A Riddle to be Solved Ch. 16

The stake had been raised. The wood had been brought in from the forest by Hagrid, and Hermione had made sure it provided a suitable burn. Everything had been set so that at the moment of execution, the crowd would be treated to a wonderful view of the sun rising just as Riddle's body became consumed by the flames. For a moment, it would look as if the sun had leapt out from the abyss to swallow the woman whole.

“Hermione, you're still here?” 

Hermione turned around to see Ronald walking up the cliffside. Neville and him had come out a bit worse for wear than she had, as while Harry had managed to stitch them together, he hadn't been able to recover all the pieces. Ron was missing an ear and the tip of his nose. The entire right side of his face was dark chocolate skin. In fact, his entire body was a pastiche of his own pale skin and Blaise Zabini's dark tones, as that had been whose skin the Constable had repurposed to make Ron whole.

“Everything needs to be perfect.” She said. 

Ron snorted. “You've gone over it a million times already. I doubt there's even a pebble out of place. Come on, you need some rest.”

Hermione allowed Ron to grab her arm and lead her back down the hill. She touched her face, some of the stitches had become frayed, she would need to clean those up.

They apparated away and returned to Hogsmeade. Neville was in his garden, tending to his plants. Leaves and branches were randomly sprouting from between his stitches. Seeds kept falling in through them and sprouting. It didn't seem like he cared.

“Where is the Constable?” 

Ron shrugged. “He's been punishing criminals to blow off steam.”

Hermione frowned. “I'll go see him.”

The Constable's cottage sat at the edge of town, built over what had once been the Shrieking Shack.

It seemed that its old namesake had returned, if the wanton, high-pitched moans coming from inside were anything to go by.

Hermione slipped through the door and the cacophony of moans grew louder. 

The Constable had redecorated. Narcissa Malfoy, the former Lady Parkinson, Gemma Farley and Tracey Davis. These were all witches that had escaped execution by the skin of their teeth, but had been sentenced to lifetime imprisonment due to their dark connections. 

Now, they were hanging from the Constable's ceiling, chained up and gagged. Some were blindfolded, Narcissa Malfoy was hanging upside down, hair almost touching the floor as her large, milky tits periodically slapped against her chin.

The women were moaning against their restraints. Their bodies were covered in scars and bruises, most of them fresh, and Hermione noticed dried patches of a milky white substance all over their faces and bodies. She was sure that if she inspected their cunts, they'd be filled as well.

She snarled. She jabbed her wand towards Narcissa, and the woman yelped as needles pierced through her nipples, the heavy chain that connected them dangling down over her head. She conjured a massive butt plug that spread Tracey Davis’ anus painfully wide, and she made sure everyone's chains were appropriately tight and freezing cold.

She walked past the Constable's new little garden and went into his chambers.

She was not surprised to see Astoria Greengrass, who had quickly become the favorite focus for the Constable's new methods, but she was taken aback by the fact that the woman was sitting on the bed, naked but unhurt, skin blemished, but none of the bruises fresh.

Greengrass was sitting on the bed like some sort of… consort, and worst of all, her eyes glowed, they were full of life, full of energy and hope.

The constable was next to her, completely nude. The new body that the other Potter had created for him lacked the old battle scars, and Hermione hated his new prosthetics. She had fashioned those old copper limbs, they'd been rugged, these new pnes were lifeless robotics.

It was funny how fixated one could become on such minute details. Up until now she'd completely missed the small girl that was kneeling in between the Constable's legs, bobbing her head up and down on his cock.

Hermione's frown deepened by the second. She cared not a bit about the little blonde's age, which must have been in the single digits. Outlawry knew no age, and she did not prescribe to the idea of treating wrongdoers with a softer hand just because they were minors. A dirty, rotten criminal was one whether they were eight or eighty. No, what truly bothered her was the fact that she recognized that blonde hair and those blue eyes that were staring up at the Constable as she sucked on his cock.

“Constable?!”

The Constable's hand immediately went to the girl's head, keeping it from pulling away from his cock as he glanced over at his deputy. That little bitch Greengrass actually had the gall to lean onto the Constable's side. “Yes? Are you done with the preparations, Deputy Granger?”

“I am.” She hissed. “What is going on here? What made you bring Daphne Greengrass back from the dead?”

Because that's who the little girl was. It was Daphne Greengrass. Her skin had that drained, greenish-blue hue, and her large black stitches were even more numerous than Hermione's, making her look like a true Frankenstein's monster. There were bits of her left ear missing, as if some animal had bitten chunks off of it, and the sclera of her eyes were a deep, sickly yellow.

Daphne Greengrass had been dead for over a year. 

“This one has made me realize that we never quite punished her sister enough.” As he said that, he forced zombie Daphne's head further down on his cock. “So I brought her back. Now, you'll have to live with being punished alongside your own sister, who's been reduced to nothing more than an undead child.” 

The Constable directed his words towards Astoria, using that same, authoritative tone he always used, and he seemed completely oblivious to how this all just made Greengrass smile.

“Yes sir.” She nuzzled closer onto his side.

“And that's not all. I'll breed you both. You'll labor with the pain of carrying a child, you'll endure the agony of childbirth with no relief for your pain, and when you're done, I'll plant another baby in you and force you through it again.”

Astoria gasped, and to Hermione's disgust, she saw her nipples harden. “That sounds dreadful! Can Daffy even carry a child in her condition?” 

The Constable snorted. “Oh, she can. You'll see. In fact.”

He snapped to his feet, throwing a surprised Daphne off of him. With inhuman speed, he grabbed her by her leg and tossed her onto the bed.

Hermione watched, a snarl fixed on her face as the Constable forced Daphne onto her hands and knees. He pulled her to the edge of the bed, lined his cock up and shoved it into her tiny little snatch. 

Little zombie Daphne yelped as her pussy was spread wide open. Astoria cooed, planting soft kisses on her older (now younger?) Sister's face as the Constable's nuts slapped against her clit and he tested the limits of her reformed pussy.

Hermione couldn't take it anymore. She backed away. Leaving the Constable behind, angrily stomping through the forest of women who were once again moaning instead of screaming.

The Constable was slipping. It was a tough pill to swallow, but the paragon of justice was losing his way. Hermione would swallow her words for now, but after the execution, after they fully secured their world, she would need to have a talk with him.

…

“Lyra, are you ready? We need to go?”

“I'm done! I'm done!” She said as she stuffed a fee more seeds into her pockets.

She'd had to scramble a bit. These weren't her plants. Her plants had been engineered over months of careful cross-breeding and experimentation. There was no equivalent to her in this world, these were just normal magical plants, but there were still some things she could do here and there.

“Alright.” She grinned at Harriet as she patted her bag, “Let's go save aunt Emily.”

Harriet reached out to grab her hand. Lyra grasped it, and they both shared a comforting squeeze before Harriet pulled her in and gave her a hard, passionate kiss.

Lyra was blushing profusely when they broke apart. 

“We're going to make it through this. Our family's gonna be whole again.” Harriet said, and the fire in her eyes filled Lyra with grit and determination.

They left the greenhouses. Out on the grounds, Lady Voldemort and her Harry were standing in front of her women, arrayed and ready for battle.

“There is no need for mercy. No need for humanity. When you enter this new world, you are looking to kill, to dismember. Show no regard for your enemies.”

“Yes, mistress!”

Harriet and Lyra ran over to join the gathering. Delphi and Fleur were with the younger girls, Fleur cradling Bellatrix in her arms. The two had not exactly been happy with being left behind, but Voldemort had given them no choice. In the field of battle, they would be liabilities.

Young Harry, who had a guitar case slung over his shoulder, pulled out his flute and began to play. The melody reminded Harriet of the westerns Dudley and uncle Vernon used to watch. The drumbeat of her heart fell into lockstep rhythm with the flute. Harriet swallowed all her worries and fears, she was a child marching off to war, but she was used to that, and this time, it was a war of her own choosing.

Lyra squeezed her hand as they went bravely into the breach.

…

The procession was solemn. Executions were something akin to a religious experience in this world, and this was an execution unlike any other.

Ron and Neville were carrying the prisoner along. Emily had been stuck to a cross, her limbless body left naked to show everyone her broken form, covered in cuts and bruises. Emily did her best to hold her head high, but her eyes were heavy, having been forced awake for the past seventy hours, and the sheer exhaustion she felt was palpable.

“Dark witch!”

“Spawn of evil!”

“Burn her! Purify her soul in the flames of hell!”

They were coming up on the crowd now, and no matter how much they impressed the serenity of the moment onto them, the mob mentality tended to overtake them when they saw the condemned.

Someone threw a rotten piece of fruit at her, and then someone threw a tomato, and it would have turned into an avalanche of garbage if the Constable hadn't raised his hand, snuffing out the growing frenzy with a mere gesture.

The Constable still commanded so much respect. So much reverence. He was leading the procession, his gaze steely, and Hermione was glad that he'd not been insane enough to include that whore Greengrass in the procession, even if she and her sister were following closely, moving freely, as if they were not vile scum.

They reached the cliffside. It was still dark out, but the sky looked ready, it looked primed to make the transition from darkness to light when dawn soon broke. 

Riddle was tied up to the stake as the crowd gathered round. Everyone was silent now. They still had some time before the sun rose. The ritual was all set, they had time for theatrics.

Hermione looked to the Constable, who nodded curtly. He was a man of few words, she was the voice of justice.

She stood in front of everyone, Riddle tied up at the stake behind her. Hermione smiled, she was wearing her finest black dress robes. She lifted the black veil she wore over her face as she began to speak.

“We are gathered here this morning, to witness the execution of this wretched soul. Emily Riddle, Emily Gaunt, Voldemort, whatever name she chooses to go by, her very soul will be cleansed by the flames of justice. This is a cause for celebration, a cause for joy, for with the execution of this criminal, this inter-dimensional scum that threatened our very way of life, we will safeguard our future, safeguard our justice. We will ensure our people are protected, ensure the law is upheld, and let no outsiders encroach into our realm.”

They cheered and clapped for her. Perhaps not as enthusiastically as she would have liked. The Constable had always been better at eliciting reactions, even if his speeches were far too short and terse for Hermione's liking.

She turned to look up at Riddle, who seemed halfway gone already. “Any last words?”

The woman looked down at her, defiant and stubborn, refusing to even open her mouth.

No matter, she would hear her wonderful screams when her body was engulfed by the fires of righteousness.

“Well then, it seems she has nothing to say-”

“I can speak for her.”

Shocked murmurs spread through the crowd as Hermione's face twisted in rage. “Who dares?!”

The crowd was suddenly pushed away, opening up a hole to reveal a tall, inhuman monster of a woman, pale faced with flaming red hair and demonic eyes.

It all happened very quickly. Spells began to fly from all directions, people screamed in pain and terror as they were torn apart by dark curses. Panic spread quickly as people tried to escape, things turning into a stampede.

Astoria was caught up in the panic, she wrapped her arms around Daphne, desperately clinging on to prevent her sister from being torn away from her and trampled amongst the stampeding crowd.

“Oooh, what tasty little target we have here? You must be a Greengrass!” Bellatrix cackled as she aimed her wand at Astoria, a curse on her lips that would have ended both sisters in one strike.

Just as Bella's lips moved, her breath was taken away as she was pulled back by someone - perhaps it was Narcissa, perhaps it was Nymphadora - just in time to save her head from being sliced clean off, though it didn't prevent a deep slice from burning across her nose.

“Gah!” She hissed as she stumbled backwards.

The crowd had stopped moving. The Constable stood in front of Astoria, wand still held out at his side where he'd finished his slash, cloak ruffling in the wind as his entire body crackled with energy, eyes filled with fury.

“Everyone will retire to the fortress. Now. You will not leave until the terrorist scum have been dealt with.”

Nymphadora scoffed at his words. “As if we'll just let them go free.”

The Constable cocked his head at her, as if he were dealing with an innocent child. “Let? There is no let.” 

He snapped his fingers, and the yellow wristbands everyone wore began to glow. In a sudden flash, they were all whisked away, leaving behind only the constable, his deputies, and their opponents.

“Now that the field of battle has been cleared.” The Constable cracked his neck. “It is time to be done with you vermin.”

He took a step towards Bellatrix when he felt a spell fly in from his blind spot. He easily flared his cloak, letting it absorb the spell and have it reappear behind his attacker.

Voldemort didn't move as her Harry shielded her with a quick protego, which buckled under the attack but just managed to bounce the spell off.

“We will be your opponents tonight, Constable.” Lady Voldemort said as young Harry stood close by her side.

The Constable chuckled darkly. “I'll gladly accept.”

All around, duels began to break out as the Constable marched slowly towards Voldemort and Harry. Ron, Hermione, Neville and the other minor deputies faced off against Voldemort's ladies.

Spells began to fly in front of the cliffside, Emily looming high in the background, still tied up at the stake. 

…

“A Weasley, huh? I don't know if an oaf like you should be handling a big sword like that.” Bellatrix taunted Ron, who had the sword of Gryffindor hoisted up over his shoulders, looking like a rather easy target.

She sent a bone breaker his way, and the stitched-together redhead swung the sword down with superhuman reflexes, cleaving her spell in half. “You know, I didn't get to kill you in this world, so I'm glad I have another hack at it.”

Meanwhile, Neville was cackling as he swung his arms like a madman. The plants that had grown inside his body had formed a symbiotic relationship with him, and being the gifted herbologist that he was, Neville was manipulating them, sending thorns flying from the venomous tentacula that lived inside his arm and forcing Nymphadora to shield while Amelia and Narcissa tried to press the attack.

From his legs, thick roots dug into the earth and rushed towards them, sprouting upward and gouging the earth out from under them. 

“Fuck this!” Nymphadora yelled as she rolled away from a muddy brown root that tried to smash down on her face. She aimed ger wand at Neville and let the heat build up in her arm.

Amelia and Narcissa dived away as a blast of magical flame shot out from her wand. It was not quite fiendfyre, but it was close, bearing the angry face of a demon as it barreled towards Longbottom.

Neville opened his mouth, and a light blue flower emerged from his throat. His eyes crossed over as the flower spread its petals wide, psychedelic patterns dancing across its surface, which spanned twice the size of Neville's head. 

The flower took the fireball head on and swallowed it whole. Then, it warbled with blue energy before retaliating with a powerful beam of its own.

Once again, they were forced to dive away as the blast scorched a deep trench on the ground, leaving trails of blue flame to continue eating through the soil.

“Is he even human?” 

“Fuck does it matter, auror Tonk?” Amelia said with a vicious grin on her face. “Whatever this Longbottom's turned into, I'm gonna love making it scream.”

There were two people that had not paired up with an opponent. Harriet and Lyra were slowly walking towards Emily. There was a small bubotuber orbiting around them, letting off faint puffs of puss, which Lyra had modified to subtly mask their presence.

“Oh Merlin, aunt Emily!” Lyra said in horror as they drew closer and got a better look at the shape Emily was in. Her missing limbs, her wounds and bruises, the broken look on her face, she was a far cry from the powerful, supremely confident woman they had always know.

“We'l save her, Lyra, we'll make her better.” Harriet assured.

They were drawing closer to the stake, almost within range of eye-contact, when a knife flew through the air and speared right through the bubotuber.

“What do you brats think you're doing?”

Hermione Granger stood in their path, snarling viciously at them as she held several more knives in her hand. “No one is going to ruin this ritual for me, much less you little delinquents.”

Harriet and Lyra exchanged nods as they drew their wands. Hermione cocked her head, cackling madly as she conjured a whip at the end of her wand. “I've been very frustrated lately, I'm going to love punishing you little criminals.”

…

“You sure are a heartless beast.” The Constable said as he stood opposite Lady Voldemort and Harry.

“How so?” She asked.

“You claim to care for this boy. Yet you bring him out here to be slaughtered.”

Voldemort chuckled darkly as she placed a hand on Harry's head. “You misunderstand the situation.”

“Oh?”

Little Harry glared defiantly up at his counterpart. “I'm here to protect mommy.”

“And how do you intend to do that, you little whelp?” 

Harry reached into his guitar case, which was actually a violin case, and he produced a very strange looking violin.

The violin was bone white, its shape crooked and jagged, bearing a close resemblance to Voldemort's yew wand, even down to the unsettling texture that made it look like a real human skeleton had been distorted into the shape of a musical instrument.

In fact, The Constable was sure the instrument had been fashioned from a skeleton, be it human or something else entirely. Meanwhile, the accompanying bow was inky black, its strings swirling with a malevolent crimson energy.

“Bah. A child wielding a toy does not concern me.”

Voldemort sent him a vicious look. “You will find that music holds a magic far beyond your comprehension.”

Tired of talk, the Constable whipped his wand and sent a cavalcade of curses flying towards Voldemort. Voldemort conjured a silver shield, which melted under the onslaught of spells. Voldemort transfigured the molten metal into a liquid snake that she banished towards her opponent, a killing curse trailing just behind it.

The Constable didn't miss a beat. He slashed his wand downward, conjuring two slabs of stone that flew in from either side, snuffing out the killing curse as they exploded into rubble. 

He flared his cloak, baiting the molten snake like a matador would a bull. The snake was swallowed up by the invisibility cloak, vanishing from view.

A vortex opened up behind Harry and Voldemort. The snake re-emerged, hot fangs flared as it lunged at their unprotected backs.

The violin was tucked under Harry's chin, and without moving an inch or looking back, the boy fiddled a long, discordant note.

The snake exploded into seven jets of molten metal, each arching around and away from the two lovers before rushing forth to attack the constable.

Harry furiously played his violin, manipulating the the streams as they attacked the Constable.

The Constable grunted as he was struck in the shoulder by a gouging curse from Voldemort, a big chunk of his shoulder eaten away.

The resurrection stone made sure that his arm regenerated in moments, but still, the potshot made him frown.

The gloves would have to go off.

…

“Stop fucking running, you little brats!” Hermione screamed as Harriet used her lupine reflexes to jump away just as an iron maiden was about to snap shut around her.

Lyra tossed yet another seed at her, but Hermione slashed her wand and conjured a flame whip, incinerating the seed and forcing Lyra to skip out of the way, though the end of the whip caught her in the arm.

Lyra hissed in pain. It was only a grazing shot, but it still burnt like hell. Hermione cackled madly. Harriet lunged at her, trying to take advantage of her reflexes, but the older witch was much too skilled, conjuring a bear trap which the wolf-girl was forced to contort her body around to avoid after it was banished in her direction.

Harriet rolled on the ground, gritting her teeth as she sent a curse that Hermione easily parried. 

She scrambled to her feet as Lyra came up next to her, the gash in her arm burning a deep red. “What are we supposed to do?” Lyra asked.

Harriet glanced over her shoulder, an idea forming in her head.

“How about we dance with someone else?”

“Huh?”

Harriet grabbed onto Lyra's good arm and dragged her away as Hermione gave chase.

“Where do you think you're going, you mangy mutt?!” Hermione yelled after them, full of bloodlust.

“Hey! How about we swap?!” Harriet shouted towards the three witches that were struggling with Longbottom, who's body had completely been taken over by a mass of slimy roots and alien flowers. 

“What exactly are you gonna do against this thing?” A bleeding Tonks shouted. 

“It eats up all the magic we throw at it, and the bastard tanks physical blows too.” Narcissa growled in frustration.

Lyra grinned, ducking under a mace swing from Hermione and going into a full on baseball slide as she dug her hand in her pocket.

She hadn't had time to create any of her specially modified plants, but sometimes, it pays to keep it simple.

Dittany Blight was one of the most common pests in herbology. Despite its name, it didn't only affect dittany, it was capable of spreading to most species of magical plant. It had been a major issue in the past, but was nothing but a minor pest these days, as evolving methods of horticulture had rendered it a mere nuisance. 

Lyra had found the fungus spreading through a small section of the greenhouses in Lady Voldemort's world. She'd isolated a sample and tried to modify it to be able to infect flesh.

She'd been unsuccessful. She just didn't have enough time.

But this thing standing before them wasn't human. Not fully.

She pulled out a tiny little seed, a husk that she had clamped shut. She flicked it with her finger and aimed her wand with both hands, giving the seed the extra little boost it needed.

The seed zipped off towards the monstrosity that was Neville Longbottom, zooming past writhing roots and thorns until it was finally swallowed up by a small purple flower.

Instantly, the plant-wizard abomination seized up. Neville's eyes went wide, and then spots began to appear directly on his eyeballs.

The blight spread quickly, feasting on the vast stores of magic Neville had absorbed, mildew and mold began to sprout all over his flowering bodies and roots.

Everyone backed away as the mold spread and Neville began to fall apart, chunks of his body rotting off and decaying.

Amelia shook her head. “Incredible. Well, I guess we'll accept your trade.” She said as she, Nymphadora and Narcissa turned their wands on Hermione.

Meanwhile, Harriet did her part. As Bellatrix struggled with Ron, who was wildly swinging his sword and shrugging off glancing blows even as chunks of his body were torn off. She jumped in front of Bellatrix just as Ron was about to swing the sword of Gryffindor down over her head.

Harriet clamped her hands over the sides of the sword, using her strength to stop its momentum before it could cleave her own head in half.

Ron groaned in frustration as he used all his strength to bring the sword down, only for Harriet's grip to hold firm.

“What the fuck?” Ron barked. He poured power into the sword, trying to send a blast of magic through to the wolf-girl, but something happened that shocked him.

His control over the sword slipped. He could not command its magic, its weight growing exponentially as his grip became harder and harder to maintain.

In a flurry of movement, Harriet snatched the sword from his hands and swung it across his body, slicing through him and sending his guts flying into the air.

…

Meanwhile, the Constable was panting, eyes narrowed as he stared down his opponents.

That little shit with his violin was a problem. He'd stopped attacking him with the metal, but instead morphed it into a glistening suit of armor that now protected Voldemort. The boy continued to play his instrument, though. Every hurried note affected the Constable's mood, it threw his balance off, it filled him with a panic that he had not felt in a lifetime. Not only that, but it seemed that the very air around him thinned and thickened, the soil hardened and loosened, the wind howled and died.

The entire battlefield was dancing to the tune of the boy's demonic violin. It was a miracle that he'd managed to last this long, but his opponent was not the most skilled. This Voldemort was a disappointment, she barely moved, barely even pushed the advantage or tested him. If he, hell, if anyone competent had had the boy on their side, he would have been done for.

No, he needed to get rid of the boy, and then the woman would be easy pickings.

He grimaced, knowing what he had to do. It disgusted him to have to resort to this, it was undignified. But justice trumped dignity.

He crouched down and broke into a run, the artificial limb that he'd been fitted with boosting his speed. 

He was running directly at them. Voldemort's eyes widened, and she finally began to fire off spells at a desperate pace. 

The Constable swept the killing curses up in his cloak, but everything else, he simply let strike him. A blasting curse blew a hole through his chest, a jet of acid melted down the side of his face, fire burned through his throat.

He was testing the limits of his regeneration. As quickly as his body stitched itself together, it was being broken down and torn apart.

His wand arm was ripped off at the shoulder. A new arm sprouted in its place, and he grabbed the old one, channeling magic through the arm, and through the wand.

The extra reach helped. The boy was not a conventional fighter, and the Constable's wand jabbed directly at his face.

There was a flash of light and then a burst of blood.

Voldemort was grimacing, gritting her teeth as her arm bled out, a sickly yellow ring of dark magic eating through her limb. She'd stepped in front at the last second, trying to protect her boy.

“M-Mommy!” Harry yelped in despair. He'd been grazed as well, a small cut on his forehead, right over his old scar.

The Constable smirked. More important than the injuries was the violin that now lay on the floor, a hole on its side and its strings broken, its magic no more.

He backhanded little Harry, sending him flying away, but not before he grabbed his violin case and tore it from him.

A flute, an ocarina, a harmonica and a tambourine, they all flew through the air as the boy skidded in the opposite direction.

Voldemort jabbed her wand toward him, but the Constable closed his hand over the tip, letting the purple curse liquefy his hand without a care in the world.

“Its over for you.” He said as his hand reformed and he snapped her wand at the tip.

Voldemort looked up at him hatefully, her other hand hanging limply at her side. 

“You were such a pathetic opponent. Even your counterpart up on that cross would have given me a better fight.”

The dark lady smirked. “We all have different strategies.”

“Oh? And what was yours?”

“I knew of your regeneration. There was no point in wasting my time melting you down just to watch you mold yourself back together, not when there are other methods.” 

She glanced over his shoulder, and despite himself, the Constable couldn't help but look.

Little Harry had one last trick up his sleeve. He held a black disk in his hands, one he'd hidden under his robe.

It was a wax record, and the young boy was digging grooves onto it with a fingernail, blood from his finger dripping onto the grooves.

“What is the me-” The Constable froze as he felt his body slowing down, becoming sluggish.

Voldemort took the opportunity to channel one last bit of magic through her broken wand, and next to Harry, a record player came into existence.

His work done, Harry held up the record, grooves dripping with blood, his eyes pupil-less and glowing.

Voldemort's voice was filled with malevolent glee as she spoke. “He's been listening to the symphony of your soul, committing to memory every single note of your spirit, and now, he's captured it in that record. He's captured you.” 

Harry placed the record onto the player. The needle went into the groove, and the music began to play. Backwards.

A distorted melody cut through the air, a western ballad in reverse. And as the constable stood there frozen, his body lost its color.

His soul didn't even struggle. It couldn't struggle, it was being called back home. It drifted from his body and rushed towards the record, stamping itself onto the wax.

…

The sun was just about to rise as Voldemort's ladies gathered up on the hill. They had won.

Harriet and Lyra held each other as they looked towards the cliffside, where Lady Voldemort had gone up to bring Emily down from the stake.

“We did it. We saved aunt Emily! Now, we just need to go for daddy.”

Harriet nodded along, her body flooded with relief. She had a bad track record in these kinds of battles, but this time, no one had died.

No one on their side, at least. Neville and Ron's remains were strewn all over the grass. Hermione was tied up on the floor, seething, while the bodies of Dean Thomas, Kingsley Shacklebolt and the other deputies lay completely still as the first few faint rays of sunlight peeked in from the horizon.

“Should we go and find the others? There's still some killing to do!” Bellatrix cooed.

Harry placed a hand on her shoulder. “Let them be, Bella. We achieved what we came for.”

Bella pouted, but she pulled little Harry close to her, hugging his face to her bosom. 

The others laughed. Aurora and Nymphadora shook their heads fondly. Harriet smiled, basking in this moment of victory.

“Wait… WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?!”

Her head snapped as Lyra's horrified words rang in her head. 

Flames. A fire had been lit, and the flames had risen high up the stake. And Emily was on it, still tied up.

Voldemort was walking away as her counterpart was consumed by the flames. The sun rose and magic flickered all around them as some form of ritual began to take place.

Harriet screamed. She couldn't hear herself, but she was screaming at the heartless woman who was walking back towards them, no emotions present on her face.

Voldemort flicked Harry's wand, and Lyra and Harriet went stiff as a board as they were hit by a petrifying spell.

“Mommy?” Harry asked, confusion and betrayal evident in his voice.

“Not now, Harry. We're leaving.” She looked to the others, who dutifully followed their lady's orders.

“What do we do about this one?” Narcissa gestured towards Hermione.

”Leave her. Leave everything here.” Voldemort took the Constable's record from Harry and threw it onto the ground. “These people can sort out their own world. We're to return home.”

Harry looked up at her, searching her face for a reason, for an explanation. Whatever he saw in Voldemort's crimson eyes, he nodded, his flute was summoned, and he began to play.

…

Fleur and Delphi were petrified immediately upon arrival. Now, all four girls stood, stiff and unmoving in the middle of the Great Hall as Voldemort's court surrounded them.

Voldemort settled on her throne again, a shaken up Harry nestling onto her lap. Her arm was on a sling, the dark magic that had mangled it would take time to heal, but with Harry's special brand of magic, it could be exorcized.

Harriet was terrified. She had no idea what had happened, how or why this woman had betrayed them, but they were at her mercy now, and worst of all, they had failed.

Emily was dead.

“You will listen to me, and you will listen to me clearly.” Voldemort said with that voice that commanded nothing but compliance. “I am sure you wonder why I have done all this, and it is for a simple reason, we are short on time, and I cannot let your emotions blind you. And so, you are here, and you will listen.”

The ladies of the court leaned in, waiting with baited breath to hear the Dark Lady's explanation.

“I set fire to Emily Gaunt. I did it… because she begged me to.”

The girls couldn't move, but their eyes told the entire story. They bulged, struggling against the magic that kept them in place. It was clear what they thought. 

Lies

“Emily Gaunt is not dead. I cannot quite comprehend where she is, but she asked for me to burn her down. I believe she hijacked whatever ritual had been set up. Your mother lives, and she is going to save Harry Gaunt.”

The words fell heavily on them. They couldn't believe them, it was all so fantastical, so far-fetched. And yet…

“But she needs your help.” Voldemort cocked her head to the side. “She needs you to go to the other universe. To the world with that wretched Potter that is siphoning magic from your realm.”

Voldemort let her words settle, she let them churn around in their minds, and when she lifted their petrification, she spoke again.

“Do you believe me?”

The girls all nodded slowly, their hands having linked together, squeezing each other tightly. 

“Then you will do as I said? We shall not be going with you to this world, so you will have to venture forth at your own risk.”

Harriet's eyes pierced right through hers. “We'll go.”

…

Hermione groaned, her body aching as she directed the civilians to collect as many bits of Ron as they could find. Neville had turned into an abomination, not something worthy of bringing back. Everyone else was unimportant.

She watched as Astoria Greengrass hugged the Constable's record to her chest, pulling her sister along by her arm and mumbling something about finding a record player. Hermione was too tired to fight with the woman. She would bring the Constable back, that was good enough for her. For now.

Right now, Hermione had bigger problems on her hands. She swore, after this, they would never meddle in other worlds again.

She had a problem. The ritual, the one she had designed to safeguard their world and make it impenetrable, had failed. 

Except it hadn't. She'd witnessed it all, as the invaders had scrambled and fled, Hermione had born witness to the entire thing. The bitch had burned, the flames had flared with magic, the earth shook, the entire planet warbled, even the blades of grass around her had felt the pulse of magic.

Something had happened. All that magic couldn't have been stirred up and just dissipated into thin air. It had found a release valve. Somewhere.

Hermione's stomach churned as she drew closer to the site where Riddle had burned. 

There was a large pile of ashes, its shape nothing discernible, no pattern that would clue her in.

The stake was still up, completely blackened, and Riddle's immolated corpse was still there as well. All features had been burnt off, leaving behind something that resembled a mannequin more than it did a human being.

Hermione got right up close, staring into the hollow husks where her eyes had been.

There was nothing unusual.

And then she saw it. Her jawbone had fallen off, but her tongue… her tongue had somehow survived the blaze. It was completely blackened and shriveled, but it had survived.

And as she put her eye right up on it, Hermione cursed under her breath.

There was a rune. The bitch had carved a rune onto her tongue. She'd gnawed at her teeth until they'd sharpened, and then she'd carved a rune onto herself.

She'd hijacked the ritual. And Hermione had no clue what she'd done.

…

“Boy! That breakfast better not be burnt!”

Harry panicked a little as he slaved away at the stove, cooking the eggs on one pan and the bacon on the other. He glanced over at Dobby, but the house elf was punishing himself, his head sizzling as he held it against the hot burner.

Harry grabbed the plates and went to the great hall. It was Dudley's birthday, and he really couldn't mess anything up.

As he walked through Hogwarts, he took no notice of things - suits of armor, portraits, sometimes entire sections of the wall - that were fizzling in and out of existence. That was how things always had been, just like how Mr. Weasley's Ford Anglia was glitching through the big double doors.

Harry walked right through the car and out onto the great hall, where a small, intimate table sat in the tiny room.

“Its about damn time, boy!” Uncle Vernon grumbled as Harry placed the plate on the table.

Sirius smiled as Harry served him his plate. “James made eggs just like these, prongslet!”

Harry stood by the table as they all ate.

“Good job, my boy.” Dumbledore said as he ate his rack of lamb. “You've gotten quite good at slaughtering these, haven't you?”

“I learned from the best.” Harry responded.

Dumbledore chuckled as Snape and Vernon glared at him. Harry cowered under their gaze. And then, there was a knock at the door.

“Boy! Go get that!”

“You should be getting that, Harry dear.” Mrs. Weasley said.

Harry nodded meekly. He went to the door, turning the knob and opening it wide.

He was forced to look up to get a full view of her. His eyes drifted through what felt like acres of legs, slid through shapely hips and large breasts.

This lady was gorgeous. She had midnight black hair that reached down past her shoulders. The only thing was, he couldn't see her face. Her head was warped, colors breaking down into their primary components as it elongated to the point where it was unrecognizable. It reminded Harry of when the Dursley's old tv was broken and they'd be forced to watch the evening news with the warped images.

Still, despite this, Harry felt no fear as he stared up at the warped lady. He smiled at where he figured her face was.

“Hi.”

“Hello there, Harry. I'm your aunt Emily, and I'm here to get you out of here.”