The Hidden Hero

Muggleborn on Rampage
Terror at the Triwizard Tournament
By Rita Skeeter

Tragedy struck at Hogwarts last night when a muggleborn student at the school killed another student and teacher in cold blood. Readers may recall that, last Halloween, muggleborn Mark Twist had deceived the Goblet of Fire so that he was named as one of the champions representing Hogwarts at the Triwizard Tournament being hosted this year at the school. Last night was the final task and, fearing that Cedric Diggory, a wizard with far superior skills would win the Cup, Twist shocked the school by killing the handsome pureblood.

Minister Fudge confirmed that, in an act of the utmost cowardice, Twist apparently stole Diggory’s wand and heartlessly used that wand to kill its owner. Then, having discovered a taste for blood, Twist killed Alastor Moody, an ex-Auror who had taken a temporary teaching position at the school. Headmaster Dumbledore himself confirmed that Twist’s wand cast the killing curse. It is suspected that Moody discovered that the muggleborn had killed Diggory. To prevent his teacher from revealing this secret, Twist murdered Moody. Twist was caught in the act of killing Moody and was taken into custody.

“It was a terrible tragedy,” said Fudge late last night. “It’s hard to believe that such a young boy could be so evil. Even Dumbledore was surprised and he admitted that he’s been watching Twist for a while, worried that the boy was a follower of the dark arts.”

“He’s stark, raving mad,” said one of the guards at the Ministry. “He’s been calling out to anyone who’ll listen that You Know Who has returned and that he’s the one who killed Diggory and Moody. It’ll give you chills to hear that boy call You Know Who by his name.”

Perhaps Twist plans on entering an insanity plea when he is tried before the Wizengamot this week on two counts of murder. We have seen how devious he is already. He may be hoping to avoid Azkaban in favor of a soft cell in St. Mungo’s. We can only hope that the Wizengamot sees through the sick lies of a depraved mind.

This reporter predicted the danger Twist posed to the champions. We must ask why the Ministry and Hogwarts did not do more to protect our children, the most precious resource we have?

A concerned parent, Narcissa Malfoy, whose son Draco is in Twist’s year at Hogwarts, had this to say. “I shudder when I think that my son was so close to this psychopathic killer every day. I know that people don’t want to admit it, but blood will tell. It’s no coincidence that this heinous act was committed by a muggleborn. Those born of wizard blood have too much nobility to behave so heartlessly.”

With the recent news that muggles were responsible for abusing Harry Potter, it is no wonder that many question whether the wizarding world should reconsider our relationship with muggles. While not everyone will agree with Mrs. Malfoy’s views (at least not publicly), more parents are expected to put pressure on Professor Dumbledore to halt the practice of permitting muggleborns to attend Hogwarts.

Meanwhile, Mark Twist is under heavy guard at the Ministry. “He’s clearly a Dark Wizard in training, if you ask me,” said another official, speaking on condition of anonymity. “Everyone knows the rumor that You Know Who killed his first person at the age of sixteen. Twist is only fourteen. If he’s not stopped now, he’ll be worse than He Who Must Not Be Named.”

In the name of Harry Potter, Cedric Diggory and Alastor Moody, we call upon the Ministry to stop Mark Twist. Stop him now.

Dumbledore finished reading the article and laid it back down on his desk. He was sitting alone in his office, the morning after the murders of Cedric and Moody.

His shoulders sagged and his head bowed. He felt every day of his 113 years. This was a catastrophe! At this moment, a young boy who was completely innocent was sitting in a cell at the Ministry awaiting trial for murder and the wizarding world was unaware that Voldemort had arisen. Worse, they had heard the news from the boy and were happy to disregard it, in part because he, Dumbledore, had denounced the boy.

Snape had returned to Voldemort after the Minister had left with Twist. He had used his well-honed cunning to convince Voldemort that he was still loyal. Snape had learned that Barty Crouch Jr. was still alive and, unbelievably, had been impersonating Alastor Moody for the entire school year. Crouch had killed the real Moody, framing Twist. Crouch had been the one who had placed Twist’s name in the Triwizard Cup so as to bring the boy to Voldemort. Shock followed shock. Peter Pettigrew was alive as well, having framed Sirius Black, just as Twist had said. Peter, on Voldemort’s orders, had killed Diggory.

Worse yet, knowing all this, Dumbledore was not free to tell anyone of Twist’s innocence. To do so would be to reveal that Snape was a spy. It was more important to maintain Snape’s cover, particularly now that Voldemort had risen again, than to save Twist. It was a terrible shame but Dumbledore could not let the welfare of one boy trump the need to do what was best in the long run for the many.

As it was, Dumbledore knew he would have a hard time convincing Fudge and the rest of the wizarding world that Voldemort had indeed returned. He would need to find a way to force Voldemort to reveal himself. He would need to do this without compromising Snape’s cover.

Dumbledore had already contacted former members of the Order of the Phoenix for an emergency meeting. They would meet in an hour at the Hogs Head and plan their strategy. One of the first orders of business would be to recruit more members. With Voldemort returned, it was crucial that those who opposed his rule move quickly.

Fudge, unfortunately, had made it very clear that he would not believe any story that confirmed Voldemort’s return. The Minister was living in denial, and, with every hour that passed, became increasingly hostile to any suggestion that Mark Twist was telling the truth.

The Daily Prophet was stirring up hatred against Twist and, indeed, all muggleborns. Dumbledore feared that attacks against muggles would increase once more, as they had done in the weeks following the news that Harry Potter’s muggle relatives had abused the boy.

Where was Harry Potter? It was more imperative than ever that he be found. If the prophecy was true, only the boy could defeat Voldemort. Dumbledore didn’t want to consider the possibility that Harry Potter was dead and that nothing stood in the way of Voldemort’s eventual domination of the wizarding world

The Daily Prophet may have only cared about selling newspapers, but the ramifications of its sensationalism were all too real. Even without the paper turning popular opinion against him, Mark Twist would have had an almost impossible task of convincing the Wizengamot that he had not murdered Diggory and Moody. With the Prophet’s hate-mongering, Twist stood no chance at all.

The headmaster had worried that Twist was, perhaps, a rising dark wizard but all of the boy’s actions had been nothing short of heroic. He had stopped Voldemort from gaining the Sorcerer’s Stone. He had saved Ginny Weasley from the basilisk, destroying Tom Riddle’s diary in the process. He had helped Sirius Black to escape which, in light of the new information Dumbledore had of Black’s innocence, also counted in the boy’s favor. He had acquitted himself well in the Tournament, which the boy had not, after all, entered voluntarily. He had shown real kindness in freeing Dobby and demonstrated true nobility in trying to save all of the hostages in the second task.

Voldemort had focused on the boy, clearly seeing him as a threat. Was such a boy, who had done no harm, to be sent to Azkaban? Dumbledore felt sick to his stomach. He hadn’t felt so helpless since he had heard that, despite all his efforts to protect them, Lily and James Potter had been killed.

There was a knock on the door. Dumbledore looked up with dull eyes and called, “Come in.”

Severus Snape entered. He looked pale and exhausted. Dumbledore knew that Snape had been interrogated extensively by Voldemort the night before. Dumbledore did not need to ask to know that the interrogation had not been pleasant. The elderly wizard thought, not for the first time, that it was ironic that a former Death Eater was one of the bravest men he knew. “Headmaster. It is time to leave for the Hogs Head, if we are to be on time.”

Dumbledore rose from his chair. “Yes, Severus. We must go. We cannot afford to let time slip away from us.”

Snape’s eyes fell on the paper lying on Dumbledore’s desk. Understanding that Dumbledore had read the lead article, he asked, “What do you intend to do about Twist?”

Dumbledore sighed heavily. “There is nothing to do. The only way to free him would be to prove that Crouch and Pettigrew, both known to be long dead, killed Diggory and Moody instead. No one would believe us, even if we tried to tell the truth. And Voldemort would know that the only way for us to know this information is if you had told us. We cannot compromise your position. You are too important to the cause.”

“So Twist is to be sacrificed?” Snape’s tone was neutral and it was difficult to read his expression.

Dumbledore nodded slowly. “I see no other options. In battle, there are always casualties of war. Unfortunately for Mr. Twist, he is what the muggles call ‘collateral damage’.”

“It is hard for a commander to send soldiers into certain death, even when he knows that it must be done.”

“Yes,” said Dumbledore. “But, why does the ‘right’ decision seem so wrong?”

*

When Harry had first awoken in the Ministry holding cell, he had felt an eerie calm descend upon him. It was as if his mind, overloaded with shock, had decided not to allow anything to upset it anymore. So, after failing to convince his guards that he was innocent and that Voldemort had returned, Harry stopped wasting his breath.

He ate the breakfast they brought him, although he felt strangely guilty for eating. It seemed disloyal to Cedric’s memory that he would be eating porridge less than a day after Cedric’s death. But, Harry had not eaten much the previous day and he was ravenously hungry.

After breakfast, Harry waited for someone official to visit him. Surely, Fudge or Dumbledore would want to speak with him. Voldemort had done a fabulous job of framing him. But, now in the light of day, thinking more clearly than he had the night before, Harry realized that he had a trump card that Voldemort didn’t know about. It was time to reveal that he was Harry Potter. Once he did so, there was no way he’d be sent to Azkaban. Everyone would believe that Voldemort had returned.

Thank goodness he wasn’t really an unknown muggleborn. Voldemort wasn’t the only one preaching intolerance and prejudice. Too many in the wizarding world were quick to believe the worst about Mark Twist because he was a muggleborn. Once Harry had resumed his real identity, he planned on reminding everyone that his own mother had been muggleborn.

The morning passed uneventfully. No one came to visit him and the guards who brought him his lunch just left the food on a tray on the floor of the cell and wouldn’t answer any of his questions or speak to him. When Harry finished his food, they removed the tray – again, without speaking to him.

Harry was lying on the bed, the sole furniture in the cell, when he heard the key turn in the lock of his cell and the door opened. Harry quickly swung his legs over the side of the bed and sat up. Dumbledore swept into the room. Harry bounced to his feet, a relieved smile on his face. “Sir! I’m so glad you’ve come! I wanted to swear to you, again, that I didn’t…”

Dumbledore held up his hand to halt Harry’s defense and the boy stopped in mid-sentence. The headmaster did not return Harry’s smile and the elderly wizard’s face was uncharacteristically grave. “I know, Mark.”

“What? What do you know?” asked Harry, confused.

“I know you did not kill Cedric Diggory or Alastor Moody.”

Harry let out a deep breath and laughed a little. “Whoa! That’s great! What a relief! I was pretty worried, let me tell you!” Harry felt a lightening of the knot in his stomach that he hadn’t even realized was there. He smiled widely and sat down on his bed. After a second, he rose again and said, “Do you know who killed Professor Moody?”

“I cannot tell you that, Mark,” said Dumbledore gravely.

“Oh,” said Harry, taken aback. “Something to do with Voldemort, huh?”

Dumbledore was struck by how easily this boy said Voldemort’s name. What a brave child. This boy, currently being pilloried in the press, had fought Voldemort on three occasions and lived to tell the tale. Full-grown wizards wouldn’t be able to do as much. And now, because of Voldemort, this valiant boy was going to Azkaban. Dumbledore looked away. He couldn’t bear to see the boy, looking so relieved, not knowing what was in store for him.

“What convinced you I was innocent?” asked Harry, curiously.

“I can’t tell you that either, Mark.”

“I…I don’t understand. Won’t everyone need to know – if not, how will people believe in my innocence?”

Dumbledore said nothing, staring at the floor for a minute. Then, taking a deep breath, raised his eyes to Harry and said, “You have been exceedingly brave. You deserve nothing less than the truth. Where I cannot tell you the truth, I will not lie. I have information that confirms your innocence, Mark. But, it is not information that I am at liberty to disclose. This is one of the most difficult moments of my life. I stand here before you to tell you that I know you are innocent and yet I cannot help you.”

Harry was stunned. His blood ran cold. Once again, Dumbledore was betraying him. In barely a whisper, he demanded, “What? You … you dare to tell me that you will let me be tried for the murders of Cedric and Professor Moody, knowing I am innocent?”

Dumbledore looked him squarely in the eyes. A tear welled in the piercing blue orb and ran down the lined cheek of the aged wizard. “Yes,” he confirmed baldly.

Harry took a step backward. Seeing the look of horror and betrayal on the boy’s face, Dumbledore explained. “Mark, you know Voldemort has arisen. Once more, the wizarding world faces a threat that can destroy our very existence. I cannot overstate the evil of which Voldemort is capable. I must do everything in my power to help defeat him. The information I have would not be believed unless I told my source. To do so would undermine our work to defeat Voldemort.”

There was silence and then Harry, standing tall and looking at Dumbledore with cold eyes, contempt in his voice, accused, “You will let them send me to Azkaban?”

Dumbledore did not respond.

“I am fourteen.”

Still no response.

“I will go crazy there. You know how the dementors affect everyone. And I’m…particularly susceptible. I will go mad.”

Still silence.

“Tell me, Professor. Why is Voldemort the evil one if you are willing to let them do this to me?”

Dumbledore looked as if he had been slapped. “Mark,” he began. His voice broke. “You can have no idea how much I regret that I cannot help you.”

Harry felt a burning anger fill every corner of his being. He had no interest in listening to Dumbledore’s excuses. All he could think was that it was happening again. Dumbledore had abandoned him to abusive relatives in order to seal the “blood protection.” Every thrashing, harsh word, and hungry night he had suffered, and every hug or kiss he hadn’t received, was the result of Dumbledore’s plans to defeat Voldemort. He, Harry, was caught in the crossfire.

In fury, Harry decided that he would not reveal that he was Harry Potter to Dumbledore. The old man didn’t deserve to be the first to know. He would wait until the trial and reveal himself before the Wizengamot. Then, let Dumbledore beg his forgiveness!

Harry stared angrily at Dumbledore. “I find it hard to believe, Professor, if you were the one being threatened with Azkaban, that you would go quietly. I think that you’d find a way to save yourself.”

“Mark. I have a duty to protect the wizarding world. I may be the only one who fully understands the immensity of the task before us to defeat Voldemort. I cannot endanger this mission by setting myself as an outlaw by helping you escape. If there were any way to help you escape without casting suspicion on anyone else, including me, I would do so. I will do everything in my power to free you as soon as possible. It is only a matter of time before Voldemort makes his presence known and then we will clear your name.”

“You know, Professor. When my name came out of the Goblet, I wondered whether you might have been the one to put it there. I researched you to see if I could learn why you might have done that. ‘Know thine enemy.’”

“I’m not your enemy, Mark!”

“You’re not my friend!” Harry rebutted. “I learned about your epic battle with Grindewald. I thought that there was no way that such a foe of the Dark Arts would have put my name in the Goblet. I thought that you were a …hero. But, you’re not so different from Grindewald after all. He was all about the ‘Greater Good’. Isn’t that what you’re saying to me now? That you’ll stand aside and let them put an innocent fourteen year old in Azkaban, knowing I’ll go crazy, because it’s for the Greater Good?”

Dumbledore turned ashen. He swayed and looked as if he might faint. Harry could have no idea of the power of his accusations. He did not know that, in his youth, Dumbledore had befriended Grindewald. It had been Dumbledore’s own philosophical musings about the Greater Good justifying wizarding dominion over muggles that Grindewald had adopted to support his master race ideology.

Before Dumbledore could respond, the door of the cell clanged open again. “Professor Dumbledore,” called a guard. “The Minister has requested a meeting with you.”

Dumbledore hesitated and then nodded in agreement. “I’ll be back, Mark,” he said as he moved toward the door.

“I don’t think we have anything more to say to one another,” retorted the boy.

Dumbledore hesitated at the door and looked back. “Have you contacted your parents?”

Harry was silent for a moment, thinking. Then, he said, “Not yet. I was hoping to be released and not have to tell them anything. But now…I think I will tell them that I have been accepted to a study abroad program. I wouldn’t want them to worry when there’s nothing they can do to help me. Apparently, there is nothing anyone can….or is willing…to do.”

Dumbledore looked at Harry, regret etched into his face. “Please forgive me,” he whispered.

Harry raised his chin and stood tall. “I don’t think I can.”

Dumbledore was struck by how regal the boy looked standing there, pronouncing judgment. The young boy’s tone was unforgiving. Dumbledore walked from the room, his steps slow and his shoulders stooped.

“I don’t know if I can ever forgive myself either,” Dumbledore thought as he walked to the Minister’s office.

*

Harry seethed. One of the guards, with a smirk on his face, had left a copy of the Daily Prophet on Harry’s dinner tray. After reading the article, Harry had thrown the tray at the wall of his cell in fury. He remembered the catcalls of the students accusing him of being a murderer as he left the stadium, still shaking from his encounter with Voldemort. He dwelled on Dumbledore’s abandonment of him for expediency’s sake. And, now, this vile article!

“Am I willing to be a hero for this?” he asked himself. “They don’t deserve for me to save them!”

“Of course,” a small voice whispered in Harry’s head, “you might not be able to save them even if you wanted to. You don’t really think you can defeat Voldemort, do you?”

A surge of anger coursed through Harry and brought a boost of confidence with it. “I escaped him, didn’t I? There I was, surrounded by Death Eaters and Voldemort cast the Avada Kedavra directly at me, and I still escaped. Doesn’t that show that he can’t kill me? That, eventually, I’ll be able to bring him down? Maybe not now, when I’m fourteen. But, I’ll continue to learn and, maybe years from now, I’ll be powerful enough to defeat him.”

“Not if you’re in Azkaban,” whispered that sly little voice.

“I’m not going to Azkaban,” he assured himself. “Wait until we’re before the whole Wizengamot. I’ll turn back into Harry Potter and let them crawl over themselves to apologize.”

Harry enjoyed this daydream for a while. He particularly enjoyed imagining the scene where Dumbledore begged his forgiveness. “Forget it, old man!,” he thought to himself in savage satisfaction.

However, the teenager couldn’t maintain that level of fury indefinitely and, as the hours passed, Harry’s anger calmed somewhat. This boredom was awful. He had absolutely nothing to do but lie down on his bed and stare at the walls and ceiling. “Dementors would be better than this!” he snorted, in gallows humor.

But, as the night fell, Harry’s boredom was relieved in an unexpected manner, making him recall longingly the tedious, uneventful hours he had scorned. Lying in his bed, counting the cracks in the ceiling, Harry felt a sudden sharp twinge in his scar. “Ow!” he shouted out loud, unprepared for the pain.

The room around him started to dissolve and he found himself in a hazy tunnel, where the walls shimmered insubstantially. He felt as if his brain were being sucked through that tunnel until it stopped suddenly in a large room, lit only by the fire burning in the fireplace along one wall.

He cast his gaze across the room and saw scores of hooded figures on their knees bowing before him. “Rise,” Harry said in a cold, high-pitched voice.

The Death Eaters rose to their feet. “Those fools!” Harry laughed delightedly. “They lock up the boy and allow me to wander free! Barty, come closer.” He beckoned to one of the Death Eaters, his unnaturally long fingers gesturing lazily.

One of the hooded figures approached Harry and fell down on his knees, kissing the hem of his robe. “Master!” the kneeling figure moaned in ecstasy at being allowed so near his idol.

Pleased, Harry waited a beat and then, “Stand up, Barty. You, my most loyal of servants, shall be rewarded for your efforts on my behalf. If only all of my Death Eaters were as loyal as you…” and here Harry paused to cast a glare at the other figures ranged around the room. They recognized the danger and hunched in upon themselves. “… if they were as loyal as you, I would have returned to my body long ago and we would already be in control of the Ministry. No matter. No matter. That is the past. Nothing can stop us now.” And, he laughed his shrill laugh again.

He turned to a man standing quietly at his side. “Severus, you are sure that no one suspects that anyone other than Twist killed Diggory and Moody?”

Snape spoke calmly. “The boy goes to trial in two days. Azkaban has already been notified that he will be arriving there that night. Fudge is taking no chances. There are Dementors already at the Ministry ready to escort this…rising Dark Lord.” Snape said this last sarcastically.

Harry laughed again, appreciating the humor. “I could kill the boy,” he mused slowly. “But, I agree with Barty. This is far better. Let the boy rot in Azkaban, put there by the Ministry itself.” His sharp laughter rang in Harry’s ears as the teenager found himself back in his cell, clutching the sides of his cot and staring up at the ceiling once more.

Harry breathed heavily and raised his head from the pillow to look around the room, searching the corners as if expecting a Death Eater to jump out at him. When he assured himself that he was still alone, he lay his head back heavily. Wow! He had been back in Voldemort’s head. There was no doubt that he had seen through Voldemort’s eyes. Harry shivered.

“Don’t lie!” he commanded himself, sternly. “I didn’t just see through Voldemort’s eyes, I was Voldemort! I felt what he was feeling and thought what he was thinking. Somehow, we are connected. I’ve suspected it before, but now that Voldemort has regained a body, our connection is stronger. I can see what he’s doing more clearly than ever and I am in his thoughts.”

It was terrifying. Harry tried to control the rising fear from clouding his brain. “I can take advantage of this,” he told himself. “Let’s just hope that this connection doesn’t run both ways. I don’t want Voldemort peering into my head!”

Harry sat up shakily. Well, at least he now knew who had killed Moody. He had recognized Barty Crouch, Jr. Obviously, Crouch was no more dead than Pettigrew. And, taking a leaf from Pettigrew’s book, had framed another for the murder he had committed.

Harry wondered whether Crouch Sr. was also involved. If so, the Ministry had been infiltrated by Death Eaters already. He’d have to warn someone. “But who?” he thought bitterly. “No one believes a word I say.”

“After you reveal you are Harry Potter, you’ll tell them,” he reassured himself. “Then, everyone will believe you. Everyone would believe anything that Harry Potter says.”

*

Two days later, Harry was awoken from a light sleep to hear the door of his cell creak open. Harry’s eyes flew wide and the last remnants of sleep vanished immediately. This was not the guards. They threw open the door with a bang, little caring if they were disturbing the boy within. Whoever was opening the door now was trying to be quiet. Harry automatically reached for the wand he stored beneath his pillow each night. He remembered, with a lurch of his stomach, that he no longer had a wand. It had been confiscated from him the night of the murders.

He stood up quickly and moved to stand against the wall, hidden by the opening of the door. He tried to quiet his breath and waited with his heart pounding.

When he saw the mop of red hair peering over the edge of the door, he let out his breath with a whoosh. That mop, otherwise known as Fred Weasley, turned to look behind him and whispered, “No one’s here! We must have the wrong cell!”

“It can’t be wrong. I took it off of the guard’s roster!” responded George.

“I’m right here,” said Harry, stepping forward.

Ron, who had entered the room behind his brothers, jumped and whirled around. “Don’t do that, Mark! You frightened a year off my life!”

Harry just smiled. He had never been so happy to see anyone in his life. George quickly shut the door behind Ginny, who was also sidling into the room. Harry stared at her in surprise. She blushed but steadily kept her eyes on him.
“We’re here to save you, Mark!” said Ron grandly.

Harry felt a leap of hope. “Dumbledore sent you?”

Fred shook his head. “No. The adults think their hands are tied. They are distraught, mind you, but not doing anything.”

George explained. “Our parents have been recruited into the Order of the Phoenix. It’s a secret society that Dumbledore formed the first time You Know Who rose to power. Dumbledore has reformed the Order now that You Know Who has returned. He approached Mom and Dad and they went to a number of meetings in the last few days.”

Fred continued, “We just returned from Hogwarts this morning. We decided to try out some new inventions we’d been working on.” He dug into his pocket and pulled out some flesh-colored string. “These allow us to listen in on ‘private’ conversations.”

“Little did we know just what we’d hear!”

Ron interjected. “We knew that you were innocent, of course. You wouldn’t believe the fights that went on at Hogwarts. Half the students are saying you’re a murderer and the other half are defending you. You know what side we’re on, mate.”

Harry nodded. He couldn’t speak over the lump in his throat.

Ron continued, “Hermione has been researching wizarding law. We tried to get in to speak with Dumbledore, but he hasn’t been available. Hermione’s going to contact a legal aid society. She thinks that they have to appoint you counsel to represent you during the trial. But, we,” he waved his finger in a circle, indicating his siblings and himself, “decided that we’re not going to take the chance of your going to trial.”

Ginny nodded grimly. “We can’t trust the Ministry to give you a fair trial. Mom and Dad admitted as much, when they didn’t realize that we were listening.”

“What did they say?” asked Harry.

“Well, apparently Moody wasn’t Moody at all!” said Ron, his own eyes wide in astonishment, as he told the tale he still couldn’t believe himself. “He was really an imposter all along. You remember Crouch, the Head of the Department of International Magical Cooperation? Percy works for him. Anyway, he’s been missing and Dumbledore thinks he must have been killed. Because, you won’t believe this, his son – Barty Crouch, Jr. – was a Death Eater and was supposed to have died years ago in Azkaban. Well, he didn’t die! Instead, he’s been impersonating Moody all year, using Polyjuice Potion. He framed you!”

All eyes were on Harry, waiting for him to show his shock. He already knew this information, but didn’t want to explain to the Weasleys how he had come by his knowledge. So, he pretended to be shocked by the revelation. He let his mouth drop open and said, weakly, “Really! That’s unbelievable. Why would he do this?”

Harry thought that his acting was atrocious but it satisfied his friends. George eagerly explained, “You Know Who was really mad that you stopped him from getting the Sorcerer’s Stone. He wanted Crouch to enter you into the Triwizard Tournament and, when you touched the Triwizard Cup, it became a Portkey that took you to You Know Who, who used your blood in a spell to regain his body.”

“It sounds too far-fetched,” said Harry musingly. Listening to Ron and George summarize what had happened made Harry realize just how unbelievable the story sounded. Without proof, there was no way he’d be able to convince the Wizengamot that this is what truly happened. But, thank Merlin, they’d believe Harry Potter, right?

“The reason we know all this is…hold your hat…Snape is a spy for the Order,” Ron revealed with relish.

This time, Harry didn’t have to pretend astonishment. “No way!”

The Weasleys all nodded in confirmation. “Yup!” continued Ron. “Hard to believe that greasy git is an ally.”

“Assuming he’s not playing both sides,” Fred muttered ominously.

“He’s the one who told Dumbledore that Crouch was the imposter,” said Ginny.

Harry now understood who Dumbledore was protecting by refusing to tell the Wizengamot that “Mark Twist” was innocent. It was his spy, Snape. Ginny confirmed this when she said, “We overheard our parents speaking about how you’d been framed but that Dumbledore and the Order didn’t know how to free you without revealing that Snape was a spy. Mom was crying that they couldn’t stand back and let you go to Azkaban.”

“But Dad said that there was nothing they could do,” added Ron, bitterly.

“He was broken up about it,” said Ginny in defense. “I’ve never seen him look so unhappy.”

Harry said nothing. He knew he was being unfair – after all, what could Mr. Weasley do? But, he still resented that none of the adults he knew were prepared to intervene to save him. They should figure out what to do. They were the adults!

Fred deflected Harry’s resentment by finishing, “Anyway, the adults may sit around moaning about what to do, but we’ve come to save you.”

Harry laughed in disbelief. “What are you going to do?”

“Don’t laugh,” cautioned Fred haughtily. “You are speaking to the Weasley twins.”

Ron and Ginny coughed into their hands. Fred amended, politely, “…and siblings. There is little that we won’t dare and, I modestly add, succeed in doing.”

Harry felt a rush of affection for the whole group. They didn’t know that he was Harry Potter and they were prepared to risk themselves to save him. He didn’t need their help, of course. Once he revealed he was Harry Potter, as he now fully intended to do during the trial, he would be fine. But, knowing that they were prepared to put themselves in danger for him…he would never forget this. Never.

Curiously, Harry asked, “How are you going to save me?”

George eagerly explained. “We have a plan! Ginny and Ron will distract the guards. They did it brilliantly on the way here already.” Ginny and Ron both blushed with pleasure upon hearing the rare praise from their older brother. “You will eat this cream puff.” George held up a pastry treat.

Harry looked at it in astonishment. He recognized the Canary Cream pastry that the Weasley twins had invented at the beginning of the school year. The Weasleys all smiled upon seeing Harry’s expression. “I’m not joking,” said George. “You will turn into a canary. Fred and I have been working on the spell. We’ve added a special ingredient just for this one and we think the transformation will hold for about twenty minutes. That will give us time to sneak you out of here.”

“It won’t work,” said Harry, definitively. “The Ministry has to have enchantments in place to prevent this sort of thing.”

Fred disagreed. “Maybe a standard transfiguration spell, but we think that the Ministry security is lax when it comes to potions. Anyway, we’re game to try it and what do you have to lose?”

Harry shook his head. “I might be facing Azkaban but there’s no way I’m going to let you four risk your lives, too. If we get caught, you’d all be sentenced to Azkaban with me!”

“At least we’d be in adjoining cells,” Ron joked. Harry didn’t smile.

Ginny stepped forward and took one of Harry’s hands in hers. “Mark. You saved my life. I’m not standing aside and letting them send you to Azkaban for a crime you didn’t commit. I’m willing to take this chance and so are my brothers.” Ron, Fred and George nodded behind her. “We understand the danger. We’re not stupid. But, we think our plan has a chance of working. Are you willing to give it a try?”

Harry felt tears pool in his eyes. He swallowed hard. “I…I don’t think I can ever thank you all enough for what you are willing to do for me. No one’s ever …” Harry didn’t complete the sentence. Going into history was dangerous. “But, I can’t permit you to risk your lives for me.” He held up his hand to forestall the arguments he could already see them marshalling to use against him. “Anyway, I have a plan to avoid Azkaban already.”

“Really? What?” they all asked in unison.

The teenager hesitated. Should he tell them who he was? He wasn’t worried that the Weasleys would give him away on purpose. But, in their excitement at learning who he was, would they tell their parents? Tell Dumbledore? Inadvertently say something to the wrong person? His safest course was to wait until he was standing in front of the whole Wizengamot before revealing who he was.

Slowly, Harry said, “I can’t tell you. I’m sorry, but I think I need to be quiet about this. Everyone will find out what I’m talking about at the trial. I’m sure the plan will work, though, so I’m really not in danger.”

The Weasleys looked at him doubtfully. It was clear that they wanted to argue with him, but, as Harry wouldn’t share the details of his plan, they couldn’t disagree with it. Before they could say any more, they heard a loud clanking from the corridor outside.

They all froze. “What’s that?” asked Fred in alarm.

There was another loud sound outside, and Harry, reacting quickly, grabbed Fred’s wand from his hand and pushed the four Weasleys against the side wall. Pointing his wand at the wall, Harry shouted “Gemino!” A duplicate wall appeared, a few feet in front of the other, sealing the Weasleys into the small space between the walls.

Harry quickly threw Fred’s wand under the bed, where it was hidden by the blanket that he had dropped on the floor earlier. Just in time. The door swung open and four guards poured in, wands raised.

One of guards pushed Harry up against the wall and quickly patted him down, searching for any weapon. No one seemed to notice that the room was a bit smaller than it had been before.

Harry heard the click click of high-heeled shoes. He was roughly turned around and he found himself facing a witch he had never seen before. She was wearing a pleasant smile, which didn’t reach her eyes. On her black robes was a pink broach and she had a frilly pink bow on top of her head. Despite these small signs of feminine softness, Harry noted the hardness in her eyes that called to mind his Aunt Petunia. She looked like a toad eying a juicy fly. He suspected, in alarm, that he was the fly she was intent on swallowing.

“Hem, hem,” the woman coughed delicately. “Mark Twist. I am Dolores Umbridge, Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic. I have been placed in charge of the security around you. And lucky I have been. It appears that it has been most lax. Why on the way here, do you know what we found?” She smiled sweetly at Harry. “A number of the guards supposed to be guarding the corridor to this cell have mysteriously disappeared or appear confunded. You don’t know why that is, do you?” she asked pleasantly.

“No, ma’am,” said Harry politely. “I’ve been locked in this cell for days. I don’t know what’s going on outside.”

“Hmm,” she said consideringly. She cast her eyes around the room and Harry held his breath. Harry prayed that the Weasleys would have enough sense to stay quiet behind the wall. Umbridge walked around the room slowly, searching its corners, her heels clicking away. Finally, she arrived back at Harry’s side.

“So,” she smiled, “you didn’t just try to break out of here?”

Harry shook his head vehemently. “No! I wouldn’t be able to, so why try?”

Umbridge pushed her face closer to Harry’s and said quietly, “I don’t believe you.” She pulled back and gestured to two of the guards. “Go get them.”

They scurried from the room and Harry wondered where they had gone. There were still two guards remaining, one on either side of him.

“You are a dangerous criminal, Mr. Twist. It is my responsibility to make sure that you are not permitted to escape. The Minister has faith in me and it is not misplaced. I will do what needs to be done.”

Harry felt the room become colder. A fog of despair started to descend upon him. No one loved him. He would rot away in Azkaban and no one would care.

Harry shook his head. Where had these thoughts come from? Then, Harry understood as the door opened again and, standing beside the two guards who had returned, were two Dementors. They floated into the room.

The guards next to Harry recoiled a bit, but Umbridge cast a Patronus. The little kitten gamboled around the room, warming the air. Harry was protected from the effects of the Dementors but he continued to eye them with concern.

Umbridge gestured to the Dementors with her wand. “They are here to escort you to Azkaban, Twist. You won’t be given another opportunity to escape.”

“What?! I haven’t had a trial yet. I haven’t been sentenced to Azkaban!”

“That’s a formality only, Twist. Everyone knows you are guilty. I am not going to allow you to escape.”“I didn’t try to escape!”

Umbridge laughed a tinkling, little laugh. “No. Those guards just were confunded on their own.”

Harry felt his fear soar. “You can’t do this. It’s illegal! I have a right to a trial!”

Umbridge’s smile faded and an ugly look came over her face. “You talk about rights. You mudblood. You killed a pureblood wizard and a former Ministry employee. You are lucky I don’t tell the Dementors to administer a kiss right here.”

Harry shrank back against the wall. The way Umbridge looked, and the excited expression in her eyes as she mentioned the Dementor’s kiss, made Harry scared that she might change her mind and order the kiss after all. His blood froze.

“Please. I’m innocent and I can prove it.” Harry heard the fear in his voice and he could tell that it pleased Umbridge.

She had a satisfied smirk on her face. “Liar!”

She raised her wand at Harry. “No!” he yelled.

“Stupefy,” she shouted. A red beam flew from her wand and hit the teenager in the chest. He crumpled without another word.

“Take him,” she ordered. The Dementors swooped down and carried the teenager from the room. Umbridge and the guards followed and closed the cell door behind them.

*

After silence had reigned a few minutes, a muffled, “Finite incantatem,” issued from behind the wall. The false wall shimmered and disappeared, revealing the four Weasleys, all pale and shaken.

George raised his wand and said, “Accio wand.” Fred’s wand flew into his hand from beneath the bed. Without a word, George handed the wand to Fred.

“What are we going to do?” asked Ginny in a broken whisper.

“We’re going to tell Dad,” said Fred. “He’ll have to help us figure out what to do.”

Without another word, they carefully left the room, taking care not to be seen as they left the Ministry and headed back to the Burrow.