"Pardon?" asked Henri Pavlovsky politely, scarcely daring to believe his ears.
The messenger, attired in grand royal livery shuffled his feet uncomfortably.
"Your Majesty, it is the Prime Minister's wish to inform you that there are riots in the capital," said the messenger.
King Henri IV of Hidrea was completely taken aback. "And why are there riots in the capital?" he asked the messenger sternly.
"It's Lord Timothi Ridin, Your Majesty. He staged the riots in hope of ousting you from the throne."
"Send the Federal Reserve Unit to the capital. Tell Captain Andrei to do anything to stop the riots. And I mean anything. Go!"
Two days later…
The crowd of people at the Town Square had faces of pure rage. But on the other side of Town Square, many people had malicious looks on their faces. There was a podium in the middle of the square, and a tall, thin and pale man walked up to it. This man had a bored face, and his complexion was astonishingly white; he could have been an albino had he not have a mop of jet-black hair on his head. This man was Lord Timothi Ridin.
Lord Timothi addressed the crowd. "Ladies and gentlemen, honoured citizens of the Federation of Hidrea, it is my greatest pleasure to announce that my troops have taken our capital, Raskaburg, and also the royal palace! Thus, we have ousted the King Henri Pavlovsky from the throne!" Sounds of clapping were heard on one side of the square, whereas the other side had nothing but boos and displeased faces.
"Our former king was a wizard! He dabbled in the magic arts, half of which is black magic! He did not use his powers for good, but only to gain power! Non-magic people like me and some of you were neglected and shamed! We were labeled 'Muggles'! What kind of a name is that for a respectable gentleman? But we Muggles know our rights. In other places of the world, wizards and witches are a minority, and the Muggle Political Party intends to do the same here in Hidrea!" exclaimed Sir Timothi.
Suddenly a tall man wearing a wizard's robes stepped forward. "Yeh wrong, Ridin! Wizards an' witches never did harm to any o' yeh kind! Why, the good king Henri even set up lotsa foundations an' committees to help yeh Muggles! But yeh don't deserve it, Ridin!"
"Guards, seize him!" said Lord Timothi calmly. But the man simply wrenched his arms from the grasps of the burly guards and aimed a blow at Lord Timothi. He was about to strike when suddenly a calm voice said,
"Enough, good sir. Timothi, what is this?"
The voice belonged to King Henri Pavlovsky. His face was calm, though unusually strained. Even so, his noble, handsome features made Timothi look like a hag next to him.
Timothi scowled at the King. "What is this?" he sneered. "You have misused your magical powers! You and the rest of your evil family used them to gain control of this country!"
"And do you have proof of that? Timothi, my family has ruled Hidrea for countless centuries. Reliable manuscripts of that time tell us that the Pavlovskys were elected to the throne of this country," said King Henri.
"Liar!" cried Lord Timothi. He motioned for a guard carrying a heavy book to come to him. Taking the book from the guard, he declared, "This is the diary of King Adam the Great, First King of Hidrea! It says clearly that he forced the King of England, who is a Muggle, to give him all English territory in Prussia to him, or else he would curse England forever!"
There was a shocked silence. Finally, an old witch screamed, "We don't believe it! What kind of a diary is that anyway? It's a fraud!"
"Oh?" said Lord Timothi sarcastically. "I call on any member of the public to perform a detecting spell on this diary. You will see that this diary is authentic!"
Immediately people began crowding around the podium. Each of them performed various authencity-detecting spells, and to their shock, all but one spell, performed by a young wizard, said it was real.
"Well, that's that," said Lord Timothi airily. "Only one spell was contradicting my opinion. So, we need justice. How can you trust your king if his ancestors were so evil and sneaky?"
The atmosphere in the town square began to change. Witches, wizards and Muggles began looking at King Henri, who was as calm as ever, with contempt and crying, "Timothi for King! All hail King Timothi!"
"You see, Henri," said Lord Timothi, "they wish me to be king. And so I do proclaim myself King Timothi, King of Hidrea and its realms!" This was greeted with cheers from all sides.
The former king Henri was still calm. No colour rose to his face when he said quietly, "I don't believe one word you say, Sir Timothi. But as the people of Hidrea wish it, I shall step down." And he started to walk away.
"Oh no," said King Timothi. "Your family has greatly wronged the kingdom of Hidrea and England. Because of this, we are forever in debt to England. We might even have to give up our country! Because of this, I declare you, Henri Pavlovsky and your family, exiles from Hidrea forever!"
"Fine!" said Henri. "As long as I know I am innocent, I do not care. I leave with my family tonight."
And so he did, along with his family, leave their beloved country that night. Anna, his wife, said to him, "Where do we go now?"
"I don't know," said Henri. Suddenly the anger in his heart that he had worked so hard to control burst out and he cried, "We have no place to go, thanks to that idiot of a Ridin!" Anna hugged him gently and said, "But we must go somewhere, our son needs a home."
Henri turned to his baby son, who was slumbering peacefully in his cot. He nodded. "My mother had relatives in France. Let us go there."
Suddenly there was a knock on the door. Anna opened it, and Henri recognized the young wizard who had performed the spell on the diary and said it was a fake. The young man hurried in and said, "The diary is fake. It was bewitched so that most detecting spells could not see it was a fake. But my spell was an old, ancient one, long forgotten by the witches and wizards of today. Everyone I saw today used basically a variation of the same spell. Ridin probably did not know about my spell, and that's why I'm the only one who knows the truth." This he said all in one breath.
Henri smiled. "Good. Then I know that my family is innocent." Then he bowed his head. "But still, I am exiled now. Nothing can help me now."
"Couldn't you tell the public?" said the eager young wizard.
"Will they believe me?" asked Henri. "No, they won't. Ridin is far too cunning. But he is cruel, and mark my words, the people of Hidrea will hate him after a while. Now, I must be going. Thank you, young man. What is your name?"
"Edward Weasley, sir. I am a Englishman."
"Well, then if you ever go to England, tell them I am not to blame. God bless you, young man."
"Thank you, sir." With that Edward Weasley left the room. Henri turned to his wife.
"Let's go."
They boarded a horse carriage drawn by several flying unicorns, all which were owned by Henri. As they approached Paris, Anna sighed and said, "I do hope everything will be all right!"
Twenty years later…
Everything was not all right for Anatole Pavlovsky. Day and night officers from his native country of Hidrea were scouring France, searching for him. He knew this through his friends, who were still loyal to whom they called, 'the true king of Hidrea'. His parents had been murdered two years ago by a soldier of Hidrea. Anatole could do nothing about it, since he was powerless and an exile.
He gazed around his shabby one-room apartment. He thought of the palace at Hidrea, where he was born. Though he could not remember it, his father had described it in such a way that Anatole was sure that it was a hundred times better than his room. Anatole felt tremendously angry. He knew all about Timothi Ridin, that horrible king of Hidrea. The people of Hidrea had grown to hate him, and he knew that was why he wanted all Pavlovskys dead. The people of Hidrea had been clamouring for the Pavlovskys to return to power.
He killed my parents…he destroyed my country…he must pay…
Those words flared up in Anatole's heart. But then he remembered that he had no army, had no powers, no influence, whereas the kings of Europe were so terrified of Ridin that they agreed to anything he said. Ridin had also forced all the wizards and witches in Hidrea out of the country. They were exiles from their country, just like him. Hidrea was the original country of all magic folk. Now they were scattered throughout the world, though most of them had migrated to England. There, he heard that they had kept their existence a secret from Muggles, thus isolating themselves from the rest of the world.
This is not fair, thought Anatole .But what can I do? Yes, I know, thought Anatole excitedly. I will go to England, I will disguise myself, and I will change my name. I will not tell anyone who I am. I will wait until Ridin dies. His son is a weak man, and it will be easy to overcome him. Then I announce my true identity and reclaim the throne.
Two weeks of preparing was all Anatole needed to set his affairs' in order. After that, he left for England and changed his name to Henry Potter in honour of his father and one of his friends, who was also called Henry Potter. He found work running a shop in Diagon Alley, a newly built place where everyone (except Muggles) did their shopping.
Nobody suspected him. Everyone believed Anatole Pavlovsky to be dead. Anatole had changed the way he looked, messing up his jet-black hair magically and wearing glasses.
Ten years later, King Timothi was assassinated by a wizard while visiting Russia. Anatole, now a married man and the father of a son that seemed to have inherited his magically-messed up hair, was very happy in England. When he heard of the king's death, he was even happier. But something dashed forever his hopes of being king of Hidrea. The king of England decided to reclaim Hidrea, though he suspected the claim that England had ever possessed that land to be false. However, he wanted to take advantage of it and reclaimed it. Thus, Hidrea was no more.
Anatole was never so disappointed in his entire life. Now his country was utterly destroyed, as his kind (magic folk) could not hope to regain Hidrea, as the English were terrified of magic and didn't really believe in it. The king would surely wage a war with him, should Anatole decide to announce his identity. And he was afraid for his son, James.
Never mind, thought Anatole. I will tell my son, and ask him to tell his son, and so on about our true story. And I will tell them to keep it secret, unless one day things in this world become so terrible that the witches and wizards have nowhere to go…Then the House of Pavlovsky will rise again!
Hundreds of years later…
"Lily, it's him! Take Harry and go, I'll handle Voldemort!" yelled James Potter. He could see the tall, pale figure of Lord Voldemort standing at the door.
Peter betrayed us, the fool!, thought James. Summoning up every bit of courage in his body, he advanced towards Voldemort.
"What do you want, Voldemort?" he said, trying to sound calm.
Voldemort laughed his high, cold laugh.
"Now, Mr. Potter, you know very well what's wrong. There are riots in the territory that used to be Hidrea. Even the British Government doesn't want anything to do with that place. The Muggles there are terrified, because they have forgotten what Hidrea used to be and so are frightened because they are suddenly discovering unexplainable things. Doors opening without anyone behind them, people being murdered without any fight at all, what is this? That is why they're staging riots. There are absolutely no more witches or wizards in Hidrea, so they cannot help. I wonder who is behind all this?"
"You!" cried James. "You are doing this…but what for? Hidrea is useless, there are no more magic folk there!"
"Mr. Potter, as the direct descendant of King Henri Pavlovsky, you are as stupid as your ancestor. The riots will cause the Muggles to migrate or to be killed. Once that happens, I will announce to the Muggle Prime Minister of England that I am the direct descendant of King Timothi Ridin!"
"So?" asked James. "Like anyone will return to Hidrea if you're king!"
"Oh, they will," said Voldemort silkily. "Though they do not mention it now, the magic community still longs for a proper home - Hidrea. I will be king, but I will be so well disguised-in fact I may transfigure my whole body so that no one will recognise me. I will regain my family's lost throne!"
"Your family's throne?" yelled James, suddenly feeling extremely angry. "Your ancestor lied to the world about my forefathers! And how can you be his descendant, no one will believe you! Timothi Ridin was a Muggle, and you are a wizard! Ridin and your father hated the magic community! You hate Muggles!"
"So what do I care if my father hated witches and wizards?" screamed Voldemort, losing his temper. "I am his son, even though it pains me to acknowledge it, I am his legitimate son, though he disowned me and my mother! But that doesn't matter. Power is the only thing that matters."
"Did you come here just to tell me that cock-and-bull story!" cried James. "Get out of my house!" and with that, he whipped out his wand, ready to fight.
"I came here for a purpose. Yes, you are the true heir to the throne of Hidrea. So you are in the way. So I must move you out of the way, " said Voldemort calmly. Suddenly he raised his wand and cried, "Avada Kedavra!"
A flash of green light hit James Potter, and he slumped to the ground, a vacant stare of shock on his face. Voldemort smiled and made his way through the house. He found Lily carrying her baby son, Harry. Lily did not notice him come in, she was too flustered and there were tears in her eyes.
"Mrs. Potter, I believe?" Voldemort said politely.
Lily started. "Get away from me!" she cried.
"I'll do just that, Mrs. Potter. Just give me your son for awhile."
"Never! Oh, not Harry! Why do you want him?"
"Never mind that, just give him to me!" cried Voldemort, losing his patience.
"No! Take me instead, please, take me, not Harry, Harry…"
"Avada Kedavra!" cried Voldemort. A flash of green light again, and Lily was dead. Voldemort turned to Harry.
"Shame, real shame," muttered Voldemort, shaking his head. "Avada Kedavra!… Aaaaargh!"
The curse had rebounded on Voldemort! He felt like there was a rain of ice all over him, and suddenly he realised his body was no more. Am I dead? he asked himself, panicking. No, I am not dead. The trouble I took to be nearly immortal has served its purpose. He glanced at Harry. The baby was still alive and well, crying loudly. Voldemort realised that the house had been utterly destroyed and his hands and body had become slightly transparent. I am now left with my soul only. What ever happened just now? wondered Voldemort. Then he realised that Lily's death had left a certain magic on Harry, thus protecting him. Suddenly he heard police sirens and the sound of people running. I must go, thought Lord Voldemort. He glared at Harry once more. Idiot of a boy! I swear I will get my revenge someday, he thought as he left the house.
"Professor Dumbledore?" asked Harry in a tentative voice.
"Yes, Harry?" said Dumbledore, looking up at Harry.
"Is…is this true?" asked Harry, closing the tattered old Spellotaped book and gazing at it in utter shock.
"Yes, my boy, it is true…true to the very last word."
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter and Prof. Dumbledore. They belong to J.K. Rowling. All the characters in this fanfic that are not owned by J.K. Rowling (that is, Lord Timothi Ridin, Anatole Pavlovsky and Co.) are owned by me, except the Prime Minister of England! Anything in the story that happens in real life is purely coincidental. Got that?