I found a lot of new information stored within specific sentences on page 12 of my copy of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. I expect most people have already spotted all of this. But I thought it was worth highlighting nevertheless. The passage begins like this:

"There is a little more in the bottle, my Lord, if you are still hungry."

"Later," said a second voice, strangely high-pitched, and cold as a sudden blast of icy wind. "Move me closer to the fire, Wormtail."

Flinching as he neared Voldemort's chair, Wormtail obeyed his master.

"Thank you, Wormtail. Now I can show you the new way of extracting venom from Nagini that I devised this afternoon, whilst you were showing off to that lady rat in the cellar."

"My -- my Lord!" Wormtail spluttered, in protest.

"Silence!" snapped Voldemort. "Listen closely, for I will be testing you on this later ... Instead of knocking Nagini out with a hammer and manually squeezing her venom sacs, from now on I want you to use this."

Voldemort reached behind his seat cushion, with his tiny scaly baby left arm, and pulled out a spoon.

"Oh, I wondered where that had got to," he said, with a hint of surprise in his soprano tones. "Now then, where did I put the other one ... ?"

"My Lord?" said Wormtail, puzzled, as his master began scrabbling around amongst the cushions of the armchair.

"Here it is!" said Voldemort brightly, flourishing another spoon. "I'll get to the Nagini idea in a moment, Wormtail, but first I want to test something out on you. It won't hurt ... much."

With an evil smile cracking his reptilian face in two, Voldemort proceeded to play the spoons -- with a rhythmic flair reminiscent of one of Fred Astaire's great tap solos.

"MY LORD!" shrieked Wormtail, shrewdly, immediately dropping to the floor and putting on a convincing display of agonised writhing.

Voldemort continued to play out the rhythm of Didn't We Have A Lovely Time, The Day We Went To Bangor? for a few more minutes, humming along in his high treble voice, and watching Wormtail's anguish with a cruel glee. Finally he said, "Enough. At last I have found a torture even worse than the Crucio curse. All will tremble before my Spoons. Is that not so, my servile companion?"

"My -- my -- my Lord," gasped Wormtail exhaustedly, nodding his agreement as he tried to ignore the little voice inside his head that was telling him his master had at last gone completely insane.

"Back to Nagini," said Voldemort briskly. He reached behind seat cushion once more, with his tiny scaly baby right arm, and produced a dirty old towel. "As I was saying, before I produced the Spoons, I have come up with a new method of venom extraction. The hammer technique, effective as it was, was an ultimately unsatisfying way of milking Nagini. It was too simple. There was no element of danger. And I must have danger, Wormtail. I thrive upon it. An easy life is cheap. You know my thoughts on this: We must struggle for the things we desire."

Wormtail mumbled something in an oh-yes-I-agree tone of voice.

"So," Voldemort continued, with a shrill cackle, "from now on you will milk Nagini according to these directions. First of all, leave a trail of dead woodlice along the hall floor, leading toward the kitchen. Then you will hide behind the vegetable basket, with your arm outstretched upon the floor, concealed underneath this towel. Nagini, delighting as she does in the flavour of freshly killed woodlice, will follow the trail right into the kitchen and, at that point (and not before) you must move your arm in an aggressive manner. She will of course assume that you attacking her and will consequently attempt to bite into the towel. At this point I would advise you to remove your arm from underneath the towel, and to withdraw unobtrusively from the kitchen until Nagini has finished killing her perceived prey. Yes?'

His face white with fear and apprehension, Wormtail was soundlessly mouthing the words "what?" and "my arm!" repeatedly.

"When she has emptied her venom sacs you will return to the kitchen -- yes, Wormtail, you WILL return to the kitchen -- and squeeze the towel out over a bowl. After that, it's a simple matter of distillation to make sure that none of the towel's resident bacteria remain in my bedtime drink. Any questions?"

" ... " said Wormtail, speechless.

'Good,' said Voldemort. 'If you do not follow my directions exactly, I am afraid I will be forced to use the Spoons again ..."

And, with a laugh that only bats could hear, Voldemort sank back into his armchair and stared at his livid reflection in the back of a spoon.

I found all of the following passage disguised as a coffee stain on page 200 of my copy of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. I'm sure you'll all agree that it really does highlight Voldemort's obsession with unnecessary complication ...

"I'm going to bed," said Harry shortly. "See you in the morning."

Upstairs in the dormitory, he pulled on his pyjamas and got into his four-poster, feeling more tired than he'd ever thought possible. ... He fell asleep almost straightaway and it seemed only seconds later that he was awoken by a strange rumbling noise. It was coming from downstairs, and the man in the bed across the room was making bleary half-awake groaning sounds. Who was the man? Harry moved closer, wishing there were more light in the room, not stopping to wonder where the dormitory and its occupants had gone. As if reading Harry's mind, the man lit an oil-lamp beside his bed. Harry recoiled instantly. Wormtail! He must be in Voldemort's house! Torn between the desire to wake up as soon as he could, and curiosity to know what was causing the deep growling sounds, Harry drifted silently down the stairs after Wormtail.

Wormtail had just reached the living room door when the bone-rattling roaring stopped, to be replaced with a weird rhythmical clattering noise. Harry watched in astonishment as Wormtail heaved a sigh, took a deep breath, and fell sobbing into the room, begging for mercy from his master.

Voldemort suspended his spoon rendition of Oh I Do Like To Be Beside The Seaside long enough to say, in a surprisingly deep voice, "What did you do to my snake venom?"

Harry almost choked. What was going on?

"My lord?!" squeaked Wormtail, spasming from one yoga pose to another.

"Listen to my voice!" Voldemort snarled. "It's dropped at least five octaves since I had my bedtime venom. I can only assume that you omitted the distillation procedure."

"I ... was tired, master," moaned Wormtail, in the bird's nest position.

Voldemort rumbled with annoyance, and brandished his spoons menacingly at Wormtail. "Remember that I have the means to send you to sleep ... permanently."

Harry frowned -- spoons? What was going on?

"Yes, my Lord, of course," said Wormtail, hauling himself upright. "Well," he continued, hopefully, "I'll be off up to bed again, then."

"No, Wormtail, you will not," said Voldemort, with finality. "My voice sounds like the kind that Muggles use to present their -- what do they call them -- tractors --"

"Trailers, my Lord," interrupted Wormtail.

"-- and I will not remain like this any longer than I have to!" Voldemort shouted over Wormtail, his tiny red scaly baby body jumping around in the armchair like some freshly boiled and roasted marionette.

"What would you have me do, master?" asked Wormtail resignedly.

"I want my old voice back, you fool!" bellowed Voldemort, bouncing out of his chair and onto the hearthrug, where he proceeded to flail his tiny limbs as agressively as he could. "I am not strong enough to maintain two complicated spells at once, and you don't have enough skill to undo the damage you have wrought this evening, so ..."

He hesitated.

"Yes, master?" said Wormtail.

Voldemort, visibly making an effort to calm himself down, said, "So we will have to use a ... non-magical solution. I shall need some balloons."

"My Lord?"

"Helium."

Harry woke up with a start. Ron and Seamus must have come up whilst he was asleep, and were now snoring heavily. No sign of Neville yet, though. He looked at Ron and wondered whether he should tell him that Scabbers was about to go find some balloons for Voldemort. Ron would probably think he was drawing attention to himself again, and he would definitely do that idiotic flinch when Harry said Voldemort's name. No. Ron didn't deserve to know anything about Peter, after the thing's he'd been saying.

Harry rolled over in bed, his back to Ron's snores, and thought about what he'd just witnessed. Wormtail should have stomped on his master when he had the chance ... but instead he was wrapping Voldemort up in a dirty old towel, fussing about making sure the ends were all tucked in. Harry nervously backed up against the windowsill, propping his elbow next to a dead plant in a flowerpot.

"There you go, my Lord," said Wormtail. "You're snug as a bug in a rug!"

"Don't forget that I have my spoons in here with me," said Voldemort, his rich bass tones slightly muffled by the tea-stained cloth that covered half his face. "Did you find the bicycle?"

"Yes, master. I had to do a quick Reparo job on the back wheel --"

"Don't brag, Wormtail."

"-- but, other than that, it's as good as new. Shall I just pop you in the basket?" Wormtail's voice was shaking. At first Harry thought this was because of fear, but then he noticed the broad grin that kept breaking across Wormtail's voice whenever he looked away from Voldemort. WHAT WAS GOING ON?

"Yes," replied Voldemort. "Oh, and, since we're going into the village anyway, you might as well take that video back."

"Yes, master," said Wormtail, ejecting Oklahoma from the video recorder. "And you're absolutely sure that there's a helium balloon shop in Little Hangleton?"

"How many times are you going to ask me this, Wormtail?" said Voldemort, his little head shaking with anger inside the folds of the towel. "I have said that there is, and that should be enough! It's next door to the video shop!"

"I think we're all ready now," said Wormtail, seemingly ignoring his master's remarks.

"You are not showing enough remorse," said Voldemort. "Five octaves! Easily five octaves! I could never sing Oh What A Beautiful Morning before, and now it's easy!"

"I am truly sorry, my Lord," said Wormtail, carrying his tiny master toward the back door. "And I don't believe I know that song ... ?"

"Of course you do!" roared Voldemort. "You just saw the film last night!"

He rolled his eyes in exasperation. Harry could see, through all the open doors, Wormtail settling Voldemort into the front basket of a rickety old bicycle on the back step.

"How does it go, master?" asked Wormtail, his shoulders shaking again.

"Well ... it starts off with a lot of nonsense about 'bright golden hazes' and so forth, and then the chorus starts with 'Oh what a beautiful MOOOOORNing ... ' Surely you can remember it now?"

Their voices were growing dimmer as they rode off. Harry could just hear Wormtail replying, "Sorry -- could you sing a little more?" and then Voldemort's rich fruity voice singing into the night, "'I got a wonderful FEEEEELing ... '"

Harry had no idea what had just happened, and he couldn't work out how to wake himself up. He turned to peer through the window, trying to gauge how far Wormtail had gotten. Could he catch up with them? He'd kind of assumed that he'd wake up when Voldemort left the house. He turned back into the room again, and his elbow knocked the plant pot on the windowsill. The once-dead plant was bloomingly alive again. Huh? This dream was stupid! Why couldn't he wake up? He drifted toward the back door and ... Neville was shaking him.

"Harry!" he said urgently.

"What? What is it?" asked Harry, grabbing Neville's arm. "Was I screaming? Did I call out anyone's name? Did you write any of it down?"

"No, Harry," said Neville. "It's time for breakfast."

Most of the following scene was uncovered by running a deep-level decoding procedure over pages 561 to 566 of my copy of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. I say "most" because there were a few passages where I had to make an educated guess as to what the missing words were. I think I've done a pretty good job, if I do say so myself.

"Yes," said Voldemort, a grin curling his lipless mouth, as the eyes of the circle flashed in Harry's direction. "Harry Potter has kindly joined us for my rebirthing party. One might go so far as to call him my guest of honour."

Throughout this last sentence, Harry could hear that Voldemort's voice was dropping once more. He was surprised -- both that Wormtail could still be making a mess of the snake venom and that such a thing could affect Voldemort now that he had a proper body once more.

"Excuse me," said Voldemort huskily, and he ducked behind a large gravestone.

There was a silence, broken only by the squeak of rubber and a slight hissing noise. Voldemort returned to the circle of Death Eaters, smiling thinly. Then the Death Eater to the right of Wormtail stepped forward, and Lucius Malfoy's voice spoke uncertainly from under the mask.

"Master, we crave to know ... we beg you to tell us ... how you have achieved this ... this miracle .. how you managed to return to us ..."

" ... " said Voldemort. " ... "

He walked hastily over to Wormtail, so that the eyes of the whole circle were upon the two of them. The snake continued to circle. Dogs howled in the distance. A bat, no doubt confused by Voldemort's high-pitched screechings (inaudible to the human ear), flapped awkwardly across the circle.

Harry glanced quickly round: Wormtail seemed to be having some kind of seizure, and all the other Death Eaters were shifting on their feet and muttering to each other.

" ... !?" mouthed Voldemort angrily as he swatted the bat away.

"Poss -- p -- possibly too much heli -- helium?" said Wormtail, fighting a dangerous battle against the laughter that was clearly bubbling up inside.

" ... !" said Voldemort, emphasizing his words by repeatedly prodding Wormtail's chest with a spoon.

The air was suddenly full of the barking of dogs. Between graves, behind the yew tree, in every smelly place, dogs were appearing. All of them were yapping excitedly and sniffing the hems of the Death Eaters' robes with huge delight and enjoyment. The graveyard was in chaos. Death Eaters were shouting, backing away, misguidedly firing hexes whilst standing in a circle. Several of them were cursing and toppling over. The dogs, wanting to join in the new game, were leaping on the fallen Death Eaters' chests, panting in their faces.

The inhabitants of Little Hangleton clearly preferred small dogs. The possibility that Sirius might be there had instantly filled Harry's mind, but there were no big black dogs -- mostly it was a mixture of poodles, Yorkshire terriers, corgis and a daschund.

" ... !!" said Voldemort, and in one vast canine mass, the dogs surged forward, as though they could hardly believe their ears. Voldemort raised his wand into the air and screamed, " ... !"

Nothing happened.

Then the daschund broke away from the pack, trotted toward Voldemort, and politely sniffed his bottom.

Voldemort threw his wand to one side and reached for his spoons.

Wormtail gulped nervously. Harry wondered, with a malicious pleasure, how exactly Wormtail was going to explain the spoons to the other Death Eaters.

" ... " said Voldemort threateningly.

A soft voice broke the silence, whispering, "Master, perhaps you might like to try one of these."

The speaker flung his right arm out dramatically, revealing a selection of potions neatly held in place with velcro fastenings on the inside of his robes. A chill breeze set the Death Eater's robes billowing, and Harry had a glimpse of tan-coloured sock garters before the vision was swept away by another dramatic flourish. The man, obviously moving his arms up and down underneath his robes, flapped toward Voldemort, proffering a small bottle of orange liquid. Voldemort eyed him carefully for a moment and then, apparently satisfied, drank the potion.

Interestingly, when I overlaid page 570 of my copy of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire with a picture of Alan Rickman's face, some very specific words and letters were highlighted. When I pieced them together, in the only obvious order that I could find, it revealed a fresh interpretation of the scenes on that page. The first lines remain unchanged ...

"So how could I take him? Why ... by using Bertha Jorkins's information, of course. Use my one faithful Death Eater, stationed at Hogwarts, to ensure that the boy's name was entered into the Goblet of Fire. Use my Death Eater to ensure that the boy won the Tournament -- that he touched the Triwizard Cup first -- the Cup which my Death Eater had turned into a Portkey, which would bring him here, beyond the reach of Dumbledore's help and protection, and into my waiting arms. And here he is ... the boy you all believed had been my downfall ..."

Against a background of mumbling Death Eaters and panting dogs, Voldemort moved slowly forward and turned to face Harry. He raised his wand, and said, "Cruc--"

"Er -- my Lord." It was Lucius Malfoy, stepping carefully over three dogs.

Harry breathed out slowly as Voldemort lowered his wand and glared at Malfoy. "What? This had better be good, Ballboy."

"Um -- well -- leaving aside the brilliance of your plan for the moment (and it was brilliant -- masterful, even) I think I speak for everyone here when I say I have a few questions ..."

This seemed odd, to Harry. He'd never got the impression, from previous dealings with Voldemort, that he ever allowed his followers to question his actions. Maybe his new body was simply less intimidating than the original. Certainly, in Harry's nightmares he had never quite pictured Voldemort as being young and tanned, with long wavy blond hair, and a slight beer belly. It was disconcerting, to say the least.

Voldemort seemed to have lost his poise. Perhaps he just didn't know how to handle such a novel situation.

"Questions?" he said uncertainly.

There was a general murmur of assent. Harry tried to get comfortable against the tombstone -- hopefully Voldemort would forget about his presence for the next few minutes, and this could prove to be an entertaining spectacle.

Malfoy nodded and said, "Just a few. Er ... Avery, have you got the list?"

Another Death Eater, presumably Avery, silently handed a scroll of parchment to Malfoy. A corgi, lying quietly at Malfoy's feet, suddenly grew alert. Harry suspected that it was hoping Malfoy was going to play fetch again. It had been a chaotic few minutes, once the Death Eaters had realised that the only way they could solve the dog problem was to tire them out. Wands were hurled in every direction to cries of "Fetch!" and "Good dog!" Crabbe, having stupidly asked Voldemort if he could borrow the spoons for the game, was still out cold on top of the grave of Mavis Winthrop (born 1903, died 1967).

"Right," said Malfoy, consulting the list. "First of all, we're not quite clear about why Barty Crouch Junior had to impersonate Moody. Nott made the very good point that Crouch could have simply impersonated one of Potter's relatives, or one of the Weasleys, and quickly kidnapped him over the summer holiday."

"Nonsense!" spluttered Voldemort, a frown marring his youthful face.

"Furthermore," continued Malfoy, "we seem to have a bit of confusion over the Portkey aspect of plan. Nothing against Portkeys in general, you understand, but ... wouldn't it have been easier to transform something less publicly obvious into a Portkey? Possibly a piece of paper? Or a mug? Something like that? You could have had Potter transported here months ago, and by now we could all be up to our elbows in glorious Muggle-torture and mayhem. Like the good old days. ... "

Harry could see Malfoy's eyes growing misty with nostalgia, oblivious to the sight of Voldemort pulling his spoons out of a pocket. A poodle wagged its tail eagerly.

"Down!" snapped Voldemort.

Instantly, everyone in the clearing (except Harry, who was tied too tightly to move; and Crabbe, who was too unconscious; and Voldemort) dropped into a kind of half-crouch.

"I was talking to the dog," sneered Voldemort, tossing his unruly mane of sun-bleached hair back out of his face.

Malfoy straightened up sheepishly, cleared his throat, and said the next few sentences in a rush. "Also, some of us were a bit offended that you chose to do all this in secret. It wouldn't have hurt to ask us if you needed any help. You didn't have to go to all that trouble with Crouch."

"You thought I would use any of YOU to help me back to full power?" said Voldemort as an evil glint sparkled in his bright blue eyes. "Well -- I'm really spoiled for choice, of course. Who would it have been? Ballboy, Blab, Boil, Slavery, Spot, Wormbrain or Macpants?"

The Death Eater with the sock-garters coughed gently.

"Oh yes, and you, of course," sighed Voldemort, nodding in his direction. Turning to face all the Death Eaters, he continued, "Suffice to say that Barty Crouch Junior, weakened from years of coping with the Imperius Curse, half-mad after his time in Azkaban, inexperienced in the ways of the world ... suffice to say that he was a better bet than any of you!"

The Death Eaters shuffled their feet, managing to look like sulky children in spite of their long hooded robes, masks and obvious adult height. A Yorkshire terrier whined and pawed at Voldemort's robes.

"Oh DRAT it!" he shouted and then, flinging his wand far across the graveyard, he yelled, "FETCH!"

En masse, the dogs leapt up and vanished beyond the tombstones.

Harry sneezed. He couldn't help it. The black material that Wormtail had stuffed into his mouth earlier on was woollen and tickly. The sneeze had been inevitable.

Voldemort jumped, and his head snapped round in Harry's direction.

"So, Potter," he said, waving his spoons at Harry. "Time for a little ... punishment."

Harry almost sagged with relief. He'd seen how Wormtail responded to the spoons. He knew what he had to do.

Voldemort moved closer to Harry, until they were barely a foot apart, and started off slowly with the gentle rhythm of "Greensleeves." Harry winced and writhed and screwed his eyes up as tight as he could. Hopefully, if he couldn't see Voldemort playing the spoons, he wouldn't crack up with laughter at an inopportune moment.

Chuckling with glee, Voldemort switched to a spoon rendition of "Getting To Know You." Harry's eyes began to water, because he was repeatedly banging his head against the gravestone. His head twitched from side to side, up and down.

As he switched to "The Birdie Song," Voldemort was openly laughing. Harry risked a quick glance through half-closed eyes and saw Wormtail having a quick word with the other Death Eaters. He gasped with fake pain and gave what he hoped was a convincing little scream. But the urge to laugh was growing so strong now ... he wanted it to end ... to fade out ... to stop ...

And then it was gone. He was hanging limply in the ropes binding him to the headstone of Voldemort's father, looking up into those bright blue eyes through a mist of self-congratulation. The night was ringing with the sound of the Death Eaters' laughter.

"Just remember, Potter," hissed Voldemort, "that with my contacts in the catering and hospitality industries, I have an almost-unlimited supply of spoons at my disposal. And I'm getting extra-large spoons forged for the giants to use. This really is the end."

Fortunately for Harry's limited supplies of self-control, the dogs chose that moment to flood back into the circle of Death Eaters, the Yorkshire terrier proudly holding Voldemort's wand in its teeth. Voldemort bent down and retrieved his saliva-coated wand.

"My Lord?" said Malfoy suddenly. "You still haven't answered our questions."

"You just don't get it, do you?" said Voldemort, wiping his wand on Wormtail's sleeve. "You're all obsessed with keeping things simple. Well, simple isn't good enough, understand? Any idiot could come up with a simple plan! I need complexity. It demonstrates my cleverness and makes me more scary! And now I'm going to prove it to you all, here and now, when there is no one to help him. I'm not going to simply ASK him, much as you might want me to. And I'm not going to do it quickly, either. I'm going to give him plenty of chances to run away, dodge, answer back, come up with an escape plan of his own, and so forth. And then I'm going to kill him, in the good old-fashioned complicated way. Now untie him, Wormtail, and give him back his wand."

I couldn't quite believe it when I discovered this passage of hidden text on page 579 of my copy of Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. I knew that J.K. Rowling had managed to confuse her fans by allowing two different versions of this scene to go to print, but I had no idea there was a third version -- depicting the characters' own uncertainty as to the facts. There are also striking continuity errors here: Voldemort makes no mention of spoons, and his tanned and beer-bellied body is gone. Weird.

And now another head was emerging from the tip of Voldemort's wand ... and Harry knew when he saw it who it would be ... he knew, as though he had expected it from the moment when Cedric had appeared from the wand ... knew, because the man appearing was the one he'd thought of more than any other tonight ...

The smoky shadow of a tall man with untidy hair was halfway out of the wand, already smiling at Harry, when a third arm snaked out infront of his face.

"Whaff?" mumbled James, his left leg almost touching the ground. "Goffmee!"

Another arm now joined the third arm, making four arms and one leg in total, and a second head began to protude from the wand-tip. There was a brief struggle between the two heads, four arms and leg before the second figure became clear ... a young woman with long hair; the smoky, shadowy form of Lily Potter. She managed to shove her elbow into James's face, giving her the chance to speak to Harry.

"I died first, Harry," she said.

"NOFF!" said James, as loudly as he could with an insubstantial elbow in his shadowy mouth. He used his leg (the only advantage he had over Lily at this point) to cleverly pin both of Lily's ghostly arms to her side as he turned to Harry and said, "I died first, Harry."

Lily frowned for a moment, and then bit James's left arm, spitting out the smoky fabric of his shadowy shirt so that she could say, "Don't listen to him, Harry. I died first, really. It was dark ... Voldemort appeared ... you were only a baby ... James was hiding in the toilet ... I leapt in front of Voldemort ... and then I --"

"-- and then you said, 'James is in the toilet' and ran away, didn't you, Lily?" snarled James, kicking her flailing arms as hard as he could. He almost had his other leg free now, but Lily had managed to grab hold of a tussock of grass and was using that to pull herself out of the wand.

"I DID NOT!" she shouted, almost out of the wand. "I used clever diversionary tactics and unfortunately died first."

Voldemort, his face now livid with fear as his victims either prowled around him or squabbled amongst themselves in the end of his wand, could not hear what they were saying. Harry thought quickly and addressed his enemy.

"Whom did you kill first, my mother or my father?"

"Your mother," said Voldemort instantly.

"You said it was my father last time we talked about this," replied Harry, sweat pouring down his face with the effort of holding onto his wand.

"I was lying," said Voldemort, with a nasty smile on his face.

"When?" asked Harry, confused. "Then or now?"

Voldemort pretended not to hear, and gave his wand a little shake.

Harry gasped; fighting now to keep a hold on his wand, which was slipping and sliding beneath his fingers.

Cedric asked Harry to take his body back to Hogwarts, which seemed a bit selfish, given the circumstances. And then James and Lily turned to Harry and said simultaneously, "I died first, Harry."

"Oh, for goodness sake!" Harry exclaimed and, with that, he ran off.

I came across this unexpected fragment when I tried the experiment of shuffling up the words on pages 743 and 735 of my copy of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. Does Harry have a secret ... ?

OotP p743 and p735

" ... So Voldemort never knew that there might be danger in attacking you, that it might be wise to wait, to learn more. He did not know that you would have power the Dark Lord knows not -- "

"But I don't!" said Harry, in a strangled voice. He batted Fawkes away angrily. "Can't you stop your phoenix from trying to throttle me? I haven't any powers Voldemort hasn't got, I couldn't fight the way he did tonight, I can't possess people or -- or kill them --"

"There is a room in the Department of Mysteries," interrupted Dumbledore, waving his hands in the air, "that is kept locked at all times. It contains a force that is at once more wonderful and more terrible than death, than alien intelligence, than the force of gravity. It is also, perhaps, the most mysterious of the many subjects for study that reside there. It is the power held within that room that you possess in such quantities and which Voldemort has not at all. That power helped you get the Marauder's Map back, amongst other things. That power will ultimately destroy Voldemort, because he made a fatal error in Chapter Thirty-Two of the last book. You know what it was that saved you."

A look of bewilderment flashed across Harry's face, followed by a look of anxiety, and then a look of terror, a look of complacency, a look of love, a lock of hair, a look of anguish, a look of joy, a look of weirdness, and finally a look of comprehension.

"You mean ... ?" he said.

Dumbledore lowered his hands and surveyed Harry through his half-moon glasses.

"It is time," he said, "for you to tell me what you should have told me twelve months ago, Harry. Please sit down. You are going to tell me everything -- about the Marauder's Map, about the Firebolt, about the quill, about the paperclips. All of it."

Dumbledore glared at him for a moment, then flung himself back into the chair opposite Harry and waited.

You've got to hand it to J.K.Rowling; she does a great job of hiding things in a really obvious way. What follows are shuffled-up excerpts taken from pages 728, 415, 725, 726 and 729 of my copy of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix. Once I'd rearranged the pages into the only order that made any sense (it's obvious when you see it, isn't it?), the rest just fell into place ...

Harry sat bolt upright, stunned by Dumbledore's words. He hadn't realised how much Dumbledore had noticed over the years. Was there something? Was it possible that Harry possessed a power strong enough to defeat Voldemort? His thoughts whirled dizzily with confusion. Why did Dumbledore want to know about the paperclips? It seemed so random. Perhaps Dumbledore was getting old and confused -- like Uncle Vernon's Great-Aunt Mildred (who had spent the last myopic years of her life befriending all the lamp-posts near her house). At that moment the light fell on Dumbledore, upon the silver of his eyebrows and beard, upon the lines gouged deeply into his face ... Hang on ...

"Er ... Professor?" said Harry, looking away suddenly.

"Yes, Harry?"

"Um ... er ... is that -- I mean -- have you got glitter in your beard?"

Dumbledore looked a little startled at this, and quickly combed his beard out with his fingers. Sparkling motes of silver rained down over the desk.

"And in your eyebrows?"

"Oh, dear me ..." muttered Dumbledore, quickly brushing his brow.

"And ... " Harry leaned forward, squinting in the dawn light, "it looks as though someone's been drawing thick black lines down your face. Sorry."

Dumbledore now swooped down upon one of the fragile silver instruments whose function Harry had never known, carried it over to his desk, sat down facing him again, and paused for a moment.

"Yes," he said. "You're right, Harry. I am so sorry. I hope I didn't alarm you with my appearance. I was in the middle of trying out a disguise when I had to Apparate to the Ministry."

"A disguise?"

"Yes -- trying to make myself look old, you see."

Harry didn't see, but he'd never been one for asking the right questions. He pointed at the silver thing on Dumbledore's desk. "What does that do?"

"This? Oh, well -- it's a mirror, Harry. Shows me what I look like. Do you want to try it?"

Mirror. Harry had heard of them, but he'd never actually seen one before. He reached eagerly across the desk.

"Careful, Harry! It's mostly glass, you know!"

An angry young face staring back at Harry from the mirror. Was this what he'd grown into?

"My hair!" he gasped. "It's a mess! And those glasses! I look like a right idiot. No wonder I don't have a girlfriend. Spots ... Yeuch!"

"Anyway," said Dumbledore. "Weren't you about to explain a few things to me, Harry?"

"Oh yeah, right," said Harry, putting the mirror down. He licked his palms and smoothed his hair down. "Better?"

"Very neat," said Dumbledore. "Now -- the Marauder's Map?"

"There's not much to tell," said Harry. He thought back, wondering what exactly Dumbledore wanted to hear. "I let Moody -- I mean that Crouch man -- use it in the Goblet of Fire. Is that what you mean?"

"Did he give it back to you?" asked Dumbledore.

"No ... no, he didn't. Now that I think of it, I just had it there with all my other school stuff when I came to pack things up at the end of the year. I must have gone and got it from his office, though, mustn't I? I can't remember much about that week, to be honest."

Dumbledore sighed, and said, "Perhaps that's for the best, Harry."

"Why do you want to know, anyway?"

"Tell me about the Firebolt first, if you would."

The Firebolt ... Had anything weird happened with the Firebolt? He remembered how strange it had been when he got the Firebolt -- but that had all been sorted out, hadn't it? It was from Siri-- No. He wasn't going to think about -- about -- not yet. He rallied himself. What was he supposed to be thinking about? The Firebolt. Maybe ...

"Ron kept borrowing it," he said. "In the Prisoner of Azkaban. And in the Goblet of Fire. Almost every week, I reckon."

"Go on," said Dumbledore, a note of excitement in his voice.

"That's it," said Harry. "He kept on borrowing it, but I never had to ask him to give it back to me. 'S a bit weird, isn't it?"

"In what way?" said Dumbledore. He seemed to Harry to be practically bursting with encouragement and suspense.

"Well," said Harry slowly, "normally you'd expect people to forget sometimes, but Ron never did."

"And what does that mean?" said Dumbledore, practically leaping out of his chair.

"I dunno. I suppose -- that Ron's a really good mate."

Dumbledore deflated, and said, "Right, of course, Harry. Maybe you'll realise more as you tell me about the quill."

"I've only got one quill," said Harry, his voice suddenly loud and strong; white-hot anger leapt inside him.

"There is no shame in what you are feeling, Harry," said Dumbledore's voice. Harry blinked. Dumbledore hadn't moved his lips. "On the contrary ... the fact that you can feel pain like this is your greatest strength."

"Is it my special power, though?" asked Harry, not at all interested in how Dumbledore's voice had apparently taken on a life of its own.

"No," said Dumbledore's voice, just behind Harry's left ear.

Harry was tempted at this point to throw a bit of a tantrum. Dumbledore was always so vague! He felt as though he was caught up in some stupid guessing game where Dumbledore had all the answers. Suddenly he wanted to know everything -- about his parents, about his money, about Voldemort, about his role in all of this.

"Is there anything you want to ask me, Harry?" said Dumbledore's voice, from underneath a vase.

"No," said Harry. He frowned.

"The quill," prompted Dumbledore.

"Right." Harry felt the white-hot anger lick his insides, blazing in the terrible emptiness, filling him with the desire to hurt Dumbledore for his calmness and his glitter and his empty words. "Hermione is always borrowing my quill, and she's got loads of quills! LOADS! And I've only got one quill."

"And ... ?"

"And what?"

"And do you always have that same quill?"

"Well, yes." Harry had no idea what Dumbledore was getting at. "I wouldn't get very far with my schoolwork if I didn't have a quill, would I?"

"And yet Hermione is always borrowing it ... "

Finally Harry could see what Dumbledore was getting at. Like Ron, Hermione always made sure to return whatever she had borrowed. She was thoughtful, considerate -- a true friend. He blushed, but it was hard to tell if that blush was because he was embarrassed in a friend way or in a love way.

"I understand," he said, looking up. He could see now that Dumbledore looked sad and tired. "Professor?"

"What?" said Dumbledore, glancing sharply into Harry's eyes. He smiled. "Sorry, Harry. I was just trying out another disguise -- looking sad and weary. Did it work?"

"I would've said it was more sad and tired actually, Professor."

"Oh well. Nevermind. So, now that you understand -- I trust the reference to paperclips has become clear?"

Harry smacked his own forehead in frustration. He'd forgotten about the paperclips!

I was amazed by the amount of concealed text I managed to find on page 744 of my copy of Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix ...

“Do you have any paperclips on you now, Harry?� asked Dumbledore.

Harry checked his pockets — he usually had a few paperclips somewhere. A-ha!

“Here you go,� he said, dropping four paperclips onto Dumbledore’s desk.

“Thank you,� said Dumbledore as he slid the paperclips across the desk and into a drawer. “Tell me, Harry, are you any good at the Summoning Charm?�

“Er,� said Harry. He was getting confused again by Dumbledore’s erratic train of thought. “Well, it took me ages to learn how to do it, but I’m alright now, I think.�

“Are you sure?�

“Yeah. Didn’t you see me summon the Firebolt during the first task of the Triwizard Tournament?�

“I saw you say ‘Accio’, certainly,� said Dumbledore, “and the Firebolt appeared moments later. But are you sure the two things were related?�

“Huh?�

“Could I trouble you for a few more paperclips, Harry?�

Again, Harry checked his pockets, although he was fairly certain that he had no paperclips left. There were four in his pocket.

“Oh!� he said. “Here you are, Professor.�

Dumbledore smiled at Harry and once more slid the paperclips across the desk and into a drawer.

“Harry,� he said, “I’m afraid I must tell you that you are very bad at the Summoning Charm. Professor Flitwick tells me that you use all the wrong inflections on the word ‘Accio.’ He has been most perplexed as to your apparent ability, as he knows it should be impossible.�

Harry strongly suspected that Dumbledore was being weird on purpose. Perhaps it was another disguise? Of course he could do the Summoning Charm!

“Of course I can do the Summoning Charm!� he said.

“No, you can’t, Harry,� said Dumbledore.

“Yes, I can!� said Harry.

“No.�

“Yes!�

“No — and could I have some more paperclips, do you think?�

“Yes! — I mean — what?� Good grief — it was as though Dumbledore was becoming obsessed with paperclips. What was he going to do with them all — disguise himself as a desk-tidy? Feeling that it was better to humour his headmaster for the time being, Harry rummaged in his pockets — fully expecting to find nothing. There was a tiny jingling noise. In disbelief, he let four paperclips fall onto the desk through his fingers.

“Thank you so much,� said Dumbledore smoothly, sliding the paperclips into the drawer. “I have a theory, you know.�

“Okay ... � Humour him, humour him.

“I think — in fact I am sure of it — that you have an innate ability to reclaim anything belonging to you that you really need.�

“Right ... � How far was it to the door?

“You needed the Marauder’s Map — and there it was, without your having to do anything to retrieve it.�

“Um-hmmm ... � Would it be safer to disarm Dumbledore and call for help?

“You needed your Firebolt — and it was always there for you, no matter how often young Mr. Weasley borrowed it.�

“Yeah ... � Could the portraits do anything useful? He tried winking at Phineas Nigellus.

“You needed your quill — and consequently it too has always been there, no matter how often Miss Granger has taken it to augment her own large quill collection.�

“Of course ... � He could smash that mirror over Dumbledore’s head and jump out through the window.

“And of course you always have a ready supply of paperclips, don’t you, Harry? Could I bother you for a few more, by the way?�

“Er ... � How high up was this room anyway?

“Paperclips, Harry?�

Harry jumped slightly in his chair, and automatically began to rifle through his pockets. Wordlessly he placed the four paperclips in a neat row on Dumbledore’s desk.

“How many paperclips have you given me now, Harry?� asked Dumbledore.

“I’m not sure, Professor. It must be a dozen at least by now.�

“Come and have a look in the drawer.�

With shaky legs Harry tottered around Dumbledore’s desk and peered into the drawer.

It was empty.

He checked it for holes, gaps, secret flaps, pet paperclip-eaters — but there was absolutely nothing in there. Dumbledore beamed at him, overflowing with happiness.

“Do you see?� he said.

“Where’ve they gone?� asked Harry, dazzled by the gleaming light of Dumbledore’s teeth. He was getting bored of this. Was Dumbledore trying to entertain him with the kind of cheap magician’s trick that he’d seen (through the keyhole) at Dudley’s childhood birthday parties?

“Check your pockets, Harry,� said Dumbledore. “I think you will find that you currently have four paperclips in your possession.�

Of course, he was right.

“Is this my special power, then?� asked Harry. “I don’t lose paperclips?�

He thought about it for a moment and grinned: his paperclips against Voldemort’s spoons. Their final battle was going to be interesting.

“You’re not far from the truth, but it goes a little deeper,� said Dumbledore. “What you have is an absolute sense of self-preservation. There is something in you, Harry, which calls out to the things that you need to help you through any situation. Obviously you are always in need of paperclips, and hence they always come back to you. Think back to Chapter 32 of the Goblet of Fire. Do you understand now what I meant when I said that Voldemort had made a fatal mistake?�

Finally Harry saw what Dumbledore was driving at. “The end of the prophecy ... it was something about ... neither can live ...�

“... while the other survives,� said Dumbledore.

“So,� said Harry, dredging up the words from what felt like a deep well of despair inside him, “so does that mean that ... that one of us has got to kill the other one ... in the end?�

“Yes,� said Dumbledore. “You know what you have to do, Harry.�

“You mean ... �

Dumbledore smiled ruefully, and said, “I’m afraid it’s going to be a bit messy.�

Okay, so now that I've revealed all the extra information that was hidden in the fourth and fifth books of the series, I think it's time to try predicting the outcome of the final battle. From now on, everything you read will be my interpretation of the closing scenes of the 7th book. It gets a little confusing in parts ...

Oh, and I'll be giving out bonus marks to anyone who can spot Dumbledore's appearance in this chapter.


“Hermione, over here!� Harry called, running, almost tumbling, down the grassy slope. He couldn’t be sure, but there seemed to be a rectangular kind of shape to the piles of moss-covered stones.

Gasping for breath, Hermione stumbled into the hollow from the opposite side to Harry, pulling twigs out of her hair as she ran. “Are you sure?�

“Look — the front door would’ve been there, right?� Harry pointed. “And you can still see the stove in the place where the kitchen used to be.�

He sat down on the remains of a wall, his legs suddenly weak.

“I don’t know, Harry,� said Hermione. “These ruins look really old, and it’s only been — what? — sixteen years?�

“Hagrid said the house was destroyed,� said Harry dully. “This is it. I know it.�

Hermione sat down next to him and for a few minutes they listened to the silence.

“Um ... Harry?� said Hermione.

“Yeah?�

“There’s something I’ve been wanting to say to you for — well — for ages, really.�

Feeling unaccountably nervous, Harry leapt to his feet. “I wonder where the others have got to.�

“I always thought it must be really obvious, but you’ve never said anything so maybe I was wrong. These last few years I’ve —�

CRACK!

“Ron!� bellowed Harry, frantically waving his arms. With a muffled yelp, Hermione fell off the wall. “Ooops — sorry, Hermione,� he said, helping her up. “I didn’t realise you were so close to me.�

Smiling sheepishly, Ron trotted across the hollow. “Sorry — sorry,� he said. “We misheard you — ended up at Spaldrick’s Hollow instead: apparated right in the middle of a wedding! Neville’s modifying all their memories now. And Luna reckoned you probably meant —�

“And you’ve left him to do that all on his own, have you?� said Hermione, narrowing her eyes.

“Well, you know how good he is ... �

Harry moved a few paces away; they were his best friends and he loved them both, but their constant arguing was just so boring. He kicked a small pebble over the wall. There was a tiny, almost inaudible, “Ouch!� But, when he looked around, he couldn’t see anyone else nearby who might have said it. He shrugged. What did it matter, anyway? It was Midsummer’s Day and his parents’ house was a ruin.

With a CRACK! and a CRACK! Neville and Luna appeared at the top of the slope. They ran down to join the others.

“Right,� said Harry, speaking determinedly loudly so that Hermione and Ron would get the message and shut up. “Here we are, then.�

Everyone was looking at him curiously, and he couldn’t really blame them. They’d followed him here, at a moment’s notice, without once questioning him; but clearly it was time for an explanation.

“Right,� he said again. “Um.�

“Harry?� said Ron. “Mate? Just before you disapparated I was going to ask you, you know, why? Why Godric’s Hollow? Why today? What’s going on? Is You-Know-Who (shut UP, Hermione!) here?�

“Wands out, is it?� said Neville, peering over the wall as if he thought a gang of Death Eaters might be hiding there.

Harry swallowed nervously. It had seemed so logical when the idea first popped into his mind ...

“OK,� he took a deep breath. “I just thought that we’ve been waiting all year, for practically the whole book, for Voldemort to show his face — and nothing’s happened. And then I realised that I’ve never been here before, despite its deeply potent symbolism in the story of my life. Plus it’s Midsummer’s Day which is very significant, according to Luna. And, since it’s nearly the end of the book, I thought it was probably best to give Voldemort a good chance of getting near me — because he’s clearly not going to manage it while I’m inside Hogwarts. Er. And that’s it.�

“And what will you do if or when Voldemort appears, Harry?� said Hermione, with a look of deep sympathy.

“You know — use my Special Power,� said Harry.

Neville and Luna frowned in puzzlement.

By way of explanation, Ron said, “Paperclips.�

“Ah,� said Luna, nodding.

“Huh?� said Neville.

Biting her lip, Hermione said, “Are you absolutely certain that Dumbledore meant paperclips when he told you about your Special Power?�

“I was there, Hermione, not you!� snapped Harry.

“I know, I know,� said Hermione, “but it was two years ago, wasn’t it?�

“Yeah, but you don’t forget something that surreal in a hurry, you know. He spent an hour rambling on about paperclips. I’m telling you: That’s my Special Power.�

Neville smiled uncertainly. “So ...� he said, “are you just going to ... throw paperclips at him, or something?�

“I might,� said Harry, still on the defensive.

“The light’s fading,� murmured Luna.

“Huh?� said Ron, ducking to avoid a small bat.

The hollow was filled with a barrage of CRACK!s.

“Good evening, Potter,� squeaked Lord Voldemort, walking slowly across the grass, Death Eaters forming into a menacing group behind him. Wormtail was floating six feet above the ground, holding six or seven helium balloons in his silver hand, and attached to Lord Voldemort by a rope around his waist. “I’m going to kill you in a moment, but first I intend to waste a few minutes in gloating over your imminent demise — thus giving you time to formulate evasive tactics of your own.�

“Yeah,� said the unctuous tones of Lucius Malfoy. “You tell him, master.�

“OK,� said Harry. He looked around for his friends, and saw four pairs of eyes peering over the top of the tumbledown wall. “Guys, what are you doing?�

“Neville’s got a plan,� whispered Hermione. “We’re just waiting for the right moment.�

“When’ll that be?� asked Harry, exasperated. “After I’m dead?�

“No, mate,� Ron chuckled. “But try to keep him gloating for as long as you can, alright?�

“Fine. Right,� Harry turned back to Voldemort. “So how exactly do you think you’re going to kill me this time? You know your wand won’t work against me anymore.�

“It’s always worth having another go, don’t you think, Potter?�

Voldemort whipped his wand out and screamed, “Avada —�

“Expelliarmus!� cried Harry in the same instant, and the golden cage formed about them again. “Told you so!�

“Curse you, Potter!� snapped Voldemort as the shadowy figures began pouring out of his wand. “Death Eaters, charge!�

There was another barrage of CRACK!s and suddenly the hollow was filled with members of Orchestral Manoeuvres In The Dark (originally known as the Order Of The Phoenix, they changed the name after three of the founding members left due to artistic differences a year ago).

“Not so fast, Death Eating scum!� yelled Moody, and the battle began.

Amidst the flickering and rushing of green and red light, Harry and Voldemort stayed still — both dreading the inevitable appearance of Harry’s parents. Trying to take his mind off the forthcoming embarrassment, Harry watched the Death Eaters fighting. Was that a flicker of red light reflecting off the buckles of a sock-garter? It looked as though Snape had finally decided which side of the fence to jump off.

“How are we doing with the plan, guys?� said Harry out of the corner of his mouth.

“Almost ready,� said Neville, his voice shaking.

“Keep stalling!� hissed Hermione.

A nearby bush quivered, although there was no breeze to stir it.

“Last time this happened we were standing over my father’s grave,� said Voldemort. He was staring fixedly at the end of his wand, watching the tangle of ghostly limbs that were fighting to get out of it.

“Yeah, well this time we’re duelling over the ruins of my father’s house,� said Harry, standing a little taller.

James’s head appeared, suddenly. “Actually, Harry, the house was a bit to the left of here — nearer the trees.�

“Yes, James, that’s right,� barked Lily, “distract him at a crucial moment, why don’t you, just like you did to me when Voldemort attacked us.�

“Don’t listen to her, Harry,� said James, head-butting Lily. “You and I both know that I died first trying to protect your mother. You’d think, after sixteen years of living in someone else’s wand, that she’d have got through the stage of Denial and be well into Acceptance by now, wouldn’t y—�

“Of all the stupid,� Lily began punctuating each word with a slap to James’s head, which he couldn’t defend because his arms still hadn’t come out of the wand, “lying, ungrateful, toe-rags of a husband! I DIED FIRST!�

Harry’s patience finally wore out.

“For goodness’ sake!� he shouted. “There’s got to be an easier way of duelling than this!�

“Use the power, Harry,� said the bush.

Dodging the bat that was still flitting back and forth across the hollow, Harry said, “What?�

“Not yet!� shrilled the bat. “I’m not ready!�

“What?� Harry spun around. Who was talking?

“Hurry up, Severus!�

“What?� said Harry again.

“Alright, alright, headmaster. Give me a moment.�

“Seriously — WHAT?� Harry was reaching breaking point.

“Talking to yourself now, Potter?� grunted Voldemort. He cleared his throat.

“I’m ready now,� said the bat.

“Of course, madness runs in your family, doesn’t it?� Voldemort rumbled, tugging at the rope around his waist. “Wormtail!�

Harry looked at his parents. He could see what Voldemort meant: They were climbing up the walls of the golden cage, trying to pull each other down. But that didn’t mean that he was going mad, did it? Okay, so a bush and a bat were having an argument — but that was the kind of thing that happened in the wizarding world, wasn’t it? And the bush did sound quite a lot like Dumble—

“Now, Harry!� cried the bush.

Simultaneously flinging his wand aside and grabbing a handful of paperclips from his pocket, Harry cried, “Curse your way out of this, snake-face!�

“What?!� said the bush, swaying madly.

From behind the wall, Hermione groaned.

Neville’s face appeared above the stones. “We’re not ready yet, Harry,� he hissed.

The bat gave a derisive squeak and began dive-bombing Harry. Trying to maintain an heroic legs-well-apart stance whilst beating away an angry bat, he said, “There are plenty more paperclips where they came from, I can assure you. And Professor or no Professor, I’m going to stun this bat in a minute.�

“So, Potter, you choose to fight without wands, I take it?,� rumbled Voldemort. He cast his wand aside, and reached into a pocket in his robes. “‘Mano a mano,' as the mudbloods say.�

Seeing the silver sheen of Voldemort’s newest deadly weapon, Harry muttered, “More like ‘paperclippo a spoono,’ if you ask me.�

“I can still do it, headmaster,� trilled the bat. “It’s not over yet.�

Harry turned automatically to the bush to gauge its reaction — but it was gone. What was Dumbledore up to? He sat down on a nearby boulder and rummaged through his pockets for some more paperclips.

“Death Eaters! To me!� shouted Voldemort. “And that includes you, Wormtail! And bring a balloon!�

The battle halted abruptly as all the remaining Death Eaters hurried to obey their master’s command. Wormtail, however, remained six feet above the ground. “I can’t come down,� he whimpered. “I’m not heavy enough.�

“If you want something doing, do it yourself,� sighed Voldemort. He aimed his wand at the cluster of balloons, and burst all but one of them. There was a thud, and another whimper from Wormtail. Stepping over his servant’s prostrate body, Voldemort grabbed the balloon and inhaled deeply. “That’s better!� he said, in the voice of a Munchkin.

“Pardon me for saying this, master, but I think that was a bad idea,� said a familiar (although pitched higher than usual) sardonic voice. Harry had a moment of confusion. He was almost certain that the bat was Snape, but this sounded like Snape too. Was it possible that he was fighting for both sides at once?

“What are you talki— Ooh!� squeaked Malfoy. “Master!�

The Death Eaters fell into alarmed quasi-supersonic chatter, from which only a few phrases were clear: “My voice!� “What’s he done?!� “Ha ha I sound funny!� and “Two octaves!�

During the melee, the bat took the opportunity to perch on Harry’s shoulder and whisper in his ear, “We want you to charge him, Potter, as soon as you can.�

“Who’s ‘we?’� asked Harry, trying not to mind the stench as the bat poohed all over his robes.

“Even a dunce such as yourself should have worked that one out by now, Potter,� snapped the bat. “Just remember to charge at him as fast as you can.�

“Why?�

“Remember: as fast as you can,� said the bat, as it took off again.

This is the final part of this story, and a very possible ending to the whole story. I’ve had to make a few changes though: As it originally stood it was really very disgusting, so I ran the whole thing through my MS Auto-Censor, and some parts of the text have accordingly been changed. I’ve made those parts really obvious by putting them into BOLD CAPITALS, LIKE THIS. And so, on to the final dramatic scenes ...


Harry looked around for help, any help. His four friends were still crouched behind the wall, apparently too busy to either look up or offer any useful suggestions. Orchestral Manoeuvres In The Dark were checking each other’s wounds and piling up the dead. Bush-Dumbledore had vanished. Oh well. Clutching his paperclips in his sweaty palm AND A BUCKET FULL OF RED PAINT IN HIS OTHER HAND he slowly got up off the boulder and faced Voldemort once more.

Voldemort, A BUCKET FULL OF RED PAINT HANGING FROM HIS LEFT ELBOW, brandished his spoons and called, “Death Eaters, ready!�

There was a clatter as the Death Eaters, standing behind Voldemort, readied their spoons. “Yes, master,� they chanted.

“And-a-one, and-a-two, and-a-one-two-three-four!�

As one, Voldemort and the Death Eaters began to move forward, their spoons beating out the rhythm of "There’s No-one Quite Like Grandma." Harry clenched his teeth against the horror of it all and sprinted toward his attackers.

“AAaaarrrrgghghghghg!!!� he cried, as he charged across the hollow. “Oof!� he said, as he tripped headlong over a pebble. He cut his knee SLIGHTLY AND SPILT SOME RED PAINT. AT THE SAME INSTANT, A LITTLE BIT OF PAINT SLOPPED OUT OF VOLDEMORT’S BUCKET, AND A PRETTY LADY APPEARED BY HARRY AND POURED A CUPFUL OF RED PAINT BACK INTO HIS OWN BUCKET.

“Sorry, Harry,� said the pebble. “Up you get.�

In a daze, Harry got to his feet and tried again. “Aarrghghghghgh!!� he cried, closing in on Voldemort and his spoons. “Ouch!� he said, stumbling over a branch that was suddenly lying across his path. He’d VERY SLIGHTLY HURT his elbows, and SOME MORE RED PAINT SPLASHED OUT OF HIS BUCKET. VOLDEMORT’S BUCKET WOBBLED A TINY BIT AND SLOSHED SOME MORE RED PAINT ONTO THE GROUND, JUST AS ANOTHER PRETTY LADY APPEARED BESIDE HARRY AND TOPPED UP HIS BUCKET ONCE MORE.

“Sorry, Harry,� said the branch. “Have another go.�

“Let me try, headmaster!� piped the bat excitedly.

Harry pulled himself up once more and ran a little less quickly towards the crowd of Death Eaters. “Aarghgh!� he cried, and, “Oi!� as the bat flew into his face and made him fall over. RED PAINT oozed out of a TINY scratch on his shin. VOLDEMORT’S BUCKET TILTED AGAIN, CAUSING A COUPLE OF PINTS OF RED PAINT TO SPILL ONTO THE GROUND. A PRETTY LADY APPEARED BY HARRY AND POURED A COUPLE OF JUGFULS OF PAINT BACK INTO HIS BUCKET.

“Sorry, Harry,� said the bat insincerely. “Keep going.�

“Argh,� he said, jogging across the hollow. “STOP IT!� as the bat flew down the back of his robes, causing him to leap into the air with shock and tumble over another boulder that had suddenly appeared in his path.

“Sorry, Harry,� said the boulder.

“I’m not sorry,� came the muffled voice of the bat. “It reeks in here. Don’t you ever wash?�

“To the rescue!� called Ron, leaping over the wall, purple spit dribbling down his chin. Neville, Luna and Hermione followed him, all similarly stained with purple.

Harry looked up in disbelief. “Have you been chewing gum the whole time that I’ve been out here stalling for my life?�

“Yeah,� said Neville. “Good plan, isn’t it?�

Harry was about to explode with rage when he was suddenly surrounded by purple and blue bubbles. Instead of popping when they reached him, they simply nestled up closely to his body and made a protective wall. Brilliant! He could start running again without worrying about falling over. Taking a deep breath, he started his charge once more.

“No!� screamed the bat, shooting out of Harry’s collar. “Longbottom, you fool, you’re spoiling it! Help, Headmaster!�

“Don’t worry, Severus,� said a prickly gorse bush nearby. “I’ll take care of it.�

Within seconds most of the bubbles were burst, and Harry was wiping the RED PAINT off a FLOWER BY his ankle.

There was a blur of movement as Neville surged past Harry and began hitting the gorse bush with his wand. “What did you do that for?� he screamed. “We were helping him! We’ve been waiting seven years for our chance to get in the history books, and you burst it!�

“Come, come, Neville,� said the gorse bush, “you’ll all have your chance to shine in the inevitable spin-off series, I promise you.�

Mollified, Neville returned to the others; Harry could hear whispered comments about “contracts� and “rights.� He really was on his own now.

“One more ought to do it, I think, Severus?� said a small stick.

“With pleasure,� said the bat.

“I didn’t know motorbikes could fly,� said Luna, pointing.

“Huh?� said Hermione.

“It’s me, ‘Arry! An’ I reck’n I go’ ‘ere in th’nick o’time, di’n’t I?� And Hagrid burst into the hollow on Sirius’s motorbike, although, with Hagrid as the rider, it looked more like a child’s toy.

“Hagrid!� beamed Harry with relief.

The bat sighed with annoyance. “That great oaf always gets in the way,� it said.

“Wait, Severus,� said the stick. “Pick me up, would you?�

Harry watched anxiously as Hagrid tried to get the motorbike down to ground level. There were still a few bubbles bouncing around the hollow, and they seemed to be causing some trouble.

Jumping as the flapping of the bat’s wings suddenly became very loud in his ears, Harry turned and saw that he was face to face with a stick.

“Quickly, Harry,� said the stick, balancing on his shoulder (the other one, not the one covered in pooh). “This is your last chance to run him down. Run! Use your power!�

Thinking that perhaps his power was Running With Paperclips, rather than just Paperclips, Harry once more pelted toward Voldemort. Incredibly, Voldemort and the Death Eaters were still creeping forward, tapping out their spoon tunes. Harry was just beginning to realise that Voldemort was in fact insane, and that there were consequently a lot of moral questions about the validity of his own aggressive form of defence, when the bat poked him in the eye with the stick WHICH WAS WRAPPED IN COTTONWOOL AND BUBBLEWRAP.

“OW!� cried Harry, clutching his face. RED PAINT gushed out of HIS BUCKET.

“OW!� cried the stick. “That was my ndose, Severus!�

“Sorry, headmaster,� said the bat. “But I think it did the trick.�

Hagrid had finally parked the motorbike and now came lumbering up to Harry. “You alrigh’, ‘Arry? Go’ a lo’ o’ cu’s there.�

“Nothing serious,� said Harry. “Ugh! What’s happening to Voldemort?�

With a ghastly groan, Voldemort had crumpled up in a ball and was turning even paler than usual. HIS BUCKET WAS EMPTY NOW, AND HARRY’S WAS STILL FULL.

“It’s your special power, Harry,� said Dumbledore, billowing up into human form out of the stick. His nose was slightly more crooked than usual. “I wandt to thandk you for your perseverandce tondight.�

“Where’s Sna— I mean, Professor Snape?� Harry was beginning to feel a bit more alive, more alert, more full of himself, somehow. Was this what victory felt like?

“Here I am, Potter,� fluted Snape, stepping lightly over the writhing form of Voldemort on the ground.

“I thought you were a bat,� said Harry bluntly.

“He was,� said Hermione. There was a note of triumph in her voice. “Look at his sock-garter, Harry.�

Harry looked, and saw the silvery twinkle of a tiny hourglass attached to Snape’s left shin.

“I took a leaf out of your book, Miss Granger,� shrilled Snape with a nasty smile.

“Who’s side were you on, then?� asked Harry. “The good guys or the bad guys?�

“He was on my side, Harry,� said Dumbledore.

“Oh. You mean the good side?� said Harry.

“If that’s what you prefer to believe, then yes.� Dumbledore was smiling kindly down at Harry. “Do you see ndow what I meandt about Voldembort mbaking a fatal mbistake ind Chapter 32 of the Goblet of Fire? He borrowed all his RED PAINDT FROMB you, and of course you were boundd to take it back if you ever ndeeded it.�

“Ooohhh,� said Harry, the light dawning.

“It’s dawn,� intoned Luna.

“Huh?� said Harry. “I thought that was my own inner sense of realisation and acceptance.�

“There is no end to your arrogance, Potter,� said Snape.

“Well, we’d better be gettindg back to Hogwarts,� said Dumbledore. “Orchestral Mbanoeuvres Ind The Dark will take care of the rembndandts of Voldembort’s Death Eater Spoodn Armby.�

“How are we going to get back?� asked Ron. “I know Hermione’s about to say we can’t Apparate into Hogwarts.�

“Quite true, Mbr. Weasley,� said Dumbledore. “Allow mbe.�

He walked briskly across the grassy clearing to Voldemort’s SLEEPING body, poked it with his wand, and said, “Portus.�

“Brilliant,� breathed Hermione.

Several of the Death Eaters, cracking under the strain of losing, began to sing in their childlike voices, “Ding dong, our master’s dead. Which Dark Lord? This Dark Lord! Ding dong, Lord Voldemort is dead!�

“There’s ondly onde thindg left to clear up,� said Dumbledore, returning to the group. “I dond’t thindk we’ll be ndeeding this andymbore.� And his long fingers reached out to Harry’s forehead and carefully peeled off the scar.

THE END


Author’s Note: OK, I admit it -- I didn’t spend hours decoding J.K. Rowling’s books, looking for secret hidden paragraphs. I made it all up. And I did it all because I was so frustrated by Voldemort’s ridiculously complicated plan in Harry Potter and the Goblet of Fire. After that, it seemed only natural to poke fun at the various other discrepancies that have occurred: the Marauder’s Map; the slight confusion over the order of James and Lily’s deaths. And then I thought it would be funny to exaggerate the possibility that Snape might be a vampire, and also heighten Dumbledore’s eccentricities. As for the spoons and the paperclips ... well, you can never have too many spoons and paperclips.