Chapter Two: An Extraordinary Power Vacuum

The Boy Who Lives Speaks Out

"Terrible title," Daphne remarked, smirking over the Prophet at her mother a week after their conversation with Harry.

"Editors will edit with reckless abandon and horrid ideas."

After the mysterious events of the Triwizard Tournament, the Ministry has been unable to provide comment on the death of Cedric Diggory and what transpired within the maze. Speculation has been rife, although official word from the Ministry has been no word at all.

While an investigation has been launched into the presence of Barty Crouch Junior, 33, - who was believed to have died in Azkaban - and the disappearance of his father; no official investigation is currently being conducted by the Auror Office into the tragic loss of Cedric Diggory, 17, on the 24 of June.

The Daily Prophet can exclusively reveal that Harry Potter, 14, claims Mr.. Diggory was killed by a follower of You-Know-Who before his return. We must warn some readers that the following interview contains content that is distressing.

"We were in the maze," Mr. Potter explains, "and Cedric and I took the cup together, we'd both got there at the same time. But it was a portkey."

Mr. Potter says that the portkey transported he and Mr. Diggory to a graveyard, the location of which has been confirmed by the Daily Prophet as Little Hangleton. Initial research points to residual levels of magic being detected within this small muggle graveyard.

"We dropped it and Cedric wanted to figure out where we were," says Mr. Potter. "We should've just taken the portkey back, but we didn't.

"Then one of his followers, V*******t's, attacked us. V******* told him to 'kill the spare', so he did. They needed my blood to bring him back."

Mr. Potter explains that using a dark ritual, including the follower's hand, Mr. Potter's blood and bones of You-Know-Who's father whose grave Mr. Potter was bound to. It transpires that You-Know-Who is not, as many have believed, a pureblood. In fact, Mr. Potter was able to reveal that his father was a muggle man, Tom Riddle Senior, the man the self-proclaimed Dark Lord shares not only blood but name.

According to Mr. Potter, You-Know-Who, a.k.a Tom Riddle Junior, has successfully returned.

"He didn't look human. His face was like a snake's and his skin was white, like bone. When he was back, he summoned his Death Eaters. The ones that could answer, anyway. There were ten of them."

To avoid prejudicing potential investigations, the Daily Prophet is currently withholding the identity of these Death Eaters.

"You mean he can't just out them?" Ron Weasley asked the kitchen at large. Gathered around the Prophet were the twins, Ginny and Hermione; while opposite them Sirius Black, his long falling out behind him as he rocked back in his chair, was grinning like a Cheshire cat.

"That's the law, Ronald." Hermione snapped.

"People can figure it out though," Sirius looked happier than anyone had seen him in days. "Clever, saying how many. There weren't that many left after the aurors filled half of Azkaban."

"Why isn't he talking about Pettigrew?" Ron persisted.

"Oh, honestly," Hermione snapped, "do you really think people will listen if Harry says Pettigrew killed Cedric? He'll have a hard enough time convincing them that You-Know-Who's even back at all!"

Mr. Potter goes on to explain how, once Riddle had returned, the two fought with Mr. Potter barely able to escape using the very portkey that had brought him to the graveyard. He was later questioned by the Minister of Magic about Riddle's return but informed the Daily Prophet that the Minister described his account as an "invention".

The Minister's Office is unable to provide a comment at this time.

Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, confirms that the Auror Office will be launching an official investigation into Riddle's revival following Mr. Potter's account.

Barty Crouch Junior, who was arrested on the same evening, is currently awaiting trial after being charged with the murder of his father, Barty Crouch Senior (p. 6).

For more on the return of You-Know-Who and what his reappearance could mean for magical Britain see p. 2-5, 7-9 and 11-14.

"How could you let this happen?" Severus Snape demanded slamming the Daily Prophet down onto the ornate desk of Albus Dumbledore. The aged headmaster looked up from his paperwork, eyeing Severus over his half-mooned spectacles. Waves crashed against the cliffs below them. Few people knew where Dumbledore actually lived, most assumed he resided in Hogwarts, others never gave it much thought - as people with far too much on their minds often do.

"I must admit, I did not foresee such an eventuality."

"You should've known! He is Potter's son, how could you not foresee this?"

"Harry is not just his father's son, Severus, as you well know. I believe he simply wanted security, security, I will admit, I have not afforded him." The regret and self-pity was so obvious that Snape didn't bother to hide his disdain. He had told the Headmaster, time and again, that the boy - for his many faults - had a right to know where his path led. Guarding him from the truth would only, could only, end in disaster.

"There will be consequences, the Dark Lord -"

"Tom will react as he always does," Dumbledore agreed, "until then, we can only continue to grow our numbers and do what we can to strengthen our position with the Ministry. You've seen, I trust, there are calls for Cornelius to resign?"

"And for you to replace him."

A thin smile pulled at the ancient Headmaster's lips. "Rather quaint, but I am better placed to act outside of the Ministry. Still, there would be something to be said for a Minister who wishes to tackle Tom's resurrection."

"You have someone in mind."

"Naturally," Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkled, "as I fear does Lucius Malfoy." Pureblood families would continue to rule the Ministry, no war or difference of opinion could ever change that. Malfoy was just another in the long line. Blacks. LeStrange. Potters. All had once been the puppet master, yanking on the string. Why would Dumbledore, in his never-ending scheming, be any different?

"Lucius will have a harder time getting his stooge in place than he expects," Snape informed Dumbledore. "Several prominent families are already distancing themselves."

After all, everyone knew he was a Death Eater, even if the Ministry claimed to have found insufficient evidence to actually prove it. What a wagon full of galleons to charitable causes, backing of St. Mungo's and infinite uses of Malfoy Manor could do to grease the wheels of justice. Ever the slippery snake, always ready to endure.

Snape briefed Dumbledore on his discoveries, failed to pry a name from the Headmaster - although he suspected he already knew who it was the Headmaster would suggest.

In Greengrass Manor, Daphne finished reading the detailed history of the previous war, the speculation about who would be the next Minister - everyone from Augusta Longbottom to her own father was mentioned. Her dad had laughed at it, as he always did when talk of political promotion came his way. He'd sooner be kneeling in his garden, covered in mud, and wrestling all manner of plants than fighting other purebloods for their votes.

"Well," she said by way of announcing that she had finished, "you threw the kneazle among the owls with that, mum."

"He deserved to be heard," her mother said, throwing powdered unicorn horn into her cauldron and using her wand to direct the ladle's rhythmic turning. The thick blue potion bubbled happily under her expert guidance. Daphne had often wondered why her mother had never taken to potion-making professionally. But then, she enjoyed the hours of free time to do what she wanted with. "Everyone does, but Harry - that poor boy hasn't been listened to his entire life."

Daphne hummed, passing her mum the hippogriff talon she needed. It was funny, everyone thought they knew Harry. Even when she'd first seen what she thought he was, Daphne had conjured up images of him. The shy but brave hero, or the reckless loveable rogue with eyes she could just fall into, but she was completely wrong. Harry was none of those things, partially because no-one ever could be, but also because he was so much more. His life with the muggles, all the hardship he'd faced yet still he came out kind and considerate - never once putting himself first. She dreaded to think how his summer would've been, how bitter he could've become. How the kind boy she'd fallen so head of heels for, how he might've been tarnished by a world that no longer needed him to be the hero they'd grown up adoring.

He was, for all intents and purposes, what people needed him to be. Hero one minute, raving nutter the next. Boy Who Lived to the Boy Who Cried Dragon. The Chamber had been evidence of that. A whole school thinking he was the 'Heir of Slytherin' for pity's sake. Ron or Blaise were more likely to be setting a dirty great big snake on muggleborns than Harry. Lily Potter had been muggleborn. But that didn't fit, so facts just fell by the wayside.

For once he deserved to have someone hear his side of things. Even if that side was horrible.

"I hope he's okay," they were due to see him that morning, Daphne's father had left in the Bentley he'd since fallen in love with to fetch him. As with all of his eccentricities, it would become his pride and joy.

"He will be, cocca," Daphne's mother assured her, giving her arm a gentle rub and kissing the top of her head. "A little shocked, perhaps, but he will always have a place with us."

"You guys really do love him, don't you?"

"He's a good boy," Daphne's mother smiled, "he's good for you."

"Good for me?" Daphne frowned in mock outrage. "I'll have you know, I'm amazing already."

Her mother shook her head. Where the people of Hogwarts would mistake Daphne's jokes for sincere misplaced confidence, her mother knew full well her humour derived from the exact opposite. Daphne often felt that it was the line in the sand between those who knew her and the ones that simply thought they did. To a passive onlooker, she might be worse than Malfoy - no, not worse, that just wasn't possible.

"Then he compliments your best qualities."

"On that, mother, we can agree." There was a small silence, the kind that parent and child often fall into. A shared space that can only be achieved through years of just being around someone. She always missed it, when she was back in the castle. Not that she didn't love her independence, but there was always a part of her trying to pull back to Greengrass Manor.

They were joined by the aforementioned Boy Who Lived later that morning. He was, unsurprisingly, shell-shocked but he seemed happy. Daphne's father had cancelled all his appointments, not that he had many, just to make sure that he and her mother were available should Harry have any questions about what to do next. Even Astoria checked in on him and gave him a rib-cracking hug, before disappearing to a friend of hers. There were too many for Daphne to keep them straight in her mind and they all kept changing.

But as Harry himself pointed out, he had no idea how people were actually responding to the article, so had no real clue on how to feel.

"It's not like I'm getting mail or anything," he said at dinner that evening when Daphne's father asked if he was okay. They were working their way through a rather large buffet her mother had made. Ever the feeder in times of crisis.

"None at all?"

"Nothing."

Daphne's father seemed to file that piece of information away for later, before adding, "well, we've had some bits and pieces. We can go through them, if you want?"

"I'm not sure if that's a good idea, Matty. People who write those letters can be rather toxic."

"I'd like to," Harry chimed in, before Daphne's father could defend him. "Thank you, but I think I'd like to at least know if someone believes me."

"Son, trust me, even if every letter you read says you're a raving lunatic - there's people out there that believe you," Daphne's father assured him. "We do. Amelia certainly does, she's started on that list of Death Eaters you mentioned - safe to say, they're trying to get their assets out of Gringotts while they still can."

So, after they'd eaten enough food to feed ten times their number, the Greengrasses, minus Astoria, and Harry sat down to read the variety of mail that had made it through the wards. Anything harmful or deemed to be so was magically banished as soon as it crossed the barrier line. It had been burned for dramatic effect until Daphne's great grandmother insisted the owls carrying the letters deserved better.

"This one thinks you're completely insane," Daphne called out, they'd started by trying to spare Harry's feelings - but Harry had insisted they tell him the truth after an entire summer without it from his friends.

"This one seems on the fence," Daphne's father said, before adding, "and he says you're the devil and how dare you interrogate a young boy, sweetheart."

Given that the mail was addressed to Daphne's mother rather than Harry himself, there was a lot of that.

"How sweet."

"I always said the public were lovable rogues," Daphne's father chuckled at his own comment before setting the letter alight with a flick of his wand and banishing it into the roaring fireplace.

"We've got a believer here," Daphne's mother said, adding it to the stack beside Harry.

"And here," Daphne said, scanning the letter, "and she says she'd love to introduce 'The lovely Mr. Potter to my daughter, if he has any availability'." There was a lot of that, too. "Does the lovely Mr. Potter have any availability?"

"Only if I get to watch you hex them," Harry smirked, looking up from what might as well have been a short novel. "This one really doesn't like you, Aurora."

"And this is why I gave up being a journalist," Daphne's mother said, shaking her head sadly. "Whatever you write, you're always someone's L'uomo nero."

"It's a kind of black ghost without legs that haunts children," Daphne explained at Harry's confused expression. After a while, her parents left them to it, once they'd made sure that Harry was okay. It was endearing, in an exasperating sort of a way. Her parents were stifling at times, over-zealous at others, but always with the best of intentions.

"How are you feeling about it all now?" Daphne asked as she lobbed another raving message into the fireplace, where it was engulfed in an instant. Harry had joined her on the floor by the hearth, both had long since thrown away the blanket they'd been using to keep their legs warm away, Daphne instead curling so that she could lean against his chest without pinning one of his arms down.

"Better," Harry admitted. "This morning I think it was just a bit…"

"Weird?"

"Let's go with weird," his hand stroked her hair gently, almost as if he wasn't even aware he was doing it. "I'm going to miss this."

"What? Reading what a bunch of over-opinionated busybodies with nothing better to do have to say about you?" Daphne scanned the next letter, said nothing about the sheer amount of swear words and tossed it into the fire. "Because this is exactly how I'd planned to spend this evening."

"Not this," she could hear the smile in his voice. "This. All of this. Summer. Me and you." He blew out a long breath. "They're moving me from Privet Drive at the weekend. Taking me… somewhere. I'm not sure where."

"The fabled headquarters Sirius keeps telling you about?"

"Probably."

Daphne knew the day had to come eventually, but that didn't mean she'd wanted it to arrive. The summer had been perfect so far and there were still weeks to go. Why mess with it?

"At least you'll find out where he is," Daphne said, trying to inject warmth that she really wasn't feeling into her voice. "And who knows, maybe they'll let you floo over or something."

"They'd better," he had no such qualms hiding his disappointment. "This has been perfect. You've been perfect."

"You really know how to compliment a girl, Potter," she still wasn't good at receiving them though. Her over-thinking had generally, for the most part, died down. Comfort and forced considerations for your own future could do that to a relationship. But it didn't mean she was comfortable with affirmation. She snuggled into him more, wishing more than ever that she stupid mouth could actually say how she was feeling.

"Well, it's easy when I've got you."

Daphne felt her heart flip and was glad he couldn't see the stupid grin spreading across her face. "Ugh, cheese."

"True though."

"Still cheesy," Daphne pointed out, passing him a nice letter. She quickly scanned the next one and, because she was utterly useless at any kind of emotional confrontation and confession, instead added, "another one that's undecided, but reckons that mum's ended Fudge's career."

A statement had never been truer. Within a week the Minister had released a statement saying that he planned to resign, once a successor had been appointed, and cited a need for 'Ministerial change' after so many years in charge. Utter hogwash of course, but he had some dignity left.

The power vacuum was extraordinary.

This was going to be fun.