The Potter Brand

by JBean210

In August 1995, Harry helps a stranger in Little Whinging and is given the Star Brand in return, a mysterious artifact of immense power that can solve the Voldemort problem in no time. But things are always more complicated than they appear! Complete.

2. The Star Brand

The Potter Brand

Chapter 2

"The Star Brand"

"Well that's just marvelous!" Harry shouted. "Simply marvelous! When were you planning on telling me all of this, Professor?!"

Professor Dumbledore had just spent the past several minutes explaining the function of a Horcrux to him. "I understand your feelings in this, Harry —"

"No, I don't think you do!" Harry cut over him, leaning over the desk to stare into Dumbledore's eyes. The decapitated head of Lord Voldemort was still lying on the blotter between them. "I've spent four years in school learning wizardry and trying to figure out what was supposed to happen with me and Voldemort! He's attacked me, more than once, just in my first year, using Professor Quirrell as his puppet!

"Then, in my second year, Malfoy's father sent that damned diary of Tom Riddle's to school with Ginny, stirring up his memories so much he was nearly able to come back to life somehow, at the cost of her life, and meanwhile he called up the Basilisk, which could have killed everyone in this school if he'd wanted it to!" Harry's anger was beginning to build steam as he realized just how long he'd been kept in the dark about the true nature of Lord Voldemort.

"Then, last year, Voldemort managed to get a Death Eater inside Hogwarts, and he's here a whole bloody year, teaching us Defense Against the Dark Arts, and he sends Cedric and me off to be killed by Voldemort, after helping to bring him back to life!" Harry resumed his angry pacing. "Cedric is dead because I wanted him to share equally in the Tri-Wizard championship! And now, I find out there's more stuff you haven't bothered to tell me about Voldemort! Now he's not even really dead yet!" Harry stopped pacing and faced the headmaster again, his faced flushed, his expression furious.

Dumbledore's head was bowed. "It is not quite as simple as that, Harry —"

"Well how bloody simple does it need to be, for you to just tell me what the hell is going on?!" Harry shouted.

"Harry, if you would allow me to explain, without interruption," Dumbledore went on, a tinge of irritation in his tone. "I believe I will be able to answer most of your questions, both spoken and unspoken." Harry walked to a nearby chair and flopped down, making an impatient gesture for the Headmaster to continue.

"When I first learned that Lord Voldemort was still alive, some time after the events that took place on Hallowe'en of 1981 at your parents' house," Dumbledore began, as Harry stared unwaveringly at him. "I realized that only the darkest of magic could have sustained him against the ancient protection your mother's death gave you.

"Normally, a Dark wizard creates only one Horcrux in order to bind himself to the living world. Knowing Tom Riddle as I did, however, I believed that he would push the boundaries of that most malefic spell, and I set out to establish just that."

Harry, interested in spite of his anger, asked, "So how many of these Horcruxes did Voldemort create?"

"I do not yet know," Dumbledore responded, surprisingly. "As both three and seven are powerful magical numbers, I suspect he has split his soul into either three or seven parts."

"Seven?" Harry yelped. "You think he made up to seven of these Horcruxes?"

"One part of his soul would have remained within his body," the headmaster explained. He looked down at Voldemort's head, lying on his blotter. "It is possible it still resides here, within his head, even though it is detached from his body."

Harry spared it only a momentary glance. "I can't see why, Professor — I'm pretty sure this head is dead, after all."

"I agree, Harry," Dumbledore smiled. "However, any object, whether living or not, can be made into a Horcrux with the application of the proper Dark spell. Thereafter, it can only be destroyed by a few magical substances, or by the creator's own remorse over the murder done to create it; the pain of mending one's soul may intense enough to kill."

"I could utterly destroy Voldemort's head," Harry said, reaching for it, but Dumbledore put up a hand quickly to stop him.

"I wish to keep this for your upcoming hearing," the old wizard told Harry, as the latter withdrew his hand. "Cornelius Fudge will likely insist there is insufficient evidence of Voldemort's return — this will effectively refute his argument.

"In any event, Harry," Dumbledore went on, "I believe you said you used the Sword of Gryffindor to behead Voldemort?" Harry nodded.

"If you'll recall," Dumbledore said, his tone now reminiscent of a teacher giving a well-rehearsed lecture, "When you were attacked by the Basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets, you drove the point of the sword into its mouth, and venom from the Basilisk's fangs penetrated the sword. Basilisk venom is one of the few substances able to destroy Horcruxes. That is why I believe that this head no longer contains a Horcrux."

Harry had decapitated Voldemort with a two-handed swing of the Sword of Gryffindor, the blade cleaving his neck almost effortlessly. He sat down and regarded the headmaster silently for some time. Finally, "Alright, so what now? How do we find out what the rest of these Horcruxes are?"

"I have a final person to interview concerning Tom Riddle," Dumbledore replied, reseating himself at his desk and gesturing at Voldemort's head, which moved off to one side, freeing up his blotter once again. "One of his former teachers here at Hogwarts. Unfortunately," he added, looking soberly at Harry over his half-moon spectacles, "he has gone into hiding since Voldemort's return, and I have not yet been able to locate him."

"How could he find out about Voldemort's return?" Harry wanted to know. "There's been nothing in the Prophet about it for the past month."

"Horace has his sources," Dumbledore said, writing a final few words on a sheet of parchment, then taking out his wand and tapping it and an envelope. The letter folded and inserted itself into the envelope. Reading upside down, Harry was just able to make out the name on it, "Horace Slughorn," before it floated into the air and zoomed out of the headmaster's office. "He's very well-connected in the wizarding world," Dumbledore mentioned. "Unfortunately, however, if he does not want to be found, it will be very difficult to make contact with him. He is quite skilled at remaining hidden, from friend and foe alike."

"Why would he be hiding? Is he that afraid? Does Voldemort have a grudge against him, or something?" That was something Harry could understand, after all; his parents had gone into hiding to keep Voldemort from finding them. Harry jerked a thumb at Voldemort's head. "It seems like he'd be happy to hear about this, if he's so worried about being caught."

"Perhaps," Dumbledore said, a note of skepticism in his voice. "But if I am correct in my assumption, he will know this is not the end for the Dark Lord. Voldemort has had at least a month now, to plan for such contingencies; if his defeat all those years ago taught him anything, I would think at least he would be more prepared now than then." Dumbledore looked at Harry, his expression calm.

Reminded of Dumbledore's eyes on him, Harry asked, "Why wouldn't you look at me earlier, Professor? You don't seem to have a problem doing it now."

"There was a risk, earlier," Dumbledore said, gesturing toward Harry's forehead. "After Voldemort returned, I believed his link to you grew stronger as well. As you've had no experience with Occlumency —"

"Which is what, exactly?" Harry interrupted, impolitely.

"— Occlumency, which is a technique wizards use to shield themselves from mental intrusions and influence," Dumbledore went on, almost as if Harry had not cut over him. "Without it, I believe Voldemort is able to read your thoughts — you have long shown indications of being able to detect Voldemort's presence, and emotions, when he was near to you, or feeling powerful emotions."

"I suppose so," Harry shrugged. "But that doesn't matter now — he's dead, except for his Horcruxes." Harry looked suddenly thoughtful. "Professor — what would happen if I tried to find these Horcruxes using the Star Brand?"

"I do not know," Dumbledore said, after a moment of contemplation, "I have no experience with such an artifact."

"Well, I do," Harry said confidently — but then stopped. How would he go about locating a Horcrux? He concentrated for several seconds, but his mind was blank — he had no idea how he might locate one with the Brand.

"I guess I can't do it right now," Harry finally said, looking again at Dumbledore. "I probably need to learn more about Horcruxes before I can come up with a way to find them."

"I will be able to provide some books for you," Dumbledore nodded, then took out his wand and waved it. Two books floated off a shelf in the study and down into Harry's hands. He looked at them: both books were of ancient manufacture, bound in heavy leather. The first one was Secrets of the Darkest Art, with no author given; the second was titled The Dark Arts Revealed, by Ignoblus Vasterd (published posthumously in 1823).

Harry looked up from the books and nodded toward Dumbledore, as if he were about to leave, but then asked, "I expect that Fudge will listen to reason, now that we've produced Voldemort's head, and will cancel the hearing?"

Dumbledore didn't look very optimistic. "I will broach the subject to him, Harry; you are correct, we can produce Mrs. Figg as a witness to the dementors that attacked you, and clause seven of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery states that magic may be used in front of Muggles in circumstances such as situations that threaten the life of the wizard or witch directly, or other wizards, witches or Muggles in his or her presence.

"For now, however, Harry," Dumbledore said, speaking very seriously. "It would be best if you did not mention anything about Horcruxes to anyone. It is a very sensitive subject, and in this case, we do not want Voldemort to have any clue that we are aware of them. I believe he has kept his knowledge of them from everyone, even his own followers."

"If you say so," Harry said, indifferently. "I won't tell anyone."

"As for this," Dumbledore indicated Voldemort's head, "I will turn it over to Cornelius — or rather, I think, to Rufus Scrimgeour, the head Auror, who will undoubtedly treat it with much more impartiality. I will be in touch with you —"

But Harry had already disappeared in a burst of white light, taking the two Dark Arts books with him.

***

Harry reappeared inside the front entrance of number twelve, Grimmauld Place. It was very late by now, but quiet voices could still be heard from the dining room, just down the main hallway. It was Sirius Black, his godfather, and Remus Lupin, his Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher two years ago.

"Are you sure you can't think of any reasonable explanation for what he can do now?" Sirius was saying. "A legend of a powerful artifact, perhaps?"

"The only one I can think of," Lupin replied, "is the Wand of Destiny, but Harry wasn't using a wand."

Harry moved a few steps nearer to the dining room entrance, listening.

"It doesn't make any sense," Sirius muttered. "What could have happened in the past month?"

Harry imagined that his eyes were like Mad-Eye Moody's, able to see through solid objects. He peered upward, looking for his trunk or Hedwig's cage, finally locating them in a room on the second floor, along with Ron, who was asleep in one of the two beds; it was the room he'd appeared in when he first came to the house.

He was tempted to simply Apparate (or whatever he should call his ability to travel almost instantly from place to place — it wasn't really Apparition, as the Wizarding world knew it) to his room and go quietly to sleep. It would serve his godfather and Lupin right, for not keeping him informed about what Dumbledore had been doing the past month.

"There's no way to know without asking him," Lupin was saying. Harry, now looking through the walls at them, saw Sirius shake his head.

"Not a good idea," Sirius said. "He's got no reason to tell us the truth."

"You think he'd lie to us, Sirius?" Lupin said, surprised.

"I would, if I were him," Sirius said matter-of-factly. "He's got no reason to trust us, really. We kept him in the dark since he went home to Surrey — Dumbledore had his friends sending him letters saying they couldn't tell him anything, and that he'd find out what was going on 'soon.' I wouldn't have put up with it as long as he did, if I was in his place!"

"It seems like you are in his place," Lupin said, giving his fellow Marauder a shrewd look. "Dumbledore hasn't let you go much of anywhere since you lent him this place for headquarters." He shrugged resignedly. "But, I'm in the same spot you are, mind you, so I can't say much. Dumbledore isn't telling any of us much of anything."

Harry had been on the verge of disappearing, but he hesitated. Perhaps everyone was in the same situation as he was, and that was the reason nobody was telling him anything. Because of Dumbledore. Looking into his room again, he imagined the books he held were now up there, on the desk, and they disappeared from his hands, reappearing where his mind's eye placed them on the desk. Then he stepped forward from the darkened hallway into the entrance of the dining room. "Hello," he said.

Both Lupin and Sirius came to their feet. "Harry!" Sirius said, coming over to him. "Welcome back! Come in and have a seat."

Harry didn't move. "It's late," he said. "I thought I would just go up to bed. But I wanted to let you know, I talked to Dumbledore — he's going to the Ministry tomorrow, to try to get things square with them."

Sirius was grinning at him. "He'll whip them into shape, no doubt. But if Remus and Snape both agree that Voldemort is dead, it seems like old Fudge will have no choice but to agree."

Harry shrugged. Lupin was watching him closely. "You don't seem especially happy about it, Harry."

That was true, Harry realized. When he'd gone to kill Voldemort an hour or so ago, it had seemed like a perfectly reasonable thing to do. It had certainly been satisfying, the feel of the sword in his hand as he drove it through the Dark Lord's neck, watching his head fall free of its body and tumble to the floor, imagining the headless body bursting into flames, as well as Malfoy's mansion, a minute later…

"Are you alright, Harry," a voice came to him, dimly, as if from far away, and Harry realized he'd been lost in some fugue.

"Yeah," he said, looking away. "Just tired, I s'pose. I'll go to —"

A hand touched his arm. "Wait a second, Harry." It was Sirius. "We wanted — we wanted to talk to you for a moment."

"Can it wait?" Harry mumbled. He didn't want to talk. He didn't even want to think, at the moment — just to sleep.

"It could, but — Harry, just what's happened to you?" It was Remus now. "You've been doing things beyond belief these past few hours!

"You managed to defeat Dumbledore's Fidelius Charm, somehow — something that's never been done before. You Apparated into this house, right through the protection spells — also unheard of. And taking Voldemort's head —" Remus shook his head in utter amazement. "You have to admit, Harry, you've changed quite a bit from a month ago."

There was a long pause before Harry replied. When he finally looked up at them, there was a weariness in his eyes that made both men take notice.

"I don't understand everything that's happened this evening," he said at last, with a quietness that belied the turmoil in his soul. "I was upset, earlier, because I've been cooped up on Privet Drive with nobody telling me anything — I've had to pull newspapers out of bins to find out what's been going on in the world — my aunt and uncle think I should be arrested for giving a damn — my cousin Dudley's idea of being well-informed is knowing whose ears he's going to box next."

Harry held up his hand, showing them the Star Brand on his palm. "A man named Kenneth Connell gave me this, earlier tonight. That's a whole story in itself, but to sum up, he gave me the power to do anything —"

"Anything?" Sirius cut in, quizzically.

"How do you mean?" Remus asked, intently.

"I mean, anything I can imagine, will happen," Harry said. He held out his hand. "For example, if I imagine myself holding the Sword of Gryffindor —" there was a flash of light and the Sword appeared in Harry's hand, its long silver blade gleaming even in the dim light of the dying fireplace. He handed it to Lupin, who took it, gingerly. "It's the real Sword, you can see," Harry said. "Dumbledore told me, when I killed the Basilisk, that the blade absorbed some of its venom. You could check for that."

Lupin looked at Harry for a moment, then nodded and took out his wand. Tapping the blade at several points along its length, he nodded a few moments later. "Yes," he said, "I detect basilisk venom along the tip, for about the first twelve inches of the blade. This is also a goblin-forged blade." Harry nodded, and Sirius took the blade from Lupin, examining it closely.

"The rest can wait 'til tomorrow," Harry said, starting to turn away.

"What will you do, now that Voldemort's dead?" Lupin asked unexpectedly.

Hunt for his Horcruxes, Harry wanted to say, but Dumbledore's request for him to remain silent about them was still fresh in his mind. Although, Harry now realized, it did seem strange that Dumbledore had kept this one very important fact about Voldemort a secret from everyone, even the members of his elite inner circle in the Order of the Phoenix.

Whatever he might make of that business, however, he wasn't going to bring it up now. Instead, "I dunno, really. I suppose, if I can show that Voldemort is dead, they might believe me about Peter Pettigrew as well, and Sirius will be cleared of his murder. If Peter doesn't come forward on his own, I suspect I'll be casting the Animagus Revealment Charm on a lot of pet rats soon."

Both Sirius and Remus chuckled, though Sirius's laugh had a bitter edge to it. "If nothing else, Harry, I might become Padfoot, and hang out at Hogwarts for the next few years, while you finish your O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s — it'll be nice being around you more often, and I'm sure we can whip up an adventure or two while we're at it!"

Remus sighed. "Haven't we discussed that already, Sirius? Dumbledore will never allow it."

"Dumbledore can't to object to something if he doesn't know about it," Sirius said, giving Harry a wink. Harry smiled.

Lupin sighed gustily. "You're doing it again, Sirius."

Sirius regarded him coolly. "Oh? And what is it I'm doing, exactly?"

"You're thinking about Harry like he's James again."

"Oh, and you feel left out?" Sirius said, with mock pity. "Remus, get a grip, for hell's sake! I'm treating Harry like a godson I lost contact with for a dozen years and more, and I want to get to know him better!

"Now I'm sure things weren't altogether rosy for you, Remus, out there scrounging a living since you left Hogwarts. But at least you were free to do so! I — was — NOT!"

"Oh, you don't know the half of what I went through," Lupin said, his voice tight with suppressed emotion. "I spent years living hand-to-mouth, rejected by both wizard kind and other werewolves. When Dumbledore found me, two years ago, I was on my last legs — homeless, nearly penniless — I barely had more than the clothes on my back, until he offered me the Dark Arts position at Hogwarts. That let me get back on my feet again — and I would've helped you, as well, if I'd been able to find you!"

"Easy enough to say that, now," Sirius scoffed.

"Enough!" Harry snarled, suddenly. He stepped away from the two men. "You two are acting like some old, married couple! I've had enough!" In a flash of light, Harry vanished. An instant later he reappeared outside, in Grimmauld Square. It was dark, well after midnight by now, and the air was still warm and somewhat humid.

Harry hardly noticed any of this, however. He'd had to get away from Sirius and Lupin — from everyone in the house, really — before he completely broke down. What he'd done earlier that evening was finally sinking in — he'd killed a man!

Oh, Voldemort wasn't much of a man, that was true, but he was still human, and what Connell had said to him in Dumbledore's office — "Is your conscience clear on all counts?" — was running through Harry's head, over and over again. It was a question he could not answer "Yes" to, truthfully, because he knew what he had done. He had done murder.

Harry staggered over to an old, worn-out bench, dropping onto it and covering his face, filled with horror and shame. He had reveled in Voldemort's death earlier, exulted in it, but now he could scarcely believe he had done such a thing. It was not like him to act like that — so ruthless, almost sadistic as he recalled circling Voldemort, showing him the Star Brand and throwing in his teeth the immortality he would never have, now, as the sword cleaved his head from his neck. His insides churned painfully, and Harry groaned, bent forward, and threw up the few remnants of last night's dinner.

He stayed that way he didn't know how long, the pain in his stomach keeping him bent nearly double, breathing the stench of his own vomit in the warm, still night air, not knowing how he could ever feel better about what he'd done.

"It's not easy, is it — killing a man?" a voice above him asked. Without looking up, Harry shook his head slowly. He'd recognized the person speaking.

Kenneth Connell sat down on the bench beside him. "I've wondered at times," he said quietly, looking out over the darkened square, "whether I killed my friend Madeline when I received the Star Brand. I've never found a trace of her."

"Except her shoes," Harry remembered, grunting as he sat upright to look at the man beside him.

"That's right," Connell smiled, looking back at Harry. He had changed a bit since Harry had last seen him a few hours ago — his blond hair was now longer and he was dressed in a polo shirt and slacks, instead of the dark suit he'd been wearing before. "It was difficult imagining what I'd done to her," he said, "and that was only an accident. I don't know how you might feel, having deliberately killed a man."

"Not very well," Harry admitted. "I can't even tell you, now, why I would have wanted to do that."

Connell nodded, his expression sad. "It's a side effect of being given the power of the Star Brand — it can corrupt you. Sometimes, in ways so subtle you cannot even tell you've been corrupted.

"I had thought," Connell continued, musing, "when I first received it, that it was a way for me to make a real difference in my world, to be somebody. I only succeeded in almost destroying everything I cared about."

Harry was staring at the Star Brand in the palm of his hand. He looked up as Connell finished speaking. "What happened? How did you use the Star Brand when you first got it?"

Connell stood up. "I'll tell you," he said, but not here — we should go where we won't be interrupted. Plus —" he grinned, and his body floated upward a foot or so in the air, surprising Harry "— I want to give you a taste of what you can do with the Star Brand. Let's go." Connell began to drift upward.

"I can't fly —" Harry started to say, but cut himself off. Obviously he could now, if he imagined it. A moment later, he was floating upward as well, and was soon eye-to-eye with Connell, who nodded, smiling.

"I'll go slow at first," he said to Harry. "But try to keep up, you'll be surprised what you can do, once you put your mind to it." Connell looked toward the sky, then flew upward and away from Harry.

Harry followed, keeping up easily with Connell at first, then putting on more and more speed as the tall, blond man rose higher and higher into the sky. Harry had never flown like this before — completely by himself, with no broom or hippogriff beneath him, and the feeling was exhilarating. Connell's flight leveled out, and Harry copied his flying style — upright and leaning slightly forward, to balance against the wind — as they flew into darkness. Harry drew alongside Connell, looking around — he imagined being able to see clearly even in almost complete darkness, and he was able to see the towns and countryside rushing by, far below — but he had no idea where they were going.

And it did not matter. Harry raised his arms, spreading them wide open, and whooped in delight as the night air rushed past him. Connell, at his side, smiled and nodded. There were no words spoken between them — nothing could be said at the speed they were going, and no words were necessary.

All too soon, Connell began slowing down, and Harry marked a black expanse coming up below them: the ocean. They crossed over the edge of land below them, and out toward the sea, still slowing. Finally, Connell stopped altogether and turned to face the way they'd come, bidding Harry do the same. Harry turned and saw an expanse of cliffs, shining white even in the dim pre-morning nighttime sky, before him.

"I've heard of these," Harry said, awestruck. "The white cliffs of Dover. They're beautiful."

"They are," Connell agreed. "This is the first time I've really looked at them myself." He laughed. "I've been beyond the Andromeda Galaxy, and traveled millions of light-years over thousands of years, but I've never been to the cliffs of Dover until today! How odd is that?" Connell floated toward land, and Harry followed, to an area near the base of the white cliffs, where darker rocks jutted from the water and into the air above them. Connell hovered near a dark boulder for a moment, then moved downward, and Harry saw him move into a fissure in the cliff, into which the dark waters were swirling.

"In here, I think," Connell called up to him. "We will not be seen." Harry trailed after him as the tall blond man moved into the water and through the fissure, adjusting his eyes to the deeper darkness. Inside, the fissure soon widened into a dark tunnel, which turned to the left, reaching far underneath the cliffs. The walls were close, just wide enough to move through.

After a while the tunnel widened into a large cave, one which would have been pitch black were his eyes not compensating for the lack of light. Harry landed next to Connell, his clothing cold and wet, until he imagined them warm and dry once again. Connell had done the same, and was looking about the cave for something to sit upon. After a moment, however, he simply gestured at the ground, and two stone chairs rose up from it. Sitting down on one of them, Connell gestured for Harry to take the other.

"It's been a long time since I thought about those first days I had the Star Brand," Connell recalled, after Harry was seated. "I grew up in a small town in Oklahoma, in the United States, a place called Optima Springs. It was just a typical small town in the Midwest, nothing really remarkable about it."

Connell paused for a moment, concentrating. "Let's see, the night this all started, a friend and I, Maddy Felix, were out at the Road House having a pizza together. She and I knew each other since grade school, and we kinda hung out together. And the Road House made great pizza. In fact —" Connell pointed at the floor in front of them, and a square section rose up into a table-like protrusion. A flat cardboard box appeared on top of it, steam rising around the edges. Ken lifted the top of the box, and Harry saw a large, hot pizza. "This is their Double Supreme," Ken said, taking a piece. "I haven't thought it in a long time. Have a slice, Harry."

Harry reached in and took out a slice of the pizza. It was covered with bits of beef, sausage and slices of pepperoni, with onions and peppers and slices of tomato on it. It smelled delicious. Harry took a bite; he hadn't thought about food for a while now but it was quite savory, and he and Ken both ate two slices in quick succession. Ken held out hand and a glass of ice-cold beer appeared in it; Harry did the same then drank from the butterbeer bottled he'd created from nothing but imagination.

"Maddy sure left me some happy memories, at least," Ken said nostalgically, putting down the glass of beer, now half-gone.

"She was your girlfriend?" Harry asked.

Connell chuckled. "Well, we weren't quite that serious." Her daddy didn't care too much for me, and since he was the town sheriff, I didn't press the issue much. She wasn't in any hurry to get married, anyway. We were kind of… friends with benefits, if you know what I mean." When Harry didn't react, he shrugged slightly. "Maybe you don't know."

"I think I get the idea," Harry said, turning slightly red.

"Anyway," Connell went on, "after the pizza and a few beers, we drove out of town a ways, to a hillside where we could look up at the stars. We could also see the movies playing at the drive-in across from the hill, a mile or so away. Anyway, we were talking about…well, things, and it got pretty late. We were lying on a blanket together, and we just kinda…went to sleep."

Ken's eyes took on a haunted look as Harry continued to listen, intrigued by his story. "Sometime, during that night — I dunno what time it was, but I remember the date, March 1st, 2006 — something strange happened. When I woke up that morning, I was alone on that hill. There wasn't a trace of Maddy anywhere around, except for —"

"— her shoes," Harry finished.

"Right," Ken nodded. "Anyway, I got up, and I noticed — the grass around me was black, like it had been burned — and the blanket I was laying on had been scorched, like with an iron, but I could see an outline where I'd been laying on it. I didn't know what to make of that. Then I saw this —" Ken held up his hand, with the Star Brand on it "— and at the same time I realized, this same symbol was burned into the grass where I'd been laying, but really big, like 15 or 20 yards across.

"Anyway, I thought then maybe Maddy was playing a trick on me. I jumped in my truck and drove back into town, to see if I could find her. I looked for quite a while, but couldn't find hide nor hair of her. Everywhere I went, though, people kept asking if I'd seen the 'White Event' the night before. I didn't know what they were talking about at first, but eventually I saw a news program that said there'd been a white flash in the nighttime sky, almost directly above Oklahoma. Some people were saying that there was a beam of light coming from the heavens, touching the Earth right about where Optima Springs was.

"Well, in the meantime, Madeline's dad found out I was asking around for her, and he was trying to find her himself. When he drove out of town to the drive-in, he saw that big Star Brand symbol burned into the hillside across from it, and went to check it out. He found Maddy's shoes, and came back looking for me."

Ken stood suddenly and began walking around the cave. "Sorry," he murmured, after a few moments. "It's been a long time since I thought about this. I was sitting in the diner eating supper, and the sheriff came in, with three of his deputies. He told me he was taking me down to the sheriff's office, to book me on suspicion of murder."

"Why would he think you killed your girlfriend?" Harry asked, shocked.

"I asked him that exact same question, as a matter of fact," Ken said pointedly. "'I don't want her dead, I love her!'" I told him. Ken was giving Harry a sardonic look. "Well, that was something he did not want to hear, let me tell you! He pulled out his gun and cussed me some, and said I was going in, dead or alive."
"What'd you do?" Harry asked, leaning forward intently.

"Well, to be honest, as I remember it," Ken said, scratching his chin thoughtfully, "I figured he was just trying to scare me — he wasn't going to shoot me in front of everyone in that diner. But what I didn't know just then was that everyone else had run out of the place, and that me, the sheriff, and his boys were the only ones there.

"Suddenly I saw his finger start to tighten on the trigger," Ken said, with a look of great surprise on his face. "I put up my hands instinctively, trying to stop the bullet — we were only about ten feet apart — and he fired.

"Well, I was imagining stopping that bullet, somehow, with my hand —" Ken put up his right hand, with the Star Brand showing on it, "— and it did, it bounced right off my hand, but the ricochet went right back at the sheriff, and hit him right here." Ken pointed to the middle of his forehead. "I didn't mean for that to happen, you understand," he said to Harry, his expression almost pleading.

Harry nodded his understanding, and Ken went on. "Well, he went down, of course, and his three deputies and I stood there staring at him, because I didn't know yet how the bullet had missed me and hit him — when his boys decided I must be carrying a gun, and they pointed theirs at me and started to shoot.

"Well, this time," Ken said, "I turned and ran as fast as I could, not realizing how the Star Brand would increase my speed — and I moved so fast, that when I got to the door and pushed it open, it exploded from the sudden motion. In fact, a whole section of the front wall was ripped away with the door.

"Not only that," he went on, sitting back on his stone chair, "but a lot of air was sucked out of the diner after me, and I ran for several miles before I realized how fast I was going. I turned and went back, and found that the vacuum my speed created pulled a lot of flying glass and debris back into the diner, and some of it hit the deputies. Two of them were knocked unconscious — the third was cut on the neck by a flying piece of glass, and bled to death." Ken looked down, covering his face with a shaky hand. "I'd killed two men, and I didn't even know what had happened to me!"

"Wow," Harry said, overcome. "That was a hard way to find out you had the Star Brand — by accidentally killing your biggest enemy!"

Ken nodded, gazing thoughtfully at Harry. "I was probably too hard on you, back in your principal's office earlier tonight. From what I gathered when I read your mind, this Voldemort character has been trying to kill you for years."

"He has," Harry said, then shook his head. "But, he didn't have a chance when I went after him tonight. I murdered him."

Ken was silent for some time, simply looking at Harry. When he spoke again, his tone was very earnest. "I'm not minimizing what you did, Harry, but if a man ever needed killing, it was this Voldemort dude. I think you should consider the world well-rid of him, because he was a monster."

Harry nodded, then gave a bitter laugh. "What's really rich is, we're not done yet, because of something Professor Dumbledore told me after you left."

"What's that?"

Harry explained briefly about Horcruxes, as Ken's interest grew. "Amazing!" he said at last. "I've never heard of such a thing before in my life!"

"Neither had I. I have to track down the Horcruxes that are still out there, wherever they are, and destroy them — hopefully before Voldemort manages to regenerate his body. But if not, I'll have to kill him all over again."

"I may be able to help you, if it comes to that," Ken said, seriously. "I don't have the personal involvement with him that you do, I can see that he's a threat — not just to your people, but to everyone in the world, if he's allowed to complete his plans."

"But — I thought you were going to find your way home," Harry said, wondering what had happened to make Ken change his mind.

"There have been some — problems with that," Connell said, with the look of an omnipotent being that has somehow been frustrated by circumstances.

"You said, earlier, that you'd come all the way beyond from the Andromeda Galaxy to get home," Harry reminded him. "But how did you get so far away in the first place?"

"It was a few years after I first got the Star Brand," Ken remembered, sitting down again. Harry joined him. "I'd learned how to use it more-or-less effectively, though nowhere near the level I've found it capable of since then.

"I was still trying to decide how I should handle the kind of power the Star Brand gave me, trying to decide what I could do to make Earth a better place for people, and I was operating in secret, usually under cover of darkness. I wasn't living in Oklahoma by then — after the death of Sheriff Felix and his deputy, I could no longer walk around openly in the state without being sought by the police. I moved around from place to place, watching for disasters like the forest fires in the Northwest United States, or tornadoes or hurricanes in the Midwest and southern states.

"It was in 2008 — or perhaps 2009, I'm no longer sure, it was so long ago in my memory, I was flying across the night sky, about to settle down in the small town in Mississippi I was living in, when I saw a bright flash in the sky."
Harry was following his every word. "A bright flash? You mean, like the White Event you mentioned earlier?"

"Exactly like that," Ken said, nodding. "Yeah, I was real suspicious — especially when the news shows began describing it as the Second White Event. I checked things out pretty carefully — the first White Event had caused some people to experience unusual aftereffects, as well as what it did to me, and after the second White Event, I wanted to see if anyone else had ended up with another Star Brand. But there were no strange occurrences or articles on the news for the next several days. I had just about decided to fly out and find out what had caused Event II to occur, when it — or rather, they, found me."

"'They?'" Harry repeated, intrigued once again by the strangeness of Connell's story. "That sounds pretty ominous."

"It was," Ken agreed. "Aliens. To be honest, I never believed in aliens, but when they teleport you into their ship and try to strap you to an examination table, it's hard to ignore them!"

"Wow," Harry breathed, hardly daring to believe what Ken was telling him. "Are you saying they kidnapped you?!"

"They tried," Ken said, grimly. "It turned out I was their target. They'd learned that the device they used to arrive from wherever they came from — I've never found out where, exactly — to Earth, was the cause of the White Events. The device is some kind of probe that detect alien life — or at least, alien to them — then becomes a stargate, a shortcut across interstellar distances. They told me, before I escaped, that they had been scanning the star systems in this vicinity for decades with one of their probes. When the stargate is activated, it throws off a burst of exotic radiation, with most of the energy directed in a coherent burst toward the life-bearing world it has detected. That burst of energy, back in 2006, was when the probe first arrived in orbit around the Earth's sun, about a quarter of a light year out from the sun, and detected our life signs. It's what gave me the Star Brand."

"Amazing!" Harry said again. "But — you haven't explained yet how you ended up millions of light-years from Earth."

"True," Ken said. "But now you know most of the story of how I got here. The rest is relatively boring."

"Boring?" Harry laughed. "It should be interesting to hear why you think that!"

Ken scratched an ear absently. "Well, the aliens — who, near as I could tell, by the way, weren't very different from us, though that may have been a deception on their part — and I went around and around a bit, trying to get information from each other about our plans. I wanted to know what they were planning to do to Earth, they were trying to figure out if I was a threat to them. I kept trying to impress them with the fact that I'd do whatever it took to protect the Earth, but I wasn't going to go back and pick a fight with them in their backyard — wherever it was.

"Well, finally, they went too far: they sent me a hologram showing an image of Maddy, held captive aboard their ship! By that time, I'd given up all hope of ever seeing her again, but I have to tell you Harry, the thought that she might be alive made me mad enough to want to tear that alien ship apart, to get her free. But then they took off, heading back toward their probe-ship.

"I figured they planned on holding her hostage, so I wouldn't attack them." Harry nodded; there was an old tradition in some pureblood Wizarding families that had fought blood feuds, to exchange children to be married to other members of each family, with the twofold purpose of providing an incentive not to attack one another, as well as to continue the pureblood lines. "I flew off into space, after them," Ken said. "But their ship was as fast as I was — no matter how much speed I kept imagining I could add, they kept ahead of me. When they reached the probe-ship, it expanded into a stargate configuration and the alien ship disappeared through it.

"I tried to follow it through; it was only afterwards that I realized they had lured me into the probe, setting a trap for me. When I came out the other side, there was no trace of the alien ship. And the stargate at that end went up in a godawful explosion that knocked me out for what must've been days. When I came to, I found myself in the middle of empty space, in some small globular cluster that was on the other side of, as it turns out, the Andromeda Galaxy.

Ken shrugged. "So, there was nothing for me to do but try to find my way home without using one of those stargates. I eventually figured out that I could accelerate up to nearly light speed, decreasing my subjective travel time." He looked a Harry somewhat sheepishly. "Something I guess I didn't understand about time dilation, though: even though time passes more slowly for someone traveling near light speed, objectively, it still takes millions of years for light to travel from Andromeda to the Milky Way. Most of my trip was made at nearly the speed of a photon."

"But," Harry objected, seeing a flaw in Connell's explanation, "if it took you millions of years of objective time to reach Earth, why are you here now, instead of millions of years from now?"

"Apparently, due to an unintended side effect of the stargate," Ken mused. "It seems that the stargate threw me millions of years back in time as well as across millions of light-years of space-time. I was able to use those years to make the trip back while catching up to the present. I was amazed, frankly, when I first arrived and found I was only off by twelve or thirteen years."

"Well, that's good, Harry said, standing up. He'd just looked at his watch and realized it was nearly dawn. "I think I should be getting back, now. But one thing — what went wrong? Why can't you get back?"

"Well, obviously," Ken began, "I'm in a parallel universe."

"Oh, of course, why didn't I think of that?" Harry said, urbanely.

"In this universe," Ken went on, ignoring Harry's attempt at humor, "there is magic, something that didn't exist in my universe. Otherwise, however, it is much like my own world.

"What I'd hoped, then, was that out there in orbit around the Earth, or heading this way, was a probe similar to the one the aliens used to arrive here in my timeline. I have been scanning the heavens for any indication of one, but there's nothing out there for at least twenty light-years —"

Harry sucked in his breath. Twenty light-years? Just how powerful was this Star Brand?

"— and they said the probe had come from the double star system nearest Earth. That would be the Alpha Centauri system," he added.

"I know," Harry said, recalling his Astronomy lessons. "But can you really see that far?"

"More like sense that far," Ken explained. "I imagine that I can see tachyon particles, which travel much faster than light, and I'm able to see using them just as we normally use visible light. There is no probe between the sun and either of the Alpha Centauri stars. Which leaves me stranded here."

"I'll help however I can," Harry said at once. "And I'll get Professor Dumbledore, my headmaster at school, to help us figure out a way for you to get home, as soon as I can."

"I appreciate your help, Harry," Ken smiled at him. "But you need to take care of this Voldemort guy first. Getting rid of his junk should be your top priority."

"I can handle him, then," Harry said grimly, as he and Ken stood side by side next to each other — they would use the quicker Star Brand "Apparition" method of travel to get back to London. "And Dumbledore can help you."

There was a flash of light, and the cave was once again pitch black.

***

Back in Grimmauld Square, the two men reappeared in twin flashes of light, in front of Order headquarters. Harry glanced upward — a lightening of the eastern skies signaled the approaching dawn. He turned to Connell, gesturing toward number twelve, but the tall man didn't move. "You should spend some time with your friends," Ken told him. "I think it would do you some good to let them know how you feel about killing Voldemort now, before they get the impression that you're more ruthless than you really are. I'll be in touch." Harry nodded, and Connell disappeared.

Harry walked toward number twelve, telling the front door to unlock, then passing through and locking it behind him. The house was quiet in the pre-dawn darkness, but Harry could see well enough with his now-enhanced vision. He made his way into the empty dining room, sitting down in front of the dying embers of the fireplace. He didn't feel sleepy, but he wasn't going to go around waking people up just because he was awake. He would wait until they found him sitting here.

"Harry? Harry!"

It seemed like only a moment later, but Ron was suddenly there, a hand on his shoulder, gently shaking him. Harry blinked; he'd fallen asleep, even though he hadn't been sleepy.

"Oh, Harry! Are you all right?" Hermione was there too, staring at him with worry and concern in her eyes.

"What time is it?" Harry asked blearily, rubbing his eyes.

"Almost lunch," Ron said. "Mum and Ginny showed up a while ago, Mum's down in the kitchen." He looked toward the door. "I guess they didn't see you when they came in." The chair Harry was sitting in had its back to the door; it would have been difficult to see him from the hallway.

"Harry," Hermione said, settling into a nearby chair and staring intently at him. "The last we saw of you, you took that — that head, and disappeared. We tried to wait up for you but Professor Lupin finally made us go to bed. Did you go see Professor Dumbledore?"

Harry nodded; Hermione and Ron looked at one another. "So, is that it?" Ron asked, anxiously. "Is he really dead, then?"

Both of them were staring at him with such intensity that Harry felt vaguely uncomfortable. He needed to talk to someone about what he knew. Dumbledore had asked him not to talk about the Horcruxes. But — surely that request didn't include Ron and Hermione too, did it? "Let's go upstairs," he said quietly.

Ron and Hermione glanced at each other quizzically, then followed Harry up to his and Ron's room. With the door closed, Harry started to pull out his wand, then changed his mind and simply imagined the entire room was completely Imperturbable. "Okay," he said, now that they couldn't be overheard. "Voldemort's dead, but he's not really dead," he said, ignoring their winces at his mention of the name.

Ron shook his head, confused. "What's that supposed to mean? Come on, Harry, if I wanted a riddle to figure out, I'd read the latest issue of Martin Miggs, the Mad Muggle."

Harry gave them the same information about Horcruxes that Dumbledore had told him. Both Ron and Hermione were horrified by his pronouncement, he noted. Truth to tell, however, now that Harry's mind had had a few hours to process it, and some sleep, he wasn't that worried about things anymore. With the power of the Star Brand, and Ron, Hermione and Ken's help, and the Order backing him, they could probably get this cleaned up before his trial on the twelfth of August.

"And how do you feel now, Harry?" Hermione asked, seeming to divine his change of mood. "You seem different than last night."

"I feel different now than I did, then," Harry admitted. "I was still pretty sore about being left out of stuff this past month, but most of my anger was gone after I killed Voldemort."

"You had pretty good reason to be sore at him, though, mate," Ron argued. "Look at all the crap he's put you through!"

Hermione suddenly slapped herself on the head. "Of course! Harry! I just realized! You've been angry with us for the past month, right?"
"Well, yeah," Harry agreed. He wasn't proud of it, but it was the truth.

"And all this time Voldemort's been out there somewhere, biding his time, right?"
"Right," Harry agreed again. "He was probably at Malfoy Manor most of that time, I reckon."

"And," Hermione went on, "There have been times you've felt pain in your scar when V-voldemort's near, or very angry or upset, right?"

"Right…" Harry suddenly realized what she was driving at. "You think I was getting angrier and angrier all this time because I was feeling what Voldemort was feeling? Hermione, that makes sense!" Harry snorted. "It's ironic, too! I went after Voldemort because I was angry enough to do something about the situation — I didn't care about anything except getting rid of him! If he was the one making me angry — then Voldemort brought about his own death, because of his anger! I just wish it had been his final one," Harry added, bitterly.

"So what happens next?" Ron wanted to know. "What if we find these — these 'Horcruxes' and destroy them all — then what? Does Voldemort die or what?"

"If he manages to regenerate his body before the Horcruxes are gone," Harry said, remembering what Dumbledore had told him, "I'll have to kill him a final time. If hasn't — well, it's a lot less clear what happens. Dumbledore says his soul might just disappear when the last Horcrux is destroyed; or, if he's possessed someone, he might be able to completely take them over. Nobody knows for sure."

"Do — do you think you can kill him again?" Hermione asked, timidly.

"I'll have to," Harry said, grimly. "There's too much at stake not to, no matter how I feel about killing someone, even an evil monster like Voldemort. I can't let someone else do it for me, either."

Ron looked around, nervously. "No offense, Harry, but I don't think either of us are volunteering."

"Oh, Ron!" Hermione said, exasperated. "Of course we'd volunteer to help Harry!"

But Harry shook his head. "I didn't mean either of you. There's someone else — the person who gave me this." He held up his hand, showing them the Star Brand, then briefly explained how he met Ken Connell, how he'd come to possess the symbol on his palm, and the power it gave him.

"That's incredible, Harry!" Hermione marveled, after he finished. "But really, with something like that, I'm not sure why you'd even need us."

"Well, because I'm not all that imaginative," Harry admitted. "You and Ron both think about things differently than I do, and that's helped us get out of spots in the past.

"Plus," he went on, "we've still got those Horcruxes to find, and until I can find on, and hold it or touch it, I won't be able to really imagine what one feels like. If I knew that, I think I could use the Star Brand power to find the rest."

A silver figure suddenly burst silently through the door of the room, moving toward the three Hogwarts students. As Ron and Hermione, both startled, began to turn toward the oncoming figure, Harry's reaction was immediate: He put up his hand in a stopping motion, intending to halt whatever was coming toward them. There was a brilliant flash of white as a bolt of energy shot from Harry's hand, and the silver figure was thrown back through the door, which shattered it to pieces as the bolt hit it.

Two other figures appeared through the ruins of the door, but Harry recognized them this time — they were Patronuses, both in the same form, and probably the same as the Patronus Harry had inadvertently repelled.

Ron and Hermione had recognized them as well, and were now watching the figures, to see what they'd do. One approached Ron and said, in Arthur Weasley's voice, "Ron, would you please come down, and bring Harry and Hermione if they're with you. Professor Dumbledore is here with news." It then scurried off, as the other Patronus repeated much the same message to Hermione, addressing her rather than Ron, then followed its twin out the ruined doorway. The third Patronus, presumably Harry's did not reappear.

"I guess we'd better see what's up," Harry said, his tone a bit ironic, and they left the room; Harry paused just long enough to imagine the door back together, as with a Reparo spell, and it was immediately back together. Walking down the steps behind Ron and Hermione, Harry made his eyes capable of seeing through solid materials again, and turned up his hearing, to listen to what was being said downstairs. He saw the group of people gathered on the ground floor, but no one was saying anything, though he could see them giving each other significant looks.

On the ground floor, Dumbledore had gathered everyone in the dining room: Sirius was there, along with Remus, Arthur and Molly Weasley, and Mad-Eye Moody, and Fred, George and Ginny. The latter three nodded to Harry as he entered, and Harry returned their eye contact with a small smile and nod, letting them know he was okay again.

"Hello, Harry," Dumbledore greeted him, "and Hermione and Ronald as well. Alastor and I have just returned from the Ministry after a meeting with Cornelius.

"I'm afraid our dear Minister is not in a very forgiving mood," Dumbledore went on, his tone neither sarcastic nor upset. "He remains unconvinced by the evidence I delivered to Rufus Scrimgeour this morning."

"Bloody idiot," Moody muttered under his breath, but loud enough to be heard by everyone there.

"Alastor," Dumbledore said, mildly reproachful. "It is certainly Cornelius's right to remain personally unconvinced, though I had hoped he would not be so difficult." He sighed. "We must remain hopeful that Madam Bones will be more impartial in her jurisprudence."

"So the trial is still on?" Harry gleaned from the preceding conversation.

"Indeed," Dumbledore nodded. "In fact, there are additional charges being filed, Cornelius has informed me."

"More charges?" Hermione said, stunned. "What else could they possibly charge Harry with now?"

"I believe there was the matter of a personal assault on Lucius Malfoy," Dumbledore said, looking at Harry over the tops of his half-moon glasses. "As well as the destruction of Malfoy Manor." Dumbledore wasn't exactly smiling, but his eyes were twinkling with amusement.

"My goodness!" Mrs. Weasley said, looking at Harry in surprise. "You wouldn't have done any of those things, would you, dear?"

"I'm afraid so, Mrs. Weasley," Harry admitted.

"Wicked!" Fred and George exclaimed in unison.

"Wow," Ginny said, under her breath, though only Harry heard her.

"Harboring a wizard wanted by the Ministry in connection with a crime is a criminal offense," Moody said, in his growly voice. "Harry probably shouldn't have trespassed on the Malfoy's property, but if Voldemort was in there, he had the right t' go in an' get 'im, and they'd have t' give him up, or be in violation of the law themselves."

"I doubt if the Ministry will bring up those points, Alastor, as relevant as they are," Dumbledore said, a trace of merriment in his voice. "We shall just have to wait until 9 a.m. on August 12th, when Harry's hearing begins, to see what points will be brought up."

Moody snorted disgustedly, and Harry agreed with his sentiments — it was stupid for the Ministry to try and proceed with these charges. Even if they managed to convict him, they weren't going to take his wand from him — the Star Brand would make sure of that!

At that moment, as if his thoughts had been spoken aloud to everyone in the room, Dumbledore turned to him and said, "Harry, I trust you do not plan to make a scene at the hearing — it would not be in your best interest to tip your hand too soon, in regards to the power you now possess."

Harry looked at the headmaster for several long seconds before shaking his head. "No, sir," he said. "I won't make a scene — if they don't."

"What's all this talk about?" Mrs. Weasley said, looking around at them with a confused expression on her face. "Has something happened to Harry that nobody's told me about?"

Remus, Sirius and Moody glanced at one another, as did Ron and Hermione. Harry noticed that Fred and George's eyes flicked toward each other for a moment as well, while Ginny stared straight ahead, not looking at anyone. They knew, somehow, Harry realized. How could that be? He had just told Ron and Hermione himself, only a short while ago!

"Molly, I will explain during the meeting," Dumbledore said. He had not looked at anyone else after Mrs. Weasley's question, either, but he already knew what had happened to Harry, how he'd gained the Star Brand. "The others should be here by noon. We should have Harry and the others retire to their rooms until we're ready for lunch, afterwards."

"Why can't I attend?" Harry asked unexpectedly. The other students looked on, interested, as everyone turned to Dumbledore.

"Well, Harry, as you are not yet a member of the Order, and are underage and unqualified, it would be inappropriate," Dumbledore replied, quietly.

"I don't suppose the fact that I killed Voldemort yesterday changes anything?" Harry commented sardonically. "I mean, what else were you going to talk about?"

"Harry —!" Mrs. Weasley began, sounding both reproachful and outraged, but her husband laid a hand on her shoulders, and she stopped, her mouth pressed into a flat line.

"Harry," Dumbledore said, as if Molly hadn't spoken, "for now, please accept my decision. Later, we will have a discussion that is more appropriate for all to attend." He waited patiently for Harry's response.

The entire room was silent for several uncomfortable seconds. Finally, Harry shrugged, saying "Fine," and walked up the staircase, followed by Hermione and the Weasley children. Harry didn't stop until he'd reached the second floor, marching into the room where he'd first found Ron. Everyone else followed him into the room. Ginny shut the door behind them. Without telling anyone, Harry made the room Imperturbable once again.

"Wow, Harry, I'm impressed," Fred said, looking at him with admiration. "I didn't think you'd actually do something like burn the Malfoys' house down!"

"And beat up Malfoy as well," George added, beaming at Harry. "You must be stronger than you look!"

Harry looked at George. "Oh, you have no idea!" He then retold the story of meeting Kenneth Connell in the play park in Little Whinging, being given the Star Brand, then finding Dudley and being attacked by the dementors, Mrs. Figg helping him take Dudley home, his uncle attacking him twice and being taken to the hospital after the mysterious Howler convinced his aunt Petunia to let him stay, and his coming to Grimmauld Place and realizing what he needed to do about Voldemort, going to Malfoy Manor and beheading the Dark Lord, returning with the head to show to the other Order members, then delivering it to Dumbledore. They all listened, even Ron and Hermione, without saying a word. When it was all over, Fred looked at all of them, elated.

"Well, that's it, then! Voldemort is dead! It's all over!"

Ron opened his mouth, but Harry spoke first. "I still have to get through the hearing at the Ministry, but after that, things should be back to normal."

"What were you going to say, Ron?" Ginny asked him.

"Er —" Ron looked uncomfortable for a moment, then nodded at Harry. "Pretty much what Harry did, that we had to get past his hearing before it was 'all over.'"

In due course they were summoned down to eat (Harry had kept an eye on the meeting, down in the kitchen, but didn't eavesdrop, as much as he was tempted to) and Lupin stood up (since Professor Dumbledore had gone back to Hogwarts) and explained that Kingsley (a tall, black wizard who was apparently an Auror) reported the Ministry had brought in several Dark wizard specialists, ostensibly for a routine meeting, but actually in order to examine the head Dumbledore had brought to Scrimgeour. Kingsley would report back, Lupin said, when more information was forthcoming. Lupin then sat back down.

"Is that all there was to the meeting?" Harry asked, surprised. He looked around at the other members present. Some of those who had been present at the meeting itself, like Snape and a few others, had already left, but there were still others present around the kitchen table: the aforementioned Kingsley; an elderly male wizard whose breath seemed to come in wheezes, and a pink-cheeked witch with black hair, seated next to him. Across from her was a stately looking witch with light brown hair, and next to her, a square-jawed wizard with thick, straw-colored hair. All of them had spoken during the meeting; though Harry hadn't heard what was said, he'd seen each of them speaking. "It seems like there was a lot of talking for just that little bit of information to come out of it."

"A lot of our meeting's on a 'need-to-know' basis," Moody growled impatiently. "An' you're not on the list, Potter." A few of the other Order members around the table were whispering to one another — "But if he's killed You-Know-Who, what're we doing here?" "Albus must have his reasons — he knows what he's doing." "I wonder if this Potter lad can help me with a business deal up in Puddlemere —" "— No, Dung!"

"Now Moody —! That's not the only reason, Harry," Lupin said hastily, trying to smooth things over. But Harry wasn't having it.

"You don't want to tell me, that's fine," he said, flatly. "But don't expect me to go along with anything just because you tell me to. I'll be making my own decisions from now on." Harry stood and walked out of the room, ignoring Lupin's pleas for him to remain. He stomped up the staircase and into his room, flinging the door shut — it nearly broke in half as it jammed itself into the frame, but at a thought from Harry the cracks and breaks quickly disappeared.

Two could play this "keep your friends in the dark game," Harry decided, flopping onto the bed Ron hadn't used the night before. He was going to get through the hearing, hopefully with Dumbledore's help, but one way or another, he'd make sure everyone knew that, first, he and his cousin had been attacked by dementors in Little Whinging, and second, he was at Malfoy Manor to find and kill Voldemort, and that the Dark Lord's head was now at the Ministry of Magic. Then, come what may, he was going to find Voldemort's Horcruxes and get rid of them, and Voldemort, forever.

***

The next week was not particularly pleasant for anyone living at number twelve Grimmauld Place. Harry, while not rude to anyone, was not in a cheerful mood, even when talking privately with Ron and Hermione, which he did, interspersed with time he spent reading the Dark Arts books given to him by Professor Dumbledore.

The books contained dreadful, horrible Dark magic, but Harry poured over them, keen to understand the mindset of the Dark Arts practitioner, of which Voldemort would be a prime example.

Horcruxes, he found, were considered the crowning achievement of the Dark Arts. The idea of preserving one's soul in an inanimate object was perhaps as old as magic itself, but the alternate concept in use by the ancients, the phylactery, was much more difficult to create and use, as it stored a wizard's entire soul, not just part of it, and the magical skill required to create it, then transfer one's soul into it, was much greater than needed for the creation of a Horcrux, which required only a wand, the magical words, and the object to hold the fragment of soul, as well as the victim to be murdered.

It was Herpo the Foul, Harry read, an ancient Greek who lived around the time of the sorceress Circe, who first formulated and used the Horcrux creation spell. According to the legends Herpo, who had also created the first Basilisk (as a Parselmouth, Herpo had learned that he could command snakes), intended to place part of his soul within the creature, which by his design would live for hundreds of years, thus giving him (so he believed) time to find a means to restore his failing human body to youth and full vitality.

What Herpo realized too late, Harry discovered as he read further, was that Basilisk venom was one of the few substances that could break the Horcrux Creation spell, and that Basilisk was one of the few living creatures that cannot be enchanted as a Horcrux. As he was in ill-health at the time, and further weakened by the murder of the Greek villager he was using to divide his soul, the failure of the creation spell on the Basilisk had the undesirable consequences (at least from Herpo's perspective) of enraging the Basilisk, which bolted away, incidentally running over Herpo in the process and crushing him. With no one to control it, the Basilisk ran amuck through several Greek villages, killing many people and Petrifying a few who saw its reflection in water or in polished shields or helmets. The legends do not say what finally happened to this Basilisk; it was presumably brought under control by another Parselmouth and either destroyed or sealed away where it could do no harm.

Once created, only a few special substances could destroy the enchantment binding the soul to the Horcrux: the aforementioned Basilisk venom; and Fiendfyre, a powerful cursed fire. The texts also mentioned, Harry read, that the Killing Curse could destroy a Horcrux created using a living being, but that it was expected not to work against inanimate Horcruxes.

Harry, Ron and Hermione discussed these ideas in Harry and Ron's room, between cleaning sessions of Grimmauld Place being supervised by Mrs. Weasley. Having realized that they were influenced by Dumbledore's orders not to reveal information to him, Harry wasn't quite as upset with them as he'd originally been; Dumbledore could be a quite a charismatic and forceful leader, and Harry didn't believe he had other than the best intentions for him. He just didn't realize, Harry believed, that not everyone followed his chain of logic.

Harry rarely saw any of the rest of the Order before the hearing, other than Sirius, Lupin, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley. He remained polite during that time to all of them, but stayed aloof, avoiding Lupin's questions about the Star Brand and Sirius's overtures of godfatherly friendliness. He saw very little of Mr. Weasley, who was being kept busy at the Ministry.

He did see quite a lot of Mrs. Weasley, however. Ron's mother had taken it upon herself, as the most knowledgeable member of the Order in matters domestic, to clean up the Black family's ancestral home and clear out the various beasts and creature infesting it.

It took them several days to clean out and remove the various infestations in the house, but Mrs. Weasley kept them at it relentlessly, though she herself kept getting interrupted by visitors ringing the front bell for admittance. "I've told them to just come in!" she said at one point, exasperatedly. "Don't they realize that if they can find the place, we know who they are!" Fortunately, with the portrait of Sirius's mother removed (which Harry had done his first night there), the ringing doorbell didn't set her off into a screaming frenzy.

There were all sorts of strange things in the Black home; some were innocuous, but many could be downright dangerous. One of the first things they had to do was get rid of a ghoul living in an upstairs toilet since, unlike most ghouls (for example, the one in the attic at the Burrow), which were mostly afraid of people, it tended to knock people who came in to use the bathroom in the head and attempt to stuff them headfirst into the toilet, which was hardly welcome behavior if you had to be up in the middle of the night to have a tinkle. There was an old grandfather clock that tended to shoot bolts at anyone passing by it; a doorway in one of the upstairs bedrooms kept trying to shut on people if they weren't careful walking through it.

In the drawing room, as well as the tapestry of the Black family tree, there were glass cabinets with many interesting (and dangerous) items in them. After they'd cleared the draperies of doxies, they began carefully cleaning out the glass cabinets, being wary of Dark items. There were still a few close calls: Harry was bitten by a silver snuffbox, as he watched, his hand began to form a thick, brown crust on it. He was going to use the Star Brand power to make it disappear, but Sirius gave the hand a tap with his wand and it cleared up immediately; Sirius said the snuffbox probably had Wartcap Powder in it. A short while later, a strange-looking silver instrument, looking like a multi-legged set of tweezers, ran up Ron's arm and tried to stab him in the shoulder. Harry instantly froze the item in its tracks, then picked it off Ron's arm, remarking, "Looks a bit like a spider, doesn't it?" making Ron shudder. After examining it carefully Harry caused it to collapse into dust.

There was also a heavy gold locket, inscribed with an ornate letter S that looked vaguely like it had a serpent's head. Nothing happened when they touched it, but none of them could get the locket to open, not even Fred or George. Harry briefly considered using his power to open it, but decided that it would be pointless to do so — they were simply going to throw it away, so what did it matter was inside it?

Finally by Wednesday, the evening before the day of his hearing, all of the rooms were more or less cleared of rubbish and any pests that were lurking about. The ghoul had been removed, as was the boggart inside the writing desk in the drawing room. The only pest left in the house, Sirius said with a sour laugh, was Kreacher, the family's one remaining house-elf, and that was because Dumbledore insisted that he could not be freed, since he knew the location of number twelve Grimmauld Place. "If it were up to me, though," Sirius had said with an angry shrug, "I would have given him clothes, and be done with him!"

After dinner, Harry started up the staircase to return to his room, when Mrs. Weasley stopped him. "Harry, I've ironed your best set of clothes for tomorrow morning. Would you wash your hair tonight, please—a first impression can do wonders to for your chances with Amelia Bones."

Harry felt his spirits dive into his stomach. "Who's she?" he asked, with some trepidation.

"The Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement," Mrs. Weasley said, patting his arm, which was resting on the banister, reassuringly. Except that Harry didn't feel any more reassured. "Tonks tells me she's fair and she'll listen to what you say." Harry nodded, with a smile he didn't mean, and went upstairs to his room. Flopping onto his bed, Harry wondered just what he would do, tomorrow, if for some reason he wasn't acquitted of the charges, and they tried to take his wand away. He didn't really need his wand now, of course — the Star Brand was a much more powerful device, and it was pretty much part of him, now; no one, and nothing he could imagine could take it away from him, unless he let them. And he wasn't going to let them. If it came down to it, Harry figured, he could imagine his wand back together again, whole, and that's the way it would be.

There was a knock on the bedroom door, and Hermione stuck her head in. "Hi," she said, a bit timidly. "I — I wondered how you were feeling?"

Harry let his feet roll off the bed and onto the floor, sitting up. "I don't know," he finally shrugged. "I know what I did wasn't wrong, but I don't know if that's going to matter — especially if the Ministry wants to make some kind of example of me. I wouldn't put it past them."

"Amelia Bones is a fair woman," Hermione said, echoing what Mrs. Weasley had told him earlier. "Just tell her the truth and don't try to second-guess yourself, and you'll do fine." She looked away for a moment, then back at Harry. "Ron will be up in a moment, everyone's getting ready for bed. I'll — I'll talk to you tomorrow morning." She started to close the door.

"Hermione!" Harry said, suddenly. She stopped, looking at him expectantly. "I… just… wanted to say, 'thank you,' for coming up to reassure me. Nobody else has."

Hermione nodded, her eyes bright. "We all feel that way, Harry," she said, very earnestly. "You'll be back with us at Hogwarts, come September first."

Harry nodded, and Hermione closed the door; Harry thought he saw her cover her mouth, as if she were stopping herself from speaking, and his eyes adjusted to see through the door. He watched, very surprised, as she pressed her fingertips to her lips, and touched it to the closed door. Then, heaving a long, silent sigh and wiping her eyes, she went down the hall to where her room was.

Harry remained still for a long time, trying to understand what he'd seen. Why had she pressed a kiss to his door? Could it have been to wish him luck — but Harry was pretty sure saying "Good luck!" to him would have been a better way to do that. Had she meant it for Ron? His two best friends didn't get along so well, sometimes, but they'd always managed to patch things up between them before.

Harry was still pondering the implications when Ron entered the room, yawning hugely. "I'm beat," he announced, dropping onto his bed. "Thank Merlin we finally got this bloody house cleaned today — I'm sleeping in 'til noon tomorrow!" When Harry gave him an annoyed glance, Ron suddenly looked sheepish. "Oops — sorry, mate. I forgot, your hearing's tomorrow morning, isn't it?"

"Nine a.m.," Harry muttered. He picked up his pajama bottoms from the edge of his bed. "Gonna go wash my hair," he said, flatly. "Your mum says it'll make a good first impression on Amelia Bones."

"Good idea," Ron agreed. "You just gotta remember to act humble, you know, not like you expect them to just agree with you —" But Harry had already crossed to the door, without another word, and was gone.

***

The next morning, Harry's eyes snapped open at half-past five, as if he'd been awake all night. He looked over at Ron, who was lying on his back, his mouth open, snoring softly. He'd been asleep by the time Harry got back to the room last night after washing his hair, and Harry hadn't felt like waking him, then or now. Let him sleep 'til noon, then, if that's what he wants, Harry thought sourly. He got up and put on his jeans and T-shirt, then crept silently down the stairs to the kitchen, where he found several people already there, as if waiting for him.

"Morning, Harry," Mrs. Weasley smiled, standing up and pulling out her wand as she hurried over to the fire. "Breakfast?"

"Just some toast," Harry muttered. Tonks, Lupin, Sirius and Mr. Weasley were also there; Mr. Weasley, rather than wearing wizard's robes, had on a pair of trousers and, weirdly to Harry's eyes, a bomber jacket.

"How are you feeling, Harry?" Mr. Weasley asked, as Mrs. Weasley set a few slices of toast and some marmalade in front of him.

"Fine," Harry said. It wasn't quite a lie. He no longer felt nervous or upset about the hearing. There was nothing they could really do to him, anyway. And the evidence would bear him out, as long as Amelia Bones was as fair as everyone seemed to think she was.

No one else spoke for some time, until Sirius muttered, "Remember not to lose your temper — just be polite and stick to the facts."

"The law's on your side on this," Lupin reminded him. "Lucius Malfoy is trying to distract attention from the fact that he was harboring the Dark Lord in his home."

"Well, it looks like they've done it," Harry shrugged, "since I'm the one having a hearing and not Malfoy."

Mr. Weasley looked at his watch, then kissed his wife on the cheek. Harry followed him upstairs and out the front door. It was a cold, gray morning, with sunlight just beginning to show in the east. They walked to the street, Harry noticing how number twelve seemed to try and fold in upon itself, as Ron and Hermione had described it happening whenever they left the house. But Sirius's home could never hide from him again, now that he knew where it was.

Mr. Weasley was walking briskly around the Square. Harry caught up with him again and asked, "You don't usually walk to work, do you, Mr. Weasley?"

"No," he replied cheerfully. "I usually Apparate. But you're not old enough to Apparate —"

"I can Apparate," Harry cut over him. "It's actually better than Apparating, since there's none of the uncomfortable feeling Fred and George have told me about."

Arthur stopped, looking at him. "Really? That would be interesting to try," he mused, although clearly torn about advising Harry to do something the Wizarding world considered illegal, especially on their way to a disciplinary hearing!

But — "Harry, we can't just appear in the Ministry," Mr. Weasley argued. "Questions would be asked. You'll need a visitor's badge, too. I'm afraid it's out of the question."

"We don't have to appear inside," Harry pointed out, reasonably. "We can go wherever we need to, to get my badge. All you need to do is imagine where we should appear, and I'll do the rest."

Arthur dithered, uncertain. "I don't know…" When Harry gave him a will-you-grow-a-backbone-please look, though, the older Weasley put a resolute expression on and said, "By gum, Harry, let's give it a go!"

"Great!" Harry said, grinning. "Okay, think of where we need to appear." A look of concentration came over Arthur's features, and Harry touched his shoulder, just as Connell had done when they first met. In Arthur's mental point of view he could see a wall covered in graffiti, with an old, red phone booth sitting in front of it, battered and missing several panes of glass. "Here we go," he said. Arthur jerked at the sudden flash of light around them, then stared at the phone booth they now stood next to. He looked around. They were there.

"My word, Harry!" he said, awed. "That was very impressive! It didn't feel like Apparating at all!" He looked around, seeing that they were exactly where he had imagined them being. "I just felt a slight tug, along with that flash of light…Well, we'd best get inside, then, before we're noticed." He looked around again, more furtively this time, then stepped into the booth.

"Let's see," Mr. Weasley said, peering at the phone as Harry stepped in behind him. The phone was hanging crookedly, as if some vandal had tried to tear it out. It was a very old style phone, with a dial with holes in it rather than buttons. He took the receiver off the hook and held it over his head, making Harry smile. "The number is, er, six…two…four… and another four, then another…two." The dial spun slowly back into place.

"Welcome to the Ministry of Magic," a woman's cool voice said, seeming to come from the booth itself, not the receiver. "Please state your name and business."

Mr. Weasley explained who he and Harry were, as Harry looked around, to see if anyone had noticed them yet. There was no one around. The street looked almost completely deserted, in fact.

There was a sudden shudder, and they began moving downward, into the sidewalk. Harry watched apprehensive as it disappeared above their heads as the booth moved downward. Once the top of the sidewalk passed out of view, however, Harry sensed the booth speeding up remarkably, though he felt no acceleration. It didn't help either that they were enveloped in total darkness. Harry adjusted his eyes to see infrared, and Mr. Weasley popped back into view, his face and hands in vivid contrast to his darker jacket and trousers.

"We're going pretty far underground," Harry said, to no one in particular, and Mr. Weasley nodded, probably by reflex; he couldn't know that Harry could see him quite clearly.

"The Ministry is pretty far underground," Arthur said. "When we reach the Atrium we'll be almost fifteen hundred feet under the streets of London."

A minute later they began to slow down, and a sliver of light appeared at their feet; Harry let his vision lapse back to normal. As the booth opened, Arthur turned and pinned a badge onto Harry's T-shirt. Harry glanced at it, reading upside down the words Harry Potter, Disciplinary Hearing. They spent a few minutes at a bored security guard's checkpoint, where his wand was weighed, then proceeded to an elevator behind a golden grille, where they rode upward again, to the second floor, where Arthur's office was located on the far end. It was about 7:45 by now, over an hour before the hearing, and Harry began to wonder what he would do to pass the time.

In Mr. Weasley's cramped, dingy office, which somehow looked smaller than Harry's cupboard-under-the-stairs had been, there were two ancient-looking desks crammed inside, facing opposite walls, and every inch of floor space along the walls were crammed with filing cabinets, all covered with stacks of teetering file folders. The walls themselves, at least the ones around the desk bearing the name plaque Arthur Weasley, were covered in posters of old Muggle automobiles, pictures of post boxes, and a diagram showing how to wire a plug. Next to the in-tray, in which a toaster sat hiccupping, was a photograph of the Weasley family, with everyone waving at him except Percy, who was standing off to one side, picking his nose, Harry realized with disgust. It was quite a bit to take in at once, Harry decided.

Suddenly a deep voice just behind him startled Harry. "Weasley, do you have a moment? I need a word." The voice was familiar — Harry turned and was surprised to see Kingsley Shacklebolt.

"I'm a bit busy at the moment," Arthur said, distractedly. "I'm escorting a visitor and can't leave him alone." They were both speaking coolly, as if they hardly knew one another, a complete reversal of what Harry remembered from only days ago. Harry opened his mouth —

"Just a moment, Harry," Mr. Weasley said, holding up a hand. "Auror Shacklebolt and I will need to confer for a moment." There was pressure on his shoe and Harry looked down, seeing Arthur's foot on his.

But at that moment an elderly wizard appeared at the door of the office, panting. "Oh, Arthur, you're here!" he said, breathlessly. I was about to go send you an owl! The time and venue for the Potter boy's hearing's been changed!"

"What?" Arthur said, turning around to face the old wizard. "When and where, Perkins — quickly!"

"They've moved it down to old Courtroom Ten, at eight o'clock!"

"Merlin's beard!" Arthur swore. "Sorry, Shacklebolt, this will have to wait. Harry, come on! We can just make it down there in time!"

Leaving Kingsley and Perkins staring after them, Harry followed Mr. Weasley as he raced back across the floor to the elevators, jabbing impatiently at the call button.

"Why would they change the time?" Harry asked, though he already had an idea as to the reason. There was not even going to be a pretense of fairness in this hearing, he guessed.

"I have no idea," Arthur said, fretfully. "We're just lucky we're here so early — if we'd taken the Muggle way to get here, we'd have been late!" The elevator came and they hurried inside, pressing the button marked "9."

The ride down seemed interminably long, with Mr. Weasley anxiously jabbing the "9" button each time the elevator stopped, until finally it opened and the cool female voice announced, "Department of Mysteries," then fell silent.

Arthur led Harry at a quick trot down a bare-walled corridor to a corner where they faced a black door, then turned left and down a flight of steps. At the bottom was yet another corridor, this one looking more like a dungeon hallway, with rough stone walls and lighted braziers along the walls. Every so often they would pass great wooden doors with iron bolts and keyholes.

Finally, in front of a great door, grimy with age and rust, Arthur slumped against a nearby wall, breathing heavily. "Here it is," he panted. "Go on in, Harry."

"Aren't you coming?" Harry asked, suddenly uneasy at the thought of going through that door. It would help to have someone familiar with him.

"I can't," Arthur shook his head, breathing deeply. "I'm not allowed, I'm not part of the hearing." He put a hand on Harry's shoulder. "Good luck, Harry!"