The Potter Brand
Chapter 3
"Miscalculation"
Harry nodded, his own breath coming quicker, then pushed open the heavy wooden door and stepped inside. What he saw inside made him gasp, for he had seen this room before. He had visited this place in Professor Dumbledore's Pensieve, just months earlier, and had witnessed the trials of Ludo Bagman, Barty Crouch, Jr. and the Lestranges.
Gray stone walls surrounded him on all sides, fronted before and on either side of him with tiered stone benches, all dimly lit with torches. On the benches, Harry could just make out, were shadowy figures who were revealed to be witches and wizards of various ages, when he adjusted his eyes to see more clearly.
As the door closed shut of its own accord behind him, a cold male voice rang out, "You've very nearly late!"
"Sorry," Harry said, in a tone that probably convinced no one he felt any remorse at all. "The time and place were suddenly changed."
"You were sent an owl advising you of the change," the voice said, indifferently. "It is not the Wizengamot's fault if you're late."
Looking about the room with his enhanced eyes, Harry could see about fifty or so witches and wizards in the raised benches around him, all staring down their noses at him with various expressions on their faces: some appeared curious to see him, some wore either indifferent or hostile expressions. In the center, directly in front of him, was the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, who was giving him one of the more hostile stares in the room, Harry thought.
"Very well, then," Fudge said, looking around. "As it is nearly eight, let us begin. Are you ready?" he asked, looking to his left, to the end of the row.
"Yes, sir!" a familiar voice said eagerly. Harry stared up and saw Percy Weasley, perched at the end of the front row, quill in hand. Harry expected a nod from him, but Percy did not look up or otherwise acknowledge his presence. What was going on?
Fudge began the hearing, and Percy's quill began moving furiously as the Minister spoke, stating the particulars of the case and naming off the officers of the court: himself, Cornelius Fudge; Amelia Bones; a Senior Undersecretary named Dolores Umbridge; Head Auror Rufus Scrimgeour; and the Court Scribe, Percy Weasley.
"Will you have any witnesses to call in your defense, Mr. Potter?" Fudge asked smoothly, after a moment of silence, during which Percy seemed to be shuffling pages of parchment around rapidly.
"I — I expected Professor Dumbledore to be here," Harry said, looking around. Dumbledore didn't seem to be there, however.
"In what capacity?" Fudge demanded.
"Uh — I don't know what you'd call it," Harry said. "He — he was going to help me present my case."
"Was he?" Fudge smirked. There were a few, muted chuckles from the gallery, and one high-pitched, girlish giggle — quickly silenced as Fudge raised a quieting hand. "Well, I suggest you get yourself in hand, Mr. Potter, and quickly, too — this court will have no choice but to summarily rule against you if you do not present your case in a timely way."
Harry swore to himself. He'd been correct — there was no chance he was going to get a fair hearing here, without Dumbledore and with the entire Wizengamot assembled against him. Even Amelia Bones, seated in the front row, seemed to be with Fudge on this, although her expression was neutral. If there was nothing he could do here, he would simply leave, using the power of the Star Brand — even Hermione couldn't fault him for backing away from insurmountable odds.
But wait a minute! Insurmountable odds? Did that phrase really mean anything to someone who wielded supposedly infinite power? If you can will a thing be done, it shall be done, Connell had told him. The only thing that limited him was his own imagination.
If Connell had gotten information from Harry's own mind, just by touching him, why couldn't he do something similar with everyone present — learn everything all of them knew about Wizarding law, and use it to help him? Harry could easily imagine this, and imagined inhaling all of that knowledge into his brain as he took a deep breath. A whirlwind of information flooded his brain, so much that for a moment all Harry could see or hear was the reams of documents, law texts and courtroom proceedings flooding his brain, so much that for a moment he staggered. There was a collective sigh throughout the courtroom, and many people suddenly shook or held their heads. Harry shook his own head, half-dazed. Suddenly, he knew what to do, he knew how to proceed. It would be simple — child's play! Lupin and Dumbledore had been right — there was no chance for the Ministry to win this case, it was merely desperation on Fudge's part, as well as a distraction, to hide Malfoy's guilt. Harry closed his eyes, marshalling his thoughts.
"Are you alright, Mr. Potter?" Amelia Bones asked, looking at him with concern. Her hand was to her own brow — she must've felt some type of backlash from his access of the knowledge in her brain.
"I'm fine," Harry said confidently. "I'm ready to proceed." He sat down in the chair in the center of the floor, looking relaxed as he crossed his legs absently.
Fudge eyed him suspiciously but began reading the charges. "The charges against the accused are as follows: That he knowingly, deliberately, and in full awareness of his actions, illegally produced a Patronus Charm in a Muggle-inhabited area, in the presence of a Muggle, an offense under Section C of the Decree for the Reasonable Restriction of Underage Sorcery, also under section thirteen of the International Wizards' Statute of Secrecy.
"That he knowingly and deliberately assaulted a wizard within the privacy of his home, an offense under Section E, paragraph two, of the British Statutes of Wizarding Law.
"And finally, that he knowingly, deliberately, and maliciously caused the home of a wizarding family to ignite, destroying it and all its contents, an offense under Sections B, paragraphs four and six, of the British Statutes of Wizarding Law." Fudge glanced at Percy, seeing him finish adding the charges into the hearing transcript, then turned a baleful eye back to Harry.
"You are Harry James Potter, of number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey?" Fudge asked severely, glaring at Harry over the parchment he had just read from.
"Yes," Harry replied, quietly.
"Did you receive an official warning from the Ministry for using magic illegally, three years ago?"
"Yes, I did," Harry replied, a bit impatiently, wanting to get to the meat of the arguments, now that he saw how to defeat them.
"Yet, you conjured a Patronus on the night of the second of August?" Fudge went on, a sneer of triumph now in his voice.
"Yes, I did," Harry answered.
"Knowing that you are not allowed to use magic outside of school while you are under seventeen, nor in the presence of Muggles?" Fudge smirked.
"Except as allowed by clause seven," Harry said, calmly. "Which says that magic may be used before Muggles in exceptional circumstances, and —"
"We know what clause seven says, thank you very much!" Fudge snapped. "What exceptional circumstances do you claim existed at the time of your illegal magic use?"
"At that time," Harry stated, "my cousin Dudley and I were being attacked by two dementors, in an alley a few blocks from my house. My cousin is the Muggle in question, and he knows I am a wizard."
A undertone of comments were running through the gallery at Harry's statement. "Dementors?" Amelia Bones said, looking quite surprised. "What were dementors doing in Little Whinging?"
"I don't know why they were there," Harry shrugged. "But they went for me and my cousin."
"Ah, yes," Fudge sneered, smirking unpleasantly. "I expected we'd hear something like this. Dementors make a very nice cover story, don't they, Potter? Muggles can't see them, can they? So your cousin has no idea what really happened, does he? At best, he can only repeat what you saw, which would be hearsay evidence."
"So you want corroboration, do you?" Harry asked, plaintively.
"It is a highly unlikely situation," Amelia Bones said, skeptically. "An independent witness would be a great boost to your defense, Potter."
"Good," Harry nodded. "I happen to have one."
"Your cousin's testimony is not admissible, Mr. Potter!" Fudge said imperiously. "He is incapable of seeing dementors and thus, incapable of giving independent testimony."
"I don't mean my cousin," Harry said. He stood, walking to an open space next to the chair. "There was someone else there that night." Taking out his wand, Harry drew a gleaming silver circle in the air above his head, parallel to the floor, about three feet in diameter. Stepping out from under it, he made a downward gesture with his wand, and curtains suddenly appeared, hanging on rings running around the circle, creating a small enclosure. Harry was doing this mostly for show; he could have summoned his witness in a second, but he was having some fun with the Wizengamot. He jabbed his wand at the curtain.
"Hookus, pookus, alakazookus," he intoned, misdirecting their attention with the nonsense words he was saying, as he imagined who he wanted to appear inside the curtains. There was a flash of light at the top and bottom of the curtains, and a sudden screech of surprise and embarrassment emanated from them.
The entire courtroom was on its feet as everyone tried to understand what had happened. "What is the meaning of this, you wretched boy!" Umbridge, the undersecretary, snarled at him, but Harry ignored her, leaning close to the curtain to speak to the person who'd appeared inside.
"Mrs. Figg," he said quietly. "It's Harry Potter. You've just been brought to the Ministry of Magic to speak as a witness about the night you saw the dementors.
"What in the world, Harry —!" Mrs. Figg sounded very upset. "Dumbledore told me I might be called, but the hearing isn't for another hour, almost! I'm in the middle of a bloody shower here, boy!"
"Sorry about that," Harry muttered. "The hearing was moved up. "Dumbledore's not here yet — he may not even know about the change."
Fudge had recovered and was now banging a gavel loudly on the bench before him. "See here, Potter! What do you mean by disrupting these proceedings like this! We haven't got time for these foolish tricks of yours!"
"Oh, I think you do," Harry corrected him. "Under the Wizengamot Charter of Rights, the accused has the right to present witnesses in his or her case. Isn't that correct, Madam Bones?" he said, directly to her.
"It is," she nodded. "Quite correct!"
"Very well, very well," Fudge said, clearly irritated by Bones' response. "Get on with it, then!"
Harry smiled and turned back to the curtain. "Mrs. Figg?" A small section of the curtains parted and her face poked through, her hair now covered with a shower cap rather than a hairnet.
"H-harry?" she squeaked, her teeth chattering. "It's v-very c-cold in here, a-and I'm all w-wet…"
"Sorry," Harry said. He imagined her wearing a warm bathrobe. "Is that better?"
"Y-yes, thank y-you," she said, looking around apprehensively at the members of the Wizengamot. "N-now why are we here again?"
"Oh, for Merlin's sake!" Fudge said, exasperated. "Will you tell us your full name, please?!"
Mrs. Figg blinked at him, but after a moment, said, "It's Arabella Doreen Figg," in a quivery voice.
"And just who, exactly, are you?" Fudge asked, his tone condescending.
"I live in L-little Whinging, a few blocks from Harry Potter."
"We have no record of that," Madam Bones said at once. "And we've kept very good records, given past events concerning Mr. Potter."
Mrs. Figg explained that she was a Squib, which Fudge promised to check on, then asked her to provide her story. Harry listened as she described her part in the events of August second, including the night becoming preternaturally dark and cold, and accurately described the sensation of despair and fear that came over people in the presence of dementors. Even looking faintly ridiculous as she did, speaking from behind a curtain floating in the middle of the courtroom, Harry sensed many of the fair-minded members of the Wizengamot believed her story. Fudge finally dismissed her, and Harry pulled the curtains around her face closed, whispered, "Thank you for coming, Mrs. Figg," and she disappeared in a flash of white light. The curtain disappeared, and Harry seated himself in the chair in the center of the chamber once again.
"Not a very convincing witness," Fudge said, sounding lofty, trying to assess some damage control to his case.
"Oh, I don't know," Madam Bones disagreed, in her booming voice. "She described the effects of a dementor attack quite accurately, I believe." There were murmurs of agreement among the other members, though Harry saw a few, the Umbridge woman and Percy among them, who appeared unconvinced.
Fudge snorted. Seeing that he was losing support for the underage magic charge, the Minister decided to switch to the next one. "Potter!" he barked. "Do you deny attacking Lucius Malfoy in his home in Wiltshire on the evening of August second, and battering him unconscious?"
"No, I don't deny that," Harry responded at once.
"You are of course aware," Fudge went on, now regaining his stride, "that Article II of the Wizengamot Charter of Rights, which you mentioned earlier, by the way, guarantees every witch and wizard the right to be safe and secure within their own homes. Meaning, then, that your attack on him was unprovoked, and therefore illegal!"
"As long as they are in violation of no wizarding laws," Harry went on, referring to the rest of the Article Fudge had cited. "Lucius Malfoy was clearly in violation of the law prohibiting aiding or abetting the activities of any wizard engaged in the practice of Dark magic."
"That — is — a — lie!" Umbridge, the toad-faced witch sitting next to Fudge shouted, leaping to her feet. Which, Harry noticed, in her case hardly made a difference — she had gained almost no height by standing. "Potter is merely piling one fantasy on top of another, trying to besmirch the Malfoy name with his baseless accusations!"
"A lie?" Harry sneered at her. "How are you going to make a lie out of Voldemort's head, held by the Ministry's top Auror?" He pointed to Rufus Scrimgeour, who held up a box, then passed it over to Fudge, who placed it on the bench in front of himself.
"Ah, yes," Fudge said, smirking once again, though Harry saw uncertainty in his eyes. "The so-called 'evidence' Dumbledore spoke of with me, the day after you attacked Lucius and destroyed his home." He looked at Scrimgeour. "So far I've had no word of confirmation from your office on this piece of 'evidence,' Rufus."
"So far," Scrimgeour replied, his tone most serious, "we have been unable to confirm or refute the claim of its origin. There are magical traces of a Dark ritual consistent with the story originally given by Mr. Potter, in the investigation into the death of Mr. Cedric Diggory. The evidence is also consistent with other Dark magic which would have given a wizard the pale, snake-like appearance shown by the object in question."
"Have you checked for traces of my blood?" Harry asked. But Fudge seemed not to be listening; he had reached into the box and taken up the head in his hands. He seemed to be staring into its eyes. "You'll find traces of my blood in there," Harry went on, not caring that Fudge seemed not to be listening. "Voldemort had Wormtail — Peter Pettigrew — take some of my blood to use in the spell to return him fully to life."
Fudge seemed to finally hear him, but his reaction was entirely unexpected. "You think this proves anything, boy?" he snarled, holding up the head in one hand, for the entire courtroom to see. There were gasps of surprise and consternation among the members. "Theatrics!" Fudge spat. "Cheap parlor tricks! We'll have none of that in this courtroom!"
But then, directly contradicting what he'd just said, Fudge heaved the head at Harry. It sailed across the distance toward him, and Harry put up a hand as if to catch it. But before it reached him the head slowed to a stop, floating in the air before him, then dropped to the floor of the courtroom.
"This is outrageous!" Madam Bones sputtered. She was on her feet, pointing toward Fudge as if she could hardly conceive what he had just done. "You violate the basic rights of the accused —"
"You heard what your own man, Scrimgeour, had to say!" Fudge snarled in reply. "There's no proof that's You-Know-Who's head!"
"There's no proof that it's not!" Bones objected. "You can't just convict someone without following the evidence to its reasonable conclusion!"
"I cannot believe I'm hearing such disloyalty from the mouth of a high-ranking Ministry official!" Umbridge said vehemently.
A/N: From here on is the revised material.
"I can't believe we're going through all this just because the Minister can't admit he was wrong about Voldemort," Harry said, loudly. There was a collective gasp at the mention of the Name, and Fudge rounded angrily back on Harry.
"You're out of order, Potter!" he sputtered, pointing a shaking finger at Harry.
"No, you are," Harry insisted. He gestured and Voldemort's head rose into the air until it was level with Fudge's chest, then floated toward him. As it came close to Fudge he reached out, grasping it, then glared at Harry over the Dark Lord's hairless pate. "I described the spell that Peter Pettigrew used to bring Voldemort back, described what he did with my blood and his right hand.
"If you haven't ordered the Aurors to determine whether any of my blood or Pettigrew's flesh is part of that head," Harry continued implacably, and the courtroom became utterly quiet as all of its members listened carefully to him, "then you've been derelict in your duty as new Chief Wizard of the Wizengamot. And if you have ordered that, but are holding back the results back, then you are obstructing justice. So which is it, Minister Fudge?"
Fudge didn't answer. His eyes were not on Harry, but on the head he held in his hands. The silence extended almost unbearably as Fudge continued to stare at Voldemort, but just when Harry thought Amelia Bones would speak for him, Fudge looked up.
"Auror Scrimgeour," Fudge said quietly, without looking around, "will you give us the result of the blood magic detection spells, please?"
"Yes, sir," Scrimgeour nodded, then reached into his robes and produced a parchment scroll. He cleared his throat noisily, then read, "Results of Blood Type Revealment Spell on remains of Joe Muggs —" Harry made a small snort of contempt at the use of the generic name applied to an unknown Muggle "— performed on 8 August 1995, displayed properties consistent with those found in the blood of sample provided by Harry James Potter, of number four, Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey, on —"
"That's enough," Fudge waved off the rest. He glared balefully at Harry, who stared back impassively, wondering how much of a tirade they were all going to be treated to, now that Fudge had pretty much put the final nail in the coffin of his case.
But, surprisingly, Fudge didn't explode or rant at him. Instead, he looked down at Harry from the front bench, quite emotionless now, and asked, in a tightly controlled voice, "Do you have any further evidence to produce for us, Mr. Potter?"
"No," Harry shook his head, now watching Fudge with frank curiosity.
"Very well," Fudge said. He looked about the room, then gave a small nod to Amelia Bones. She nodded as well, and the room fell into dozens of urgent, whispered conversations. Harry considered tapping into all of these conversations, to see whether the majority of the Wizengamot would vote for him or not, but then shrugged to himself. Even if they found him guilty and snapped his wand on the spot, he could imagine it whole again in a second, or simply do without it.
Fudge himself, who had carefully replaced Voldemort's head back into the box Scrimgeour had been holding, and was sitting, motionless, as the whispered conversations of the members of the Wizengamot gradually began to subside. When they had become nearly silent, Madam Bones's booming voice rang out. "All those in favor of clearing Harry James Potter of all charges?"
Hands went into the air all around the courtroom. Well over half, Harry saw with a smile. Fudge hadn't moved, nor had Umbridge, the toad-like witch on Fudge's right. She was still looking closely at him, studying him appraisingly, Harry noticed. Fudge himself was still staring into the box containing Voldemort's head. Staring rather longingly, Harry suddenly realized, wondering…
He adjusted his eyes so they could see through solid material, then looked through the fabric on Fudge's right arm, wondering what he might find there. It would be the wildest chance if Fudge was a Death Eater —! But there was no Dark Mark on his forearm.
"All those in favor of conviction," Madam Bones said. Fudge, Umbridge, a witch and wizard in the row behind them, and perhaps a half-dozen others. Harry suppressed a grin. Fudge looked around, seeing how far short he'd fallen, then took a deep breath, and another, then said in a flat, emotionless voice, "Very well...cleared of all charges."
"Good," Harry said, getting to his feet. He showed a stony face to Percy, who lowered his eyes, then turned and strode from the room. Outside the room he found a very pale Mr. Weasley, who looked at him apprehensively.
"Harry! What did they —"
"Cleared," Harry said, curtly, and Mr. Weasley broke into a brilliant smile and clasped him by the shoulders.
"Wonderful, Harry! Just wonderful!" he said, beaming at him. "I knew they couldn't have found otherwise, just as Remus and Sirius said! Still, I admit I was rather —"
He broke off, because the courtroom door opened as the members of the Wizengamot began filing out. Harry stood, watching them as they walked past, seeing how many of them dared meet his eyes. Several of them did, a few of them actually nodding to him as they passed, and one or two saying "Hello, Arthur," to Mr. Weasley, including Madam Bones.
The majority of the court, however, either paid them no mind as they walked past, or they carefully averted their eyes. Percy, Mr. Weasley's son, walked past, and he and his father may as well have been on opposite sides of the world as far as how much attention they paid one another, Harry noticed.
The last two people to leave the court were Fudge, still carrying the box containing Voldemort's head, and Umbridge; Fudge walked past as if Harry and Arthur were both invisible, but Umbridge kept her beady little eyes on Harry even after they'd walked on down the corridor, looking back at him until Harry grinned at her and gave a wink.
Mr. Weasley, noticing the exchange, looked at Harry uncertainly again. "Harry," he said slowly, after Fudge and Umbridge were out of earshot, "you didn't — er, that is, well, use any of that S-Star Brand power on anyone, did you?"
"Nope," Harry said, lightly. "At least, not on anyone but myself."
"To do, uh, what, exactly?"
"I just gave myself an instant education in Wizarding law," Harry said, airily, as they started down the corridor themselves, toward the stairs leading to the ninth level.
"Ah," Mr. Weasley said, though it was clear he didn't understand what Harry was saying. "Well," he continued, as they started up the stairs, "I'll get you straight back so you can tell the others the good news. Then I have an appointment to take care of a regurgitating toilet, in Bethnal Green…"
On the way up the stairs, Mr. Weasley launched into a discussion of the finer points of anti-jinxing a toilet, but his words died in his throat as they reached the ninth floor for there, just a few feet beyond the doorway, stood Cornelius Fudge, still holding the box and talking to a tall, blond-haired man with pointed, pale features. Harry smirked at them, not intimidated in the least, though Arthur's hand had clasped on his shoulder, as if in warning.
Malfoy turned at the sound of their footsteps. "Well, well, Mr. Potter, our Patronus-maker," he said in a cool, drawling voice. "The Minister was just telling me about you were cleared of all charges against you. Including the destruction of my manor, it seems. Quite astonishing how you always wriggle free of such predicaments… snakelike, in fact." Mr. Weasley's hand gripped even harder.
"And you're looking better than the last time I saw you, Mr. Malfoy," Harry replied in turn. "I see there are hardly any marks left of that door on your face," he smiled broadly.
"Indeed," Malfoy said, one hand moving unconsciously along the side of his face. "The Healers were quite…skilled."
"And well-paid, too, I hope?" Harry added, with a mocking grin.
Malfoy took a deep breath, suppressing a growl of rage, then looked up at Mr. Weasley, as if only just then seeing him. "And Arthur Weasley, too! Imagine seeing you here."
"I work here," Mr. Weasley said shortly.
"Here?" Malfoy said disbelievingly, pointing to the door they'd just come from with his cane. "Surely not here, Arthur!"
"You know where I work, Malfoy," Mr. Weasley replied, caustically.
"Indeed I do." Malfoy's eyes narrowed. "Perhaps you'd better get to your work, then. The Minister and I have some private matters to discuss." He looked at Fudge. "Shall we, Minister?"
"Yes," Fudge said, and turned his back on Harry and Mr. Weasley, leading the way for them. "This way, Lucius." Mr. Weasley's hand maintained its grip on Harry's shoulder until they disappeared into the lift.
"I wonder what kind of 'private matters' those two have together?" Harry muttered, sarcastically, after they disappeared. They began walking toward the lift themselves. "Probably gold — I could tell Malfoy was carrying a good deal of it inside his robes."
"Probably," Mr. Weasley agreed, stonily. "Unfortunately, that's between the Minister and Malfoy." He pressed the button for the lift.
"Is it a good idea," Harry wondered aloud, "that Fudge and Malfoy, a Death Eater —" Mr. Weasley glanced around quickly as Harry said this, seeing if anyone was nearby to hear "— are meeting in private? What if they've put the Imperius Curse on him?"
"We've thought of that very thing, Harry," Mr. Weasley muttered, as the lift arrived and they stepped inside. It was empty except for a flock of memos, that fluttered about at the top of the lift. "But Dumbledore thinks Fudge is acting of his own accord. A bit depressing, that, actually." As they approached the Atrium level Mr. Weasley said, softly, "Best not to talk about it anymore just now, Harry."
They entered the almost-empty Atrium, but as they passed the Security desk Eric, the security wizard looked up from his Daily Prophet. "Mr. Weasley, sir, this note came for you a while ago," he said, holding out a scrap of parchment. Mr. Weasley took it and scanned it briefly. "Thank you, Eric," he said to the security man, nodding and he and Harry continued across the Atrium.
"We need to take a small detour, if you don't mind," Mr. Weasley told Harry, stuffing the parchment scrap into his robe. "Molly and Ginny are picking up some things at the Burrow to bring back to Grimmauld Place, and Molly wants me to stop by and give a hand. We can use an extra pair of hands — that is, if you don't mind, Harry."
"Sure," Harry nodded, happy that things worked out his way for once. He was sure to hear a lot of gushing from Mrs. Weasley about his being cleared by the Wizengamot, but it would be nice to tell Ginny; she could pass the information on to Fred, George, and her other brothers, while Harry talked to Hermione and Ron.
They had no sooner stepped out of the old, red phone booth onto the streets of London than Harry took Mr. Weasley's arm, and they disappeared in a flash of light, reappearing a moment later at the back door of the Burrow. Mr. Weasley opened the door, gesturing Harry into the Burrow's kitchen, where Molly Weasley was bustling about, collecting items from cupboards. She turned, and seeing them, got an apprehensive look on her face. "Oh! Arthur! And Harry! How did things go at the Ministry —?"
"Fine, dear," Arthur said, smiling. "Harry got off."
"Ah! That's wonderful, dear!" Molly exclaimed, grabbing Harry in a hug, which he endured, smiling as she turned away, embarrassed by the show she was making. "Ginny's up in her room," she said, beaming at him as she went back to rummaging through the kitchen drawers. "I'm sure she'll want to hear all about it as well!"
Harry nodded and started up the stairs to Ginny's room, one floor up from the ground. As he reached the first floor landing he could hear her moving around in her room. Her door was slightly ajar, but Harry rapped lightly on it, to let her know he was there, and the door swung open from the force of his knocking. Ginny looked around, seeing him there.
"Oh hi, Harry," she said, smiling, "Come on in! All right —" she stopped suddenly, as if just remembering where he'd been. "How did it go?" she asked, in a more subdued voice, a slightly worried expression on her face.
"Fine," he nodded, smiling. "I got off."
"Brilliant!" she beamed, pulling him into what was for Harry a completely unexpected, but not unwelcome, hug. She stepped back a few moments later, blushing furiously, and said, "Sorry — I forgot, you sort of fancy Cho Chang, don't you?"
"It's okay," Harry said quickly. He'd known for years that Ginny had a crush on him, since the first day he'd been at the Burrow, when she came downstairs for breakfast, saw him sitting there, and bolted back upstairs. At the time he hadn't known how she felt. Once he did, though, it had seemed "wrong" somehow, since Ron was his best mate, to want to kiss his sister. Cho Chang had caught his interest, and she seemed to fancy him, too, except that her boyfriend, Cedric Diggory had complicated matters — at least, until he died when Voldemort returned.
But now, Harry realized, Cho would probably be grieving Cedric's loss, and he'd have to allow her time to mourn her loss — and Ginny was here…
"Where are my manners?" Ginny said suddenly, bumping her forehead with the heel of her hand. "Would you like some tea, Harry?"
Harry realized he hadn't eaten or drank anything since breakfast, and he'd had only a few slices of toast and some pumpkin juice. "That would be great, thanks!" he nodded, and Ginny hurried off downstairs to get some. While she was gone he looked around the room. It looked much more cluttered than he would have expected; it must've driven Hermione barmy to be in here with Ginny, if this was how it looked most of the time.
Ginny, returning with a tea tray holding two cups of hot liquid, saw him looking about. "Sorry about the mess," she said, handing him a cup. "I've been looking for my — um, for some things," she finished.
"Oh, go on, tell me," Harry said, smiling, and he took a sip of the warm, brown liquid, thinking of the scent of flowers and, oddly, a broomstick handle as he did. "What were you looking for?"
"Well," she said, smiling shyly, "It's something of yours, actually, Harry. "I found one of your T-shirts in the wash Mum was doing when you were here, a few summers ago, and I, um, nicked it…"
"You nicked one of my T-shirts?" Harry said, a foolish grin spreading across his face. "That's, um, kind of…"
"Pathetic, right?" Ginny said ruefully.
"Oh, no," Harry said emphatically. "It's rather amazing, actually." He was beginning to see Ginny in an entirely new light. Why had he never noticed before how wonderful she was, how interesting — and how beautiful she had become!
"To think, all these years you've been waiting for me," he said breathlessly, reaching out to stroke her cheek tenderly. "And I've never noticed until now."
She smiled blissfully at him. "I knew you'd finally come round, Harry Potter. I've longed to share my life, my love, with you!"
He caught hold of her, reveling in her nearness, the scent of her flowing red hair, the brightness of her sparkling brown eyes. "We will share everything, Ginny, I promise!" he said, urgently. He had never felt as happy as he did at this moment, almost giddy with Ginny's eyes smiling into his, the feel of their hearts beating close together.
"Even — this?" Ginny said, taking his right hand from her hip and holding it between them, showing Harry the Star Brand on his palm.
"Yes," Harry nodded, imagining them both with the Star Brand, able to go anywhere and do anything they wanted. "It will be wonderful, having someone to share this with, Ginny! You'll know what it means to be able to do anything you want!"
"It sounds scary," she said, doubtfully, looking at the symbol in Harry's palm, tracing it with a delicate fingertip, sending shivers up Harry's arm and along his spine. "Do you think I'll be able to handle it, Harry?"
"Of course you will," Harry cooed, smiling sweetly at her. "You're a very bright girl, you'll get the hang of it immediately! Especially since you know what to expect from it — I can teach you."
"You will?" Ginny smiled brilliantly at him. "I'd really like that, Harry. But…" she hesitated a moment. "Will you — will you let me try it on for a bit?"
"You want to try it out first," Harry grinned at her. "Sure — hold up your hand, then," and he held out his palm for her to touch.
But Ginny shook her head. "No, I want you to touch me somewhere else, Harry," she said, smiling wickedly at him. She reached up with her left hand and tugged at the top of her blouse, exposing her shoulder and the top of her left breast. "Will you put it here?" she pointed to the curve of her boob. Harry gaped at the bit of pink flesh she'd revealed to him.
"Um, sure," he said, though his hand had begun to shake at the thought of touching her there, with her parents only a short distance away. "I guess I can do that…"
"Don't worry," she said, with a throaty giggle. "It's not going to hurt…" She reached out and took his right hand gently in hers. "Why don't you close your eyes," she said, playfully, "and I'll guide you?"
Harry looked, his eyes full of longing, into hers, full of promise, and nodded convulsively, then closed his eyes tightly. He felt her lead him several steps, closer to the bed, it seemed to him, then heard her say, "Ready, then, Harry? One… two… three… now!"
His hand pressed against cool smoothness, and Harry willed the Star Brand to transfer. There was a tingling warmth, then nothing, as it disappeared from his body. Harry opened his eyes, expecting to find Ginny smiling at him, the Star Brand on her breast, but the smooth coolness under his hand was not her, but a pale, white head.
A head that now had the eight-pointed star and crescent of the Star Brand etched upon it.
Voldemort's head. No! Harry thought wildly. Connell said never to transfer the Brand to an inanimate object, or something terrible would occur! He took a step back, expecting the worst, whatever that might be, and saw that Ginny was holding the head in front of her, against her chest. He pulled his hand from hers and reached for the head, jamming his other hand into the pocket where his wand was, wondering if he could try to Apparate away with it before whatever happened.
But Ginny spun to one side, blocking him with her hip, and pushed him away with her right hand. Harry, overbalanced, fell over backwards onto the floor as she leaped onto her bed. Whipping her wand out of a back pocket, she pointed it at Harry.
"Enough," a high, cold voice said, one that chilled Harry to his very bones. Ginny stopped, her wand still pointed at Harry; her face was blank, devoid of emotion. Voldemort's head, in her right hand, was pointed directly toward him, and as he stared he saw it smile maliciously at him, then speak.
"So, Potter, did you really believe yourself victorious over me? It is not so simple to kill the Dark Lord, as I trust you now know."
"Ginny," Harry whispered, "what —"
"She will not answer you," Voldemort's head said, "She is under my control, as I shall demonstrate. Bind him!"
"Incarcerous!" Ginny shouted, and ropes shot from the end of her wand, winding around Harry and binding him, forcing his arms against his sides and his legs and feet together, until he barely able to move.
"Place him on the bed," Voldemort's head said, and Ginny jumped to the floor, pointing her wand at him again and saying, "Wingardium Leviosa!" Harry floated into the air and over her bed, then flopped onto it as she released him.
Sense was finally beginning to filter back into Harry's head, so before she could Body-Bind him or cast some other charm to silence him, Harry shouted, "Mr. and Mrs. Weasley — HELP!! Ginny's got —" He cut himself off. If something bad was going to happen, should have by now, Harry suddenly decided. It hadn't, though the fact that Voldemort's dismembered head was actually speaking was bad enough already!
The head was now smiling coldly at him from its vantage point, perched in Ginny's hand. "Figured it out yet, Potter?"
"Figured what out?" Harry asked, as the cobwebs continued to vanish from his brain.
"I wasn't sure if it would work," Voldemort's head said, candidly. "Amortentia is, after all, the most powerful love potion one can brew, but I wasn't sure whether it would affect you or not, Potter."
Amortentia! Harry gasped. So that was what had happened to make him feel so close to Ginny! He had been so caught up in his feelings that he hadn't questioned why she'd seemed so interested in him! A few moments ago he'd been madly in love with Ginny Weasley. Now — now the only thing he could think of was that Voldemort lived once again, and that he had the Star Brand!
"But it seems it could," Voldemort went on. "Proving what I've always believed about Muggle-lovers like you, and Dumbledore."
"What do you believe?" Harry wheezed at him, beginning to feel smothered by the ropes that were binding him.
The head smiled evilly. "That's he's weak, just as you are. Just as this foolish girl and her father and mother were, when they were each called in to talk to Cornelius Fudge, a week ago. Dumbledore thought the Minister was acting on his own accord, and so he was — until he began examining my head by himself, trying to discover whether it was that of Lord Voldemort or not."
Harry could hear the sound of footfalls coming up the stairs — several pairs of feet, from the sound of them, as Voldemort continued. "He found that it was indeed the head of Lord Voldemort," he continued. "He also discovered that the more attention he gave to me, the stronger I became, until I was able to possess him without his knowledge for periods of time, just as I —" Voldemort stopped, smiling. "But then, it would be foolish of me, even now, to tell you the secret behind my diary.
"With the Minister possessed, I was able to force him to perform the Imperius Curse, first on Arthur Weasley, then on his wife." At that moment Mr. and Mrs. Weasley stepped through the doorway, into Ginny's room, and Harry saw with a moan of despair that they both had blank stares on their faces, just as Ginny did. A third person stepped into the room behind them, smiling in smug satisfaction, and Harry's eyes narrowed in anger as he saw it was Lucius Malfoy.
"My lord," Malfoy said, his tone respectful as the head turned in Ginny's hand to look at him. "I am pleased to see your plan worked."
"I'm sure you are, Lucius," Voldemort said, dryly. "As yours was a dismal failure."
Even bound so he was nearly motionless, Harry could see the look of fear that passed across Malfoy's face. "My lord!" Malfoy protested. "I was trying to find a way to revive you! I thought if the Chamber of Secrets was opened —"
"You thought it would close the school, Lucius, nothing more," Voldemort said, coldly. "So you could send your son Draco to Durmstrang, for what you considered was a proper education, even though you were on the board of governors of Hogwarts. You never realized — but never mind," the head said abruptly. "It doesn't matter, as long as you do not fail me again."
"No, my lord," Malfoy said, bowing, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley bowed to the head as well, raising the hackles on the back of Harry's neck.
"Now, let me see," Voldemort said, rising out of Ginny's grasp. She walked over to stand in front of her parents, as the head floated next to her bed, while Harry watched. "I believe now that I am prepared to do — this!"
A white mist began to flow from beneath the head, flowing downward from the neck and quickly coalescing into human form. A black robe formed over the body, which had become solid flesh. Within seconds, Lord Voldemort lived again.
"No!" Harry shouted, and the ropes binding him suddenly snapped apart as he began to struggle. Believing he had broken Ginny's spell, Harry sprang instinctively toward the tall, thin figure, pressing his hand against the symbol on his forehead, willing it to return to him.
But Voldemort, smiling cruelly, simply reached up and prised Harry's hand off of the Star Brand, lifting him away. Harry reacted instantly, swinging with his other fist as hard as he could toward Voldemort's face. There was a tremendous CRACK as knuckles contacted chin.
Voldemort's head jerked a bit to the side, then looked at Harry again, smiling.
"Nice punch, Potter," he said. "But useless against the power this symbol possesses. Now —" he swung his hand around "— let's see if you can take it," and backhanded Harry across the face.
The force of the blow drove Harry downward, through the floor of Ginny's room and into the kitchen below, shattering the kitchen table and the floor beneath it. As Harry lay sprawled in the wreckage of the kitchen, Voldemort dropped through the hole and floated downward, landing with one foot on Harry's chest.
"It appears you have some residuum of this power within you," Voldemort said, looking down on him. "Though it cannot match what I now possess." He reached down, pulling Harry free of the debris and held him at arm's length. "It would not do to waste a valuable resource such as yourself, Harry — I'm sure I can find something useful for you to do in my new goal of world conquest. You may join your friends, the Weasleys. Imperio!"
Voldemort released him and Harry stood swaying, his face taking on a blank look, like Ginny and her parents. But he began to blink, to shake his head, and his entire body began to shiver.
"Join them!" Voldemort commanded again, pointing to the door of the kitchen, where Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had appeared, with Ginny between them, and Lucius Malfoy following behind. "Imperio!" he said again.
"No," Harry breathed, through gritted teeth. "I WON'T!" Just as he did before, when Voldemort had tried to curse him in the graveyard in Little Hangleton.
"Strange," Voldemort said, ending his effort to bring Harry under his influence. "Even with this all-powerful symbol at my command, I cannot break your will, Potter. That is…inconceivable…to me.
"However," he shrugged, "the solution, though less than optimal for my plans for this world, is still workable." Harry, trying to move, found himself as motionless as if Voldemort had cast a Body-Bind curse upon him, backed by the power of the Star Brand.
"The Weasley clan will soon be under my control," Voldemort told Harry, as he vainly struggled against the power holding him motionless. "I will put them work undermining that old fool running that outdated haven of Muggle-lovers and blood traitors, and with the father helping Fudge at the Ministry, I will soon have new followers, ones who will take my control to an entirely new level.
"Of course, Harry," Voldemort chuckled, seeing the loathing in his eyes, "none of this will matter to you. Get out of here," he said, turning to Malfoy and the Weasleys. "Soon this house will be no more." They turned and ran out through the front door, and Voldemort turned back to Harry.
"Did you know that beheading was a noble's death, in medieval times?" he said, looking malevolently at Harry. "Whereas burning was reserved for heretics and witches? Therefore, I grant you the death you are deserving of, Harry Potter!"
Voldemort gestured toward him, and cursed fire enveloped Harry, burning every inch of his skin. The pain was every bit as bad as the Cruciatus Curse, though Harry was denied even the release of screaming. The fire consumed him down to his bones, and Harry toppled over. His last coherent thought was to wish he could warn Dumbledore of the danger the school was in — and that he should have said goodbye to Hermione, before oblivion claimed him.