"While Mr. Potter's attack on me was sudden, he carried no wand. I believe
that was what saved my life. For certain, after his escape from Azkaban, I
did station additional guards around me but as you all know, I had other,
more pressing concerns at that time. In time, after his explanations, I did
forgive him but I still harbored some reservations. Why did he lie about
losing his magical powers? What possible motive could he have? Looking
back, there was no way we could have possibly known that Voldemort had
taken over Harry's body. Indeed, we all believed in Harry strongly, and
since he swore that he had absorbed Voldemort in the Battle of Kent, the
last and one of the bloodiest battles of the Great War (1997-2000), there
was no reason to doubt him. I was so foolish in those days."
-excerpted from "The World in Crisis" by Percival Weasley
'Regarding the Tri-Ministry Tragedy during the Resurgence Conflict'
published: January 21st 2030 by Lovegood
Publishing
Ultimate Harry Potter
By Oirams Chapter 3
Prison and War
Harry woke up with a headache the size of France. He took a look at his timepeice and read from it: 8.00 A.M. "Dammit, I'm late for work," he yelled, jumping out of his bed—"OW!"
His head hit the roof, and he fell back down, rubbing the resulting lump on his head. "What the..." Harry stood up carefully this time and looked at his bearings. He was inside a prison! His cage was a tiny thing, only just enough to accommodate him and at most one other. The blue glow from the steel rods, hinted that the cell was a makeshift one, and had just been magically constructed to house him. In the distance, through the shimmerings (the number of magic locks had caused the air to shimmer by now), that the room was circular, and in their, two guards revolved around him, watching him smartly and with shark-like curiosity.
What was going on here?
Harry banged against the steel bars with his fists, and then yelled, "Guards! Guards!"
One of the more rounded of the guards waddled over. "Wot? Wot do ye wont?"
"What am I doing in prison?" asked Harry with bewilderment.
"Ye yankin mah chain..." replied the Portly Guard, "Ye don't remember et all, do ye? "The guard snorted. "Ye 'tempted to assassinate the Head of the Ordah, Mr. Percy Weasley! Yo' lucky yo' still alive! But ah admit, must've some mighty stones on yah. Not many w'd attack the Minister in frent o' a half-dozen Aurors, and all top level, no less. Well, at least, ah call it brave. Me friend ovah there call youse a dumb fool. And by thet confused look on yer face, ah think ah'm beginning to agree wit 'im." He pointed smartly at his partner guard who was lurking nearby.
Suddenly, the memories came rushing back...Harry had been arrested and presented to the Order concerning the fact that Harry was alive when he should have been dead. He had arrived into the Order's War Chambers fully prepared to convince them that his continued existence meant the return of Voldemort, a being so evil that even death could not contain. But then something strange had happened. Harry's head pulsed in memory. What was the vision again? he asked himself. Something to do with Percy...
"Ron! He killed Ron. Percy killed Ron!" Harry screamed and pulled the guard closer, "I saw him! I had a vision and he—"
"GET OFFAH ME!" bellowed the guard, brushing Harry away. The guard's look said everything. "Save yer cryerin' fer the judge. Ah'm just doin' me job. Bloody ingrate."
Harry slumped back onto the small bed, shaking his head, which was hurting more and more with each passing moment. And then he blacked out for the second time in as many days.
Merlin's blade, I must stop these blackouts somehow, Harry thought as he woke up once again. It's seriously annoying. This time he woke up to a familiar face. Fred Weasley's blue eyes stared directly down at him, with a very obvious frown displayed across his face.
"Dammit Harry! I told you not to go to them! Now, look at the mess you've gotten yourself into. Holy Moses," said Fred, pinching his nosebridge in frustration. "I can't believe you tried to kill Percy! What the hell happened? Dammit. I told you not to return! I told you!"
Fred pace back and forth quickly. He stalked up and down the prison room like a general but the ceiling was so short that he had to hunch, a sight, which, in better circumstances, would have been comedic. Harry smiled, remembering for some reason, the first day he had met Fred Weasley—He and his twin brother, George Weasley had been driving their mother, Molly, insane with their practical jokes.
"Honestly, mother, I'm George. You'd have think you could tell us apart by now." "Oh, I'm sorry—" "Just kidding, mum. I'm Fred—"
"What are you smiling at?" asked Fred testily. "Our lawyer says you're in serious trouble and will undoubtedly go to jail...I've fired six lawyers since then, and I still haven't found one that'll say different. So wipe that smirk off your face."
Fred crossed his arms, as if he were waiting for Harry to apologize for his attempted assassination of the Minister of Magic. Harry chuckled. Fred was a genius inventor, it was true, but the man had the logic of a child.
"I told you not to come back," Fred continued. "I bloody told you but you wouldn't listen." He had calmed down somewhat but the worried look on his face did not leave. Harry would never be a replacement for the brothers he had lost. Although, there were times when Fred forgot the distinction.
Harry shook his head, "I had to come back. You know about my returned minor invulnerability, right? I showed it to you that night after we closed the deal with the Lockheed group." He looked away. "I'm not saying that it necessarily means that He has returned...but on the slightest chance that he somehow escaped death...I have to be here." Fred closed his eyes and choked an answer. "I never believed he was dead anyways. Bastards like him don't ever die." He slumped down and looked away from Harry.
Frederic Weasley was three years older than Harry, and although that was still young, white hairs lined his forehead. There was a dragged out look about him, a tiredness that dogged his steps. He was openly skeptical of Voldemort's defeat, and still trembled slightly at the mention of the horrid name. The Weasley name, over the course of its most recent generation, had become nearly synonymous with the word 'tragedy.' It was not surprising, considering how Voldemort had singled them out, murdering them whenever he had the opportunity. Casualties of war, some said. But it had nothing to do with the Great War. It was during Voldemort's Return and they had been killed only because they were close to Dumbledore and maybe, because Harry Potter loved them too much. Ronald, the youngest male Weasley, Harry's childhood best friend, had been burnt alive. Bill Weasley, the eldest, had died in the line of duty, rooting out Voldemort's agents in the Gringott's financial network. As for the third...he had died in the worst way. George Weasley, Fred's twin and original partner in Fred's and George's prank shop (Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes), had been kidnapped and tortured for days. They left George barely alive, but his mind was gone, driven crazy just like they had done to the Longbottom family. Not long after, George committed suicide. This drove Fred to change the purpose of the company he and his twin had created. Instead of producing laughs and pranks, he began to purchase and perfect weapons. After Voldemort was finally defeated, Fred attempted to revert the store to the joke shop it was, but he found that he couldn't. And that, too, was Voldemort's fault.
Fred coughed and Harry turned away so that Fred could wipe his tears. "Ginny says that you magicked a Piercing spell on Percy..." Fred eyed Harry curiously. "Is that true? Can you do that? Are the other magics returning to you?"
"I don't know! Everything's hazy. I remember my scar hurting and then
I had a vis..." Harry remembered the vision vividly. He had seen Percy drill his wand through Ron's skull. It had been so real...like a prophecy or...a Voldemort Memory? Harry's link with Voldemort had been so strong that he could sometimes feel and know what Voldemort knew. But with Voldemort's demise, such instances had vanished and Harry had welcomed the absence of them, such as they were always painful and made him mind susceptible to influence.
"...but I don't know what kind of legal defense we can pull here..." went Fred but he stopped. "You haven't heard a word I said, have you? Come on! I don't mind you dozing off during the inter-company meetings but this is your life we're talking about. I hear that most of the major players in the Order are OPENLY advocating the death penalty for you. It's serious Harry. They want you dead."
Harry laughed, "So let them. Look at me. A wizard devoid of magic. I might as well die. Useless lumps of bollocks like me deserve to die..." He grew serious, his scar hurting more than ever now. He gazed at Fred's concerned eyes and wondered if he should—Not yet, he thought. Harry had no proof that Percy had killed Ron...And he couldn't bear himself to subject his friend to such news. "I have no idea what happened, Fred," admitted Harry finally. "I think I may be guilty. I just wasn't myself."
"NO. You're just trying to find an excuse to die again. I didn't let you then and I won't let you now!" Fred hung his head from the effort, " God. I thought we won the war. I never thought they'd treat you like this...No matter what you thought you did, Harry. It's forgivable. If it weren't for you, England would still be knee-deep in blood...I won't let them do this to you. I won't stand for it. I WON'T!"
Fred had a weird look on him, as if this issue meant more to him than it did to Harry. "Guard!" Fred called, and the guard came dutifully forward, unlocking the door so that Fred could step out. Not many people who weren't lawyers could visit an imprisoned man charged with attempted murder but Fred was the president of the prestigious Weasley Arms as well as brother to England's Minister of Magic. There were few things that Fred hadn't access to.
"Where are you going?" asked Harry.
Fred rubbed his nose. "I'm going to see Percy. If he doesn't press charges, I might be able to save your sorry ass."
Fred was farther away now and Harry yelled, "He's not going to do that you know."
Fred Weasley flipped his thinning gray hair backwards and for an instant, Harry saw the mischievous smile Fred had sported in his youth and before the War. "Percy's my brother. He'll do what I ask. Besides, if that doesn't work, I can always pull his pants down."
"That's not FUNNY! Percy's dangerous! You know better than I—"
But Fred was already gone.
=========================
Fred Weasley, rolled up his sleeves, and stormed through the Ministry Lobby hall. He reckoned, if he looked important enough, he would be able to get pass all the bureaucratic lines and protocols, and reach Percy in time to knock some sense into him.
"What are you doing here, Weasley?" sprawled a dry voice. Oh, crap, Fred thought. I don't have time for this!
"Hello, Malfoy," replied Fred, turning around slowly. Draco Malfoy, dressed in his traditional black Malfoy robes looked as if he were a throwback to the Middle Ages. But like all the Malfoys before him, he was abnormally rich and influential, and also, like all the Malfoys before him, an absolute ass. "You don't work here. Get out." Fred folded his arms. "Last I checked, the Ministry was created to serve the public. To serve everyone, be they monster or men. After all, that was what the Great War was ultimately about—that is, besides defeating Old Voldie and his band of Merry Men." Fred paused and then asked in his most dripping voice, "By the way, how is your father? Still in Azkaban prison, is he?" Fred gave a mock impression of sympathy. They locked eyes with each other. Their families had started their feud with each other generations ago, and the hate had carried over to this day. A Malfoy and a Weasley had once even married, making the two families cousins, but that had only made their bickering worse. During the Great War, the Malfoys and the Weasleys had fought for different sides, and had spilled each other's blood. As the Greek saying went, no blood spilt is like kinsblood spilt. There would never be reconciliation between the two families. There was just too much history between them. Their staring contest continued, both appraising each other like two roosters in a cockfight. Draco was slightly taller than Fred, but was skinnier. His blond hair contrasted sharply with his black robes, and he carried an aura of superiority wherever he went, as if he were disgusted that anyone but him was allowed to exist in the world. Fred, however, noticed something strange about Draco's personage. On closer inspection, Draco's blond hair seemed frazzled, and his black robes were creased as if they had been slept in. Anything that could make Draco forget about his outward appearance would have to be of the utmost import. Fred wondered suspiciously at what it could be. Could he have something to do with Harry's headaches? he wondered. Draco certainly had the motive. He had an unexplainable hate toward Harry that rivaled even the long lasting feud between him and the Weasley clan. When they had been schoolboys, little Draco had offered little Harry a place in his entourage but when Harry refused to, instead choosing to associate himself with Gryffindor-types, a long lasting enmity sprung between them. Fred, of course, had absolutely no proof of Draco's culpability, but when it came to Malfoys, he didn't think he needed any. Already, his mind was formulating theories, and all of them pointed straight to Draco. Just then, Draco spoke, startling Fred from his inner thoughts. "If you are going somewhere..." considered Draco dryly. "...I suggest you stick closely to me. Otherwise, you'll find yourself locked up. This is a restricted area, after all, but I trust even a mongoloid like you knows that. " "Call me that one more time, nancy-boy..." Fred growled, hands balling into fists. "Any day, Weasel, but I'm afraid that my time isn't as freely available as yours is. I only offered you to accompany me out of politeness anyways..." Draco began smiling, baring a row of perfectly even sharp teeth. "Of course, if you don't follow me, you'll never get to see that busy brother of yours. You're here to beg audience of the High and Mighty Percy Weasley, are you not?" Fred wanted to beat the smirk out of Draco but he had to concede defeat. The only way to access Percy was through the right channels, and for Fred, that channel was Draco. He grumbled and then began to follow obediently. Draco snickered, and strode quickly ahead through a series of locked corridors, guards, and obtrusive gates. The guards fawned, saluted, and bowed away at the sight of Draco's gubernatorial badge. This made Fred wonder seriously about whether he had made the right career choice. Business was good, but politics was power. And get caught up in Percy's world? He suddenly thought, nearly frightening himself. No thanks. "We're getting close to Percy's Office," said Draco, showing his Governor's badge to the last of the guards. "You better have a persuasive argument. When the news gets around that Potter's powers are returning, he's going to be forced to execute Potter on principle. He might even preempt the papers and announce Potter's execution via Ministry channels. Ridding the Potter threat is the exact thing he needs to get reelected, and I don't think he'll change his mind just because you're his 'dear old brother'. " "Don't you worry. I know exactly what I'm going to say...But what I really want to know is—Why are you helping me?" asked Fred as he followed Draco through the final gate. "We're trying to free Potter here...your nemesis...why in the world would you do that?" Draco was silent and Fred did not press the question. It was only until they reached the door of Percy's office did Draco whisper, "If anyone's going to kill Potter, it's going to be me. One day, he'll stop hiding behind his lies, and he'll return, with his full powers, back into the wizarding world. Until them, I'll do my utmost to keep him alive. And then I'll make him pay for his crimes. He'll die slowly at a time of my choosing. AT MY CHOOSING!" Draco hissed in great passion, revealing his pent-up rage. The Malfoy mask resurfaced an instant later. "Come. We enter your brother's lair now." The wide doors of the Prime Minister of Magic's Office opened up with a resounding creak of cogs, and the smell of old carpets came wafting out. Percy sat commandingly behind his Minister's Desk...just waiting. His eyes strayed over from Draco to Fred, and then back to Draco again. "Mr. Malfoy. I thought that...our meeting...would be private," said Percy. "Not that I wouldn't enjoy seeing my dear brother but a...civilian...should not be around while matters of state are discussed." Percy waved his wand and an image of his secretary floated in the air. "Mrs. Williamson, please accompany my brother to the lobby. Accommodate him with anything he desires—"
"Fred stays," stated Malfoy simply. "After all, he has a definite interest in all this as well. We were, to discuss the matter of Harry Potter's trial, were we not?"
Percy's face was emotionless but Fred had lived with Percy long enough to know that Percy was, in fact, furious at the moment.
"Of course!" smiled Percy, "Sit. Sit."
The chairs floated expectantly toward Draco and Fred, and as they sat down, Fred felt rather uncomfortable. The doors were shut, and he was surrounded on side by Percy Weasley and on the other Draco Malfoy. Fred wished he had his wand with him, but visitors and non-government personnel could not carry so much as a broom inside Ministry premises.
"So, I suggest that we allow Potter to be set out on bail," initiated Malfoy. "A substantial bail, of course—"
"No, that is impossible, Governor," said Percy, his face a mask of politeness, "He has attempted on my life. While I might be persuaded to forego the legalities of it—The Order of the Phoenix has rather harsher and unmalleable rules regarding assassination."
"Wait, hold up—" Fred began
"Ah, but since he is the Harry Potter, should not leniency be given unto him? Or an investigation, mayhaps?" asked Malfoy. "After all, Potter has had a history of being...possessed...hasn't he?"
"That's right—" Fred slumped back down to his chair as he was once again disregarded by Percy.
"Nonsense," said Percy. "Vold—Vol—He was the only one with that ability. So that assumption is impossible. It is more likely that Harry has finally snapped. His tragedy, his loss of powers, the loss of his friends, must have finally overwhelm him over the years—"
"Now wait a minute—"
"Nevertheless—"
Fred stood up quickly, knocking his chair backwards. He moved so quick that even Malfoy was startled and had stopped in mid-sentence. Fred huffed, "Now you bastards listen to me! I don't want to beat around the bush. I'm not part of the Order or the Ministry. I came her to see that Harry gets a fair deal. You either free him or I'm going directly to Dumbledore." Fred glared at them. "What's it going to be, you nasty berks."
At the mention of Dumbledore, both Malfoy and Percy fidgeted, and for a moment, Fred pictured them when they were younger. Somehow, so many years after their Hogwart's tutelage, they were still afraid of their old Headmaster, Dumbledore.
"Fred. Sit down—'NO! Give me an answer'—I said sit down!" commanded Percy. "It's not up to me, Fred. I may be Head of the Order and Prime Minister but England is a land ruled by laws. I cannot disregard them just because of my past associations with Harry." Percy sighed, pinching his nosebridge. "You do not know how tenuous my position is...Elections are coming soon and this Potter crisis...It's going to be an issue. If you go to Dumbledore, my base will turn on me like hounds to the hunt. Don't get me wrong, I absolutely adore Dumbledore but he was never one to make the right kind of political friends. All I'm asking you to do, now, is to trust that I will do right by Potter. You do believe me, of course?"
Fred eyed Percy and said, "What a load of crap, Perce."
With that, he stormed out, leaving a rather shocked Percy in his wake.
Draco laughed, flourishing his cape as he went after Fred, "Oh, my. It seems like Fred knows your tricks even better than I do."
Percy frowned, his façade breaking as he saw Draco leave his office laughing that insidious laugh of his.
"Oh, Damn-you-all-to-Hades," Percy swore, taking a large malt liquor from his cabinet, and began to pour shots for himself. The irony was that, for once, he had been telling the truth. The other Corner fellow was polling favorably, and Percy's fickle political financiers were restless. Any political wind in Corner's favor might tip the scales plummeting Percy into political ruin. The most important thing, he knew, would be the swing votes. The Slytherin-type voters, which had never showed any loyalty to either the Castor or Pollex political parties, would be hotly contested in the upcoming election. If Dumbledore and Percy were to be even named in the same Daily Prophet article, those swing voters would rush toward Corner, and along with them, his hopes for another term as Minister.
Percy could not allow that to happen.
"Mr. Weasley? Sir?"
"What is it, Mrs. Williamson?" Percy glared testily at his secretary. He had told the midget woman to always knock before entering but the absent- minded fool always forgot. Were it not for her highly excellent family relations, he would have fired her a long time ago.
"It's Commissioner Krum, sir—" Percy waved his hand. "Tell Agent K to Apparate in, then. He needn't announce himself every time—" Mrs. Williamson shook her head, and then answered with distraught reluctance, "No, sir...He's dead." Percy almost spilled the shot glass he held in his hand. His mind raced fiendishly. "Gather the Order of the Phoenix, Mrs. Williamson." "Yes, sir." "And tell our boys at the Prophet to hush it up until we can figure out the proper spin to this." "Yes sir." She turned to follow her orders but her earpiece began to glow as further news came in. "Mr. Prime Minister! I've just received news that the Ministry of France is being attacked by Giants!" "What!" Mrs. Williamson cocked her head to her left, listening intently. "I'm getting reports all over Europe. Let me channel Agent X through." She pointed her wand, mumbling a series of words over and over again, "Telescopo Vidi Alohomora... Telescopo Vidi Alohomora..." The image of an aged and scarred man appeared. 'Hello, little brother.' 'Shut up with the pleasantries, Charlie. What's happening over in France?" Percy asked concernedly. Behind Charlemagne Xavier Weasley was chaos personified. There were Mediwizards running around and the amount of blood and smoke in the air shocked Percy, who had never truly seen a battlefield before. "Giants, Percy. They crept up to Paris in the middle of the night. I don't know how...Merlin's beard, they're tearing apart the Eiffel Tower! The French government is in total disarray—", began Charlie—"Get those supplies to them Muggles first! They heal slower—"Percy, I can't talk anymore, there's too much fighting still going on and the rookies I'm training aren't combat- proven against giants. Send reinforcements, if you can—"
"No. I want you to pull out. Along with your squad." Percy commanded.
"But—"
"No buts, Charlie. I need my ablest person commanding the defenses along the English Channel. The French are going to have to weather this out themselves. I'll send Delacour some of our Horned Tail Dragons but that's all I'm willing to spare until I have sufficient intel."
Charlie frowned but saluted. "Yes, sir. Agent X out."
Percy summoned other such viewing screens and as the images of agents started to appear in his room, he began to dictate to them his orders.
"Agent Y here in Germany—The vampires are coming out of the woodwork—"
"Agent T here in Norway—Harpies! They're enormous! The Yanks are trying to—'
"Agent R...Werewolves...Lupin out."
By the time Percy finished pulling back his diplomats, shoring up defenses, and sending out his scouts, it was nearly time for one of his monthly dinners with his wife. Percy was loathed to eat anything. His stomach churned like compacted garbage, and he had the strangest sensation that he was overlooking something important.
Germany, France and Norway had been attacked viciously by a coordinated and vicious enemy...Percy was no Rommel but he knew encirclement when he saw it. Someone was following in Voldemort's footsteps.
Percy tapped the Telescopo Vidi Alohomora box—called T.V.A.'s or Tivas—in front of him. The familiar call-fog rose from it, and he started a communication line to the only one of his Agents he could trust to handle the Krum murder.
"Pruett? Are you awake?" he asked gently. The time might be evening in England but over in Siberia, it was most likely early dawn. The woman in the viewing screen scratched her T-back panties before answering. "This is Elizabeth, you bloody hoke. Who the hell are you?"
Percy smiled. The woman must have been on another bender again for her not to recognize him. "It's Percy, dear."
The woman began to stumble over herself, as she clawed for her work- robes.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Minister Weasley, sir. I thought Lee was pranking me again...and..."
Percy shook his head. "No need to apologize. Just get to Hamburg immediately. Commissioner Krum's had his throat slit over there in Kraut- land, and you're to be the pointman for the investigation."
As Percy expected, the shock of hearing such horrible news passed through Pruett's system quickly, and instead of returning with a stupid question, she asked, "Respectfully, sir, this may not be such a good idea, you sending me there. I don't understand the German psyche at all. Maybe you should send one of the Abbots..."
"Don't worry," smiled Percy. "Your liaison will be an adequate tool enough. And I've requisitioned him to be your new partner as well, so you might as well spend the time getting to know him. John's a little green behind the ears but—" "You've got to be kidding me, sir." Pruett's politeness vanished, and she was obviously displeased at being saddled with a new partner. "What is this—the sixth one? Why do you keep asking me to train your newbies? Do I look motherly to you?" She pointed to the pan of fried eggs that lay atop her bed, as a symbol of the general bedlam that was her flat. "Because they always come out of your crash course as more effective Aurors. Oh, come now. It can't be that bad. John comes from a highly reputable wizarding family,"—Percy ignored Pruett's groan—", and I'm sure you two will get along famously with each other." Percy began to receive another call through his wand. He hurried to finish his orders to his agent. "I have to go now, Pruett. Try to find Krum's killer as soon as possible. It's going to be a PR nightmare, as it is, and I'd liked the case to be half-solved by the time their media-dogs pick up my trail, if you catch my meaning. "I'll try my best, sir." Percy stared at her. "I didn't ask you to 'try.' Just do it. Percy out." He closed the Tiva device, and the conference call with Pruett ended immediately. He flicked out his wand, uttered the two pass codes necessary to retrieve any messages he might have missed, and was annoyed that the last four had come from his wife. Clingy woman, he muttered silently. Percy stood up from his wooden Minister chair, and walked deterministically toward his window. The view was magicked and it allowed him to gaze at places all over England. This was his empire. No one, not Corner, not some Voldemort-wannabe, or even the Dark Lord himself could wretch it away from his grasp. They would have to pry it from his dead hands. Even as he thought this, another part of his mind worked feverishly on a list of suspects or organizations that could pull off such a coordinated piece of international terrorism. Controlling magical creatures was not an easy thing to accomplish, and to do it under the radar of Percy's intelligence network...Percy began to review through what he knew. Someone was most definitely aping Voldemort, he thought to himself. Follow the logic, Percy...Come on... He had studied Voldemort's history intensively in school, and he remembered that, not long after Voldemort had attacked the countries surrounding England, the next target had been... Percy's mind suddenly clicked, his face frozen frigid in shock as if he had just realized a horrible truth. He rushed out of his office and began to yell: "Everyone! Apparate out! Now!"
Just then an explosion rocketed the building and the inside of the place became a smoldering mess of fire, leaving nothing in its wake but death and destruction.
-excerpted from "The World in Crisis" by Percival Weasley
'Regarding the Tri-Ministry Tragedy during the Resurgence Conflict'
published: January 21st 2030 by Lovegood
Publishing
Ultimate Harry Potter
By Oirams Chapter 3
Prison and War
Harry woke up with a headache the size of France. He took a look at his timepeice and read from it: 8.00 A.M. "Dammit, I'm late for work," he yelled, jumping out of his bed—"OW!"
His head hit the roof, and he fell back down, rubbing the resulting lump on his head. "What the..." Harry stood up carefully this time and looked at his bearings. He was inside a prison! His cage was a tiny thing, only just enough to accommodate him and at most one other. The blue glow from the steel rods, hinted that the cell was a makeshift one, and had just been magically constructed to house him. In the distance, through the shimmerings (the number of magic locks had caused the air to shimmer by now), that the room was circular, and in their, two guards revolved around him, watching him smartly and with shark-like curiosity.
What was going on here?
Harry banged against the steel bars with his fists, and then yelled, "Guards! Guards!"
One of the more rounded of the guards waddled over. "Wot? Wot do ye wont?"
"What am I doing in prison?" asked Harry with bewilderment.
"Ye yankin mah chain..." replied the Portly Guard, "Ye don't remember et all, do ye? "The guard snorted. "Ye 'tempted to assassinate the Head of the Ordah, Mr. Percy Weasley! Yo' lucky yo' still alive! But ah admit, must've some mighty stones on yah. Not many w'd attack the Minister in frent o' a half-dozen Aurors, and all top level, no less. Well, at least, ah call it brave. Me friend ovah there call youse a dumb fool. And by thet confused look on yer face, ah think ah'm beginning to agree wit 'im." He pointed smartly at his partner guard who was lurking nearby.
Suddenly, the memories came rushing back...Harry had been arrested and presented to the Order concerning the fact that Harry was alive when he should have been dead. He had arrived into the Order's War Chambers fully prepared to convince them that his continued existence meant the return of Voldemort, a being so evil that even death could not contain. But then something strange had happened. Harry's head pulsed in memory. What was the vision again? he asked himself. Something to do with Percy...
"Ron! He killed Ron. Percy killed Ron!" Harry screamed and pulled the guard closer, "I saw him! I had a vision and he—"
"GET OFFAH ME!" bellowed the guard, brushing Harry away. The guard's look said everything. "Save yer cryerin' fer the judge. Ah'm just doin' me job. Bloody ingrate."
Harry slumped back onto the small bed, shaking his head, which was hurting more and more with each passing moment. And then he blacked out for the second time in as many days.
Merlin's blade, I must stop these blackouts somehow, Harry thought as he woke up once again. It's seriously annoying. This time he woke up to a familiar face. Fred Weasley's blue eyes stared directly down at him, with a very obvious frown displayed across his face.
"Dammit Harry! I told you not to go to them! Now, look at the mess you've gotten yourself into. Holy Moses," said Fred, pinching his nosebridge in frustration. "I can't believe you tried to kill Percy! What the hell happened? Dammit. I told you not to return! I told you!"
Fred pace back and forth quickly. He stalked up and down the prison room like a general but the ceiling was so short that he had to hunch, a sight, which, in better circumstances, would have been comedic. Harry smiled, remembering for some reason, the first day he had met Fred Weasley—He and his twin brother, George Weasley had been driving their mother, Molly, insane with their practical jokes.
"Honestly, mother, I'm George. You'd have think you could tell us apart by now." "Oh, I'm sorry—" "Just kidding, mum. I'm Fred—"
"What are you smiling at?" asked Fred testily. "Our lawyer says you're in serious trouble and will undoubtedly go to jail...I've fired six lawyers since then, and I still haven't found one that'll say different. So wipe that smirk off your face."
Fred crossed his arms, as if he were waiting for Harry to apologize for his attempted assassination of the Minister of Magic. Harry chuckled. Fred was a genius inventor, it was true, but the man had the logic of a child.
"I told you not to come back," Fred continued. "I bloody told you but you wouldn't listen." He had calmed down somewhat but the worried look on his face did not leave. Harry would never be a replacement for the brothers he had lost. Although, there were times when Fred forgot the distinction.
Harry shook his head, "I had to come back. You know about my returned minor invulnerability, right? I showed it to you that night after we closed the deal with the Lockheed group." He looked away. "I'm not saying that it necessarily means that He has returned...but on the slightest chance that he somehow escaped death...I have to be here." Fred closed his eyes and choked an answer. "I never believed he was dead anyways. Bastards like him don't ever die." He slumped down and looked away from Harry.
Frederic Weasley was three years older than Harry, and although that was still young, white hairs lined his forehead. There was a dragged out look about him, a tiredness that dogged his steps. He was openly skeptical of Voldemort's defeat, and still trembled slightly at the mention of the horrid name. The Weasley name, over the course of its most recent generation, had become nearly synonymous with the word 'tragedy.' It was not surprising, considering how Voldemort had singled them out, murdering them whenever he had the opportunity. Casualties of war, some said. But it had nothing to do with the Great War. It was during Voldemort's Return and they had been killed only because they were close to Dumbledore and maybe, because Harry Potter loved them too much. Ronald, the youngest male Weasley, Harry's childhood best friend, had been burnt alive. Bill Weasley, the eldest, had died in the line of duty, rooting out Voldemort's agents in the Gringott's financial network. As for the third...he had died in the worst way. George Weasley, Fred's twin and original partner in Fred's and George's prank shop (Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes), had been kidnapped and tortured for days. They left George barely alive, but his mind was gone, driven crazy just like they had done to the Longbottom family. Not long after, George committed suicide. This drove Fred to change the purpose of the company he and his twin had created. Instead of producing laughs and pranks, he began to purchase and perfect weapons. After Voldemort was finally defeated, Fred attempted to revert the store to the joke shop it was, but he found that he couldn't. And that, too, was Voldemort's fault.
Fred coughed and Harry turned away so that Fred could wipe his tears. "Ginny says that you magicked a Piercing spell on Percy..." Fred eyed Harry curiously. "Is that true? Can you do that? Are the other magics returning to you?"
"I don't know! Everything's hazy. I remember my scar hurting and then
I had a vis..." Harry remembered the vision vividly. He had seen Percy drill his wand through Ron's skull. It had been so real...like a prophecy or...a Voldemort Memory? Harry's link with Voldemort had been so strong that he could sometimes feel and know what Voldemort knew. But with Voldemort's demise, such instances had vanished and Harry had welcomed the absence of them, such as they were always painful and made him mind susceptible to influence.
"...but I don't know what kind of legal defense we can pull here..." went Fred but he stopped. "You haven't heard a word I said, have you? Come on! I don't mind you dozing off during the inter-company meetings but this is your life we're talking about. I hear that most of the major players in the Order are OPENLY advocating the death penalty for you. It's serious Harry. They want you dead."
Harry laughed, "So let them. Look at me. A wizard devoid of magic. I might as well die. Useless lumps of bollocks like me deserve to die..." He grew serious, his scar hurting more than ever now. He gazed at Fred's concerned eyes and wondered if he should—Not yet, he thought. Harry had no proof that Percy had killed Ron...And he couldn't bear himself to subject his friend to such news. "I have no idea what happened, Fred," admitted Harry finally. "I think I may be guilty. I just wasn't myself."
"NO. You're just trying to find an excuse to die again. I didn't let you then and I won't let you now!" Fred hung his head from the effort, " God. I thought we won the war. I never thought they'd treat you like this...No matter what you thought you did, Harry. It's forgivable. If it weren't for you, England would still be knee-deep in blood...I won't let them do this to you. I won't stand for it. I WON'T!"
Fred had a weird look on him, as if this issue meant more to him than it did to Harry. "Guard!" Fred called, and the guard came dutifully forward, unlocking the door so that Fred could step out. Not many people who weren't lawyers could visit an imprisoned man charged with attempted murder but Fred was the president of the prestigious Weasley Arms as well as brother to England's Minister of Magic. There were few things that Fred hadn't access to.
"Where are you going?" asked Harry.
Fred rubbed his nose. "I'm going to see Percy. If he doesn't press charges, I might be able to save your sorry ass."
Fred was farther away now and Harry yelled, "He's not going to do that you know."
Fred Weasley flipped his thinning gray hair backwards and for an instant, Harry saw the mischievous smile Fred had sported in his youth and before the War. "Percy's my brother. He'll do what I ask. Besides, if that doesn't work, I can always pull his pants down."
"That's not FUNNY! Percy's dangerous! You know better than I—"
But Fred was already gone.
=========================
Fred Weasley, rolled up his sleeves, and stormed through the Ministry Lobby hall. He reckoned, if he looked important enough, he would be able to get pass all the bureaucratic lines and protocols, and reach Percy in time to knock some sense into him.
"What are you doing here, Weasley?" sprawled a dry voice. Oh, crap, Fred thought. I don't have time for this!
"Hello, Malfoy," replied Fred, turning around slowly. Draco Malfoy, dressed in his traditional black Malfoy robes looked as if he were a throwback to the Middle Ages. But like all the Malfoys before him, he was abnormally rich and influential, and also, like all the Malfoys before him, an absolute ass. "You don't work here. Get out." Fred folded his arms. "Last I checked, the Ministry was created to serve the public. To serve everyone, be they monster or men. After all, that was what the Great War was ultimately about—that is, besides defeating Old Voldie and his band of Merry Men." Fred paused and then asked in his most dripping voice, "By the way, how is your father? Still in Azkaban prison, is he?" Fred gave a mock impression of sympathy. They locked eyes with each other. Their families had started their feud with each other generations ago, and the hate had carried over to this day. A Malfoy and a Weasley had once even married, making the two families cousins, but that had only made their bickering worse. During the Great War, the Malfoys and the Weasleys had fought for different sides, and had spilled each other's blood. As the Greek saying went, no blood spilt is like kinsblood spilt. There would never be reconciliation between the two families. There was just too much history between them. Their staring contest continued, both appraising each other like two roosters in a cockfight. Draco was slightly taller than Fred, but was skinnier. His blond hair contrasted sharply with his black robes, and he carried an aura of superiority wherever he went, as if he were disgusted that anyone but him was allowed to exist in the world. Fred, however, noticed something strange about Draco's personage. On closer inspection, Draco's blond hair seemed frazzled, and his black robes were creased as if they had been slept in. Anything that could make Draco forget about his outward appearance would have to be of the utmost import. Fred wondered suspiciously at what it could be. Could he have something to do with Harry's headaches? he wondered. Draco certainly had the motive. He had an unexplainable hate toward Harry that rivaled even the long lasting feud between him and the Weasley clan. When they had been schoolboys, little Draco had offered little Harry a place in his entourage but when Harry refused to, instead choosing to associate himself with Gryffindor-types, a long lasting enmity sprung between them. Fred, of course, had absolutely no proof of Draco's culpability, but when it came to Malfoys, he didn't think he needed any. Already, his mind was formulating theories, and all of them pointed straight to Draco. Just then, Draco spoke, startling Fred from his inner thoughts. "If you are going somewhere..." considered Draco dryly. "...I suggest you stick closely to me. Otherwise, you'll find yourself locked up. This is a restricted area, after all, but I trust even a mongoloid like you knows that. " "Call me that one more time, nancy-boy..." Fred growled, hands balling into fists. "Any day, Weasel, but I'm afraid that my time isn't as freely available as yours is. I only offered you to accompany me out of politeness anyways..." Draco began smiling, baring a row of perfectly even sharp teeth. "Of course, if you don't follow me, you'll never get to see that busy brother of yours. You're here to beg audience of the High and Mighty Percy Weasley, are you not?" Fred wanted to beat the smirk out of Draco but he had to concede defeat. The only way to access Percy was through the right channels, and for Fred, that channel was Draco. He grumbled and then began to follow obediently. Draco snickered, and strode quickly ahead through a series of locked corridors, guards, and obtrusive gates. The guards fawned, saluted, and bowed away at the sight of Draco's gubernatorial badge. This made Fred wonder seriously about whether he had made the right career choice. Business was good, but politics was power. And get caught up in Percy's world? He suddenly thought, nearly frightening himself. No thanks. "We're getting close to Percy's Office," said Draco, showing his Governor's badge to the last of the guards. "You better have a persuasive argument. When the news gets around that Potter's powers are returning, he's going to be forced to execute Potter on principle. He might even preempt the papers and announce Potter's execution via Ministry channels. Ridding the Potter threat is the exact thing he needs to get reelected, and I don't think he'll change his mind just because you're his 'dear old brother'. " "Don't you worry. I know exactly what I'm going to say...But what I really want to know is—Why are you helping me?" asked Fred as he followed Draco through the final gate. "We're trying to free Potter here...your nemesis...why in the world would you do that?" Draco was silent and Fred did not press the question. It was only until they reached the door of Percy's office did Draco whisper, "If anyone's going to kill Potter, it's going to be me. One day, he'll stop hiding behind his lies, and he'll return, with his full powers, back into the wizarding world. Until them, I'll do my utmost to keep him alive. And then I'll make him pay for his crimes. He'll die slowly at a time of my choosing. AT MY CHOOSING!" Draco hissed in great passion, revealing his pent-up rage. The Malfoy mask resurfaced an instant later. "Come. We enter your brother's lair now." The wide doors of the Prime Minister of Magic's Office opened up with a resounding creak of cogs, and the smell of old carpets came wafting out. Percy sat commandingly behind his Minister's Desk...just waiting. His eyes strayed over from Draco to Fred, and then back to Draco again. "Mr. Malfoy. I thought that...our meeting...would be private," said Percy. "Not that I wouldn't enjoy seeing my dear brother but a...civilian...should not be around while matters of state are discussed." Percy waved his wand and an image of his secretary floated in the air. "Mrs. Williamson, please accompany my brother to the lobby. Accommodate him with anything he desires—"
"Fred stays," stated Malfoy simply. "After all, he has a definite interest in all this as well. We were, to discuss the matter of Harry Potter's trial, were we not?"
Percy's face was emotionless but Fred had lived with Percy long enough to know that Percy was, in fact, furious at the moment.
"Of course!" smiled Percy, "Sit. Sit."
The chairs floated expectantly toward Draco and Fred, and as they sat down, Fred felt rather uncomfortable. The doors were shut, and he was surrounded on side by Percy Weasley and on the other Draco Malfoy. Fred wished he had his wand with him, but visitors and non-government personnel could not carry so much as a broom inside Ministry premises.
"So, I suggest that we allow Potter to be set out on bail," initiated Malfoy. "A substantial bail, of course—"
"No, that is impossible, Governor," said Percy, his face a mask of politeness, "He has attempted on my life. While I might be persuaded to forego the legalities of it—The Order of the Phoenix has rather harsher and unmalleable rules regarding assassination."
"Wait, hold up—" Fred began
"Ah, but since he is the Harry Potter, should not leniency be given unto him? Or an investigation, mayhaps?" asked Malfoy. "After all, Potter has had a history of being...possessed...hasn't he?"
"That's right—" Fred slumped back down to his chair as he was once again disregarded by Percy.
"Nonsense," said Percy. "Vold—Vol—He was the only one with that ability. So that assumption is impossible. It is more likely that Harry has finally snapped. His tragedy, his loss of powers, the loss of his friends, must have finally overwhelm him over the years—"
"Now wait a minute—"
"Nevertheless—"
Fred stood up quickly, knocking his chair backwards. He moved so quick that even Malfoy was startled and had stopped in mid-sentence. Fred huffed, "Now you bastards listen to me! I don't want to beat around the bush. I'm not part of the Order or the Ministry. I came her to see that Harry gets a fair deal. You either free him or I'm going directly to Dumbledore." Fred glared at them. "What's it going to be, you nasty berks."
At the mention of Dumbledore, both Malfoy and Percy fidgeted, and for a moment, Fred pictured them when they were younger. Somehow, so many years after their Hogwart's tutelage, they were still afraid of their old Headmaster, Dumbledore.
"Fred. Sit down—'NO! Give me an answer'—I said sit down!" commanded Percy. "It's not up to me, Fred. I may be Head of the Order and Prime Minister but England is a land ruled by laws. I cannot disregard them just because of my past associations with Harry." Percy sighed, pinching his nosebridge. "You do not know how tenuous my position is...Elections are coming soon and this Potter crisis...It's going to be an issue. If you go to Dumbledore, my base will turn on me like hounds to the hunt. Don't get me wrong, I absolutely adore Dumbledore but he was never one to make the right kind of political friends. All I'm asking you to do, now, is to trust that I will do right by Potter. You do believe me, of course?"
Fred eyed Percy and said, "What a load of crap, Perce."
With that, he stormed out, leaving a rather shocked Percy in his wake.
Draco laughed, flourishing his cape as he went after Fred, "Oh, my. It seems like Fred knows your tricks even better than I do."
Percy frowned, his façade breaking as he saw Draco leave his office laughing that insidious laugh of his.
"Oh, Damn-you-all-to-Hades," Percy swore, taking a large malt liquor from his cabinet, and began to pour shots for himself. The irony was that, for once, he had been telling the truth. The other Corner fellow was polling favorably, and Percy's fickle political financiers were restless. Any political wind in Corner's favor might tip the scales plummeting Percy into political ruin. The most important thing, he knew, would be the swing votes. The Slytherin-type voters, which had never showed any loyalty to either the Castor or Pollex political parties, would be hotly contested in the upcoming election. If Dumbledore and Percy were to be even named in the same Daily Prophet article, those swing voters would rush toward Corner, and along with them, his hopes for another term as Minister.
Percy could not allow that to happen.
"Mr. Weasley? Sir?"
"What is it, Mrs. Williamson?" Percy glared testily at his secretary. He had told the midget woman to always knock before entering but the absent- minded fool always forgot. Were it not for her highly excellent family relations, he would have fired her a long time ago.
"It's Commissioner Krum, sir—" Percy waved his hand. "Tell Agent K to Apparate in, then. He needn't announce himself every time—" Mrs. Williamson shook her head, and then answered with distraught reluctance, "No, sir...He's dead." Percy almost spilled the shot glass he held in his hand. His mind raced fiendishly. "Gather the Order of the Phoenix, Mrs. Williamson." "Yes, sir." "And tell our boys at the Prophet to hush it up until we can figure out the proper spin to this." "Yes sir." She turned to follow her orders but her earpiece began to glow as further news came in. "Mr. Prime Minister! I've just received news that the Ministry of France is being attacked by Giants!" "What!" Mrs. Williamson cocked her head to her left, listening intently. "I'm getting reports all over Europe. Let me channel Agent X through." She pointed her wand, mumbling a series of words over and over again, "Telescopo Vidi Alohomora... Telescopo Vidi Alohomora..." The image of an aged and scarred man appeared. 'Hello, little brother.' 'Shut up with the pleasantries, Charlie. What's happening over in France?" Percy asked concernedly. Behind Charlemagne Xavier Weasley was chaos personified. There were Mediwizards running around and the amount of blood and smoke in the air shocked Percy, who had never truly seen a battlefield before. "Giants, Percy. They crept up to Paris in the middle of the night. I don't know how...Merlin's beard, they're tearing apart the Eiffel Tower! The French government is in total disarray—", began Charlie—"Get those supplies to them Muggles first! They heal slower—"Percy, I can't talk anymore, there's too much fighting still going on and the rookies I'm training aren't combat- proven against giants. Send reinforcements, if you can—"
"No. I want you to pull out. Along with your squad." Percy commanded.
"But—"
"No buts, Charlie. I need my ablest person commanding the defenses along the English Channel. The French are going to have to weather this out themselves. I'll send Delacour some of our Horned Tail Dragons but that's all I'm willing to spare until I have sufficient intel."
Charlie frowned but saluted. "Yes, sir. Agent X out."
Percy summoned other such viewing screens and as the images of agents started to appear in his room, he began to dictate to them his orders.
"Agent Y here in Germany—The vampires are coming out of the woodwork—"
"Agent T here in Norway—Harpies! They're enormous! The Yanks are trying to—'
"Agent R...Werewolves...Lupin out."
By the time Percy finished pulling back his diplomats, shoring up defenses, and sending out his scouts, it was nearly time for one of his monthly dinners with his wife. Percy was loathed to eat anything. His stomach churned like compacted garbage, and he had the strangest sensation that he was overlooking something important.
Germany, France and Norway had been attacked viciously by a coordinated and vicious enemy...Percy was no Rommel but he knew encirclement when he saw it. Someone was following in Voldemort's footsteps.
Percy tapped the Telescopo Vidi Alohomora box—called T.V.A.'s or Tivas—in front of him. The familiar call-fog rose from it, and he started a communication line to the only one of his Agents he could trust to handle the Krum murder.
"Pruett? Are you awake?" he asked gently. The time might be evening in England but over in Siberia, it was most likely early dawn. The woman in the viewing screen scratched her T-back panties before answering. "This is Elizabeth, you bloody hoke. Who the hell are you?"
Percy smiled. The woman must have been on another bender again for her not to recognize him. "It's Percy, dear."
The woman began to stumble over herself, as she clawed for her work- robes.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Minister Weasley, sir. I thought Lee was pranking me again...and..."
Percy shook his head. "No need to apologize. Just get to Hamburg immediately. Commissioner Krum's had his throat slit over there in Kraut- land, and you're to be the pointman for the investigation."
As Percy expected, the shock of hearing such horrible news passed through Pruett's system quickly, and instead of returning with a stupid question, she asked, "Respectfully, sir, this may not be such a good idea, you sending me there. I don't understand the German psyche at all. Maybe you should send one of the Abbots..."
"Don't worry," smiled Percy. "Your liaison will be an adequate tool enough. And I've requisitioned him to be your new partner as well, so you might as well spend the time getting to know him. John's a little green behind the ears but—" "You've got to be kidding me, sir." Pruett's politeness vanished, and she was obviously displeased at being saddled with a new partner. "What is this—the sixth one? Why do you keep asking me to train your newbies? Do I look motherly to you?" She pointed to the pan of fried eggs that lay atop her bed, as a symbol of the general bedlam that was her flat. "Because they always come out of your crash course as more effective Aurors. Oh, come now. It can't be that bad. John comes from a highly reputable wizarding family,"—Percy ignored Pruett's groan—", and I'm sure you two will get along famously with each other." Percy began to receive another call through his wand. He hurried to finish his orders to his agent. "I have to go now, Pruett. Try to find Krum's killer as soon as possible. It's going to be a PR nightmare, as it is, and I'd liked the case to be half-solved by the time their media-dogs pick up my trail, if you catch my meaning. "I'll try my best, sir." Percy stared at her. "I didn't ask you to 'try.' Just do it. Percy out." He closed the Tiva device, and the conference call with Pruett ended immediately. He flicked out his wand, uttered the two pass codes necessary to retrieve any messages he might have missed, and was annoyed that the last four had come from his wife. Clingy woman, he muttered silently. Percy stood up from his wooden Minister chair, and walked deterministically toward his window. The view was magicked and it allowed him to gaze at places all over England. This was his empire. No one, not Corner, not some Voldemort-wannabe, or even the Dark Lord himself could wretch it away from his grasp. They would have to pry it from his dead hands. Even as he thought this, another part of his mind worked feverishly on a list of suspects or organizations that could pull off such a coordinated piece of international terrorism. Controlling magical creatures was not an easy thing to accomplish, and to do it under the radar of Percy's intelligence network...Percy began to review through what he knew. Someone was most definitely aping Voldemort, he thought to himself. Follow the logic, Percy...Come on... He had studied Voldemort's history intensively in school, and he remembered that, not long after Voldemort had attacked the countries surrounding England, the next target had been... Percy's mind suddenly clicked, his face frozen frigid in shock as if he had just realized a horrible truth. He rushed out of his office and began to yell: "Everyone! Apparate out! Now!"
Just then an explosion rocketed the building and the inside of the place became a smoldering mess of fire, leaving nothing in its wake but death and destruction.
