The Potter Brand

Chapter 6

"Exposé"

Harry opened his eyes. He'd fallen asleep, which he found surprising — he didn't think he would ever sleep again after waking up in a coffin in the cemetery at Godric's Hollow yesterday. There was daylight streaming in through the windows of Professor Dumbledore's office. The last he remembered, from the evening before, it had still been dark. How much time had passed since then, he wondered.

Harry sat up and looked around. He was lying on a divan nestled between two bookcases of the many that lined the walls of the office. Professor Dumbledore was at his desk, his long-fingered hands folded in his lap. He appeared to be dozing. Harry also saw Kenneth Connell, who had folded himself into one of the old, comfortable plush chintz chairs in front of the headmaster's desk. The other person who'd been with them last night, Hermione Granger, was no longer in the room, though Harry could sense her presence within the castle — she had probably gone to her dormitory to sleep or freshen up. It was Christmas Day, Harry remembered, if he hadn't already slept through it.

Harry felt Connell's eyes on him, and turned to look at him, but Connell didn't react — he seemed withdrawn and lost in thought; he sat, completely motionless, as Harry continued to watch him. After a minute, however, Connell's eyes appeared to focus once again; he sat up with a small start, gave him a nod and murmured, "Good morning. Did you sleep well, Harry?"

Harry nodded. He did feel rested, in fact, and more alert than last night. "Yeah. A bit surprised I went to sleep, though."

Connell grunted and gave a curt nod. "That was my doing, actually."

Harry looked at him, nonplussed. "You made me go to sleep?" Connell nodded again. "What for? I don't remember being that tired. Blimey, Connell, I've been dead for nearly four months — d'you think I'd want to fall asleep again right away after that?!"

"I knew you wouldn't, Harry. But Dumbledore and Hermione needed to sleep," Connell told him. "And so did you. I felt that way, too, after I woke up in the Pit. I didn't ever want to go to sleep again — I forced myself to stay away for days afterward, destroying the mutations that had sprung up around that hellhole.

"But your mind needs to sleep, even if your body doesn't get tired any more, I found out. After a couple of weeks I was starting to hallucinate, and for a while I couldn't tell reality from my own delusions. I finally blacked out for a day or two, and when I woke up I realized I needed to spend some time asleep each day, to let my mind rest." Connell waved a hand at his own head. "Better to spend an hour or so each day letting your brain sort stuff out, than going slowly insane."

"I'll have to remember that," Harry said, getting up off the divan. He began to pace restlessly, a habit he'd unconsciously picked up from Sirius. "So, when are we going after Voldemort?"

"Soon, I'm sure," Connell replied, watching him pace. "We're waiting for him to make a move — poking your nose into his carefully-laid plans rattled his cage quite a bit, I think."

Harry stopped pacing and looked at Connell, remembering the confrontation he'd just had with the once-again handsome Voldemort. "He thought I was you, for some reason," he told the tall, blond-haired man. "But he looks more like me now than you — why would he be confused about who I was?"

"I've been back on Earth about a month, now," Connell said, leaning forward in his chair. He was acting normal now, less withdrawn than earlier, as he brought Harry up-to-date on what he'd been doing. "I was checking out the alien situation in the vicinity, seeing if there was any sign, and I wanted to try out that Apparition trick you showed me once."

"What d'you mean by, 'the vicinity'?" Harry asked. He was pretty sure Ken meant something other than a trip to Dover.

"Oh — Alpha Centauri, a few of the nearby star systems," Ken shrugged. "Really useful trick, too — I wish I'd been more interested in science fiction stuff when I was younger, I could've used that teleporting trick to get home a lot quicker. Though I suppose I would have ended up a million years or so in the past if I had."

"Are you saying you Apparated to another star system?" Harry asked, disbelievingly.

"Sure," Connell replied, grinning. "It was pretty easy to imagine, once I saw how you did it."

Harry shook his head, his mind in a daze. "That's unbelievable…"

Connell nodded. "Yeah, that's about how I felt when I got back and started looking for you. I couldn't locate your presence anywhere around Earth, so I looked up the Professor here —" he jerked his head toward the still-sleeping form of Dumbledore, snoring softly at his desk. "Well, imagine my surprise when he told me you were dead, and this evil wizard, Voldemort, the one you thought you'd killed, now had the Star Brand!"

"Yeah, that surprised the hell out of me, too," Harry said darkly, unhappily recalling that memory. "What was even more surprising was that I was aware I was surprised, somehow."

"Your headmaster wanted me to help that underground group he runs, that 'Order of the Phoenix,' to find this Voldemort character and stop him." Connell rubbed the side of his face, looking at Dumbledore. "When I told him we should wait until you returned to life, he didn't seem to believe that could or would happen."

"Because raising the dead is impossible," Harry said, automatically.

"Yeah, supposedly," Connell shrugged. "But this Voldemort survived a spell that blasted his body into nothingness."

"Because of —"

"The Horcruxes," the large, blond man finished for him. "Oh, yeah," he grinned, as Harry blinked in surprise. "I know all about them. I've been learning about magic while waiting for you to return. Though if I'd known it was going to take you that long, Harry, I might have come around and given you a boost out of that grave."

"Why didn't you?" Harry wanted to know.

"Dumbledore didn't want me to disturb your remains," Connell replied. "I don't know if it was more a matter of respect, or curiosity on his part."

"It was a bit of both," a deep voice replied from behind the headmaster's desk; both Harry and Connell turned to see Albus Dumbledore, now awake, peering at them over his half-moon spectacles. "Harry had been killed by Fiendfyre, the most dangerous and uncontrollable type of cursed magical fire, which normally burns everything it touches to ashes.

"Yet his skeleton and some charred bits of flesh were left after the fire died out. That was most unexpected, and I confess — and please pardon me, Harry, if I seem to be speaking rather callously about you in your presence! — I confess I was intrigued when you told me you expected Harry to survive that ordeal, Kenneth."

"I had survived something similar myself," Ken said, matter-of-factly, "when I tried to place the Brand on an inanimate object, and ended up vaporized, along with everything within fifty miles of me."

"Which you related to us last night," Dumbledore added.

"Right. Anyway," Ken went on, turning back to Harry. "While you were busy regenerating your body in Godric's Hollow, I took the opportunity to educate myself on magic. Adapting Apparition to use with the Star Brand power had piqued my curiosity — so, I learned all about magical theory and spells."

"An ambitious undertaking," Dumbledore commented. "How far have you gotten?" he inquired, interested.

Ken tapped the side of his head. "It's all up here," he said.

Harry gasped, and even Dumbledore looked daunted. "What do you mean, 'all'?" the headmaster asked, his tone now sharp. "You couldn't possibly have read all the books on magic in so short a time!"

Connell gave him an even look. "I haven't read them all, of course. But all of the wizarding books and scrolls currently out there anywhere in the world have been stored in my memory."

"But how could you have done that?" Harry blurted. "Why, the Library at Hogwarts has tens of thousands of books — it would take years to read all the way through them, much less all the other wizarding libraries on Earth!"

"You underestimate the power of the Star Brand, Harry," Connell reminded him. "I had only to imagine that all of that information was in my head, and the Star Brand made it so. I did the same with all of the books, magazines and media on Earth, before I left. It's true I've read through only a small fraction of that knowledge so far. However," he went on, grinning, "you can listen to a lot of music over thousands of years of subjective time, especially when you're flying through intergalactic space at nearly the speed of light!"

"What have you been reading about magic, then?" Harry wanted to know. If Connell could do something like this, perhaps he could, as well!

"Well, I was fortunate enough to find some interesting stuff, early on," Ken mused. "I had decided to begin reading alphabetically, and the title of one of the first texts I read translated as Ancient Bonds and Rituals of Wizardry, a Compleat Index."

"Indeed?" Dumbledore looked surprised to hear that. "There are only three known copies of that text extant. One is held in the Royal Library at Windsor Castle, magically disguised to resemble a rare Muggle book of psalms; the second is in the Ministry of Magic, in the Department of Mysteries, accessible only to the Unspeakables who work there. The final copy is in my personal library."

"What's so special about that book, Professor?" Harry asked him. "You've mentioned ancient magic before — the spell that my mother cast to save me from Voldemort, for example."

Dumbledore slowly stroked his beard; he appeared reluctant to reply at first. Finally, he said, "The book contains descriptions of ancient and arcane magical bonds and rituals, Harry — very powerful, and potentially very dangerous, incantations. It is quite an advanced work, incomprehensible to most students. In fact, in all the years it has been in my possession, I have only allowed three students to read it."

Both Harry and Connell looked at the professor, interest in their eyes, and he sighed. "My tendency to provide additional information sometimes gets the better of me, it seems. Ah well — in any event, to continue:

"The first one I gave it to was Tom Riddle. He was intrigued with the idea of ancient magic, but found that the principles upon which it was founded, the bonds between family and loved ones, to be anathema to his purposes, and he rejected it.

"The second student to see the book was Remus Lupin. His life, so tragically altered by the attack that made him a werewolf, did not overwhelm him, as so often happens to those afflicted with that terrible condition, and his zeal to understand magic was second only to my own. His creation of the Marauders Map — yes, Harry, I am aware that you currently have it, by the way — was a masterpiece of magical creation, made possible in part by his reading of that text.

"The last student to see the text," Dumbledore concluded, his blue eyes gazing keenly at Harry, "was your mother, Lily. In so many ways, I saw in her a deep, abiding respect for magic, in all its aspects, and I knew she would use the knowledge of the ancient bonds wisely. As it turned out, she was able to use one of the most powerful incantations, the Bond of Sacrifice, to save your life, Harry."

"By — by giving her life, to protect mine," Harry said, quietly.

Dumbledore nodded. He looked back at Connell. "Do you believe you understand the ancient magic described in that text, Kenneth?"

"Not completely," Connell admitted. "It is all quite impressive, however — especially the Bond of Making. Without that ancient ritual, magic would be much more difficult to use today than as it's currently practiced."

"The Bond of Making?" Harry repeated. "I've never heard it mentioned in any class — not even Hermione has ever talked about something like that — usually, we can't get her to stop talking about all the stuff she's learned!"

Dumbledore chuckled softly. "I'm sure she would find it interesting, Harry, but it is not taught at Hogwarts as it is quite complex, and beyond even N.E.W.T.-level students. Most magical incantations are quite verbose. Some can take dozens of words to invoke, especially very complicated ones, such as the Fidelius Charm, for example.

"A few thousand years ago, a wizard — we don't know exactly who, though he was probably a Greek — discovered that the Bond of Making could be used to bind a word or phrase with a longer incantation, shortening the time required to invoke the spell. That discovery revolutionized wizardry, as we no longer had to speak or think the entire incantation, only the trigger words," Dumbledore explained.

"Yes," Connell nodded, as Harry's mouth dropped open. "I thought that was quite an innovation for wizard-kind to have come up with, along with the wand, around 2500 years ago or thereabouts."

"That's — that's incredible," Harry stammered. "But if — if that's true, Professor, how are new spells created?"

"They seldom are, Harry," Dumbledore replied, surprisingly. "Mostly, wizards use a combination of Arithmancy and Ancient Runes calculations, along with magical revealment spells, to discover trigger spells that already exist. Most wizards do not understand that what they do is a process of discovery, not creation."

Harry wanted to enquire further about this startling revelation about magic, but on Dumbledore's desk a small statue, a miniature version of the gargoyle that stood guard outside the entrance to his office, began to glow with a soft, red light. Glancing at it, Dumbledore turned to Harry and said, "We have a visitor. I believe it will be Remus Lupin, whom I've asked to keep me appraised of anything to do with Voldemort or his Death Eaters. Harry, you may want to become invisible, at least temporarily — I have not yet had the opportunity to tell him about you, and it may be a shock for him to see you alive again, so suddenly and without preparation."

Harry nodded and became invisible, and a moment later there was a knock at the great polished, oaken door to Dumbledore's office. "Come in, Remus," Dumbledore said, and Lupin quickly entered, looking agitated.

"I've some very disturbing news to report, I'm afraid," he said, after removing his cloak and exchanging hurried greetings with the headmaster and, Harry noted, with Connell, whom he seemed to know. "Voldemort has made an appearance on Muggle television, announcing his existence to the world at large!"

Dumbledore frowned. "This is most disturbing news, Remus."

"That's not the worst of it," Remus went on, his face looking even more tired, more haggard, than the last time Harry had seen him. "He also revealed the existence of the world-wide Wizarding community, and called for the immediate arrest and detention of anyone in possession of a wand!"

Connell shook his head in disgust. "The fool! Why would he do that?"

"He probably intends to force a confrontation between wizard-kind and the Muggle governments," Dumbledore speculated, his expression turning grim.

"With the power he possesses," Lupin said, looking darkly at Connell, who stared back at him emotionlessly, "he can manipulate any situation he wants, now. He could give Muggles invulnerable defenses against magic, or make wizards more powerful than ever — whatever he wants."

"He seems to be siding with non-magical forces at the moment," Connell pointed out. "Why would he go against his own kind?"

"Voldemort considers himself set apart from everyone," Dumbledore stated. "He acts only for his own best interests."

"Perhaps he plans to protect some of wizard-kind," Lupin theorized, "such as the pure-bloods, and have the Muggle-born and half-bloods rounded up and arrested. He could then turn them into an unstoppable elite, answerable only to him and the power of the Star Brand. He might even — oh my LORD! HARRY!!"

Remus had shouted the last because of Harry, who had dropped his invisibility, unable to wait any longer to speak. "Sorry, Professor," he said apologetically to Lupin. "I didn't want — uh!" He grunted in surprise as Lupin rushed forward and grabbed him in a huge hug.

"Harry! Harry! You're alive!" Lupin all but shouted in his ear, pounding his back exuberantly, then held him at arm's length, gazing at him with deep and undisguised affection. "Connell said there was a strong possibility that you would rejoin us one day, but I hardly dared hope —!"

"I was surprised to find myself alive again as well, sir," Harry grinned, a bit sheepishly, as Lupin released him. "I just wish it could have been under different circumstances."

"Agreed," Lupin said, soberly. He turned back to Dumbledore and Connell, both of whom were waiting tensely for him to resume his report. "Sorry — where was I?"

"You were speculating as to why Voldemort might be calling for the arrest of anyone with a wand," Connell prompted.

Lupin nodded. "Kingsley owled me just a few minutes ago, at headquarters, alerting me to these reports on the news. I haven't had a chance to see anything for myself yet — thought I should let you know before I went off to find a telly somewhere."

"I can take care of that," Connell said, and waved a hand in the air before them. As Harry and the others watched, a rectangular image appeared in front of them, like a screen floating in midair. A male and female, both dressed in Muggle business attire, were looking and talking at them. Or, so it appeared — Harry knew that, in reality, they were simply talking at the camera.

"— shocking revelation this morning," one of the newscasters, the woman, was saying, "when Secretary of Homeland Security Thomas M. Riddle broke into regular programming, speaking from the White House in Washington, D.C. in America, to announce the discovery of what he called a 'world-wide organization of magical terrorists, bent on the subjugation of the human race…"

The image cut to a recording of Voldemort speaking. He was as Harry saw him last night — not pale with red eyes or snake-like features, he now resembled a mature version of the Tom Riddle Harry had seen at the American White House. Handsome and confident-looking, the new Voldemort radiated an aura of self-assurance and familiarity that Harry felt sure must be some kind of magical effect, it felt so powerful.

"I am Thomas Riddle, the newly-appointed Secretary of the Office of Homeland Security, recently created by President Gore," the handsome image said, looking into the camera, his high, clear voice ringing with a clarity that seemed as if it carried the persuasive effects of the Imperius Curse. "I come to you today both to warn all of you of great danger, and to give everyone assurances of their safety in these troubled times.

"For centuries there has been hiding, within the very midst of the teeming billions of Earth's peoples, a sinister enemy of mankind, patiently waiting for the moment to strike. They have walked among you as normal people, yet they are not normal — they wield power that could enslave everyone, if we allow them to bring their heinous malefactions to fruition.

"They are witches and sorcerers, spawns of the devil!" The handsome image declared, his voice rising in controlled anger and outrage. Harry glanced at Professor Dumbledore and saw him staring with something like dread in his eyes — perhaps even, fear. A Voldemort with the power of the Star Brand behind him, and a plan to use it, would rightly inspire fear in anyone. Harry recalled how easily he had been duped into believing he could place the power within Voldemort's head, only to discover that a fragment of his soul was waiting there, to claim it and take the power for himself. And now, Voldemort was beguiling the Muggles all across Earth, if this news report was correct, into believing that wizardkind was plotting to take over!

"They have waited patiently for centuries," Voldemort went on, the tone of his voice calculated to inspire doubt and fear in the hearts of people across the world, "watching for the moment when they might seize the reins of power from our leaders around the world, to enslave and, ultimately, to eradicate us from the planet! The human race cannot and will not allow this to happen!

"Homeland Security has begun coordinating with law enforcement officials across the country, as well as other major countries throughout the world, through our State Department, to apprehend these wily and dangerous individuals scattered throughout the world and eradicate their threat once and for all!"

The scene shifted and a news anchorperson began speaking. "In countries such as France, Greece, Italy, Romania and Bulgaria, dozens of strangely-dressed people, armed with so-called magical wands, have been rounded up by authorities with the help of special forces sent by the United Nations, individuals wielding sacred symbols and holy water, objects deadly to the sorcerers —"

"What?" Harry gasped. "Are they kidding?"

"—who retreat in fear of divine power," the anchorperson went on. "Normal people are warned to report anyone seen carrying or using a wand, and to steer clear of any such people, as they are considered hostile and extremely dangerous. Divine Response Squads are being formed across the country, and along with regular law enforcement personnel, expect to have the wizard infestation removed from our society within six months…"

Harry looked around at Dumbledore and Lupin, incredulity etched into every line of his face. "'Divine Response Squads'? Sacred objects and holy water, to destroy wizards? Can that possibly be true?"

"No," Lupin said, heavily. "But they are actually cursed objects, not blessed ones. Voldemort is promoting his own forces as using sacred or divine power to combat the 'infernal' power of the witches and wizards. This is evidently what he's been working on for the past several months, while we've been trying to figure out what he's been up to."

"Then what's brought him out into the open?" Harry wanted to know, then looked at Dumbledore, stricken with the idea he'd just had. "Was it — me? Is he reacting to my reappearance?"

"It was probably me, Harry," Connell said. The television image had been displaying a montage of scenes showing wizards in various countries being rounded up by other wizards wearing United Nations or other military uniforms. "After I returned and talked with Professor Dumbledore, I began trying to learn what Voldemort had been doing since he'd killed you and then retreated into hiding.

"I was going around, seeking out people in the governments of Europe and the Mid-East who might have hidden connections to Voldemort; since several Ministry members had resigned their positions, it seemed reasonable to suppose that he was repositioning them for some type of global effort. Before his acquisition of the Star Brand, Voldemort had planned to take over the Ministry of Magic and subjugate wizarding Britain. From there, he would have likely expanded into Europe or Scandinavia. But with the Star Brand in his grasp, his ambition expanded to include the entire world, my investigations found.

"I was a bit ham-handed about it, I'm afraid," Ken added, ruefully. "At one point, I touched the mind of one of his followers, who'd bribed his way into the Danish government, and it set off a trigger that alerted Voldemort to my existence. He still believes you're dead — I suspect he thought you were me when he saw you last night."

"He did call me 'Connell'," Harry recalled. "I didn't really think about it at the time, except that he and I looked a lot alike, for some reason."

"He did take your blood to regain his body," Dumbledore reminded him. It is also true that you were similar in appearance."

Harry gave the headmaster a doubtful stare, remembering the face of the sixteen-year old Riddle from the diary, in his second year. He didn't look half as good, at fifteen, before his return from the Godric's Hollow cemetery, as Riddle had then.

"Your trip to the American capitol probably goaded him into action, Harry," Dumbledore went on. "Oh, it's not a bad thing, overall," he added, when Harry frowned. "We did want some indication of what he's up to, and we have it now."
"And now we have to figure out how we can fight him, and keep our people safe," Lupin said, grimly.

"I have some ideas," Connell told them, looking at Dumbledore and Lupin, and they began discussing strategies for moving Wizarding families into more remote regions, aware from Muggle governments and Voldemort's influence.

Harry listened to them talk for a few minutes, but they were ignoring him, discussing Portkeys and emergency Floo networks, and whether Hogwarts itself was remote enough to remain undisturbed, at least temporarily. Finally, after wandering around Dumbledore's office for a minute or two, he decided to find Hermione and let her know what was happening, if she hadn't already heard. Turning invisible again, he Vanished and reappeared next to her a moment later, in the Great Hall.

As with every Christmas season, the Great Hall was decked out spectacularly, with boughs of holly and mistletoe hung on the walls, and a dozen great decorated Christmas trees standing around the edges of the room, sparkling with icicles and shining with hundreds of candles. The ceiling showed a sunny (though still cold) day, unusual for this time of year, with great puffy clouds floating overhead.

At the Christmas feast, later that evening, the Hall would be filled with all the students who hadn't gone home for the holidays, and there would be platefuls of food overflowing the tables and students laughing merrily as they pulled wizard crackers and ate Christmas pudding until they were fit to burst open themselves. For now, however, the midday meal was nearly over and only a handful of students were still scattered about the tables. Sitting by herself at the Gryffindor table, facing the great double doors leading into the Entrance Hall, was Hermione. She had finished her meal, though it looked as if she'd hardly eaten anything, and was absently stirring a cup of tea sitting before her.

Harry sat still, watching her for a minute or more. In stark contrast to the festive atmosphere around her, Hermione seemed unhappy, even upset. If he hadn't known better, Harry would have believed she was concerned about the fate of the wizarding world now that Voldemort had revealed their presence to Muggles — but she probably hadn't even heard of that yet. There was no Daily Prophet in front of her, and Harry knew she normally read it carefully every day, even on Christmas.

No, her thoughts were on them, him and her, and what she was feeling for him now. Harry didn't even need to touch her mind to know this; all of her feelings for him were bound up in the knowledge he'd absorbed from her, hours ago. It had been jumbling around in the back of his mind now for hours, as he'd slept.

As he watched, silent and invisible, sitting beside her, Hermione sighed and took a sip from her teacup, muttering, "What are we going to do now, Harry?"

"I don't know," he replied, quietly, and she jumped, letting out a small shriek that caused everyone else in the Hall to turn suddenly and look her way.

"Sorry, sorry," she said to the room at large, shaking her head. She held up her cup. "The tea was hotter than I expected!" As everyone turned back to their own business Hermione spoke in a whisper, from the corner of her mouth, "Harry! How long have you been there? What's going on with Professor Dumbledore and the others?"

"I've been here just a few seconds," Harry lied. "I heard your last remark. Dumbledore and Remus and Connell are trying to figure out what to do about Voldemort's latest move."

"What's happening with him?"

Harry grimaced, though Hermione couldn't see him, of course. "He just revealed the existence of wizard-kind to the entire world."

"He what?!" Hermione said, loudly, and several students looked her way. She glared back at them. "Do you mind?" she huffed, as if they were being rude, staring at her. The students shrugged and turned away.

She looked toward where Harry's voice was coming from. "Why would he do that? His followers are wizards, too — won't they be in as much danger as the rest of us?"
"Maybe not," Harry decided, "if he can protect them, or keep the Muggle authorities from arresting them. There are wizards going out with the police and military, pretending they have some kind of special powers to stop 'evil' magical folk — basically, anyone Voldemort wants to get rid of, I expect."

"And what can we do?" Hermione asked, anxiously. "We can't just sit here and wait for them to show up at the castle doors!"

"Dumbledore's up in his office, trying to figure out what our next move is," Harry said.

"And why aren't you up there as well?" Hermione demanded. "Doesn't this concern you as much as it does them?"

"Yeah," Harry said, slowly. "But I've never been a great strategist… Ron's beat me loads of time at wizard chess. An' this is a lot more important than that!"

"Oh bollocks, Harry!" Hermione said hotly, glaring at his left shoulder, where she thought his face was. "You're a lot smarter than you give yourself credit for! You should've stayed back up in Dumbledore's office and helped them sort things out!"

"I wanted to come down to find you," Harry said, quietly. He didn't want to admit that his emotions about her were rather jumbled up and confused at the moment — but he did care about her. "We never really got a chance to talk, after I woke up…" He stopped, concentrating for a moment, imagining himself visible only to her, and she smiled slightly as he appeared.

But her smile quickly waned. "How can we talk about it now, Harry?" she asked, looking solemn. "If — if there was something between us — you and I never really talked about it before, you know."

"We did last year, didn't we?" Harry said, hesitantly.

"You mean that rubbish Rita Skeeter printed about us?" Hermione looked at him archly. "Don't tell me you're starting to believe that claptrap too, Harry!"

"No," Harry shook his head slowly. "But, sometimes, other people see things in us we can't see ourselves…"

"But not Rita Skeeter, Harry!" Hermione said skeptically, though there was a flicker of doubt in her eyes as well. "She was just trying to stir up trouble —"

The doors of the Great Hall swung open, and everyone there, including Harry and Hermione, glanced toward them. Hermione's face fell when she saw who it was. "Oh, bollocks," she muttered. "Not him, not now…"

It was Ron, Harry saw — looking up and down the Gryffindor table and finally catching sight of Hermione. He began walking toward her.

"I thought he went home to the Burrow!" Hermione muttered under her breath, so only Harry could hear.

"What d'you think he wants?" Harry asked, thinking he might not want to hear the answer. But Hermione only shook her head.

Ron was carrying a newspaper in his hand, a copy of the Prophet, and he dropped it on the table in front of Hermione as he sat down across from her. "I had to come back," he announced flatly, staring at her.

"What for?" she asked, more harshly than Harry thought necessary, but he kept silent as Ron pointed toward the paper he'd dropped.

"You-Know-Who's revealed the existence of the Wizarding world to the Muggles!" Ron said, loud enough that several students at other tables turned around, in alarm. "I — I wanted to — make sure you were safe," he went on, speaking haltingly. "I didn't — I don't — want anything to happen to you, Hermione."

Hermione sighed, softening, and said, "Thank you, Ron. In fact, I'm glad you're back, really — I have some good news for you!" She glanced at the empty seat next to her, smiling, and Ron followed her look with some confusion.

Harry imagined himself visible to Ron, and said softly, "Happy Christmas, Ron," as he appeared next to Hermione.

"Oh, bloody hell," Ron gasped, staring at Harry wide-eyed. "But you're — you're d-dead, Harry! Are you a — a g-ghost?" he whispered, goggling at him.

"Yeah," Harry deadpanned. "I'm the Ghost of Christmas Presents, Ron, here to take all yours back and give you a lump of coal!"

Ron's lip began to quiver, as if he could really believe what Harry had just told him. Then he looked at the expression of annoyed amusement on Harry's face and he slumped in relief.

"Of course I'm not a ghost, you prat," Harry continued, exasperated. "The Star Brand kept me from being permanently killed, but I've been recovering for the past few months. I just revived this morning!" He didn't bother to add the circumstances surrounding how he'd done so.

Ron's face broke into a sudden smile. "Excellent!" he beamed. "Wait'll everyone back at home hears about you being alive again!"

"Right," Harry smiled, although telling the Weasley family he was alive again wasn't very high in his list of priorities at the moment. "We still have to figure out how to stop Voldemort, you know, Ron," he said matter-of-factly.

"Oh — right…" Ron's face fell almost comically. He looked annoyed to have the good news of Harry's return spoiled. "Haven't heard anything about him in months — I wonder what bee got up his bum?"

Before Harry could say anything, however, there was a flash of white and Ken Connell appeared next to Ron, who shied violently away in surprise. "Ah, here you are," he said in a conversational tone, as if he'd just poked his head through the doors of the Great Hall, not appeared suddenly in their midst. "Harry, we need to talk — in private," he added, glancing at Ron and Hermione.

"What's up?" Harry asked, a bit miffed at Connell's dismissal of his friends. "You can say anything in front of them, it's okay —"

There was a sudden flash of light, then darkness. Harry looked around, but the lack of light was absolute. Even adjusting his eyes to the point of seeing individual photons revealed nothing but a single heat signature nearby — he switched to infrared, and the reddened image of Connell became visible, looking at him seriously.

"So, what's up?" Harry repeated, now annoyed. "What's so secret you couldn't even say it in front of Ron and Hermione?" He looked around; they were still inside Hogwarts, but he could make out nothing around him except Connell. "Where are we?

Conner looked around, and the darkness coalesced into a small room, walled in stone similar to the corridors of the school, with lamps lining the walls. There was nothing else in the room; no tables or chairs, no rug or cushions or anything they might sit upon. "This was originally called 'The Room of Necessity,' back in the time of the Founders. At some point, when the term 'necessary room' took on a different meaning, it became the Room of Requirement.

Harry looked around the room. It didn't seem very impressive. "What does it do?"

"Whatever you require of it," Connell said with a smile, shrugging. "Within the limits of magic, of course. It was Rowena Ravenclaw's crowning achievement for the school, surpassing even Salazar Slytherin's Chamber of Secrets or Godric Gryffindor's Founders' Tower."

"I've been in the Chamber of Secrets," Harry said, "but I've never heard of the Founders' Tower, or the Room of Requirement. What did you bring me here for, anyway?" he asked, getting annoyed again.

"I wanted a place where no one could overhear us, Harry — this room is the most secure place in the castle, if you need it to be. We need to talk about Voldemort."

"Good," Harry said, grimly. "And about time, too — I was beginning to wonder if you'd forgotten about him."

"Not hardly!" Ken said, emphatically. "After traveling millions of light-years over thousands of years of subjective time, I would never allow him to pervert the Star Brand into an instrument of slavery and destruction such as he plans to use it!"
"What's our play, then?" Harry asked, eager to do anything he could to help stop Voldemort. "I'm guessing that, with the two of us, we have an advantage in numbers."

"To some degree," Connell nodded. "However, we can't simply attack him head on — even with your power added to mine, our superiority would only be a temporary one."

Connell gestured, and a table and map appeared in front of them. The map was a street guide to Washington D.C., showing the location of the White House. He pointed to a spot a few miles away, to the southeast. "I want you to start here and begin advancing, on foot, to here —" Connell tapped the location of the White House.

"It's going to take me a while to walk that distance," Harry said, looking at Connell dubiously. "I can just land right here, in the garden —" he pointed to the front lawn of the White House. "That'll be a lot quicker."

"Yes," Connell agreed, "but it will also provoke an immediate and direct response from Voldemort himself, and we already know that without the Star Brand, you don't stand a chance against him."

Harry nodded unhappily. "So why am I going in, then, if I can't beat him?"

"A distraction," Connell replied. "Voldemort tends to send underlings to handle problems; it's rare that he becomes directly involved anymore, preferring to control activities from behind the front lines. He only attacked you at the White House, earlier, because he thought you were me at first. By the time you escaped back to Hogwarts, he had realized that you and I were separate entities."

"How?" Harry asked.

"I told him," Connell replied. Harry gave him a questioning look, and he continued, "Voldemort and I had a short conversation after you teleported back to the school. He thought I had created a doppelganger of him, to attack the White House as a distraction. I let him believe that, because it is useful if he thinks you're not real. Now, to throw him off even more —" Connell gestured toward Harry, and he felt himself change slightly, becoming shorter and thinner. A mirror appeared before him; Harry looked at himself, and gasped.

The fifteen-year old Harry was back, complete with glasses, unruly black hair and lightning scar. Harry stared at his reflection, thinking that only a few weeks ago in his subjective memory, his life, while no picnic even then, had certainly been a lot less complicated than it was now!

He touched his forehead. "You know, I haven't missed this scar at all," he said, plaintively. A horrible though occurred to him. "You — you didn't put Voldemort back in here, did you?" he asked, running his fingers along the lightning-shaped mark.

"Of course not," Connell shook his head. "I'm not even sure I could have, to be honest."

"So why turn me back into my old self?" Harry wanted to know. "What's the point?"

"I need about thirty minutes to set up the trap I plan to spring on Voldemort," Connell replied. "I need you to keep him occupied, keep his attention focused on you. That's why I don't want you dropping onto the White House lawn, and why I want you looking like your old self. If he thinks you're just a doppelganger — he'll believe that, because you're giving off the same energy pattern you did before — he'll be less likely to come after you himself, until it's too late."

"And what if he reads my mind, to find out what you intend?"

"Then you should resist him as much as possible," Connell suggested. "But he'll probably only do that if he realizes you're the real Harry and not a doppelganger."

Harry drew a deep breath. "Alright, then, I'm in. The only thing I'm not clear on is … what do we hope to accomplish with this? Are we trying to force Voldemort into giving up the Star Brand?"

Connell shook his head. "Only he can do that. It has to be an act of his will, transferring the Brand to another being, or to an inanimate object, and you know what will happen if he does that!"

"Yeah," Harry nodded grimly. "Everything within a fifty-mile radius is vaporized."

"At least that," Connell pointed out. "It's possible, if he did it deliberately, he could cause the fireball to expand and engulf the continent, or even the entire world. Even so, that wouldn't destroy him permanently — he'd reform once again, with the Star Brand still part of him, as it did when that happened to me."

The table vanished. "Are you ready, Harry?" Connell asked.

Harry nodded, but then said, "Ken, I don't want to kill anyone."

Connell stared at him a long moment. "I wouldn't ask you to, Harry."

"But I'm going to be attacked on my way there," Harry pointed out. "It's going to be hard to avoid killing someone, once they start attacking me."

"You've managed to get this far without killing anyone," Connell argued. "Well, except for Voldemort, and he's evened the score on that account with you already, hasn't he?"

"I guess," Harry said, vaguely. "Maybe I should go say goodbye to my friends…"

Connell shook his head. "That's defeatist thinking, Harry. You'll see them again. Just keep Voldemort occupied for a half-hour and I'll spring the trap on him. Once he's controlled, we'll come up with a more permanent solution for him."

"Controlled?" Harry echoed. "How are we going to control him —"

"No time to explain that now," Connell shook his head. There was a flash of light, and they appeared in the skies over Washington D.C., a few thousand feet above the ground.

"There's your objective," Connell said, pointing to the northwest, where Harry could see the three buildings of the Executive Residence of the United States president nestled among the trees, barren of leaves in the winter. To the south of the White House grounds he could see a large evergreen tree, decorated with Christmas ornaments and flickering with lights in the early evening. "I'll see you in thirty minutes. Good luck, Harry." Connell vanished in a burst of white light.

Taking a deep breath, Harry allowed himself to drop straight down, toward the ground. He fell until he reached terminal velocity, then at the last moment before reaching the ground he began to slow down. He still slammed into the street at high speed. It crumpled beneath him, gouging out a crater of shattered concrete and asphalt. Harry climbed up easily out of it.

Looking around, he saw that he was near a river; the road he'd landed in crossed over it on a bridge. It was a four-lane, with a large median between the two directions of traffic. There weren't many cars on it at the moment, this being Christmas evening, five hours later than at Hogwarts. Harry began walking along the road, toward the White House. He guessed it was four or five miles away.

He'd walked perhaps a half-mile to the northwest when a vehicle marked "police" pulled up beside him. The blue-uniformed officer on the side nearest him (the steering wheel was on the left side of the car, opposite of at home) called him over. Jerking a thumb from the direction they'd come, the man said, "Hey, kid, did you come from back that way?"

"Yes," Harry answered, curtly. He wasn't sure what to expect from the man, though he could sense wariness, even fear, radiating from him.

"We had a report of a sinkhole back there," the officer continued, giving Harry an appraising look from behind his cheaters. The other officer, the driver, had his hand on his weapon, hidden from view behind the nearer officer's body. "A couple of people reported seeing a young lad walking away from the vicinity. We just want to ask you a couple of questions."

Harry shrugged. "Ask whatever you'd like." He kept walking.

The police car stopped. "Come on back here," the officer called out.

"Can't," Harry said over his shoulder. In fact he would have to walk even faster if he was going to cover the distance to the White House in the remaining twenty minutes.

Both cops exited the vehicle. "Get back here, kid!" the first one said commandingly, then dropped his hand to the weapon on his hip and barked "Freeze!" when Harry didn't stop.

Harry spun around. "Good idea," he said, and with a gesture put a Body-Bind Curse on both men. He turned forward and kept walking, leaving them standing stiffly, staring at his back.

So far, it had been easy enough — other than the foregoing incident with the two American bobbies, there'd been little, if any, notice taken of him by the local authorities. Harry was beginning to think that Voldemort hadn't expected something like this — a lone wizard mounting an invasion of America's capitol city! Either that, or as Connell had said, Voldemort knew he was coming but thought he was some kind of artificial construct, a doppelganger created by the Star Brand rather than the real Harry Potter, put into play to create some kind of distraction. If Voldemort believed that, however, wouldn't he be taking steps to prepare for whatever actual attack was surely coming?

A number of police vehicles were suddenly turning onto the street from several directions, converging on his location. Harry concentrated for a moment, imagining the petrol in the oncoming vehicles turning to water, and their engines all died. The cars all began braking wildly, some slamming into one another; as they stopped, policemen poured out of them onto the street, taking up position behind the vehicles and pointing handguns and shotguns at him.

Harry sighed and made a poofing gesture with his hand; all of the weapons held by the police were all Transfigured to smoke. Another gesture and they were all put under the Full Body-Bind Curse. Harry walked through the frozen figures of the officers, their eyes following him as he nodded and smiled at them. He glanced at his watch — fifteen more minutes. My goodness, at this rate, he was going to be late!

Harry began picking up speed, at first jogging, then running, until he was moving faster than a person could possibly run, perhaps forty or fifty miles per hour. It felt faintly ridiculous, and he finally slowed to a halt as he came to an intersection with several park-like sections surrounding it; several block ahead were a number of larger buildings, including a domed one that Harry knew was called the Capitol Building. The White House was still more than two miles away.

Something touched him, like someone drumming their fingers on his back, and as Harry turned he heard a bzzzt, as if a swarm of angry bees had flown past him. At the same time, the grass and street around him began breaking apart, like multiple Blasting Curses were being hurled at him. Harry recognized it as machine-gun fire. Several helicopters were bearing down on him, coming in from the southwest.

The bullets couldn't harm him, of course, but they were prone to bounce in unpredictable directions and Harry could sense other people walking or in vehicles in the area around him. They were in more danger than he was. The only direction he could go to keep them out of line of fire was up. Harry took to the skies.

The gunships heading his way presented a problem; Harry couldn't just turn the petrol in their tanks to water — they would fall out of the sky, killing their crew. Plus, the bullets that missed him had to fall somewhere — people were still in danger of being hit. After a moment's consideration, Harry gestured toward the helicopters, turning all of their bullets into dust.

That didn't stop them, however. The helicopters began making passes, trying to knock him out of the sky with missiles. It was annoying. Harry checked his watch; there was barely ten minutes left before Connell was supposed to return. Harry wondered if he was supposed to have lured Voldemort to him, or made his way to the Dark wizard; that hadn't been exactly clear in Connell's instructions, earlier.

There was a flash of green from below and Harry instinctively dodged. A green bolt of magic passed by him, traveling upward. It was a Killing Curse, cast from below! A quick revealment charm showed a half-dozen wizards on the ground, arrayed between him and the White House as well as on either side of him. He could sense the Dark Mark on several of them. Death Eaters!

And here he was, hanging in the middle of the sky without any cover, a perfect target for both the helicopters in the air and Voldemort's wizards on the ground! Harry shook his head, angry at his own tactical lapse. He needed to neutralize the helicopters immediately, and as noticeably as possible, to forestall further attacks. A moment of concentration later and all of the helicopters were transformed into hot air balloons; each one had the words "Voldemort is a slimy git" written on the side. Every member of the helicopter crews were left standing in their gondolas, each one holding a pea shooter in his or her hand. That should get someone's attention, Harry thought, smirking. That left only the wizards on the ground.

Various curses and hexes had been whizzing past Harry, but only that first one had come anywhere near him. The Death Eaters Voldemort had sent were either too afraid to aim properly, or they were having difficulty seeing him in the encroaching darkness. He needed something equally noticeable for them, he decided, and levitated all of them into the air until they were as high up as he was, then Transfigured all of them into geese, and released them. Honking and squawking, the geese began frantically flapping their wings, trying to stay airborne. They all recovered, more or less — a couple of them flapped until they dropped to the ground, unhurt; the rest flew away.

He was almost out of time. Harry dropped toward the ground, angling his descent so that he landed on the grass in front of the main building of the White House, directly in front of its main entrance. He searched for, but couldn't find, Voldemort's location. He must be shielding it from him with the Star Brand power, just as Connell had shielded his and Harry's location from Voldemort earlier.

"Well, well, Harry Potter, as I live and breathe," a high, cold voice spoke from above him, and Harry looked upward to see Voldemort glaring down from a balcony on the White House's first floor. "Connell led me to believe you were still dead," he went on, with a cold sneer. "But I presume he thought that would be to his advantage.

"I already knew better, of course. The Fiendfyre I used to destroy you should have consumed your body to ashes, yet your charred skeleton remained. Were you surprised to find yourself alive once again, Potter?"

"A bit," Harry admitted, his voice as cold as the Dark Lord's.

Voldemort smiled maliciously. "Perhaps not as much as I found it, Potter. It's become rather tedious, in fact, over these past few years, trying to kill you. And now, that would seem to be impossible, if I understand the situation correctly."

"You do," Harry replied. "Neither of us can kill the other. A stalemate."

Voldemort chuckled. "Oh, I would not go that far, Harry! There are still moves I might make that you cannot match. For example: your pitiful performance against the Muggle security forces, and my followers. You did not kill a single one of them."

"I wasn't trying to," Harry pointed out.

"Thereby exposing your weakness," Voldemort continued, smiling at the look of dread that had come, unbidden, into Harry's eyes as he realized what Voldemort meant. "Yes, you see it now, do you not? I will have no compunctions about destroying any of your allies that stand in my way. Including any of your little friends, or that foolish old man, who may still think I'm afraid of him. I've had no reason to be, since I acquired this!" He thrust his long-fingered hand forward, showing Harry the Star Brand etched into his palm.

"Now, Potter, where is Connell?" Voldemort demanded. "What is he planning?"

"I don't know," Harry said, truthfully.

"I expect you don't," the Dark wizard smirked at him. "But you must know something, or suspect it. Reveal it!" A wave of pain crashed into Harry's brain, and he reeled under the impact, frantically erecting mental shields as Voldemort drilled relentlessly into his mind, seeking out the answers he believed Harry held.

Harry focused his concentration inward, into his mental defenses as the Dark wizard, wielding the power of the Star Brand, forced himself closer and closer to Harry's thoughts. In his mind's vision of the struggle, Harry and Voldemort faced each other from opposite ends of a large field, as Voldemort began to move forward, his long-fingered hand held out, preparing to touch Harry and take the information from him. Harry would gesture, throwing up a fence or wall, but Voldemort would conjure flames to burn it down, or winds to blow it away, or a dragon to batter it apart. Within a minute, Voldemort had drawn close to him, and he reached out to touch Harry.

Harry screamed as his memories were ripped from his mind. The power of the Star Brand was incredible, and irresistible — Voldemort was definitely not trying for subtlety! His probes felt like red-hot daggers in Harry's brain, searing through his defenses and laying bare his thoughts.

A few moments later Harry found himself lying on the mental field of battle, with Voldemort standing over him, his hand still outstretched. There was a look of vague disappointment and disapproval twisting his handsome face, as if he had expected better of both Harry and Connell. "Interesting memories you have, Potter. Hmm. A distraction? Is that what you're reduced to, being a pawn in the struggle between Connell and myself?" He shook his head slowly, making tsking noises. "At least he is trying, Harry. That's more than I can say for you right now."

Angered, Harry looked up defiantly at Voldemort, but before he could say anything the field and other trappings of their mindscape faded unexpectedly to white. There was a tremendous jerk, and he and Voldemort found themselves back in Washington, D.C., a few dozen feet apart, now several hundred feet in the air over the White House. Floating nearby was Kenneth Connell, forming a triangle as they faced each other.

"There you are, Connell," Voldemort grinned wolfishly at the new arrival. "Harry was beginning to wonder where you — eh?" He expression was one of momentary confusion as he noted the position of the sun. It was now on the opposite horizon. "Morning? Did you shift us in time, Connell?"

"I made a few changes, yeah," Connell said, thrusting a hand toward Voldemort. A beam of white-hot, unimaginably powerful energy exploded from it, slamming into Voldemort and throwing him toward the ground. The impact and blast tore a huge crater; Harry gasped in horror as buildings collapsed for blocks around them.

"What are you DOING?!" he screamed at Connell. "There are PEOPLE down there!!" Connell shook his head, and Harry turned away in disgust, starting down to help any survivors he might find, when there was a white flash around him and he found himself back in Scotland, in the skies over Hogwarts.

"What the hell?" Harry muttered to himself. This was making no sense! Why did Connell attack Voldemort that way, in such a destructive manner? And futilely, it seemed — Voldemort's Star Brand would protect him from harm, but there was no telling how many innocent people had just died!

And where was Connell, anyway? Harry spun in place, slowly, surveying the skies as far as his vision allowed. It was nighttime here again, around midnight — it seemed Connell had sent them about half a day forward in time, to the morning of December 26. Looking up, he saw a familiar constellation, Ursa Major, high in the northeast sky. Nearby was Ursa Minor, with Polaris, the Pole Star, at the end of its "handle." Harry frowned at that; there was something not right about seeing that —

At that moment, however, Connell appeared beside him, looking tense. "It didn't work," he said shortly.

"What the hell's wrong with you?!" Harry exploded, ignoring what Connell had said. "How many innocent people did you just kill — and for what purpose? Voldemort can't be destroyed! I thought you had a plan, Connell!"

"I did, but it didn't work," Connell said again. "I couldn't contain him. My trap failed! But I didn't kill anyone, Harry!"

"What d'you mean?" Harry shouted, in disbelief. "That explosion took out blocks of buildings!

"Harry," Connell said, facing him squarely, "that explosion was nothing. You, Voldemort and I are the most powerful beings on Earth. A battle between him and us is going to become hugely destructive — we could destroy entire cities, even whole continents, in the blink of an eye. Hell, if Voldemort thought he was losing, he could put the Star Brand on an inanimate object and will it to destroy the entire world, and it would only be a minor inconvenience to him, until his body reformed!

"I took steps to save every living thing here on Earth," Connell continued, speaking rapidly, "by moving them somewhere safe. No, I'm not going to tell you where," he said, as Harry began to ask. "The less you know, the less Voldemort can learn from you. Now raise your right hand."

Harry did, and Connell pressed his own palm against it. Light blazed brightly between them, and when Harry pulled his hand back and looked, the Star Brand was once again visible on his palm. Connell's palm, he also saw, was now devoid of any symbol.

"I have to go, now," Connell said, and Harry stared at him, in shock and disbelief. Was Connell running out on him, now that his trap had failed?

"You have got to be kidding!" he croaked, but Connell shook his head.

"It's your job to fight Voldemort, Harry, even if you can't kill him anymore," he said, commandingly. "You have the Star Brand again, so he can't kill you, either. You're going to have to persuade him it's not worth his while to hang around Earth anymore, now that there's no one left here to rule over."

"I can't do this alone!" Harry protested. "I need your help! Maybe if we split up the Star Brand —"

"No good," Connell said, moving away from Harry. "We had a better chance earlier, when I had the Star Brand and you were fully charged. Now you and he are evenly matched, and I'll be taking care of everyone while you're fighting him. Good luck, Harry."

But before Connell vanished in a flash of white light, he said, "oh, by the way, you're not really alone, Harry. I left a few of your friends behind in the castle, to help you against Voldemort." There was a flash of white and Connell disappeared.

"What?!" Harry shouted. Looking down into the castle, he detected several humans still there: Ron, Hermione, Dumbledore and some of the other teachers. "CONNELL! Why would you do that?!" he screamed at the sky.

But there was no answer, and Harry could detect no other students, and no other living beings, not even animals or other creatures, in the Forbidden Forest or anywhere else, in any direction, to the horizon. Expanding his senses to cover the entire world, he found only one other sign of life, still in Washington, in America: Voldemort.

He, his best friends, and his favorite teachers at Hogwarts were the last people on Earth, and they were stuck there with a madman who could never be killed, and who wanted all of them dead!