Chapter 7: Dawn of Justice

[Harry Potter]

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Jeremy the Blue Melee Minion walked confidently through the streets of Costa Del Sol, deep in trance. The young warrior's footsteps were not clunky, his smile did not seem false, but behind his bright blue eyes Jeremy was a puppet. He walked tall and straight, despite the swollen knots on his that were a reminder of his last fist-fight with a Wookie. He wore his old chest-plate sloppily beneath a stained J-crew shirt. At his waist hung his longsword, a wide bladed weapon with a brilliant sapphire set in the crosspiece. Jeremy was no stranger to death and violence, having killed and survived warfare the likes of which no sane mind could comprehend.

A few steps behind Jeremy, controlling his every action, was Bellatrix Lestrange.

The darkly beautiful witch hummed sweetly to herself as she meandered behind Jeremy, her blackthorn wand in her pale hand, her black robes trailing slightly on the ground. Beneath her wild black hair Bellatrix's heavily lidded eyes pulsed with insanity. She grinned gleefully as she made Jeremy twist his ankle, and then made him keep walking. Through the Imperio curse, Jeremy was her ever-eager slave, unable and unwilling to to ever disobey her. It helped that the Blue Meele Minion was so close to a violent break as it was.

Bellatrix stopped as Jeremy bounded up a few steps to an apartment complex on Asimov Avenue and started buzzing a room. Over and over and over, for nearly twenty minutes. Bellatrix was not impatient. She used the time to wonder why she could not use the Alohamora charm.

The Alohamora charm was a simple spell that would unlock almost any lock. Bellatrix knew this spell well, and yet, in the Omniverse, she could not cast it. In fact, there were many simple spells that Bellatrix knew that simply did not work here. She could not summon or levitate objects, or heal wounds, or apparate, or even use 'Lumos' the light-giving spell. From Bellatrix's experiments, she had determined that only her darkest, most violent spells remained at her disposal.

She would make do.

Bellatrix giggled as the door to the apartment complex burst open and a blonde Wookie kicked Jeremy in the chest so hard he cleared the the six-foot porch and landed sprawled in the street.

"Get the fuck out of here, Jeremy," the Wookie snarled, cracking his knuckles loudly. "Marla doesn't want to talk to you, ever. Don't make me come down there and smash your face up again."

Jeremy pushed himself to his feet, and drew his sword.

For a long time, they combatants stared at each other. The massive blonde Wookie atop the porch, the battered soldier at the bottom.

Then Jeremy charged up the porch. The Wookie dodged a wild stab from the longsword, but did not dodge the longs swipe across his abdomen.

Bellatrix stepped over the crumpled form of the Wookie, the heels of her boots tracking blood, her slave leading the way.

Marla screamed when Jeremy kicked in the door to Apartment G.

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Harry Potter sped across the oceans of the Vasty Deeps on his Firebolt, the racing broom reducing Harry's surroundings to a blur, an he knew fear.

Fear of Bellatrix. Fear of Voldemort. Fear for Marla.

He passed over the shores of Costa Del Sol, seeing Lifeguard Tower Nine and Three Quarters for an instant, and he knew guilt.

Guilt for the monster her had unleashed on this world. Guilt for once again being the reason people die.

He flew over the city of Costa Del Sol, his Seeker's eyes spotting Marla's neighborhood, and he knew anger.

Not the righteous anger of a warrior, but the childish, vindictive anger of a killer.

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Bellatrix Lestrange, a manifestation of the darkest parts of the subconscious of Harry Potter, shuddered with power.

The shadows started to whisper.

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