the murder he was sentenced for, but of any murder. Still, the fact he was not killed by the Spectre wasn't legal proof of innocence, so the state wanted to proceed with an immediate execution!

Luckily for him, the Spectre decided to witness the execution, just to mess with the legalities of the case. And even more luckily, the convicted man´s lawyer was very quick witted.

Now, about the title of this chapter...

I began reading comic books with the Mexican reprints of several series, most frequently their DC titles. Novaro had a very idiosyncratic way to translate their texts. Some names were translated literally, some others received a tag to make clear the meaning of the name, and in some other cases, the names were completely replaced.

The best examples of this are precisely Deadman and the Phantom Stranger. The first one's name can be literally translated as Muerto, Fallecido, o Difunto. Neither of these names were acceptable, so, to keep the "D" in Deadman´s clothes, they used the name "Dantón"!

What relation has Deadman with a French revolutionary? None, but it sounds impressive.

The Phantom Stranger is an unusual case, as usually, Novaro shortened the names to reduce the space the dialogues needed to fit in their globes. however, "Forastero Fantasma" was not used, and instead, they changed the name to "El Mensajero de Ultratumba"! Now, that is impressive! the title of this chapter is that name translated to English.

Chapter Text

Harry Potter and the Spirit of Revenge
Chapter 13: A New Bond.

Please Read and Review. I'd like to know what I'm doing right (to keep doing it), and what I'm I doing wrong (to correct it).

All over Magical Britain, the first waves of the Spectre's actions were being felt.

Daily Prophet
"Mysterious Wave of Deaths"
By Rudolph Olanius

"It has been reported to this publication, that multiple individuals have died during the night, due to unknown causes. Many of them were upstanding members of society, Heads of House even.

The mysterious malady struck at them at apparently the same time, the symptoms are being studied by the Unspeakables as this reporter writes this note.

The Ministry of Magic has declined to comment."

"Attack During the Tri-Wizards Tournament"
By Rita Skeeter

"Dear readers, this intrepid reporter must inform you of a most extraordinary occurrence. Apparently, during the aftermath of the Third Task, that young and brave wizard, Harry Potter, and the no less gallant Champion, Cedric Diggory, both representing our esteemed magical institution, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, were somehow kidnapped and tortured by an unknown party.

Somehow, said unknown party managed to subvert the working of the Tri-Wizards Cup, taking both Champions to an unknown location, from where young Diggory managed to escape to summon help for his fellow Champion, sacrificing his own life to achieve this laudable goal.

According to a well placed source, although the purpose of said kidnapping is not clear at the moment, it seems it involved a very volatile potion, that somehow managed to manifest a disturbing effect on the participants. The only survivors are one of the kidnappers, and young Harry Potter, who was taken to Saint Mungo's for treatment.

We at the Daily Prophet wish Mr. Potter a speedy recovery, and send the Diggory Family our condolences on the loss of such a fine young man."

Hermione Granger folded down the paper, and put it next to her at the Gryffindor Table. Rigidly, she stood and walked towards the Staff Table. Headmaster Dumbledore had left his place at the table after reading The Prophet, so she walked to her House Head.

"Professor McGonagall? I… I'd like to ask for permission to visit Harry at Saint Mungo's." She said with a whisper.

The Scottish professor looked at her, sadness in her usually stern eyes. "I am sorry, Miss Granger. At the moment, Mr. Potter must be under Auror guard. The best we can do is wait until he is released and can come back to us."

Hermione nodded, and walked back to her place. She picked on her food for a few minutes more. When she coulnd't take it anymore, she left the table, while the whispers of her fellow students ran all along the House Tables.

Luna ran after her.

Hogwarts
Kitchens.

"Dobby is not beings a bad elf!" Winky said forcefully, wiping the house elf's forehead. Dobby trembled, his almost closed eyes drifting side to side. Somehow, they had become completely black.

"Dippy!" Winky called. A young elf popped next to the pair.

"Is Dobby being better?" Dippy wrung his hands, anguished.

"No. Winky not knowing whats to do… Only Dobby's master could do."

"Great Master…" Dobby whispered.

Winky held Dobby's hands in hers. "Dobby needs Master. Dobby knows where Master is?"

He managed to nod weakly.

"Then Winky takes Dobby to Master."

And they popped away. The sound was strange, as it lasted for a very long time.

12 th Grimauld Place, Living Room

Harry and Nagini materialized noiselessly, surprising an already nervous Sirius Black. "James?" he said, "But… you… you are…"

Harry looked at him. "Sorry, Sirius…" he reverted to his normal aspect. "I am dead… but I'm not my father." And he fell on his knees.

In a moment, Sirius was kneeling next to him. "Harry? Are you, okay, Pup? I heard on the radio that you didn't return at the end of the task. Only the Diggory kid. I…"

Harry wiped his eyes. "Voldemort got me, Sirius. He used my blood to make himself a new body, and then killed me." Sirius hugged him tightly, despite how cold Harry's body was. 'It's like the cold of the grave.' he thought, but kept silent, rocking Harry back and forth for a long time. He shushed repeatedly, trying his best to calm Harry like he had done long years before, back when Harry was a baby, and his parents were still alive.

Finally, Harry pushed Sirius away softly. "I… I'm okay, Sirius."

"Tell me everything, Harry." Sirius looked into Harry's deep set eyes. Green like Lily's, but filled with something he couldn't identify.

Harry stood up, and finally Sirius noticed the teenager wasn't alone. "Uh, Harry… Who is she and how could she enter this place despite the wards?"

"Being dead has its privileges, Sirius." Harry whispered. He was about to continue, when Winky popped in for an instant. "Mas-!" She managed to say, and popped away, rejected by the infamous Black wards. "Sirius! Let Winky pass!" he ordered, with a voice that admitted no discussion. Sirius ran to the wards book, and added Winky's name to the authorized access list.

"Winky! You may come now!" Harry yelled, as soon as Sirius gave him a curt signal.

Two elves materialized, but one was almost consumed to the bones. Weakly, he managed to smile and say, "Great Master…" with a barely audible voice.

"Dobby!" Harry turned to Winky, "What happened, is he sick?"

"Master Potter, Winky not being sure. Winky only knowing Dobby needs his Master."

Carefully, Harry grabbed Dobby's hand, fearing it would break. "Dobby, please. Tell me what can I do?"

"…Master dead… Dobby goes where Master is…"

"No! Dobby, please!"

Winky looked at Harry with big bulging eyes, and lowered her head.

Harry grew older again, his Spectre guise appeared around him. His hands glowed, feeding energy into Dobby's body. "Dobby, listen to me. It is an order."

"Master orders Dobby… yes…" his voice was a little bit firmer. "Dobby obeys…" he smiled.

"I am dead, Dobby. But I don't want you to die. You are my friend."

"Dobby …stays with …Master."

"Please, Dobby… don't do this." Harry was crying openly.

Sirius looked at Harry. "Did you actually bond with him?"

"No. He said he was happy being a free elf. I wouldn't take his freedom from him."

Winky shuffled her feet. "Dobby bounds himself to Master Harry."

"A partial bond!" Sirius exclaimed, seeing Harry change before his very eyes, and without even using his wand, had convinced him that something very strange was going on. "Harry, his bond is killing him! It tries to get energy from your magic, but…"

"But my magic has changed too much…" Harry finished.

"Dobby's Master has to bond Dobby prop'ly." Winky whispered. "With his magic as it is being now."

Harry nodded brusquely. "What must I do?" He looked at Winky.

"Master puts his hand on Dobby's head, and says 'I, Harry Potter, take Dobby into my service as my bonded and loyal elf,' and Master must mean it."

As soon as Harry said those words, Dobby's emaciated body began to fill, like a balloon filling with water. His bones hid beneath his flesh, and the colour returned to his skin. His labored breathing returned to normal. His head flopped down, almost hitting the threadbare rug under him, but Harry's hand caught it on time.

"Dobby!" Harry yelled.

Winky put a finger over her mouth. "Dobby beings sleep."

Harry exhaled a breath he didn't knew he had been holding, and the green robes disappeared. "Thank you, Winky." At a gesture of his hand, Dobby's limp body floated up. "What can I do now to help him?"

Winky gestured, a look of intense concentration on her face. "Dobby only needings rest. Dobby being sleep for a long time." Harry nodded, relieved. "I'll make sure he is comfortable." He looked at Sirius. "I'll put him in my room, is that okay?"

"Sure, Pup. You do that. I'd like to talk a bit with Winky in the meanwhile." Harry crossed the door, levitating Dobby behind him. "Please, take care of her while I come back. And of her too." He tilted his head towards the unknown woman, resting on the couch.

Once Harry had gone, Winky shuffled her feet again. "Dobby being lucky to have a really kind Master."

Sirius caught her meaning. "Winky? Do you have a family?"

"Winky alone. Winky works at Hoggywarts, but…"

"Would you like to have a family again?"

"No! Filthy Bad Master no needing another elf!" Kreacher popped in, blandishing a soup ladle, and stomping his foot on the floor, a cloud of dust surrounded his feet.

"Kreacher, shut up!" Sirius glared at the old elf until he lowered his head. "Your service to the House of Black is in danger of ending if you don't watch what you say."

Kreacher mumbled something that sounded like "How far House of Black falling under Filthy Bad Master…"

Sirius raised an eyebrow. "If you have anything to say, say it clearly." Pointedly, he took his handkerchief out. Still looking at Kreacher, he unfolded the piece of cloth, and folded it back again, but didn't return it to his pocket.

"No… F… …Master."

A strident scream cut the following silence. "Woe! Who let the dirty half-blood in? Kreacher! Kreacher! Get the trash out of my home!"

"Stop right there, Kreacher!" Sirius ordered just as Kreacher popped away, he hurried to open the door and running to the hall.

Standing tall in the middle of the hall, Harry stared at Walburga Black's portrait. Silent, while Dobby floated next to him and Kreacher stood immobile a few steps away, horrified.

A nasty smile spread over Harry's mouth. "Your precious Voldemort is no more. I took care of him and his band of thugs."

The portrait gasped. "Impossible! He is the strongest wizard who ever lived. And a two-bit wizard like you couldn't harm him." She sneered at the young wizard.

"And yet, it is me who stands now before you." Harry raised a hand. A sickly yellow-green lightning danced on his fingertips. Slowly, he pointed at the wall. "Care for a demonstration? I would prefer to take care of my friend, but I can make the time."

"You wouldn't dare." She challenged him. Though her lower lip trembled. "You couldn't."

"Impressive charms on your portrait." Harry studied the canvas. "Practically indestructible, immovable sticking charm. You really wanted to stay in that wall."

Sirius commented "I have been trying to remove it for ages."

Harry smiled at him. A warm smile this time. "Well, let me try." With a hand, he unhooked the portrait. And put it on the opposite wall.

Walburga Black paled and stammered. "Impossible! The Dark Lord himself cast the spells on my portrait as a reward for my service to the Pure-blood cause! This cannot be!"

"And yet, it is. Now, shut up, you old hag." A snap of his fingers, and Walburga Black's mouth closed down forcefully.

"Mistress!" Kreacher whispered. Harry turned towards the old elf.

"She is unharmed. But I don't guarantee that state of being will continue." He touched the canvas with the point of his finger. A wisp of smoke appeared where he was touching. "I don't want my friend's recovery to be interrupted by your screeching voice." He looked deeply into Walburga's eyes. "Are we clear?" Walburga's image looked into those green pitiless eyes, and slowly nodded, her right hand resting protectively on her throat.

Harry guided Dobby to the bed, and set him down on the mattress. He covered the body with a blanket, looking at the sleeping elf for a long moment. There was a happy smile on Dobby's face.

Sirius and Winky stood respectfully by the door. "Winky," Sirius said, "we will continue our conversation later, okay? Could you please take care of Dobby in the meanwhile? I'm sure you know what to do."

"Winky does now." She looked at Harry with adoration.

Both wizards returned to the living room in silence. Harry prepared a couple of cups of coffee and set both on the table. For a long moment, he stared at his own cup. Finally, he set it down on the table, his head down.

"Now, Pup. What was that about you being dead?" Sirius asked gently.

With a sigh, Harry recounted the story. Sirius paled more and more with each word.

Harry's story shook Sirius to the core of his being. Silently, he opened a cabinet with trembling hands, brought a bottle out, and after spilling some of the contents on the bar, he simply took a long drink of it. He shook his head, and exhaled. his hands still trembled, but he got them under control with some effort. "Some story, Pup…" he plopped back on a chair, and passed a hand over his face. "Now what..?"

"I don't know. I am to be an avenger of the innocent. The Spectre is now a part of me. But I want to keep on being Harry Potter. I need to speak with Hermione…"

St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries
Staff Room

Dumbledore had arrived through the Floo as soon as the block had been removed and the witnesses released (after a confidentiality oath), and didn't waste any time in looking for Harry.

Two orderlies and a healer had managed to calm him enough to inform him of Harry's condition.

"Basically, Mr. Potter is sleeping. We have not detected any brain damage, though his readings show a lot of dark magic applied to him, he is practically drenched in the residue. He was also injured with a cutting instrument. We have treated his wounds and are waiting for him to wake up, Headmaster. Now, please, let us do our job."

"But I must see him! It is of the utmost importance that I talk with him!"

"He is in no shape to talk at the moment, Headmaster." The Healer insisted. "He is under guard, by orders of Madame Bones, and you are not on the list of authorized visitors."

"But…"

Madame Bones had watched the small argument from the side room. She had almost gone back to her home to sleep a few hours when Dumbledore arrived. "Headmaster. Mr. Potter, as the Healer and the staff have informed you, is in no condition to talk. He was tortured grievously, and he was very close to dying. It's a miracle we managed to get him here in time."

"Amelia, it is very urgent that I speak to him." He whispered. "I fear Voldemort may have managed to return, and Harry may have vital information about his return."

Madame Bones pursed her lips. "What do you know about that, Dumbledore?" she asked, her voice tinged with suspicion.

"I only have some educated guesses, Amelia. I need to speak to Harry to confirm them."

"No. You don't. I'll speak to him when he wakes up. This is a matter of National Security that will be managed by the DMLE. I want you to tell me those suspicions you have. Or I will charge you with obstruction of justice."

"Amelia, please, I haven't shared my suspicions because I know there are Death Eaters infiltrated in the Ministry."

She tapped her shoe on the floor, clearly annoyed. "Well, I happen to know there were quite a few Death Eaters in Hogwarts, and two of them were hired by yourself. Now, talk."

Dumbledore gasped.

From the Astral Plane, a red clad ghost watched with a smile. "I like this gal!"

Chapter Text

Harry Potter and the Spirit of Revenge
Chapter 14: They Who Came  Before

Please Read and Review. I'd like to know what I'm doing right (to keep doing it), and what I'm I doing wrong (to correct it).

Hogwarts
A Hall Near the Gryffindor Common Room

Hermione Granger ran back to her room. She was deathly worried about Harry. Luna ran behind her, and when Hermione stopped for a moment to rest and recover her breath, the small blonde Ravenclaw reached for her hand. "Get your things." She said. "You'll want to take notes, I think. Take my drawing, too."

Hermione stared at her. But at Luna's insistence, she obeyed. While she got her notebook and a quill, Luna talked with the Fat Lady. Nothing of consequence, just asking about how she was. The Fat Lady thrived on attention, and by the time Hermione returned, the two were like old friends.

"Luna?"

"Be patient, he will come soon."

"Who?" she feared it would be somebody from St Mungo's, come to tell the school that Harry was dead.

"Hello, Hermione."

It was a voice she had feared she wouldn't hear again. "Harry! How?" It was, effectively, Harry Potter, but his posture was strange.

He looked exactly like he did yesterday, except he wore his usual Muggle clothes, too big for him. "I… I need to talk to you. Something happened, and I don't know what to do…"

Luna grabbed Hermione's hand, looking at Harry all the time. "Hello, Harry. Green suits you." she said, her voice barely heard. Hermione stared at her, she had never seen Harry with any piece of green clothing, but for some reason, he had a very strange expression on his face.

Hermione broke him out of his thoughts. "Harry, what happened? You are supposed to be at Saint Mungo's!"

He smiled crookedly. "Yes. I guess I am. But let's go somewhere else. I want to tell you everything, but not here, I don't want to be seen." He extended his hand.

Hermione grabbed it without hesitation, though she noticed just how cold it was. Luna extended her own hand. "I'd like to go too, Harry."

He did hesitate, and turned towards Hermione. "She knows more than I would think possible. She knew you would come."

Harry thought about it, but soon he decided, and took Luna's hand. She flinched minutely at the contact with his cold skin.

Grimmauld Place #12

Sirius Black sat bonelessly on a stuffed chair, absently drinking a cup of coffee, watching over the mysterious woman Harry had brought with him. She was a complete unknown. Her features Asian and exotic. No doubt she was beautiful.

Once again, he wondered who she was, and why Harry had brought her to his prison. He hadn't told him that.

Suddenly, three people materialized next to him. In complete silence. Once again, bypassing completely the wards. He didn't even feel their arrival.

"Hermione! Harry! And..?"

"Luna Lovegood, Sirius. She's a friend." Hermione answered, while Luna bowed.

"Pleased to meet you, Lord Black."

"Um… uh… welcome to my house, but I am no Lord, so, just call me Sirius. Now," he turned towards Harry. "would you like some tea or coffee?"

"Nothing for me, Sirius." Harry answered, looking at his guests.

"A cup of tea would be nice, Sirius." Luna answered, primly sitting next to Nagini.

"Kreacher! Tea. And be nice to my guests!"

An old house elf appeared a moment later, his face twisted in disgust, but silent; levitating a tray with a teapot, and four sets of cups and saucers. A platter of biscuits next to the teapot. He deposited everything on a low table, and left silently, without waiting to be dismissed.

Suddenly, Hermione remembered Luna's warning, her relief at seeing Harry again and in good health had distracted her.

She brought Luna's drawing from her pocket, unfolded it and gave it to her friend. "Harry! You are in terrible danger! I don't know who he is, but the Man in Green is after you! You must do something! Flee! Hide! I don't know!"

Harry took the drawing, looked at it for a whole minute, his brow furrowed. Silently, he passed the sheet to Sirius, whose eyebrows almost disappeared under his tangled hair. "Where did you get this?"

"Luna had a vision. She drew it while I was waiting for you at the Hospital Wing."

Soflty, Harry said. "I have nothing to fear from the Man in Green, Hermione."

"But..! Harry! Just look at what he did to the Death Eaters! He could kill you!"

He stood, and stared deep into her warm brown eyes. He sighed, with infinite sadness, "Voldemort already killed me, Hermione."

"Oh, God! He poisoned you? Cursed you? There must be an antidote!"

He shook his head. "No, Hermione. He already killed me. A Killing Curse."

"But, then…"

"I have nothing to fear from the Man in Green, as you call him." He began to grow taller, while his clothes changed around him. In a moment, Harry Potter was gone, and in his place, stood the cold and angry figure of the astral avenger, "I am him, and he is I; for I am the Spectre."

Hermione almost fainted, but controlled herself. For once, she had so many questions she remained silent, not knowing where to start. Her mouth opened and closed several times. "Oh, Harry…" she managed to say. "What have they done to you..?"

Impulsively, she hugged the Spectre. It was like standing inside a mausoleum. But she held on to her best friend, crying freely.

The Spectre stood there, immobile, for long seconds; while Hermione cried on his chest. He looked at Sirius, asking silently for advice. The man mimed a hug. Luna nodded enthusiastically.

Slowly, hesitantly, the Spectre hugged her too. Gradually, the grim figure of the Spectre was replaced by Harry Potter.

He held Hermione in his arms until she finished crying.

She awoke to the sounds of sobbing. There was loss and sadness in those sobs. But somehow, there was some relief, too.

Nagini opened her eyes and looked around. Standing close, she saw her ma… her friend and saviour, hugging a girl as if she was his only hope of salvation. And she hugged him with the same desperation.

Next to her, on the couch, a teen girl looked down at her, and put a pale index finger over her own lips, asking for silence. Nagini nodded. Instinctively, she blinked.

She blinked!

Decades has passed with her eyes covered by a hard transparent shell. She had no eyelids to blink with.

Somehow, she managed to raise a trembling hand, and studied it for a long time. Her hands were back! She looked down, marvelling at having a human body again!

She wanted to run, to scream, and dance!

Laughter bubbled on her lips, and tears ran from her eyes. She covered her mouth with both hands, stifling the sounds that threatened to come out in a rush.

Tears!

She could cry again!

Silently, a man with long and tangled black hair, streaked with grey, extended a hand to her.

She took his hand, and stood up clumsily. She almost fell down. The man grabbed her by the waist, smiling apologetically, and helped her walk. Nagini looked at the teen girl, still sitting on the couch, the girl nodded at her.

The man guided the former snake to a hall, where Nagini saw the portrait of an old woman, looking angry and scared at the same time.

The man glared at the portrait, and put a finger over his lips, demanding silence. The old woman turned around so she would not look at them.

Slowly, they went up the stairs, one step at a time. Nagini exulted on the feeling of the hard wood under her bare feet. Everything she felt, everything she saw, was a new wonder. Her senses felt both strangely dull and wonderfully acute.

The man whispered. "My name is Sirius Black. My godson, Harry, brought you here. So, you are a guest in this house. I guess you'll want to rest a while. I'll leave you in a bedroom, I'll send a house-elf with a change of clothes and a bathrobe and towels if you want to take a bath. Some food too. Something light would be appropriate, I guess. If you need anything else, just call for Kreacher. I'll instruct him to treat you like the guest you are."

With some difficulty, Sirius opened a door, and guided Nagini inside.

Back in the parlour, Hermione finally had finished crying. Harry looked deeply into her eyes, moved by her emotions. He knew in his heart that he had taken the right decision. He would protect Hermione from any harm. Even to the cost of his own soul.

"What happened, Harry? How come you are this Spectre? I saw a man who looked like you do now in the news, last year, green hooded robe, tight white shirt and all (1); and he destroyed a whole country! Last night, the twins showed me a very old book, with a woman who looked alike to… to the Spectre, killing some Roman soldiers!"

"I… I didn't know that..."

Harry passed a hand over his hair. "Now that I think about it, I have some questions too. There was a man who said he would tell me more. I just have to call him, but I don't know if he could cross the wards."

Sirius came back right then. "I could add his name to the book, just like I did for Winky."

"I'm not sure if that would work, he said he is known as the Phantom Stranger."

A shadow coalesced at the end of the room, and the mysterious man appeared. Hermione and Sirius gasped, at his arrival. Sirius mumbled something that sounded like "I need to update the wards…"

"My apologies for the intrusion, Mr. Black. I promised Mr. Potter I would come when he called for me." Respectfully, he tipped his hat, but didn't remove it, its shadow was disturbingly deep, hiding his eyes completely. "The Presence has decreed that the new Spectre know about his predecessors, and I have been sent to impart that knowledge. I was not instructed about any witnesses, so I will leave that decision to Mr. Potter."

"Will they be safe?"

"Your friends will not be harmed, but knowledge can be dangerous. Few are the individuals who are entrusted with this knowledge, and a price must be paid. Sooner or later. I can't know what will it be, should you chose to know."

"My grandmother told me about you, Stranger." Luna said, putting her cup back on the table. "Harry has already paid his price, if there is a price to pay, I will pay too."

"Miss Lovegood. This is a grave matter. Are you sure?"

"I am. If it wasn't for you, if it wasn't for Harry, I wouldn't be here."

The Phantom Stranger kept silent for a few seconds, "Your grandmother was a very brave woman. It was a privilege to have met her." He bowed respectfully, and looked at each of the present with his inscrutable, shadow-hidden eyes. And took possession of a chair as if it was his throne.

"Untold aeons ago, the Presence, the Creator of the Universe, designated parts of themselves to perform specific functions. You might think of them as something close to gods or maybe angels. You would be both right and wrong at the same time, for human minds were not made to understand these matters."

At a silent wave of his hand, images appeared around them, replacing Grimmauld Place; however, the furniture remained in place. Sirius almost fell from his chair.

They looked at each other for a few seconds, the Stranger continued. "For a long time, these Aspects performed their tasks, but eventually, the Aspect of Wrath rebelled against the Presence. This is the same entity who expelled Adam and Eve from the Garden, who razed Sodom and Gomorrah, who flooded the Earth; and many other feats of destruction." They saw an impossibly beautiful garden being destroyed by fire, two cities perish in unspeakable violence, a titanic wave covering the lands.

Hermione raised her hand to ask a question. Her voice trembled when she asked "Was that the Spectre?"

"No. This is an older entity. Now known as Eclipso (2)" he shook his head, disgust clear on his face. "I will come back to him later. For the moment, know that he exceeded his limits, and was cast down as the Spirit of Wrath, and replaced by another entity, whose origin I am not privy at, the rumours that are whispered about this entity are wild and inconsistent, so I won't repeat them to you, as they are probably lies or simple tall tales. This second Spectre-Force was responsible for the Ten Plagues of Egypt, for example." They looked helplessly as the lands of Egypt were struck by one plague after another.

The Stranger paused for a moment, to put his teacup back on the saucer. "Eventually, the Presence sent the Forgiveness Aspect to Earth. But this aspect could only stay on the world for a short while. When he was born, the Wrath Aspect was consigned to Limbo, for how can Wrath and Forgiveness walk the Earth at the same time? It was when the aspect of Forgiveness met his pre-ordained fate that things changed." They saw a hill, crowned by three crosses made of wood, each one holding up a martyred prisoner. Hermione gasped, burying her face in her hands.

A monstruous skull, with eyes full of madness, erupted from a volcano, destroying the land around it. "This day was to be known as Dies Irae. The Day of Wrath. The entity would have destroyed the whole world, to avenge the death of the Forgiveness Aspect."

He allowed them to settle for a while. "However, it was stopped by force, and it was decreed that, from that day on, Aspects of the Presence could only walk the Earth if joined to a human soul. A soul compatible with each aspect would be selected among the recently dead, and be offered the choice between continuing to the Afterlife, or join the Aspect and be its awareness."

"The first Aspect to have a human partner was precisely Wrath. Forgiveness' blood was still fresh on the land it had been spilled on, so the Aspect of Wrath was sent to a far away land. India. Where a man and his family were cruelly murdered. This man, Caraka, was the first Spectre. He was chosen, and he accepted the burden of the Presence’s Wrath, as it is still now. An angry but virtuous soul, guiding the incarnation of Wrath and Vengeance."

A thin man bled to death, next to a woman and a child, dead by knife wounds. The man's soul vanished into the darkness. The Phantom Stranger continued, "Caraka ranted about the injustice of the world, about the death of his family. And when the goddess Kali offered him the choice between returning to the reincarnation cycle or go back to avenge the murdered innocent, he took the second option." Caraka's soul joined the same unfleshed skull-thing they had seen before, changing him into a four-armed ghost, with a different bladed weapon in each hand. His skin was white as chalk, and he wore a green hooded cape and a loincloth of the same colour.

"For a hundred years, the Spectre fulfilled his mission. Imparting violent justice on any murderer fated to meet him." A succession of gruesome acts of revenge followed. The Spectre was absolutely merciless, delivering the most bloody fates he could inflict with his blades. Rare was the criminal who was not found in pieces. And those, met similarly painful ends. Crushed, burnt to ashes, turned into statues and then broken to rubble.

"I don't know what happened to turn Caraka from the path he had chosen. I know a few years after his fall from grace, a new avatar was chosen." Hermione inhaled brusquely when she saw the next person to wield the power of the Spectre.

"That's… that's..!" she tried to speak.

"She was known as the Banshee. I see you have heard of her."

Hermione nodded frantically. "The Twins showed me an old engraving, showing her killing Roman soldiers."

"She, as the Spectres are wont to do, had good reason to want revenge. Defiled by the same soldiers who tortured and killed her family; her limbs broken and twisted, and left behind, to die of exposure next to the broken remains of her sons and daughters. This, I will not show to you, in deference to her wishes."

"You knew her?"

"I am much older than I look, Mr. Potter. I roamed the Earth in search of Forgiveness for a long time. (2) Enough to say, I have been a part, and mostly been apart, of Wizarding Britain since its foundation, in King Arthur's time. I was there when Camelot was built. And I was a witness to its fall."

Luna put her cup on the saucer. "You must have seen so many things. Have you ever seen a Crumple-Horned Snorkak?"

"I have. Rare is the wizard or witch who can find them." He waved his hand, and from behind a chair, a bizarre creature peeked out. Luna's eyes lit up with joy. The creature sniffled the place. And finally, curled up to sleep at Luna's feet. She caressed the creature, and whispered a word to the Stranger, "Thanks."

"You are very welcome, Miss Lovegood. Unfortunately, this little one cannot stay with you. Her family would miss her too much. In a few minutes, she will go back to her family's nest."

"Oh…" Delicately, she picked up the creature, and put it on her lap, where it continued snoring softly. Until it vanished into thin air.

For the next hour, the Phantom Stranger showed them a succession of avatars of the Spectre Force. All of them met sad fates, both in life and in death.

Until the last Spectre arrived. Jim Corrigan.

Harry already knew about how he had come to wield the Spectre's power. He kept silent while the Phantom Stranger revealed Corrigan's story, thinking.

"Last year, the Spectre faced his predecessor, Eclipso, who is an Entity of pure malice and destruction. His last incursion put the world a step away from destruction, usurping the previous Spectre's will, and almost destroying the world. A group of magical heroes, including myself, tried to stop this corrupted Spectre. But with the Spectre’s power in his hands, he was too powerful for us. However, in the end; the true hero was a regular human. A man gifted with no power, but simple human compassion. He reached to the tormented soul of Jim Corrigan, and brought him back to the light."

The Stranger took a sip from the teacup. An action that made him look somewhat more human.

"James Brendan Corrigan managed to break the cycle, with help from his friends. He was the first Spectre not to condemn themselves to damnation. Instead, he earned back his place in Heaven (3). And, in doing so, he prompted a change of the rules. No other Spectre shall begin their mission ignorant of the dangers to their souls. I have been sent here to offer you council, if you accept it. There are others in this world who would be worried about the dangers a newly awakened Spectre might pose. I asked a few of them to not disturb you. Others are outside my reach, for several reasons I am not at liberty to discuss. And lastly, as you are a child of portent and prophecy, I am allowed to introduce you to another who carries a similar weight on his shoulders."

The mysterious man waved a hand again, and the group found themselves back in Grimmauld Place.

"Unlike your predecessors, Mr. Potter, you are gifted with a deep well of compassion. I trust you will carry your duties with a zeal tempered with that same compassion."

Harry stood up, facing the Stranger. "I will. You spoke of Corrigan's friends. Could I speak with them?"

"One of his allies is coming to England as we speak. She will make herself known soon. In the meanwhile, I must leave you, my own duties call."

Unlike the noisy methods of wizards, he departed in complete silence. The Phantom Stranger vanished as if he was made of mist.

Harry sat down on his chair. Hermione took his hand in hers, while Luna did the same with his other hand.

Author Notes:

(1) Actually, the Jim Corrigan version of the Spectre wore no shirt, but the image quality in the news was not good enough for Hermione to notice that detail. She simply assumed there was a shirt.

(2) For this story, I am keeping to the first of the four possible origins of the Phantom Stranger, as shown in Secret Origins issue 10 (Jan, 1987)

(3) This is a very short recap of the Ostrander-Mandrake run in The Spectre. Again, I say it is one of the finest examples of how to weave a great story for a difficult character.

Chapter Text

Harry Potter and the Spirit of Revenge
Chapter 15: Autobiography of a Deadman

Please Read and Review. I'd like to know what I'm doing right (to keep doing it), and what I'm I doing wrong (to correct it).

12 Grimmauld Place
Parlour

"So… what are your plans for today, Pup?" Sirius asked, still a bit miffed by the ease the Phantom Stranger had appeared inside the old Black Family house, despite the sheer amount and hostility of its wards.

Harry sighed, and leaned back on his seat, Hermione and Luna still holding his hands. "I guess… I should go back to my own body. I left it behind in Saint Mungo's."

Hermione gasped, "But… but you are here! I can touch you! Feel you!"

Harry smiled lopsidedly at her, "It's complicated, Hermione. I can do things even the best magic in Britain can't even conceive. Being apart from my body… well… first trick I learned at the other side. It was a pre-requisite to being the Spectre…" he fell silent for a brief moment. "I should return you both to Hogwarts before anybody realizes you're not there."

Luna nodded. "You better rest for a while afterwards." She said dreamily.

Harry nodded, and turned to Sirius, "I'll go check on Dobby and Nagini before leaving, Can you keep an eye on them after we're gone?"

"Sure, Pup; but I want to know where did you find her." He waved his hand dismissively, "Eh, but that's a story for later."

London, England
Ministry of Magic, Level Two,
Department of Magical Law Enforcement,
Amelia Bones' Office

The DMLE director sat heavily on her heavy chair. Yesterday had been a long day, followed by a very long night, and today would probably be just as long.

Shacklebolt was still down at the cells, watching over the man tentatively identified as the supposedly dead Peter Pettigrew; before leaving, she would have to make sure he was relieved by a trustworthy Auror. If Pettigrew was still alive, then the infamous Sirius Black had been wrongfully sentenced to Azkaban. She ran a quick list in her head, and made her choice. She pushed a rune in her desk, calling Auror Thomas Michael Ostrander (1).

The man was trustworthy enough for the duty. He tended to think outside of the box, and managed to find connections others couldn't see. Herself included.

While he arrived, Director Bones rubbed her eyes. This investigation would be a real mess… Cedric Diggory dead, Harry Potter unconscious for who could say how long, so many "outstanding citizens" mysteriously dead (and to top it off, at more or less the same time and the same grotesque way), Pettigrew alive, and wearing the Dark Mark of Voldemort on his arm, plus that strange silver hand, The Prophet already interfering with the investigation…

Mysteries upon mysteries. She didn't like this one bit. She sighed and closed her weary eyes for a moment, trying to find her centre again, just as Moody himself had taught her so long ago…

"Moody!" She abruptly sat straight again. "How could I forget him?” She stood up, grabbing her cloak and hat, just as Ostrander was knocking at her door.

"You called me, M'am?"

"Yes," she fumbled with the cloak broach, "Relieve Shacklebolt at the special cells, the prisoner he is guarding is of the utmost importance. He is to be watched at every moment. If he stirs, even a little, stun him immediately. Is that clear?"

"Yes, M'am." Ostrander nodded, getting out of her way, and following his boss to the Floo Station. "When will I be relieved?"

"Eight hours. In the meanwhile, nobody but me is authorized to even look at the prisoner. Not even the Minister, and especially, Dumbledore." She wrote another name in the watch roster, Emmet Leadworth would watch the prisoner after Ostrander, and then Shacklebolt would go back. She tapped the roster to notify the other men of their newly assigned duties.

Ostrander gaped for a moment. Albus Dumbledore was one of the most, if not, the most respected wizard in the whole of Britain. "I assume there is a very important reason for that, Director." And before she could answer, he added, "Which I am simply going to assume it's waaay over my grade pay."

She grinned as she three the Floo powder into the chimney fire "Indeed."

As the flames turned green, she said, "Hogwarts." And stepped into the fire.

St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.
Room 12

Deadman twiddled his thumbs.

Not the most constructive thing to do to deal with boredom, but by Rama Kushna's puppetry strings! This place was booooooring!

The excitement had quieted down. Harry's body rested comfortably on the old-fashioned bed, the two cops watching over the currently unoccupied body were doing their job; doctors and nurses were checking in periodically, and he still hadn't really bothered to learn the equivalent to those jobs in Wizarding Britain.

So… he shrugged expressively, stretched his arms and yawned like the MGM lion. "Say, kid, would you like to hear a story?"

"Once upon a time," Deadman floated horizontally next to the bed, his fingers laced over his belly. Almost like the stereotypical patient at the psychologist, ready to remember his childhood. He cleared his throat and continued, "there was the best ever ever aerealist in the whole world. Nah, in history! He was very brave, and he always performed alone, without a safety net. (2)”

"He was a bit of a jerk, with a big head and everything. He was not a bad guy, not really, just very misguided. He was, as I said, a jerk to his friends at the circus."

He paused dramatically. "Yeah, I know. He deserved to be brought down a few pegs, that's true, but he didn't deserve what he got, I think." He sat up for a moment, looked at Harry's relaxed face, and returned to his previous pose. "Still, being shot while doing a quadruple… not nice, my friend, not nice. Oh, but the tale doesn't end there; not really, my good sir."

"The aerealist fell to the ground, but his soul completed the jump. To our now bodyless hero's surprise, no one clapped, no one whistled. There was a deathly silence. Only then, he realized there was a dead body in the middle ring, while the carnies, his friends, gathered in horror around him. A big pool of blood soaking the wood shavings on the floor…"

Deadman sighed. "I wish I, I mean, the aerialist wished he had been nicer to his pals. But now he was just a ghost. He couldn't talk to them ever again. Well… he could talk until the cows came home wearing dresses, but they couldn't hear him anymore."

"Except for one. A funny looking guy from India, I think. Vashnu was the name we knew him by. Never really ask a carny for their life story. Some have been to very strange places and done weird things you wouldn't believe, others like to string you along for as long as they can, if they think it's funny. Not bad people, but one has to get their fun when you can. Anyway, this guy was a fakir, and somehow, he networked our hero with a goddess." He raised his arms to the heavens, "RAMAAAAA KUSHNAAAA, Ladies and gentlemen. She of the nice singing voice and annoying orders that sound very reasonable until you stop to think about it."

"Well, short story long, our friend had been murdered, and Rama Kushna granted him the power to jump from body to body, just like that guy with the holographic friend in TV (3), and Oh, Boy… I could use one of those... Well, all this was so he he could do good and earn his place in the Afterlife. First order of the day, solve his own murder. Took a long time to manage that. I thought it was my ticket out, but no. Years and years pass by, and I think I'm in for the very long run. And I still look like I did back the . These stylish threads were my gimmick. Deadman, the most daring trapeze artist since the Flying Graysons! Now that I think about it… they had a bad end too… but at least I had not much of a family, just a brother, who was later killed because he looked just like me… pity, the Graysons had a kid. I wonder what happened to him… (4)”

Deadman shrugged, and sat in the air, Indian style. "Still, one meets interesting people in this business. I've met heroes, villains, monsters, ghosts (avenging or not), and even got a side-job ferrying some souls into the Great Beyond for Death herself. Nice gal, you know? She stops to chat with everybody. Sad thing, almost nobody remembers her. I know I don't."

"That last gig I mentioned, you ask? Kinda depressing to know I'm forbidden to get to the next stop of the bus. Anyway, that's how I met your pal Cedric, nice kid. In any case, I've been so long at this job I've gotten used to it. I try to help where I can, eat some popcorn once in a while, and try not to think of what I'm missing out."

Hogwarts
Classroom 17, Sixth Floor

Harry, Hermione and Luna materialized in a deserted classroom. Both girls hugged Harry, despite how cold he was.

"I'll come back as soon as I can." He said, and vanished silently.

Hermione sat on a desk and exhaled a long breath. Luna sat next to her. "We should go class."

The young Gryffindor girl smiled at her. "Right… although I don't know if I can really learn anything else today"

"There is always something to learn, Hermione." Absently, her fingers seemed to caress the air, as if she held a small creature in her left hand.

Both girls returned to their common rooms, to get their books and writing implements for the next class.

Grimmauld Place #12
Upper Floor

Sirius Black knocked at Nagini's door. No answer. After some hesitation, he opened the door, repeating her name. "I'm sorry to barge, just checking you're okay." From the big bed, a soft snore answered. The mysterious woman was sleeping deeply. Silently, Sirius closed the door. The next room door was open. He knocked softly. "Winky?"

The female elf turned towards him, putting a long finger over her mouth. "Dobby bes sleeping."

Sirius whispered, "Is he okay?"

Winky made a complex gesture over him. "Dobby being fine tomorrow. Just needing resting for long."

"Glad to hear that, Winky. Maybe we could talk later? You are a good elf, and you deserve a good family to serve."

Winky shut her eyes closed, and shook her head, "Winky was bad elf."

"No. All I have heard and seen of you tells me you, ah…" Sirius worked his tongue for a moment, insulting the Crouch family would serve no good purpose, Winky was still devoted to her last Masters. "You were in a bad position, Winky. You yourself are a good elf, and any family would be honored to have you. I mean it. Think about it. I think you should go to the kitchen and eat something. I'll keep Dobby company in the meanwhile. If anything happens, I'll call for you."

"Mister Black means it?"

"Yes. Dobby has helped my godson more than once. He is very fond of Dobby. He wants him to be healthy and happy. I personally owe him too. Now go, eat something. I'll stay here to watch over him."

Winky thought about it for a long time. She looked at Sirius for a long moment. And popped away. She returned a moment later, with a platter full of sandwiches.

Gotham City International Airport
Wayne Family Private Hangar

"Ah, Captain…" Bruce Wayne snapped his fingers twice, "Kane? Kane, right?"

"Right on the first try, Mister Wayne. I got the call from your butler a couple of hours ago. Impromptu trip to England. I have just logged our flight plan, and we will be ready to depart in half an hour. Would you like to wait at the lounge?"

"No, no. I had a long night, would be better to get ahead of that nasty jet-lag. Have you met my friend, Mr. John Jones?"

"A pleasure, Mr. Jones." the pilot shook the man's hand. "Whoa! Very strong handshake!"

"My apologies. Pleased to meet you, Captain Kane." The big man rumbled. He certainly was a big one. Tall and muscular, short brown hair cut close to the scalp. He looked like a cop.

Wayne slapped the man's shoulder. "Mr. Jones is my bodyguard for the trip. He has been to England before, so he won't drive in the wrong side. I always forget that bit. Alfred will join us there later if we have to stay for more than a week."

"Very good sir. Your cabin is ready. Luggage?"

"Ah, no. I will take the chance to sample the stores in London. It was a spur of the moment thing, you know me."

Captain Kane laughed, "Yes, sir. I remember the last time I flew you to Turkey. Pity those girls had no passport."

Behind Bruce Wayne, John Jones rolled his eyes.

Once inside the plane, Bruce Wayne's happy façade fell down like a discarded mask. Extranting a gadget from his pocket, he swept the inside of the plane. "No bugs. We can speak freely."

Jones sat on one of the luxurious seats. "You know I still think you are acting impulsively."

"So you have said, J'Onn. I'd rather see by myself who this new Spectre is, and what he is like. Corrigan was a cold blooded killer. And that power in the hands of a boy still in his teens could be a threat to the whole world."

John Jones leaned back. "I have seen that power by myself more than once. But I am more inclined to listen to the Phantom Stranger's advice. This could backfire on us."

Author Notes:

(1) A little homage to John Ostrander, the other half of the longest running team to ever have traced the Spectre's stories. He has a very particular talent to find the essence of characters, and delve into their published history (no matter how good or bad); to write good stories with that character. Especially those that are perceived as useless or unmanageable. For example, back in the original Spectre run, a comic relief character was introduced, Percival Popp, the Super Cop. At best, he was creepy and annoying, and his bumbling was a bad contrast to both Corrigan and the Spectre's seriousness. However, in Ostrander's hands, J. Percival Poplaski became a legitimately moving character in just an issue (Spectre 24, Dec. 1994), and was redeemed both in story and as a character.

(2)  Most of Deadman's story comes from Strange Adventures 205 (Oct. 1967) Deadman's debut issue, and Secret Origins 15 (Jun. 1987), which, interestingly, also has the Spectre's origin. It was a dead guys double billing! The bit about completing the quadruple spin (not sure what the English word is…) and not realizing he had been killed comes from the Justice League Dark animated movie.

(3) Deadman is talking about Dr. Sam Beckett, the protagonist of TV's Quantum Leap, and his friend and companion, Admiral Al Calavicci.

(4) The Flying Graysons were the parents of Dick Grayson, better known as the original Robin, Batman's sidekick; and later, as Nightwing.

Chapter Text

News and Reports

St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries.

Room 12

"Hi, Spec." Deadman waved at the just arrived Spectre. "Ready to go back? Those guys have been on their feet for a while. I bet they are booored." He pointed at the Aurors with his thumb.

The Spectre shrugged, and looked at his own sleeping body; he held up a hand, a silvery strand resting on the palm. One of the ends disappeared into his physical body, the other was connecteđ to the Spectre's heart. "Strange to think this is the only thing keeping my body alive." He sighed, "And even stranger that I can die and still go on."

"Yup. Tell me about that, buddy. We live in strange times, kid." Deadman floated next to the bed, legs crossed Indian style. He leaned back, stretching his legs and lacing his fingers behind his head, he almost looked as if he was comfortably laying down in a hammock. "Say, I don't have any pressing concerns at the moment, would you mind some company for a while? I'm curious to see that school of yours."

"Sure." The Spectre reverted to Harry Potter's form, and allowed himself to be pulled back into his body. "Time to face the music, I guess." He opened his eyes, and inhaled a lungful of air. He was aware of how it should smell, but the sensation was pale and far away.

"Call the Healer," one of the men in the room said, "He's awake."

The next hour was full of questions and diagnostic spells.

And the one after that, of questions about the events at the cemetery.

By that point, Harry was tired of answering questions and all he really wanted was to just sleep for two days.

But it wouldn't be.

An orderly brought him notice that a big and imposing eagle, bearing the Gringotts seal, had a letter for him. And that the bird didn't allow anybody to take the letter. It seemed it was to be delivered only to Harry Potter, and no one else.

"Now what?" He asked through clenched teeth.

Hogwarts
Defense Against the Dark Arts Classroom

Amelia Bones, Head of the DMLE, paced around the DADA classroom. Thinking. She had the evidence collected from the body of Barty Crouch Jr. Over the battered desk. She also had a few pointy questions to ask Barty Crouch Sr., but the most pressing matter at the moment was the location of Alastor "Mad Eye" Moody. Auror Tonks had arrived shortly after her, and now the two were discussing Crouch's impersonation of the irascible former Auror.

"Polyjuice." Bones looked at the bottle her mentor always carried with him. Most people assumed it was full of healing potion or even some alcoholic beverage. Amelia knew it was not the case. Moody always had some herbal tea at hand. It helped with some lingering pain he suffered from his multiple scars. He was a complete tee-totaller. "Alcohol dulls your edge when you most need it," he mused privately.

"Polyjuice only works if the person imitated is alive." She remembered. "So, Moody is alive. Point one."

Tonks nodded and checked a line on her scroll.

"Point two? Where had Crouch hidden a helpless Moody. If Mad Eye was not helpless, he would have surely found a way to either escape or call for help." Tonks observed. "Crouch would need to have a constant supply of hair or nails for the potion to work."

Director Bones sat down at one of the student desks, without even realizing it, she had chosen the very same place she took back when she herself was a student.

"Think, Amelia, think. Just as Moody taught you." She suppressed a yawn. She would have time to sleep later. Right now, the priority was to find Moody. She put herself in a different frame of mind. "Put yourself in his place. Think like the suspect. Become the criminal." One of Moody's favorite tactics. To beat the Dark Wizard, you have to anticipate them. To do that you have to think like them.

She imagined the daily routine of Crouch as Moody. Having to drink that disgusting potion before the effect wore off. Always mindful no one could catch a whiff of its particular and very recognizable smell. She imagined every action a teacher in Hogwarts would be required to take. Right from the moment they woke up, to the moment they went to bed.

Add to that the actions a Death Eater would have to take, like harbesting, buying, or stealing ingredients for the potion. pity that Severus Snape wouldn't be available for questioning.

Suddenly, a leap of logic. "He couldn't have kept as Moody all the time. The polyjuice potion has a limited time before the body reverts to its natural form. He would have to change back to sleep. There would be no point on keeping Moody's form while sleeping, it would deplete his supply of Polyjuice. So, upon waking up, he had to drink the Polyjuice before even getting out of his room."

The most probable place was the DADA teacher's room.

With Tonks' help, Bones had checked and rechecked every square feet of the room, with nothing to show, except for a few books that definitively belonged to the Black Library, and would be kept secret for the time being (if everything went like she expected, Sirius Black would be wanting those books back).

She slapped her forehead, put her wand on the palm of her hand and said forcefully, "Tonks, we are going to locate Moody, go to the other corneR of the room and follow my lead. Point me Alastor Moody" The wand spun on her hand, stopping almost immediately. It pointed straight across the room. She used a piece of conjured chalk to trace the direction, while Tonks did the same from the adjacent corner of the room.

The lines crossed inside the room. Exactly on a very old and battered trunk. Bones hissed, "Inside his own trunk, trapped for who knows how long!"

"Will it be trapped, Madam Bones?" The young metamorphmagus asked. Moody had a well deserved reputation as a paranoid bastard, so there was a real possibility the trunk would be protected with more than simple locking and anti-theft charms. She discarded the idea of simply opening it almost immediately.

"Crouch had been using this trunk for months, probably since late August. I think he must have disabled Moody's defenses." She began to run detection spells. Some of them developed by Moody himself. "Basic warding, alarm, and, ah… an stasis spell." She pinched the bridge of her nose.

"Get me some curse breakers. I'm too tired to do this properly."she sighed. "Preferably, from Gringotts. I'm not completely sure there are no unmarked Deatheaters sympathizers in the Ministry."

While Tonks made a Floo call to Gringotts, Director Bones whispered, "Don't give up, Moody. Help is on the way."

Gringotts
Third Level, Secondary Eastwards Hall
Next to the Legal Proceedings Room (Wills And Testaments)

"(Many attendants today.)" An old goblin guardian commented.

"(Many testaments to read.)" Another shrugged.

"(Dark families, most of them.)" A third goblin added.

"(Interesting turn of events.)" the second grinned like a wolf.

"(Indeed. I had not seen so many wills read in a single day. Not since the Pretender got himself blown off by the Heir Potter.)"

"(But now it's not the Light or Grey families who come to us in great numbers."

"(No. This time it's their turn to know how it feels. My guess? Somebody managed to gather a lot of them at some secret place and ended their lives at the same time. Whomever it was, we must find out who did it, and get on their good side.)"

"(Shh! Listen.)"

From the reading room, heated voices argued violently.

The old goblin chuckled, "(The Notts. I bet three galleons there's another reading in less than two weeks.)"

The young guard scratched his ear, "(Who is managing the betting pool?)"

"(My nephew, Axehand.)"

"(Put me up with four galleons for the same with the Notts. And two galleons that the Greengrasses will get the Notts' vault by the end of the year)"

"(Very bold bet, Eyeripper. You're in. When our shift ends, I'll introduce you to Axehand.)"

Inside the room, the goblin in charge of the reading was very relieved the guests had been made to surrender their wands or be forbidden from attending. Greed was a powerful motivator indeed.

So, the goblin enjoyed the show of several Purebloods recurring to old-fashioned, Muggle-style fists.

Meanwhile, Ragnok paced around his office.

He chewed nervously on a piece of expensive gna root. He reserved tispeay for really stressful situations. And even so, he only took a small piece and made it last for long hours. He had heard the Muggles had something similar, though without the calming properties of well prepared gna roots. They called it chewing gum. He had tried it once, but it wasn't rubbery enough for his taste, not even the brands that included a collectible card. And the Muggles only made it in disgustingly sweet flavors. He would have liked something salty, like jerky.

He forced himself to concentrate back on the actually important matters. For starters, his personal eagle should have returned to its perch hours ago!

Could it be the Banshee's successor had disappeared? Actually died for good so soon after their ascension?

No.

In either case, Blood Talon would have returned by now. Unless the Successor had... no, better not go there.

So… either the recipient was too far away, and still had not received the letter… or was doing something that impeded them to receive the letter.

He sat down for a moment. And just seven seconds later, got up and began pacing again.

Ragnok's thoughts kept going back to the terrifying new responsibility bestowed onto him. The Banshee had been one of the few humans who appreciated, respected, and actually shared some of the Goblin Nation's tenents.

"Watered Blood and Empty Vaults!" He swore.

Over the Atlantic Ocean
Bruce Wayne's Private Jet.

"The Knight is busy with a legal case right now." Bruce Wayne relayed the news to his companion. "The Squire will wait for us at London Heatrow."

"It's been a while since my last visit to London. I'll change identity after we pass customs."

"Civilian, Hero, or Villain?"

"A bit of each. Coffin Dweller (1) is something of a walking contradiction. The original was a strange creature, lost in time and legend. An energy vampire, attracted to lonely places, longing for company. He died rescuing people from a fire, the same people he had kidnapped a few days before to feed. I found his lair just when he had pulled the last victim from the building. I eased his passing. He was desperate at that moment, as he had tried to stop himself from draining those persons, he only took the very smallest amount of energy from each one to survive. It was barely enough to find some measure of redemption."

Bruce Wayne nodded gravely. He changed shape, becoming an almost skeletal creature, with an elongated, pointy head and ears, prominent brow, and grey hairless skin. He now wore an outdated set of clothes, similar to an aristocrat from the 1930s. He maintained the shape for long enough for Batman to memorize his new appearance, and reverted to his usual civilian identity, Detective John Jones, currently Bruce Wayne's bodyguard.

The Martian Manhunter continued. "He was not well known in the meta human community, despite his longevity. He barely lets himself to be seen even now. His only regular haunt is the Time in a Bottle pub (2). He keeps himself to himself. We will have to enter separately."

"Squire can introduce me at the pub. Not a problem."

"Plus, I've heard Wildcat drops by from time to time. He seems to enjoy reminiscing about WWII with some of the older heroes of the Commonwealth."

"Not surprising for a JSA veteran."

Weekly Alarm! Offices (3)
Editor's Office

The Weekly Alarm! was a yellow rag. It's speciality was gore, the more sensationalist gore it could find and publish, the better. But even the publisher, Mortimer James Moss, found the news hard to believe, and he had seen, or so he thought, everything. He was a heavyset man, who looked almost as a bulldog in human form. He barely had any neck, but he turned his predatory gaze upon the tiny reporter/photographer at the other side of his perpetually messy desk. "Jenny! Are you serious? How many gallons?"

Jennifer Flead was a small woman, very plain looking, who had the body build to pass for a male kid of about 14 years old. Something that had come on handy more than once. She wiped her hands on her jersey. "I don't know, boss. But it was enough to fill a room of twelve by nine by ten feet. The windows were completely covered. Even the ceiling had blood!" She grabbed and waved a handful of pictures. Still wet from the dark room.

"Gimme that!" He snatched the pictures from his reporter's hands. He looked at the first one, and a weaselly smile spread on his face.

"I had to leg it quickly, the bobbies were arriving before I could turn the corpses around. But I got some nice pics of them as they were when I got there."

Moss smiled. If there was something he liked, it was bloody, literally bloody, crimes. And this one was the bloodiest crime ever!

"I even got some of the blood, boss." Jenny proudly showed him a small plastic box, filled with a clotted mass, and red smears inside.

"Great! Get it to your cousin and see if he can find if it's human or animal blood! In any case, we have our main story for the next three months at least!"

"Now get to work! I want this in the cover! Max! Go black and white with the cover! I don't want another visit from those weak hearted ladies from the good taste society!"

Ministry for Magic
Unspeakables' Office

"Well… I must admit I'm overwhelmed." Croaker said.

Firestorm scratched his chin, hidden by glamours. "High level magic, but the readings are very strange. Do we even have something similar on file?"

"Not in recent years, that's for sure. Even Living Memory, I already asked. We will have to check the Legend files."

"Do so. In the meanwhile, what about our guest?"

"A completely normal albino peacock. A bit panicky. It has tried to knock itself out a couple of times. I had to put cushioning charms all over its enclosure."

Croaker shrugged. "It is obviously well cared for. I would bet it's a Malfoy bird. They are the only ones who keep those ludicrously expensive birds around their manor. Let it calm itself and send it to Malfoy Manor. Anonymously, I don't want Lucius Malfoy asking how and why we go his pet."

Firestorm nodded and decided to send it to the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures with a note to send it back to Malfoy Manor.

"Now, back to the important stuff. What did you find?"

"Well… I don't know exactly how the potion they were brewing had that particular effect. Most of it evaporated soon after. Maybe it was will-activated, but then we get the question of exactly what was whomever activated the potion thinking."

"Sabotage? Remembering a nightmare?"

Croaker closed his eyes. "Do we have a list of victims?"

"Here it is, boss. It checks, almost name by name, with the list of confirmed or suspected Deatheaters compiled back during the Blood War trials. There are a few suspects confirmed alive, and quite a few who were not suspected are now among the dead. Surprisingly, a good amount died right here at the Ministry."

"There were several suspects we cannot confirm as Deatheaters, as the families say they are alive, but unreachable."

"Hmm… I see. The rest?"

"Every single person with those symptoms we could examine had the Dark Mark. Even the Azkaban prisoners died the same way."

"Too precise to be accidental." Croaker tapped his fingers on the table. "We best schedule a meeting with Director Bones and compare notes. News from Harry Potter?"

"He's awake and aware at St. Mungo's. Right now, the DMLE is debriefing him. Should we claim him as a witness?"

"No. We wait for him to be released and then we will talk with him."

Author Notes

With this chapter, the story is now synced with the original in FFN, updates will be less frequent, please be patient. 

(1) Coffin Dweller is one of the over 130 new characters introduced in the Knight and Squire miniseries (Six issues, cover dated December 2010 to May 2011) Apart from the name, nothing is detailed about him, not even if he is hero, villain or something else. Not even their gender! I made up all the details in a way I thought consistent with how J'Onn takes new identities, as established in the Martian Manhunter series by Ostrander and Mandrake (Published from Oct 1998 to Nov 2001). BTW, Coffin Dweller is not the weirdest character introduced in the miniseries. All I can say is that those are really strange characters. Go read it by yourselves! I'm sure you'll enjoy it.

(1) The Time in a Bottle Pub is also introduced in the K&S miniseries. It is a small pub in London, a place where none of the guests can attack any other, thanks to Merlin's magic. The pub has been around for a very long time, of course, since the XVIth Century!

(2) I needed the name of a really nasty periodical focused on sensationalist crime coverage. So, I thought of the quintessential periodical of its type I know of. Here in Mexico, the weekly "Alarma!" was, for a very long time, one of the, if not the, worst tabloid published. It focused mostly on passion crimes, bloody revenges, catastrophic accidents, and gay-bashing; especially if a story could be slotted into two or more of those categories. The publishers also has a nasty sense of humour, mocking the protagonists of their stories, their circumstances, or whatever. I won't repeat their most famous heading. It was so over the top, it even inspired a mocking song from a popular musical group, called "Alármala de Tos" (by Botellita de Jerez). The title is a word play that would literally be translated as "Alarm it of cough". Makes no sense, right? In Mexico, "Armarla de Tos" (Assemble it of cough, or Make it Cough, means to pick up a fight or cause difficulties.

Chapter Text

Hogwarts

It was several hours later that Bill Weasley and his partner DarkClaw (1) finished. In the meanwhile, Madame Bones and Tonks had crashed in the closest empty classroom, transfiguring a couple of field beds to sleep while the Curse Breaker worked. Adding half of a Calming Draught to some tea helped both witches to fall asleep in a matter of minutes.

“Madame Bonesy?” A young house elf asked softly, awakening the DMLE director. “Mr Weesli saying they ready to open the trunk.” 

She wiped her eyes and shook her head to clear the last dregs of sleep. “Thank you, please tell him we are on our way.” 

A couple of minutes later, two rested witches stood next to Moody’s trunk. Weasley tapped his wand on the lock, opening it with a definitive click. “You were right to call us, Madam Bones, there was a nasty sequence of delayed curses on the trunk. Wouldn’t have been noticeable in the short run, but would have caused a catastrophic casting failure during a stressful situation. Basically, depriving the victims of their access to magic just when they needed it the most. Took a combo of wizard and goblin magic to disarm them quickly. By myself, it would have taken close to a week. Gringotts will be sending a detailed report on exactly what it had to be done to clear them all.” 

DarkClaw nodded, her voice grating and coarse. “We will add this trigger sequence to our Senior tests. It was that complicated.” She examined her nails, “And we will charge an extra 3%, on account of this being a rush job.” 

“It will be paid without protest from me or my department, Curse Breaker DarkClaw. I, in the name of the DMLE, formally acknowledge and thank the help the Goblin Nation has lent to Magical Britain.”

DarkClaw nodded gravely, and gathered her tools, Bill Weasley did the same, and followed her towards the apparition point. 

She turned to the elf, who was standing there, bouncing on her feet, waiting for an order or a dismissal. “Please, call Madam Pomphrey.” 

The elf bowed and popped away.

St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries
Room 12

Things for Harry had not been placid either. He had been extensively debriefed by the DMLE, he had stuck to his story, just as planned with Deadman. 

In brief, he and Cedric had grabbed the cup at the same time, had been transported to a creepy graveyard, and he had been stunned before he even knew where they were. The wound in his arm had been inflicted while he was unconscious.

“What happened? Where’s Cedric?” He asked, worry in his voice. It was the most difficult part, to pretend he didn’t know the answers. But it had to be done. 

The Aurors kept silent, but the Healer supervising the questioning shook his head. “I’m sorry, Mr. Potter. Young Diggory passed away last night. I can assure you we did everything in our power to help him. And at the very least, he did not suffer.”

Harry nodded brusquely, and cried. It was no mere fakery. Despite what Corrigan had told him, he still had emotions in him, not just rage. They were distant, but still present. 

He relaxed his self-control; enough to let his grief come to the surface

Inside him, the Spectre stirred, almost as if it was chuckling. The guilty had been punished for the murder, so it was satisfied, for now. 

Finally, the Aurors were satisfied with his report, sealing it with wax. It was sent to Madam Bones’ office, and copied for the archive. 

Only his two body guards remained. Harry lay down, his grief spent,  and closed his eyes. 

The two Aurors exchanged a look. “Uh, Mr. Potter? We would like to respect your privacy in this hard moment, but we are under orders not to let you out of our sight. Please, accept our apologies, and our condolences. Mr. Diggory was a very good man, from what I have heard, both during the Tournament and...”  He left the rest unsaid. 

“Yes. He was.” Harry laid down on the bed, “He was.” 

A young Medi-witch entered, carrying a tray with potions and several plates of food. “Mr. Potter, I’m Patricia Moonbeam, your Medi-witch for this turn. Healer Richardson will be along in half an hour to check your health. In the meanwhile, please drink this potion before eating, and then this one once you’re done.”

Harry nodded tiredly. He was used to medical treatments. Too used, in fact.

Casually, the young woman waved her wand over Harry; casting diagnostic charms under the vigilant eyes of the two Aurors. “Good, you are recovering nicely. Healer Richardson will be pleased.” 

She turned to the Aurors, “Um, I know it is somewhat irregular, but we have a Gringotts Eagle in the waiting room. It has a letter to Mr. Potter. That ill-mannered bird snaps at everybody who gets near. Do you think it could deliver its letter to Mr. Potter?” 

The taller of the two rubbed his ear, thinking. “Call Auror Ernst, he should be making the rounds. Send him here, please.” 

The witch nodded, “Sure.” And with a bow, she left.

A few minutes later, the eagle had been brought to Harry. The letter was delivered, the Eagle bowed its head towards Harry, and took flight immediately, managing to dodge everything and everybody in its search for an open window, despite its large size. Evidently its instructions had not included waiting for an answer. 

“Um...” he showed the envelope to the Aurors, it read “Private and confidential, only to be read by Mr. Harry Potter.” 

Both Aurors made a point of averting their eyes. Harry cracked the wax seal and began to read. He noticed the extremely expensive parchment.

“Lord Potter.  

Due to recent events you were involved in, Gringotts notifies you of the assignement of an additional vault to your name. This is in addition to the vaults you already possess, that will be turned to you at your coming of age.

The origin and content of this vault are to be discussed with you, and onl y with you, at your convenience. No other person will be accepted, as stipulated by the original owner of the vault.

Please send a note with your preferred date and time to my personal attention at Gringotts.

Your enemies shall fall at the mere mention of your shadow, and your vault shall overflow with their bounty.  

Respectfully,  

Ragnok

Leader of the Gold Reaper Clan, Goblin Nation, Britain

Gringotts  

Consortium of Goblinary Finance & Red-Nosed Wizard Investors (Goblin High Council, Britain Branch)

Post Script

Due to security concerns, this letter will evaporate two seconds after you have finished reading it, Lord Potter.”

As the letter said, a moment after reading it, the parchment turned into a soft mist, dissolving in the air. 

“Problems with the goblins, Mr. Potter?” The tallest Auror asked. 

“Might be... it’s a summon from the big guy...” Harry’s brows knotted on his forehead, distorting the shape of his scar. 

“Be firm, don’t you ever give them a single inch, or they will clean your vault. Maybe you should get a solicitor.” 

“I-I don’t think it will be necessary.” 

“Hey, if you’d like some spiritual support, I’m available. Just scratch your nose if yes.” Deadman said while sitting on the air next to the Auror.

“I think it will be better if I go by myself.” Harry continued, addressing both the Auror and Deadman with the same answer.

Deadman smiled, while the Auror did scratch his own nose. Amused, the spirit pointed at the man with his thumb, “That was a cool coincidence or I can influence his subconscious mind.” 

Harry was about to open his mouth when somebody knocked at the door.

Heatrow Airport. 

“Hello, Beryl.” Bruce Wayne smiled widely at the young woman holding a cardboard sheet that read, “B. Wayne.” 

“Welcome to England, Mr. Wayne! My boss sends his regards, he couldn’t be here due to previous engagements, but I’ll do my best to help.”

“Of course, I have no doubt of that.” He turned sideways, “Beryl, I’d like to introduce Mr. John Jones, my bodyguard. John, Miss Beryl Hutchinson.”

After the introductions, Beryl guided them to the car, a big black Jaguar Mk 2 (2). A big smile cracked Jones’ stony face. “Beautiful. It brings memories.” 

Wayne simply arched an eyebrow. The Martian Manhunter had been on the planet for a long time. Mentally, he shrugged and filed the words for later. 

Once inside the car, Beryl flipped a couple of switches. “Okay, Mr. B. We are now under a top quality anti-surveillance equipment. Sound and visually, you two are discussing your stay, and I’m quietly driving. So we can speak freely. Cyril told me you two are working a case. So, what can this humble Squire help you with?” 

Bruce Wayne’s affability dropped like a mask. “There’s a new Spectre. Somewhere in England, a teenager has been chosen to wield that power.” 

Beryl’s jaw dropped. “Oh. Are you absolutely sure it’s here in England?” 

Jones morphed back into his public guise as the Martian Manhunter, “The Phantom Stranger informed the JLA.” 

“He’s involved??” Beryl parked the car in the first available spot, and turned around to face the pair. “That’s bad. The last time he appeared the Knight and me ended up knocking down a couple of Druidic circles and tangling with half the Thursday Night Society of Maladjusted Dandys!” (3). She hit the steering wheel with the palms of both hands, “In a bog in prehistoric Wales! A bloody big dragonfly ate my hat!”

“Interesting as that story must be, time is the essence.” (4) The Martian commented. “Have there been any rumors in the Time in a Bottle?” 

“Well... I’m not sure, haven’t been there for about a forthnight. From what I’ve heard of the Spectre, subtle he is certainly not. But we can go and ask if anybody has heard something.” 

Batman nodded, “If the new Spectre behaves like his predecessor, his M.O. will include violent retribution in an impossible way. Preferably, with an ironic punishment. However, we don’t know his proclivities yet.” 

“Great...” Beryl grumbled. “Just fine and dandy great. That means reading the binners.” She composed herself immediately. “So, I’ll stop at the next place and buy all the newspapers Cyril is not subscribed to. I guess you’ll want to get your stuff before going to the castle?” 

“No need. I took the liberty of sending a package to the castle, it should arrive after us.” 

“Any new toys?” She grinned at the chance to see some new gadget in action.

“The usual list, with some improvements. No prep time to gather or build gadgets (5) would help against the Spectre. What we need is knowledge. If we can find out where he is, his background and psychology, then we would have an edge.” 

The Martian Manhunter sighed disapprovingly, but knew arguing wouldn’t be any help.

Heathrow Airport

43 minutes later.

Madame Xanadu stopped for a moment at the doors of the airport. There was a familiar feeling to the air. ‘Somebody powerful in deed and soul has walked here recently.’ She thought.

She shook her head and smiled at the cabbie who would take her to a nice hotel, the Crow Croft Hotel. The staff had been very courteous to her in her las visit to her native country, and she liked the place.

Once settled in her room, she sat at the table of her suite, and shuffled her cards, more to settle her mind than any want to read the Tarot.

Her deck always needed some time to get used to a chance of venue.

Once she was satisfied with the feeling of the cards, she returned the deck to its box.  She took the phone, and called a real state agency. She needed to establish her new shop quickly. Rather, shops. One in mundane London and another in Diagon Alley. Connected to each other, of course. She had more than enough gold in her Gringotts vault to pay for the service. And had not touched it since the 1850s, at least.

London

“Really?” His eyes went round behind his spectacles. 

“Indeed.” The man in shadows answered. 

“A whole school? Why didn’t you show me that before?” 

“Their way of doing magic is too restrictive for your potential. Had you gone there your growth would have been stunted.” 

“So, why now?” 

“One of the young students has transcended into a higher level of magic. He surpasses even yours at your current stage.”

“Then I won’t have to worry much around this bloke?” 

“No. And he has an impressive control over his magic already. I think it will be beneficial for the two of you to meet.”

The teenager stroke his chin for a few moments. “Sounds good. Fine, I accept. He better likes owls, I’m not leaving Yo-yo behind.”  He looked around, and patted his pockets, “Hmm..Where’s that bird?”

Hogwarts

Outside Gryffindor Tower, a brown owl raised its head. Hesitated between staying or going back to its master. 

A weak prek from the white owl next to it decided. The brown owl rubbed its head against its companion’s, as if supporting her. As it did so, a small spark of magic passed between the two. 

London

“Ow!” Tim Hunter exclaimed, it had felt as a spark between his eyes, he took his eyeglasses off, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Hogwarts

Headmaster’s Office  

“Are you absolutely sure, Kingsley?” Headmaster Dumbledore asked, popping a lemon drop into his mouth. 

“He has been positively identified. Madame Bones had me put Pettigrew in one of the specials cells; under glamours, to keep him as anonymous as possible. Not that he actually needed the special cell. Pettigrew is out like a light, and I doubt he will wake up anytime soon. Whatever happened to him, overpowered stunner, potion accident, unknown curse, medical condition or whatever else you could think of, the man is dead to the world. And I don’t think he will improve anytime soon. The snake kept pumping venom in his veins last I saw him.”

“I wonder…” Dumbledore mused, “what could be the reason he is still alive. He was a mediocre wizard at best, so it’s not magical resistance…”

“No idea, Dumbledore. The man’s presence at a crime scene tells us he was involved in the events. The Dark Mark implies it was as a willing participant.” Shaklebolt hit the desk with his left hand, startling Dumbledore. “Hell’s Wide Doors, Dumbledore! Him being alive throws doubt on the Sirius Black sentence!”

Dumbledore took a long time to think. Finally, he whispered. “Indeed, it does. Who else knows about this?”

Kingsley paced around the office, “Madam Bones, of course; she was the one who found him. Tonks, Dawlish, and Proudfoot. Madame Bones wants to keep this a secret, the rest of the team in Little Hangleton were too far away to listen.

Author Notes  

(1)  After I chose the name, I remembered exactly where I knew the Dark Claw name. It is the Amalgam mix of Batman and Wolverine. I’m keeping it, as it is a cool name for a goblin. Female, for the sake of variety, and the capital letter in the middle is completely intentional.

(2) To be honest, I don’t know much about cars, so I did a quick search in the web, and the Jaguar Mk2 fit into my mental image of the kind of car the local Batman proxy would use in his civilian life. 

(3) Pretty much like it was with most of the characters introduced in the Knight and the Squire miniseries, I’m just dropping a name and explaining nothing!

(4) I would like to see how that happened. Still not explaining!

(5) Personally, I prefer the 1990s version of Batman, before he was simplified to “Angry guy who pretends to have other emotions. Who happens to be prepared for even the most farfetched possibility”

Chapter Text

The Next Day

Grimmauld Place
Guest's Room

Soft sobbing filled the air of one of the rooms. Nagini had awoken. At first, she felt happy to be human again. Until the weight of everything that had happened threatened to crush her spirit. The former maledictus managed to run to the bathroom, and tried to empty her stomach in the bowl, but partly missed. She had not eaten for a long time. Her snake form required little food, much less that her human body, despite being so much bigger. Even so, there was enough left of her last meal as a snake to be violently expelled.

It took her almost ten minutes to realize there was nothing but bile in her stomach.

She sat back against the wall, trembling in loathing of herself. Thankfully, the last thing she had eaten was just an animal. She didn't know, and didn't want to know, what would she have done if that was not the case.

An elf with a crooked nose popped next to her, holding a towel and looking at her with clear disapproval. "Master's guest is making mess on Black floor." He snapped his fingers and the vomit disappeared. The elf put the towel in her hands. "Master waits for guest in parlor for breakfast. Youse require Kreacher's help?"

Nagini shook her head, trying to recover her composure. "No. I'll just take a quick shower. Please inform Master Sirius I'll join him in ten minutes."

"Clean clothes being on the bed." The elf bowed shallowly, and popped away.

Nagini stepped into the shower, and scrubbed herself until her skin was an angry red.

"Dobby resting." Winky sang softly to herself, watching the other house elf stir softly. Her long fingers entwined into his. "Being resting long time."

Gradually, his eyes opened. "Master?"he looked around. His eyes, originally a pale blue, had become black as the night. Winky was very glad he now looked almost normal. Though she has never seen black eyes in an elf.

Dobby sat carefully on the bed. "Winky? Dobby having the wonderfullest dream of all…" he sighed. "Dobby dreaming of being Great Master Harry Potter's elf."

Dobby wrapped her hands around his. "Beings no dream, Dobby being Great Harry Potter's elf now."

"Dobby feeling beings strong… strong magic, strong bond. Master Harry never as strong before."

"Great Harry Potter left Dobby to Winky's care. Winky is to being sure Dobby rests and heals. Dobby's Master's asks Winky do. Winky obeys."

Waves of raw, primal magic emanated from Dobby's body. Winky marveled at Great Harry Potter's might. Somehow, Dobby had changed, just a bit. His fingers were just a bit shorter, just as his nose. It was barely noticeable for a human, but to a house-elf, it was a very clear and noticeable change.

"Dobby resting then." He settled back on the bed, "Master orders Dobby." He tapped his head. "Winky knowings where Dobby can be getting a hat?"

Hogwarts

Great Hall
Lunch time

Hermione and Luna had gone through their classes barely paying attention. Both had been going over the revelations of the day, again and again.

Hermione tried to fit the vengeful nature of the Spectre, and it's dual essence, with what she knew of Harry. Her friend had never shown any vengeful impulses, even when he believed Sirius had betrayed his parents, he was more worried than angry; to be honest, it worried her. She feared the Spectre, or rather, its mandate, would turn Harry into a bloodthirsty monster.

Luna, on the other hand, simply took things as they came. She had no fear for or of Harry, just pity for whomever would be so stupid as to make an enemy of either Harry or the Spectre.

However, something worried her greatly. She knew. She simply knew about Sirius Black secret, but at the moment, it was as of all her certainty didn't even exist. In normal circumstances, she would have asked. But for some reason, the secret didn't matter, didn't even exist.

She promised to herself the next time she met Sirius Black, she would ask, discreetly of course, about his secret past. Not everyday one had the chance to talk to the legendary Stubby Boardman!

London

Time in a Bottle.

It was unusual for Batman to work during daytime, but he felt it would be best to act early. And anyway, the plan was to get information, not intimidate the locals.

Squire entered first, followed by Batman. They stopped for a moment at the door, ostensibly looking for a table. Batman and the Squire took advantage of the white lenses of their masks to look around.

At the bar, a lonesome figure nodded fractionally. To the locals, he was the mysterious Coffin Dweller, rumored vampire and confirmed spooky figure.

The Squire took a silver bell from a hook, and tapped it twice with a small hammer. "Good afternoon, people! I'm sure everybody recognizes my taciturn friend here," she tilted her head towards Batman, "he will be around town for a while, investigating a case I am very sure has nothing to do with the activities of the unlawful guests of this fine establishment."

A visible wave of relief ran over the tables at the back, barely illuminated by old gaslights. A dinosaur headed man (1) took a cigarette holder off his mouth, and very deliberately shook the ash on a ceramic ashtray. "That's all well and good, child. But are we to… ah… how to put it? Help the world famous Batman solve his case with due alacrity?" A snigger sounded somewhere in the back.

Next to him, a white haired woman arched an eyebrow under the black blindfold covering her eyes. "Death Dinosaur, it wouldn't be the first time we villains cooperate with the heroes to end up a common threat." She turned towards the heroes, "I am assuming you wouldn't be here unless it was something big. Am I right, Batman?"

"It is big, Blind Fury. And it would be in your best interest to help me find my quarry. But no one here is to directly engage him."

She laughed, a shrill sound out of place. "We will need to know more, my dear. After all, if we villains are to put aside our differences with the heroes, outside this place and it's truce; we would certainly like to know why. And it better be a very good reason. Otherwise, we would simply take a few days, manage things discreetly, and wait. We have done so before. Last time we joined forces, it was to solve a problem you haven't." (2)

Batman bristled under his cowl. Death Dinosaur snickered. "A clown without any redeeming grace. Unlike ours, I have to say. Jarvis Poker, have you heard of him? Jarvis Poker, the British Joker?" (3)

"Don't goad our guest, my friend. It's beneath you." Death Dinosaur snorted, but raised his hands in a placating gesture.

The Squire nodded at Blind Fury. "Very well, now that we are in a tentative agreement, let's cut to the point. Batman?"

The dark night detective looked around. "I am looking for a killer." He paused, while half the present looked around, settling on several of the villains. "Not a killer for hire, not exactly a serial killer. It is one with a very specific, yet varied modus operandi. One who can do the impossible happen just by willing it so."

At the back, a customed client, tugged at his collar, and wiped his brow with a handkerchief. He wore an ill-fitting suit, vaguely reminiscent of an stage magician, including the top hat and the handlebar moustache. He looked like a cousin of Zatara. At the bar, Coffin Dweller's ears perked up.

Batman noticed the man, called the Distinguished Gentleman (4) according to the Squire's briefing, but kept silent about it, surely J'Onn had picked up that. "I don't have a description, except that it is a male teenager, probably dressed in green, or green and white. A hood is almost certainly involved."

An old man with dark skin and a turban raised a hand, Rush Hour I (5). "Green and white? Haven't seen such a garb since the War."

Batman's head snapped immediately towards the old man.

The old man continued, "Irish Lass (6)," he said, his eyes misting for a moment. "Green dress, white hooded cloak. A happy gal until her father and brothers died in a Nazi attack. After that, she was always brooding. She died a couple of years after the war ended. I can show you her grave, if you want."

St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries
Room 26

Alastor Moody was beyond angry. He was apoplectic with wrath. Luckily for everybody else, he was very weak; and lacking an eye and a leg, his mobility was limited. His scar covered face was a map of old wounds. However, he was very proud of them. Back when he was a child, he had heard some quote about a god who judged his warriors by their scars, not for their medals, and it had stuck with him ever since.

"Take it easy, Moody. You need to rest." Amelia Bones said with fraying patience.

"Rest? Rest? There has been a Merlin-Damned Death Eater running around with my face for the better part of a year! And I spent that time stunned in my own trunk, and being sheared like a stupid sheep! I don't even know what month we are, much less the day! And you want me to rest? When I put my hands on that scrawny neck of his!"

"Should I stun you? Now, let me speak. As your friend, and Morgana know you have very few of them, Alastor!"

Calling him by his given name was unusual enough to shock him for a moment. "Very well." He exhaled noisily, his empty eye socket barely covered by the ragged remains of his eyelids. "Go ahead. I'm listening."

"We already know who impersonated you. Barty Crouch Junior. The late, Barty Crouch Junior."

"Late, Uh?" A measure of relief crossed his face for a moment. "So he did fake his death, Uh? Must have had some cohorts."

"No, Moody." Director Bones reverted to using his surname. "He's certifiably dead, his body is on a slab at a secret location."

"Who did it? Because I doubt that he slipped in the stairs. That would be too easy."

"If you stay calm, I'll tell you. But the moment you get agitated, I'll stop, call a medí-witch and get you dosed with enough Calming Drought for you to have a vacation in Avalon!"

Moody laced his fingers over his belly. "Go ahead, Amelia. Make my day." (7)

"Very well, this is what I know…"

Hogwarts
Apparation Point

Harry was escorted to Hogwarts by an Auror, and an unseen red-clad ghost. Deadman had had to "grab" to Harry to be able to hitch a ride in the portkey to the castle.

"Hey, Spec," he said as they walked towards the gate, Harry looked at him for a moment, but gave no sign of having heard, just as they had agreed. "I think it might be best If I catch you up later on. I'm not sure if I qualify for ghosthood in this neighborhood, if you get my drift."

Harry scratched his ear twice, meaning he agreed.

Deadman floated around him, legs crossed Indian style. "You go ahead, I'll go in in say, five minutes. If no one can see me, I'll look for you. If they can.. we'll, I always liked the limelight!" He made to crackle his fingers, but there was no sound. "I always forget that…" he shrugged and stopped in midair. He stretched as if he was on a comfortable hammock, and waved Harry goodbye.

Outside Gryffindor Tower

A humble brown owl kept company for a weakened snowy owl.

Hedwig looked up suddenly, her strength returning quickly. Her companion jumped down from the branch they had been sitting on, taking flight. Hedwig followed his example a moment later.

Her partner had come back!

Beating her white wings, she hurried to go to him.

Dumbledore awaited for them at the other side of the gate. He seemed very relieved to see him.

"Harry, my boy; I'm very glad to see you safe and sound. I would like to talk to you immediately." He looked at the young Auror. "In private."

"I have to return to the DMLE, Headmaster. Director Bones thinks there's no danger to Mr. Potter. So I am officially releasing him into your care and custody."

"Thank you Mr. Drakeworth, I'll see to Mr. Potter's safety. And I'm glad to see you are in good health, your sister is well too?"

"Yes, she is, Sir."

The Auror excused himself once Harry was safely within Hogwarts.

Just as he had apparated back to the DMLE offices, a pair of owls, one brown, one white, flew towards Harry Potter.

"Hedwig!" He exclaimed. "I am so happy to see you!" Hedwig settled on his shoulder, nibbling his ear.

The other owl flew around them, and after hooting at Hedwig, flew away. Hedwig took flight after him, but returned a moment later, taking her place back on Harry's shoulder. The boy caressed her white plumage, beaming.

Gringotts

Ragnok allowed himself a sigh of relief once Blood Talon returned to its perch. The most important letter he had ever written safely delivered into its intended recipient. Not that anybody else could have even received it, much less read it.

Still, he knew Gringotts, the Goblin Nation, and himself were still far from a safe vault.

Ragnok made sure his eagle had received water and a live rabbit, Blood Talon preferred to hunt by himself, instead of simply accepting food.

The goblin sat by his desk, and carefully, began the intensive labor of distilling numbers and accounts. The Banshee's vault had been extensively studied by every high rank goblin for almost two millennia. It had been the basis on which Gringotts itself had been built.

It was the only account that was audited every six months. No goblin would dare to even think to skim a single Knut off it. There were some… clients… of the bank that made life difficult to any and all Goblins. Those were, not exactly cheated off, but certainly were charged as much as possible for any service, and were not ever told of any lucrative opportunities that presented themselves. Many were the pauper wizards who could be wealthy, had them been respectful of the Nation.

There was a memory set in a special, executive pensive, that every president, every clan chief, had to watch before ascending to the Gringotts council. It belonged to the legendary Founder, the goblin who had been granted the custody of the Banshee's vault, in thanks for her defense of the last few survivors of her clan.

OneClaw. She had lost her hand, and almost her life, protecting a small group of scared humans.

When the Banshee returned from the dead, she killed her murderers, and would have destroyed every living thing on the island, had it not been for One Claw's courage. Finding her clan had not died tempered the Banshee's rage, so instead of turning the island into a blasted heath (8), she turned her eyes to avenge innocents by killing their murderers in gruesome and painful ways.

She did so for a few decades, until she vanished as water in sand.

One Claw swore her clan would protect her vault until the end of times, preserving it for whomever succeeded her.

But in almost twenty centuries, no one had ever come forth to claim the Banshee's legacy.

Until now.

Hogwarts

Headmaster's Office.

"Lemon drop?"

"No, thank you, Professor." Harry refused corteusly.

"I'd like to talk about what happened when you disappeared." As Dumbledore expected, Harry looked him in the eye at that question.

Silently, he cast Legilimens at the young man, hoping to find out in Harry's memories what had happened with the Death Eaters.

He didn't expect to find himself in the middle of a long road, nor under the cold glare of a man he had known very well, over a decade before.

In front of him stood none other than James Potter, recognizable despite the shadow a green hood projected over his face. His round spectacles seemed to shine in the darkness of his hood.

Author Notes:

I'm trying to use as many DCU established characters as possible, even if they only appeared in a single panel.

(1) Death Dinosaur and Blind Fury, two very idiosyncratic villains from the Knight & Squire miniseries. Visually striking. They are in the "Killers" category, according to Squire. Both debuted in issue 1 of the miniseries.

(2) Meaning, of course, the Joker, who paid a visit to England to confront the gentleman who copied his style. (though the timeline is really off...)

(3) Jarvis Poker was actually closer to Cesar Romero's version of the Joker. All his appearances were in the Knight and the Squire miniseries.

(4) Another character introduced in the K&S miniseries, not much is said of him, apart from the name in an author's note in issue 5. It's not even known if he's a hero or a villain, so I have carte blanche to give him something to do.

(5) Rush Hour is, according to the K&S mini, a legacy hero. There are 3 Rush Hours active; only Rush Hour I is present, his son and granddaughter are occupied at the moment.

(6) This one is mine. With all the wonderfully weird characters DC has in the United Kingdom, I though I could sneak one of my own. And being a big fan of the Legion of Superheroes, I decided on a name in that style.

(7) If there was a Wizard who would like Harry Callahan's style, it would probably be Mad-Eye Moody.

(8) From Shakespeare, though I'm familiar with the line from The Colour Out of Space, by H.P. Lovecraft.

Chapter Text

Hogwarts
Headmaster's Office.
(Spectre's Mental Plane)

"J-J-James?" Dumbledore stuttered, the apparition standing before him certainly looked like the late James Potter.

The figure didn't move at all. The round glasses shone in the shadows of his hood, obscuring his eyes behind the glare. "But… but you died. How can you be… here?"

The mouth of the man thinned even more, but kept silent still.

"James?" the old wizard reached a hand to touch the figure, but stopped before actually touching him. "Is that really you?"

Finally the man spoke, with a voice cold as the grave, with barely contained fury. "James Potter is dead. Murdered by Voldemort along with his wife. I am the Spectre."

Dumbledore lowered his eyes. "Are you a ghost then? Why are you in Harry's mind?"

The Spectre growled. "WHY AM I HERE YOU ASK? HOW DARE YOU? WHY ARE YOU HERE?" The voice thundering through the darkness that suddenly exploded all around.

Dumbledore recoiled; looking all around for the robed figure that had disappeared from sight, hidden in the darkness that suddenly enveloped him. "I needed to… to know what had happened to Harry!"

"INVADING HIS MIND? COULDN'T YOU ASK? NO. YOU NEVER ASK, DO YOU?" The voice hissed.

Then, a low, malicious chuckle replaced the roaring fury from a moment before. "Well, then… if you really need to know… Who am I to deny you?" The words dripped poisonous courtesy. The darkness opened into a green hood and a pale face inside it. The Spectre's hands shot out from under his cloak, grabbing Dumbledore's head. He pulled the old headmaster towards his face.

Somehow, the Spectre grew in size, until all Dumbledore could see was the deathly pale face in front of him. Finally, Dumbledore saw the eyes behind the glasses. They were completely white, no iris, nor pupil could be seen on the white surface of the sclera. For all he could see, they were two ivory orbs shining with inner pale light, surrounded by absolute darkness.

And then, he was pulled into those glowing orbs.

Grimmauld Place
Kitchen Table

Nagini trembled as she sat down. Sirius pushed her chair forwards, the way it had been drilled into him since he could talk. He sat in front of her, ignoring the proper place at the end of the table. "Nightmares?" he asked softly.

Nagini nodded with a jerk of her head. "Worse. Memories."

Sirius' brow knotted. "Harry didn't tell me anything about you, except that you needed a safe place to stay."

"Thanks. To be honest, I have no idea of what to do now. I spent so long trapped in the snake's body that I'm sure everybody I once knew has forgotten me. Or believe me dead."

"If you want to talk about it, I am available. If you don't, its fine. I won't pry. Harry's word is enough for me."

Nagini's eyes brightened at the mention of Harry. "He saved me from a horrible curse. He brought me back. I owe him everything." She looked at her hands, closing and extending her delicate fingers, looking at them as if they were the most wonderful thing in the world.

Sirius had a very small inkling of what she meant, and waited until she looked up again. "That's my godson. Hermione, the girl with the bushy brown hair, calls it 'Harry's People Saving Thing'."

London

Tim Hunter paced around his room. He had turned it upside down in search of his yo-yo. "Wait, did I even turned Yo-yo back into a yo-yo?" he finally asked himself, facepalming.

"Great…" he mumbled. "I forgot."

He sat on the bed, and tried to compose his thoughts. But the chaos around him was too much. He pushed his round eyeglasses up his nose, and passed his hand over his disordered mop of black hair. With a sigh, he began to put his stuff back in more or less the places it should be at, on, or in.

"No magic for chores; yeah, sure." He mumbled, looking around.

Hogwarts
Hospital Wing

"What happened, Mr. Potter?" Madam Pomphrey asked, waving her wand in complex patterns all over the Headmaster's body, lying on a bed in the Hospital Wing.

"I'm not sure, we were talking and he just stopped talking and got that far away stare."

"Well… physically he is fine, I can find nothing that would cause this. He almost looks like he was stunned, but there's no magical trace of any spell."

Professor McGonagall arrived, Poppy looked briefly at her, before returning to her task. "I'll keep him in observation, Minerva. He seems to have… what's the expression..? Shut downwards?"

Harry piped in, "Shut down."

"I will floo call St. Mungo's for a Healer. This is beyond everything I've seen… first the tattoo snake and now this… I need a refresher course."

Outside Gryffindor Tower

Two owls flew freely around the building, in comfortable companionship. A brown, exuberant brown owl, and an imposing snow owl, both flying circles around each other.

Hogwarts
Ground Floor East Corridor

Deadman floated into the castle, looking around in wonder. He looked at his hands, and realized that instead of the usual red colour of his gloves, now he looked almost greenish white. "Well… paint me yellow and call me a chicken… I wasn't expecting this." He felt like an old black and white picture.

A child's voice called at him. "Hi. Are you a new ghost? Which House are you in?"

"Ah, hum…" Deadman stammered, "Can you see me?"

"Of course I can. You're a ghost, aren't you?" The girl asked, as if the answer was absolutely obvious.

"Well, yes." Deadman rubbed awkwardly the back of his head, like a stereotypical anime character. "I'm just not used to being seen, that's all."

"You are not from around here, I think. You have a weird accent." The child observed, she was about 11 or maybe 12 years old, her robes had yellow accents, and a badge with a badger.

Boston couldn't help but think of that old line, a bit changed, 'We don't need no stinking badgers' badges.' But didn't say it.

Instead, he bowed exaggeratedly. "Right in one, kid. American accent. Boston Brand, at your service." Then, he sat cross-legged in the air.

"Then why are you wearing a big letter D on your clothes?" The girl asked innocently.

By reflex, Boston looked down at his belly, with the proud capital D. "Oh, this. Yeah, well, you see, I was an acrobat, and used to work under a stage name, Deadman. Hence the D."

"Ah, I see. Will you stay? We have a few ghosts around, one for each House. We at Hufflepuff got the Fat Friar. Gryffindor has Nearly Headless Nick, Slytherin has the Bloody Baron, and Ravenclaw the Gray Lady. Plus a couple of ghosts that are not affiliated to any House, like Professor Binns, and Moaning Myrtle; Peeves is very annoying, but I heard some older students saying he's not a ghost, but a poltergeist. A Deadman would fit well here at Hogwarts, though frankly, your clothes are quite scandalous."

"Quite modest in my line of work, you need to be eye-catching, yet still has to move freely or you can… um…"

"Have a nasty accident?" She asked so innocently there was no way she wasn't aware of the implications.

"Um… yeah, not that that was what happened to me, kid. Just do you know it. It was worse than that. But, I'd rather keep that story for grown-ups."

"Ah, say no more, Mr. Brand."

"Wait, did you say, Moaning Myrtle?" Deadman's head snapped up, as if he had suddenly remembered something very important.

"Yeah, she haunts the girls bathroom in the second floor, though she sometimes haunts other bathrooms.."

Deadman rubbed his chin, with a distant look in his white eyes, "I think I better talk to your school ghosts, kid."

Grimmauld's Place #12

"Dobby wanting to be given… clothes..?" Winky almost fainted.

"Not given clothes, Dobby just be wanting a hat. Nices round, purple hat. Too small to fit Dobby's head." His long fingers measured a space a bit bigger than a cup, the size of the hat he wanted.

"Why Dobby bes wanting a hat?" Winky relaxed a bit. After all, Dobby had just been bonded to Master Harry Potter, and the amount of power the elf had received from the bonding was beyond anything Winky had even heard of, much less seen personally.

The excitable house-elf shook his head, making his long ears flop against the sides of his head. "Dobby not knowing. But Dobby feels it is important. Like something hidden in head."

London
Time in a Bottle.

Coffin Dweller's ears fell flat against his bald head, and he looked intently into his drink.

Though behind the wrinkled grey skin and red eyes, the mind of the Martian Manhunter grazed delicately against the minds of the other guests of the pub, looking for a clue.

Meanwhile, Batman's eyes looked at the same guests from behind the white lenses of his cowl. Independently, both ended up focusing in the Distinguished Gentleman.

Batman noticed the small sheen of sweat on the man's forehead, while the Martian Manhunter felt the fear emanating from him. There was recognition tinting that fear.

Both heroes arrived to the same conclusion, the Distinguished Gentleman knew something about the Spectre, but a deeper mind probe would scare him even worse, and he looked as if any little thing would push him over the edge of his nerves.

Squire read the room very well, she had a relatively minor superpower, basically a form of empathy, but she used it with finesse, bridging class divides with ease. "Say guys, what about we part ways now, and reconvene later to discuss any findings and share a couple of pints?"

Death Dinosaur nodded courteously, while Blind Fury sipped her tea. She spoke evenly. "Best idea I've heard in the last hour. I agree. I have a couple of errands to run, but I don't speak for my charming companion. I'll be here in three days, 4:00 P.M: sharp and will leave one hour later." She rose, put a few notes on the table, and left the pub.

Rush Hour I sat on the stool next to Squire, and adjusted his turban. "My guess is that you are not looking for Irish Lass." He said with gravelly voice.

Squire smiled at the old, rugged man. "Nope, but I'd like to hear from her later on, when we are not busy with a case."

Rush Hour smiled back at her, "I think it will be best. Anyway, if you have a couple of hours next Saturday, I'd like to bring some flowers to her grave."

"Of course. I'll go with you."

Rush Hour excused himself, making a complicated salute at both the Squire and the Batman.

The members of the crowd began to return to their own companions.

A couple of minutes later, while Batman occupied a table no one else wanted to share with him, Squire left, and returned with the Distinguished Gentleman in tow.

St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries
Room 26

Alastor Moody grumbled, "So, the short of it is, no more Death Eaters." He sighed in relief. "And they all died because their own brands turned against them."

Amelia Bones nodded, "All known Death Eaters, plus a lot that were unknown. And some suspected turned out to not have been branded. Doesn't mean they were not sympathizers, just that they were not branded."

"And what about Pettigrew?"

"The only survivor, we don't know why or how, and he is in bad shape. Same poison, reduced dose. He is unconscious and in a secure cell in the Ministry, under glamours to hide his identity."

Moody nodded grimly, "You realize what Pettigrew being alive means."

"Yes, it means that Sirius Black is innocent, at least of murdering Pettigrew."

"Which in turn, throws doubt over everything else."

Amelia nodded. "It does. I want to dose Pettigrew with enough veritaserum to have him telling the truth of Life, the Universe and Everything.(1)."

Moody grunted his approval. "I'd like to ask him a few questions too."

"Reason enough for you to rest and recuperate."

A crooked smile parted Moody's scarred face. He patted his belly. "Then, I think, a meal would be in order. Wanna stay? I'm sure the Healers will let you eat with me."

"I have a lot to do at the DMLE."

"Reason enough not to get there on an empty stomach. Remember the rule."

Both chorused, "Never pass up a chance to eat, you never know when the next will arrive."

She sighed, "Very well, I'll keep you company and make sure you eat and take your potions."

"Are you kidding? I want to get out of this place as soon as possible! And I have eaten worse."

Ministry for Magic
Unspeakables Offices

"It's done, Croaker. The bird has been sent to Malfoy Manor, anonymously. The delivery cannot be traced back to us. Whatever happens to it is of no consequence to us."

"Good, now, let's focus on the chain of events. Everybody has analyzed their section?"

A chorus of ayes answered him. The voices of the Unspeakables delivered their findings one after the other. Croaker had no problem to identify each speaker.

"The Cup at the center of the maze was touched, and it worked as a portkey."

"As intended. But instead of only one champion, two were transported."

"Evidently, both champions, Potter and Diggory, touched the cup at the same time. just as the DMLE contingent did later."

"Agreed. Otherwise, one of the two would have been left behind."

"The portkey carried both champions to Little Hangleton Cemetery."

"Where both were stunned."

"Yes, spell residue on the portkey arrival site was consistent with either two Stunners, cast almost at the same time; or one very powerful Stunner."

"Magical signature?" Croaker asked.

"Consistent with one of the wands located at the site. One of our junior members is at Olivander's, she should return with an ID. Olivander's memory is prodigious when dealing with the wands he has sold."

"Indeed."

"Go on."

"Both Potter and Diggory were subject to Cruciatus. Both fell unconsious due to the pain."

Croaker nodded.

"This is where things get a bit muddled. Diggory was Imperioused and apparently tied Potter to the gravestone he was found later."

"Potter was cut with a ritual knife, his blood collected and used as part of a potion. We identified his magical signature in the edges of the cauldron and in the residue of the potion."

"At some point before or during the ceremony, a group of individuals arrived by apparition, in close succession or simultaneously. Due to the identities of the concerned, I believe they arrived independently, or at most, in small groups."

"Said individuals have been all identified as Death Eaters. All of them plead the Imperius Defense after the Blood War. The only one missing in the list is Lucius Malfoy. His current whereabouts and activities are unknown."

Croaker snorted.

"The ritual met some initial success, as a homunculus resembling You-Know-Who was found at the site."

"Magical signature on the homunculus?"

"Very similar to identified traces of You-Know-Who attacks."

Croaker nodded.

"At this point, the potion and or the ritual failed, precipitating a cascade failure in the homunculus composition, causing the body to fail catastrophically, damagin the brain to the point of imbecility, according to the medical study performed on the body. In the process, the Dark Mark animated itself, the snake biting the carrier of each Mark. We think it was an instinctive reaction on the homunculus part to stay alive. The toxin injected by the animated snakes seem to be, apart from poisonous, a conduit for magical draining. Any wizard or witch victim of this poison has their magic drained and sent somewhere else."

"We believe Champion Diggory broke the Imperius and tried to rescue Potter. But was the target of at least one Killing Curse. The draining effect could conceivably be enough for the AK to be debilitated and its deadly effect delayed. This gave him enough time to grab the portkey and return to Hogwarts, where he asked for Champion Potter to be rescued."

"Consistent with champion Diggorýs collapse at Hogwarts and later death at St. Mungo's."

"By the time the DMLE arrived to the scene, headed by Director Amelia Bones, the effect had spread to all marked Death Eaters. Including several posing as students at Hogwarts. And one impersonating Retired Auror Alastor Moody, supposedly the DADA teacher at Hogwarts. The real Alastor Moody is currently in St. Mungo's."

"The draining effect spread even into Azkaban. Killing all the jailed Death Eaters."

"The only known survivor is the supposedly dead Peter Pettigrew. I want to know why and how he is the only survivor." Croaker said, tenting his fingers in front of his face.

Malfoy Manor

Narcissa Malfoy, Lady Malfoy woke up in her private bedroom. One of the Malfoy Elves brough her breakfast and a Pepper-up Potion, as she had instructed the previous night.

"Any news of my husband?" She asked.

"No, Lady Malfoy." The elf said timidly. "Only news being that a new peacock was sent to the aviary."

"I told Lucius we don't need another one of those bloody birds…"

Spectre's Mental Plane

Suddenly, Dumbledore was rudely shoved into a very small room, and heard an angry, booming voice coming from behind him, "And you'll stay there until I say so, you freak!"

A door closed behind him, and he heard the clicks and snaps of several locks. There was little light filtering through the door, but he couldn't really see, his glasses had fallen off his head. How? There was a sticking charm on them, only he could remove them.

He extended his hands, trying to sense the size of the place, it was very small. He touched a mattress, covered with a threadbare blanket, there was no pillow, just a few old rags.

Dumbledore decided he had to get away, he tried to apparate back to Hogwarts. But all he managed was to get dizzy. "Maybe if I use my wand…" but the Elder Wand was not in his grip, he patted his clothes, but instead of his comfortable robes, he was now attired in Muggle clothes.

Clothes that hung from his thin body.

His tiny, childlike body.

"What's going on here?" He asked in the darkness.

"Patience, Headmaster." The man's voice rang inside his head.

"James? Is that you? Talk to me, please." Dumbledore said, and that gruff voice yelled at him from the other side of the door, "Shut your infernal trap, boy, or I will close it myself!"

Dumbledore was very tempted to argue, but until he had the means to use magic again…

In the following silence, the Spectre spoke again. "James Potter is dead. I am not him, despite whatever you may believe. I am the Spectre. Remember that, Headmaster."

Hours passed, with Dumbledore alternatively trying to open the door, and trying to negociate with James.

He failed miserably in both tasks.

His stomach grumbled, asking for food.

Hours passed.

He heard only small noises, the creaking of the house settling as it cooled, the snoring coming from upstairs, the stomping of somebody heavy going to the loo.

He was hungry, thirsty, and cold.

Finally, he fell asleep, more from sheer exhaustion than simple need to rest.

When he opened his eyes, it was yo a loud banging on the door, a shrill female voice demanding he prepare breakfast for the "decent, hard-working people".

He had no idea of what to do, and that earned him a painful pinch to the arm.

For a moment, he thought he saw the face of James… no, the Spectre's face, smirking at him from the box of sugared cereal on the kitchen table, but as he tried to look at it carefully, it turned out to simply be a cartoony leprechaun.

Finally, he was allowed to eat.

Half a piece of stale, hard bread, almost as tasty as Hagrid's rock cakes; and a glass of water. While a fat boy kicked his shins under the table.

The rest of the day was no better.

Author Notes:

1. "Life, the Universe and Everything", the title of the third book of the Hitchhiker's Guide to the Universe series, by Douglas Adams. Amelia Bones hasn't read it, but she heard somebody saying it, and she filed the phrase in her mind.

Chapter Text

Undeterminable Place in London
Time in a Bottle Pub

"Batman, allow me to introduce one member of our merry rogues gallery, Distinguished Gentleman. Gent, meet Batman." Squire basically pushed the well-dressed man down on a chair. He wore an oversized trenchcoat, black vest, dark grey shirt, dark grey striped pants, black leather shoes, secured with old-fashioned buttons, a simple domino mask on his face, and a gray top hat, exaggeratedly tall. Squire sat down, always keeping a hand on her reluctant prey. She continued, "Gent here is a white-gloves thief, Batman. He never attacks anybody, but manages very interesting jobs and escapes."

The thief tried a conciliatory smile, that fell down immediately, followed by two more tries, each one weaker than the one before, until he gave up. Batman's face might as well be sculpted in marble. "Um… er… ah… n-nice to m-meet you, Mr. Batman, sir." Batman's eyes studied the man as he removed his ludicrously tall hat, revealing short, gray hair.

The Batman's formidable mind began to analyze the villain, 'Mid-thirties, affluent childhood, not suited for heavy work. Outdated dressing style, approximately 1930s London upper class; almost certainly an affectation, as the fabric itself shows little wear. Unusual accent, certainly British, unknown region. Physically weak, yet skilled. Fast movements, agile fingers. Gloves wear and tear is heavier in right hand, especially at the base of the thumb, points of all fingers except index. Wear is clear between first and second joints.' His eyes narrowed behind the mask. The Weather Wizard, an old foe of the Flash, had a similar pattern of wear in his gloves. This man was used to wield a tool similar to a baton or a wand. 'Secondary observation, the wrist area of the right glove is especially softened by wear. Left glove shows less wear. Subject gesticulates with his right hand. Consistent with the use of a wand or baton activated or directed with somatic components."

Batman leaned back, to ease the psychological pressure on the man, he nodded to Squire, who signaled the publican for a beer and water jar. Not really the usual order, but he was used to Stranger requests. E signaled Squire he would carry the order to ther table in a moment.

"We can speak freely, Batman. The privacy area is on." She said.

The dark night detective barely nodded, noting the sweat forming on the Distinguished Gentleman's brow. The beer and water arrived. Squire served two glasses of cold water, and pushed the beer tankard to the thief. "This one is on us, Gent."

He nodded with a jerk. "I… I have been good, Squire." He didn't take his eyes from the Batman.

"Sure, Gent.' She smiled. "It's just that, just as you heard, my friend here needs some information, and you have your ear to, let's say, some very interesting walls."

He nodded again. Squire continued. "So, what do you say if you keep those nice ears of yours to the walls, and let us know if you hear something interesting on your side of things, uh? Just as friends."

Batman noted a very small jerk on the man's right hand, the kind made for crooks trying to not pull out a gun. Interestingly, there was a similar move on the left arm. 'Wand or baton use, confirmed. Stored inside left sleeve. He is used to conceal it. Probably reserves its use for emergencies. De-escalate. I want him nervous, but not enough to flee.'

Batman allowed himself to relax. He finally spoke. "I have no quarrel with you, Gentleman. All I want is information. Squire has detailed the characteristics on the murders I want to investigate. As long as no life's are threatened, I'll… overlook minor criminal activities. I have no wish to interfere with the regular activities of the British metahuman community." He took a sip of water. According to the conditions Merlin himself had imposed during the founding of the pub, the place was a completely neutral area, fighting other guests was not simply forbidden, it was impossible. That included poison and mental commands. J'Onn was able to use his telepathy to skim surface thoughts, but not use it to attack or impose behaviour on the other guests.

Squire hid a look towards Coffin Dweller; the disguised Martian simply sat in his place, looking at the bottom of his mug. For all the world, he was just there, mildly depressed, thinking and moping. Actually, he had been reading surface thoughts, looking for clues about the new Spectre. No one knew anything useful. But as it happened, Distinguished Gentleman had a very unusual mindscape.

It was very guarded for just a gentleman thief. J'Onn was about to go deeper; but was expelled from the mind.

Hogwarts

"A new ghost?" The Fat Friar chuckled, "And with a very unusual aspect, I say."

The Bloody Baron sneered at Deadman, the Gray Lady studied him with curiosity, while Sir Nicholas paced in the air. It was disturbingly alike to Boston's own habits.

"Well… not exactly new, new. I've been around since… well… as a certified ghost, since 1967 (1), so… 27 years."

"My dead fellow," Sir Nicholas commented, "you are the youngest ghost in Hogwarts! Poor Myrtle Warren has been a ghost since 1943."

"Wow, since World War Two!" Boston whistled. "Okay, i stand corrected."

The Baron sneered again, "World War Two? What kind of wizard dresses like that and calls Grindelwald's War 'World War Two' like a mere Muggle?"

"Wo-wo-wo!" Deadman shook his head, "I'm no wizard, buddy. I was an aerialist! You know, Circus artist! The trapeze!"

"A saltimbanqui (2)." The Barón said, glacially. "A Muggle saltimbanqui. Preposterous! Muggles can't become ghosts! Everybody knows that!"

"Knock it off with the bigotry, man. I don't know much about that Muggle stuff you blab about. Anyway we are all dead here anyway. And now, to my point. As far as I knew a week ago, the only wizards and witches around were either frauds, superheroes or super villains, and I happen to know a few of them, okay? I had no idea this society was hidden behind the courtain, and I only got here because my boss decided to throw you guys a bone." Very deliberately, he didn't mention Harry Potter or his current status.

"Your boss? Who is your boss?" The friar asked.

"Pale skinned gal, dresses in black, very elegant, has a weakness for Egyptian make-up an jewelry. You must have met her once."

All the ghosts paled. "H-h-her..?" The Frair croaked.

Boston nodded, "Her."

Sir Nicholas was the first to recover his composure. "And, Ahem, what did your boss sent you to do, if I may be allowed to ask?"

"You guys are stuck, right? I can get you to the other side, if you want. That's my job, after all. I'm a psychopomp, not that I like the word, mind you."

"Friar?" Sir Nicholas whispered. "I wonder if you would be so kind to get Miss Warren here? I'll go and find Professor Binns. This is a matter of utter importance and shan't be discussed in the absence of any Hogwarts ghost." The Friar nodded genially, and went out a wall.

Saint Mungo's

"Professor Dumbledore?" The Healer examined the just arrived patient. According to each and every diagnostic spell at their disposal, the Headmaster of Hogwarts was in perfect health, even considering his age.

"His body is fine, his soul is intact, his mind is working. The closest condition in record I can compare his condition to is an Occlumancy locked trance."

"Like the Longbottom couple?" The second Healer asked, worried.

"No, their minds broke down and sealed themselves in an attempt to escape the unbearable pain. Their readings show little mental activity. Professor Dumbledore's mind is working very fast. So fast, that if he is even aware of the world, things are very slow for him. He could see a drop falling in what would be, for him, hours. (3)

Spectre's Mind Plane

"I… oh… What have I done…?" Dumbledore broke into sobs, burying his face in his hands.

The Spectre spoke with a furious hiss, "This is what you have done, Dumbledore. You have allowed Evil to flourish. You have sent good people to die. You have extended the hand of friendship to poisonous vipers that should have been caged and forgotten. And for what? To redeem the unredeemeable you have sacrificed the innocents." The avenging ghost raised a hand, and the place changed, from the dirty floor of the Chamber of Secrets, to an almost featureless plain. The only thing breaking the ground was a long, wide road. Dark bricks extended from one side of the horizon to the other.

"I thought… I thought… it was for the Greater Good, I…" he croaked. "You must believe me, James!"

"James is dead. I am the Spectre." The glasses shone white inside the impossible darkness of the hood. "And I believe you. And yet…" he kept silent for a moment, "I cannot judge you as I judged Voldemort and his Deatheaters…"

"It was you!" Dumbledore pointed a crooked finger at the Spectre, "You killed them!"

"Yes. And I made sure they suffered a painful death, earned through torture, murder, and rape. Not a single one of them worthy of a new chance, much less redemption. They died reliving their actions." A cold smile creased the cadaverously pale face, "Each Cruciatus, each Imperio, each Killing Curse. They relived them all. From the other side."

Dumbledore paled. "But they could have earned redemption." He managed to say, barely a whisper.

The Spectre's cloak flared as if in a hurricane. "THEY DIDN'T WANT REDEMPTION! THEY LAUGHED AT YOUR SECOND CHANCES! THEY LAUGHED WHILE SIRIUS BLACK WAS SENT TO HELL WITHOUT EVEN A TRIAL! HE WAS INNOCENT! WHAT ABOUT HIS SECOND CHANCE, DUMBLEDORE?"

After the thunderous accusations, the Spectre tamped down his fury. "I cannot judge you like I judged them. Your hands are clean." The disgust in his voice was deeper than the ocean, "You have committed no murder. You haven't taken a life." A nasty smile appeared in the shadows, "Yet… you wade in a river of innocent blood."

Startled, Dumbledore looked down, to find dried blood covering his feet, his robe stained well above his knees.

"I shall leave you to your thoughts, Professor. The exit is at the start of the road. You have a long walk in front of you." He extended his arms wide, pointing at opposite sides of the road. "Chose wisely."

"What's at the end of the road?"

"You only need to look where you put your feet to know." The Spectre's green cloak flared up, wrapping the ghostly man, tightening around him, until the apparition vanished.

Dumbledore choose a way to go, hoping to have chosen the right way.

Undeterminable Place in London
Time in a Bottle Pub

"Time to go?" Squire asked, watching as Distinguished Gentleman crossed the to out. The door opened to a different part of London if the person crossing asked nicely.

"Yes. We have done everything we could do here. There's no need yo stay." He put several notes on the table, which were promptly scooped up by an invisible hand.

The two emerged back at the same place they had entered the pub.

The país boarded the black car that had brought them to the pub, and waited. Seven minutes later, John Jones entered the car. Squire started the powerful, yet discrete engine. "To the castle?"

"Yes." Batman answered. "We must monitor events and wait for a clue. The Spectre is unable to resist his mandate. Somewhere, soon, a murderer will meet a bad end at the Spectre's hands. We must find him soon." He turned to his companion, "Did you find anything, J'Onn?"

The bodyguard changed back into his green-skinned form. He was more comfortable showing this aspect of himself. "Yes. I skimmed the surface thoughts of everybody present. No one has heard or seen anything related to the Spectre. But Distinguished Gentleman poses an interesting possibility."

Batman raised an eyebrow. "Does he?"

"He does, indeed. He is part os an extremely insular society. There is a whole country hidden inside England. All it's citizens are magic users. And there are similar societies in the continent, maybe the world."

"Do they pose a threat?"

"They have the capabilities, yes. But from what Gentleman knows, they tend to be happy in isolation. Though there are some elements that get their jollies from torturing and killing, not only other magicals, also regular humans."

Squire asked from the front seat, still paying attention to the traffic. "Did you get details?"

"Not many. They were active mostly in the late sixties to late seventies. They seem to be active again (4), if I'm correct in my reading of Gentleman. His mindscape is quite structured for defense. Similar, but not as strong as yours, Batman. I was about to delve deeper when he shut me out."

"Squire?"

"I'll have to ask the Knight. Maybe he knows something. I'll check the archives while he comes back."

Batman leaned back in his seat, "We must consider the possibility that the new Spectre could be a part of this secretive society."

Squire groaned.

Author Notes:

(1) Deadman debuted that year.

(2) A kind of acrobat, though they are more of a ground-level act. Literally, the word means something like "bench-jumper". In recent years, Cirque du Soleil used the word to name a show.

(3) I took this bit from several sources, the main is an old SF story, Alien Earth, by Ed Hamilton (1949). A potion slows the bodily functions of the subjects, allowing them to interact with the slow moving plants. Worth mentioning that the plants are quite hostile. A closer version is in Holy Terror, an Elseworlds story (1991), where Batman meets several unfortunate victims of human experiments, one of them has accelerated thought processes, but his body moves at normal speeds, making him a prisoner of his own body. A more recent version is from the movie Dredd (2012), with the drug Slo-Mo, that accelerates perception to a similar degree.

(4) Distinguished Gentleman is not up to date. He knows about the attack at the Quidditch Championship, and has heard rumours about the disappearance of a few individual, like Bertha Jorkins. I thought it would be interesting to have a Wizard as part of the British meta community.

Chapter Text

Hogwarts

"Go?" Moaning Myrtle asked, her pale face set in an incredulous gesture, "Just like that?"

Deadman looked at her with sympathy, and also a bit of envy. "Yup, just like that. The Boss told me to extend the offer to any ghost I met. That includes you." He raised his hands in an all-encompassing movement. "All of you. There are no strings, no conditions, no judgement on my part or hers. For any reason, you missed the bus, that's all. If you feel your time on the world has run its course, I'll gladly accompany you to the door. After that, it's all on your hands. I am only the tour guide."

Sir Nicholas rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Then, it behooves to each one of us to decide?"

"Right, Sir." Deadman nodded.

The Fat Friar paced around. "But if we go, who will be the House Ghosts? We are mentors and guides for the younglings. We have a responsibility to them."

The Gray Lady spoke softly. "True, but not all of us are so attached to them or the school. I speak only for my own self when I say I am tired, I was the first House Ghost, the first to arrive here, the first to bind to a House. I have seen all of you arrive." She shot a brief look at the Bloody Baron, who averted his eyes. "A thousand years is enough for me." She extended her pale hand towards Deadman. "I accept your offer, gentle sir."

Deadman bowed deeply, "It will be an honor to escort a lady to the other side." He did notice the Baron going through a wall with an angry sneer.

Myrtle raised her hand, her eyes shone behind her glasses, "Me too. Apart from Harry Potter and his friend, no one else has treated me with any kindness since I died." She lowered her eyes, and whispered, "…or before…"

Deadman frowned, but kept his council. "Nice kid. From what I've heard." He almost tripped. Even among ghosts, he shouldn't reveal Harry's status as an incarnated ghost. Especially one who got the job of punishing murderers.

Sir Nicholas frowned in thought. "My good sir, I wonder if there is a time limit to your offer."

"Um… technically speaking, no. But I don't know for sure how long I will be around. Probably a few days, as this," he looked dramatically around, "is all new to me and I'd like to see everything."

"Ah," Sir Nicholas seemed to be relieved. "Good, good. Gives us all some time to think things through. Friar, Professor Binns, Mr. Grubb (1), a moment of your time, please."

Deadman nodded to himself, and turned to the two female ghosts. "Ladies. There is nothing to fear." He took their hands in his own, "Sir Nicholas!" He said, "I'll be back later, once these lovely ladies are safely at the other side. Will take a few hours at most."

"Wait a minute, please. I'd like to say goodbye." Myrtle bit her lower lip, worried that she could miss her chance to the afterlife.

"Sure, no problem." Deadman sat on the air, his legs crossed Indian style. "I'll be around. As I said, I'm curious and I would really like to see the school."

Meanwhile, Sir Nicholas spoke to the other ghosts, "We will need to find a worthy ghost to take the Gray Lady's place as the Ravenclaw House Ghost."

Professor Binns shrugged.

Diggory Manor

The day was bright and sunny, the bright light illuminating a lonely figure, sitting on a garden chair, on a high terrace. The sun didn't bring any comfort to Amos Diggory, not the songs of birds, or the breeze blowing around him. No. His only son, in whom he had put his hopes, had been cruelty murdered by You-Know-Who.

But somehow, Fate had restored the balance, just a bit, perhaps. Their ritual had failed. Failed spectacularly. This, at least brought some comfort to the Diggory family. You-Know-Who and his followers had messed up, and had died horribly. Screaming and begging for mercy, for a release from their pain. 'A release that never came', he though, vindictively.

Still, Cedric was dead. And his last words had been to ask for help. Not for himself, but for his fellow champion, Harry Potter. Cedric had sacrificed his life to save Potter.

Despite how senseless the whole thing was, Amos found a little measure of comfort in knowing that his son, his brave and generous son, had managed to get some victory over the same monster that had killed him, even as he himself was dying.

Still… his family was done for. The main Diggory line ended now with him, he doubted Amanda could give him another child. And to be honest with himself, he didn't want to try. Too much heartbreak and pain.

No. He would turn the title to one of the cadet lines at the end of the year. Let them continue the proud name of Diggory. Should magic bless them with another child, well… then he or she would be a member of a new cadet line. But that was an hypothetical problem, and would be best faced if it presented itself. No need to worry about that.

He stood up on the roof of his ancestral home, now so empty and cold, his hands grabbed the cold stone of the ancient crenellation, looked down from six stories high, and took a decision.

He breathed deeply. Once, twice.

He looked around.

And went back to his wife.

He found her at their bed, sleeping fitfully.

Amos sat next to her, and caressed her hair.

He would be there when she awoke.

There were things to do, letters to write, people to Floo.

But all that could wait.

She needed him, and he needed her.

As always.

Grimmauld's Place

"Lady Nagini?" Sirius knocked softly at the door of her bedroom.

"A moment, please, Lord Black." She answered. "I need to change my clothes."

Sirius waited patiently until the door opened. Nagini's face looked a bit tense. "Um…" he said. "Are you feeling better?"

"Yes. It's just that…" she lowered her eyes.

"Say no more. I understand. I won't bore you with my nightmares." He smiled, "Is there anything you'd like to do?"

"You wouldn't happen yo have knitting needles and yarn at hand, do you?"

"I'll ask Kreacher."

Winky popped next to Sirius, she looked a bit anxious, bouncing from one foot to the other. "Master Serious? Dobby be's awake, he is asking for a hat."

Sirius scratched his head, puzzled. "Is he okay?"

"Dobby being strong. Be's stronger than any elf Winky being meeting."

"Good, he had me worried. There might be a few in the laundry room or in the second attic, take anything you think Dobby will like. The main attic won't have anything usable, Buckbeak used everything there to make himself a nest."

"Winky understands." She bowed deeply. "Winky gets hats for Dobby!"

Malfoy Manor

One of the Malfoy elves, Nori, tended to her mistress. Lady Malfoy hadn't slept since her husband had been called by the Dark Lord. By now, she had already heard about the painful death of all marked Death Eaters, and the supposed failure of a ritual to restore the Dark Lord.

The Daily Prophet had not been stingy with the sordid details. They even managed to obtain some photographs of the Dark Mark, with its animated snake injecting very real, and very deadly, venom in the flesh of the unfortunate bearer.

The only thing that kept her going was the certainty that, no matter what had happened, Lucius was still alive. She had not received any black letter informing her of her husband's demise, so he had to be alive.

Somewhere.

Maybe as a prisoner. Otherwise he would have come home already. And he hadn't fled either, a quick Floo inquiry to Gringotts confirmed that the Malfoy fortune rested in its vault, safe and whole.

And to top it all, a new albino peacock had been delivered. Was Lucius out of his mind? The stupid bird was obviously addled! It had been making an awful racket, screeching every single moment and banging its head against the garden stones. To the point Narcisa had finally silenced and stunned the stupid bird.

Hogwarts
Slytherin Common Room

At Slytherin House, Draco Malfoy watched his housemates carefully, a worried gesture marring his face.

Of all the children of Death Eaters he knew, he was the only one to not receive a black envelope. That meant his Father had survived the purge. But where was he? Prisoner? Wounded? Unconscious? All he knew was that Lucius Malfoy, the true power behind the Ministry of Magic, right hand of the Dark Lord, and his Father, had vanished into thin air.

Somehow, his gut told him that Potter was responsible for this. But how? Potter was a mediocre wizard, leaning into poor. There was no way he could have matched the peerless abilities of his Father.

Without even realizing it, he decided to confront his nemesis. One way or another, he would get the truth.

Sheldrake Castle
Sublevel 2
Computer Room

"The Boss will arrive shortly." Squire announced, taking off her beret and mask, shaking her head to reorder her hair. "He's parking Anastasia right now. Let's give him a few minutes to change, okay?"

The Martian Manhunter stood up in the door to the Trophy Room, looking at a few of the mementos stored there. "Of course." He said, his deep voice calm and relaxed.

Batman simply nodded, still reading a microfilm from 1978. He set a note on a card, and continued.

"Found something?" Beryl Hutchinson, AKA the Squire asked, sitting on the large metal desk that supported the ancient microfilm reader.

"Yes. During the time period Distinguished Gentleman alluded the magical terrorusts operated, there's a statistically impossible amount of deaths by gas line explosions, unexplainable fires, and unknown causes. There are ocassional reports of people in strange 'waking coma state'. Usually, these events occurred in clusters, widely spaced from each other."

"What does that mean?"

"The pattern of events corresponds to a fear or revenge campaign, or more probably, both."

"Um, I meant about the comas."

Without any visible reaction, Batman continued. "Functional bodies, completely unharmed; but without any cognitive process. The brain itself was capable of managing autonomic processes, like breathing, regulating temperature, and digestion of food. But the victims had no response to any kind of stimulus. As if their minds had been completely destroyed."

J'Onn turned around. "There was a similar condition in Mars. An extremely rare disease. Soul Devourer was its name. The White Martians tried to weaponize it. They had hidden their lab in an asteroid, and the modified plague was accidentally released. All the scientists and test subjects died."

"What happened to the lab, the notes? Is there any way this Soul Devourer could have mutated and been released on Earth?" Batman looked at his companion.

"No. This happened many centuries ago. The lab was found by a Manhunter (2) group. When they found the recordings, the whole group took their ship, and pushed the whole asteroid to a collision course to the Sun. They documented their cases, and the last functional Manhunter radioed the files to HQ right as the asteroid was beginning to melt. Even if anybody had tried, there was no way to recover anything. They documented the effects, but nothing about the modified pathogen itself." (3)

"Awful way to go." Beryl commented, rubbing her arms as if cold.

Gringotts

Madame Xanadu gathered her documents. "Excelent service as always, Account Manager Steelknuckles." She bowed to the old goblin. "Please give my regards to Bloodteeth."

"My grandfather will no doubt invite you to dinner, Madame Xanadu. He will surely want to talk about old times."

"Indeed! I'll make the time for an informal dinner at my home, in… say… three days? I need to supervise the opening of my workplace, and settle matter at the Ministry." She huffed, "Bureacracy… I prefer the old ways. All this dance and song to simply open a tea room!"

Steelknuckles smirked. "Bane of our existences!"

After a minute of exchanging pleasantries, goblin style, Madame Xanadu descended the stairs of the bank, and set her steps towards Knockturn Alley. By this time, her seedlings had surely finished unpacking her stuff.

The Spectre's Mental Plane

Dumbledore had been walking for a very long time. He was tired to the bones, and needed to rest. But without his wand, he couldn't use a spell to make one. The only place he could rest was the road itself.

He kept on walking a little longer, until he finally decided to sit on the ground. He sat down with some difficulty, and dreaded the moment he would have to stand up again, but for the moment, he would take the weight off his feet.

For a moment, he thought on trying to clean the blood on his robes and shoes, but again, without his wand, he could not use ,ágil to clean them.

He also feared James' reaction should he manage to rid himself of that blood…

James' parting words worried him.

Reliving Harry's life scared him deeply. He had expected disapproval, coldness, and maybe some humiliation for Harry, but never to the grade the poor boy had gone through.

Cold sweat beaded his forehead. Harry had been close, too close to becoming an obscurial!

That would have been a catastrophe in more than one way.

Harry would be lost, to begin with.

There would be no one who could oppose Tom effectively.

And he would have completely ruined the life of an innocent boy.

He thought long and hard about his actions. Towards Harry, towards his students, and towards the Magical World, not only England.

He found himself… lacking.

He had to remedy what he could. Correct his mistakes and even beg for Harry's forgiveness. He hoped against hope that Tom's ritual had consumed the Horcruxes. He would have to confirm their destruction or destroy them himself. Maybe, just maybe, Harry would help him.

And after that… it would be time to retire.

Dumbledore sighed, he was still tired, but had much to do. He put a hand on the paved road to get up.

He noticed the deep grooves in the surface.

Dumbledore adjusted his glasses to examine the stone on the ground.

What he saw chilled his blood in his veins.

He looked at another stone, then another, and another. As far as he could see, all the stones had some words engraved.

"It's for his own good."

"It's character forming."

"Show them forgiveness."

And the worst of all…

"For the Greater Good."

Trembling, Professor Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Supreme Mugwump of the International Confederation of Wizards and Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, stood up on uncertain legs. He looked up, to the horizon, where the road disappeared in the distance.

He stood there, immobile, for a minute. His tongue licked suddenly dry lips.

He exhaled.

Then, he turned around, and walked back, towards the other end of the road. He looked down at the stones, fearing to find more words, but the stones were smooth, almost polished.

It would be a long walk, but Dumbledore didn't care how long it would be.

He walked without rest for a longer time he would have thought himself capable of.

Author Notes:

(1) I didn't want to leave out any ghost in Hogwarts, so I checked the wiki. Turns out that there are less ghosts than I had thought. There are the four House Ghosts, Professor Binns, Moaning Myrtle, and, stretching the definition of "Ghost", Peeves the Poltergeist. J.K. Rowling commented she had notes about another ghost, Edmond Grubb, a fat Victorian ghost who died poisoned by berries and haunted one doorway into the Dining Hall. Grubb ocassionally blocks people from using that doorway.

(2) J'Onn is referring to the other Martian Manhunters, not to the androids originally used by the Guardians of the Universe, long before the Green Lantern Corps was pounded. They were equivalent to Earth's policemen.

(3) Completely original event, you won't find it in any comic.

Chapter Text

London, England
The Leaky Cauldron

"You okay, Rupert?" Tom asked the scruffy-looking man sitting at the bar. The bartender wiped the bar with a rag that was so old it was literally held together by magic. He stopped his movements before touching the top hat that sat next to his only customer at the moment.

Rupert Atkinson-Parker (1) sighed and wiped back his hair, relieved that his domino mask was safely stored in his coat pocket. "A bit spooked, Tom. Met a really scary guy at… um… somewhere else, you don't know the place. Really, really scary guy. You know I'm not a violent man, Tom. You know that."

"Sure, sure. You've been a good customer for what? Twenty-five Years?"

"I think it's closer to thirty, Tom…"

"So… scary guy? Big and built like an erumphent? Or rail thin and hunger in his eye like a nundu?"

"Neither. Both. Not exactly. Big, but not overly bulky. Thick and gaunt at the same time."

"I have no idea how that could even be possible." Tom kept on wiping the bar.

"I don't wanna keep talking about him, I just wanna settle my nerves and check on things."

"Well…" Tom leaned in conspiratorially. "Did you hear about the TriWizard Tournament?"

"Nope. I was… um… busy. It was a shame how they roped Potter into it."

"Oh, boy. I have news for you. The last task was a maze, and whomever got the cup at the end, wins. Well, Potter and Diggory get there, and must have touched it at the same time. But instead of being portkeyed to the podium, they vanish completely. Then, a bunch of people around cries as pixies in a press, and drop dead. Dead. Dead. Dead. All grabbing their left arm, like this." Tom mimicked the death throes of the victims. "All of them had the mark of You-Know-Who branded right in that arm."

Rupert's face twisted in disgust.

Tom was in a run now, and continued. "And then, before anybody got an inkling of what to do, Diggory arrives, poor kid…" Tom removed his hat respectfully, clutching it to his narrow chest. "He brings Potter with him, half dead both. Diggory ask for help for Potter, and they are both taken to St. Mungo's. Potter made it by the skin of his teeth, but poor Diggory, he was done for. He hung up for a bit, but the Healers couldn't do anything for him, Killing Curse, amazing he had the guts to live long enough to rescue Potter. Rumour is that they were kidnapped by You-Know-Who's Death Eaters, in revenge for their master's defeat back in the day. But Mother Magic took exception, and killed the Death Eaters instead. Jimmy Saint-Hames says they brought healers from St. Mungo's to Hogwarts, but no one could do anything."

"Oh." Rupert gasped.

"Potter is back at Hogwarts, but Dumbledore got some kind of seizure. It's been a bad week." He paused. "Except for the Death Eaters dying, I mean." Tom poured himself a drink. "For Mother Magic!" He toasted.

Rupert followed him a moment later.

"Ahhh!" Tom put the glass in a pile. It was always easier to spell them clean in a group. "People says Gringotts is in an uproar. Many Pureblooded bastards went the way of the gorgon. Lots of black letters!" He smiled vindictively. "The tables turned, Rupert! The tables well and truly turned! Here, I kept a few issues. I'm gonna frame this one!" He put one of the papers in a drawer, looking satisfied.

He put yesterday's issue of The Prophet in Rupert's hands. The picture showed the snake in a Dark Mark biting its owner. Rupert grimaced. Still, he read the article with morbid curiosity.

Not having anything better to do, he ordered a simple meal, and continued his reading. 'What has the world come to…' he thought at the heading of "Healers Forced to Heal a Muggle!"

He began to read, and felt his blood go cold at the description of the offender. '…a tall man wearing a white shirt and an outdated green hooded cloak…' With trembling hands, Rupert wiped his brow with a hanky. 'This is the guy. This is the guy they are looking for! Oh, Merlin in a slingshot! What I'm gonna do?'

A thunk brought him back from his dark thoughts. "What's the matter, Rupert?" Tom asked, looking worried, as he set the bowl on the bar. "You look like you saw a Grim." (2)

Hogwarts

Professor McGonagall stood nervously by the staff table, commanding the attention of everybody present. She steadied herself with long practice before speaking. "Students, as you know, Professor Snape died at the end of the TriWizard Tournament, therefore…" she swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat. "Therefore, grading of the Potions final tests and reviews of homework are to be delayed until a new Potions Teacher is hired. However, Professor Dumbledore has suffered some kind of stroke, and has been transported to St. Mungo's for treatment, therefore, the hiring of new staff will occur during the Summer Holidays. Due to these unfortunate events, any remedial or review clases scheduled for today are suspended. Library and classrooms are open for self-study."

Reactions were subdued, though three-quarters of the student body were relieved Snape would torment them no more, Dumbledore's illness was a shock. Lunch was a somber affair, especially with so many absences in Slytherin, and a few in other Houses.

As the students vacated the Hall, Hermione and Harry heard a "Psst!" Both looked around, and found Moaning Myrtle signaling desperately. Luna joined the group as Myrtle beckoned.

"We better see what she wants." Harry said. The trio followed the ghost to an empty classroom.

Myrtle smoothed her clothes, and, unusual in her, smiled. "Potter, Granger." She said, bowing. "I'm going away, but I wanted to say goodbye. A-and thank you. You two are the only people to be kind to me in a very long time." She paused. "Lovegood. We didn't have much to do with each other, but you never mocked me."

"Leaving? Aren't you…" Hermione interrupted herself.

Myrtle smiled sadly. "Bound to the school? I thought I was, but there's a ghost who says he can guide us to the other side. I'm going." She beamed.

"So you met Deadman?"

"Yes! You know him, Harry? Is he on the level?" Hope and wariness showed in her face.

The reanimated wizard nodded. "Met him at the end of the Tournament, he helped me come back."

"Oh, thank you! Could you…" she bit her ghostly lips, clearly fearful of being rejected, "…could you guys come to wave us goodbye?"

"We? Who else is going?" Harry asked, rubbing his chin.

"The Gray Lady. She says it's about time she leaves."

Luna nodded sadly. "She was not happy here, not like the Fat Friar. She stayed only because she had no where else to go."

"You know her?" Hermione asked.

"She helps me sometimes, when the Nargles keep me out from the Ravenclaw Rooms, or to find my stuff when they steal it and hide it around the castle."

Harry and Hermione exchanged a look. A green spark in Harry's eyes promised retribution. Hermione shook her head. The spark dimmed, but was still there.

Myrtle didn't notice the exchange. "Will you come?"

"Ah, sure." Hermione answered, followed by both Harry and Luna. "We'll be there, when?"

Myrtle hesitated, "I didn't ask! What if they go without me?" She looked like she was about to cry.

"Myrtle! Deadman will not go without you, I'm sure of that. Let's look for him and ask, is that fine with you?"

"I… I guess…"

Spectre's Mental Plane

Dumbledore walked.

he had been walking a very long time.

Ocassionally, he looked down at the stones in the road. The ones in front of him were smooth, perfectly level, while the ones behind were all inscribed with short phrases. The weirdest thing was the very same thing that reassured him he was going the right way. The same stones that were smooth when they were in front of him, showed an inscription once he had walked over them and looked back.

Hours, or maybe days later, he finally reached the end of the road.

It opened into a small park, with trees, grass, and even a small spring and a short waterfall that fed a pond full of fish.

A bench waited under the shadow of a big tree, and next to it, a small table with sandwiches and a jar of water. A glass full of cold water next to it.

Over the table, Dumbledore saw his hat. His own hat. Looking like it had been when he bought it.

The old wizards at down at the bench, finally resting his old, tired bones. "James? Are you here?" He hesitated, "Spectre?" The wind rustled the leaves of trees and bushes, and Dumbledore could have sworn he heard words in the wind.

"Wait. Remember. Think."

Feeling a small spark of hope, Dumbledore drank the water, ate one of the sandwiches, and began to examine his memories. But instead of letting himself fall in old habits, he tried to be as objective as he could. The Spectre's words had struck doubts in his very soul.

The blood staining his robes was a horrible reminder of the consequences of his actions.

He didn't like what he now realized had actually happened.

Diggory Manor

Amos Diggory and his wife had spent time putting everything in order. Cedric's last act had been to ask for help, not for him, but for Harry Potter; and Amos would be damned if he didn't do exactly that.

It was clear to him, after meeting the kid… so long ago. Merlin! Had it had been back during the Quidditch World Championship? It seemed a lifetime ago… He backtracked his thoughts, it was clear Potter was seriously lacking in manners. Not politeness, goodness, no. The kid was polite to a fault, but he acted as of he didn't know the myriad little protocols to follow in society.

And at his social level… it was unthinkable to have an Heir so ignorant of… everything!

Hence, Amos and his wife decided to offer Potter advice on those grounds. He himself would soon leave those duties to younger relatives, relinquishing his role as Head of House Diggory.

He took a quill, and began to write.

Gringotts

Ragnok growled softly. The Successor had not yet arrived to the bank, and he could not delay his duties anymore. He sheathed his dagger, put it back in the drawer, and called his secretary, an old and grizzled warrior.

"Write a memo, for all tellers and runners, all guards and cursebreakers, every single individual ar Gringotts' employ."

The secretary did so.

In short, anytime, day or night, that Harry Potter presented himself at the steps of Gringotts, he was to be granted all considerations and deference, and politely asked to Ragnok's office.

Also, a second message, to his family. Due to special circumstances, Ragnok would stay at his post until the situation was solved. He was to be sent his pillow, pajama, and a set of sheets and blankets for his private studio behind his office. No one should try to contact him, but wait to receive word. Meals were to be sent through a vanishing box.

Should things not be solved in a month, new instructions, or possible a death certificate would be sent.

Grimmauld House

"Dobby?" Sirius asked, seeing the elf strutting around, proudly wearing a small purple bowler hat over his bald head. "Looks good! Are you okay?" Somehow, the hat, which had surely belonged to a toy, seemed to fit Dobby perfectly.

"Winky finding hat for Dobby. Dobby feels strong. Most strongest!" He wiggled his fingers, watching small sparks of magic dancing at the tips.

Hogwarts

Draco Malfoy stalked purposefully the halls of Hogwarts, in search of his hated Nemesis. His wand hidden in the right sleeve of his shirt, ready for the inevitable confrontation.

Behind him, only Crabbe walked heavily. His other bodyguard, Goyle, had been summoned to the Family House. Not even Lucius Malfoy would dare to interfere with such a summon. Undoubtedly Gregory Goyle was now the main, and maybe only, Heir to be the new Head of the House, The Goyle. Poor sap. He simply was not a good choice to be anything but threatening muscle for somebody with a functional brain.

Crabbe still had a couple brothers and a cousin before him in the succession line, his two Uncles had been marked years before, so most probably they had succumbed to the Snakebite (3), as the event was beginning to be known.

To his unknowingly good luck, Draco Malfoy didn't find Harry Potter that day.

Had he looked out, and seen beyond the wards, he would have seen a teenager flying on a broom, his messy black hair flapping in the wind, and his black eyes searching the sky, barely protected by his round eyeglasses. "Darn!" He said, ""Just where in Hell did that ruddy owl go? And why doesnt that castle look like ruins anymore?"

Sheldrake Castle
Sublevel 2
Computer Room

"The Spectre." Knight mused, sipping a cup of strong tea. He was taken off most of his armor. "Isn't that the chap who razed Vlatava to the bedrock?"

"Yes and no." Batman said. Unlike their hosts, he kept his cowl stubbornly on. "The Spectre is a composite entity. Supposedly, the Wrath of God in person, with power to support such claim; plus a human host who directs that power. The previous host, Jim Corrigan, released the power and went to, again, supposedly, his eternal rest. I attended his funeral and watched him ascend, or something to that effect. The Spectre's power has joined a new host. I want to evaluate such host."

The Martian Manhunter sighed heavily. "The Phantom Stranger informed me and the rest of the JLA, stressing that the new Spectre would come to our help eventually. And simply wait for that moment to come in due time."

"Wait, wait, wait." Squire waved her hands around. "You mean you are actually going against a direct… suggestion from the Phantom Stranger? I haven't met the guy, but his reputation is… whew! Top of the Pops!"

Batman frowned behind his mask. "He has been known to make mistakes. I want to make sure this is not one of them."

Knight put his tea down on the table. "Batman. I have respected and admired you ever since I was the original Squire, but I have to say that you…" he paused, looking awkwardly at the floor, before raising his eyes again. "…you yourself can make mistakes too."

"I have very good reasons to go against the Stranger's advice this time. A few months before Corrigan relinquished the Spectre's power, he and I crossed paths with the Joker." Both Knight and Squire tensed. They too had the displeasure to meet the Clown Prince of Crime. It had costed them the lives of two friends. Well, one frenemy, and one who could have been much more than an ally for Squire. (4)

Batman continued. "Corrigan tried his usual tricks on the Joker, but somehow, he ended up trapped in the Joker's twisted mind, leaving the power of the Spectre wholly in the hands of the Joker."

Knight and Squire exchanged a look. "Go on." Knight said, "how come we are not in a nightmarishly horrible world dreamt by that maniac?"

"Corrigan found a way to reassert control of the Spectre, by overdosing the Joker with a functional conscience. Corrigan's own. The Joker spent a few months recovering from the ordeal."

"I can't imagine why the Spectre didn't just kill him." Squire said, "His body count must be in the fives."

Batman looked chastised. "The Joker is absolutely insane. He is not responsible for his actions. The Spectre cannot kill him." (5) "I need to be sure this new Spectre, a teenager entrusted with the power of God's Wrath, doesn't do something that monumentally stupid!"

"What about you, J'Onn?" Squire asked.

"I am here to prevent ill advised words or actions." He crossed his arms over his chest, as if daring somebody to comment. "Plus, I have my own reasons to search for this new Spectre. I had my own encounter with Corrigan, years ago. There's a chunk of my memory missing. I am sure he, as the Spectre, did something to my mind. Maybe the new Spectre can restore that missing lapse of time." (6)

Knight and Squire exchanged a look that clearly said, "He is here stop Batman from doing something that monumentally stupid."

Author Notes:

(1) Not canon. Distinguished Gentleman is not a detailed character in the DCU; basically, he is a name and a look. Hence, I'm giving him a name and a history.

(2) Wizards and witches get to deal with ghosts since, at a minimum, eleven years old, so they would need an equivalent to "You look like you saw a ghost." A Grim fills that need admirably.

(3) Being a Warhammer 40k player, I am particularly fond of Orks. One of the clans is known as Snakebites, so I couldn't resist to drop the name here.

(4) The first one was Jarvis Poker, the British Joker. A joke villain at the most. Think of the Cesar Romero version of the Joker, but tamer, and translated to England. The man was dying of cancer at the time he met the Joker, and sacrificed his life so the Joker would be captured by a loose alliance of heroes and villains. Blind Fury and Death Dinosaur alluded to these events in previous chapters. The second was a new arrival to the metahuman scene in England, the Shrike. Shrike attended the Time in a Bottle pub as a new supervillain, but after meeting Squire, decided to be a hero instead. The two dated briefly until Shrike was murdered by the Joker. All of these events are part of the Knight and the Squire miniseries.

(5) A weak justification, in my opinion. But the Trope isn't called Joker Immunity just because.

(6) During the Ostrander and Mandrake run in The Spectre, there was a 5 issue story-arc called "Revelations". The first four stories chronicled the first encounters of the Martian Manhunter, who was then hiding his very existence, with several heroes, while the last was basically just a fun story. The issues guest starred Superman (Martian Manhunter issue 20, Jul 2000), Green Lantern (Abin Sur; MM issue 21, Aug 2000), Batman (MM issue 22, Sept 2000), the Spectre (MM issue 22, Oct 2000), and the Justice League International (MM issue 23, Nov 2000). In issue 22, J'Onn was host to the Spectre force for a very brief time, Corrigan blocked those memories to protect him from psychological trauma. Eventually, Hal Jordan, then successor to Corrigan as the Spectre, restored those memories.

Chapter Text

London, England
Diagon Alley

"This just won't do." Madame Xanadu sighed. "Dear Kimmy, why does the sign still shows the 'Jiggerson and Son's Apothecary' sign? Jiggerson died fifty years ago, and the son followed his father in 1978."

A twenty-something young woman of Asian descent (1) shook her head, still holding a box full of, mostly, glass jars, though there were a few made of bronze, silver, gold, clay, and a couple made of metals unknown to mundane science. Some of the jars were small enough to fit in the palm of a hand; some big enough for the head of an adult man; each containing a different object, or part of one (2). "I'm sorry, Madame Xanadu." Kimmy said, her voice a droning monotone, "The man from the Ministry demanded to speak with you before letting us change the sign. As you can see, the sign is ready." she tilted her head to a small table, where the 'Hokus & Pokus Occult Curioso' sign rested, "We didn't want to cause a scene, per your instructions."

The immortal woman sighed, raising an eyebrow, "No doubt he hinted at some…" her hand traced vertical circles in the air.

"Licence processing fee, he said." Kim's answered with an euphemism for "Bribe".

"Stupid corrupt leeches…" Madame sighed again, "Well, let's give him a little trinket as a token of good faith." She noticed some ashes on the rug, "Smoker?" She asked.

Kim nodded, "Yes. He dropped the ash as a show of dominance."

"Well, then. That narrows the possible gifts, doesn't it?" She walked around, examining the jars. Looking for one jar in particular.

New York, USA
The Village, Lower Manhattan
Club The Wrath of God (Outside)

John Constantine took a drag of his cigarette, exhaling the smoke in an irritated snort. "Hell and damnation, John." He said to himself, "You had to tell the cabbie to get you to an interesting place…"

He stomped on the cigarette butt, digging in his pockets for the pack of Silk Cuts. "And of course, he had to give me a card for the only club in the world to cater to BDSM freaks that get turned on by the fricking Spectre!" (3) He lit a cigarette as he walked down the dirty alley, towards the door with the hand painted sign. "So much for forgetting about the new Spectre's ascension."

He shrugged and raised an open hand to the bouncer, a big muscle bound man, who wore a green hood over his black suit. He had no cape, but the hood was somewhat styled after an executioner hood, if one was to believe the movies…

"You are not dressed appropriately." The bouncer rumbled threateningly.

Constantine showed him the card the cabbie had given him. "First visit. Was told to ask for Simon."

The bouncer nodded, and opened the door. "Go to the bar. You'll find Simon there. If you get a sponsor, they will advise on proper attire. Next time you won't enter unless you are properly dressed."

"Got it, guv." Constantine nodded thanks, and went in, thinking 'Shoulda gone to Gotham…' He passed next to a couple stumbling to the private area. Both had heavy grease paint covering their faces in a ludicrously fake white pallor. The sorcerer from the other side of the world thought they looked like clown tadpoles, yet to grow their colours. They wore green capes and matching green underwear… nope, a Speedo and a bikini. Neither had a body even remotely suited for such clothes. Constantine suppressed a shudder and kept on walking to the bar.

On the way, he heard snippets of conversations. In the dim light, he noticed everybody wore green hooded cloaks, all with a blood-chillingly familiar look. 'I'll be damned… again…' he thought, containing the impulse to shake his head.

He sat by the bar, and nodded to the bartender, a cadaverous looking woman, her face partially hidden by the shadow of her hood. "A beer." He asked, "Regular, not that light swill that tastes like pee."

"Oh, a connoisseur from the Motherland, I see." She retorted, with a twisted smile. Her eyes sparkled in the shadow. "And a newbie in these parts." She filled a mug with beer on tap, and pushed it towards Constantine. "So, what's your deal, Brit-boy? Cane or whip? Back or hand?"

Constantine drank deeply from the mug before answering. "No idea, girl. Why don't you tell me the options?" He returned the smile with a crooked smile of his own. A more attentive look revealed that the woman had a nicer body that it seemed at first sight. It was mostly the make-up she wore making her look like a ghost. Or rather, a Spectre. Old Moon Face had left a mark in the Big Apple, that was obvious.

"Of course, that's why I'm here and get paid the big bucks. I am Simon. Agatha by name, Simon by surname." (4)

"John Constantine. I'm all ears."

Spectre's Mental Plane

Dumbledore stared into the distance, looking at the orange glow at the end of the road, beyond the horizon.

For long hours, he had remembered his life. For some reason, in this strange place his memory worked in an alarming way. He could recall events, people, actions, with crystalline clarity, but knowledge, academic stuff, blurred. He knew how to cast spells, but the theory behind that magic eluded him.

After a moment of panic, he calmed down. It might be a trick of this place, to keep his mind on his actions and not lose himself in tangential thoughts.

No. He was in here for a purpose.

To judge himself.

After reviewing his long and eventful life, he found himself… wanting.

He sighed sadly. So many…

So many wonderful people lost by his blindness, his unwillingness to compromise his lofty ideals.

He buried his face in his hands, and wept.

In his mind's eye, all those people paraded in front of him, silently accusing him of their deaths. Starting with his beloved sister, Ariana, and their father. A seemingly unending tide of faces and names, all of them belong to people who had died because of him and his actions. James and Lily, along with Frank and Alice, were not the last, but their silent judgement felt even heavier than most of the others, as their sacrifice had not ended that night.

Fighting evil required sacrifices. But he himself had not sacrificed much in the end…

With a supreme effort, he stood up. His knees barely supported him, and his hands shook terribly.

If this was to be his end, he would face it with as much courage as he had asked from the people he had sent to their deaths.

"Spectre?" He said, "I'm ready for judgement." He stood immobile, waiting. A lonely figure in an empty world.

The bench, the table, and even the road disappeared, leaving him standing there, alone.

Absolutely alone.

Hogwarts
Astronomy Tower

"Hey, kid, young ladies." Deadman bowed as Harry, Hermione and Luna opened the door of the Astronomy Tower. The Grey Lady stood there, watching down serenely. Myrtle joined her a moment later floating through the floor. To the sides of the class platform, the ghosts of Hogwarts watched in respectful silence, except for the Bloody Baron, the only one absent.

"Hello, Boston." Harry said, smiling at the red-clad ghost. "Let me introduce you to my friends. Hermione Granger, the smartest witch of our generation; and Luna Lovegood, who can see beyond sight. Hermione, Luna, this is my friend, Boston Brand, also known as Deadman."

Both girls curtsied. "Glad to meet you, Mr. Brand." Both said in synch.

"The pleasure is mine. Any friend of Harry is my friend." Deadman bowed in an exaggerated movement.

Hermione fidgeted with her fingers against her robe. Harry whispered, "Later."

She nodded and calmed down. Harry pulled them softly to the end of the line of ghosts, symbolically closing the lines, forming a rough circle, open at the edge of the platform.

Boston approved with a minute nod, and took to the air, floating just beyond the edge of the parapet. He cleared his throat, and spoke with a strong voice, "Welcome, friends. For this is a joyful occasion." He smiled. "Today, two souls find their way forward. Don't be sad, don't be mad. For this day comes to all souls. Raise you eyes, Helena Ravenclaw. Raise your eyes, Myrtle Warren. Up to the sky. Right over the horizon. What can you see?" He pointed at the horizon.

Myrtle gasped. "There's a star!"

The Grey Lady spoke, her voice very soft in wonder. "But it's the middle of the day!"

"It is indeed, a star." He extended his hands towards them. "There is your next step, I'll take you there so you won't get lost or distracted in the way. Will you let me be your guide?"

The two ghosts nodded, tears gleaming in their eyes. Myrtle hurried to Harry's side, and kissed him on the cheek, blushing silver, before hurrying back to her place. They took Deadman's hand, and slowly floated away from the tower. Helena Ravenclaw watched the star as if in a trance, but Myrtle turned her head back. "Goodbye , Harry. You were a good friend. Hermione, Luna, I wish I had known you better."

The three students waved goodbye, wishing the departing ghosts good luck. Myrtle smiled widely and turned back to the star. For a fleeting moment, her smile was the most beautiful thing in the world, for in it, there were happiness and peace.

"I'll see you later, guys." Deadman said as the trio floated away, slowly at first, then faster and faster, until they were a dot in the sky, shone bright for a moment, and disappeared.

Everybody stood there for a minute, not daring to break the silence. They al knew in their hearts that this world would never see Helena Ravenclaw or Myrtle Warren again.

No one noticed the Bloody Baron, standing on the top of Ravenclaw tower, his head cast down in complete misery.

The ghosts floated to the stairs, for once, taking the same route the living did.

Sir Nicholas was the last one to depart. "You know?" He said, to no one in particular, "I had never seen her in peace. Neither of them. There was always…"

"I know, Sir Nicholas. I understand." Harry whispered.

"Thank you. I… it's hard to put into words." The Gryffindor House Ghost mumbled, "I better go with the others."

"I think we will stay for a bit." Hermione said. Sir Nick held the top of his head and bowed in goodbye."

The three teenagers stood in silence for a few minutes more, thinking.

A brown barn owl landed at the parapet, and began to groom its feathers. A moment later, Hedwig did the same.

"Hello, girl!" Harry smiled, "I see you got a new friend!"

The brown owl jumped to Luna's shoulder, to her clear delight; while Hedwig did the same with Harry.

Hermione looked at the new owl, "Hmm? Are you a postal owl?"

"Nope." A new voice answered from the empty air beyond the parapet. "His name is Yo-Yo. And he is my pal."

They turned around, seeing a kid sitting on a broom as if it was a bench. It was very clearly a Muggle broom. And the kid sitting over it held a curious look in his face. Apart from the scar, he looked almost like Harry! Messy black hair, round spectacles, even his nose and mouth looked somewhat alike, though his eyes were black, and though he was slim, he didn't look starved. (5)

"How did you enter Hogwarts? Who are you?" Harry asked, putting himself protectively in front of Germione and Luna.

"Well… I'm potentially the most powerful enchanter ever, so I just flew in. As for my name…" he sneered at them for a moment, before cracking a smile, "there are some who call me…" he paused dramatically, "…Tim!" (5)

Harry's brow twisted in incomprehension, Luna smiled, and Hermione snickered. And then laughed hysterically.

"Oh, c'mon, you two! I've been waiting months to introduce myself like that!" The kid jumped down from his broom, laughing. "Oh, well… I guess everybody is a critic. Tim Hunter, you must be Harry Potter. The Phantom Stranger said we should meet. So here I am." He held his broom up. "Race?"

The Moon
JLA Watchtower
Monitor Room

The Flash lounged comfortably on his chair, surrounded by snacks. In a few minutes, his watch would end. He was impatient to go back to Earth. Linda had prepared a night out, and he was impatient to leave the Watchtower.

The transporter tube hummed, and Superman entered the Screens Room. "Hey, Wally. Any news?"

"Supes! You're early." Flash checked his watch. "Things are remarkably quiet for that would require the JLA so far."

"Great! Lois insisted I came early. I know Linda has been preparing your date night." He shrugged, "They have been talking."

"Ah, domestic bliss." Both heroes laughed.

"BTW, we are a bit short-handed. Bats and J'Onn took a few days off." Flash's fingers blurred over the modified keyboard, pulling the roster for the next few days. "Aquaman registered it in his shift."

Superman's brow furrowed. "Both? That's weird."

"You know how Bats is."

"I do, but J'Onn has a lot of identities. He normally goes down the list to keep them active."

"I don't know how he does it." Flash scratched his head. "I can barely manage some days."

"Yeah, same with me. Where are they?"

Flash checked the computer. "England. Both of them."

Superman shook his head. "Batman is too stubborn for his own good. At least J'Onn is with him."

"Wanna put an alert?"

"No. Just keep on watching from afar. I'm not going to make things worse. If, and only if, things go too bad, I'll put a call. The Stranger asked us to let things proceed."

"They are proceeding." A deep voice noted from behind them. Superman turned around and Flash scrambled out of the chair.

"Stranger!" Superman said.

"You almost gave me a heart attack!" Flash exclaimed.

"My apologies." He tilted his head towards the heroes. "Batman's actions have been taken into account already."

"You set him up? That's amazing!" Flash pointed at the mysterious man.

"No. Plans have been made for both his presence and absence. As we speak, the new Spectre has met a new friend. This day will decide how he will fulfill his duty."

"If you don't mind, I'll still keep an eye on things. For my peace of mind."

"Of course." The Phantom Stranger tipped his fedora, and vanished like smoke.

Weekly Alarm! Offices
Editor's Office

"We are ready to go to print with your story, Flead. I'll give you cover and two page spread, a quarter page of pictures with text. I want a box detailing the blood results." Mortimer J. Moss practically rubbed his hands together. This was a big scoop. And the Weekly Alarm! Had the exclusive!

No other paper had gotten close to the crime scene, and the police had managed to keep things under wraps.

"Well? What are you waiting for? Your paycheck will come out the profits, so get crackin'!" He clapped twice, and his reporter ran out the dingy office.

Satisfied, Moss sat down on his battered chair, thinking of a good header for this week's edition. He extended his hands in front of his face, framing the imaginary text. "DEADLY TIDE OF BLOOD IN LONDON!" No, too long. "TIDE OF BLOOD!" Hmm… nope. "BLOOD TIDE IN LONDON!" Ah! That was the one.

Tomorrow, all of England would be reading the Weekly Alarm!

Author Notes:

(1) Kim Liang. She doesn't actually exist. She is a shard of Madame Xanadu's soul, given form by magic. She was part of a plan by Madame Xanadu to obtain magical energy from Jim Corrigan (who at this point led a semi-independent existence from the Spectre), while Kimmy played on with Jim Corrigan's feelings to seduce him, Madame Xanadu did the same with Corrigan's other half. It worked for a while, but Corrigan/Spectre got wise to the trick, and cut ties with both Kim and Xanadu. Later on, a deal with the devil (Nero) gave the fragments more power, rebelling against Xanadu. She reasserted control, and still keeps them around. Kim Liam's debuted in The Spectre issue 1 (Apr, 1987). All of Madame Xanadu's employees are fragments of her soul, but I'll not give them much characterization, as I won't read the issues they were introduced. (I cannot stand Gene Colan's… drawings. His crimes against anatomy were many and constant. Just to make my opinion clear, he is my Rob Liefield).

(2) The jars contain little mementos of Madame Xanadu's adventures. When she debuted in Doorway to Nighmare issue 1 (Feb 1978), her stories had her reading the future to the protagonists of each story, helping them solve a supernatural problem. At the end of the story, some small item related to the story appeared inside a small glass jar. It was shown she had collected dozens, maybe hundreds of jars, that she kept in her store.

(3) Believe it or not, The Wrath of God Club exists canonically in the DCU, at least for one issue. It was formerly called The Killing Joke Club. Guess whom was it was based on… in any case, both versions of the club debuted in The Spectre, issue 51 (Mar, 1997). It's implied that the club continually changes name and theme, as its patrons are always looking for the next fad.

(4) OC, just there for ambiance.

(5) The two characters are very similar in appearance. Tim Hunter debuted a few years before Harry Potter, and it's not clear if J.K. Rowling was influenced by the Books of Magic comic or not. In any case, Neil Gaiman, Tim Hunter's creator, has not pursued any legal action about it. It might very well be a coincidence.

(6) Tim Hunter is referencing the classic movie "Monty Python and the Holy Grail". If you're like Harry and Luna, and don't know why Hermione is laughing, I implore you to watch the movie!