Authors' note: We have used some direct quotes from 'Order of the Phoenix' in this chapter. If you recognise it, it's probably the work of J.K. Rowling. If you don't, it's probably ours.

Chapter 20: To hell with destiny

Witches and wizards were Apparating into the Atrium all around Harry. Some looked angry; others scared. All had their wands drawn.

"He… he's back," squeaked Fudge. Dumbledore turned on him with a terrible stare.

"Yes, Cornelius, he is back," he said, advancing slowly towards Fudge. He did not raise his voice but Harry could feel the anger radiating from Dumbledore. This was not fiery rage; he had gone beyond that. Dumbledore was possessed by a cool, calm fury. Harry, who had faced a Basilisk, Dementors and Death himself, did not think that he had ever seen anything more terrifying.

"But… but… but he's back," Fudge burbled.

"Yes, Cornelius, as I have been trying to convince you for the past year," said Dumbledore, "The Dark Lord Voldemort has returned to continue his war against our community."

"But… but…" Fudge was glancing round as if searching for an escape route, "Wh-what do I do now?"

"You can start by sending your Aurors down to the Department of Mysteries," said Dumbledore, "There you will find a number of people, Death Eaters, whom I and my associates apprehended in the act of robbing this facility. All, I might add, named by Harry Potter last summer as active supporters of the Dark Lord. I trust that this will be all that is necessary to vindicate Harry's story?"

"O-of course. Most regrettable…"

"Secondly you will order the suspension of all activities relating to the Department of Mysteries, pending an official investigation by the Wizengamot."

"Investigation?" said Fudge, suddenly alert, "Into what?"

"Into extra-dimensional exploration," said Dumbledore coldly, "Which is both illegal and highly dangerous, as was aptly demonstrated tonight."

"Demonstrated? What are you talking about, man?"

"Something broke through, Cornelius," said Dumbledore, withering Fudge's pomposity with a look, "A creature from another reality. The Unspeakables' arrogance has placed this entire city in danger!"

There were cries of alarm from the assembled witches and wizards but Dumbledore silenced them with a gesture.

"The creature has been destroyed!" he announced. He turned back to Fudge, who appeared to be on the verge of fainting, "You must now try and salvage what you can from this debacle. Your cowardice and your paranoia have already cost many lives. Many more will be lost before this war is over."

"W-war?" It was as if Fudge did not know where he was anymore.

"I'll take it from here, Albus." A tall, bespectacled wizard with a mane of tawny hair stepped forward, a team of Aurors close behind.

"Thank you, Rufus," said Dumbledore. He turned his back on Fudge and crossed over to where Harry and the one-eyed man waited by the fountain. Bending down, he picked up the smouldering head of the golden wizard statue and passed his wand over it in a complex pattern.

"Harry? Sir?" he said, holding the head towards them.

"What's it do?" asked the one-eyed man, glaring suspiciously at the head.

"It will take us somewhere a little more private, where we can talk," said Dumbledore.

"About this Dark Lord?" said the man.

"About many things," said Dumbledore.

The one-eyed man shrugged and held out his hand.

"Harry?" said Dumbledore. Harry stretched out his hand and touched the head. The Atrium span round him and he had the sensation of being dragged into the air. The spinning grew faster and faster until he landed heavily on the floor of Dumbledore's office.

"One moment, if you please," said Dumbledore, turning to address the portraits hanging above his desk.

"Who would be so good as to locate Professors McGonagall, Snape and Weatherwax? And the Archchancellor Ridcully? Please tell them that I require their presence in my office, immediately."

The various past headmasters and headmistresses nodded and disappeared out of the side of their frames.

"Bet they're worth a bob or two," said the one-eyed man.

"Certainly," said Dumbledore mildly, opening a cabinet and producing a china tea set, "Tea? Or perhaps you prefer coffee?"

"Tea?" Harry murmured. Dumbledore's mundane offer seemed to jar horribly with the events of the past hour.

"Tea?" he cried, "How can you…? How can you just stand there? How can you be so calm after – after – everything?"

"Harry, you have every right to be angry with me. If…"

"Angry! Of course I'm angry! Sirius is dead! He's dead! That thing killed him. I saw it!"

Harry smashed the tea tray out of Dumbledore's hands. Dumbledore remained motionless; silent in the face of Harry's tirade.

"He died! He shouldn't even have been there! If I hadn't gone there… If I hadn't fallen for Voldemort's trick… Aaagh!"

Harry lashed out again, knocking rows of Dumbledore's silvery instruments to the floor.

"Harry, Sirius's death was not your fault. It was mine," said Dumbledore, "If I had trusted you, as I should have done from the beginning, you would never have ventured within a hundred miles of the Department of Mysteries. If you will let me explain…"

"I don't care!" yelled Harry, "Do you understand? I don't care anymore! I don't care about you, or the bloody Ministry or anything!"

"You do care, Harry. Your anger is proof that you care very deeply indeed."

"Let me out! Let me go! I don't want… I don't want it anymore!"

"No," said Dumbledore coolly. The one-eyed man was leaning against the wall, watching Harry with interest.

"Let me go!" screamed Harry, overturning a table.

"You may continue to destroy my possessions. I dare say I have too many. But I will not let you leave until you have at least heard what I have to say. I hope it will help you to understand why Voldemort lured you to the Ministry tonight and why Sirius died."

Harry stood in the middle of the office, blood thundering in his ears. He could feel hot tears on his cheeks. His throat was too sore to shout anymore. What else could he do, faced with Dumbledore's unshakable calm?

"Alright," he said, sinking down into the chair. Dumbledore took the seat opposite, facing Harry across the desk.

"Tonight, Harry, I am going to tell you everything: why Voldemort tried to kill you when you were a baby; why you survived that attack and why, tonight, Voldemort lured you to the Department of Mysteries."

"It's… it's the prophecy, isn't it?" Harry said, his voice coming out as little more than a croak, "The one Malfoy wanted me to hand over?"

"Very astute, Harry," said Dumbledore, with a small smile, "Yes. Sixteen years ago, shortly before you were born, a prophecy was spoken concerning you and Voldemort. It was spoken to me, in an upper room of the Hog's Head pub."

"Who by?"

"Sybil Trelawney."

Harry opened his mouth to speak but Dumbledore cut across him.

"I am aware that Professor Trelawney's usual methods of divination are not… of the highest quality but she does have the gift of prophecy. You saw that yourself, two years ago, when she correctly prophesied Peter Pettigrew's return to Voldemort. This was another such prophecy. Observe."

Dumbledore held out his hand. A cabinet, untouched during Harry's rampage, opened and Dumbledore's Pensieve floated out. It came to rest on the desk between Harry and Dumbledore. Dumbledore raised his wand, withdrew a silvery thread of memory from his temple and deposited it in the shallow stone dish. He whisked the shimmering mist with the tip of his wand and a tiny, ghostly figure of Professor Trelawney rose up. Her voice was tinny but very clear. She was speaking in the same harsh, guttural tones that Harry had heard her use two years ago:

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives ... The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies..."

The ghostly image of Professor Trelawney sank back into the Pensieve. Silence hung over the office, broken only by Fawke's gentle cawing and the one-eyed man sucking a boiled sweet.

Harry realised that Dumbledore was waiting for him to speak:

"S-so… that's me, is it? The one with the power to… to kill Voldemort?"

"Yes, Harry, I believe it is. And so does he."

"But how? It doesn't make any sense…"

"Because you are only thinking of the first part of the prophecy," said Dumbledore, "Coincidentally, that is the only part of the prophecy that Voldemort knows. His spy, who overheard Professor Trelawney and carried the news to him, only heard the first half of the prophecy: that a person destined to overthrow the Dark Lord would be born at the end of July.

"Voldemort quickly realised that they would be a child of the Order of the Phoenix: 'those who have thrice defied him'. There were two such children born that year: Neville Longbottom, and you. That was why Voldemort tried to kill you, Harry. It is my belief that he intended to find Neville after he had killed you. Of course, he never had the opportunity."

"But then how do you know that Trelawney wasn't talking about Neville?" asked Harry.

"Because of the second half of the prophecy; the half that Voldemort's spy did not hear and the half that, despite his efforts tonight, he still does not know. Professor Trelawney said that the Dark Lord 'will mark him as his equal'," Dumbledore pointed to Harry's scar, "By choosing to attack you that night Harry, Voldemort inadvertently fulfilled the prophecy. Your scar proves it: you are the one of whom the Professor spoke. You are the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord Voldemort."

"Well, I've heard enough," announced the old-man, "I've been in more prophecies than you've had hot meals and, if there's one thing I've learned, it's never get in the way of the chosen hero. A lot of people have learned that by getting in my way. So, if you don't mind, I'll be getting back to my mates and we'll leave sonny-Jim here to deal with this particular Dark Lord."

"Please, stay," said Dumbledore, standing up, "You were most helpful tonight: my friends, not to mention the entire city of London, owe you their lives. We are at war. We would welcome every ally we can find."

"War?" said the one-eyed man, "A big 'un?"

"The biggest," said Dumbledore. Harry could see a familiar twinkle in the headmaster's eye.

"Any monsters?"

"Thousands."

"Treasure?"

"Possibly."

"Scantily clad women to be rescued?"

"You never know your luck."

"Hmm…" said the old-man, sucking on his false teeth, "I suppose the lad here is going to need some guidance, being a first time hero an' all…

"I am sure that he would benefit from your experience," said Dumbledore, smiling openly now.

"I think I might be able to persuade the lads," said the old-man, returning the smile.

"What is your name?"

"Ghengiz Cohen. Cohen for short."

"I am Albus Dumbledore. This is Harry Potter."

"Wotcha," said Cohen, holding out his hand. Harry shook it gingerly; it was like shaking a tree branch.

There was a knock at the door.

"Enter," said Dumbledore, taking his seat behind the desk. The door opened and Snape, McGonagall, Granny Weatherwax and Ridcully all filed in.

"Albus, what's happened?" asked McGonagall, glancing at Harry with concern.

"I will explain everything in due course, Minerva," said Dumbledore, "All you need to know at present is that the Dark Lord has made his bid for the prophecy, and failed. This is thanks in no small part to Harry and our new ally, Cohen." Dumbledore gestured to the elderly warrior.

"A barbarian hero?" sniffed Granny, glaring at Cohen like he was something she had scraped off the sole of her boot.

"Cohen? Ain't you the fellow who tried to blow up Cori Celesti two years back?" said Ridcully.

"Yep," said Cohen, grinning.

"Ye gods, man! You must have balls like coconuts," said Ridcully.

"I see that you are already acquainted," said Dumbledore dryly, "Allow me to introduce Minerva McGonagall, Professor of Transfiguration at Hogwarts and Severus Snape, Professor…"

Snape. The name cut into Harry's consciousness, until now fogged by the night's events and revelations. He leapt to his feet, hand reaching for his wand.

"You bastard! You knew!" he snarled, turning on Snape. McGonagall stepped between them.

"Potter! What is the meaning of this?" she demanded.

"Explain yourself, Harry," said Dumbledore sternly.

"He knew!" said Harry, his hand not straying from his wand, "I told him about… about what I saw; about Sirius. I told him, in Umbridge's office, and he did nothing."

"Is this true, Severus?" Dumbledore asked.

"It is," said Snape stiffly, eyes riveted on Harry.

"You mean he didn't tell you, Albus?" asked McGonagall. She sounded shocked.

"No," said Dumbledore softly,

"I didn't dare contact you," said Snape, "The Ministry was watching every fireplace!"

"It was Hagrid who told me," said Dumbledore, continuing as if Snape had not spoken, "He saw Umbridge leading Harry and his friend Miss Granger into the Forest. As soon as I received the message I contacted Grimmauld Place. I sent every member of our Order I could find on to the Ministry. I could sense that the two events were connected; that the Dark Lord was about to make his move. Hagrid and I searched the Forest, hoping to find Harry before he left but we were too late. I apparated to the Ministry myself as soon as I could."

"I had no way of contacting you," said Snape vehemently, "Umbridge's minions were watching me!"

"Really, Severus? I would have thought you were more than a match for a group of teenagers. Perhaps you did not want me to know that the Dark Lord was luring Harry to the Ministry?" said Dumbledore, his voice now dangerously soft.

"How dare you!" snarled Snape, "After everything I have done for you."

"I am sorry, Severus," said Dumbledore, still menacingly quiet, "It may be that you are telling the truth. But we cannot afford to be second guessing our allies, not at this stage. I am not a vindictive man. You have one hour to collect your belongings and get out of this castle. If you are still here after that hour has elapsed, I will send for the Aurors."

"I'll hand him over to them myself!" shouted Harry, trying to force his way past McGonagall.

Snape stood for a moment, sneering at Dumbledore, then turned and swept out of the office, his black robe rolling behind him like a thundercloud.

"Albus…?" said McGonagall.

"To business," said Dumbledore. He appeared calm and collected, as if Snape had never even entered the room. "Fudge has, at last, accepted that the Dark Lord has returned. The Ministry will soon be placed on a war-footing: the Second War has begun in earnest. Our immediate priority should be to co-ordinate with the Ministry in prosecuting the captured Death Eaters. Long term, however, I believe we must begin to prepare Harry for his battle with Voldemort…"

"No." All eyes in the room turned to Harry. "No," Harry repeated, "No, I won't."

"Harry?" said Dumbledore, frowning.

"I won't," said Harry, his voice rising as his confidence grew, "I won't kill Voldemort; not because some prophecy says I should." Thoughts and feelings that had been mounting inside him ever since he had heard Trelawney's prophecy now came flowing out of him like a rushing stream, "Voldemort is a murderer. I'm not. He killed my parents; he killed Cedric; he as good as killed Sirius. If I kill him, how does that make me any better? I'll be no different."

"Harry, nobody enjoys killing," said Dumbledore.

"Speak for yourself," said Cohen. Dumbledore shot him an angry look but Cohen just grinned and popped another boiled sweet in his mouth.

"I appreciate your sentiments," Dumbledore said to Harry, "but the prophecy clearly says…"

"Do you think I give a damn about that bloody prophecy?" said Harry, "I don't believe a word of it! You say my scar proves that Professor Trelawney was talking about me? All it proves is that Voldemort tried to kill me, because he believed in the prophecy. He chose to try and murder me. It doesn't mean I have to choose to try and murder him."

"Harry, as hard this may be to accept, it is your destiny…"

"I'm sorry Professor, but to hell with destiny," said Harry, "Killing is Voldemort's way, not mine."

A shocked silence had descended on the office. Dumbledore sat back in his chair and looked at Harry over steepled fingers.

"Very noble of you, Harry," he said.

"Bloody minded is what I call it," said Granny. Harry was sure he could detect a faint note of pride in her voice.

"That too," said Dumbledore, smiling, "But regardless of whether you believe in the prophecy or not, Voldemort certainly does. He believes that you are a threat to him and his plans, and he will use every means in his power to kill you. You must be prepared to face him and his servants."

"Oh I'll fight," said Harry grimly, "I'm not stupid: I know he'll come for me. But I won't kill him. I'm better than that; better than him.

"Maybe I am destined to kill him, who knows? But as long as I have breath in my body I am going to fight it. I make my own choices, not destiny or fate: me."

"Atta'boy!" said Cohen, slapping Harry on the shoulder, "I'm starting to like you already."

The thunder of the centaurs' hooves faded into the distance. Dolores Umbridge, trampled, bloody and left for dead in a muddy hollow, curled into a ball and began to rock slowly back and forth. Every few seconds she gave a violent twitch. Every shifting sunbeam seemed to threaten another attack; every shadow concealed a monster. The trees around her appeared to twist as she watched, flowing into unnatural and distorted shapes. Noises, discordant and mocking, floated on the edge of hearing.

So disturbed was Umbridge's vision that it took her a long time to realise that the three forms floating before her were not some terror-induced hallucination. They looked like little empty grey cloaks.

"Wh-wh-who are you?" demanded Umbridge. The reply was not spoken: the words simply formed in her mind.

We are Auditors.

"Au-au-auditors? Au-auditors of what?"

Of reality.

"Wh-what do you want?"

We want what you want. We want order.

"O-order?"

Yes. We will have order.

"Y-yes," said Umbridge, nodding slowly.

This world is disordered. We will bring order to it.

"Y-yes. We must have order."

Umbridge thought these things, these Auditors, seemed friendly. They seemed sensible. They seemed real; certainly more real than the twisting, chattering world around her. More words formed in her mind:

You will help us. We will have order.

"Y-yes. We will."

Magic is not orderly. Magic creates disorder. Magic is chaos.

"It is? Yes… Yes, it is." Of course it is, thought Umbridge. How could she have not seen it before? These Auditors really were very sensible.

We will destroy all magic. You will help us. We will have order.

"Yes. We will."

We will have order.

"We will have order."