Harry Potter and the Sixth Year

But one day in November, the routine of school and lessons was disturbed by a summons to see Professor McGonagall. Harry and the others duly presented themselves at her study at eight o’clock one evening.

She surveyed them severely through her glasses.

“Now, I’m sure you’re all wondering why I want to see you. After such a trouble free term too. Well, almost. Not a detention amongst you. I might almost congratulate you. Is it too much to hope you’ll keep this up?”

They all shuffled slightly. Then Harry spoke up. “I hope so, Professor.”

“Indeed. So do I.” She paused. “Now then. I’ve some news for you. It involves you all, although you may not all be required.

“You see, the people that broke into the Ministry last summer, the ones you fought against,” - Harry guessed McGonagall could not bring herself to say ‘Death Eaters’ – “their trials are coming up. In fact they are scheduled for a fortnight today.” She paused. With a sinking feeling in his stomach, Harry knew what was coming next. “You have, I’m afraid, been called as witnesses. Since you are underage, you are entitled to bring a responsible adult with you. But I am afraid you will have to give evidence.”

There was a long silence, which was finally broken by Neville.

“If it means that these people will be locked away for a long time, then I’m happy to go.”

The others murmured their agreement.

“Thank you, Mr Longbottom. Now, I’m afraid it might disrupt your lessons for that week.” Ron and Harry looked at each other, grinned, then glanced at Hermione. McGonagall saw the byplay. “However, Mr Weasley, I am sure your teachers can give you a lot to be going on with. You may find yourselves waiting around for rather a long time before giving evidence, so you will have plenty of time to be getting on with some work.” Harry saw the smile fade from Ron’s face.

“Now, I will give you more details nearer the time. Be aware also that security at the Ministry for such a trial will be extremely tight, so be careful where you go and what you do. That is all.”

They walked back to Gryffindor common room in silence, but just before they got there, Hermione turned to Harry.

“No dreams recently? No nightmares? Scar twinges?”

From anyone else, Harry would have resented this, but Hermione was too direct for him to take offence.

“None at all,” he confessed. “It’s all very odd. It’s … it’s as if he wasn’t out there at all.”

“Strange,” muttered Hermione. “Ah, well, if those people end up behind bars, it’ll be less for us to worry about.”

“Providing they stay behind bars,” added Neville.

But that night Harry did have nightmares: not of Voldemort, nor of Death Eaters, but of Sirius, and the mysterious arch, and its veil.

Although they all pretended to shrug it off, the thought of the impending trial began to weigh on them all. Luna Lovegood had to attend too, since she had been with them in the Ministry that day. They had all received owls from the Ministry, telling them of the time and place of the trial. Harry shivered when he read his. He remembered that room all too well, remembered the time a year ago when he himself had been on trial there. The day before they were due to go, all six of them assembled once again in Professor McGonagall’s study.

“Now then. I think it best if you all wore your normal school robes. Smartly, Mr Weasley. You are required to be at the Ministry by 9 o’clock, so I would like you all to gather here no later than half past eight. As you have requested, Mr Weasley senior will be escorting you. He will meet you in the entrance hall of the Ministry, and take you along to a room where the witnesses wait before being called.” She paused. “Make sure you take some work with you. I will not let the trial be used as an excuse for homework not being done. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Professor,” said Ron, in a tone of resignation.

Just before 6 o’clock that evening, the Muggle announcer on the BBC radio picked up his sheets of paper and began reading:

“Here is the shipping forecast issued by the Met Office at 1130 on Monday 3rd November.

“There are warnings of gales in Forties, Forth, Tyne, Dogger, German Bight, Humber, Thames, Dover, Wight, Portland, Sole, Irish Sea, Shannon, Rockall, Malin and Bailey.

“The general synopsis at 0600. Low Hebrides 977 moving quickly east and deepening.

“The area forecasts for the next 24 hours ….

“Shannon, Rockall. Westerly backing southerly 5 or 6 increasing 6 to gale 8, perhaps severe gale 9 later. Rain. Mainly good.”

Not many wizards were listening to this. A few were. They were on board a medium sized trawler, the Black Prince, which spent its days slowly circling a lonely rock in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. They were not actually fishing, although they went through the motions from time to time when other ships came too close.

One gale had blown through the day before, and the boat had spent twenty four hours bow on to the waves, riding out the storm. The wind had dropped slightly – no longer was spray being blown off the tops of the waves – and the skipper of the boat had used the chance to turn carefully and resume station around the desolate rock. Although the waves were no longer breaking with the force that they had been, there was a heavy swell running. Slowly the boat would descend into a trough, and the horizon would disappear, to be replaced by mountains of water all around them. Then the boat would tilt the other way, as it headed towards the crest of the swell, and they would be given a glimpse of patches of white foam on the sea, endless waves, and a horizon broken only by the black finger of rock. There were patches of blue in the sky for the moment, but broken by scudding low clouds.

There was a limit to what magic could do in these circumstances: it could help keep the boat dry down below; it could keep the food hot. It couldn’t stop the crew feeling very very sick. Magical remedies for seasickness had turned out to be as ineffective as Muggle remedies, even though a small group at St Mungo’s were at this moment urgently investigating potion after potion.

On the bridge of the ship, two men kept watch: for other shipping, for any hostile activity, and for the party that was due to arrive from the Ministry later that evening. This would be no ordinary Ministry visit, but would include the Minister’s Principal Private Secretary carrying the Portkey that would return the prisoners to the mainland for their trial. There had been cynical grumbling about the lack of any Ministerial visit before now: most of the wizards on board didn’t think Fudge would be up to flying a broomstick into an Atlantic gale, even if it was only half a dozen miles from the boat to the island.

“What a forecast,” one of the men grumbled as he clutched for support whilst he scanned the horizon.

The other reached for the radio and switched it off. “Muggles have their uses. Like their weather forecasts.”

“Yeah. And I hope this time our visitors are going to stay for more than an hour or two, so they can find out what sort of a hell hole this place really is.”

“Ah well, think of all those Galleons piling up in the vaults at Gringotts,” replied the other.

“I’m beginning to think that no matter how much gold they pay us, it’s still not worth it.”

“I don’t know about you, but I need the money.”

“So do I. But there’s a limit to what I’ll put with to earn it.”

Then his binoculars caught sight of something skimming low over the water. Seabirds? No, something else. But he wasn’t sure quite what.

“Over to the east there – there’s someone there.”

They both turned and trained their binoculars on the approaching specks. They grew larger, until finally the three brooms came to a halt over the deck, and descended carefully onto the pitching deck, whilst all the time being buffeted by the wind.

“That’s funny – why aren’t they Apparating here?”

The other man shrugged. “No idea. But I’d better go and bring them up.”

He put the binoculars down carefully on the chart table and opened the door leading from the bridge, turning to face the fresh breeze. He began to descend the steps as the little group made their way towards him. One of the visitors stopped at the bottom of the steps, and as he looked down at them, there was a flash of bright green light. He tumbled the rest of the way down the steps, to lie lifeless on the deck. One of the figures stepped over the body and made its way up the stairs onto the bridge, and there was another brief flash of green light.

The figure from the bridge rejoined the others, and together they made their way below deck. Ten minutes later they re-emerged, and mounted their brooms to skim away across the waves once more. But before they left, a wand was raised into the air, and another green glow burst into the sky, to form a large, bright shape; a skull like shape, with a snake’s tongue flickering from the mouth. The shape brightened and grew as it rose up into the sky, taking several minutes to finally fade away.

Behind the departing figures, the bows of the boat began to dig deeper into the waves, deeper and deeper until they no longer came clear, and until one wave, larger than the others, swept across the length of the boat, until it rolled onto its side and disappeared beneath the surface of the water.

Harry was down to breakfast early in the morning – he hadn’t slept well, with dreams of Sirius and the mysterious veil still intruding into his rest. As he sat eating his porridge, the Hall became to fill up. He noticed Malfoy sitting on the Slytherin table, looking at him, and smirking. What was that about? He was just about to go and give evidence at a trial which would make sure Malfoy’s father would be locked away for a long, long time, and Malfoy was smirking? Harry shook his head.

Owls began to arrive with the morning post, some of them carrying copies of the Daily Prophet. Gradually a murmur began to fill the Hall. Across the table, Neville looked up at his from his copy of the paper, his face twisted with anxiety.

“Harry! Have you seen this?” And he passed his copy of the paper over.

The headline spread across the width of the page.

“TRIAL POSTPONED!”

Harry felt a hard, tight knot developing in his stomach. He could hardly believe what he was reading.

He read on. “In a brief statement issued by the Ministry of Magic last night, it was announced that the trial of the so-called Death Eaters who raided the Ministry last summer was to be postponed indefinitely.

“The Ministry spokesman issuing the announcement refused to give any reason for the postponement, citing only ‘administrative reasons’.”

Harry looked across to Malfoy, whose smirk had intensified, then handed the paper back to Neville. The Hall was buzzing with chatter now, as people opened out their papers. Something serious must have happened for the trial to be postponed like that. He could tell something was wrong by the terse response of the Ministry.

Professor McGonagall came sweeping down to their table.

Tightlipped, she said to them: “You’ve no doubt seen the story for yourselves. It seems that your visit to the Ministry will not be necessary after all. You’d better prepare yourselves to go to lessons as normal today.”

“Oh no,” moaned Ron. “I haven’t done my charms homework for Professor Flitwick!”

Professor McGonagall’s nostrils flared. “Now there’s a surprise, Mr Weasley,” she said in the coldest of voices. Red went very red. “I shall let you know when I have more news,” she added, before sweeping off.

Harry saw Malfoy leaving the breakfast table, flanked as usual by Crabbe and Goyle. There was a swagger in their step, and as they passed the Gryffindor table, Malfoy sneered triumphantly. Harry felt Ron tense up.

“Leave it,” said Hermione quietly.

“Leave it?” burst out Ron. “After all this – no trial?”

“It’s just been postponed, Ron.”

“And why? That’s what I’d like to know!”

“I think we all would,” said Harry.

Luna Lovegood walked over from the Ravenclaw table. “So, we’re not having our day out.”

“Doesn’t look like it,” said Harry as neutrally as he could.

“Pity,” she said, gazing at him with that unblinking stare. “Could have done with a day away from the school. Does anyone know why it’s been postponed?”

“No idea. At least – I’ve some ideas … but no proof.”

“Voldemort?” she asked, ignoring Ron’s squeak.

“He’ll be behind it somewhere, but how …” Harry shrugged.

“Hmm.” Luna continued to gaze at him, and once again Harry wondered whether she ever did blink.

“Well,” said Hermione briskly, “we’d better get ready for lessons then.”

“Flitwick first,” moaned Ron, “and I haven’t done the work.”

Hermione’s lips tightened in a very good imitation of McGonagall’s, but she said nothing. Slowly they drifted out of the hall.

There was more news later in the day, when Ron got an owl from Bill.

“Dear Ron,

“Just a quick note. As you can imagine, all hell’s been let loose here, because someone claims to have seen the Dark Mark where the ship was. And the ship’s disappeared, which means the only way of getting here now is by broomstick from the mainland.

“I don’t know anything more than that, but of course security’s been tightened further, if that’s possible.

“Bill.”

Ron passed the note around during supper.

“What do you think then?”

Hermione read it through. “The Dark Mark? Well, that tells us something.”

“Yeah, that You Know Who’s behind all this.”

“Or some of his supporters.”

“Could be,” said Harry. “But I don’t see them acting by themselves.”

Kingsley was up at the teachers’ table, and having finished his supper, walked over the Gryffindor table.

“Sorry you didn’t have your day out,” he said quietly.

Ron showed him the note. Kingsley read it and slowly nodded. Then: “Bill send you many notes?”

“From there? This is only the second.”

“Hmm. He shouldn’t be doing that, you know. Not good security, even if it is just to you.”

“Oh.” Ron’s ears tinged pink.

Kingsley folded the note up and passed it back. “Don’t worry, I won’t get him into trouble. But owl him back, and tell him to be more careful in what he writes in future. OK?”

“Yeah,” said Ron, stuffing the note into his robes.

“We need to talk,” said Kingsley. “My classroom – half an hour?” They all nodded. “Bring Luna too.”

Their arrival was slightly delayed by an encounter in the entrance hall with Peeves, who was swooping up and down looking for likely victims. He seemed delighted to spot the little party and zoomed down.

“Loony, Loony Lovegood,” he chanted.

Luna had the strength of personality to ignore him.

“Ooh, and the rotter Potter. What have we here?”

Ron blew a raspberry at him.

“Don’t,” said Luna mildly. “It only encourages him.”

“Ooh, Miss Loony Know All.”

“He’s like an irritating insect. But ignore him and he’ll go away.”

“Oh, will I, missy? Peeves doesn’t give up that easily.”

But they kept on walking and talking amongst each other, not looking up, to the greater and greater annoyance of Peeves, until eventually he got fed up and went off in search of easier prey.

“There you are,” said Luna quietly. “Ignore him and he goes away.”

As always, Harry felt there was more to Luna than met the eye.

They found Kingsley shuffling parchments on his desk. He looked up as they came in.

“No one told me when they asked me to teach you lot how much time marking all these essays takes,” he remarked, as he shuffled another stack of parchment. “OK, take a seat.”

He stood up from behind his desk and walked round, perching on a desk. He gave them a faint smile.

“As you can imagine, it’s headless chicken time at the Ministry.”

The image caused them all to smile faintly despite the seriousness of the matter.

“Can you tell us anything more about what happened last night?” asked Hermione.

Kingsley shrugged. “Not much more than you got from Bill. Someone from the Ministry tried to Apparate to the ship, and found they couldn’t. No one else could, which isn’t surprising since it was at the bottom of the Atlantic. He was lucky he didn’t Apparate under four kilometres of sea.”

“Do they know it’s sunk?”

“They had a host of wizards on brooms scouring the sea, which in a howling gale was no fun. No ship – but some debris that looks very much as if it came from the boat.”

“And the Dark Mark?” asked Harry.

Kingsley shrugged again. “It’s not absolutely definite – but someone saw something that looked very much like one at the right time, so …”

They absorbed that in silence.

“So what happens now?” asked Ron.

“Well, with no ship, we’ve got to find another way of getting there. They’re using Portkeys at the moment. It’s the usual problem – make it remote enough to make it safe, and it’s just as difficult for us to get there as it is for them.”

“Can you detect unauthorised Portkeys?” asked Hermione.

“Good question. And the answer is – usually.”

“So if Voldemort used Portkeys, you’d know about it.”

“Again, probably. But it might be too late by then. There is a long term solution, which is to build a really secure underground prison. But that would mean a lot of help from the goblins.”

“There is another solution,” said Luna.

“Oh?”

“Get rid of Voldemort. Then we needn’t worry.”

Kingsley smiled. “If we could get rid of Voldemort, a lot of things would be easier. But would you like to tell us how?”

Harry thought he knew one answer – but it was not a thought he could share with the others. If Trelawney’s prophecy was right, it had to be him who would kill Voldemort. How, though, was something else. He had been enjoying a quiet term, a relatively normal term. Yet the sooner Voldemort was gone, the better. Which meant that sooner or later, he had to tackle him. But which of them would be the victor?

The others were silent for a minute or so. Then Kingsley turned again to Harry.

“Do you register anything?”

“Your portable Voldemort detector?” said Harry, with an attempt at a smile. “Not a thing.”

“Odd,” murmured Kingsley. “Dumbledore thinks that Voldemort is deliberately closing his mind.”

Oh? And why doesn’t he share that one with me? thought Harry.

“We have to be careful, Harry. I know your – vision – saved Arthur Weasley. But Voldemort seems to have learned how to send you false messages too.”

Harry didn’t need reminding of this. “But since Voldemort isn’t sending anything,” Harry said, “then it doesn’t matter.” And it was quite a relief not to have his sleep broken by weird fragments of Voldemort’s thoughts.

“True enough.” Kingsley stood up. “We’ll let you know when the trial will be taking place – no one’s decided anything yet.”

“And what’s Fudge doing?” asked Luna.

“Headless chicken,” replied Kingsley.

Ron snorted. “So what’s new?”

“Not a lot. But there are other people in the Ministry as well as Fudge. Rest assured, we’re working on this as best we can.”

And on that note, they headed back to their common rooms, still speculating on what might have happened.