In Courtroom Nine of the Ministry of Magic, Lucius Malfoy sat bound to a high backed chair by iron chains, totally indifferent to the accusations put against him. All he did in way of acknowledgement to these words was to sneer up at Cornelius Fudge, a manic gleam in his eyes.
“I repeat; do you, Lucius Malfoy, deny these charges put against you by the Wizengamot?”
“What does it matter what I say?” came his cold, indifferent reply. “Throw me into Azkaban, I will wait. The Dark Lord has risen again and will come for me!”
Involuntary shudders ran around the watching circle of witches and wizards. Those who were older remembered that Malfoy’s words were near on identical to those Bellatrix Lestrange had said nearly fifteen years earlier as she was dragged away by Dementors.
“Can’t you think of anything original to say Lucius?” a second voice called. “Or are you now so consumed by Lord Voldemort that you can no longer think for yourself?”
“What would you know about anything, Dumbledore? You could have been a great wizard if you had joined forces with the Dark Lord, rather than fought against him in the pointless protection of mudbloods and muggle-lovers! Fought against him and lost! The Dark Lord is unassailable; unbeatable!”
Dumbledore smiled slightly and looked down at Lucius, his light blue eyes piercing. “I don’t remember living for thirteen years as a formless, evil wraith, hiding away deep in an Albanian forest though. Are wizards only great if they lose all their power and run away from the world?”
Lucius spat at the floor.
“Right, well…” Fudges uncertain voice broke in. “I now ask the jury to raise their hands if they feel these crimes warrant a life sentence in Azkaban. Crimes which include…”
Albus Dumbledore felt the small, clear cut crystal in his pocket grow hot; its throbbing heat travelling through his robes onto his skin. Discreetly, so as not to arouse the suspicions of the other wizards, he reached down and held it in his palm.
“Dumbledore?” the sound of Tonks’ voice echoed through his head. “Dumbledore!”
“Yes?” he whispered back.
“Dumbledore, it’s Harry.”
“What?! What’s happened? Is he all right?” his voice sharp and urgent.
“Yes. I mean no. He was fine. Alastor, Arthur and Remus got him easily enough from the Dursleys and then, when he reached Grimmauld Place, he sort of collapsed. He put his hand up to his head and when he pulled it away his scar was bleeding. He passed out completely for a few seconds, came back to us, asked to see you ‘Now!’ as he put it, and passed out again. Molly’s with him now.”
“Is he still unconscious?”
“Yes. He’s screaming too.” Tonks sounded distinctly unnerved.
“Tell him I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
With that, Dumbledore stood up. Every wizard in the courtroom looked up at him and even Fudge stopped talking, mid sentence, about the crimes Lucius had committed.
“I must leave,” Dumbledore said calmly. “For the sake of the jury, my vote is guilty. Good day to you all.” and with that, he swept from the dungeon leaving a stunned silence in his wake.
A few seconds later, Dumbledore arrived at the atrium. A new desk for the security guard and an empty plinth instead of a golden statue was all that showed of what had happened there barely a month before.
Glancing at the pool for a fraction of a second, a look of deep sadness in his eyes, Dumbledore disapparated.
“Harry! Come on Harry, it’s alright, wake up. Everything will be ok…” Molly Weasley’s voice had a soothing, quiet tone to it although there was a faint trace of panic.
“What do we do? Oh, I know! Where did Sirius say the library was here? Didn’t he say there were hundreds of books there? Maybe if I…”
“Hermione, relax. Dumbledore will be here soon so there’s no point stressing and panicking yet.” Bill soothed.
“Oh, but…”
“Shut it Hermione,” came Ron’s cutting answer.
“Oi! Cool it guys. It’s Harry we’ve got to worry about at the moment, not you,” injected Charlie. “Tonks should be contacting Dumbledore now…”
“Dumbledore’s coming,” gasped Tonks as she ran into the room. “I forgot, he was in a Wizengamot trial so he could be a little while; depending on whether he can get away from Fudge or not. Damn!” she cried as she fell over a chair. “He sounded worried when I spoke to him and he said to tell Harry he’s on his way.”
“He’ll be here soon,” growled Moody who had just arrived at Headquarters with Lupin and Arthur. “He’ll get here as soon as he can; especially because it’s to do with Potter…”
At that moment Harry screamed again, a high pitched, terrified, pleading scream. Everyone in the room jumped and stared at Harry, fear in their faces.
“What the hell is wrong with him?” shouted Tonks.
“That’s something I’d like to know as well,” answered a quiet voice.
Dumbledore had arrived at Headquarters.
“Harry Potter,” whispered a cold, unfeeling voice. “Harry Potter. We meet again at last.”
Harry panicked. It wasn’t the first time he’d been possessed by Voldemort but it certainly wasn’t something he wanted to happen again. Also, it was the first time it had happened when Voldemort was nowhere near him. He couldn’t bare the thought of Hermione and the Weasleys finding out Voldemort had gained control of him again…
As Harry thought of his friends, Voldemort’s iron grip over him lessened. In those precious seconds, he called out to those near him, pleading, praying, for Dumbledore.
“So then Harry,” Voldemort continued, dragging Harry back, “what about the little matter of the Prophecy? I seem to recall the fact you destroyed it that night in the Department of Mysteries. Well, destroyed my Prophecy along with your Godfather.”
“I’d never tell you the Prophecy,” countered Harry, shuddering at Voldemort’s ability to touch on his deepest fears. “If you’d organised your Death Eaters better maybe you’d know what the Prophecy says.”
Voldemort screamed in rage. Harry’s taunt had been deliberate in hoping it would distract Voldemort long enough for him to escape.
“Well, since Legilimency failed that night at the Ministry, I will show you something instead. Maybe these will help to persuade you…”
Harry’s taunting had failed. If anything, it had made Voldemort angrier and more desperate to hear the Prophecy than ever before. As it was, Harry found himself being dragged ever deeper into darkness, consumed by Voldemort’s hatred, and he was forced to watch many things Voldemort himself had seen.
First, a small boy stood playing with a toy broomstick. He was laughing and balloons around a table read ‘Happy Birthday Alex’. His parents were watching him, laughing at his obvious delight. Harry then felt Voldemort reveal himself to the small family, turn his wand on them, and release a flash of brilliant green light. The boy fell to the floor. The last thing he ever heard was his mother’s scream.
The next memory Harry saw was of a group of Death Eaters slowly torturing a muggle family high in the air; their bodies twitching and juddering, their screams deafening.
Then there was a single wizard, duelling against six Death Eaters, a jet of green light struck him in the back. He crumpled to the floor.
The next he saw was Cedric Diggory standing in a grave yard, the horrifyingly familiar flash of green crumpling him to the floor.
As Voldemort showed Harry memory after memory, Harry’s screams grew louder and louder. Please, Harry pleaded, stop this.
“You know how to stop this, Harry. Just let me hear the Prophecy.”
“Never!” Harry whispered. “I’m not going to give in to you.”
“Ok,” said Voldemort. “I’ll show you something else shall I?”
Ron, Hermione and Ginny stood, side by side, against a dungeon wall. One by one, Voldemort turned his wand on them, each of his friends twitching and screaming horribly before he raised his wand. Ron, his face covered in blood looked directly at Harry, his eyes wide and fearful. “Help us Harry, just give him the prophecy!” he pleaded. “We can’t hold out much longer…”
“No!” Harry screamed. “This isn’t real; it’s a trick! This isn’t happening!”
“Very well,” an icy voice breathed. “I wasn’t going to show you this but maybe I should, since you need so much persuasion…”
This time, Harry felt he was somewhere familiar. The room he was in was warm and welcoming, a bright fire in the corner, crackling merrily. A woman with bright green eyes stood over by the window. A man with untidy black hair sat at a well scrubbed wooden table, reading the Daily Prophet. The date on the front read October 31st, 1981.
“No,” Harry pleaded, “please no.”
At that instant, James Potter raised his head, fear in his eyes. He leapt up and drew his wand from the pocket of his robes.
“Lily, take Harry and go! It’s him! Go! Run! I’ll hold him off “”
Lily took one last desperate look at her husband, nodded slightly, and stumbled from the room.
High pitched laughter filled the room and James went rigid. His back straight, his head held high.
Voldemort didn’t say anything, he just flicked his wand. It was at point blank range. Harry screamed louder than he ever had in his life. Voldemort laughed again, high, piercing, unfeeling. James Potter lay motionless on the floor. “Now for the other,” hissed Voldemort, looking with satisfaction at James.
Harry couldn’t cope anymore. He was completely broken, his fighting spirit shattered. Voldemort laughed cruelly again. At that moment Harry felt himself hit incredibly hard over the head and he retched. Voldemort stopped laughing. “What on Earth…?” Harry was hit again and he struggled to stay conscious. He was hit again and was consumed by silence.
A/N : I hope you like it. Reviews please!