Part Two is here. BAM. That's all.

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PART TWO

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- 14 -

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Hogwarts.

Harry craned his neck, gazing into the darkness, and yes, now that the light was no longer blinding him, he could make out the silhouette of a castle, towering above them on rugged cliffs. Illuminated windows emanated a soft flickering glow, revealing the existence of otherwise barely visible turrets that rose high into the starless sky.

It was… magical. Just like Al said. Al, who was dead now.

Harry lowered his head, clenching his left hand into a fist, and wished it were tightening around Malfoy's throat instead of air.

"Mr. Potter?" the old wizard, Dumbledore, said.

Harry looked up. Everybody was staring at him. There was a nagging feeling of wrongness in the back of his mind, and it took him a moment to identify it.

He stepped back slowly.

"How do you know my name?" Harry asked. Was this another of Lord Voldemort's ploys?

His eyes darted around, searching for a way out.

Behind him and to his right was the lake. Not an option - just thinking about the seemingly endless depth made him shudder. In front of him were not only the huge witch and a couple of wizards, but there was also a big white tent set up behind them. Lastly, to his left, there was a small group of young witches and wizards sitting in stands at the lakeshore, barring his way.

The children made him pause. They looked just as confused as he felt. How likely was it that all of them were part of some devious ruse?

When he turned back, the adults surrounding him were staring at him even more suspiciously than before.

Everybody but Dumbledore, that is. The old man was regarding him with a thoughtful expression, which was swiftly replaced by surprise when an owl flew over their heads so close that with a flap of its wings it neatly brushed off Dumbledore's wizard hat.

All eyes snapped to a gangly young man with red hair and freckles, who was standing in the back, fiddling with his high collar, a blush slowly creeping up his neck.

"Sorry," he muttered, blushing even more, but fortunately – for him at least – Harry started coughing, drawing the attention back to his person once more.

"Well?" Harry tried to ask - they still hadn't answered his question - but he doubted it was discernible through his coughing fit.

Without warning a wave of hot air engulfed him, drying not only his clothes, but seeping through his skin, into his blood, down to his very bones, warming him up all over.

When his coughing fit had finally calmed, Harry looked up to find Dumbledore smiling at him, and the way his eyes crinkled, the way they shone with worry and care… It knocked the breath out of Harry how much these eyes - that didn't even have the right colour, damn it - reminded him of Al.

His breath was coming faster; his eyes were burning at the edges. He had to get away from here.

"Thanks," Harry said trying so hard to stay calm that his voice sounded weirdly flat. "I'll best go now. I'm sorry that I interrupted you, err, gathering-" or whatever it was "-but I'm afraid I'll have to leave. My, um, parents will be quite worried by now."

Again with the odd looks. What the fuck had he said now?

"Your parents?" a new voice asked with an ominous undertone. A tall, hook nosed man, whose black hair was hanging in front of his face in oily strings, stepped out of the shadows.

He stood a bit hunched, and his right hand was moving towards his left arm repeatedly, always receding before it could touch. His eyes shifted between Dumbledore and Harry, as if he couldn't decide whom he wanted to focus on. He seemed a bit out of it.

"Yeah, my parents and I, we went for a walk, and then I found err, this boot lying around-" a little truth couldn't hurt "-and I picked it up, and suddenly I was here, in your lake. I'm really sorry. I'll just go."

He sneezed.

"Why don't you accompany me to the medical tent, Mr. Potter?" Dumbledore said. "The wound on your arm needs taking care of."

The question sounded innocent enough, but Harry wasn't stupid. Something weird was going on here.

"That's really not necessary," he said, more himself now that Dumbledore was no longer smiling that damned smile at him.

"Oh nonsense. We insist." The hook nosed man stepped next to him putting a hand on his shoulder, fingers digging in painfully. "We wouldn't want anyone, least of all your parents to think Hogwarts staff neglects a child in need just because they aren't a student here."

Surrounded by unknown wizards, not really in a position to argue, Harry had no choice but to allow the wizard to steer him towards the tent.

Dumbledore followed, but when they reached the tent he stopped, turning around.

"Olympe, would you please be so kind as to lead the remaining students up to the castle?" He looked and the giant woman and waved towards the cluster of children, staring at them from the stands. The woman nodded sharply and left.

"And Igor," Dumbledore continued, turning towards the darkly clad wizard and his student, "the letter I wrote to the Ministry must have reached them by now, it'd be best if you went up to the castle so that someone can explain the situation when they arrive."

The man narrowed his eyes at Dumbledore suspiciously, but nodded nevertheless.

He grabbed his student and tried to lead him away, but the blond boy tore his arm free.

"I vill vait for Valentin," he said, voice brooking no argument, and walked over to the slowly emptying stands.

While Dumbledore instructed Weasley to remain at the shore and keep watch, Harry observed as the blond boy took a seat, and stared out onto the calm surface of the lake with a stony expression. There was something familiar about him…

"Come on in," Dumbledore said right then, and Harry tore his eyes away to follow Dumbledore into the tent.

Inside, it was eerily quiet. The babble of the crowd outside, the sound of waves hitting the shore and of the wind vibrating the outer walls of the tent – it was all just… gone.

Instead he could hear three voices, talking lowly – though not for long.

"Oh, Snape, Dumbledore! So the last one finally made it?" Harry, halfway hidden behind the headmaster, looked past him and saw a blond, middle-aged man wearing garishly yellow robes hurrying at them. "It's about time. Let's just give him the lowest score and be done with it."

"I'm afraid it's not quite so easy Ludo," said Dumbledore.

The other two occupants of the tent, two women, joined them. The younger one had long, chestnut curls, and disturbingly enough wore robes of the same lavender colour as Dumbledore's, while the older woman was dressed in something akin to a nurse's uniform.

"What's keeping us now?" The young woman frowned. "We should have finished this up hours ago."

"And I apologize for the inconvenience, but the last champion has not yet returned. That's why I need you to go outside and wait for him on the platform."

"Who's the boy then?" she asked, pushing delicate, gold-framed glasses up her nose, trying to get a better look at Harry.

"You're only here to judge the Tournament. He doesn't concern you," Harry's second escort, Snape apparently, said. "Now if you wouldn't mind-" He held the tent entrance open for them, and under Dumbledore's watchful gaze they left.

"Poppy, if you have a moment, Mr. Potter's arm is in need of your expertise," said Dumbledore, stepping aside so that the nurse had a better view of Harry.

A look of confusion flittered across the witch's face, but it was gone as quickly as it had come. "Mr. Potter… Of course. Now then, let's see." She held her hand out to him, as if she expected him to just go with this.

Harry shook his head. He'd taken care of his and Al's wounds for years; this was child's play.

He raised his wand, and Snape immediately reached for his.

Harry snorted. "I don't need anybody's help." He pointed his wand at his arm and murmured a healing spell.

The first spell worked slower than usual, so Harry cast a second, stronger one, and finally the wound knitted itself close until only a thin scar remained. Weird, usually no blemish was left behind.

"Impressive," Dumbledore said quietly. "You should watch out Poppy. It seems Mr. Potter here can give you a run for your money."

"So it seems," the nurse said, scrutinizing Harry. "Though it was more than just a little careless to close the wound without administering the right potions first."

"Well maybe you'll get an opportunity to teach him all about it. Harry sure seems to have a knack for healing." Dumbledore smiled his blasted, kind, eye-wrinkling smile again. "But for now, Poppy would you mind leaving the tent to us for a few minutes?"

"Well, as I'm obviously not needed here…" she actually sounded a bit offended and left the tent, her back straight as a broomstick.

Harry looked warily between the two wizards. They were alone now, out-of sight of any potential witnesses.

"Now, as I said, your prowess at healing spells is very impressive indeed. Forgive an old man his curiosity, but I can't help but wonder where you learned spells such as this? Especially the second one is not easy to come by these days." Dumbledore looked at him curiously over the rim of his half-moon spectacles.

Not easy to come by? It had been in one of the books Al had inherited from his family. Nothing special – and nothing he would share with them. Al had entrusted him with his secrets and he would never let the old man down.

"My, um, dad taught me," Harry finally said for lack of a better explanation. It would fit nicely with the story about his parents worrying about him, at least.

Dumbledore stared at him for a long time, then, "Please do not lie to me, Mr. Potter."

Harry's heart skipped a beat. How did he know?

"I am quite an accomplished wizard, and as such, it's not hard for me to tell truth from lie."

Lord Voldemort had said something similar. 'I sense no deception, no lie. You are confused.'

How did they do it?

A horrible thought entered his mind. He'd read about it, hadn't he? Legilimency.

"Are you reading my mind?" he asked, outraged.

The younger wizard snorted, and Dumbledore shook his head slowly.

"No, Mr. Potter. I would never violate your privacy so callously. I am an experienced Legilimens though, and as such it is nearly impossible for me not to know when I'm so obviously being lied to."

Harry felt relieved, but not much. So they would detect any lie he told. Just peachy.

Accidentally, Harry's gaze strayed to Snape. He involuntarily took a step back when he saw a thunderous expression on his face.

"I assure you I don't have the same compunctions as our esteemed Headmaster," said Snape, his voice threateningly low, "so I'd advise you to start telling the truth. Why are you here? And why now? Your timing is more than just a little suspicious." Again his right hand seemed to itch to touch his left arm.

Harry's temper flared. Who did this wizard think he was? "I don't have to tell you anything," he bit out. "I'm truly sorry I trespassed, but I want to leave now."

"I know you must be confused," Dumbledore said, stepping closer, "and exhausted. But I'd ask you to bear with me for a little while longer. There are things… important matters we have to discuss."

It was mad. He didn't even know these people. What important matters could they have to discuss? He just wanted to get the fuck away from here. He wanted this horrible day to finally end.

"There is no need to be afraid Harry," said Dumbledore calmly. "I only want to talk to you. Tonight, your arrival at Hogwarts was not the only unexpected occurrence, and I can't help but wonder if the two are connected. So please Harry, be honest, do you know anything about Lord Voldemort's return? Do you know if he has a physical form once more?" The urgency in Dumbledore's voice surprised Harry.

But… how did Dumbledore even know to bring up Lord Voldemort? Had he read Harry's mind after all?

"First tell me how you know my name," Harry said, and was promptly and harshly, grabbed by Snape.

"This is no joking matter, Potter. Either you tell us of your own free will, or I'll find alternative means."

Harry stared right back. "Go ahead, try," he said, more confidently than he felt.

"Severus, please, this gets us nowhere."

With a swish of his wand, the old wizard conjured three chairs. The two adults took a seat.

"Please, Harry."

Harry shook his head. "I'd rather stand."

"As you wish." Dumbledore sighed. "I know you don't trust us yet, but Professor Snape and I have been fighting against Voldemort for a long time. I led a group of wizards and witches opposing him during the first war, and his recent activity has us worried."

"So he was gone, and now you think he's back?" Harry asked to clarify, words like return, physical form and first war were buzzing around in his head.

"I do. Yes, the general assumption is that he died, but I have known Tom – or Lord Voldemort, as he likes to call himself now – for a long time. I long suspected that he had taken certain steps to ensure his survival, and over the course of the last few years I was proven right. Up until recently he was not much more than a bodiless wraith, desperately clinging to the plane of the living, tonight though I fear this changed. So Harry, is there anything you can tell us?"

There were ways to circumvent death? A shudder went through Harry. He had seen death innumerable times, had caused it even, but the idea that there was a way around it was so unnatural all hairs on his body stood on end.

Right then the entrance to the tent flew open, and a group of three wizards burst through, panting heavily. When they noticed that all eyes were on them, they tried for a more dignified posture.

"Minister." Dumbledore stood to greet a man wearing a lime-green bowler hat. "What a surprise. I have to admit I didn't expect you to come personally. Did you talk to Karkaroff already?"

"Karkaroff? No, why should I? We came straight here. I mean, when Harry Potter is at Hogwarts... I'm just glad Weasley informed me right away. Potter's quite the elusive young man, isn't he?"

The Minister? Here for him? Why-

Harry's blood froze in his veins. There was only one explanation. They knew. They knew about the man he'd killed a few months ago, and now they had come to arrest him. The two wizards accompanying the Minister even wore the standard red Auror robes he'd read about.

His heart was beating a mile a minute. How had they found out? He hadn't used any magic; it shouldn't be possible…

"So you're Harry Potter?"

Harry looked up, fear warring with confusion, and found the Minister's hand thrust towards him.

Not knowing what else to do he grabbed it, shaking it with still trembling hands.

Why was the Minister here, if not to arrest him?

"Err, yes, Harry Potter," he said somewhat belatedly.

"I'm Cornelius Fudge, Minister for Magic," the wizard introduced himself, continuing to shake Harry's hand.

"Well, it's a pleasure to meet you." His hand was still clasped in Fudge's sweaty cold one, and it seemed the wizard had no intention of letting go. What the fuck was wrong with these people?

"Err, Minister?" Harry said, pointedly looking down at their hands.

"What? Oh, yes, yes." The Minister withdrew his hand, but kept staring. "These fine wizards over here are Auror Shacklebolt and Auror Dawlish."

Harry nodded at them, keeping his hand safely at his side. "Nice to meet you."

They too made no move to arrest him.

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "I don't know how much Mr. Weasley told you, but Mr. Potter's reappearance is not the only surprise of this night. Durmstrang's Champion, Valentin Bernauer, has gone missing during the Second Task. I already informed the Ministry."

"Disappeared?" Fudge echoed disbelievingly.

"Yes, but that's not even the most troubling news."

"Not the most troubling? Dumbledore, a foreign student disappeared on British soil, during a Tournament we are hosting, and it's not the most troubling news?"

For the first time since the giant woman had hauled him out of the water, the attention was not on Harry. He breathed in relief.

"I'm afraid not Cornelius, though I do think the two are connected."

"Well then, what is it Albus?" Fudge said impatiently.

"Lord Voldemort returned tonight," Dumbledore said bluntly, ignoring how the other wizards, even Snape, though he tried to hide it, flinched back.

"Don't say his name," Fudge replied harshly. His face had gone ashen. "And what do you mean, he returned? You-Know-Who is dead."

You-Know-Who? These fully grown, adults, and given their station probably powerful wizards were so afraid of Lord Voldemort they couldn't say his name? Every time Harry thought his night couldn't get any weirder, it went ahead and did right that.

"Regrettably not as dead as we'd like him to be. I shared my suspicions with you in the past, you know I always believed that he had taken certain precautions, that he had found a way to evade death."

"Mad ramblings," Fudge said. "You're a brilliant wizard, Albus, but you can be wrong. You are wrong."

"I wish that were true, but the evidence is to the contrary."

"What evidence?" Two ugly, red blotches appeared on the Minister's cheeks; he was turning his hat in his hands agitatedly.

"Severus?" Dumbledore asked. The man hesitated for a moment, before he stepped forward, rolling up his left sleeve.

On the inner side of his left forearm was a tattoo of a skull, a snake protruding from its mouth. It was pitch black, and the skin around it slightly reddened.

"After His fall, His mark faded, that it is back to full colour now-"

"-is an unfortunate coincidence," Fudge snapped. "Is that your so called proof?"

"There is also the matter of Mr. Bernauer's disappearance, and Mr. Potter's sudden reappearance in his place. I believe Lord Voldemort set a trap-"

"That proves nothing," Fudge interrupted.

"If you would let me finish speaking, Cornelius-"

"No, I've heard enough," the Minister said. "News like this… It would destabilize everything I have built over the last fifteen years, would cause a panic of unseen proportions! I can't… I- I won't do that on the basis of your unfounded suspicions."

Harry opened and closed his mouth repeatedly, feeling increasingly restless. He'd almost died at Voldemort's hand mere hours ago. After their duel he knew he couldn't get rid of the monster and its followers by himself. He needed other, powerful people like the Minister, the man who ruled over the Wizarding World and commanded its forces, to believe them.

"I saw him."

"What?" Fudge said. All attention snapped back to Harry, and he nearly regretted speaking up, but… this was necessary. A madman was bent on killing him, after all.

"I was there. I saw this Lord Voldemort-" everybody, bare Dumbledore, flinched "-I fought him. I know that he killed this Champion of yours. I saw him with my own eyes."

"Fought him, did you? And of course you survived. Well then, what did he look like?" Fudge asked, suddenly eying Harry much unfriendlier than before.

"Terrifying," Harry said, trying to keep the tremor out of his voice. "He resembles a monster more than a man.

"Oh wonderful, now we truly know more. He's ugly."

Harry bristled. "If it wasn't for me, you wouldn't even know that he's back."

"If it weren't for you," Fudge said brusquely, "we wouldn't be having this discussion. In fact, you showing up here tonight, that's what's really suspicious. You have been gone for ages, and now you just walk into Hogwarts, claiming you saw a dead man? Claiming he killed a foreign student?" Fudge was talking feverishly. "Maybe- maybe it was you who killed him, and now you're trying to cover your tracks. Yes, yes."

"What?" Harry said aghast.

"Yes, it makes much more sense. You have been on the run for years, successfully evading the Ministry. I don't know what you thought to accomplish with a lie like this, but we're not all as gullible as Albus. He's the Headmaster of a school, he has a soft spot for children, and that's what you were betting on, wasn't it?"

"What?" Harry repeated dumbfounded, not quite grasping what was happening here.

This man accusing him of a murder he didn't commit was almost funny, if it weren't so tragic.

"Cornelius," Dumbledore said, "I don't yet know why Voldemort included a student in his plans, but to think that Harry orchestrated all of this… He arrived here wounded, at the brink of exhaustion, it was clear that he had fought for his life."

"Well, naturally!" Fudge cried. "The Durmstrang Champion was a well-versed duellist, he didn't let himself be killed just like that. He fought, wounding Potter so severely he had to find a place to regain his strength, thus he came to Hogwarts."

"Severus' mark-" Dumbledore tried again, but Fudge had talked himself into a frenzy.

"-proves nothing. Potter's claims on the other hand show that he's either insane or the killer. In any case he's our prime suspect."

Harry looked down. His wand was moving on its own accord. Or… no. No it wasn't. It was only his hands, his shaking hands, making his wand shake too. Harry felt like laughing. Or crying. Maybe both. He didn't know. Everything was fucked up. He was going to be arrested for a crime he didn't commit. Somewhere someone was having a great laugh at his expense.

"Apprehend Mr. Potter," he heard Fudge say to the waiting Aurors. "We are taking him to the Ministry to investigate further. Albus, you can tell Highmaster Karkaroff and his delegation that we are working diligently to solve the case of Mr. Bernauer's disappearance."

The Aurors stepped towards him, wands at the ready.

It was all just a dream. A nightmare.

"Cornelius, I can't let you take Harry with you. He needs rest, and a Healer-"

"Of which we have plenty at our disposal at the Ministry. I understand your reluctance to accept this Dumbledore. He still looks like an innocent child, but appearances can be deceiving, just think of Pettigrew-"

"Just think of Sirius, you erred then too."

"An exception, not the rule, I assure you. Don't stand in my way Albus, or I will be forced to take you in too. Obstruction of justice is a serious crime."

Harry followed the conversation as if from a spectator's perspective, and only felt mild displeasure when Dumbledore stood aside. It didn't matter, not really. None of this was real. Al was not dead. He had not fought a snake-like monster. He had not talked to the ghosts of his dead parents. He had not grabbed a boot and been transported to the bottom of a lake. He was at home. He'd wake up soon.

"He will not be taken to Azkaban before he received a fair trial," Dumbledore said. "And make sure Mr. Potter is given adequate accommodation and care. Innocent until proven guilty, remember Cornelius. Your governance won't survive another incident like Black's."

"Are you threatening me?" the Minister asked.

"Not at all," Dumbledore said. "Just giving you some well meant advice."

Harry wanted to laugh. So he did.

.

"He what?" Sirius shouted, barely able to believe it. He'd been just about to leave his flat when Dumbledore's Patronus had reached him, telling him to come to Hogwarts immediately. He'd flooed into the Headmaster's study not a minute later, and since then his world had been turned upside down.

"The Dark Lord has returned. Potter has been taken in by the Ministry. They think he killed the Durmstrang Champion," Snape said, sounding way too satisfied to Sirius' ears.

"I heard him the first time," Sirius snapped.

"Then why did you ask?"

"Oh just shut it, Snivellus." He turned back to Albus, who was sitting behind his desk. "It's happening again," Sirius said. "They are going to do to Harry what they did to me. You can't let it happen!"

"And I won't. Cornelius was desperate. He just doesn't want to accept that Voldemort has returned. But once he calms down and gets time to think he'll realise that he is wrong about Harry."

"I wouldn't bet on it," said Sirius, pacing the office agitatedly. "He's always been a bit thick. How he managed to become Minister is a mystery."

Snape didn't object. Small miracles did happen.

"So what's the real plan, how are we going to get Harry out of this?"

Dumbledore folded his hands slowly. "I believe the best course of action is to let the matter run its course. They'll look for evidence, but they won't find it, and in the end they'll have to admit they can't hold Harry."

"Oh yeah right, because that's what happened with me."

"Well, you were found laughing over dead bodies at the scene of the crime when the Hit Wizards came to arrest you. Then again... Potter did show some disturbing similarities. Maybe he will share your fate," Snape said from where he was leaning against the door.

"What's that supposed to mean?" said Sirius.

"He too was laughing when the Aurors approached him."

Sirius turned away, confused. "Albus?"

The Headmaster sighed, massaging his temples. "I think Harry was overwhelmed by the situation. He not only fought Voldemort, was brought to Hogwarts and then arrested, but he also doesn't seem to be aware of-"

Albus paused.

"Aware of what?" Sirius pressed.

"He doesn't seem to know who he is. To us, to our world," Albus elaborated. "He more than once asked how we knew his name, he tried to make us believe that before he came here, he was going for a walk with his parents."

"Maybe he was talking about the people he's been with for the last few years?" Sirius asked.

"He was lying, obviously," said Snape, unbothered by the glare Sirius sent his way.

"Yes, he was," said Albus. "And if he were aware of his role in our society he would have known better than to try that particular lie."

"So… Basically Harry has no idea that he's the Boy-Who-Lived, that he's famous," Sirius said, feeling a bit overwhelmed himself.

"It would seem so, yes," Albus said. "And so when he was confronted with people who knew all about him, this only added to his confusion."

Sirius said nothing, pacing up and down Dumbledore's office.

Five steps up, five steps down.

His godson had no idea who he was to them.

Five steps up, five steps down.

Where by Merlin's saggy balls could he have been hiding? Bloody Antarctica?

Five steps up, five steps down.

All of that wasn't really important now, was it?

His godson had been arrested; they needed to do something.

"So what's the plan?" he asked, addressing Dumbledore. "We can't let them do to Harry what they did to me."

"They won't," Albus said. "The difference between Harry's case and your own is that we are all well aware of his innocence. The public views Harry as their hero, and will be highly interested in the proceedings. There will be no sweeping details under the rug. I already penned a letter to the Prophet, and while it's not the most trustworthy paper, they do have a great reach. Tomorrow after breakfast, everybody in Britain will be aware of Harry's plight."

"So we do nothing?"

"What would you like to do Black?" Snape said, and for the umpteenth time Sirius wished the Headmaster had dismissed the bastard before their meeting. "Break him out? Make him look guilty?"

"Of course not," he said, slumping down in one of the comfortable chairs in Albus' office. "Do you really believe that this is the way to go?" He looked at the Headmaster. His own case notwithstanding, Dumbledore had always known what was best.

"I do," Dumbledore said. "Though of course we won't be sitting idle in the meantime. We have to gather proof that Voldemort has returned, something Cornelius can't dismiss."

Snape snorted. "I showed him my mark. A student is missing, dead according to Potter. What more does he need?"

"I don't know," Albus said, staring out of the window. "But we have to find it, and fast."

.

Hermione ran down the stairs. Her bag, heavy with books she'd just borrowed from the library, bumped against her legs with every step.

She rounded a corner at a fast pace, scaring an old witch in a portrait so much she toppled off her chair with a high-pitched shriek. "No running in the corridors!" the witch cried after her, but Hermione paid her no mind. Breakfast would be over soon, and she hated going to class without it. Her stomach rumbled, agreeing.

To her surprise, the Great Hall wasn't half-deserted as usual around this time, but bursting with students of all houses and ages.

Some were whispering in pairs, others talking agitatedly in groups, and a surprising number of students hurried across the hall to join friends at the other house tables. The common variable seemed to be the newspaper that every other student was holding.

Hermione shouldered her way through to the Gryffindor table, and flopped into the free seat next to Parvati Patil, one of her dorm mates.

"Hey, Parvati?" she said, trying to get the girl's attention.

"Wha- Oh, it's you. Hey." Parvati's smile looked strained. Hermione was glad such behaviour didn't hurt her anymore. Yes, she was different, yes they would never be best friends, but that shouldn't prevent a normal conversation.

"I was wondering, do you have the paper?"

"Morgana's tits! Don't tell me you don't know yet?" Parvati's eyes lit up, and Hermione remembered why exactly she hardly ever conversed with the girl.

Parvati lowered her voice conspiratorially. "So you know yesterday, during the Second Task, how something went wrong and the bloke from Durmstrang didn't make it back in time?"

Hermione nodded.

"And how then Dumbledore said we didn't have to wait around and could go up to the castle if we wanted to?" Parvati looked at her expectantly.

Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Yes, she remembered something that had happened only yesterday.

She nodded.

"You did leave too, didn't you?"

Nod.

"So apparently," she lowered her voice even more, "a few students stayed behind, and they say that after hours and hours of waiting, someone swam to the shore, only it wasn't the Durmstrang champion, it was Harry Potter!"

This time, Hermione did role her eyes. "Oh come off it. People always say they see Harry Potter, and it's never true."

Parvati harrumphed. "Well, if it's not true, then why wasn't the Durmstrang guy at breakfast? And how do you explain this article?" she said triumphantly, pushing a wrinkled and tea-stained copy of the Daily Prophet towards Hermione.

Hermione picked it up with her fingertips and read over the page, her eyes going rounder with each sentence.

...

* Harry Potter – A Hero No More? *

A few months ago, the Daily Prophet was the first to report on the miraculous reappearance of Harry Potter, also known as the Boy-Who-Lived.

Today, the honour is ours once more.

Harry Potter's past is clouded in mystery. How did he survive the fateful night of You-Know-Who's defeat? Where did he disappear to at the tender age of ten? And why did he never contact the authorities, if he was well aware of, and even living in our world?

Well, now there is another riddle to solve:

Why is Harry Potter currently kept in a Ministry holding cell?

Yes, you read it right, your eyes did not deceive you: As of last night, Harry Potter has once again returned to our world, and has apparently taken up residency at the Ministry – and not out of free will.

But let's start from the beginning.

A trusted source revealed exclusively to the Daily Prophet, that not twenty-four hours ago Harry Potter made an unexpected appearance at the Triwizard Tournament, currently held at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Before the disbelieving eyes of British as well as foreign Ministry officials, teachers, and students Harry Potter emerged from the depths of Hogwarts' very own Black Lake.

Potter reached the shore pale and exhausted, and the Heads of all three schools rushed to his aid, not yet knowing the dark secret only waiting to be revealed. Eyewitnesses state that Headmaster Albus Dumbledore escorted the young man, who is said to have looked "ready to drop any minute" to the medical tent, where he was given into the care of Hogwarts' matron, Madam Pomfrey. (P. Pomfrey was not available for comment.)

Not much later Minister for Magic Cornelius Fudge arrived on the scene, Aurors in tow. They arrested Harry Potter and escorted him to the Ministry, where he still resides in a holding cell.

The allegations brought against Harry Potter are serious. He is suspected of the kidnapping and murder of young Valentin Bernauer, the 17-year-old Durmstrang student who bravely competed in the Triwizard Tournament.

As of yet, we are not aware of the evidence damning Harry Potter to his cell. Rest assured though, that we will follow this case attentively, keeping you informed of every step, as we as a Nation collectively hold our breath for the beginning of this Trial of Our Century.

...

"Thanks," Hermione said as she returned the paper, trying to wrap her head around what she'd just read. A boy her age, a cold-blooded murderer?

"So d'you think it's true?" Parvati asked, a glint in her eyes.

"Of course it's not," a young boy sitting opposite them butted in before Hermione could answer. "You know how he fought for the French in their quarrel with the Giants? The Ministry never liked it. That's their way of getting back at him!"

A girl with blond pigtails nodded earnestly. "Yeah, after he helped the Romanians with their Vampire problem, the Ministry wanted him home, to parade him around a bit, my father said. But Harry Potter would have none of it."

"For Merlin's sake, you don't really believe these stories, do you?" a slightly older boy asked, shaking his head. "Nobody knows what Potter's been up to. For all we know, he really killed that guy."

"He'd never!" said the first boy, his face reddening.

"Of course he didn't," a new voice said, and Hermione sighed. Ron Weasley, her year-mate and a nuisance extraordinaire. They'd been at each other's throats ever since first year.

"Harry Potter is a hero, everybody knows that," he continued, and the two youngsters looked up to him admiringly.

Hermione had trouble stifling a snort. It wasn't that she believed Harry Potter was a murderer – the Prophet had yet to report on the evidence – but she couldn't understand the blind hero worship the likes of Ron Weasley regarded him with either.

"What's your problem?" Weasley asked. Apparently she hadn't been as successful in hiding her reaction as she'd thought.

"Nothing," Hermione said, turning away.

"You do realise that all of this is rubbish, right? Harry Potter would never kill an innocent student."

"How do you know? I mean, you don't really know him, do you?" she said, immediately wishing she'd kept her mouth shut. Logical arguments were lost on Weasley.

"I don't need to know him personally to know that," he said, proving her point. "He's Harry fucking Potter."

"He's just… a boy."

Ron shook his head, in disbelief or disgust, she couldn't tell. "Of course you would think that, but you didn't grow up with the stories about him. If you did, you'd realise that Harry Potter is no murderer."

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