Queen Voldemort was standing in front of the mirror again. For the billionth time, he asked the question, "Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who's the most powerful wizard of them all?" Then he waited with a satisfied smile plastered on his snakelike face for the answer.
However, this time the mirror replied, "Alas...you cannot escape the fates! One day, sooner or later, Princess Harry will bring you down, rip the life away from your body!"
Voldemort was shocked. "No! It can't be true! The boy's dead; I ordered to have him killed!"
The mirror dropped her tragic tone into a conspiratorial whisper. "Not as you think. I have seen...in my crystal ball...over the hills and far away, Princess Harry dwells with the Seven Weasleys today."
Queen Voldemort was enraged. His hungry red eyes flashed with anger, his chalk-white face twisted and contorted, his appearance turned uglier than usual, if that could be possible.
It was time to plot out the murder. After a long time of deep thought, Voldemort decided to fashion a magic comb. It would possess a dangerous poison. Knowing Princess Harry, he always had trouble combing his hair, which kept sticking out in different directions. Voldemort was sure that the princess would have no objection trying out the product.
"Bring Severus Snape here." Queen Voldemort told his servant, Wormtail, to call for the potions master in the whole kingdom.
Within minutes, a man with a hooked nose and greasy black hair was brought to the throne.
"Severus, I want you to make a strong poison. It must be able to be concealed in this comb, and whoever uses it shall die as soon as it touches his hair."
Snape stared. Why such a ridiculous request? "And who will be the unfortunate victim...if I may ask?"
"Princess...none of your business, Severus. Just do what I said."
But Snape was already aware that the queen was after Harry. Much as he disliked the princess, the late king had saved his life, so he owed the child a debt. He never wanted to see the princess dead, even though he hated the very sight of the midget in glasses. Yet he could not disobey the queen. At last Snape concocted a poison which would make people fall down in a dead faint, but not really lethal.
Queen Voldemort planned to disguise himself using Polyjuice Potion, but he hadn't decided whose hair to use. Princess Harry recognized everyone in the royal palace. Lucky for Voldemort, a wandering minstrel, Quirrel, had come to the palace today. Using his charms, Queen Voldemort convinced Quirrel to let him share his body and find Harry.
Meanwhile at the Burrow, Princess Harry was singing happily as he swept the floor and washed the dishes. Suddenly he heard a brisk knock on the door. Harry was startled, but he went to the door and peeped out from the little hole on it. To his relief, he didn't see the queen outside or any of the royal guards (Death Eaters is the official name, though). Instead, a young man wearing a purple turban stood on the porch.
"What do you want?" Harry asked as he opened the door.
The stranger smiled. "Ple...plenty of...goo...good wares to sell, sir." He reached inside his robes and took out a beautiful silver comb with intricate carvings. "Wou...would you...like...to?"
Princess Harry hesitated. He thought of his messy hair which never stayed in place. Surely it wouldn't hurt to give it a try? What if the comb cured his Hair-Sticking-Out-All-The-Time problem? Besides, it doesn't mean he has to buy the product now. He could let his mind decide after trying out that fashionable comb.
"Er...okay." Princess Harry gave in to temptation. He reached out to take the comb.
Alas! No sooner had the gleaming comb touched his hair, Harry felt an electric lightning rip through his body, and he fell down onto the floor as though struck by the Full Body-Bind.
"Ha ha ha!" roared Voldemort, but since his face was concealed in the turban, his laughter was muffled. Now the mission was completed, the queen couldn't wait to hurry back to the palace to the mirror.
When the Seven Weasleys came home, they were shocked to find Princess Harry sprawled on the ground. "Oh no!" squeaked Ginny, running to the limp form and getting on her knees. Her brothers came over.
"He's alive," said Bill, feeling for Harry's pulse. Charlie whipped out his wand and shouted, "Enervate!" But nothing happened.
"There must be some way." Ron said hopefully, racking his brain to come up with a plan. "Or maybe we can ask the Know-It-All..."
"Hey, look at this!" Fred exclaimed, pointing at the comb entangled in Harry's hair. "He's been combing his hair before he fell."
"Take it out." ordered Bill, at a sudden inspiration.
George leaned down and did the job. It worked! Princess Harry's eyelids flickered open. He sat up. "Wha...what happened?"
"That's what we were going to ask." said Bill. "Don't you remember anything, your Highness?"
Princess Harry ran his thoughts back in his head. Since he wasn't affected by a Memory Charm, he soon recalled the man (Quirrel) selling goods. He had tried it on...and remembered nothing later.
"It must be the queen. Either she was disguising herself or sent a servant to kill you," concluded Charlie.
The other six Weasleys nodded their flaming red heads. They made the princess promise NOT to let anyone inside or try any more goods. ("You look good enough even with untidy hair," thought Ginny.)
At the palace, Queen Voldemort once more went up to his mirror to ask the question You-Know-What. The mirror again gave the answer that made the queen flare up with hot wrath. "I'll have to think of a better plan," Voldemort muttered, going to the Restricted Section in the palace for ideas.
A/N: Thanks to all who reviewed! I see many have guessed who the prince is. It's NOT going to be Snape or Draco. Too cliché, I think, with so many H/D and H/S out there. By the way, to those who've read "Buried Secrets" (Excuse the shameless plug: Please read my other two stories; the time and effort I've spent on them are far more than this ridiculous little fic!) , I'm in the process of rewriting it because I found I can't keep everything in Cho's POV. I'm changing the whole thing to selective omniscience. Okay, gotta go!