Harry woke at dawn. The air had the crisp feel of a bright summer's morning - the kind that promised a long day of lounging in the garden. Not for Harry, though. He had a mission.
"Finite," he said, cancelling the warming charm, before staring at his bed-bench. They hadn't covered Untransfiguration in class. He couldn't leave it how it was, though - Muggles would see it. Shrugging, he decided to simply transfigure it again - it wouldn't be the same as the original, but a bench was a bench.
The Statute of Secrecy upheld, Harry made sure the invisibility cloak was wrapped firmly around him before setting off for the heart of French magic.
ThePalais de Triomphewas a truly gargantuan building, Harry had been told - probably twice the size of Hogwarts. It was one of the many neo-classical buildings constructed by Grindelwald which had outlasted the man himself. Intended to be his headquarters for the government of all Western Europe, even today his magic saturated the walls; enchantments of shocking power and complexity were layered over every inch of the building.
When Harry had visited the day before, the place had been quiet, with many workers on summer leave. As Harry approached the main entrance, however, he realised that everything had changed. It was chaos.
It looked like a riot was taking place. Ministry wizards were running in every direction, shouting at each other, sending paper messages flying off with their wands. Through it all hammered the steady crack of apparition as more and more people arrived at the Ministry, adding to the pandemonium. Watching it all, positioned in front of the great marble columns, stood stern wizards wearing dark red robes - the Aurors. Their wands were in their hands, and even as Harry watched another squad of ten apparated in, dispersing into the crowd, trying fruitlessly to calm the storm.
Harry edged his way into the panicking mass, mindful of his invisibility: if people started bumping into him, the aurors would notice for sure. His progress was slow, but he managed to dodge and shuffle his way to the steps. A young, spotty wizard had set up a stall and was selling papers, and everyone was buying. Harry leaned over to look, and immediately understood.
"DUMBLEDORE MORT!" the paper declared, and the rest of the cover was a picture of Dumbledore's face, staring solemnly at readers. He snatched a copy, but couldn't understand the complicated French.
It didn't matter. He knew more than any paper. Soon, everyone else would know too.
Harry let the paper fall to the ground and joined the rush of people flowing into the Palace. The crowd was a blessing in disguise: with all the noise and distraction they were making, he would have been able to walk in even without an invisibility cloak.
The Palace's Atrium was larger than it had been during the Gala: the stone ceiling was higher now, and domed, painted with a giant fresco. The many pillars and fountains were gone too, giving the room an open, airy feel, almost as if he were outside. Sunlight streamed through the stained windows in many colours, and the walls on either side were lined with great archways leading to further, smaller, hallways and landings. Harry, however, was heading for the main staircase. He pushed through the throng of workers, avoiding the many stalls and kiosks.
The staircase - carpeted in red - led to a landing, where it split into five. Four of the five were busy, but the last - leading straight ahead - was more rarely used, and guarded by two Aurors. They didn't even blink when Harry walked straight past them - fine wizards they may have been, but Dumbledore was the only wizard who had ever seen through Harry's cloak.
The narrow passageway emerged into a small landing, almost like the front of a restaurant. A rather solid looking oak door barred the way to the Premier's Offices and another two Aurors guarded it. A third witch stood to one side, standing in front of what looked like a lectern.
This was as far as invisibility would get him. He walked back down to the middle of the stairs, making sure he was out of sight before removing his invisibility cloak. He rolled it up and hid it under his robes, before walking back up.
The aurors drew their wands as he approached.
"Qui es-tu?" one asked. He was a tall, strongly built man with a bored look about him. Harry never had to answer.
"'Arry Potter!" the other - a very short witch with brown hair - said, "tu es en vie!"
"Je voudrais voir le Premier, s'il vous plaît," Harry said - he'd prepared what he wanted to say.
"Le Premier?" said the first Auror, "Non. Nous avons d'autres ordres."
"Jean-François veut vous pris auprès de l'Office des Aurors. Nous avons des questions pour vous," the witch added, but she spoke too quickly for Harry to follow properly. He heard the word 'Auror', though, and relaxed. If he couldn't see the Premier, the Aurors were the next best thing. He just hoped that they had someone who spoke English.
"Viens avec moi, petit garçon," the first said, and he grabbed Harry roughly by the shoulder, before leading him through a side door that somehow Harry had not seen - some sort of repelling charm, no doubt. It led into a long corridor crafted out of plain grey stone. They passed through it briskly, emerging from the other end into a large, busy, open-plan office.
As they walked through the cubicles, the Auror barked "Batiste, Marcoux, avec moi!" and two more Aurors joined their group. Harry was beginning to wonder if he was going to meet them all today: Aurors were an elite force, he knew. There couldn't be more than a hundred of them in Britain, and surely France was the same.
Finally, they arrived at the far side of the room. There they entered another office: an individual one, with a large glass window looking out over the others.
"Attendre ici."
The first Auror left them. Harry supposed he was meant to wait - maybe they were fetching their commander. He sat in silence: neither of his guards seemed in the mood to chat, and Harry's French wasn't good enough to ask them questions.
After five minutes the door opened, and a man walked in.
Harry looked at him and froze, a thrill of fear going through him.
The man was tall and handsome, with broad shoulders, black hair, and vivid blue eyes. There was no mistaking him. He was one of the five.
"Good morning, Harry Potter," he said, his English absolutely perfect. He could have come from Hampshire with an accent like that. "You've led us on a merry little chase, haven't you?"
Harry remained silent as the man took a seat opposite him. He hadn't come prepared for this. He was trapped. But the man seemed to want to play games.
"We have some questions for you, regarding the death of Albus Dumbledore," he said, and he placed a stone ear on the table between them. "Auror Batiste and Auror Marcoux will witness the questioning. Such a pity they speak no English."
And then he winked at Harry, as if they were sharing a great joke.
"Who are you?" Harry spat.
The man looked surprised.
"You don't know who I am?" He seemed to find that funny, for some reason. "Dumbledore did keep you on a short leash, didn't he? You'd think he would have told you who I am... given that you murdered my entire family."
No...
"My name, Harry Potter, is Jean-François Flamel. I am the Head Auror of the French Ministry of Magic. Didn't you know?"
Harry's heart sank as he realised just how outmaneuvered he was. His plan had been doomed from the start. Jean-François Flamel, Head Auror: the most powerful man in France. Felipe Mercado Reya, Duke of Castille: the most powerful man in the Iberian Peninsula. Together with Edwards - a man of not insignificant importance himself - and two others, they had brought about the death of Dumbledore. And now Harry was within their grasp.
Flamel seemed to enjoy watching Harry's moment of realisation.
"Yes, funny how these things work, isn't it?" he said. He was clearly relishing every moment. "Now, let us begin. Where were you at the time of Dumbledore's death?"
"In the street outside, fetching milk, as you know," Harry said, determined to record as much evidence as he could. "And where were you, Flamel? Did you cast the curse, or one of your friends?"
If anything, Flamel looked even more amused.
"Now, now, Harry, none of that." He tapped the ear with his wand - long and thin, made of some dark wood - and Harry's voice came back out, clear as day: "I was in the house, with Dumbledore," his voice said.
Harry looked to the two Aurors acting as witnesses. They didn't move an inch.
"I think you'll find, Harry, that every Auror in this office is loyal to me. Now... next question: upon Dumbledore's death, why did you not come immediately to the Aurors?"
"It's a good thing I didn't!" he said angrily, "I was right, when I thought you'd be waiting for me: you and Edwards and Reya too. I should have gone straight back to England!"
"Bravo, Harry, you know our names... or some of us, anyway. But I think your answer could be improved somewhat, don't you?"
He touched his wand to the ear again.
"It was an accident, I swear! I didn't mean to do it!" said Harry's voice. Harry gaped, realisation setting in. They were trying to set him up. They were going to make people think he killed Dumbledore. Flamel shook his head, as if disappointed in Harry.
"Oh, Harry, you poor boy... what will everyone say when they find out? Why, they may even send you to Azkaban! After all, the Killing Curse is Unforgivable."
Harry wanted to shout, to scream, to rage. But he held his tongue, and sat in silence, quivering with anger. He wouldn't give Flamel anything more.
"Last question, I think, Mr. Potter. Did you kill Albus Dumbledore?"
Harry remained silent. He hadn't killed Dumbledore, but there was someone he felt like he could kill right now.
"No answer?" said Flamel. He didn't sound too disappointed. "No matter. I think we have what we need. Excuse me for a moment, Mr. Potter. Evidence has to be filed, you know - here at the Auror division we take proper handling of evidenceveryseriously."
He chuckled, and walked out of the office holding the ear. Harry wondered what was going to happen next. With that fake evidence, they'd probably arrest him. And then he'd be sent to prison.
That couldn't happen. He was innocent, and the world had to know. Not just for himself. The world had to know about Dumbledore's killers - now more than ever. Europe was being led by a group of Dark wizards, and they didn't even know it.
He still had his wand and cloak. This was his chance - before Flamel returned. He shifted in his seat, positioning his right hand next to his left sleeve, where his wand lay. The Aurors weren't even looking at him.
They always underestimate children, Harry thought as he gripped his wand.
"Expelliarmus!" Harry shouted as he drew his wand. There was a flash of silver light and both Aurors were thrown off their feet and into the office wall, their wands flying out of their hands.
Harry didn't wait for them to recover. He threw on his invisibility cloak and ran out the door, choosing a direction at random.
"Il a s'échapper!" someone cried - one of the Aurors he'd disarmed - but Harry was already away, and invisible. He ran through the corridors of the French Ministry of Magic, picking doors at random to go through, trying to lose any pursuit.
But try as he might, invisible though he was, no matter how many doors he ran through or how many turns he took, he could hear the shouting of Aurors behind him. At last he found a large staircase. He ran down it, hoping to leave the building.
Aurors were waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs, pointing at him as if he wasn't invisible.
Red light shot towards him, but Harry had jumped to the side the moment he saw their wands moving. The spells flew over his head and he scrambled to get up, beginning to panic. If only he had his broom!
More Aurors were approaching from the top of the stairs now, which left only one choice. Harry ran towards them, but before he reached them he turned left into a reception area.
Ministère de la Justice, the sign declared, and Harry remembered something.
He ran past the receptionist - who was staring through him at the open door in confusion - and, taking a gamble, picked one of the corridors. The gamble paid off. There was a door at the end of the corridor which declared:
Albert Delacour
Directeur
Harry burst through the door and threw off his invisibility cloak. Delacour jumped out of his seat, his wand drawn.
"Help me!" Harry cried.
Delacour hesitated for just a moment, then nodded. He waved his wand and the door slammed shut with apop. With another wave the fireplace came to life, and Harry understood.
He moved to the fire and grabbed some green powder from the pot, throwing it into the flames before entering himself. As soon as he did, Delacour shouted "La Maison de Delacour!".
He fled the Ministry in a flash of green fire.
He was out.