The World is Our Oyster

Chapter 1

Welcome to my new story! I'm just putting this on to see what people think. I'm into chapter nine of my story, so far, with quite big chapters (most are double the size of this one). Please review!

1stSeptember 1995

The Mellard family were one of high regard in both muggle and wizarding society. Fortune and Lawrence Mellard had twelve children: Lawrence, Michael, Barnaby, Tobias, Elizabeth, Joan, Katherine, Bernard, Miles, Winifred, Constance and Bridget. Only the youngest three children were still at Hogwarts. Winifred was in her last year, as head girl; Constance was in her fifth year; and Bridget was in her fourth.

Each girl had received strict instructions this year: Winifred was to spend time with Professor Snape and 'persuade' him to convince the Dark Lord to let her brothers receive the dark mark; Constance was to seduce Draco Malfoy; and Bridget was to make sure the whole school knew that Ginny Weasley was the one who opened the Chamber of Secrets in 1992.

As they arrived at Hogwarts, Bridget smiled at Ellen Christian, her friend in Slytherin, and then hurried up to catch her friends in her own house, Gryffindor. When she'd arrived at Hogwarts, Bridget had been in a compartment with Maria, Rebecca, Florence and Susanna and they'd become fast friends when they'd all been sorted into Gryffindor. Ginny had become their friend at the beginning of their second year.

"How was Italy, Becky?" Bridget forced herself to ask. Rebecca was a mudblood and Bridget detested her, since Constance had pointed out how low Rebecca was compared to their family.

"Oh, it was beautiful, Bridget," Rebecca gushed.

Bridget kept up her façade until after the feast. Ginny Weasley, the little harlot, had been flirting with Potter all through the feast and it had made Bridget sick to her stomach. As they walked into the common room, Bridget winked at her sister and Constance gave her a little smirk.

"I can't do this anymore," Bridget muttered.

"What do you mean, Bri?" Maria asked who was standing next to her.

"I can't be friends with a monster," Bridget said and all five of their friends looked up in shock, Ginny rather nervously. Bridget felt the corners of her mouth twitch.

Susie stared at her, her stupid eyes wide. "What on earth are you talking about?" she asked.

"Her!" Bridget exclaimed, pointing at Ginny.

"Bridget, I don't-" Ginny tried.

"You opened the Chamber of Secrets!" Bridget shouted across the room. Harry Potter came up behind Ginny, looking insulted on her behalf. Bridget smirked.

"Voldemort opened the Chamber," Harry growled. Ginny put her hand on his arm.

"Oh, here he is!" Bridget shouted hysterically. "Come to protect your little harlot?" she questioned mockingly. Ginny was shaking. "Your death eater slut?" she said, enunciating every word.

"She isn't a death eater," Harry ground out.

"But she is a slut?" Bridget laughed at the venom in Harry's glare. "Do you not think we all notice? When you sneak down to the common room, Ginny? I followed you once," Bridget chuckled. "I saw you and him, in the common room," she said, gesturing dismissively to Harry.

Like Bridget had wanted, a large crowd had drawn to listen to them, including the Weasley brothers. "What is she talking about, Harry?" Ron asked. Bridget smirked.

"When did it start, Potter? When you covered for her after the Chamber? Was she so grateful? I guess she spread her legs and you just couldn't say no. And 'Voldemort'? Voldemort is dead, Potter," Bridget 'informed' him. "She," Bridget gestured to Ginny, "opened the Chamber of Secrets and nearly killed Hermione, Colin, Penelope, Justin," Bridget listed.

"Ginny was possessed," Harry emphasised. Ginny paled beside him. "And may I ask, Bridget, where you got your information? You seem to be dreadfully misinformed," Harry said, venom dripping from his voice.

"My mother told me, Potter, after a meeting with her good friend, Narcissa Malfoy," Bridget explained, smirking again at him.

"Maybe your stupid mother should get some better sources then," Harry snapped, to Ginny's obvious shock.

"Your little whore nearly killed people, Potter. She should be punished," Bridget said and then stormed upstairs to her dormitory.

"Alright, you lot," Fred started.

"Get upstairs with you," George suggested with a slight threat in his voice and they scampered, leaving just the Weasleys and Harry.

"Are you okay, Gin?" Harry asked. She was still shaking and tears were tracking down her face.

"I'm not a child, Harry," she told him harshly. "I don't need you to look after me," she informed him, sobs taking over as she realised that her friends had left her. Harry took her into his arms, feeling that that was appropriate right now. She sobbed into his shoulder.

"We'll just leave you alone, then," Fred said, attempting to guide Ron to the boys' dormitory stairs.

"No, we bleeding well won't!" Ron shouted. "What the hell are you doing, Harry?"

Harry heard Ginny quiet down slightly and felt her pull away from his chest.

"I'm going to bed. Thank you for sticking up for me, Harry," she said with a sad smile.

"Ginny, don't go up there," Harry pleaded with her. "I'll stay on the couch down here, if you wanted to stay in my bed?"

"She's going nowhere near your bed," Ron growled.

"Oh hush yourself, Ron," Ginny snapped. "Would you mind, Harry?" she asked, sheepishly.

"Of course not," Harry said agreeably. "You go up to bed, Gin. I'll be fine," he told her.


2ndSeptember 1995

The next morning, Harry woke up with a stiff back and three Weasley brothers towering over him. "Good morning," they said simultaneously, pulling him into a seated position.

"It's five o clock, Harry," Fred informed Harry helpfully.

"Nobody's up yet," George continued.

"We thought we'd ask you why you leant your bed to our sister last night," Ron stated, as the three brothers sat down on the coffee table opposite the couch that Harry had spent the night on.

Harry wasn't fazed. He and Ginny had never done anything together, not even kissed. They had spoken one night after they'd both suffered from nightmares. Ginny, she had told him, was down in the common room most nights after not being able to sleep, and, so, Harry often found himself in the common room too, but there was nothing going on between them. They were just friends.

"Why did I make sure that your sister wasn't in the same room as people who had just publically and cruelly humiliated her? Oh, I wonder," Harry said, sarcasm dripping in his voice. "I wasn't in bed with her. She was devastated. She's just lost all of her friends and I thought she'd appreciate not having to sleep on a couch or in a room with people who hated her.

"Now, why don't you piss off?"


When the fifth years entered the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, they found Professor Umbridge already seated at the teachers desk, wearing the fluffy pink cardigan of the night before and the black velvet bow on top of her head. Harry was again reminded forcibly of a large fly perched unwisely on top of an even larger toad.

The class was quiet as it entered the room; Professor Umbridge was, as yet, an unknown quantity and nobody knew how strict a disciplinarian she was likely to be.

"Well, good afternoon!" she said, when finally the whole class had sat down.

A few people mumbled 'good afternoon' in reply.

"Tut, tut," said Professor Umbridge. "That won't do, now, will it? I should like you, please, to reply 'Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge'. One more time, please. Good afternoon, class!"

"Good afternoon, Professor Umbridge," they chanted back at her.

"There, now," said Professor Umbridge sweetly. "That wasn't too difficult, was it? Wands away and quills out, please."

Many of the class exchanged gloomy looks; the order 'wands away' had never yet been followed by a lesson they had found interesting. Harry shoved his wand back inside his bag and pulled cut quill, ink and parchment. Professor Umbridge opened her handbag, extracted her own wand, which was an unusually short one, and tapped the blackboard sharply with it; words appeared on the board at once:

Defence Against the Dark Arts

A Return to Basic Principles

"Well now, your teaching in this subject has been rather disrupted and fragmented, hasn't it?" stated Professor Umbridge, turning to face the class with her hands clasped neatly in front of her. "The constant changing of teachers, many of whom do not seem to have followed any Ministry-approved curriculum, has unfortunately resulted in your being far below the standard we would expect to see in your OWL year."

"You will be pleased to know, however, that these problems are now to be rectified. We will be following a carefully structured, theory-centred, Ministry-approved course of defensive magic this year. Copy down the following, please."

She rapped the blackboard again; the first message vanished and was replaced by the 'Course Aims'.

1.Understanding the principles underlying defensive magic.

2.Learning to recognise situations in which defensive magic can legally be used

3.Placing the use of defensive magic in a context for practical use.

For a couple of minutes the room was full of the sound of scratching quills on parchment. When everyone had copied down Professor Umbridge's three course aims she asked, "Has everybody got a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?"

There was a dull murmur of assent throughout the class.

"I think we'll try that again," said Professor Umbridge. "When I ask you a question, I should like you to reply, 'Yes, Professor Umbridge', or 'No, Professor Umbridge'. So: has everyone got a copy of Defensive Magical Theory by Wilbert Slinkhard?"

"Yes, Professor Umbridge," rang through the room.

"Good," said Professor Umbridge. "I should like you to turn to page five and read 'Chapter One, Basics for Beginners'. There will be no need to talk."

Professor Umbridge left the blackboard and settled herself in the chair behind the teacher's desk, observing them all closely with those pouchy toad's eyes. Harry turned to page five of his copy of Defensive Magical Theory and started to read.

It was desperately dull, quite as bad as listening to Professor Binns. He felt his concentration sliding away from him; he had soon read the same line half a dozen times without taking in more than the first few words. Several silent minutes passed. Next to him, Ron was absent-mindedly turning his quill over and over in his fingers, staring at the same spot on the page. Harry looked right and received a surprise to shake him out of his torpor. Hermione had not even opened her copy of Defensive Magical Theory. She was staring fixedly at Professor Umbridge with her hand in the air.

Harry could not remember Hermione ever neglecting to read when instructed to, or indeed resisting the temptation to open any book that came under her nose. He looked at her enquiringly, but she merely shook her head slightly to indicate that she was not about to answer questions, and continued to stare at Professor Umbridge, who was looking just as resolutely in another direction.

After several more minutes had passed, however, Harry was not the only one watching Hermione. The chapter they had been instructed to read was so tedious that more and more people were choosing to watch Hermione's mute attempt to catch Professor Umbridge's eye rather than struggle on with 'Basics for Beginners'.

When more than half the class were staring at Hermione rather than at their books, Professor Umbridge seemed to decide that she could ignore the situation no longer.

"Did you want to ask something about the chapter, dear?" she asked Hermione, as though she had only just noticed her.

"Not about the chapter, no," said Hermione.

"Well, we're reading just now," said Professor Umbridge, showing her small pointed teeth. "If you have other queries we can deal with them at the end of class."

"I've got a query about your course aims," said Hermione.

Professor Umbridge raised her eyebrows.

"And your name is?"

"Hermione Granger," said Hermione.

"Well, Miss Granger, I think the course aims are perfectly clear if you read them through carefully," said Professor Umbridge in a voice of determined sweetness.

"Well, I don't," said Hermione bluntly. "There's nothing written up there about using defensive spells."

There was a short silence in which many members of the class turned their heads to frown at the three course aims still written on the blackboard.

"Using defensive spells?" Professor Umbridge repeated with a little laugh. "Why, I can't imagine any situation arising in my classroom that would require you to use a defensive spell, Miss Granger. You surely aren't expecting to be attacked during class?"

"We're not going to use magic?" Ron exclaimed loudly.

"Students raise their hands when they wish to speak in my class, Mr - ?"

"Weasley," said Ron, thrusting his hand into the air.

Professor Umbridge, smiling still more widely, turned her back on him. Harry and Hermione immediately raised their hands too. Professor Umbridge's pouchy eyes lingered on Harry for a moment before she addressed Hermione.

"Yes, Miss Granger? You wanted to ask something else?"

"Yes," said Hermione. "Surely the whole point of Defence Against the Dark Arts is to practise defensive spells?"

"Are you a Ministry-trained educational expert, Miss Granger?" asked Professor Umbridge, in her falsely sweet voice.

"No, but-"

"Well then, I'm afraid you are not qualified to decide what the "whole point" of any class is. Wizards much older and cleverer than you have devised our new programme of study. You will be learning about defensive spells in a secure, risk-free way-"

"What use is that?" said Harry loudly. "If we're going to be attacked, it won't be in a-"

"Hand, Mr Potter!" sang Professor Umbridge.

Harry thrust his fist in the air. Again, Professor Umbridge promptly turned away from him, but now several other people had their hands up, too.

"And your name is?" Professor Umbridge said to Dean.

"Dean Thomas."

"Well, Mr Thomas?"

"Well, it's like Harry said, isn't it?" said Dean. "If we're going to be attacked, it won't be risk free."

"I repeat," said Professor Umbridge, smiling in a very irritating fashion at Dean, "do you expect to be attacked during my classes?"

"No, but-"

Professor Umbridge talked over him. "I do not wish to criticise the way things have been run in this school," she said, an unconvincing smile stretching her wide mouth, "but you have been exposed to some very irresponsible wizards in this class, very irresponsible indeed - not to mention," she gave a nasty little laugh, "extremely dangerous half-breeds."

"If you mean Professor Lupin," piped up Dean angrily, "he was the best we ever-"

"Hand, Mr Thomas! As I was saying - you have been introduced to spells that have been complex, inappropriate to your age group and potentially lethal. You have been frightened into believing that you are likely to meet Dark attacks every other day-"

"No we haven't," Hermione said, "we just-"

"Your hand is not up, Miss Granger!"

Hermione put up her hand. Professor Umbridge turned away from her.

"It is my understanding that my predecessor not only performed illegal curses in front of you, he actually performed them on you."

"Well, he turned out to be a maniac, didn't he?" said Dean hotly. "Mind you, we still learned loads."

"Your hand is not up, Mr Thomas!" trilled Professor Umbridge. "Now, it is the view of the Ministry that a theoretical knowledge will be more than sufficient to get you through your examination, which, after all, is what school is all about. And your name is?" she added, staring at Parvati, whose hand had just shot up.

"Parvati Patil, and isn't there a practical bit in our Defence Against the Dark Arts OWL? Aren't we supposed to show that we can actually do the counter-curses and things?"

"As long as you have studied the theory hard enough, there is no reason why you should not be able to perform the spells under carefully controlled examination conditions," said Professor Umbridge dismissively.

"Without ever practising them beforehand?" said Parvati incredulously. "Are you telling us that the first time we'll get to do the spells will be during our exam?"

"I repeat, as long as you have studied the theory hard enough-"

"And what good's theory going to be in the real world?" said Harry loudly, his fist in the air again.

Professor Umbridge looked up.

"This is school, Mr Potter, not the real world," she said softly.

"So we're not supposed to be prepared for what's waiting for us out there?"

"There is nothing waiting out there, Mr Potter."

"Oh, yeah?" said Harry. His temper, which seemed to have been bubbling just beneath the surface all day, was reaching boiling point.

"Who do you imagine wants to attack children like yourselves?" enquired Professor Umbridge in a horribly honeyed voice.

"Hmm, let's think..." said Harry in a mock thoughtful voice. "Maybe... Lord Voldemort?"

Ron gasped; Lavender Brown uttered a little scream; Neville slipped sideways off his stool. Professor Umbridge, however, did not flinch. She was staring at Harry with a grimly satisfied expression on her face.

"Ten points from Gryffindor, Mr Potter."

The classroom was silent and still. Everyone was staring at either Umbridge or Harry.

"Now, let me make a few things quite plain."

Professor Umbridge stood up and leaned towards them, her stubby-fingered hands splayed on her desk.

"You have been told that a certain Dark wizard has returned from the dead-"

"He wasn't dead," said Harry angrily, "but yeah, he's returned!"

"Mr-Potter-you-have-already-lost-your-house-ten-points-do-not-make-matters-worse-for-yourself," said Professor Umbridge in one breath without looking at him. "As I was saying, you have been informed that a certain Dark wizard is at large once again. This is a lie."

"It is NOT a lie!" said Harry. "I saw him, I fought him!"

"Detention, Mr Potter!" said Professor Umbridge triumphantly. "Tomorrow evening. Five o'clock. My office. I repeat, this is a lie. The Ministry of Magic guarantees that you are not in danger from any Dark wizard. If you are still worried, by all means come and see me outside class hours. If someone is alarming you with fibs about reborn Dark wizards, I would like to hear about it. I am here to help. I am your friend. And now, you will kindly continue your reading. Page five, 'Basics for Beginners'."

Professor Umbridge sat down behind her desk. Harry, however, stood up. Everyone was staring at him; Seamus looked half-scared, half-fascinated.

"Harry, no!" Hermione whispered in a warning voice, tugging at his sleeve, but Harry jerked his arm out of her reach.

"So, according to you, Cedric Diggory dropped dead of his own accord, did he?" Harry asked, his voice shaking.

There was a collective intake of breath from the class, for none of them, apart from Ron and Hermione, had ever heard Harry talk about what had happened on the night Cedric had died. They stared avidly from Harry to Professor Umbridge, who had raised her eyes and was staring at him without a trace of a fake smile on her face.

"Cedric Diggory's death was a tragic accident," she said coldly.

"It was murder," said Harry. He could feel himself shaking. He had hardly spoken to anyone about this, least of all thirty eagerly listening classmates. "Voldemort killed him and you know it."

Professor Umbridge's face was quite blank. For a moment, Harry thought she was going to scream at him. Then she said, in her softest, most sweetly girlish voice, "Come here, Mr Potter, dear."

He kicked his chair aside, strode around Ron and Hermione and up to the teacher's desk. He could feel the rest of the class holding its breath. He felt so angry he did not care what happened next.


3rdSeptember 1995, 16:55

At five to five Harry bade Ron, Hermione and Ginny goodbye and set off for Umbridge's office on the third floor. When he knocked on the door she called, "Come in," in a sugary voice. He entered cautiously, looking around.

He had known this office under three of its previous occupants.

In the days when Gilderoy Lockhart had lived here it had been plastered in beaming portraits of himself. When Lupin had occupied it, it was likely you would meet some fascinating Dark creature in a cage or tank if you came to call. In the impostor Moody's days it had been packed with various instruments and artefacts for the detection of wrongdoing and concealment.

Now, however, it looked totally unrecognisable. The surfaces had all been draped in lacy covers and cloths. There were several vases full of dried flowers, each one residing on its own doily, and on one of the walls was a collection of ornamental plates, each decorated with a large technicolour kitten wearing a different bow around its neck. These were so foul that Harry stared at them, transfixed, until Professor Umbridge spoke again.

"Good evening, Mr Potter."

Harry started and looked around. He had not noticed her at first because she was wearing a luridly flowered set of robes that blended only too well with the tablecloth on the desk behind her.

"Evening, Professor Umbridge," Harry said stiffly.

"Well, sit down," she said, pointing towards a small table draped in lace beside which she had drawn up a straight-backed chair. A piece of blank parchment lay on the table, apparently waiting for him.

"Err," said Harry, without moving. "Professor Umbridge. Err - before we start, I - I wanted to ask you a... a favour."

Her bulging eyes narrowed.

"Oh, yes?"

"Well, I'm... I'm in the Gryffindor Quidditch team. And I was supposed to be at the tryouts for the new Keeper at five o'clock on Friday and I was - was wondering whether I could skip detention that night and do it - do it another night... instead..."

He knew long before he reached the end of his sentence that it was no good.

"Oh, no," said Umbridge, smiling so widely that she looked as though she had just swallowed a particularly juicy fly. "Oh, no, no, no. This is your punishment for spreading evil, nasty, attention-seeking stories, Mr Potter, and punishments certainly cannot be adjusted to suit the guilty one's convenience. No, you will come here at five o'clock tomorrow, and the next day, and on Friday too, and you will do your detentions as planned. I think it rather a good thing that you are missing something you really want to do. It ought to reinforce the lesson I am trying to teach you."

Harry felt the blood surge to his head and heard a thumping noise in his ears. So he told 'evil, nasty, attention-seeking stories', did he?

She was watching him with her head slightly to one side, still smiling widely, as though she knew exactly what he was thinking and was waiting to see whether he would start shouting again. With a massive effort, Harry looked away from her, dropped his schoolbag beside the straight-backed chair and sat down.

"There," said Umbridge sweetly, "we're getting better at controlling our temper already, aren't we? Now, you are going to be doing some lines for me, Mr Potter. No, not with your quill," she added, as Harry bent down to open his bag. "You're going to be using a rather special one of mine. Here you are."

She handed him a long, thin black quill with an unusually sharp point.

"I want you to write, I must not tell lies," she told him softly.

"How many times?" Harry asked, with a creditable imitation of politeness.

"Oh, as long as it takes for the message to sink in," said Umbridge sweetly. "Off you go."

She moved over to her desk, sat down and bent over a stack of parchment that looked like essays for marking. Harry raised the sharp black quill, then realised what was missing.

"You haven't given me any ink," he said.

"Oh, you won't need ink," said Professor Umbridge, with the merest suggestion of a laugh in her voice.

Harry placed the point of the quill on the paper and wrote: I must not tell lies.

He let out a gasp of pain. The words had appeared on the parchment in what appeared to be shining red ink. At the same time, the words had appeared on the back of Harry's right hand, cut into his skin as though traced there by a scalpel - yet even as he stared at the shining cut, the skin healed over again, leaving the place where it had been slightly redder than before but quite smooth.

Harry looked round at Umbridge. She was watching him, her wide, toadlike mouth stretched in a smile.


"Nothing," said Harry quietly.

He looked back at the parchment, placed the quill on it once more, wrote I must not tell lies, and felt the searing pain on the back of his hand for a second time; once again, the words had been cut into his skin; once again, they healed over seconds later.

And on it went. Again and again Harry wrote the words on the parchment in what he soon came to realise was not ink, but his own blood. And, again and again, the words were cut into the back of his hand, healed, and reappeared the next time he set quill to parchment.

Darkness fell outside Umbridge's window. Harry did not ask when he would be allowed to stop. He did not even check his watch. He knew she was watching him for signs of weakness and he was not going to show any, not even if he had to sit there all night, cutting open his own hand with this quill...

Harry looked at Umbridge again, sipping her tea. She seemed to be desperate for it, as if she constantly needed fluid. She began to cough and splutter and Harry, despite not truly caring, stood up to check she was alright. "Potter!" she rasped and then began to shake. Harry stared at her in horror. He didn't know what to do.

"I-" Harry started, but then Umbridge stopped moving, stopped breathing. Harry touched her neck to find out if she had a pulse. He couldn't find it. She was dead. Harry stood back, shaking himself now. He tipped the tea cup towards him to see if there was any left. There wasn't. She'd drunk it all. Probably poison. Harry's fingers brushed the top of the sugar bowl. Maybe it was in there.

"Shit," he whispered. This hadn't been him, but Fudge was very against him. He had to go, quickly. Fudge would do anything to make sure Harry, the man who 'lied' about Voldemort, was put in prison.

Harry picked up his backpack and slung it over his back. Slipping out of the classroom, Harry immediately bumped into Ginny. "Harry!" she exclaimed. "They're here! The Minister and the head auror," Ginny told him.

"But how did they know?" Harry said, horror-struck that they were already here. Did they have cameras in Umbridge's office?

"Bridget, she owled them," Ginny told him, swallowing obviously.

"But… how did she know?"

"Harry!" Ginny exclaimed, shocked. "She shouted it out in the common room! What's wrong with you?"

"They're here for you?" Harry asked incredulously. "For opening the chamber? But, Ginny, you'll get life in Azkaban!"

"Who did you think they were here for?" Ginny asked angrily.

Harry looked around himself. "Umbridge is dead. She's just died. In my detention, Gin, she just dropped dead!"

"Maybe I won't be alone in Azkaban," Ginny laughed bitterly.

"She was drinking her tea and she wouldn't stop and then, when she did, she was coughing and spluttering and shaking and then she just died," Harry tried to explain. "We have to go, Ginny," Harry pleaded with her. "We can't go to Azkaban. It would kill us and we have a fight. Voldemort needs to die; he needs to suffer, but we have a bigger chance of helping with that if we can get away-"

"Let's go, then," Ginny agreed. "I saw Fudge and the head auror go into Dumbledore's office about ten minutes ago, so we can go and get some things. We need to be quick and we can't talk to anybody."

It was quite easy for Harry and Ginny to sneak down to the Gryffindor common room, since Harry had the Marauders' Map with him, just in case the detention had finished late. He hadn't trusted Umbridge to give him a note so that Filch wouldn't give him a detention.

When they got into the corridor where the Fat Lady's portrait was, they heard Minister Fudge's voice on the overhead speaker, very rarely used at Hogwarts.

"Students of Hogwarts, this is the Minister of Magic for Great Britain and Ireland talking to you. I arrived at the school today looking for a girl, a criminal, who opened the Chamber of Secrets and let a basilisk loose on many muggleborn students, petrifying them. This girl also conspired with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, or who she thought was the Dark Lord. In the ministry's opinion, this makes her nothing more than a Death Eater. The name of this girl is Ginevra Weasley, a fourth year Gryffindor.

"Now, since I have arrived at this school today, I have found Professor Umbridge dead, during the time she was supposedly in a detention with none other than Harry Potter. We at the ministry have issued a warrant for the arrest of Potter for the murder of Professor Umbridge.

"When they are found, Harry Potter and Ginevra Weasley will be facing life in Azkaban. I ask you to help me in the endeavour to find these criminals."

Any recognisable excerpts are from Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, by J.K. Rowling.

Any recognisable characters, places, etc. are J.K. Rowling's. I'm just playing in her sandpit.