Albus sat in his office and signed off on the budget for the upcoming Yule Ball with a flourish before putting the scroll aside for Minerva to collect later. Then he reached for a sherbet lemon from his candy dish and leaned back in his chair, popping the treat into his mouth. As he softly sucked on it, Albus contemplated the events of the past month.
Having Harry Potter return had proven disappointing, but on the other hand it had also opened up a few doors that had previously remained firmly closed. While Harry was still missing, his family vault had remained locked for anyone. And a missing child couldn’t officially be declared dead until they reached their maturity, so Albus had no opportunity to claim the Potter vaults for himself until Harry’s seventeenth birthday, no matter if the boy remained missing during his whole life.
James and Lily Potter had, as expected, left all their worldly belongings to their only child, in a simple, unofficial will they had drawn up quickly once Harry was born and had given to Albus for safekeeping. But since they lived in very dangerous times, they had accepted Albus’ advice to name more potential inheritors aside from their child. They had done so by adding Sirius Black, Remus Lupin and Peter Pettigrew to inherit everything just in case Harry perished. They also added Albus as a final option, should none of the others be able to receive an inheritance. James and Lily figured they would rather the money go to the Order of the Phoenix, or Hogwarts should the war be over soon, then end up in the ministry’s coffers, as was the case with unclaimed vaults eventually.
Fighting a war was expensive. Safe houses had to be bought or rented, potions had to be made and lots of people needed to be bribed. Then there were those in hiding who couldn’t work and needed to be provided for. In the past, Albus had made sure to recruit wealthy young wizards and witches to his cause, who were all eager to donate to the Order of the Phoenix. Albus himself received a generous salary for his work at Hogwarts, the Wizengamot and the ICW, but it was the kind of money that meant he could live comfortably, not the kind that made him rich in any way.
And thus the Order of the Phoenix needed rich donors, and Albus had found plenty. James Potter, Sirius Black, Frank Longbottom, Edgar Bones, Marlene McKinnon and Dorcas Meadowes. All of them, save for Sirius, had been killed in the war. Sirius had, of course, ended up in Azkaban for his part in the betrayal of the Potters. At the time it had hardly mattered that Albus’ funds had dried up almost overnight, since Voldemort was defeated and disappeared for a decade.
But now, Voldemort had returned. Albus didn’t have any solid proof, but he could feel it in his bones. It had started three years ago, when the Philosopher’s Stone was stolen from Hogwarts by Quirinius Quirrell. Albus had honestly never pegged him for a follower of Voldemort, especially since Quirinius had worked as the Muggle Studies teacher before taking a sabbatical and returning to teach defence. Even though people like Severus and Minerva hadn’t been very keen to believe him, Albus could see Voldemort’s hand in the theft of that precious artifact.
Then the next year poor Ginevra Weasley went missing, and again Albus had no evidence, but he strongly suspected Voldemort had a hand in this, too, though Albus couldn’t as of yet see why Voldemort would go after the Weasleys’ youngest child.
And just last year Sirius Black had escaped Azkaban and terrorized Hogwarts for months and months until the truth finally came out that Sirius wasn’t the secret-keeper and hadn’t betrayed the Potters or killed Peter or any of those muggles. And just like that, Albus had a very rich donor back under his control. Poor Sirius wasn’t in the best of mental health after spending so much time around dementors, but he was more than eager to share some of his wealth so Albus could look for poor missing Harry and prepare for Voldemort’s inevitable return.
And then entirely unexpectedly an adult Harry Potter had appeared in the Great Hall and everything had gone to shit. At first, Albus was elated to see an experienced, powerful Harry, who without a doubt could go toe to toe with Voldemort and ultimately defeat him. But then Harry had rejected not only the prophecy, but Albus himself as well.
And Sirius Black had grown a rebellious personality again practically overnight now that he had his godson back.
That wouldn’t do at all.
You see, Albus knew something about Harry Potter that others didn’t.
Harry Potter had to die.
On the faithful night when James and Lily had met their untimely end, Hagrid had brought young Harry to Hogwarts. Poppy had of course examined the child and healed a few bumps, cuts and bruises before asking Albus to take a look at that strange, bleeding scar on his forehead that refused to be healed by any kind of magic Poppy could provide.
And Albus had examined that wound carefully, had felt the dark magic practically oozing out of it, and had eventually come to the rather horrifying conclusion that Voldemort had someone left a piece of his soul inside poor Harry. Souls were strong, they didn’t simply shatter on impact with a spell, not even a killing curse, so how had Voldemort managed to leave a piece of his soul behind? Albus had contemplated this question for a very long time over the past decade, long even after Harry disappeared, and eventually Albus had concluded that Voldemort had torn his soul apart long before trying to kill Harry Potter.
Voldemort had made at least one horcrux.
Again, Albus had no proof, not a single shred of evidence, but he believed that this was why Voldemort had survived the last decade until some servants had helped him return to a brand-new body. Albus was sure Voldemort should have returned to a new body by now, even if he hadn’t called any of his followers yet. But no matter if Voldemort already had a body or not, either way a new war was brewing, and Albus needed funds.
The easiest way to procure those funds was through the will James and Lily had left with him all those years ago.
Harry had to die, would most likely die during a confrontation with Voldemort and hopefully take the Dark Lord with him to the grave. Remus Lupin couldn’t inherit more than 100 Galleons since he was a werewolf and the Wizengamot had written a few very restricting new werewolf laws over the past decade. And while Albus truly believed that werewolves should be treated like any other people, he hadn’t tried very hard to stop those laws aside from a cursory protest, because the result of those laws suited him just fine. And lastly, Peter Pettigrew was officially declared dead and couldn’t inherit a knut from anyone.
That left Sirius Black as the only obstacle in the way of Albus getting his hands on not just the Potter vault, but also the Black vault, which held many more times the gold than the Potter one did.
And while Albus wasn’t a murderer, didn’t think highly of anyone who would ever take a human life, in times of war it was sometimes necessary to do things one might otherwise find distasteful.
So when the news that Harry Potter had met with Amelia Bones to see about getting Sirius a trial had reached Albus’ ears he’d known what he needed to do, no matter how much this went against his principles. While Sirius was still a wanted man, he was firmly under Albus’ control. But Sirius as a free man could do what he wanted, could spend all this gold on cheap whiskey and prostitutes, or he could decide to be done with the country that saw him illegally imprisoned and move to the other side of the world and take his riches with him.
And most importantly, a free Sirius would absolutely take Harry under his wing and teach him all manner of things Dumbledore didn’t want him to know. Such as perhaps visiting the goblins and filing an official will of his own, and since Harry was an adult that would render James and Lily’s previous will useless and Albus would never get his hands on the Potter and Black vaults.
So the solution was simple enough. Sirius Black had to die, and the ministry was all too happy to go along with Albus’ subtle manipulations since everyone there believed Sirius was guilty anyway. Amelia Bones had raised a bit of a stink about Sirius not having received a trial thirteen years ago, but when Albus showed her the signed statement from Severus, how Sirius had attacked three innocent students the previous year and tried to feed them to a fully transformed werewolf, Amelia had backed down and let the trial happen as it should.
Sirius had disappeared through the veil, all his possessions had gone to Harry as his only heir, and Albus was sure of his enormous inheritance once Harry confronted Voldemort and met his demise, just as the prophecy predicted. And that Harry was angry with Albus now hardly mattered. Harry had already rejected the prophecy, and since he lost his godfather he was alone in the world, with no one to guide him. Remus had never had more than 50 Galleons to his name at any given time, so he hardly understood how one should manage a Gringotts vault. Harry had no one left to turn to, and soon enough, Albus was sure, he’d find himself in Voldemort’s path. The prophecy was very real, after all.
Albus released a deep sigh and smiled. He did really enjoy it when a plan came together.
Green flames sprung to life in the fireplace and Bill Weasley’s head appeared. While the Weasleys were useless when it came to helping to fund the war, they were amongst the most loyal of his followers, and for that reason Albus appreciated them a lot.
“Headmaster,” Bill Weasley said, green flames flickering around his head. “I just received news Harry Potter was seen in Gringotts this morning.
Albus didn’t like the sound of that, since Harry had no business in Gringotts after the first time he withdrew some gold to buy a few things. “Was he alone?”
“No, there was a man with him,” Bill said and then gave Albus an apologetic look. “I don’t know who it was. The goblin I’m in contact with didn’t know who it was either, hadn’t seen him in Gringotts before.”
Hmm. That man might very well have been Remus, Albus thought, since Remus had never had a Gringotts vault of his own and therefore hardly ever visited the bank so most goblins wouldn’t know who he was. “What did Harry do at the bank?”
Bill swallowed visibly. “He… er…emptied and closed the Potter and Black vaults.”
Albus sprang to his feet at once, staring at Bill with wide eyes. “What?”
“It’s the talk of Gringotts,” Bill said quickly, looking rather astonished himself. “Harry had a meeting with Chief Stormaxe and after that he took all his gold and went home. Oh, he did exchange some of it into muggle pounds.”
Albus felt the blood drain from his face. This was a disaster. An absolute disaster. “What was the meeting with Stormaxe about?”
“I have no idea,” Bill said with a shrug. “The goblin I spoke to didn’t know either. I doubt anyone aside from Chief Stormaxe knows and he’s not known for gossiping about clients.”
Clenching his teeth, Albus barely kept it together as his chest suddenly felt very tight and his face very hot. “Please try to find out if you can, William. It is of the utmost importance that we know what was said during that meeting.”
Bill looked a little dubious about this request but he did nod his head. “I’ll try, headmaster. I’ll talk to you again soon.” And with that Bill disappeared and the flames in the hearth died down.
This was a nightmare. An absolute nightmare. Everything Albus had worked for all these years, gone because one stubborn man decided to take all his gold out of Gringotts. Why, Albus had no idea.
Up until this point, Albus hadn’t cared very much where Harry went after his brief stay in the Forbidden Forest. All that mattered to Albus was that sooner or later, Harry would confront Voldemort, as the prophecy foretold. Albus had heard rumours after the first task that Harry had moved abroad, but he had written that off as fanciful imaginings from mindless fans, along the lines of the stories of Harry stealing the Hungarian horntail to keep it for himself that started circulating soon after the task.
Utterly preposterous, all of it.
Harry knew nothing of this world, or of any other countries, knew no one in it save for Remus, and Albus has assumed that after Sirius’ trial they had hauled up together in one of the Black properties to grieve their godfather and friend. But now he realized this had been a mistake, to assume he knew what Harry was thinking and doing. Clearly Harry had found someone to guide him, whether that was Remus or someone unknown. Albus should have kept a tighter reign on Harry, no matter that Harry made it clear he wasn’t letting anyone control him.
Albus released a burst of wild magic in sheer frustration, which hit his bookcase and sent some books flying. Not everything was lost just yet. As long as Harry didn’t make a new will, Albus still was the only person in line to inherit Harry’s fortune, whether that fortune was held in Gringotts or not.
Now Albus needed to come up with a few new plans to make sure Harry didn’t do anything else to ruin Albus’ carefully constructed future.
++++++++++++++++++
Voldemort stood quietly between dozens of young pine trees as he watched Harry process the metaphorical bomb he’d just dropped at the other man’s feet. A lot was playing out on Harry’s face, much easier to see now without that wall of hair and ridiculous beard. There was disbelief and anger and fear and determination, all of it clearly on display.
“Why would Magica be the only safe haven left?” Harry asked at last, keeping his head lowered while he glanced up at Voldemort. “Surely there are other magical countries?”
Voldemort took his time formulating his words, wanting to explain this in a way an intelligent man who hadn’t grown up in their world could quickly understand it. “Imagine, for a moment, what would happen once the muggles discover they’re sharing their countries with wizards. The first thing they’d do is pass laws to restrict the rights of wizards, and since those wizards live in their country, those laws would hold up in any court.”
“Ah,” Harry said with a thoughtful nod. “A muggle government’s laws would overrule any wizarding laws.”
“Exactly,” Voldemort said with a pleased smile, happy his companion caught on so quickly. “It doesn’t matter where wizards live. They could live deep in the amazon jungle, but that is still a part of Brazil or a few other countries. They could live deep in the deserts of North-Africa, and be a part of Morocco, Algeria, Egypt or Libya.” Voldemort gave Harry a penetrating look. “The muggles would feel entitled to make laws to restrict wizards because those wizards live in their countries and should therefore adhere to their muggle laws. The only way out for wizards is to wage war on their muggle countrymen and overthrow their muggle government entirely.”
“But Magica is its own nation, its own territory, and no muggle has anything to say about it,” Harry said in conclusion and pursed his lips. “We should probably shore up our defences then.”
“We should,” Voldemort said, pleased Harry was on the same page as him. “I have a few ideas of which wards to use. We can get together later this week to go over some plans.”
“Yeah, let’s do that.” Harry seemed a bit livelier again after processing this huge shock and resumed walking, still in search of assorted fruit trees. “Is that why you hate muggleborns?”
Voldemort sighed, unsure how to explain himself on this subject without angering Harry. Then again, Harry had proven himself to be a very practical and pragmatic person, who didn’t shy away from getting his hands dirty, so perhaps he would understand Voldemort’s motivations.
“It’s not so much muggleborns that I hate, it’s their muggle parents,” Voldemort said as he fell into step with Harry, who listened quietly and attentively as Voldemort spoke. “You have to understand that when I was sorted into Slytherin, it was assumed that I was a muggleborn, since Riddle is a muggle last name. Slytherin was full of blood-purists who loved nothing more than cutting me down in any way they could.”
“That must have been tough for a few years,” Harry said softly.
Voldemort nodded. “It certainly wasn’t easy. But I was a quick and talented student who had more magic at my disposal than most of my classmates combined. I gave much better than I got and to help integrate myself even more I started copying their rhetoric. I didn’t personally hate muggleborns, but it was easy to use my hatred of muggles to justify the mistreatment of muggleborns.”
“You had to survive,” Harry whispered with a knowing glint in his eyes. Voldemort knew that Harry had done some unsavoury things during his own childhood to survive, since Harry had flat-out told him he’d been a slave for well over a decade. Voldemort could only imagine the horrors that brought with it.
“I did, but I also quickly realized that the purebloods who spouted the blood-prejudice were the ones with money and political power and were my best chance to rid the wizarding world of the laws that restricted so much magic.”
“They were a means to an end,” Harry guessed with a smile, just as they reached the section full of fruit trees.
“They were exactly that. I never personally believed that muggleborns or half-bloods aren’t as powerful as purebloods.” Voldemort shrugged while giving Harry a lopsided smile.
“Right,” Harry said with a chuckle. “Just look at us. Both half-bloods, both ridiculously powerful.”
“Everything just escalated as the war dragged on and on. Some of my followers got off on torture and murder, and while they had their uses, ultimately they didn’t advance our cause much at all.” Voldemort shook his head, knowing he was letting out his own trip down insanity lane thanks to his horcruxes. And even though Harry knew about them, had mentioned them, much to Voldemort’s horror, for some reason Voldemort found it utterly embarrassing to admit to Harry he’d accidentally turned himself insane. No, for now Voldemort was more than happy to simply ignore the horcrux issue.
“And now all of that is a moot point because we have a country where we can practice our magic freely, which was my goal all along.” Voldemort turned to look at Harry, who was examining a small apple tree but focused on Voldemort again once he continued speaking. “That is how I will convince my blood-prejudiced followers to accept the muggleborns on Magica. I will emphasize that it is a land that will protect all wizards and witches from the inevitable discovery by muggles while allowing us to practice whatever magic we desire.”
Harry looked thoughtful for a moment before giving Voldemort a sharp look, while his ridiculous raven landed on his shoulder again. “Do me one favour,” Harry said, voice low. “Don’t force any of your followers to move to Magica when they’re not willing to accept our inclusive policies.”
Voldemort considered this carefully for a few long moments while Harry went back to studying apple trees. Harry had a point, since Voldemort knew all too well some of his followers would never accept Magica as it was now. Walden Macnair, for example, would sooner cast the cruciatus curse on himself than live willingly amongst werewolves. And dear Bellatrix, who was withering away in Azkaban still, would never accept muggleborns as her neighbours. But there were others, aside from Barty and Severus, like Nott, Dolohov, Yaxley, Rowle and more, who were more nuanced in their beliefs, and who would understand that the advantages of living in Magica far outweighed the presence of a few muggleborns and werewolves.
It was time, Voldemort supposed, to finally call his followers to him, something he had not yet done since his return, because he frankly hadn’t known what to say to them. Voldemort had known that he didn’t want to continue the previous war, since the losses on both sides had been far too great. Voldemort didn’t desire to rule over a country that had only a few living souls left to rule over.
But now, thanks to Harry and his amazing magical feats, Voldemort had another acceptable course laid out before him, one he could sell to his followers as a worthy substitute for their previous goals. Some wouldn’t accept it, but Voldemort would simply keep them quiet with the necessary magical vows and continue to use them to keep an eye on the British ministry and to influence events as needed.
“I believe you have a good point,” Voldemort finally said while giving Harry a small smile, well aware that he usually didn’t bother with that amongst other people. But for some reason, it was so very easy to smile at Harry. “I will make sure those of my followers that move to Magica agree to our laws.”
Harry nodded and seemed satisfied enough with that promise. “How about some of these?” Harry pointed at some apple trees that looked no different from any of the others, save for the small tag hanging off their bare branches. “Cox’s Orange Pippin. A traditional variety that’s apparently very tasty.”
“They seem like an excellent start,” Voldemort agreed easily. He knew nothing about apples and would happily admit such a thing, so he had no problem letting Harry select the varieties of apples and other fruit they could grow.
And look at him now, Voldemort thought with a self-deprecating snort. Here he was, feared Dark Lord, buying fruit trees at a muggle nursery with his once mortal enemy. Voldemort hadn’t expected to get along with Harry so well when he’d reached out to him. He’d hoped for a truce once it became clear the prophecy had never been about them, but what he’d gotten instead was an unexpected friendship.
There was something about Harry that drew Voldemort in like a moth to a flame, and he was powerless to resist this growing attraction. Voldemort didn’t think it was sexual, or at least not just sexual.
Harry, once he’d gotten rid of that beard and had trimmed his hair back, was a very attractive man. Harry’s casual confidence and good humour only helped to emphasize his physical attributes. And while Voldemort appreciated those attributes plenty, it was Harry’s magic that was the real attraction. Voldemort hadn’t been lying when he told Harry being around him made Voldemort feel like a student again.
If Voldemort was very honest with himself, then he knew that Harry far outperformed him when it came to magic. Perhaps Voldemort had more knowledge or experience in a few obscure branches of magic, but overall Harry could do things in five minutes that would take Voldemort hours. And Voldemort wanted some of that, couldn’t resist the draw of learning new types of magic that Harry so clearly possessed. The Sorting Hat had made it very clear that Tom and his unsatiable quest for knowledge would have done very well in Ravenclaw, and it was only his endless ambition that saw him sorted into Slytherin instead.
Voldemort wanted to learn everything he could about Harry Potter and more besides. And he wasn’t ashamed to admit it, at least to himself. He was cautious still, some part of himself convinced this was all an elaborate trap designed to fulfil that blasted prophecy. But with every hour he spent with Harry, Voldemort became more and more aware that with Harry you got what you saw. Harry was a Gryffindor, even though he had some Slytherin tendencies hidden up his sleeves, and Harry was direct and cared nothing for social games unless he was absolutely forced to play them. And Voldemort appreciated all that, because it meant he could take his time figuring out how he best fit into Harry’s life, and how Harry could fit into his own.
Because there was one thing Voldemort knew above all others; now that he had found Harry, he would never let him go again, if only for the wealth of knowledge Harry had on magic that Voldemort was desperate to learn.
“It think we should do a little bit of everything,” Harry said as he wandered around the fruit trees while that blasted raven kept staring at Voldemort with narrowed eyes. Yes, if there was one negative thing about Harry, it was that useless bird he always carried around with him.
“We could get some of these dwarf nut trees as well,” Voldemort suggested as he gestured at some walnut trees he’d spotted to his left.
“Good idea!”
And that is how they ended up buying half the nursery, or so it seemed. Several varieties of apples, pears, cherries, plums and apricots, and a few walnut, chestnut and hazelnut trees as well. It was a good start to an orchard and Voldemort was certain that in a year’s time they’d have a bountiful harvest of delicious fruits and nuts. And it also fulfilled Voldemort’s required part in providing food for the community.
Harry might want to raise pigs, but Voldemort was a city boy and he had no desire to mingle with smelly farmyard animals. He left that to others while he enjoyed the end result. Harry wasn’t the only one who loved bacon.
They spent the afternoon planting first Harry’s orchard, with the help of Harry’s house-elf inferi, and then Voldemort’s. They also took the time to mark both their property boundaries, and Harry gave one of his undead house-elves the task of creating stone walls that encircled his property and would keep any adventurous grazers from ruining his orchard and future gardens. He also told his elf to do the same for Voldemort’s property, which was greatly appreciated.
Meanwhile Harry talked about the library he was setting up with the help of Regulus, and how he’d created a post office, and that they were even getting a pub soon. And Voldemort enjoyed listening to the stories and seeing Harry’s face light up when he talked full of passion about this new country they were creating.
By the end of the day, they were both tired but satisfied with what they’d accomplished.
“Stay for dinner?” Harry asked with a peaceful smile. “Violet has the makings of a great cook.”
“I would certainly appreciate a hot meal by now,” Voldemort said. What he didn’t say is that he found the idea of spending more time with Harry far more appealing than any possible dinner. Merlin, he was getting soft in his old age, wasn’t he?
Harry showed him a bathroom where he could freshen up, while Harry went to do the same on the first floor. Soon enough they were seated in a relatively small dining room with a large chandelier hanging above the table, full of hundreds of candles. Harry lit them with a casual wave of his hand.
“Violet, dinner for two!” Harry called and then they both sat back and waited expectantly what a house-elf inferius might consider was a proper dinner for two wizards.
They didn’t have to wait long before two plates popped into existence in front of them, filled with what looked like mustard soup, with some large croutons sprinkled on top.
“This looks great!” Harry said, voice full of joy. Grabbing his spoon, Harry had a taste of the soup. “Oh yeah, this is really good.”
Voldemort tried the soup himself and had to conclude that yes, the soup was delicious. After the soup followed a mushroom risotto with lots of cheese, which was also very good.
“So what is keeping you from accepting my price for a date to the Yule Ball,” Harry said halfway through the main course.
Voldemort sat back a little, wiping his mouth with a linen napkin.
“Since you said earlier you don’t hate muggleborns, just muggles,” Harry explained with a patient smile.
“Ah, yes, I did say that,” Voldemort said with a nod. Harry had a point, of course. There was nothing stopping Voldemort from accepting Harry’s conditions. “I suppose the reason I am hesitant is that I thought that I might need the idea of blood-prejudice to persuade my followers, but I am now convinced that I can achieve similar results by emphasizing the muggle threat.”
“So are we going to the ball?” Harry seemed a little confused about his own enthusiasm, judging by his sudden frown. “I mean, so I know that I have to start on building the basilisk an island soon.”
Voldemort reached for his glass of wine and raised it in a toast. “We are going to the ball.”
Before he could stop himself, Harry gave Voldemort a huge grin. “It should be a lot of fun, smuggling a giant murder serpent out of Hogwarts.”
“It’s certainly a first for me,” Voldemort said with a chuckle.
“Arse ball, arse ball,” the raven cawed from its perch in the corner of the room where it had been provided a small dish of risotto. Voldemort studiously ignored the insufferable beast while he finished his own meal. Desert was a slice of chocolate cake with whipped cream, simple but delicious.
“I am calling my followers tomorrow,” Voldemort said while they ate. “I suspect that the majority will agree to Magica’s terms and be happy to live here. Some won’t, but I will make sure they remain silent on our existence, at least for the time being.”
“Yeah, that’s for the best. Your followers have to send in applications, though, since we’ll have to decide on locations for any mansions they want to bring, or we’ll have to build houses for them.”
“Of course,” Voldemort agreed quickly, understanding perfectly well that Harry was swamped and couldn’t be expected to get everything done at once. “Some of my followers, however, are stuck in Azkaban.”
“They were imprisoned?”
“At the end of the last war, yes,” Voldemort said with a short nod and then ate the last of his cake. He wiped his mouth again and gave Harry a considering look. “I want to break them out of Azkaban. Some of them will be real assets to have here on the island.”
“That’s fine,” Harry agreed easily, much to Voldemort’s relief. He didn’t think Harry had a problem with criminals, but he also didn’t want to presume to know everything about Harry just yet. “As long as they obey our laws they can live here.”
“Of course.”
“Maybe I should come,” Harry mused while his forehead creased in thought. “They do have dementors there and you can’t cast a Patronus.”
“I don’t need one to break my followers out,” Voldemort said quickly, lest Harry thought him suddenly inept.
Harry hardly seemed to hear him as he sat up to grin at him. “I already exploded two dementors, so it might be a good idea for me to tag along, just in case.”
Voldemort blinked, trying to comprehend what Harry had just said. “You did what to two dementors?”