A/N: Harry's court appointment, on his birthday, no less. I thought about editing the testimony but couldn't find enough worthwhile to take out that wouldn't disrupt the continuity. If you tend to skim read over things you think you may already know, you could miss something never revealed before – the real reason Harry survived Halloween 1981.


7. Innocence and Guilt

o o o

7.01

0740 TUESDAY MINISTRY OF MAGIC LONDON

Ron slapped my back playfully as the the witch behind the counter handed me a carefully folded piece of fresh parchment.

"I told you it would be a breeze if you could already side-along Dumbledore."

"And I told you that he was probably helping me all along."

I slipped my brand-new official "Licence to Apparate" inside my robes with an ear-to-ear grin. The seventh book never indicated that I had performed this traditional coming-of-age ritual in that other reality, so I wanted to make sure I was legal now that it was my birthday.

I was seventeen – again – although my other life was becoming more like a distant memory now. This was my reality, and it was oddly liberating to know that I now had all the freedoms allowed an adult in this world.

I also had all the responsibilities, and my first was a hearing regarding Improper Use of Magic – underage magic. The standard plea was self-defense, and that would require a good deal of explanation, if I was allowed. When that blustering fool Fudge was minister, he refused to listen to anything I had to say; maybe Scrimgeour would be a little more reasonable, assuming he would be present. Since I was due in the same courtroom in just a few minutes, I also had to assume that a similar stunt was being pulled. The entire Wizengamot was probably waiting to sink their teeth into the Boy-Who-Lived; they just had no idea how hard I would be to chew on.

Reporters hanging about near the lifts tried asking questions, but I flashed my new apparition license with my "this-is-all-you-get" grin, and they had to satisfy themselves with mere photos. Surely their imaginations could fill in the blanks here, but I wouldn't be betting any of my gold on that.

I looked at my watch one last time; it read 7:57. Ron and I were alone in the familiar lower level corridor outside the old courtroom ten. I slipped out my invisibility cloak and handed it to him, and he threw it quickly over himself.

"I hope that you won't be needed, Ron, but stay ready for anything. I have no idea how this is going to play out. If it all goes pear-shaped, your priority is to get the girls to safety."

His face still visible, he nodded in acknowledgement. "Always glad to have your back, mate." He brought the hood forward, and just like a Cheshire Cat's, his grin was the last thing to disappear.

I stepped towards the ancient wooden door, slowly turned the heavy iron handle and stepped inside, giving Ron time to move through behind me. The dungeon courtroom looked almost the same as two years before, when I had been here under similar circumstances. As I had guessed, the entire Wizengamot was in attendance, fully attired in plum dress robes. Some of the faces were familiar, scowling down from the bench tiers, but many I did not recognize. There were several attendees that were apparently not members of the court itself, yet managed seats on the benches beside them. Two figures were wearing cloaks – one in gray, one in maroon – with deep hoods hiding their faces. Probably Unspeakables, I thought, but I had no time to speculate why they might be here. No telling what they do for entertainment in the Department of Mysteries.

Mad-Eye Moody sat on the end of the front row, and I could tell his magical eye that could see through invisibility cloaks was following Ron's movement to the side gallery. Thankfully I had briefed the former Auror – no need to create an embarrassing situation before the hearing even started. I was glad to see that Kingsley Shacklebolt and Nymphadora Tonks were two of the Aurors stationed along each side of the floor. Tonks gave me a clandestine wink and thumbs up as I passed.

I spotted Hermione and Ginny sitting next to Mr. Weasley in the visitor's gallery, but I couldn't risk acknowledging them as I approached the minister's box.

"Thank you for coming, Mr. Potter." Rufus Scrimgeour's gravelly voice was intended to intimidate me, but I wasn't here to play his game. "You may have a seat."

I looked around at the chair for the accused, draped with chains that seemed extremely eager to wrap themselves around another prisoner. I didn't like feeling any more vulnerable than I already was.

"I don't mind standing, Minister, if that's alright." I flashed my best innocent smile.

"As you wish," Scrimgeour glared back. "Let's begin since everyone is here. Weasley, are you ready?"

Ron's older brother wouldn't look my way, but gave his all too eager affirmation to the minister.

"Ministry Hearing of Inquiry, 31 July, 1997, into activities of Harry James Potter of number four Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey. Interrogators: Minister of Magic Rufus Scrimgeour, Director of Magical Law Enforcement Pius Thicknesse, and Minister's Senior Undersecretary Dolores Umbridge. Court Scribe: Percy Weasley."

Yes, Umbridge the toad lives and breathes still. This should be interesting.

"You are Harry James Potter?"

I nodded. "Yes, good to see you again, sir."

The minister didn't like my apparent cavalier attitude. "You don't have any surprise defense counselors waiting out there?" he sneered, recalling Dumbledore's appearance two years earlier.

"I reserve the right to call witnesses if the court finds my testimony is inadequate, but no, I am handling my own defense this morning, sir."

"Very well," he growled. "Mr. Potter, you have been accused of violating the Statute for Underage Sorcery by using magic outside of school, specifically, stupefying, summoning, disarming, cutting, conjuring, binding, and shielding spells beginning at approximately twelve minutes after seven on 25 July at Malfoy Manor in Wiltshire, and that said magic was performed during unlawful trespass of said manor, and that said magic was was used to threaten other persons, namely Lucius Malfoy, and resulted in the unlawful theft of Lucius Malfoy's wand. These are very serious charges, Mr. Potter, and carry a minimum sentence of three years imprisonment, destruction of your own wand, not to mention expulsion from Hogwarts. If you had been of age the punishments would be even more severe."

"Minister, if I may, I understood this hearing to be about alleged use of underage magic. These other charges…"

"The scope of this hearing was expanded, Mr. Potter," Scrimgeour cut across me. "You were sent an owl this morning."

I tried hard to keep from rolling my eyes. "Ah, that would explain it. The owl couldn't have reached me since I was already here, up on the sixth level." I smiled again, this time with teeth, as I again held out my freshly-inked Apparition license. "I am no legal expert, sir, but I assume that the court does allow a defendant some time to actually prepare a defense."

There was muttering in the rows behind the minister, indicating that I had at least some support.

"So you are requesting we reschedule, allowing you to conjure up another fanciful tale justifying your actions?"

The minister was aiming below the belt, so I was forced to counter.

"No, I am not making such a request, and while the facts will indeed seem a fanciful tale, I can assure you that they are not. I have evidence that these accusations are frivolous at best. Furthermore, I don't believe for a minute that Mr. Malfoy is pressing charges against me. It seems far more likely that someone on your staff has fabricated the additional charges to cast an ill light on these proceedings."

The minister was turning a lovely shade of purple. "Young man, do I need to remind you that this is a court of law, and that you are the accused, not the other way round?"

"No, sir, and meaning no disrespect to the court, I only ask that I am treated fairly under the law. Surely you realize that I have reason to maintain a healthy skepticism toward the political arm of the ministry."

"Nonsense! There are no rogue elements in these offices, and the incidents to which you refer were dealt with long ago."

"Sir, the Ministry of Magic has been infiltrated by enemies to wizarding society, probably more than you realize. For instance, is your MLE Director still under the Imperius curse?"

If I hadn't been looking for it, I wouldn't have seen it in time. Pius Thicknesse had pulled his wand and fired a hex that I had to dodge with a roll to the side. In one swift movement I bounded back up immediately in front of the mad director, snatched his wand directly from his hand and flicked it back to Kingsley, who almost fired a hex himself, but caught it in his free hand.

The large black Auror held the offending wand out for all to see that he had possession of it.

I nodded to Kingsley, took a deep breath and stepped back to my original position. "I rest my case on that matter, Minister Scrimgeour."

It had all happened so fast that no one was certain what to do. Half the Aurors had wands trained on Thicknesse, half were on me. For some reason, Mad-Eye seemed to find the whole thing hilarious, barely able to control his laughter.

The minister frowned. "Dawlish, Reynolds!" he grumbled. "Please escort Mr. Thicknesse to the Spell Reversal holding area to get sorted out. The rest of you may stand down."

After the entourage filed out of the courtroom, Scrimgeour's attention returned to me.

"Mr. Potter, we have irrefutable evidence against you, and creating diversions such as this will not help your case."

"Sir, I did no magic unlawfully, and this accusation that I stole Mr. Malfoy's wand..."

"Are you contesting the evidence, Mr. Potter?"

"No, sir, I am only stating that I was within my rights to defend myself while being attacked, and I can prove it. Moreover, I was an invited guest at Malfoy Manor."

"Invited! By whom?"

"Draco Malfoy, sir."

"Mr. Potter, I'm not sure what kind of stunt you're trying to pull, but the Malfoy heir and his mother have not been seen since the evening you were at Malfoy Manor. Their coincidental timing of their disappearance seems very suspicious. You are lucky that we are not yet pressing additional charges…"

"You are not pressing charges probably because he took my advice to leave the country. A simple misunderstanding, I'm sure."

Scrimgeour looked happy for the first time since I'd arrived. "Oho! So you accept responsibility for their sudden disappearance?"

"They accepted my invitation, if that's what you mean. I know of no laws that were broken, minister."

He scowled through his lion-like beard. "That remains to be seen, Mr. Potter. What proof have you that you were attacked?"

"I have the wand that was used to attack me. If one of your Aurors will kindly check, it should verify what I am saying."

"You are trying the patience of this court, Mr. Potter, but I will allow it."

I looked back toward Kingsley, who I knew would give me fair treatment. "Auror… Shacklebolt, isn't it?" I asked expectantly, pretending not to know him.

He nodded, his face was expressionless, but I could discern a hint of mirth in his eyes as I handed him the Malfoy wand. He was enjoying this almost as much as I was.

Kingsley inspected the wand and checked it with a couple of spells to determine its composition and age, which he reported to the court.

"Is there a way to determine ownership of this wand?" I asked.

"Not conclusively, no," Kingsley responded in his soft yet rich voice, "but the specifications and carvings match the description of Lucius Malfoy's wand."

"Thank you." I addressed the members of the Wizengamot. "For the record, to the best of my knowledge this wand did belong to Mr. Malfoy, yet it was not in his possession Saturday evening, therefore it was not stolen by me. Now, if Auror Shacklebolt will kindly show us the last spell from this wand?"

With all eyes watching, Kingsley touched his wand to Malfoy's and whispered "Priori Incantantem."

A collective gasp filled the room as an image of the easily recognizable bright green flash of the killing curse erupted from the end of the wand, only to be repelled by another spell from an unknown source.

The murmurs were interrupted by a sound that I had been awaiting – a high-pitched "Hem, hem" voice next to the minister. Umbridge had apparently had enough.

"Mr. Potter," she simpered in her annoying falsetto, "surely you do not expect us to believe that you, barely out of childhood, are capable of defeating the Avada Kedavra curse, a feat never before accomplished?"

I returned her sickeningly sweet smile. "Why, hello again, Madame Umbridge. I must say that Hogwarts just hasn't been the same without you. Peeves, for one, misses you terribly."

If looks could kill, Umbridge would have me dead several times over.

"I should point out," I continued, "that the curse has been defeated once before; it may have slipped your mind." My smile increased as a few chuckles escaped from behind the woman who so resembled an overgrown toad. "And no, I do not expect you to believe it. Judging strictly from past experience, I expect you will call me a liar and do your best to discredit me, then try to make whatever I am doing an illegal activity. Failing that, I expect you to become truly creative. The dementor attack was brilliant, by the way – after all, who would suspect a senior ministry official – and without Dumbledore's quick thinking it would have worked, too."

"Of course it would have, you little degenerate!" Umbridge fumed. "You and that bumbling old fool had the audacity to attempt undermining the ministry's authority and disrupting our peaceful society. Someone had to stop you and I was the only one who did anything other than whinge about it. And Dumbledore's no longer here with his smoke and mirror tricks to help you worm out of trouble this time…"

"Madame Umbridge!" Scrimgeour was looking at her as if for the first time. "I suggest you leave the rest of the questioning to me. In fact, we could use your expertise to help Mr. Thicknesse with his situation. Sebastien, would you kindly accompany Dolores to the lifts?" He gave a tall imposing Auror a pointed look, as if to say that he should stay with the toad all the way to the holding area.

The departure of his fuming undersecretary left empty seats on either side of Scrimgeour, and he had lost most of his bluster. "Don't see why Fudge ever hired that damn fool witch," he muttered to no one in particular.

"Maybe he was overcome by her obvious charm," I volunteered.

Utter silence fell over the room until a snort escaped from someone behind me, probably Tonks, followed by tittering in the benches, then the dam burst and most everyone was laughing heartily.

Except the minister.

He banged his gavel a few times. "Mr. Potter," he growled, "I do not care to drag this on all day. Now, we were discussing the wand you said belonged to Mr. Malfoy. Who was it that had possession and cast that curse?"

"A wizard by the name of Tom Marvolo Riddle."

"And what happened to this Riddle?"

"I sent him to you, sir. He had an odd sinus problem afterward, you see…"

"No one came to my office…" Scrimgeour paused, and his face blanched. "You…" he whispered, "all along…"

Then he was on his feet, red-faced and yelling, "You deliberately come here, using obfuscation games to embarrass the ministry and mock this court – what is it you want, Potter?!"

A few of the senior Aurors knew what had gotten Scrimgeour upset, but most members of the Wizengamot appeared to be taken aback by the sudden outburst.

"Minister Scrimgeour," I replied levelly, "I did not come here with the intent to embarrass the ministry; they seem to be quite adept at doing that on their own."

Scrimgeour looked ready to pounce, so I hurried on.

"Sir, a few weeks ago, you asked me a question that I refused to answer. To present a proper defense, I will answer that question and several others that you may or may not have asked before. Unfortunately, some of these truths will be uncomfortable to hear and difficult to believe or even understand. I must ask your indulgence – that you are prepared to listen with an open mind – for if you are not, I do not wish to inconvenience you or the good people of the Wizengamot any further, and I will rest my case right now."

I had opened the door; now I had to trust in Scrimgeour's burning curiosity to peek inside.

He retained his furious glare at me. "I doubt I could prove you were deliberately withholding pertinent information, Mr. Potter, so I will allow you to continue."

"I want to answer your questions, sir, all of them," I responded. "However, before I can do that, I would respectfully like to make two requests of the court."

Scrimgeour was glaring again, but he wanted that information. "The court will entertain your requests."

"Firstly, I request that the court allow me some discretion in the depth of detail in my testimony. Some of what I have to say can be classified as extremely sensitive, and should not be revealed to the public at large. These would fall into the category of state secrets."

"I can understand where that may be necessary. It will be granted, as long as you agree to provide the missing detail in confidence if requested."

"Fair enough," I agreed. "I also request immunity from prosecution for certain parties as noted on this parchment."

Scrimgeour looked doubtful as I handed him the single sheet that mentioned no names, only that they were magical and non-magical humans, along with individuals of non-human sentient species, that assisted Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter in the defeat of the dark wizard known as Lord Voldemort.

He narrowed his eyes at me, but I remained steadfast and willed him to understand.

"This is highly irregular, Mr. Potter, but I grant your request, only that it be limited specifically as described on this document." He knew he was defeated, but would not inform the rest of the court just how big a concession he was making.

"Thank you, sir," I said, bowing respectfully. "Minister Scrimgeour and members of the Wizengamot, I would like to start with a little bit of history." This would not be the same nuts and bolts version I gave to Draco. This would be tailored to this particular audience.

"It was about sixty years ago that a young boy named Tom Riddle arrived at Hogwarts, having recently learned that he was a wizard. He was sorted into Slytherin House and became a model student, extremely talented, responsible and well-mannered, earning himself loyal friendships and the respect of the staff, so that he became a prefect in his fifth year and was head boy his seventh year.

"Naturally, young Tom was curious about his lineage and did exhaustive research on wizarding genealogy, discovering that his mother, Merope Gaunt, was a member of the last family that could trace a direct line to Salazar Slytherin himself, and that he himself could potentially claim to be the heir of Slytherin, since the Gaunt line ended with him. He was disappointed to learn that his father, also Tom Riddle, was a mere Muggle who lived in the same village. Merope had no formal magical training but managed to seduce Tom Senior with some kind of compulsion magic – probably a love potion of her own brewing – and was distraught when he rejected her after she stopped giving him the potion, eventually drifting to a Muggle orphanage in London, where she died shortly after giving birth."

"This is all very interesting," Scrimgeour interrupted, "but how is this pertinent to your defense?"

"I'm getting to that, Minister. You see, the well-mannered face of Tom Riddle hid a young man full of anger at what fate had left him and a lust for power over his circumstance and those that put him there. He was lured by the potential of Dark Magic, studied it extensively, and became well-versed in using it while still in school, unknown to any but his closest friends. He detested the name of his father, so he created a new moniker, an anagram of his birth name. So Tom Marvolo Riddle," and I waved my wand to form the words in mid-air just as he had shown me, "became 'I am Lord Voldemort.'"

The letters rearranged themselves, and entire Wizengamot gaped, speechless, as much as from this revelation as my audacity in uttering the name aloud. At least no one fainted or ran screaming from the room.

"So this man that we had feared for so long was in fact no lord at all, his name just an invention from his youth. An invention that he later brought to bear when he decided to pull the ultimate prank on the magical society of Britain."

"A prank, you say?" the minister asked sceptically.

"Yes – Tom Marvolo Riddle led a new movement purporting fulfillment of his ancestor Slytherin's ideals of pure-blood supremacy, when in fact he was using the wealthiest families in our society to fund his personal quest for power, luring the privileged with promises of glory by his side, playing upon their fears of being usurped by muggle-borns and half-bloods ignorant of ancient magical traditions. He, the son of a muggle, succeeded in enticing notables such as Lucius Malfoy into becoming common thugs who could use their wealth for influence peddling, then even torture and murder if he asked. And all without using the Imperius curse, despite what they may claim. But even these most loyal followers, his so-called Death Eaters, were treated severely when they failed to do his bidding. It was the ultimate prank, and we all fell for it. A great many supported his movement, if not his methods, not knowing his true aim.

"No one knew that his desire for power was boundless, and he sought ways to conquer the only thing that would inevitably defeat him – death. He studied the darkest forms of necromancy to find a way to become immortal, only one step away from a self-proclaimed deity where blood status would mean nothing unless one swore fealty to him. And he nearly succeeded, based on what happened when he attacked my family. Professor Dumbledore had suspected what he had been doing, but wasn't certain until after Tom regained a body two years ago."

I paused to conjure a glass of water. There was a heavy silence as I sipped to relieve my dry throat.

"Godric's Hollow, Halloween, 1981. The events of that night have been widely speculated upon but very little real information has been available to make more than mere educated guesses. Dumbledore passed along to me what he knew and had his own theories which are probably the most accurate that I know about. However, I have given this a lot of thought, and I have some ideas of my own, being the sole survivor of that tragic night."

"But you were just a child, Mr. Potter. How could you possibly remember what happened?"

"A legitimate question, minister. However, I am rewarded with hearing my parents' voices in their last moments every time I am in close proximity to a dementor."

I paused to collect myself again, noting the mixture of shock, pity or understanding on the faces staring back unabashedly.

"The reason Tom came that night was because of a prophecy, one that was partially overheard by one of his spies several months before I was born. It foretold of the coming of someone that would be able to 'vanquish' him. Based on what he was told, Tom decided that the child of James and Lily Potter was a potential candidate. I was not the only one, but I was the first he had access to when Peter Pettigrew, who had quietly become one of his followers, was made secret keeper for my family's Fidelius charm. Sirius Black, as you should have heard by now, was the obvious choice but instead posed as a decoy. While my father and his friends thought they were being clever, the choice turned out to be their downfall. No one suspected Pettigrew of being a traitor.

"It should be mentioned that the spy who told Tom the prophecy was Severus Snape, and he did something that set in motion the events that saved my life. Snape was a childhood friend of my mother's before they parted ways over ideology at Hogwarts. Upon learning who the target was, he asked Tom for a special favor – that he would spare his friend, Lily. The dark lord acquiesced to the request, and so Tom came to Godric's Hollow intending to leave my mother alive, and as we all know, intent is a very important part of magic.

"He caught my parents completely unawares – they did not even have their wands when he blasted open the front door. My father tried to delay him while mum ran upstairs with me, yet Tom murdered him with little thought, pureblood status disregarded.

"Tom then went up to the nursery to find my mother standing before the crib where she placed me, protecting me, for she knew I was his target. Remember that he did not plan to kill her, so he ordered her to stand aside. She refused, saying, 'No, not Harry, kill me instead.' He again ordered her to stand aside and again she refused, pleading for mercy, and then he killed her. Next he aimed his wand at me, and his curse did something very unusual – it rebounded back to him, leaving me scarred, yet somehow alive.

"Dumbledore told me that my mother may have called up an ancient magic and protected me with love. While that may be partially true, I don't feel that is a complete explanation for my survival. Surely some other parent sacrificing themselves in protection of their child would have been able to duplicate my mum's results, but in all human history no such case is known. Indeed, the reward for sacrificial love is not typically granted upon the survivors, but in a higher plane of the afterlife.

"So what tipped the balance to enable Lily Potter to succeed where no other had before? I think the answer may be simpler than anyone ever realized.

"If we think of those present in that room – three magical persons – two of whom begin a sort of negotiation: 'Stand aside,' Tom said, implying a life-for-a-life bargain: 'If you let me kill your child, I will spare you.' That was not acceptable to my mum, so she immediately refused and countered with a proposal of her own: 'No, not Harry, kill me instead. . .'

"Now let's assume that by some chance in the heightened emotions present that their magic linked to accept this as a magical agreement – and noting that as my only surviving parent my mum had the power to negotiate on my behalf – and by following through with her request and killing her, he had sealed the vow between them: 'Not Harry, kill me instead.'

"He had just magically vowed not to harm me. A vow sealed with my mother's blood.

"The resulting effect was that by sending his curse in my direction with murderous intent, he violated the vow just created, and magic responded by rendering his curse mostly ineffective against me and granting me lasting protection from him."

The looks of amazement would have been comical if the situation had been the least bit humorous.

"I had no idea of the existence of modern prophecies," I continued, "nor that the Ministry of Magic kept records of them, until just over a year ago. I also learned later that same night that one of these was made to Albus Dumbledore, so he was able to relate it to me with his pensieve. It said that the Dark Lord would mark his vanquisher as his equal, and have a power that he knew not."

"You see, it wasn't anything I did that night – what a ridiculous idea, that a toddler in nappies could defeat one of the world's most powerful wizards – no, it was the power that he didn't know about, the power of a mother's love, a love so great that she would give everything to save her child, and a magical vow casting a protective spell over me so that he couldn't kill me, a spell that Dumbledore used to continue that protection at my relative's house, because it was magic of a blood vow and would only work through those that shared my mother's blood. Yes, I was the 'boy who lived,' but it was my mum, a Muggle-born witch, that was the hero that night, that defeated him and caused his curse at me to rebound upon himself."

I hadn't realized that I had closed my eyes, my voice barely a whisper, until it finally broke. I took a longer sip of water and a couple of deep breaths, steeling myself to go on.

"But if his own curse rebounded upon him," I continued, "why did he not die when his physical body was destroyed? Dumbledore was able to eventually confirm that Tom had performed some very dark rituals to keep his spirit anchored to this plane, soul-splitting rituals so dark and self-destructive that very few would be foolish enough to attempt this kind of evil even once, yet he performed it several times. Tom had become less than human, fracturing his own soul to the point that he was extremely fragile, and the rebounding curse loosed part of his essence which sought out the only remaining living being in the room, lodging itself in my scar, through which I had some kind of unique link to him which has thankfully now been broken. By his own actions, he had marked me as the prophecy foretold, and created his own nemesis. Yes, I was the chosen one, chosen by Tom himself through his own folly, and I was burdened with an obligation to Fate that I only discovered when Dumbledore explained the prophecy to me. For the prophecy also said that 'either must die at the hand of the other, for neither can live while the other survives.'

"As you can imagine, the idea that I had to be the one to kill him terrified me. How was I supposed to duel someone that even Dumbledore couldn't defeat? What if he killed me first? Would that mean that he could never be defeated?

"Of course, I was assuming that we would have to do battle in the traditional sense, and years of intensive training would probably still leave me wanting in a straight duel. Sure, I made it through the Triwizard Tournament, but only because it was rigged that I should win it as part of an elaborate scheme to capture me. Fortunately, I had two very important things in my favor when I was unwittingly brought to him that night. He vainly sought a way to get to me and foolishly used my blood, the blood that carried my mother's magical protection of love, as part of the ritual to regain his physical form. He hadn't heard the full prophecy and didn't realize that this would be of little benefit to him, but ironically doubled that protection for me, preventing anyone from ever being able to kill me outright while he was still alive. Also, unknown to Tom, each of our wands contained a feather from the same phoenix. He thought it sporting to challenge me, and we discovered that brother wands do not work properly against each other, creating enough of a distraction for me to escape him.

"Professor Dumbledore's painstaking research finally uncovered the secrets of the magic Tom used to keep himself alive. Unfortunately, Dumbledore was caught in a booby-trap of Tom's making in the process, a curse that nearly killed him outright last summer, and would have if he hadn't been saved by Severus Snape."

Scrimgeour cleared his throat. "I thought you reported that Snape was the one who murdered Dumbledore."

"As a witness to the action atop the Hogwarts Astronomy Tower, I thought that was what I was seeing, but I later learned it was in fact a staged event. Dumbledore was weak and slowly dying from the curse he had received last summer, and probably would have died by now regardless. Yet he had made Professor Snape promise to make a quick end of it if the situation required it. From what I understand, it is a rather complex story, and I am not the one to relate the details. Perhaps Professor Dumbledore's portrait at Hogwarts would corroborate. I have found it to be quite informative."

"Ah, yes, I'm sure you have," the minister mused. "I assume that this dark magic ritual of Tom Riddle is part of the detail you are withholding from your testimony?"

"Yes, sir. I really don't know a lot about it, only that it requires some of the vilest evil imaginable to enact. It's best left unspoken for now."

Scrimgeour nodded. "Understood; we shall discuss this afterward in my office. Please continue."

"Over the last year, Dumbledore passed along what he had learned to me, as I would have to complete the preliminary steps to defeat Tom after he was gone, and I was able to accomplish this since leaving school. I learned that Tom had plans to attack me this Saturday evening past, and that soon after he would attempt a takeover of the Ministry of Magic. I don't need to tell you what kind of chaos would result – a totalitarian regime where individual rights would be trampled, undesirables like me would be hunted down as traitors, institutions such as Hogwarts would be in his control, dark creatures doing his bidding – and once magical Britain was under his thumb, he would probably extend his influence to the continent, possibly even the Muggle world.

"Once I learned of his plans, how could I stand idly by and watch him do this, knowing that I could prevent it? I gathered some help, and formulated a plan of my own. I knew that Tom kidnapped Ollivander, torturing him to reveal a solution to the problem of our brother wands. I also knew that Tom had appropriated Lucius Malfoy's wand to get around that problem. From what little I know of wandlore, the wand chooses the wizard, not the other way round, so if I disarmed Mr. Malfoy, I could potentially acquire an additional advantage by gaining the allegiance of the wand that Tom would be using. It was an untested theory, but I wanted everything possible in my favor if I was to confront him, and I had no idea when I would get another chance. In the end, there really wasn't much to it. I did threaten him if he refused to call Tom through his mark so that I could confront him directly, but as Lucius was unarmed I merely stunned him and left him alone.

"When Tom arrived, we had words knowing that only one of us would be leaving the house alive. When I told him that all the dark magic he had so carefully constructed had been defeated, he used Lucius Malfoy's wand to attack me with the killing curse. Apparently all the protections I had accumulated allowed me to deflect it back upon him with a simple disarming charm, as you witnessed in the Priori Incantatem. In essence, he killed himself again. Permanently, this time."

"You are certain that you succeeded undoing all his rituals?"

"All the ones that kept him from dying, yes. After that was over I was attacked by Peter Pettigrew, who had been hiding somewhere nearby. I had to deal with him as well."

"Ah, then, were you responsible for his current physical condition?"

"If you are referring to his missing hand, yes, he originally cut it off himself as part of Tom's re-birthing ritual. Tom was generous enough to give him a magical replacement, but the thing was trying to kill him when he was dueling me. By removing his fake hand with the cutting spell, I actually spared his life. I preferred that justice be done properly with him, unlike what happened when he framed my godfather.

"I then found Mr. Ollivander alive in the basement and made sure he got to St. Mungo's for treatment."

I took a deep breath and stood firm, looking up at the stunned expressions on the faces in the court.

"Therefore, in response to the charges, yes, I did willfully enter Malfoy Mansion without an invitation – at first, anyway – and I did perform underage sorcery in defense of myself and in service to magical Britain, and I kept the wand that was used against me, which I leave as evidence, and I would do it again, sir, regardless of the repercussions.

"I plead guilty, and throw myself upon the mercy of the Wizengamot."

Scrimgeour stared thoughtfully at me while many others shifted on the benches behind him.

"You do realize," he said quietly, "that your testimony conflicts the current ministry position, and that some members of the public will call you a hero again, possibly even demanding an Order of Merlin for you."

"Sir, I desire no accolades, I get enough attention already to be going on with. I would be grateful to the ministry if my testimony was sealed and my involvement in Saturday's events remained unknown to the public. I am happy for the ministry to take credit for Tom's capture, and if I am found guilty, may my sentence be commuted, so I could get on with life – finishing school and looking for a career. A normal life is all I've ever wanted, sir."

"Very well, then." Scrimgeour passed his gaze over the witches and wizards around him. "Members of the Wizengamot, you have heard Mr. Potter's defense and plea. All in favor of clearing the accused of all charges?"

As one, a forest of hands raised into the air. I noticed a few that did not.

"All in favor of conviction?"

No one moved. The hard-core pure-bloods had decided to abstain.

"Congratulations, Mr. Potter, you are free to go. I would appreciate that meeting you promised in my office in one hour."

I could only nod in agreement. I hadn't been sure of it until then, and relief washed over me. Something else accompanied it, totally unexpected, and I was unable to respond, being unsure of my voice.

Most of the Wizengamot, the Aurors, even Minister Scrimgeour – they were applauding.

o o o

7.02

0930 TUESDAY MINISTRY OF MAGIC LONDON

The Minister of Magic amended his meeting request to include Ron and Hermione, probably because they were part of the planned hunt for the remaining pieces of Tom's soul. However, we had a more pressing problem with the news media. Hermione joined Ron and me in Mr. Weasley's office after my Wizengamot hearing while Ginny's job was to keep her dad distracted elsewhere in the ministry building.

Ron was gleefully displaying a glass jar.

"Where did you find her?" I insisted.

"Mad-Eye pointed her out to me early in the hearing; he spotted the bug on the side rail and figured out who she was." Ron held up the jar and peered at the large beetle buzzing furiously inside. "And by the time Harry made that diversion with Thicknesse – which was absolutely brilliant, by the way – I was in place and scooped her up with no one the wiser."

"That would explain Mad-Eye's giggling fit," I said thoughtfully. "Good thing you had my invisibility cloak."

"Wands out… now!" said Hermione, taking the jar and emptying it onto the floor. "I can't believe she'd try something like this again." She uttered the spell to force the beetle animagus back to human form.

Rita Skeeter stood before us, looking reasonably cowed but indignant. "Why, Harry Potter, what a surprise! And your little missy, too, and this is the fickle friend that snubbed you, right?"

"Once again, Rita," I replied in an even tone, "your facts are hardly that. I gave you a warning that you seem to be ignoring."

"Well," she simpered, "you can hardly blame me for going after the biggest scoop of the year. Can't you just see it – 'Boy Who Lived Saves World, All in a Day's Work!' And my editors will pay a king's ransom for the details of just how you pulled it off, Harry! I just need the right photo to go with…"

"Another thing that's not going to happen. I told you to stop bugging me, which you haven't done, and then you have the nerve to collect that insidious rumor rehash about Professor Dumbledore into what you call a biography. You know, Rita, you're a very talented writer. It's too bad that you never learned how to be a proper reporter."

"I'll have you know…"

"I don't want to hear it, Rita, and we're about to be late for our appointment with the minister. Hermione, you know what to do."

"Oh, yes! I've never actually done a memory charm before," she smiled as she aimed her wand at Rita's horrified face, "but I know the theory well enough…

"Obliviate."

o o o

7.03

1000 TUESDAY MINISTRY OF MAGIC LONDON

"Ah, Harry Potter," Rufus Scrimgeour said, shaking my hand, "so good of you to collect your friends on such short notice. I know you have a busy day planned, birthday celebrations and all, so I don't want to keep you any longer than absolutely necessary, but we have much to discuss, yes, much to discuss. Please, sit down."

The minister motioned us to a table. He was being suspiciously friendly, meaning he wanted something. I knew why we were here – at least I thought I did, and the false pleasantries seemed unnecessary. I glanced over at Kingsley Shacklebolt, who I had asked to make some excuse to attend. Hopefully his calming presence would keep tempers under control. There were two others in the office that I recognized as the two Unspeakables at my hearing, but they were sitting in a corner apparently waiting for our meeting to conclude. Scrimgeour ignored them.

He clapped me on the shoulder. "Fine job this morning, son. You made quite an impression, I must say, and I have no doubt that Dumbledore would be extremely proud, had he been here to see you."

"Thank you, sir."

"Speaking of your old headmaster, you may be surprised to know that the three of you were all mentioned in his will. Most of his estate he left to Hogwarts, of course, only a few personal bequests, and you three the only students out of thousands he taught over the years. Of course, I suspect that he intended these items to be needed during your work to defeat Tom Riddle, so I won't dawdle."

I purposefully hadn't told Ron or Hermione much about what to expect, and Ron seemed to be curious but wary, while Hermione kept glancing nervously at the two strangers in the corner.

Scrimgeour grabbed a roll of parchment from his desk along with a drawstring pouch. Reading the anticipated bequests from Dumbledore's will, he handed to Ron the headmaster's Deluminator and to Hermione the ancient book that was an original Tales of Beedle the Bard. "Those are quite valuable items, both of you, so I would take great care with them."

He turned to me, his expression darkening. "Now, Potter, we both know what he left you, don't we? And we know that Gryffindor's sword is not yours for the taking, but you've already borrowed it, haven't you? And we both know what's inside this snitch, don't we?"

My hand had risen automatically, and Scrimgeour placed the little winged ball from my very first Quidditch match in my palm, forcing my fingers to grasp it. I could only stare blankly, dumbfounded. How…?

"And you are no doubt wondering how I know all this? Why, the same way you discovered it, Potter, by reading this most interesting story…"

From out of nowhere he produced a huge, hand-bound volume containing hundreds of pages of parchment and dropped it onto the table, deliberately creating a loud thwack that made us all jump. Stamped in fancy gold leaf on the leather cover was simply a large number 7.

"No…" I breathed.

"Yes, Potter, open it."

I obeyed reluctantly, the cover a gateway to my worst nightmares, and read the title page of the book, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.

o