Harry Potter is Dead

Chapter 8 | Lord Voldemort's Plan


The day dawned clear, bright, and still. Chilly for May, George was reluctant to leave his bed that morning; he was warm, comfortable, and most importantly, tired. He had made it clear to his mother a long time ago that he was not to be woken until at least ten or eleven, yet here the bedside clock read only eight thirty and already she was stomping up and down the stairs, rousing his siblings from their beds as if they had a scarlet steam engine to catch. Mrs. Weasley's voice carried from the floor above, as clear as if she had been standing a foot away.

"Up, Ron . . . up, I said! Kingsley's colleague from Croatia will be Flooing in any minute and you'll want to- "

"All right, M'up, M'up . . ." Ron mumbled irritably. In his bed, George sat up a little straighter.

"Don't use that tone with me." Mrs. Weasley threatened. "Now go."

The floorboards creaked above as Ron heaved himself out of his bed, grumbling imperceptibly. There was a series of bangs as Mrs. Weasley took the stairs two at a time. A moment later she burst into George's bedroom, an overflowing basket of laundry under one arm.

"Kingsley's friend from the Ministry - "

"I heard." George said, pushing off his covers and rolling his eyes up at the ceiling. "I'll be down in a minute."

Mrs. Weasley, slightly pink in the face, pursed her lips and left to go rouse the others. George threw on a t-shirt and jeans and shuffled, bleary-eyed, down into the kitchen.

The downstairs was still filling. George's father was meandering about the living room, glancing at the grate every few minutes. Percy and Hermione were seated at the kitchen table, both fully dressed and washed, looking as if they had been awake for hours. Andromeda played with Teddy on the sofa, and as George entered, Ron came stumbling down the stairs behind.

After a few minutes of waiting, after Dean, Luna, and Mrs. Weasley had arrived, the glowing embers in the fireplace suddenly flared up into bright green flames. Kingsley stepped neatly out of the grate and onto the rug, followed by a stout man with a weary, sooty face and a strange hat that did not entirely conceal the little bald spot on the crown of his head.

"Arthur Weasley, yes?" He said thickly, in an accent difficult for George to place. Croatian, his mother had said? The man swept off his funny little hat and clasped Mr. Weasley's hand. "Emerik Branimir. Where ees ze Death Eater?"

"He's around back. Right this way."

The procession trooped out onto the lawn, towards the outline of Malfoy's small tent against the orchard trees, just outside of the Burrow's protective enchantments. They halted at the edge of the magical border, unsure of what to do with themselves, until Branimir cleared his throat and pulled out his wand.

"I think you, young man, vill state the Vows, as discussed?" He said, indicating Bill, who nodded. "Very good. If you vill follow, please."

Bill and Branimir vanished within the folds of the little tent for a moment, but soon returned, pulling Malfoy with them. Malfoy dragged his feet, stalling, and George knew why; the backstabbing little bastard was having second thoughts.

"Scum." George heard Ron mutter under his breath. George offered him a small smirk.

Bill forced Malfoy to stand upright and stuck out his hand. Malfoy straightened, gathering what little dignity he had deluded himself into believing he still possessed, and grasped Bill's hand as well.

"Now, young man, ven you are ready." Branimir said, flourishing his wand.

"Malfoy." Bill said. "Do you swear unwavering and unanimous loyalty to the Order of the Phoenix?"

Malfoy swallowed. "Yes." he answered, and a bright tongue of flame shot out of Branimir's wand, circling around Bill's and Malfoy's clasped hands, like some enchanted, unbreakable chain.

"Do you promise to assist the Order in any way you can, by all means necessary, to ensure their success in this war?"

"Yes." A second rope of flame erupted from Branimir's entwined itself around the first. Malfoy attempted to look away, shuffling nervously, but Bill fixed his gaze steadily on Malfoy, holding his own.

"And will you never return to You-Know-Who's service, but instead work as hard as you can to bring him and his regime down?"

This time Malfoy hesitated, but only for a moment. "I will." He said finally, and a final thread of flame twisted and snaked around Malfoy's and Bill's hands, glowed bright for a moment, and then dissipated like smoke in the wind.


"This is really excellent, Molly." said Kingsley.

Next to him, Branimir nodded, mouth still full of bacon. "Yes, yes! Quite right, dear lady, I have never tasted such a meal before!"

"You shouldn't have gone to all the trouble." Kingsley said.

"Nonsense!" She chirped, flushing with pride and setting a jar of jam on the table. "No trouble at all!"

Despite Kingsley and Branimir's polite declination, Mrs. Weasley refused point-blank to let them leave without breakfast. Once the Vow was made, the Weasleys and their guests had trooped back into the kitchen and sat down to Mrs. Weasley's usual glorious feast of a meal, all of which had been somehow whipped up in ten minutes.

There was a long moment in which the only sound was the chirping of birds and the scraping of forks and knives on plates. Then:

"So d'you reckon he's safe to trust now?" Dean said.

"Well, I wouldn't exactly say trust," Bill swallowed his eggs, "but I'm confident we've closed all the loopholes. If he tries anything funny . . . well, you know what'll happen."

"Well, if anything I'm glad we're still keeping him out of the house." Mrs. Weasley said.

Ron nodded. "You know . . . I don't even think we need him here any more at all. I mean, d'you even think he'll be much help now? We have all the information he's got."

"True." Luna said thoughtfully.

Silence hung over the kitchen once more, the same thoughts undoubtedly running through all of their minds: Malfoy's no longer useful. We have all of his information. Voldemort's getting closer to reaching his goal every day, and we still don't know enough. So how the hell are we supposed to stop him?

"I'd rather we kept an eye on him, actually. Just in case." Mr. Weasley said.

"And it can't hurt to keep him here, can it?" Dean said.

"Yeah," Ron agreed. "Yeah, can't hurt."

George sighed. "So . . . what now?" He asked. "How are we supposed to get any more information? What do we do?"

"Well, you're not being very helpful, are you, George?" Percy said, and as he spoke, there was that familiar, snide tone in his voice; the shadow of his old, pompous self just visible in the way he stuck up his nose. "If you want to know what the plan is, try thinking up one yourself."

"I don't see you doing much work here." George retorted in a low, threatening growl.

"Let's go over what we know already." said Kingsley evenly, putting his knife and fork down and shortly dismissing the tension between Percy and George that crackled in the air like electricity. "You-Know-Who's making these Horcrux things, which very nearly make him immortal. Harry's destroyed most of them, though, so there's only one left - "

"The snake." Ron said.

"The snake." Kingsley nodded. "We've got to kill that, and then keep You-Know-Who from finding a way to create a Horcrux that can't be destroyed."

"But ve do dot know how." Branimir said.

"No," Kingsley admitted. "If he's still at Hogwarts - which he most likely is - then it's going to be damn near impossible to get in. It has even more protection on it than it did when Dumbledore was alive. Dark magic, terrible stuff; word has it the castle's become more like a prison than a school these days. The kids aren't even allowed home for the summer any more."

"It's a good thing we have Bill, then." Mr. Weasley smiled weakly, and Bill returned it halfheartedly.

"I can do a few things," Bill said. "But only a few. With enchantments of that scale, the most I could manage is to weaken the protection a bit. Entering directly is out of the question."

"Well, it's a start." Hermione said, in a rather transparent attempt to be positive.

"Not much of one." Dean said.

"Hermione's right." Luna piped up. "If we're going to get through this, we've got to have faith."

There was a short pause.

"Well said." Mr. Weasley smiled.

"It doesn't mean we've given up." Charlie said. "Or that we don't have a way in. We just have to find a loophole, some entrance that the Death Eaters haven't - "

"Mum."

Although the voice was strained and quiet, it instantly commanded the attention of every single person in the room. Eleven heads whipped around to the bottom of the staircase, where Ginny's emaciated form stood, half-hiding herself in the doorframe. Her hair was as wild as her eyes, which bulged out of their sockets, staring unblinkingly. Her jaw was set tight, making her look as if she was in pain. One hand was lost in her tangle of hair, the other closed in a fist, beating incessantly against the wall.

"Ginny, dear!" Mrs. Weasley cooed maternally, though surprise was also evident in her tone. "I thought you were getting ready for your nap! Have you got your pyjamas on? Are you ready for your book?" She fluttered across the room and pulled her daughter into a sheltering hug.

"No - mum, no - " Ginny muttered. She weakly tried to fend off her mother's arms. "I have to - to - important - "

"Have to what, dear?" Mrs. Weasley purred dismissively, still gently attempting to usher Ginny up the stairs. "Come, I'll read you The Fountain of Fair Fortune - "

"No book!" Ginny shouted, and the only sound was a collective intake of breath from those seated at the table. George dimly registered the scrape of a chair against the scuffed floors, and suddenly he realized he was on his feet.

"No book." Ginny repeated, softer. "This is important."

Mrs. Weasley no longer tried to put her arm around her daughter. "Well, tell us, dear." She said encouragingly, but curiosity and foreboding were evident in her tone as well.

"Who is - " Branimir began.

"Shh." Said Ron.

Ginny opened her mouth to speak, took a deep breath, and then closed it quickly. She turned her head to the side, so that her hair fell over her face, eyes staring at something that wasn't there.

"No, no I don't - please . . . " Her face crumpled, and she paused. A small tear dripped from the end of her nose, and then she nodded. "I know."

When Ginny looked up again, she appeared determined and strong, and when she spoke, her voice was full of a sudden life that had not been present there in a long time.

"He's found a way to make his final Horcrux, but it's going to be a bit before he can act on it. He's currently creating a potion of his own invention, to which the Horcrux is added. If he consumes this potion, he's going to become immortal. However - it's extremely difficult to make. In order for the potion to work effectively . . . he'll need to use the souls of one thousand dead and one thousand living, added to the potion by some horrible spell he's thought up. He's remaining at Hogwarts so that he can use the students to make himself immortal. He'll give them all the Dementor's Kiss if we don't stop him soon."

Shock reverberated through George's body. The stunned silence that followed was physically real, tangible, everywhere; George could feel it hanging in the air, like a pillow against his face, sucking the breath from his lungs. Ginny's words streamed like a silver ribbon through his head, repeating, echoing, filling the empty silence of the room with the force and volume of a stadium crowd.

"You-Know-Who's found a way . . . final Horcrux . . . immortal . . . one thousand dead and one thousand living . . ."

George could not process it. Whether it was because of the sheer gravity of the words just spoken, or the fact that they had come from his mentally unstable little sister, none of it seemed to register in George's head. He did not want to believe it; it seemed absurd, impossible . . . how could Voldemort truly be immortal? And how could Ginny possibly know this?

The logical, sensible part of George wanted to dismiss Ginny's words, to chalk it up to her insanity and her instability. But her face as she said it, and her tone . . . it was as if, for the first time since Harry's death, she had actually understood what was coming out of her mouth. Ginny's madness had turned her into a child, sensitive and innocent and afraid. Now, all of a sudden, it was as if she had aged ten years. She sounded like herself again, and it scared George.

George was not aware of how much time had passed since Ginny finished speaking. All he knew was that there was a long, stunned pause, and then at last, his father found his voice.

"Ginny, how - how do you know this?" Mr. Weasley stammered incredulously, his eyes wide.

She swallowed and seemed to steel herself. When she spoke, it was as if the answer took great personal strain to give.

"Harry . . . Harry told me."