The Alchemist's Cell
by SJR0301
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Harry stared out the window of the Hogwarts Express dreading his return to the Muggle world. He had hoped he would not have to return to the Dursley's ever again, but it was not to be. Dumbledore had insisted and Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon and Dudley would be waiting for him at the station just as they had every year since he had begun his schooling at Hogwarts. Harry understood that it had to do with the protection that he received from being under his aunt's roof. Nevertheless, he thought gloomily that this summer might well be even worse than the last. He had left on such bad terms with his Uncle, believing he would be thrown out in fact, that he could not believe anything good could come of another day at Privet Drive, much less, another whole summer.
The end of the year Leaving Feast had been particularly painful. He had not wanted to go. He had deliberately arrived late hoping that Dumbledore would not speak of the recent events, and knowing that the Headmaster would, that he must. He had also felt that not going at all would be quite wrong, because the feast was as much a good-bye to Professor Ribisi as it was to the students for the year. The Great Hall had been decorated with black banners in honor of the Defense Professor's death and the students sat far more quietly than usual, their soft chatter coming to a momentary hush when Harry entered late. Dumbledore had spoken with great sorrow of Professor Ribisi.
"This Professor," he said, "gave all that he had, to help prepare you for the difficult times that still lie ahead. Let the diligence of his efforts, and the bravery of his ending be an example to you. Though we may win one skirmish in the fight with the dark, always there arise new threats to the community of the good. Always, there come new wizards with the message of hate and division, rather than the spirit of forgiveness and unity. I ask you therefore to drink to your Professor, whose life and death were a lesson for all." The students and teachers all stood and drank, and Harry noticed that everyone stood this time, even the Slytherins. And only Malfoy whispered to his friends of all of them there.
"I would invite you," Professor Dumbledore continued, "if any of you teachers or any of you students would like to say a word for your Professor or for those others that died." Harry looked around expecting that someone, some teacher, Snape perhaps, or even one of the Slytherins would say something about the student who died, but no one volunteered. Everyone sat and sighed, as if they could go on with their lives and forget now, and Harry felt outrage, because he knew the truth was quite the opposite. He remained standing and students began to look at him, and whisper, but he ignored that. He was used to it by now, though he still felt the internal cringe that went along with it.
Professor Dumbledore raised his hand to stop the whispers from gaining momentum and said, questioningly, "Mr. Potter, did you wish to speak?"
Harry nodded and the whispers grew for a moment and then stopped dead. Harry lifted his head and said as coolly as he could, "I had a few words to say. Yes. I wanted, first, to say thank you to all my Professors. Without Professor Ribisi, without the teaching of all my professors, I would not be here today. So I thank you." He looked to the high table and met Dumbledore's blue eyes and Snape's black ones. A few students clapped, but he raised his hand even as Professor Dumbledore had, because the hardest bit was still to be said. "I also want to say a word about Theodore Nott, who died last month." Everone gaped at him, and Slytherins had started to mutter softly. He went on anyway.
"I didn't know Theodore Nott very well," he said. "In fact that only thing I knew about him was that his father was a Death Eater, a follower of Voldemort's."
The whisper intensified as he named Voldemort and named Nott's father for what he was. Harry swallowed and went on. "But that didn't matter to Voldemort," Harry said. "It didn't matter that Nott was the son of his servant. Voldemort killed him anyway. Murdered him, in plain sight of all of us. And why? Simply because he was in the way. Just the same as Cedric Diggory. He killed Nott and he killed Cedric for exactly the same reason and in exactly the same way. Because they were there. Because they were in the way. It didn't matter if they were for him or against him. Because the only thing that matters to Voldemort is himself, and what he wants."
No one even whispered now. He turned and looked at Malfoy and the other Slytherins almost in challenge and said, "What Professor Dumbledore just said is right, and I have been among the offenders. If we do not put aside our differences, we will all surely lose. Because the enemy doesn't care. The enemy doesn't know the difference. Because to Voldemort, none of us are breathing thinking beings with a right to live. We're all just the same and we can all be killed with the exact same ease and indifference if we get in his way."
Even Malfoy had shut up, Harry saw, though he didn't know if what he was saying was being heard, listened to. "What I'm trying to say," he said finally, "is that if we don't stop worrying about who is a Gryffindor and who is a Ravenclaw, and who is a Hufflepuff and who is a Slytherin, and stand together, there won't be a Gryffindor or a Ravenclaw or a Hufflepuff or a Slytherin. There won't be a Hogwarts. All the stones and all the spells and all the courage and brilliance and loyalty and cleverness will crumble into dust if we don't stand together." He swept the Hall looking to see, hoping to see that they had understood. "The monster," he said, "is not just outside. It's right here, inside. It's our own hatred and fear and ignorance. If we don't learn to live with one another, we won't need a basilisk to do the killing. We'll bring this Castle right down on ourselves. If we don't change."
He sat down abruptly and shut up. He wanted to run from the Hall now, but he was shaking a bit, so he sat and stared at his hands. Someone, he wasn't sure who, said into the silence, "You keep talking about...about You Know Who as if he were alive." Harry looked up at that and the whipers had started again, whispers full of fear. He looked up at Dumbledore to see what he would do and Dumbledore, looking sadder than ever, and older, simply nodded.
"He is," Harry said. Several Slytherins stood up to stare at him and someone again said, "You're mad. You didn't lose your life, you lost your mind." Harry looked around for the speaker but still couldn't see whom it was.
"I'm sorry," he said. "But it's true." And he sat back down and refused to speak or eat for the remainder of the Feast. He waited for most of the people to leave before going himself, and he could feel the stares and hear some of them saying "nuts, isn't it? ...Crazy..."
But one person stopped by him and said, "I believe you, Harry. You were telling the truth last time. I believe you're telling the truth this time."
He looked up and said, "Thanks, Luna."
Hermione laid a hand on his shoulder and said, "I think you were brilliant, Harry."
And Ron said, "Bloody brilliant. Too bad they'll all wake up too late to realize you're not just looking for more attention." Harry nodded and got up. He looked up and saw Professor Dumbledore there, his blue eyes watching Harry with concern and something else.
"If you weren't only sixteen," Dumbledore said, "I should retire and appoint you Headmaster in my stead."
Harry gawked at him him and said, "There's no Hogwarts without you, Professor. And besides, I just told the truth. Somebody had to do it."
"Ah," Professor Dumbledore said, "being willing to tell the truth nobody wants to hear is the thing that sets apart the great from the ordinary."
Harry flushed at that and said, "It's not anything to do with being great. Even ordinary people have an obligation sometimes to speak out."
Professor Dumbledore smiled at him and said then more seriously, "If you felt the need to speak out, then you must still have some hope that we can win."
Harry frowned at that and said, "I don't know, Professor. I don't know if there's hope for me. But I do think there's hope for us all. Does that make any sense?" Poressor Dumbledore laid a hand on Harry's shoulder, but said nothing. Harry realized with a shock that the elderly wizard had shrunk. Or was it that he himself had grown? For he was now almost as tall as the old man.
They all watched Dumbledore walk away, and Harry had the odd feeling that Dumbledore had somehow grown again and gained in energy, and he hoped ferevently that the old wizard would always be there.
Luna stared at him with her weird blue eyes and said, "Are you sure you don't have Seer blood in your family?"
Harry stared at her. He was awfully tired so he said rather more abruptly than he should have, "Not that I'm aware of." But then he felt bad, because she had been the one to stand up for him, no matter how odd she was and said, "Thanks, Luna. I mean it."
She looked at him and smiled strangely and said, "I know you do. It's a funny thing, you know. Some people, when they come close to dying and the border between this world and the next grows less distinct, have a compulsion to tell the truth, because they've seen something that others can't see."
Hermione tutted and said with considerable asperity, "Oh for heaven's sake, Luna. Can't you see Harry's had enough as it is?"
Harry started to say, "Never mind," but Luna answered with a calm dignity, "Not everyhting can be felt or seen or measured or counted, Hermione Granger. That's one of the mysteries of the world, whether it's magic or not." And she walked away in her own quiet cloud of solitude.
The sky outside the train was a clear, piercing blue. Harry dragged his thoughts back to the present and started when he saw who was standing at the door of their compartment. It was Malfoy. Out of habit, he slid his hand nearer to his pocket and his wand. He realized, uncomfortably, that he was quite alone. Ron and Hermione had gone down the corridor to tell off some rather boisterous first years, and Ginny had been dragged away by a couple of her fourth year friends. Harry met Malfoy's eyes and saw with some relief that he was alone. He waited for him to speak, though he thought he knew what had brought him.
"Is it true?" the blond Slytherin asked.
"Yes," Harry said, "It's true."
"You killed him," Malfoy said. "We all saw it. How could he possibly be alive?"
"Voldemort," Harry said, "has powers even you can't dream of. He can possess other people's bodies, you see. That's how he's still alive. He left the one he was in and went to another. He never even died at all."
"Scared, then, Potter, are you?" Malfoy jeered. But his face was pale and the jeer was missing something.
Harry stared at him and said, "I'd be a cretin if I weren't. You'd be scared, too, if the most evil wizard in the world wanted to kill you." He let that sink in and added, "But that doesn't mean I won't keep fighting him. And it doesn't mean you shouldn't fight him, too. 'Cause he'll do the same to you as he did to Nott. And it won't matter that your Dad is one of his. If you got in his way, he'd kill you, too." Malfoy shook his head as if he had water in his ears and had to unclog them, and after another stare, he went out.
"Was that Malfoy bothering you?" Ginny asked. Harry looked at her and saw she looked like she was ready for a fight.
"Don't worry," he said hastily, fearing she'd be after Malfoy with one of her hexes.
"Did you at least hex him?" she asked.
"No," he said pointedly. "That’s the whole idea of unity, you know."
"Unity?" she said, "Unity is fine for normal people. I don't mind the idea in general. It's just as it applies to that git that it gets me." Harry couldn't help grinning.
"Well," he said, "he's a bit shook, you know." He looked and said, "So where are Ron and Hermione? Did the first years give them a hard time?"
"No," she said. "I just wanted to talk you alone for a moment, is all." He waited for her to talk, curious to know what was bothering her.
"I can't believe they're making you go back to those awful relatives," she burst out. "I thought you'd get to come back with us. Mum said she was going to tell Dumbledore you had to come home with us so you could heal up better."
"I know," Harry said gloomily. "But I've got to. Cause of Voldemort."
"Yeah," she said. "And how are those dumb Muggles going to protect you? And they won't take care of you proper. They won't make you eat and rest like Mum would."
Harry smiled at her because she reminded him again of her mother and said, "He can't get at me at my Aunt's. Dumbledore put some spell on it, so I have to go there. But I think I can visit later. I hope I'll be able to at the end of the summer."
He looked out the window and wished the end of the summer were already there. He still couldn't see how he'd get through two days with the Dursleys. But he supposed if he could through one conversation with Draco Malfoy with neither of them drawing a wand, perhaps a few days at the Dursleys' might be doable.
"We're almost there," she said and she blushed a bit as she sat down next to him. He looked at her and waited for her to say something. Then he saw that she was waiting for him to say something. No, to do something.
She said abruptly, "I made a fool of myself this year, you know. And you probably think I made a fool of you, too."
Harry looked at her vivid red hair and watched the sun make bronzey-gold light of it and he said, "I didn't mind. And anyway, we got Malfoy good, didn't we?"
"No," she whispered. "I think he got us instead, and we didn't even know it."
He said, "Now I wouldn't put it that way."
"Wouldn't you?" she said. She reached over and kissed him and he felt quite alive again, as he hadn't in weeks.
He kissed her back until she pushed him away and said, "See. He did. It's the veela magic. He set us up. And I don't think the spell can be broken."
Harry said, "Who cares?" and kissed her again. "I think he did us a favor then, if you want to know the truth."
"You are an idiot," she said.
"Yeah, I know," he said. "Hermione tells me that all the time. Ron does, too for that matter."
"What do I tell you?" Ron asked.
"I'm an idiot," Harry said grinning.
"Sometimes," Hermione said. "And sometimes, you are bloody brilliant."
He grinned again and felt quite happy. He could get though the summer he thought. At least he could look forward to being with his friends again sooner or later.
Mrs. Weasley was waiting at the Platform when the got off the train. She hugged each every one of them and Harry was pleased when she gave him an extra one and said, “I’ve got Dumbledore to promise me you can stay with us for the second half of the summer.”
Harry smiled with relief and was amused when she muttered fiercely, “And that Aunt of yours had better feed you properly. You always need feeding up after staying with those Muggles.”
“I’ll be fine,” he told her, and they all drifted through the barrier, two at a time so as not to attract too much notice from the Muggles, and Harry felt as thought he were one of the animals from Noah’s Ark, only he was leaving his sanctuary, instead of entering it.
Mr. and Mrs. Granger were waiting at Platform 10 and Hermione gave a little shriek and ran to hug her Mum and Dad. Harry looked around for the Dursleys, but he didn’t see them anywhere at first. Then he spotted them. They were quite a ways down the platform and his Aunt’s face was just as pinched and sour as usual and his Uncle’s was already purple, though whether from the summer heat or fury that he had to take Harry in one more time, he couldn’t tell.
Another train had just stopped at Platform Nine and Harry lost sight of the Dursleys for a moment as passengers hurried out and milled about looking for luggage carts or waved at their own people they were meeting. A very pretty girl stepped off the train followed by a curly haired man, and photographers swept forward to take their picture.
“How was the honeymoon?” the photographers shouted, and “What’s in store for next season, Annie? Are you returning for the Fall?”
The curly haired man answered easily, “She’ll be back for the Fall with an expanded role, and we’re considering a film offer as well.”
More pictures flashed and Harry stared in astonishment. It was Annie. She was smiling happily, her round eyes beaming with pleasure at everyone, and the curly haired man was the Director, whom she had just married. She turned her head and saw Harry, and gave a cry of delight and launched herself at him.
“Kenny, look! It’s our boy. It’s Jamey,” Annie said. She hugged him and said, “I hope you don’t mind me forgetting. I know it’s Harry, really. And I got your letter finally.”
***
“Go get ’em, Annie,” the Director thought as he watched his new wife smile and charm the crowd of jaded photographers just as she had him. He was altogether surprised, however, to see that the tall youth she had thrown herself at was indeed his Hamlet from last summer.
The boy was inches taller and still too thin, but he smiled delightedly at Annie, so that the sad green eyes lit up, and one photographer near him asked, “Another new discovery? If he’s half as good as he looks, or half as good as you’re Annie, he’ll be another sensation.”
The Director shook his head and waded through the crowd to clap the kid on the shoulder and to observe that there were more changes than he had thought from his earlier look. Despite the smile, the thin face was still haunted about eyes and there was something about the set of the mouth that spoke of the strength and determination of the adult, rather than the sullen rebelliousness of the teen.
“You look great,” Harry said, and the Director noticed that he had his bodyguard with him –the red-haired dragon of a guardian and her parcel of red-haired teens.
“You look terrible,” Annie replied with that absolute artlessness that made everyone laugh. “I thought they were taking care of you at that posh school you go to.”
“They try,” answered a small red-haired girl, who looked daggers at Annie and at the kid. “It’s just impossible when he doesn’t take care of himself, you know.”
Annie stared at the red-haired girl, and said, “No. I bet he’s too busy watching out for everyone else, isn’t he?”
The Director could see the thin face begin to close up and his faint withdrawal as the crowd swirled around them and the photographers started snapping pictures again.
“Are you through with school, then?” the Director asked quickly, thinking that a safe topic. He wanted a chance to offer the boy another part. Summer vacation, he thought cannily, even if he’s not quite finished.
“Erm, no,” Harry replied. “I’ve another year to go still.” He flushed a bit, so that the pale cheeks looked healthy and added, “I forgot to say congratulations. On your marriage, I mean. You and Annie, that is.”
The Director put a hand around Annie’s shoulders and said, “Thanks.”
He couldn’t help noticing that the little red-haired girl-- and what a color, the Director’s eye noticed—looked happier at that. Then he thought, oh, why not, and said, “You wouldn’t like to have a part for the summer again, would you? And I think I could swing a bit better pay, too, since you had some experience last summer.”
The youth stared at him in astonishment, as if he’d forgotten everything from last summer and looked off to the end of the platform where a thin blondish woman was standing gaping along with a stout, purple faced man and a teen with fists the size of gorilla’s. The green eyes were full of irony and amusement as he answered, “Well, give it few days. I’m thinking it won’t be a week before my Uncle wants to throw me out again, or I decide to leave.”
“You had better not,” the red-haired girl hissed.
The boy all of a sudden looked like a boy again, and said, “Well, I won’t do it without telling you, at least.”
“I shall hex you, if you run away again,” the little one said firmly. The boy grinned at her mischievously and said, “In that case, I’ll make sure I stop and pick you up first.”
Annie tugged at him and said, “So is she Ginny or Hermione? You haven’t introduced us properly, you know.”
The red-haired girl smiled brilliantly and said, “I’m Ginny. Ginny Weasley. That’s my brother Ron and that’s Hermione and you met my Mum last summer.”
The Director looked at the short red-haired woman with trepidation. He had a very clear memory of the woman’s temper from last summer. He looked from her to the thin blond woman with her stout husband and back again. “I don’t quite get it,” he said. “You’re the guardian and she’s the Aunt. Who does he really have in charge of him?”
“No one,” the boy – youth –answered firmly. “I’ll be staying with my Aunt for a few weeks and then with Mrs. Weasley and my friends after that. And if I get too bored, I might just ring you up. Except,” he added quite grimly, “I don’t want any parts with sword fights. Not that I’m promising anything, mind you.” He stuck his hands in his pockets and looked like he wanted to back right out again and run for it.
“I’ll have to find a comedy then,” the Director answered hastily as if the kid had said yes. The green eyes swung back to his face and the Director saw that they were amused again, as if the kid had understood the thought behind the words, to fix him in, and make him give his word. The Director had the oddest feeling, that if this one ever gave you his word, he’d be true to it, no matter the cost. He put out his hand and shook the boy’s thin one and Annie hugged him again.
“Here,” he said. “Take my card and call me if you make up your mind, okay.”
Then seeing something in the thin face, as if the boy had been handed a lifeline instead of simple job opportunity, he added, “Or call us anyway. Annie and I like to hear from our friends.”
The boy –Harry—took the card and said, “Thanks.” He smiled again, a smile from the heart, and the director felt as if he’d been given some rare treasure.
Afterward, the Director thought he had never seen anything like what happened before and would never see anything like it again. Not on film, not on stage, and certainly not in life. He and Annie had stepped back and they had turned to wave one last time. The short red-haired woman had engulfed the tall black haired boy in a fierce hug and the thin blond woman was walking toward them, a peevish expression on her face with the stout husband and huge son in tow.
The black head lifted to look at the three coming and they boy said, “I’ll only be a minute…”
The stout man was fulminating, “Haven’t got all day to wait, boy…” and the thin blond was saying, “What a scene. I loathe scenes…”
The green eyes turned back to his friends and he started to say something, but then he froze and his head lifted up and he began to scan the crowd like a hound that had caught the scent of danger and was desperately trying to identify its source. “He’s here!” the kid said, “In the station!” He turned to the red-haired woman and said, “Hurry, and get them out of here! Now!”
He stepped away from his friends and looked behind them. From the other end of the platform, two men approached. One was tall and dark-haired, and the other was short with a pointy nose and watery eyes. The tall one had drawn something from his pocket and was pointing at the thin blond woman coming toward them.
At first, the Director thought it was a gun, and his stomach flip-flopped as he tried to pull Annie away. The dark-haired man said something in a curious, carrying, rather high-pitched voice and a green fire came out of the end of the thing he was holding. Harry had yelled out something almost simultaneously, and a golden red fire met the green one. The two fires met and stuck and it seemed to the Director that a reverberating sound had come from the meeting of the fires. From the other end of the platform, two others came running. A tall blond haired man in a suit and a tall woman with champagne colored hair.
The woman had a real gun out and she shouted at the tall man, “Scotland Yard! Put up your weapon!”
The tall blond man pushed her aside and said, “Don’t be an idiot, Fay. They could care less about that gun.”
He had flourished a stick of his own, which the Director could only suppose was some incredibly new high-tech laser weapon for terrorists.
Harry roared at them, “Get back. Run, Aunt Petunia! Run!” His thin face was set and he broke the connection between his fire and the other one’s, just exactly as one might break the lock of a sword on a sword. The reverberating sound grew for a moment and then ceased, and where the lines of fire went, molten crevices were carved in the cement of the station floor.
The tall one, who, the Director saw with a shock, had red eyes, shouted, “Potter! It’s over this time. This time, there’s no Dumbledore here to protect you. This time, I’ll make sure all of your protection is gone.” And he swung the stick at the tall blond woman, the aunt, once more.
The tall blond haired man cried out something, and a red light came from his stick, but the tall dark haired man had met his attack, and a green fire shaped like a shield projected from his stick and blocked the blond one’s, knocking him back down with his own fire. The dark haired man laughed. A cold, high-pitched laugh and took aim at the fallen man. His aim was spoiled though by the shockingly loud report of a gun. The tall woman with the gun had steadied it in the classic fashion of a trained shooter, and coolly shot the dark haired man right through the shoulder.
The one with the red eyes staggered back against the platform divider and cried out in fury. He pointed the wand at the woman, but missed her as the blond man pulled her out of the way of the green fire to fall to the ground beside him. Harry had paused, clearly afraid he would harm the others if he attacked again, but he raised his own stick at the red eyed man again even as the next attack came. Only this time, instead of being aimed at a person, the green fire sprang up in wall and began to move toward the thin blond woman and her stout husband, who had stopped, wheezing, seemingly unable to catch his breath. The boy jumped in front of them, and waved his stick and the wall of flame broke into two as the center of it was blown out by a cold, icy wind.
“No, Harry!” one of the girls cried out. Ginny or Hermione, he didn’t know. The green eyes were clear and unafraid, and the youth faced the red eyed man – monster – and held out something with his other hand. A rock? A red quartz rock, like a paperweight, or the sort of stone that boys collected for their science projects, or just for fun.
“There it is,” he said. “The Stone. I took it out of Flamel’s place. Everything you ever wanted. Your heart’s desire.”
The red eyed one stared at it greedily, and said, “Give it to me. It’s mine.”
“I’ll give it to you,” the boy said, “if you take it and go. Let the others alone, and you can have it. Everything you want, you’ll have.”
The red eyes glowed and the man laughed, “I can just take it anyway, Potter. And I notice you didn’t include yourself in the bargain.”
The green eyes didn’t waver. “Come and get it, then, if you dare. Here it is. The Philosopher’s Stone. All the gold in the world, and life everlasting, if you can bear to live forever in the hell of your own making.”
“Get it Wormtail!” red eyes said. “Bring it to me!” The long stick was still pointed right at the boy, and no one dared move or startle him for fear that he would kill the boy there and then.
The small ratty looking man inched forward and without meeting the youth’s green eyes, took the red stone tremblingly from the youth’s outstretched hand. The small man clutched it to his chest and looked up to meet the green eyes then. The small watery blue eyes were fixed on the youth’s face and the man began to shake all over as he clutched the rock to him and began to weep.
“I never wanted to do it!” he cried. “James, I never wanted to do it! I was afraid! You have to forgive me, I never wanted to do it!”
The boy backed away a step, and said, “I’m Harry. James is dead. He killed him. Voldemort killed him, my father, because you betrayed him.” He backed away another step and was watching the small man in fascinated horror.
From the other side, the small man’s master said, “Wormtail! Bring it to me! The Stone! Give it to me, and forget your sorry guilt. I will reward you, Wormtail, beyond your dreams. Just give it to me!”
But the small man was staring into the depths of the red Stone. The Stone had flared up with light and the small man cried out, “You have scorched my heart. What have I done? What have I done?”
He clutched the glowing rock to him and trembled as the rock’s light grew and shaded his face and hands in a glowing red-white fire, as bright as the sun’s hottest flares. The boy backed away another step, almost into his Aunt, who had stopped to watch the scene with the same frozen terror as the Director himself.
The one called Voldemort cried out again, “It’s mine!” and the green light came again, so suddenly that no one attempted to stop it. It struck the small man and threw him back. The man’s body slid backward on the platform and the Director could see that the watery blue eyes were now vacant and fixed in death as the body continued its fall onto the track and the red Stone flew out of the man’s hand. A high whistle sounded, startling everyone as the Richmond Express thundered through without stopping and the Stone was blown into tiny fragments of dust, a shimmer of fiery red-white sparks flew up like fireworks to shed a halo about the station.
The one called Voldemort screamed again in fury. A sound the Director had never heard before and never hoped to hear again. The stick pointed again at the boy and the Director was sure it must be over and all that youth, all that courage would be blotted out in an instant, just as all the life had been blown from the grief stricken man forever. Still the platform was a whirl of movement as others moved to act, to stop the inevitable outcome. The blond woman had raised her gun again, but the trigger stuck and nothing happened. The red-haired woman had returned and she too was taking aim even as the boy lifted his own weapon to defend himself again.
A loud crack made him think for a second that the policewoman's gun had finally unstuck. Instead, a tall, very thin man with the longest white hair and beard the Director had ever seen in real life appeared as if from nowhere. Next to him was a tall thin balding red-haired man and a man who looked like he had stepped out of the pages of Treasure Island. He had one glass eye that was a weird electric blue and a wooden leg with a clawed foot at the end.
"Move, Dumbledore," the one called Voldemort hissed. "We'll finish this off for good, just Potter and me. You can't protect him anymore."
The white haired man said simply, "You'll have to come through me to get him, Tom. But why bother. Give it up. Even now, you can choose to give it up." The only answer was laughter and the stick - wand, for it could only be magic he was seeing, the Director realized--pointed steadily at the old man, even though the monster was dripping blood from where the policewoman had caught him with her bullet.
From the Platform behind the Aunt and her stout husband, sirens were sounding, and a rank of uniformed police officers had arrived. From the other end, more cracks had sounded, and a portly man in a pin striped suit, with a lime green bowler hat had arrived. He was accompanied by the oddest collection of men the Director had ever seen. Many of them wore robes that looked as though they belonged in a medieval painting, with the exception of one, who wore jeans and a bomber jacket that looked as though it was from WWI. They all had sticks and every one of them looked as scared as a child who'd woken up with a nightmare. Except this nightmare was real.
The red eyes glowed with fury and the one called Voldemort disappeared with a crack. The Director looked and saw that the kid had come to the end of his resources. He sank onto a nearby bench with his arms wrapped around him.
"This is a disaster! A disaster, Dumbledore!" The man in the lime green hat was fuming. "How many more stunts of this kind will we have? What is this? Right in front of Muggles and everything. Is there no limit to this?"
The white bearded man looked at the man with the green hat and replied, "There are no stunts here, Cornelius. That was Voldemort. He is not dead. It is as I told you. He has returned yet again."
"That's impossible," the portly man retorted.
"You saw him yourself," Dumbledore answered.
"I saw someone you say is You Know Who disappear," the portly man replied.
The police officers had arrived and the one in the lead said through a bullhorn, "Everyone will stay right there. If you have a weapon, throw it down on the ground."
The portly man said furiously, "You see. It's Potter's fault. Everything is undone because of him."
The tall blond man stepped forward and said, "Officer, please remove your men from the station. I'm sorry to say, you've been sent out on a false alarm."
The policewoman said, "Edgar!"
"Sorry, sir," the officer said. This doesn't look like a false alarm. It looks like a bloody riot to me. And if you'd identify yourself?"
"Inspector Bones," the blond man said calmly, and he flipped open a Scotland Yard I.D. for the uniformed man to see.
The portly man stared at him in astonishment."Bones? Bones? Impossible!"
But the uniformed man opened looked at the I.D. and said, "Sorry, sir. Didn't know the Met was out on this already."
The blond man said calmly, "Yes, well, you see, it isn't a riot or a terrorist act or anything like that. They've just been setting up the staging for a new film. As you see, the Director, here, whom I'm sure you recognize, has been working out a scene for his newest picture. With Miss Annie O'Hara to star in it."
The Director stared at the man. For the first time in his career he was absolutely speechless.
"Really?" the uniformed man said. He caught sight of Annie and said, "Well, Miss O'Hara. If it's anything like your T.V show my wife and I'll be the first on line to buy the tickets. My wife about splits her side laughing every episode."
And Annie, lovely, artless Annie, strolled over to the uniformed officer and said with her thousand-watt smile, "Well, let me give you my autograph, then. It's going to be brilliant. Positively mint!"
She dug into her purse and pulled out a scrap of flower-covered stationery and signed it Annie O'Hara wiht a little heart making the dot of the ‘i’ in Annie.
***
"I can't believe you did that," the Director said, though Harry wasn't sure if he meant Edgar or Annie. Annie sat down beside Harry and gave him a hug and said, "Does that help? Keep it secret, I mean."
"I dunno," Harry said. His chest hurt again and his head felt as though it would split open at his scar. He hadn't realized Dumbledore had told Fudge yet, or that Fudge had refused to believe it, yet again. He waited for the pain to ease up and wished he could simply disappear. He looked up and saw that the policemen had all disappeared, except for Bones and his partner, Sergeant Kray.
The Director looked shell-shocked, which Harry thought was expectable, considering Bones had just told all and sundry that the scene of terror had been the Director's new movie. It occurred to him to wonder if any of the photographers had lingered and taken pictures of the fiasco. That would be all he'd need. If he didn't get his wand snapped now, from the way Fudge sounded.
And indeed, Fudge was fuming again, "That's enough of this. People claiming to be dead men. Dead men supposedly alive. You Know Who! Bones! Ridiculous."
Fudge marched up to Inspector Bones and said, "Who are you? How dare you use that name? It's a most respected name. A most respected family. Wizards on both sides all the way back. How dare you?"
But Fudge was talking to a Scotland Yard Inspector who had faced down far worse than Cornelius Fudge in a temper tantrum.
"My name," he said, "is Edgar Allen Bones. My father was Edgar Bones who was murdered by the man that just disapparated: Lord Voldemort. I saw him kill my father and my mother and everyone in my family. I saw him bring down the house around them. And I'd know him anywhere, anytime." The silver-gray eyes were cold as he added, "I remember you, too, Mr. Fudge. I remember when you were a junior assistant who couldn't wait to get a bit of notice from my father. And just be glad I've covered up this mess here for you. And that the Director here so gallantly played along. I think you owe us some thanks, Mr. Fudge. And I think you owe you Harry here an apology." Harry gawked at Bones and saw that Fudge didn't know what to do.
He said, "I don't blame you for not believing it, Minister Fudge. I didn't want to believe it myself." He got up as smoothly as he could and said quite dryly, "I'll just need to get my Aunt and Uncle home. They're not used to being nearly killed by evil wizards."
He took Aunt Petunia's arm and said, "Let's go. He'll be too busy getting over that gunshot wound to attack us again for a bit. And we'll be safe in your house."
He turned his back on all of them and led them away to the car park where his Uncle's newest car waited. He could have sworn he heard the Director say, "My god. What an exit. I don't suppose anyone will sue me if I make this into a film after all?"
