Chapter 4

A soft voice whispered in the back of Holly's mind. It was kind, gentle, yet it held a power she couldn't describe. "Oh, my sweet Holly- berries." Who called her that? "You were always stronger than you realized, and you'll need that strength, now more than ever. If I could have taken this burden from you, I would have, but I can't be with you right now. You'll have to rely on yourself, and you should have confidence for that reason. Who else would you rather rely on? Your heart will never have room for fear when courage runs so thick in your blood. You were right to change your name. Your father's name was never truly your own. You'll find your place. You'll never be alone, you know. I'll always be right here . . ."

Holly felt a warm pressure on the middle of her forehead, and for a brief moment, she saw her grandmother's face. That vision faded into a whirl of images moving so fast she couldn't make sense of it. She saw a man with a white beard and a tremendous castle, then a cold, stark building and a harsh little man with a bowler hat. She felt Bram land on her shoulder, clacking with anxiety. She turned and saw a great mirror with writing across the frame. It read, "I show not your face, but your heart's desire." She approached the mirror and held her hand out to touch her own reflection through the shadows, but with a flash of surprise she realized that she was the reflection, she was inside the mirror, looking out. Holly wasn't seeing her own image. Her deep brown eyes met a set of brilliant green ones, and the face of a young man stared back at her. He could have been her brother, she thought, and she felt a need to step through the mirror when the image disappeared in a flash. A serpentine face glared at her with blood-red eyes. She wanted to run, but she was trapped in the mirror. A strange green light began to glow, building to a flashpoint. Staring fearlessly back at the eyes, she ran headlong into the mirror pane, sending shards of glass flying, and the image disappeared.

Though the darkness, she heard voices, but couldn't make out the words. She felt herself being moved, and something soft was placed under her head. She tried to pull her eyelids open . . . what was this place? Who was speaking? She saw a shock of red hair, and a face that was looking down at hers, but everything was blurry. She tried to speak, but found that she couldn't move her lips. Everything felt numb. The man was speaking, but she still didn't understand what he was saying. She closed her eyes again, wishing for her head to stop spinning.

The words became clearer. "No, don't close your eyes. She fainted again! Bowen, could you conjure up a wet cloth?" "Can't we use the Ennervate charm?" "I don't want to. She passed out, she wasn't stunned. Let her come around on her own." "When will Morgan and Pritchard come back with Fudge? It's been almost ten minutes." "I don't know if informing Fudge about this was a good idea." Holly heard fabric rustling and muffled footsteps. Something cool was placed above her eyes, and she felt the floor steady slightly under her back. The conversation continued around her. "At least the Aurors got the Death Eaters out of here. That's the first capture we've had since, well, you know."

They must be talking about those dark men, Holly thought to herself. She wanted answers. She took a deep breath and opened her eyes again. "There we go!" said the red-haired man. "Just relax now. You've had a busy day."

"What, where . . ." she began, trying to focus her view, then realizing something was missing. "Could I have my glasses please?"

"Of course, sorry. They flew off when you fell over." The man reached into the pocket of his robe, unfolded her glasses and placed them on her face. The other man, Bowen, looked at her in surprise. "My god, Arthur. She looks just like Harry Potter."

Holly felt a flash of annoyance. "Ok, I've had two other people say that to me today. Who exactly are you talking about?"

The red-haired man looked surprised, then asked, "You don't know who Harry Potter is? You're not a Muggle though, or aren't you?"

"What on earth is a Muggle?"

His expression became extremely confused. "I think that would take too long to explain right now. My name is Arthur Weasley, and you are?"

"Holly," she said, not wanting to reveal anything until she had some answers.

"What's your last name?"

Before she could reply, a popping noise announced the Apparition of another wizard in their midst. He was dressed like a prudish businessman, down to the neat bowler hat perched on his round head. Holly's heart skipped a beat. She recognized this man, from somewhere . . . from that dream.

Bowen addressed him first. "Fudge, we have something a bit unusual on our hands. Thought you might want to take a look at . . ."

Bowen never finished his sentence, as Fudge whipped a wand out of his pocket and cried, "Obliviate!" Bowen teetered, then sank slowly to the floor, a glazed look in his eyes.

"What was the meaning of that, Fudge?" demanded Arthur. He made a move for his wand but froze as Fudge aimed his wand directly at Arthur's eyes.

"Simple. This is something that could threaten everything I've worked so hard to build. Come off it, Weasley. I've put up with you for long enough. You're fired. I don't want you talking more than you already are. I silenced Crouch so that he wouldn't talk, just be grateful that you're not associated with dark wizards. You've already nearly ruined me. I'll be handling the matter of this child myself."

"Child?!?" Holly was furious. "I'll have you know . . ."

"Be quiet, girl, you don't understand any of this," Fudge snapped at her. He turned back to Arthur. "I'm sending you back to the ministry. Begin packing your things, and be gone by tomorrow night."

Arthur Weasley was livid. He set his jaw and turned squarely towards the smaller wizard. "You're not going to get away with this, Fudge. The Daily Prophet will know the whole story by tomorrow. Dumbledore will . . ."

"Dumbledore will do nothing, because he won't know. You won't know either." Fudge leveled his wand. "Obliviate!" Fudge took a paperweight from his pocket and placed it in Arthur's hand. While Holly watched, speechless, Fudge dragged Bowen over towards Weasley and moved his hand onto the paperweight. Fudge tapped his wand to the paperweight and in a flash, the two dazed wizards disappeared. Fudge turned to Holly.

"Now, you're going to tell me everything that happened here."

Holly appraised the man. She didn't trust him, she didn't like him. She certainly wasn't going to give him any information. Standing up as straight as she could, hoping that her physical weakness was no longer apparent, she asked, "Why should I?"

Fudge was obviously not accustomed to being questioned by someone of Holly's stature. "Because I am the Minister of Magic, and I demand that you tell me at once."

Holly folded her arms across her chest and looked down her nose at the stuffy little wizard. "Minister of Magic? Never heard of such a thing. I don't react well to demands. I don't owe you a thing. In fact, I figure I did the lot of you a favour. You were trying to catch those dark men, and I helped you. I want to know what you did to the men who helped me."

Fudge looked flabbergasted. "You're a Muggle," he said blankly.

"I've never heard of that either."

"What did you do to those Death Eaters?" Fudge's expression wavered between shock and fear.

"Apparently I stopped them somehow. Even if I knew how, I don't think I'd tell you."

Fudge considered this for a moment, and decided that a change of tact was his only chance. It would be so much easier to wipe her memory, but what if she knew something? This was altogether too unusual, the circumstances, the total lack of knowledge of the magical world, the unconscious Death Eaters, and of course, the incredible resemblance to Potter. If he could get this girl to the Ministry, he could slip Veritaserum into her water . . .

"What's your name?" he asked, adopting an oily smile.

"Holly," she said staunchly, her stance not changing.

"Holly what?" he pressed.

"Holly."

Fudge tried to suppress a grimace. "Well, Holly, I can tell you honestly that if we don't get you out of here very soon, more Death Eaters will be here to see what happened to their friends. You really don't want to be here when they arrive, and if you stay in the area, they'll hunt you down. In fact, they'll hunt you down almost anywhere in Britain, except one place."

Holly leveled her eyes at the odd little man. As much as she didn't trust him, he was telling the truth about the Death Eaters coming to hunt her down. She thought back to what she felt in the minds of the men who had attacked her. She assessed her own situation. As strong as she was trying to appear, her legs were unsteady and she could still feel her blood rushing in her ears. She wouldn't last through another round with the Death Eaters, but she might stand a chance against this slimy little snake. His mind held greed, secrecy, jealousy, and anger, but it lacked the raw malice, hatred and violence from the minds of the others. She sighed. "Ok. I'll take my chances. Where are we going?"

Fudge's eyes lit up like a set of Filibuster Fireworks. "To the Ministry of Magic headquarters. I'll have a room set for you immediately."

"Ok, let me get my bag." Holly didn't like this one bit, but what choice did she have? Were all these people like this? Her mind raced as she climbed the stairs to the room she had rented. No, she thought to herself. That red-haired man, Arthur Weasley, wasn't like this man at all. He had been kind and authentically concerned for her, almost like a father.

Father. What about her father? The father who had disapproved of everything she had ever done, from her hair to her name . . . she wasn't going to tell him about this. This was her one chance to break away from him completely, even though a small pang of guilt swept through her at the thought. She pushed the guilt aside. She was strong, she would stand on her own two feet. Thoughts rushed through her head as she crammed her belongings into her pack. Would she be able to handle what she was getting herself into? What was she getting herself into, for that matter? Then words echoed in her ears, her grandmother's voice, as though out of a dream.

"Your heart will never have room for fear when courage runs so thick in your blood. You were right to change your name. Your father's name was never truly your own. You'll find your place."

Her answer lay in her grandmother's words. She looked across the room to the mirror, staring at a face that didn't bear the slightest resemblance to her own father. She had once prayed wistfully that by some miracle she really was not related to the man. She didn't act like him, she didn't think like him, and she didn't look like him. She looked like . . . that boy in the mirror, from her dream. Perhaps she had seen her grandmother's memory of the man she had once loved. Holly had sworn the man was long dead, but upon hearing his name repeatedly that day, she wondered if perhaps there was a chance he was still alive. She realized she was absentmindedly clutching the necklace her grandmother had given her. She held it up in front of her eyes and traced the delicate lines of the lion's head with her finger. She turned it over, and, as she had done an uncountable number of times before, she read the tiny inscription on the back.

"To Jan, My Love Forever, Harry Potter."

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Harry had yet another strange dream. He was standing in a shadowy, long- forgotten room in Hogwarts, and had found himself facing the Mirror of Erised once again. He watched as images flashed across the face of the mirror. He saw Dumbledore and Hogwarts. He saw Cornelius Fudge. A familiar raven flew across the glass. Where was his family? He had always seen his family in this mirror. He was searching the shadows within the mirror desperately when he saw his own reflection moving towards him. The figure emerged more thoroughly from the darkness, and he had just reached out his hand to touch his reflection when something stopped him. He was staring into a pair of deep brown eyes, not his own emerald irises. They were set in a face so similar to the one that always looked back at him from his mirror, except this was the face of a young woman. He continued his movement to touch the image in the mirror when a light flashed, erasing the confusing vision. It was replaced by the blood-red eyes of Lord Voldemort. Harry felt a surge of pain lancing across his forehead. He made a move to run, but before he had turned away from the hideous face, an explosion rang out. The mirror had shattered from the inside, sending glass flying everywhere. Harry shielded his face as the dream faded away completely.

He was vaguely aware of being lifted onto something soft and covered with blankets before falling into a deep, dreamless sleep. ************************************************************************
Ron hadn't slept all night. He refused to leave his best friend's side until Harry woke up. Hermione had tried several times to get him to sleep, but Ron wouldn't hear of it.

"I can't sleep, Hermione. I'm too worried." Ron was hunched over, sitting on a rickety wooden chair. His face was cupped in his hands, and he was watching Harry intently, as though the boy were going to die in front of him. Ron had insisted on putting Harry into his bed, and when he had lifted him onto the mattress, he had been shocked at how small Harry really was. Despite his stature, Harry had always seemed strong, and in addition to being Ron's best friend, he was also something of a hero to him. Harry had gotten past Voldemort at the age of eleven, again at age twelve. He had defeated dragons and had conquered the Quidditch pitch. He had survived yet another onslaught by Voldemort just last spring. Now, he was lying on Ron's bed, unconscious, looking like the small teenage boy that he was.

"Ron, there's nothing you can do. He needs to sleep it off, and you need to sleep too." Hermione sat lightly against the edge of the bed. "Don't you think I'm worried too?"

Ron tipped his face up to look at Hermione. "I know you are, Herm. You worry constantly, and that's why you always know what to do. Me . . . what if I didn't worry enough? I've spent the entire summer playing around, when maybe Harry and I should have been studying that book, or practicing Defense Against the Dark Arts. Maybe there was something I could have done. He's my best friend, and I can't do a thing to help him."

"Oh Ron," Hermione said. She moved off the bed and sat on the floor next to Ron's chair. "You did the best thing you knew to do for him. You made him laugh, you gave him some time away from his worries. He needed that as much as anything else we could have done. I probably worry too much, you were right."

Ron looked at Hermione incredulously. "Did you just say I was right?"

Hermione nodded. "He'll have more than enough to worry about soon. We all will. We'll get through this, one battle at a time."

Ron shook his head. "I don't know if I'm strong enough. I've never been that good at anything. You and Harry could always handle anything, but what help was I? I practically abandoned him during the Tri-Wizard Tournament. I don't even make a good friend."

"Ron, you help more than you know. You're a wonderful friend. Harry was miserable without you." Her tone changed slightly. "Honestly, I was too."

Ron nodded and looked back at Harry. "You really think he'll be ok?"

"Yes, I do. And you'll be ok too." She leaned her head against his knee and closed her eyes. Ron put his hand on her shoulder, and they sat there, wordlessly, waiting for Harry to wake.

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Harry opened his eyes and rolled over. He stretched, yawned, and noticed that he was not in his cot on the floor but on Ron's bed. He reached to the nightstand for his glasses and surveyed the room to see Ron, fast asleep on a chair with his head tilted awkwardly backwards, snoring. Harry looked down and saw Hermione's head resting against Ron's knee, also asleep. Unsure whether to wake them, he slipped out of bed and tiptoed towards the bedroom door, intent on a hot shower to soothe the stress from his body, as though it could soothe the stress in his mind. He pulled the door open with a loud creak.

"Huh? What?" Ron's sleepy voice mumbled. He shook his head and turned around in his chair, waking Hermione, who was immediately on her feet.

"Harry! You're awake!" she cried.

"Yes, I'm awake, and I'm going to take a shower," Harry responded, as though it were just another normal day, after a normal night's sleep.

Ron had been on his feet only a moment after Hermione, and had crossed the room to Harry. "Harry, are you sure you're ok?" he asked, placing his hands firmly on his friend's shoulders. "What happened last night? You had me scared stiff."

Harry reached up and softly removed Ron's hands from his shoulders, saying, "I'm not sure what happened last night, but I feel fine now. I'll tell you what I remember, which isn't too much, but first, can I please take a shower?"

Ron nodded and reluctantly backed down. Hermione punched him lightly on the arm. "Come on, Ron. Don't worry so much, you sound like a mother hen!"

Harry and Ron both gaped at Hermione for a minute, eyes wide. Hermione broke the standstill with a laugh. She moved to Harry, and firmly pushed him towards the open door. "You go take a shower, and we'll meet you downstairs for some breakfast, ok?"

Harry was too stunned to disagree. When he had left the room, Hermione sat down on Ron's bed and covered her face with her hands. Ron was still watching her in surprise when he noticed her shoulders shaking. "Herm?"

She looked up. "That was harder than I thought."

Most of the Weasley family had already gathered around the table for breakfast by the time Harry joined them.

"Harry!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed. "How are you feeling dear?"

Harry had already sat down and was reaching for the eggs. "Hungry," he said with a smile. "Good morning everyone."

Ron and Hermione exchanged glances but let the issue pass. Ron jumped into a conversation about the Chudley Cannons with Harry ("No, really, this is going to be their year!") while Fred and George experimented with breakfast ("Barking Bacon anyone?"). Hermione was speaking softly with Mrs. Weasley when the Weasley's unusual clock chimed. "Oh, Arthur is home!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed with relief. "I hate it when he leaves in the middle of the night like that."

Harry elbowed Ron. "When did you father leave? What happened?" Ron shrugged as the kitchen door swung open.

"Arthur!" Mrs. Weasley jumped up and quickly hugged her husband, then she stopped and saw the look on his face. "Arthur? What happened?"

Mr. Weasley's expression was exhausted, but he also had a strange dulled look to his eyes. "I've been fired."

Everyone in the room was immediately standing around Mr. Weasley, not knowing what to say. Mrs. Weasley took him by the arm and led him to the sitting room couch. Everyone sat around him, still in shock.

"We got to the attack last night, and it was all over. Bodies everywhere, but the building hadn't burned down. Fudge says I should have been there sooner, I could have saved those people, but I was too late. He fired me. I've got to get my things from the ministry by tonight."

"He can't do that!" yelled Fred.

"Not a chance!" George seconded his twin. "There's got to be something we can do!"

Mr. Weasley shook his head. "No, boys. It's too late. I'll eat some breakfast, take a nap, and go retrieve my things."

"Arthur, dear, we have to call Dumbledore. We were going to talk to him yesterday, for Harry, and with everything that happened last night, we simply must do that immediately." Mr. Weasley nodded slightly. Mrs. Weasley put her arm softly across her husband's shoulders and guided him up from the couch. "I'll contact Dumbledore while you rest." She turned towards the rest of the room. "You kids go keep yourselves busy for now. Fred, George, now is not the time for explosions, you understand?"

With that, she turned and led Mr. Weasley to the stairs.

"I don't like that look on Dad's face," said Ron. "I know he's tired, but he would never give in to Fudge like that. Something's really wrong. Can you see it? Hey Harry?"

Harry was staring at the wall. "That doesn't make sense." Harry mumbled to himself.

"What doesn't make sense?" Hermione asked.

"Those people weren't dead."

"How do you . . . come on. Let's talk about this outside." Ron led the way out the door. The three remained silent until they had settled themselves under a large tree. Harry needed no prompting as he launched into a full description of everything he had seen and felt the night before.

"So," he finished, "what your father said doesn't match what I saw when I passed out. I was sure most of those people were alive. I saw your dad myself, Ron. Somebody was alive when he got there." Harry leaned back against the tree. "This really doesn't make sense."

"What about that dream you had afterwards?" Hermione piped up.

"I don't remember the dream too well, Hermione. It went too fast. I remember the Mirror of Erised, but I didn't see my family in it. I thought I saw my own reflection, but it wasn't me. Then I saw Voldemort, and the mirror just exploded."

"But your reflection that wasn't you . . . who was it?" Hermione prodded further.

"I don't know, but she looked like me."

"She?"

Harry was about to answer when Mrs. Weasley appeared at the back door. "Ron! Harry! Hermione! Come inside, we have a visitor!"

Harry picked himself up immediately. "It's Dumbledore. Come on!"

They filed into the sitting room to find Ron's parents talking with the Hogwarts Headmaster. The bearded wizard looked at the three teenagers over the rims of his spectables and smiled softly. "Ah, good to see you all."

"Hello Professor Dumbledore," the said in unison. Harry stepped forward. "Sir, I was wondering . . ."

Dumbledore stopped him. "In a moment, Harry. First, I think we all need to examine the events of last night. Harry, what can you tell me about Mr. Weasley's telling of the event?"

Harry looked at Mr. Weasley. He didn't want to call the man a liar. "I don't know, sir. I wasn't there, so I can't really say for certain."

"Harry," Mr. Weasley cut in. "I won't be offended. My own recollection of last night seems unusual. Go on."

Harry nodded and took a deep breath. He hated retelling things like this. He launched into as detailed a description as he could possibly manage, which didn't amount to much in his estimation. After finishing his tale, he looked back and forth across the faces of the adults in the room. Mr. Weasley was nodding slowly, Mrs. Weasley was slightly pale. Dumbledore looked thoughtful. "Thank you, Harry. This confirms my suspicions." Dumbledore turned to Mr. Weasley. "Fudge used a memory charm on you, Arthur. This was obviously the first time that a Death Eater attack had been stopped before all the witnesses were dead, or incoherent. He wanted to cover it up. Something about that attack had him worried, and there are only so many things that would concern him so greatly."

"Is there anything you can do to reverse the memory charm, Albus?" Mr. Weasley asked.

"Unfortunately, there is not. I did not cast it, so I can not lift it. The only other way to reverse memory alteration is by directly accessing the mind of the victim, and I have never been fully skilled in that area." Dumbledore leaned forward. "Don't worry Arthur. We'll uncover the rest of this soon enough. But right now, I believe I need to speak with Harry alone."

Mr. Weasley pulled himself out of his chair, still looking extremely tired. "I should probably return to my little nap. I can't believe how tired I am. Come along, Molly."

Mrs. Weasley moved to follow him, then turned and looked over her shoulder at the teenagers. "Ron, Hermione, perhaps you'd like to play a game of Wizard's Chess?" she said softly.

"Yes mum," Ron responded. He clapped Harry on the shoulder as he moved towards the door. Hermione followed him, but stopped in front of Harry and looked up at him. "You'll be fine, Harry. I know you will be," she whispered. "I meant it when I said you're a great wizard. Don't forget that." She squeezed his arm and walked out the door.

Harry turned to Dumbledore, who was watching this exchange with a somewhat amused expression on his face. "Ah, Harry. I'm sure you have many questions."

Harry nodded. He looked at the wizard in front of him. Suddenly, every question he had ever wanted to ask came rushing out in a torrent. "What's going on, sir? I mean, it's obvious that this all has to do with Voldemort, everything does, but why did you never tell me Mrs. Figg was a witch? What is important about that book? Mrs. Figg and Mr. Weasley both said that they weren't the right people to answer all my questions, but I'm not even sure what all those questions are! Why my parents? Why me? What was Voldemort after? What happened last night? Why . . ."

Dumbledore stopped him cold, raising his hands in the air. "Harry, Harry! Please, calm down!"

"I'm sorry, sir." Harry's cheeks reddened with embarrassment. He looked down at the floor.

Dumbledore lowered his hands and surveyed Harry through his half-moon glasses.

"It is time," he said, "for me to tell you what I should have told you five years ago, Harry. Please sit down. I am going to tell you everything."
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Thank you to everyone who has submitted a review! Yes, I was evil and decided to leave a cliff-hanger. It will be well worth the wait, I assure you. The next chapter may take me a week to write. It will probably be very long, although I may decide to break it into two parts so that I can post it sooner. I'll warn you though, we'll be pulling up little details from as far back as the first book in the next chapter. Time to put the puzzle pieces together!

One other thing . . . if you're reading this and haven't submitted a review, I have no way of knowing if anyone is even reading this! I post faster and work harder when I know people are reading, and waiting for the next installment. Just a reminder!