In the Beginning
20 April 1997 - 21 April 1997
Dumbledore is dead.
Harry awoke from his latest nightmare with that thought clanging through his head. It had been three days since the headmaster's death, and the truth of it just got worse. Harry lay in his twisted sheets, heart racing, and the backs of his eyes stinging so fiercely, he thought he might have been hexed. Neville's snores seemed loud and jarring, and the air in the dorm was stifling and hot. It smothered Harry; he wanted to open a window, but it was still April and cold.
He got out of bed and, not even bothering with his dressing gown, stepped into his slippers and pulled open the door. Blindly, he went down the stairs, and it wasn't until he was already halfway across the common room when he realized he wasn't alone. It was three in the morning, but a fire burned merrily in the hearth, and he could see someone's legs stretched out toward the fire. Harry could immediately tell that the fellow insomniac was a girl. He spared a brief moment to beg Merlin that it wasn't Lavender Brown, or Romilda Vane, or some other silly girl-
"Harry?" Ginny asked, peering around the side of the armchair.
"Ginny," he said, immensely relieved.
Perhaps it was the lateness of the hour, or the fact that Harry felt particularly raw, but he was absurdly happy that it was Ginny. She was an excellent listener, really. And she wouldn't push him into talking more than he wanted to. But as soon as he thought it, his mind retreated. "You're up late," he said unnecessarily.
She slowly uncurled from the armchair, and stood up, looking at him uncertainly.
"Did you have a nightmare?" she asked.
"Yes," he said quickly, surprising himself. He'd fully intended on lying, but he just couldn't. Shrugging, he tried to pass it off as no big deal. "I mean - you know, just the normal..." he said, failing at trying to sound casual.
Ginny wasn't a fool, though. Her face registered her skepticism, and highlighted the truth that she didn't believe him. He thought of all the times she'd never let him get away with anything, and his chest tightened.
Escape now!
But she was coming closer, and Harry was rooted to the spot. Her brow was furrowed. "Harry, I can't even imagine - I know you and Dumbledore were close," she said. "I don't know how you're feeling-"
"I'm scared," he blurted out, to his own horror. Why did I have to say that? Why? "Dumbledore, he was supposed to tell me more," he continued, despite his disgust with himself. "He was supposed to help me, and prop me up and tell me exactly what to do."
Instead of laughing at him or being disappointed in him, however, she sucked in a breath, and then stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him. Harry meant to pull away, but somehow his arms went around her until one hand was on her back, and the other in her hair. "He was supposed to be there at the end," he said. It just seemed intensely wrong that Dumbledore would not see how it finished.
"I'm so sorry," she whispered against his chest.
The next day they buried Albus Dumbledore. It was cold and grey, more like winter than April, and Harry was still in a state of complete disbelief. How could Draco Malfoy have possibly killed Dumbledore? How had the greatest wizard of theage been defeated by a bottle of oak-matured mead? The way Dumbledore had died seemed just as wrong as the death itself. Harry felt anger and grief, of course, but those emotions were tempered by confusion.
Harry was jerked out of his thoughts when an eerie sound filled his ears. Ron, beside him, startled just as violently, and Hermione took a deep breath. The wailing and keening song sounded as though it came from the lake, and it rippled through the air, and the brisk wind felt even colder. Merfolk, he thought distantly. His eyes caught Ginny's. She sat behind him next to her boyfriend, Dean Thomas.
Not even twelve hours ago, when everyone else had been asleep, he had woken from a nightmare and wandered into the common room, only to find that she'd done the same thing. And after a short conversation - Harry couldn't even remember what had been said - she'd hugged him. Just wrapped her arms around him the way her mother had after he'd come away from the maze in his fourth year. Except with Ginny, he'd actually been able to cry, because it had been just the two of them. Much to his own surprise, he didn't even feel self-conscious about it. And when she'd started to cry, too, Harry hadn't wanted to pull away from her as he had with Cho, but had wanted to pull her closer.
"-a long, full life," the tufty-haired wizard who presided over the funeral said. "He was considered by many to be the greatest wizard in living memory, with an unshakeable alliance to truth and-"
Harry tore his eyes away from Ginny, and instead focused his thoughts on the impossible task ahead of him. Voldemort and his Horcruxes...
An elbow jabbed his ribs, and Harry looked up, shocked to see that the funeral had ended and the guests were filing away, solemnly. I didn't even pay attention to Dumbledore's funeral, he thought dazedly. He felt the absurd urge to laugh, butsomething heavy pressed down on his chest, and he couldn't. I can't do this alone, Harry thought for what felt like the hundredth time since speaking to Professor Slughorn.
He had to speak to Dumbledore's portrait, and that meant talking to McGonagall. And if he had to speak to McGonagall, and tell her the secrets Dumbledore had told him, he might as well tell those members of the Order of the Phoenix he could trust. All of the Weasleys... Mad-Eye... Remus and Tonks... Kingsley... even Dedalus Diggle. They could help. Harry glanced over at Ron and Hermione; they looked as anxious as he felt, and he was forcibly reminded that they were all young teenagers, and Dumbledore had left them alone with what felt like the weight of the world.
"I'm going to tell them," Harry said quietly, after checking to make sure that no one was listening.
"About the-" Ron began.
Harry interrupted him. "Yes. About the Horcruxes. We can't do this alone," Harry added, when Hermione looked as though she wanted to argue. "We have no idea where they are, what they are, or how to destroy them," he said firmly, scanning the crowd for the people he trusted most. "When Dumbledore told me - I'm sure he didn't know he was going to - he couldn't have expected us to do this alone."
"All right, mate," Ron said quietly.
"When do you want to tell them?" Hermione asked.
Harry sought Ginny out one more time. She stood off by herself - no Dean in sight
gazing out over the water. For an instant, he indulged himself in thinking that he could turn this task over to the adults and let them worry about it. He could stay here at Hogwarts, attend his classes, be a normal sixteen year old-
But he couldn't linger over that fantasy for very long. "Now," he said.
02 June 1997
NEW MINISTER OF MAGIC
Ben Linus
After a year of political turmoil under the unsteady hand of ex-Auror Rufus Scrimgeour, the Ministry of Magic has another new leader at the helm of Britain's Wizarding community. Pius Thicknesse, former Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement (see "Pius Thicknesse: A Life in Pictures, page 3), has stepped in after Scrimgeour tendered his resignation late last night. The decision to elect him was unanimous. "Sure, everyone thought he was the best man for the job," says Agatha Higgenbothem, who cast her vote with the rest of the Wizengamot.
In a radical move, he completely eliminated the Auror Department (see "Corruption in the Auror Department, page 4), replacing it with a select few called Enforcers, of which John Dawlish is now the Head. "I regret to say that the Auror Department had gotten so corrupt that it must be eliminated," says Thicknesse in his first interview as Minister of Magic. "A total rework is required." He promises many more changes ahead, including the release of what he calls "terrifying information" from the Department of Mysteries regarding Muggleborns.
Scrimgeour was unavailable for comment regarding his abrupt resignation. It is believed that he has fled the country.
28 July 1997
Ginny had just about had it with her mother.
"If you could tie the napkins, dear, and then I need you to pull the laundry-"
Honestly, the woman cares more about the wedding than the fact that Ron, Harry, and Hermione are being hunted down by the Ministry of Magic, Ginny thought scornfully. The kitchen at the Burrow was bright and cheery, but Ginny felt anything but. Unfortunately, everyone else around her seemed to think it of no consequence, that the war had truly begun. Her dad was being watched, the members of the Order of the Phoenix had to regulate their activities, and some, like Remus and Tonks, had had to go into hiding.
"And after that, you have to go to my room, I have everything out for you, you just need to-"
That's not true, Ginny amended, trying to be fair. They were trying to keep it fromher. Last night, after a horrific dream involving Voldemort (she'd been back in the Chamber of Secrets, and Harry had been trying to fight the basilisk, but rivers of blood were coming out of his scar, and she couldn't even help - she'd been completely unable to move), she'd come down for tea, only to hear her mother sobbing quietly.
"And if you-"
"Mum!" Ginny said exasperatedly. "You don't need to pretend everything's all right."
"What?" her mother said stiffly. She had her back to Ginny, and was busy waving her wand and getting the kitchen into order while preparing lunch. "I just need your help with-"
"You're really this involved in the wedding?" Ginny asked in disbelief. "You can't lie to me, Mum. I know that you have a thousand more important things to thinkabout-"
"My oldest son is getting married, that's very important," her mum said, still not looking at her.
"Yes, of course, it would be if we weren't at war," Ginny said. Her stomach tightened with anger. She couldn't believe that her mother was going to pretend like it didn't matter, like a wedding was equal to everyone Ginny loved being in mortal danger. It reminded her of why she'd broken up with Dean Thomas, who had no understanding (even though he was probably a Muggleborn) of what it meant that Dumbledore had died. Dean had only had a mind for what it meant for their relationship, and not what it meant for everyone else.
"The wedding is even more important because of the war."
Ginny felt like her eyes were about to pop out of her head. Her mother obviously thought she was too young, too inexperienced to handle the truth; she wouldn't even confide in Ginny her worries, just tried to pretend that everything was fine, that she wasn't going out of her mind with fear for her family's safety. "That's stupid," Ginny muttered.
No reply.
"I wish you wouldn't lie to me," Ginny said in a low, angry voice. "Do you think I'm five years old? Or stupid? Everyone's in danger and you won't even acknowledge it. I fought at the Ministry of Magic, you know, it's not like I'm clueless. And I'll be joining the Order when I'm-"
"You will not be joining the Order," her mum hissed, spinning around, face scarlet, and eyes blazing.
Ginny took a step backward, gaping. The fury and fear on her mother's face was stark. "Of course I'm going to join the Order," Ginny said. How could her mother not know this? Ever since her fourth year, when they had spent the summer at Grimmauld Place, she'd planned to join as soon as she'd turned seventeen. It was obvious. Ginny wouldn't, couldn't just watch her family go out and fight while shesat at home.
Like hell.
"You're mental," she told her mother flatly, bracing herself for a fight.
Molly's eyes went wide, and her hands went to her hips. "Do not speak to me that way, Ginny. Do not. I am prepared…" she faltered. "I am fully knowledgeable that this war – this horrible war – could end in tragedy for this family. For my family. I would lay down my life to end this evil. But I will not lay down yours."
Ginny's heart squeezed. Her angry words, just at the tip of her tongue, burned away.
"I can't do this if I don't know you're safe," Molly whispered.
Ginny reached out and hugged her mother. "None of us are safe," Ginny whispered back.
03 August 1997
Harry stared up at Grimmauld Place, grimacing. Beside him, Ron muttered inarticulately. Even Hermione, who generally tried to put a good face on things, looked slightly squeamish. It was not the first time since they had left school that they had returned to the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. Not by a long shot.
But every time they returned, it got a little more difficult to get inside.
"He's mental," Ron said crossly.
"I'm not looking forward to the Probity Probe," Harry admitted.
Mad-Eye Moody had reached new heights of paranoia in the last few months, ever since Harry had told the members of the Order of the Phoenix about the Horcruxes. Obsessed with security, the old Auror had implemented more and more measures to ensure that a situation like that of Pettigrew did not arise. These measures grew more intrusive with every visit.
His gaze fixed on the towering townhouse, which seemed to rise out of the unnatural mist, looking haunted and dark, Harry said, "Let's just do it. It can't be that much worse than last time."
Ten minutes later, Harry stepped out of the foyer - after being subjected to several things that had made him squirm with discomfort (At least no one saw, Harry told himself firmly, glad that Mad-Eye still allowed a small amount of privacy)
glumly relieved that it was over. So caught up in his thoughts was he that he did not notice the pudgy boy directly in his path until he knocked into him and almost toppled over.
"Neville!" he said loudly, all thoughts of the Probity Probe flying out of his mind. He pumped the other boy's hand vigorously. "What're you doing here?"
"Turned seventeen, didn't I?" Neville said proudly. "I was waiting - you know how they are about not letting any underage people into the Order."
Harry nodded. That was certainly true. Mrs. Weasley was particularly fanatic about it. Even though he hadn't seen Ginny since the day of Dumbledore's funeral (it was too dangerous to visit the Burrow, especially since Voldemort had taken over the Ministry of Magic, and only Order members were allowed at Grimmauld Place), the fights the two Weasley women had gotten into about this exact issue were legendary.
At least according to Fred and George.
"Are you going to go back to school?" Harry asked.
Neville nodded. "Mad-Eye reckons that he needs a few people at Hogwarts, not just professors like Snape, McGonagall, and Hagrid," he said. "Seamus is going to join too. He turns seventeen tomorrow. And some of the girls are... Hannah Abbott and Susan Bones from Hufflepuff," he added. Then he rattled off a list of most members of Dumbledore's Army who had already joined, or were planning to.
"All of them?" Harry asked uncertainly, widening his eyes, just as Ron stumped into the room, rubbing his backside, and looking disgruntled.
"Yeah," Neville said. "Don't sound so surprised, Harry. We want to be rid of You-Know-Who, too."
08 September 1997
BREAK-IN AT ST. MUNGO'S
William Mapother
The lull in violence that lasted from April to September was shattered late last night when St. Mungo's was almost raided. Mundungus Fletcher (see "The Many Crimes of Dung," page 5) was caught in the act. It is believed that he was acting on behalf of the terrorist organization, the Order of the Phoenix. Although the sneak thief was not a confirmed member, it is widely known that he was friendly with Albus Dumbledore.
It is fortunate that he was stopped before he could either steal potions belonging to law-abiding, pureblooded witches and wizards, though this was not the only danger. The Order of the Phoenix, known to be violently against the Ministry of Magic and supportive of Undesirable Number One, could have made use of some of the heavily regulated poisons contained therein. "Either way, it would have been awful if that group of criminals had gotten our potions," says mediwitch Amity Harrow. "They would have stolen from us in order to heal themselves after they've been fighting."
This was the first use of the new wards (see "How the Ministry of Magic is Protecting Us," page 8) circling Britain's largest hospital for magical maladies and injuries. "We want to protect that which should not fall into the hands of terrorist groups," says Augustus Rookwood. "Therefore, St. Mungo's is now more heavily protected than even the Ministry of Magic, with multiple wards surrounding it."
The most effective ward, which acts as a web, was what caught the thief. While his fate is unknown, he will not be stealing from purebloods on behalf of the Order of the Phoenix ever again. Thanks to the protective measures taken by the Ministry, it is unlikely that St. Mungo's will ever be subjected to thievery again.
HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP
17 November 1997
The sitting room at Grimmauld Place had become a war room, and there was a thick, heady excitement in the air. Two objects floated in midair over a long, rickety table that was just barely large enough to fit all the members of the Order of the Phoenix who had come to witness the destruction of another Horcrux. The old ring that had once belonged to the Peverell family whirled slowly, revolving around the diary.
Soon another one will be up there, Harry thought, satisfied. Very soon. Tonight.
With the help of Severus Snape and Albus Dumbledore's portrait, Bill and Fleur Weasley had finally found the location of a cave in which they believed Voldemort had placed one of his Horcruxes. Just two days before, the married couple had burst into Grimmauld Place, exclaiming that they'd found a cave that had seen magic. They hadn't entered it, of course, but this was the best lead they'd had for any of the Horcruxes.
"That doesn't solve the problem that we don't know what we're getting into," Mad-Eye said implacably. But Harry saw that he was nearly as excited as the rest of them, and his lips were twisted into a small smile. "Bill said that the wards were complex... only one wizard - or witch," he added when he saw Hermione about to protest, "can enter. But I dislike the idea of sending anyone alone, you know that."
"One wizard or witch that's of age," Bill clarified. "We could-"
"Absolutely not," Molly Weasley said tightly. "No children are going anywhere near that cave, and if you think I'm going to let you-"
"You should let Ginny go, Mum," Fred said. He pointed up at the diary. "She has as much a right as any of us-"
"Not another word," Mrs. Weasley said, slamming her fist down on the table. "She's sixteen years old, and she's in enough danger as it is with those damn Carrows. We do not use children."
"Why not use a house-elf?" Harry asked. There was a sharp pain in his knee: Hermione had kicked him under the table. His eyes watered and he immediately regretted his words. Until he looked up, that is. Hermione appeared to be the only one who did not like this notion.
"That's an idea," Mad-Eye said gruffly.
"We can use Kreacher," Harry told him, not wanting to think too closely as to why he'd rather use Kreacher than Dobby. And without waiting for an answer, he said loudly, "KREACHER!"
The house-elf appeared with a loud crack! and a baleful glance at Harry. "Yes, Master?" he croaked, skulking closer. Harry grimaced. "Kreacher, I'm ordering you to never speak of what happens tonight to anyone outside of this room," he ordered.
"Is that really-" Hermione began.
"Yes, it's necessary," Harry cut her off, thinking of Kreacher's involvement in Sirius' death. Everyone else in the room was entirely silent. Even the twins had stopped fidgeting and had their eyes fixed on bat-eared house-elf.
"Yes, Master," Kreacher said finally.
Now that Kreacher had acknowledged Harry's order, Harry did not know quite what to do. None of the more adult members of the Order of the Phoenix offered to take over; even Moody seemed content to let Harry take the lead in this matter. Harry cast a glance around the table; the firelight flickered strangely across their faces. Moody sat in silence, staring thoughtfully at Kreacher, but it seemed like his mind was a hundred miles away. Bill's scars stood out starkly, and a sudden nervousness washed over Harry.
They trust me too much, Harry thought for the thousandth time. Taking a deepbreath, he said, "Kreacher, we need you to... You-Know-Who has an object that we've got to retrieve," he said carefully. Despite the fact that he knew that Kreacher would not be able to tell others about this, Harry did not want to give the house-elf too much information. "It's in a cave"-Kreacher's eyes bulged at this-"and we need you to help us get it, because it takes two to do it"-the house-elf's mouth dropped open, revealing teeth that had probably not been cleaned in several decades-"but one of them can't be a fully grown witch or wizard."
Harry was completely unprepared for what came next.
Kreacher let out a wail so loud that Harry's ears hurt. Ron knocked over his glass of pumpkin juice, and Hermione almost fell out of her chair. Moody's misshapen mouth hung open, and his full attention was now centered on the house-elf. Mrs. Weasley put her hand over her mouth just as Kreacher ran over to the wall and began to beat his head against it, incomprehensible croaks coming out of his mouth.
"What the bloody, buggering hell?" Ron said loudly.
"Kreacher, stop!" Harry said.
"The locket!" Kreacher sobbed. "Master is wanting the locket... Master Regulus' locket... in the cave! And Kreacher tried and tried to destroy it!" He flung himself down on the ground, and beat his little fists against the hard floor. Harry's mind reeled with shock.
"Regulus' locket?" Remus Lupin asked in disbelief, speaking up for the first time that evening. "Sirius' brother?"
"Kreacher doesn't have to speak to werewolves," Kreacher said, lifting his head from the floor, his voice dripping with disdain.
"Be polite," Harry snapped. But his rebuke was only half-hearted. What did Regulus Black have to do with anything? His confusion grew by the second. Regulus had been a Death Eater, hadn't he? That's what Sirius had said... "Tell me everything you know about the locket, Kreacher," Harry told him.
Kreacher's voice was muffled by the floor, but bit by bit, the story came out. Regulus hadn't just gotten cold feet as Sirius had described. But somehow he'd divined the truth about the Horcruxes. Not only that, but he'd volunteered Kreacher to help hide it. And when Voldemort had tried to kill Kreacher, Regulus' loyalty to Voldemort had broken... and the Horcrux-
"What happened to it?" Harry asked eagerly, looking around the room as though Slytherin's locket would appear in front of him. It felt close, so tantalizingly close-
"That sneak thief Mundungus Fletcher stole it from Kreacher," Kreacher moaned.
His eyes were filled with loathing.
And despite the fact that Harry didn't like to think ill of a deceased member of the Order of the Phoenix, Harry couldn't blame him. In this instance, they were in accord. Dung would have sold it... they had no possible way of knowing who had the locket, where it was, whose mind was possibly being taken over by the Horcrux...
"Fuck," said Fred.
HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP
25 March 1998
LAST WILL AND TESTAMENT OF FRED AND GEORGE WEASLEY
I.
We, Fred and George Weasley, residing in London, being reasonably sound of mind, do hereby declare this instrument to be our last will and testament
II.
We hereby revoke all previous wills and codicils.
III.
We direct that the disposition of our remains be as follows:
Our remains (if we haven't blown ourselves up, of course) are to be placed in the cemetery at Ottery St. Catchpole.
We give half of the contents of our Gringotts vault to our brother, Ronald Bilius Weasley, should he survive us for 60 days (he'd better). We give the other half of the contents of our Gringotts vault to our sister, Ginevra Molly Weasley. If our brother, Ronald Bilius Weasley, does not survive us, we give all of the contents to Ginevra Molly Weasley. If neither Ronald Bilius Weasley nor Ginevra Molly Weasley, survives us, we give all of the contents of the Gringotts vault to Arthur Weasley, to distribute it fairly amongst all surviving members of our immediate family. To Percy Ignatius Weasley and Lee Jordan, we leave Weasleys Wizard Wheezes, to be shared equally. To Tom Marvolo Riddle, we leave all of our stock of U-No-Poo in hopes that our deaths will help create a more peaceful world.
V.
We appoint Arthur Weasley, to act as the executor of this will, to serve without bond. Should Arthur Weasley be unable or unwilling to serve, then we appoint William Arthur Weasley to act as the executor of this will.
We herewith affix our signatures to this will on this
the 12th day of December, 1997
Arthur Weasley's eyes kept being drawn again and again to the simple piece of paper that he held in his right hand. His glasses dug into his nose - he kept pressing his hand to his eyes, forgetting the obstruction - and his gaze drifted to the page. Molly's sobs, coming from the other room, were strangely muffled. Specific words jumped out at him: last will and testament, disposition of our remains, and executor.
It hurt to look at the rather official looking parchment. The goblins had stamped it, affixed any number of magical signatures, and had finally given it into Arthur's keeping.
Because Arthur was the executor.
The twins are dead.
HPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHPHP
18 April 1998
The graves were located in a humble little cemetery just outside the village of Ottery St. Catchpole. The headstones were plain, but a profusion of flowers had been planted over the patch of earth, underneath which Fred and George would have been laid to rest, had their bodies been found. The rustling of the new leaves on the trees was the only sound.
Ron sat cross-legged, facing the two gravestones, head in his hands. Hermione knelt behind him and had her arms wrapped around him in silent comfort. Harry stood, unable to take his eyes away from the etched letters of the Weasley twins' names.
He didn't feel struck by grief, nor did he feel angry. Harry had not been galvanized into further, fruitless action by the deaths of the twins. No fury had risen up inside him, making him want to tear Voldemort's body apart, the way Voldemort had torn his own soul. Instead, Harry just couldn't believe it.
Fred and George had gone into St. Mungo's and had never come out again. The sinister wards erected by the Death Eaters had captured them, and even though their bodies had not been retrieved from Voldemort's lair, there was no way that the Death Eaters would have let them live. The sun shone down on the graves, the flowers (surely planted by Mrs. Weasley) grew profusely and colorfully, but all Harry could think about was how ludicrous it was that they were dead.
Dead.
It had happened in March, and this was the first time that the Death Eaters hadn't been lingering around the cemetery. They still believed that Ron had been struck by spattergroit almost immediately after Dumbledore's death, but they knew that Harry was friendly with the Weasleys. Being Undesirable Number One - or even just a friend of Undesirable Number One, Harry thought - meant that moments in public were not advisable.
"They killed them," Ron said in anguished disbelief. Harry knew what was going through his mind. They'd all heard through Snape what had happened to Mundungus Fletcher when he'd been caught in the wards. The thought of Fred and George dying like that...
Harry didn't really have any words of comfort to offer.
Ron's shoulders shook, and Harry stepped away, not wanting to intrude on his privacy. Hermione could offer him words and touches of comfort; all Harry could give him was shock and the fact that Harry couldn't believe that Fred and George were dead.
"It's going to be all right," Hermione murmured over and over again.
Harry didn't believe her.
