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Harry Potter And Bellatrix Lestrange

Harry is betrayed and sent to Azkaban for crimes he did not commit. And his prison mate is non other than Bellatrix Lestrange. What will happen to the old enemies? Will the die at each others hands or will this blossom into something else? What will Harry do to his friends and Headmaster who betrayed him ? ==== Disclaimer J. K. Rowling owns everything. I don't exert any ownership over anything.

LordSilvere · 作品衍生
分數不夠
104 Chs

Mapping the Frontlines

"I can convince Lord Gold and his associates to re-open the bank." Harry announced, finally coming to point of the conversation. "If you were to get the credit for the bank reopening, you would be an instant hero, wouldn't you?"

Bert's suspicion returned to his face as he remembered that he was talking to Harry Potter, whose intentions were unknown. "I suppose I would be. Why?"

"Voldemort," Harry said firmly, ignoring Mockridge's cringe, "needs to be stopped and Fudge is incompetent. Britain needs a Minister of Magic that will fight. It also needs a Minister that is fair enough to recognize my innocence and to at least work with me. A hero would be a shoe-in. How would you like to be the Minister of Magic, Bert?"

The bureaucrat looked at Harry with shock painted on his face. You want to make me... the Minister of Magic? I suppose I'd do my best, but I'm not so sure about it. Do you think that it's possible?"

"It's possible if you're with me and will understand that I'm trying to fight Voldemort, and am not off killing Muggles." Harry said bluntly.

"I suppose I can accept your innocence . . . but officially, there are some snags." Bert explained. "No 'honest' Minister of Magic can overturn your supposed conviction just like that. A pardon is out of the question. During the First War, there were problems in that area and certain restrictions were instituted by the Winzengamot. You need to prove your innocence. However, I would overlook that, and would not attempt to arrest you or impede your actions."

Harry was disappointed, but understood. "I see."

"If I was the Minister, I would give you another trial, but Lucius Malfoy is dead. Your followers saw to that when St. Mungo's was attacked."

"No, don't worry about that." Harry said. "The question is, are you with me? Would you accept the position as Minister and would you work with me against Voldemort."

Bert was about to answer when the door opened to admit a slightly irritated woman. "What's taking you so long?" she demanded, looking around to see what her husband was up to. She screamed when she saw Harry.

Both men leapt to their feet and before Harry could wandlessly initiate a silencing charm, Bert had quieted his wife who still looked panicked. "Could you let me think about it?" Mockridge asked.

Harry nodded. "Yes, of course. Send me an owl when you make your decision."

"I will." Mockridge answered.

"Good." Harry said. "I'll leave you to explain everything to your lovely wife." He nodded to them both, pulled one of his wands from his cloak, and Apparated back to Nair'icaix.

"Weren't you planning to do some more studying for our exams?" Ron inquired.

Hermione looked up at him from all of the papers, charts, maps, and books strewn over one of the tables in the Gryffindor common room. "I did some." she answered. "Then I got distracted I guess. Are you off to practice then?"

"No Quidditch practice tonight, but I'll go out and do some flying anyway. Have to be ready for those Ravenclaw chasers. I don't think they'll be too much of a problem when it comes down to it though." he answered, slightly smug.

"Have fun." Hermione said distractedly as she dug a Ministry Chronicle from out of the stack and examined an article that detailed one of 'Harry's' attacks on a Muggle village up on the northern coast.

Ron nodded, "I will. Don't forget to take a break though." He then left through the portrait hole, leaving a silent but crowded common room. Nearly everyone was putting in study time for exams.

After reading through the article, Hermione was able to pinpoint the actual name of the Muggle village. She set the newspaper down and found a map with several marks on it. The location of the attacked village was found and Hermione promptly placed an 'X' over it with her quill.

That being the latest attack, Hermione was finished with her marks. She blew on the map to speed up the ink drying process and then examined her handiwork. A line of X's marched across the northern coast. There was a slight pattern to the violence. The line of X's weren't in order, so it was impossible to identify precisely when and where the next attack would be. But she could now make some guesses.

As Hermione studied the map and contemplated, Ginny finished her schoolwork for the night and made her way over to the table. "What are you doing?"

"I was thinking I might be able to anticipate some of Harry's attacks." Hermione said vaguely.

"Is that so you can advise Fudge and Dumbledore to send Aurors in advance?" Ginny asked, slightly impressed at the sense Hermione had displayed with the map. Had anyone else thought of that?

Hermione sighed. "No, I can't predict the attacks for sure, and the Aurors are too few to be stationed in every possible village."

"Then why did you do it?"

"Well, I've been thinking." Hermione said quietly, trying her best to keep her emotions from bursting out uncontrollably. "I was one of Harry's friends, and I've realized that maybe we are not giving him much of a chance. Even if he is bad, we have to try and redeem him. We owe him that much, at the very least I think."

Ginny's face remained unnaturally impassive. "So you intend to get to those villages and hope that he attacks the one you're in at the right time? Then what? 'Hello Harry, can you spare a moment from your amusements and have a cup of tea with me?'"

"No!" Hermione exclaimed. "I don't know." She sighed. "I just have this feeling that I should try something like that. Maybe I'll get lucky."

"Well . . . good luck then." Ginny said, sounding kind of strange. She walked off and climbed the stairs to the girls' dormitory.

...

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