Harry Potter #7
Chapter #?
Voldemort's
Final Downfall
Part 1:
A Slight Change in Leadership
"What?" gasped Ron, horrified after Harry told him the ill-fated news.
"That's right." Harry fumed, "He's gone!"
"But how could—? Even the Ministry can't—!"
"You'd be surprised, Ron," Hermione chimed in, buried in her studies, "What the Ministry can cook up, these days."
Harry could feel the rage coming from the time Hermione had said the word "surprised," and braced himself for another explosion from Ron. "I'd be surprised?" hissed Ron, gripping the armrests of a chair in the Gryffindor common room. "My father worked for the Ministry for longer than I've been alive—!"
"Exactly!" Hermione snapped, "He worked there! You should remember good and well what they cooked up for your dad! Just so he could get fired!"
"Must you keep bringing that up?" Ron seethed. Then he shot at Harry, "It's as if she enjoys it! So Hermione, which would you rather taunt me with? Our N.E.W.T.S. exams in only two weeks or my dad's unemployment?"
Hermione could have killed him then and there. In the light of recent events, Harry understood her frustration very well. She jabbed her quill into her ink bottle, hoisted it with her parchment and books under her arm, and briskly headed up to the Girl's Dormitory, adding, "I'll see you tomorrow in potions class, Harry," before shooting a quick, icy glare at Ron.
Harry and Ron were silent (Ron's jaw hanging slightly open) until they heard Hermione slam the door to her Dormitory.
"What's her problem, anyway?" Ron asked.
"You didn't have to say those things, Ron," Harry said quietly in an attempt to calm Ron down, and wishing Luna could see him now, defending Hermione. "She heard it too. That means it's only one more thing to get her stressed."
"Oh, and I'm not stressed?" Ron, asked, flustered.
Harry sighed. He couldn't decide which was worse, his friends bickering again, or the loss of their Headmaster. With Voldemort terrorizing the Muggle world and gaining huge, uncountable masses of followers in both worlds, added with the upcoming N.E.W.T.S. exams, and of course Professor Snape being more ruthless than in all of Harry's previous years at Hogwarts, every Seventh Year had all the reason in the world to be stressed!
"Look," said Harry after a long pause of thought, "Dumbledore told me, right before he left, to remember what he told us after Voldemort — Argh! Ron, his name isn't that bad! — after he returned three years ago. You remember that?"
Ron raised an eyebrow, trying to bring that back to the front of his mind. "Oh, yeah," he said, thinking hard, "Something like, 'we're as strong as we are divided' — Or, no… 'as weak and we are divided'. That's it! And 'as strong as we are united'. Yeah, ok."
"Then you also remember what the Sorting Hat's been saying?" Harry asked.
"Oh, yeah, of course!" Ron blurted out. "Who doesn't? It's been sayin' the same stuff for the passed three years! But what does this have to do with anything?"
"Ron," Harry said slowly and carefully, "I just found it interesting that right after I spoke to Dumbledore before he was taken away, I come here and find you two snapping at each other all over again!"
Now it was Ron who shot a dark look. He opened him mouth to say something, but decided against it. So Harry continued.
"So far, everyone's attitude's been playing right into Voldemort's hands," Harry said, and Ron flinched with a small gasp. "That, for example! When are you ever gonna learn to say his name? Hermione says it just fine!"
Ron threw up his hands in frustration. "Well if you're so proud of how far Hermione's come," he said as viciously as possible, "and if you're gonna defend her so much, why don't you just go and marry her already! Good night!" And with that, Ron dropped his barely started Transfiguration homework and stomped all the way up the stairs.
Harry had no idea what to do next. What had caused Ron to explode like that? And how come, Harry thought, whenever he tried to keep the ties of unity strong, everyone fought against him? Harry knew that before he went to bed, he'd have to clear his mind of all thoughts and feelings. What better place than right here where he was alone? No, he'd just have to wait until Ron went to sleep. If he cleared him mind here, sleep would overtaking him and he'd end up spending the night in the common room.
He wished he could talk to Luna. Despite her less than orthodox ideas, she always seemed to have the answers to everything. Yet she was strangely balanced enough not to let it get to her head. If only he could ask her for advice on how to deal with Ron and Hermione. But, looking at his watch, Harry saw that it was passed eleven, and too late to contact her in any way. Seeing as it had been waiting for Ron to go to sleep for more than half-an-hour, Harry went ahead and ascended the spiral staircase. Sure enough, Ron was on his side, mouth slightly open, snoring quietly. Harry got undressed as silently as possible, got into his pajamas, and climbed into his four-poster bed.
Harry took a deep breath and blew the candle out slowly. Then he closed his eyes and made to clear his mind of everything in it, while awaiting yet another dreamless night.
But that was quite far from what Harry got.
Instantly Harry saw that he was in a huge room. No! He thought, I can't be dreaming!
But then it occurred to Harry, How can I be in someone else's head if I can think my own thoughts? Huh. I guess this is nothing more that a regular old—
Harry stopped. The room he had appeared in was full of people. They were bickering among themselves loudly about something one of the others had said. The argument wasn't hostile, but simply like they were deciding what they thought was right on a particular issue.
Then Harry saw their faces clearly. With horrified excitement he recognized every member of the Wizengamot, particularly former Professor Umbridge and Amelia Bones. Who he did not see was Cornelius Fudge. The minister was nowhere in the room, yet business was going on as usual, evidently lead by Umbridge. That was when a loud banging on the double-door entrance way rattled the air.
Umbridge set down her paper work and, looking as if she was holding back a curiously ugly squeal of delight, made a beeline for the doors. What happened next confused Harry. Umbridge simply opened the door just enough to allow her fat body through, left the room, and closed the door behind her.
A few in the Wizengamot were confused as well, but they quickly went on debating or writing up some important document. Harry (who felt more like he was in a Pensieve than anything else) simply waited for the dream to end as he had abandoned all efforts to wake up. Less than a minute had passed when the doors opened again. But this time, not by Umbridge.
A person more horrible, more foul than Umbridge was entering the room with a bright smile spread across his face. Flanked behind and alongside him were fifty — no, — perhaps one hundred hooded and masked figures, each pointing a wand at the unsuspecting Ministry Officials. The one in front was unmasked and his hood was down, so no one could mistake his chalk-white skin, red snake-like eyes, and chilling grin.
"Ministry of Magic!" the man bellowed in his high-pitched voice. Harry saw the officials who had been deep in their work now leap in terror. "Their will be a slight change in leadership!"
The room then erupted in green light. Several Death Eaters had taken part in killing the few of the Wizengamot who had the presence of mind to get their wands out. Voldemort was outraged.
"Fools!" he screeched at those who had attacked, "You had orders to disarm, only! Wormtongue!"
A masked figure stepped out of the ranks to one of those who had fired Avada Kedavra. As a silvery hand came out of the cloak's sleeve, the foolish Death Eater started shivering where he stood. The silvery hand then closed over the Death Eater's. It closed down hard, breaking the man's hand into a mangled heap of flesh, and snapping his wand in the process. The man screamed, but Harry couldn't hear it very well over the noise. It was only then that he noticed that the other Death Eaters had sufficiently disarmed each member of the wizard government.
What Wormtongue did next to the disobedient Death Eaters, Harry never knew; his eyes were locked onto Voldemort in terror.
"Now," Voldemort gleefully shouted as he stood in the center of the arena of Ministry members, "witness the power and majesty of the Dark Lord of all!" He raised his hands up with his wand in one of them and began chanting low. All of the Death Eaters that had not been punished raised their arms as well and joined the chanting. Harry could see a look of intense fear from one of the injured Death Eaters whose mask had fallen off. Harry didn't recognize him, but the man looked absolutely ready to cry.
"W-What d-d-do you w-w-want?" one of the officials asked.
Voldemort met the woman's gaze and she brought her hand to her face and issued a small cry of horror. Voldemort stopped chanting and simply said, "I made that clear eighteen years ago," and went right on chanting, this time raising his face to the ceiling.
The instant Voldemort's gaze was straight up, a tremor shook the room. Several of the Wizengamot made to retrieve their wands, but were quickly thrown over several rows of chairs by an invisible force. A strange white mist began collecting in the air and Voldemort, followed by the Death Eaters, chanted louder. The louder they chanted, the faster the mist swirled around them.
Many of the members of government began convulsing as if racked with a horrible pain. A woman screamed. She was soon joined by the woman who had dared to ask Voldemort of his intentions. Then a feeble-looking old man began to wail. What the heck is going on? Harry wondered. Then, like a blow to the stomach, the answer hit him.
Harry saw that the fog was growing denser and was spinning faster. He also saw that each of the members of the Wizengamot seemed to be flaking away, like sand in a high wind. To Harry's bewildered horror, even the Death Eaters who weren't chanting with their hands up were being broken down and swept away as if they were stone statues aging over several millennia. Their dust-sized pieces swarmed around Voldemort and his Death Eaters, four of whom had met the same fate as the Wizengamot. Voldemort didn't look the slightest bit disappointed. In fact, he looked utterly thrilled.
The white fog, which had formed into a ring from the spinning, collected itself into a twister just above Voldemort's wand, which seemed to suck it in like a vacuum.
When all the fog was gone, Voldemort dropped his hands, smiled broadly, turned to his Death Eaters and triumphantly said, "Now, all is ready!"
This was met by cheers from Voldemort's followers. Harry heard Mr. Malfoy's voice shout, "Morsmordre!" and a brilliant green image appeared hovering in the air: Voldemort's Dark Mark, a skull with a snake protruding from its mouth and rapping its way up and around the skull. The image hovered for an instant before Malfoy moved his wand and the enormous Dark Mark floated through the ceiling and outside like a ghost.
"Let the true reign of the Great Dark Lord Voldemort begin!" Voldemort shouted. Then he did something that mad Harry jump with fright: he looked straight into Harry's eyes and sneered widely. Then there was a flash of light and Harry saw the room, Voldemort, and his Death Eaters no longer.
Harry screamed. Screamed so loud he was sure the residents in Hogsmeade would hear him. His scar hurt so much that he would have willingly cut his own head off if it meant he'd be free of the pain. He also screamed because he had wanted to ever since he saw those people get so horribly murdered.
Even though Harry was sure more people would hear it, everyone in Gryffindor was jolted out of their beds by his sudden outburst. Sweat was pouring down his face and chest and he heaved for breath. It felt like no air was getting into him. He hardly noticed Ron hovering over him, calling his name regardless of his screams.
Air finally seemed welcome in Harry's lungs. Ron was holding his shoulders, trying to calm him down, and Harry's head felt like it was going to explode. He had stopped screaming, but it made no difference. Everyone had heard it anyway.
"What is it, Harry?" Ron asked loudly.
"I…uh….scar…!" Harry was able to wheeze out.
"Does it hurt?"
Harry almost bellowed, "Yeah, Master of the Obvious!" but his scar hurt too much to do even that.
The dormitory door opened. To everyone's surprise, Ginny and Hermione, closely followed by Parvati barged in.
"Whoa!" Seamus cried, "What on earth are you doing here?"
A few more girls came in as well. "What happened?" a little First Year asked.
"I dunno! He just woke up and—" Rod said.
"Had…dream…" Harry mustered the strength to say. He was telling himself over and over again that it was just a dream and that none of it was real.
"What?" Ron asked, aghast, "But you haven't had one of those since—"
"Potter!"
Everyone's head turned to the doorway where Professor McGonagall came pushing through the crowd of Gryffindors. She looked upset and disheveled, her hair fuzzy and flying everywhere. No doubt from the news of Dumbledore being sent to Azkaban.
"Potter! Come with me now! It's an emergency!"
Harry's scar still ached badly, and in the midst of thinking, please let it just be a dream…please… he was able to say through clenched teeth, "Why? ...Proffessor, I—"
"Now, Potter! There's been an attack at the Ministry!"
* * *