Chapter X

The next weeks passed them by like a hurricane. Newspapers and letters arrived by owl every almost by the hour. While the full record of the trial want made public, a few details found their way into the press. Those few details were enough to keep the wizarding world entertained for weeks.

The reporters who were present at the trial described the event as hectic. The courtroom was of course packed to the rafters with reporters, stenographers and spectators, but somehow no one remembered a thing passed when Sheraldov had addressed the court. This was when he had declared that the court shall decide, meaning that the full account of the argument between Harry and Sheraldov was recorded, but not made public.

Harry recalled vividly that the second the Wyrd was called upon, no one could bear the magic in the room, and he suspected through obvious reasons that none of them remembered what happened until the ruling was made and the magic and the presence of the þing had faded. However, there was still the matter of the stenotypes, magically enchanted to record everything with sparse human intervention. This was a critical detail to all of them, because no one seemed to have a clue about the þing. Everyone seemed to guess what Percy had guessed, that the room was bewitched to assist the judges with ancient and obscure magic, but nothing more.

How Sheraldov had managed to keep the þing a secret, and the press quiet-even quieter than when Fudge had the say, was still a mystery. Mr. Weasley believed that by keeping the journalists 'fed' with the testimony of Harry and with their argument, he had managed to keep them busy and satisfied.

Neither the press nor the Ministry seemed to have caught wind of the late-night meeting between Harry and Lucius Malfoy. Nor did they have any inkling of the ongoing transfer of the Black vaults to Harry's ownership, which was still a small comfort.

Several days after the trial, the usual angry owl from the Daily Prophet arrived with the headline: "I remain untouched by your sentiments!" featuring a large picture of Sheraldov at the courtroom, looking stern and unyielding, looking down his nose just as he did at Harry. While Harry remembered those words to be slightly different, the headline was close enough and it definitely captured the essence of Sheraldov's attitude. The article below the picture was essentially a love letter to Sheraldov. It quoted several other lines from his speech in bold letters, and praised his courage and, firm stance against the 'animals that threaten our society'.

The issue after that quoted several lines from Harry's testimony, and the article was polite and mostly neutral, although it insinuated that Harry could have got the Malfoy's a conviction if he had wanted to. It tried to criticize holding Harry with such high regard, while on the other hand praising him for his heroism and honesty. The article ended with a quote from an anonymous source at the Ministry, who said that Harry had been dutiful and honest, and that he had done what was expected of any citizen who wanted to be a part of the new world they were building.

"New World, is just another way to say dictatorship!" Hermione snapped as she read the article to them. This was at this point a long-standing tradition to listen to Hermione read the headlines and, the worthwhile articles to them. Harry always thought that hearing the rubbish from the friendly and familiar voice of Hermione made it easier to bear and, it was always somewhat amusing to watch her reactions of indignation.

The prophet stretched the news about the trail over several issues, and Harry was sure that they will drag it as long as they can. The most recent issue had a large picture of Harry with his hair blowing back in the wind, looking stern and determined, with an unwavering gaze at the readers. The headline read "The claws of your blind justice shall crush your spine!".

Harry Potter, the hero we have loved and admired for the past decade, has always been a symbol of fighting evil, doing what is right and standing up for the weak. But Potter has also been known as someone with little regard for rules and authority. His teachers and the previous ministers who have had to deal with him attest that Potter is a dissident anarchist. Brought up almost architecturally by Dumbledore, Potter was raised to be a maverick and to end up as a renegade of this society.

"The death of Albus Dumbledore has been the best thing to ever happen to that boy, and oh he's such a sweet boy if not twisted by tragedies!" Said Dolores Umbridge, one of Hogwarts previous steamed professors. "Once the old spider was gone, Potter was free to be himself, and we know that it was only then he defeated the dark lord."

Encouraged and enlivened by his victory over Voldemort, and having defeated death twice, has given Potter a sense of invincibility and a god complex. Potter has always been known to be reckless and impulsive, but now he seems to have taken it to a whole new level.

"I DON'T HAVE A GOD COMPLEX!" Harry shouted at the newspaper which made Hermione jump behind it.

"I know Harry, but are these accusations anything new really?" She said softly.

"This rubbish sounds like Rita, I'm telling you!" Said Ron.

"Because it is! Look at the name." She turned the newspaper towards them and tapped her finger at a spot that read "By Atir Reteesky". "It's an anagram of Rita Skeeter!" She said matter-of-factly. "Since when in Merlin's name is Atir a name?"

"What is she pretending to be Indian now?" Chuckled Ron.

"Yea I bet she'd even do the accent and everything!" Said Harry irritably. "But keep reading, we can deal with her later."

"Do you really-" Began Hermione.

"Yes, I need to know!" Harry cut her off.

"Fine!"

However my sources reveal that Potter's luck against avadakedavra might be running out. Potter has confirmed this himself. At the trial, when he was defending Narcissa Malfoy with all his might, he pointed out that would not have survived a third avadakedavra from Voldemort. Although Potter, having been raised at the hem of Albus Dumbledore, has learned the art of playing with words, and he carefully phrased it as "there is a possibility that may not have survived..." leaving us pondering whether he is invincible or not.

This time Potter might have met his match. The current minister for magic, Mr. Sheraldov, an esteemed ex-unspeakable and a magically powerful wizard, knows all the tricks of the trade. Sheraldov has been known to be a strict enforcer of the law, and he is perhaps one of the very few remaining wizards who have mastered the so called 'way of the voice'. For those of you who are not familiar with this ancient and obscure magic, the way of the voice is an art that allows a wizard to command others to do his bidding, without the use of a wand. It is said that this art was used by the ancient kings of old to command their subjects, and it can even be practiced by muggles, since the way of the voice doesn't rely on magic, but on the essence of all man kind and the power of the words that we have in common. The only other known masters of this art are the centaurs of the forbidden forest, who are said to be able to command even the most stubborn of creatures. Albus Dumbledore, if not a master, had sufficient knowledge of this art.

Sheraldov's mastery of this art was on full display at the trial, when he silenced the courtroom with a single word. It is this very unique skill that allows him to be a superb judge and enforcer of the law. He cannot be swayed by emotions or feelings, and he is able to see through the lies and deceit of even the most cunning of wizards. It is this very skill that makes him a formidable opponent for Potter, who has always relied on his sad storied to get away with things.

It seems that Potter will do anything in his power to oppose established power, and this time he has gone on to defend death-eaters, rapists and murderers by claiming that punishing them makes us as bad as them! "Potter claims that punishing Death Eaters makes us no better than them." sneered a high-ranking Ministry official, speaking on condition of anonymity. "But what he really means is that he should decide who lives and who rots. He's not a hero, he's a dictator in the making."

Potter's stance, while noble on the surface, has left many questioning the line between heroism and recklessness. By defending those universally condemned, he risks alienating the very public that once celebrated him. Critics argue that his moral absolutism could blind him to practical realities, and that even a wizard of his experience might not withstand the consequences.

"That's enough!" Said Ron. "It's just the usual rubbish! I'm getting sick of it!"

"The way of the voice..." Whispered Hermione.

Harry got up and started walking around the kitchen. It wasn't anything new. After months of receiving hate letters, and a lifetime of being scrutinized and vilified by the press, he had learned to ignore it. He wasn't nearly as affected by it as Hermione and Ron were. The bit about the god complex was new, and so was him being a 'dissident anarchist and a maverick renegade of society', but it was all just the usual rubbish. The bit about the way of the voice was interesting, and it made him uneasy. He had never heard of it before.

"What is this way of the voice?" He asked Hermione.

"I don't know... I haven't heard about it... I can go through some books..."

"Or we can just ask the old geezer." Said Ron. "He is ancient, and so is this thing."

"Yea, good idea." Said Harry. "Let's go downstairs!" He said and moved towards the stairs. Hermione seemed hesitant and remained seated. "Come one Hermione, no one is doubting your skills at going through books... You're still our number one source for that..." Harry said jokingly.

"Oh don't be silly..." She said and got up, but she looked satisfied all the same.

Not more than a few seconds later, they were all standing in front of the portrait of Phinius Nigellus Black. He looked at them with his usual bored expression.

"What?" He snarled.

"What is the way of the voice?" Asked Harry bluntly, no time for formalities.

"I'm fine thank you very much... I've just been living in my prison... Nice of you to ask..." He said sarcastically.

"You don't care about manners, remember?" Said Ron.

"Oh right... Well, the sooner I answer you the sooner you will leave me alone..." He said. "But why?"

"Why?" Asked Harry.

"Why do you ask about such an obscure thing? Do you wish to persuade some ladies? Or perhaps command this one to do your bidding?" he said, his painted eyes glinting toward Hermione.

"What is wrong with you?" Hermione snapped.

"Wrong? Oh, nothing at all." Phineas replied airily. "Except being trapped in this frame for over a year with no company but you three. Forgive me if boredom has eroded my manners."

"You never had any to begin with." Ron muttered.

"Touché." said Phineas, giving a slow, sardonic bow. "Still, if I must tolerate your presence, let's not waste it. You came here to ask, not to scold, yes?"

"I have no intention of persuading any ladies." Harry said sharply, raising a hand to stop Ron from cutting in. "And 'this one' is my friend. Don't be vulgar, Phineas."

"Fine..." Said Phineas without a care.

"Phinius, I will release you from the bind that holds you here, but you shall never return to this frame again..." Said Harry.

"You will deny me entry to my own house?" Said Phinius in a low disdainful voice.

"Yes! If you insult my friends, and suggest that I wish to force my friend to do 'my bidding', that is way out of bound!" Harry said, matching his low, threatening and disdainful tone.

"I didn't mean it like that!" Said Phinius, rolling his eyes. "I meant, have her find you some woman! Since you clearly cannot!"

"He very well-" Began Hermione, but Harry lifted a hand to stop her as well.

"Yea right! That's what you meant!" Said Ron.

"I did!" Said Phinius placidly. "But I see that you are determined to be offended... Very well." He switched to Hermione. "My apologies, Miss Granger. I meant no offence. One forgets that modern wizards bruise easily. But truly, it was a jest..."

"Apology accepted." said Hermione flatly.

"So what's it going to be?" Asked Harry.

"I remain at my house!" Said Phinius.

"Then answer me!" Said Harry

Phineas sighed, "You two." he gestured lazily at Ron and Hermione, "would be hopeless at such an art. But you, Potter... you might manage it. The rest of you wear your hearts on your sleeves, but he hides his well."

"Enough with the flattery." Harry said, unimpressed.

"It wasn't flattery." Phineas said evenly. "What exactly do you want to know?"

"We want to know what it is." Hermione said.

"The Way of the Voice..." Phineas leaned back in his frame, eyes narrowing. "It's when a person can command others without shouting, begging, or threatening. They use tone, rhythm, intent... and people obey. Not because they must, but because they believe they want to. That's mastery of the Voice."

"That's it?" Hermione asked.

"That's it." Phineas said. "But mastering it takes years. It's not merely charm or rhetoric, it's knowing precisely which words to use, when to use them, and how to make your will sound like their own idea. You can't force anyone to act against their nature, only nudge what already exists inside them."

"So it's just persuasion." Hermione said, sceptical.

"Just persuasion?" Phineas gave a dry laugh. "My dear girl, persuasion rules empires. Ask any politician, or corpse of one. The art of words is the oldest magic there is, and still the most dangerous."

They exchanged uncertain glances. The article had made it sound like something greater, something mystical. But if it was only persuasion, it hardly seemed worth all the mystery. Sheraldov might have been gifted at convincing people, but so were many others. Dumbledore had been a master of it. So had Voldemort. Even Harry, at times, had learned to wield words like weapons.

"The article made it sound like it was something to behold..." said Harry.

"What article?" asked Phineas.

"This one..." said Harry, summoning the newspaper from the kitchen. It floated before the portrait, rustling faintly.

Phineas read swiftly, his painted eyes darting back and forth. "Ah... they don't seem very fond of you, do they, Potter?" he said finally.

"Not lately." said Harry.

"This changes things." Phineas murmured, twisting his goatee in thought. "If this Indian fellow is right..."

"It's just Rita Skeeter." said Hermione. "The name's an anagram."

"Rita Skeeter..." said Phineas, his lip curling faintly. "I remember Albus never had much patience for her. In any case, if she wrote this drivel, then she's more lost than usual. The art she describes isn't called the Way of the Voice at all. Its true name is the Way of the Word, and yes, it relies heavily on magic. It isn't something a Muggle could ever master. It demands deep knowledge of ancient magic, runes, old languages and their rhythms, and, most of all, a profound understanding of human nature. The centaurs' craft you might compare it to is called Theriomancy, but that's more about communion than command."

He paused, his painted eyes turning grave. "The Way of the Voice is a crude imitation of the Way of the Word, a bastardized form used by charlatans and flatterers. And, as history tells it, it preyed mostly upon the weak-minded and the vain, women, most often."

"That's really sexist." said Hermione sharply.

"I didn't say I endorsed it." said Phineas. "Only that's how it was practiced. The Way of the Word came from the East. The mages of Persia and Babylon were said to command creation itself through speech. But that art is lost. Babylonian magic has vanished from our records. Perhaps fragments remain in Persian, in their poetry, in their songs, but I never learned the language. If the knowledge still exists, it sleeps between verses written thousands of years ago. Unless one of you plans to learn Persian and sift through a mountain of ancient verse, I doubt you'll find much more."

"Great." said Hermione. "Yet another dead end."

"How's that any different from wandless magic?" asked Ron.

"It is wandless magic." said Phineas, suddenly animated. "At its purest form, not spells or gestures, but the power of thought bound in human speech!"

"You think Sheraldov knows Persian, then?" asked Harry.

"Possibly..." said Phineas. "Didn't your father mention he vanished in the East some years ago?"

"Yeah, he went looking for some artefact." Hermione answered for him.

"Perhaps not an artefact." said Ron, his eyes lighting up, "but a book!"

"That is very possible." said Phineas. "Still, I doubt Sheraldov has truly mastered the art. No one has, not for centuries..." His tone drifted into thought.

There was a pause before he spoke again. "The portrait of Everard is painted with his study and bookshelves behind him, and he has access to several others in important wizarding institutions. If you release me, I could speak with him. He might lend me some volumes."

"We'll think about it." said Harry. "Thanks, Phineas."

As they turned to leave, Phineas called out, "When will you perform the Trinity Charm, girl?"

"Soon." said Hermione. "Mr. Weasley's bringing the ingredients tomorrow."

"Good." said Phineas approvingly. "Come down here to practice. I'll guide you."

"Sure." Hermione said with a faint smile. "Once we have the ingredients."

---

They did not discuss the Way of the Word any further. It was interesting, yes, but useless to them for now, it was just another mystery buried too deep to unearth. They had more pressing problems. The Trinity Charm was one.

The Ministry had just passed a transparency bill, which made it legal for journalists to use any means necessary to obtain information, polyjuice, disguises, even being an unregistered Animagus. That meant a full-fledged return of Rita Skeeter, this time under her own name.

Hermione believed it was only a matter of time before the Ministry extended these laws to permit state surveillance. That was why she spent hours each day practicing the charm under Phineas's supervision. It wasn't far-fetched, she argued, to think they might expand the bill to include magic deemed prohibited. Phineas assured her that she could begin practicing without ingredients.

The second problem was the transfer of the Black vaults. The goblins were slow but cooperative. They'd kept both the Ministry and the press out of it, but at a price. They demanded a hefty fee and refused to negotiate. They also required Harry to sign a contract absolving them of all liability for loss or damage during the transfer, and to appear in person at Gringotts to approve the process and discuss compensation for the destruction caused during his dragon-assisted escape.

They carefully avoided mentioning that they had robbed an ancient vault by impersonating its owner, used the Imperius Curse, and gotten several goblins killed. Goblins were not forgiving creatures, and Harry knew returning to Gringotts was practically suicide. But there was little to be done.

Phineas suggested hiring a banker from another establishment to oversee the process and transfer the vaults elsewhere, an idea Mr. Weasley supported. They had contacted a few banks, but none were willing to cross the goblins.

With the transfer stalled and the Trinity Charm still unfinished, their days dragged. Mr. Weasley visited every few days with rare ingredients. Hermione lived in the basement, absorbed in practice. Ron and Harry filled their time with reading, chess, and dueling.

The press kept up its circus act-"Hero or anarchist?"-and with Rita back, they had no intention of stopping. They even had to ward the house against insects to keep her from sneaking in as a beetle.

One afternoon, an owl arrived from McGonagall. She expected them to sit their exams during the Christmas holidays to avoid press attention. She added, with cautious optimism, that "considering everything," she hoped they were well.

Harry sighed. Exams were the last thing on his mind. Before the trial, he had dreamed of resuming a normal life. Normal, once the Trinity confirmed that he was. Then he would finish school with Ron and Hermione, find a job, and sort things out with Ginny. But nothing about his life had ever been normal. He was marked at birth, and though the mark had faded, its shadow lingered. He hadn't spoken much about his doubts concerning his soul.

He'd been thinking about them since the trial. While reading one of the books Phineas had assigned, he found a passage describing the þing: the drowsiness, the amnesia, the blankness. Only a few could withstand it, it said, those with souls of great darkness, great depth, or great destructive potential. Weak souls crumbled under its weight. The þing had no mercy for the weak.

Harry had felt that crushing weight and somehow endured. Maybe it was stubbornness. Maybe defiance. He'd watched Draco collapse under it, seen Lucius crumble once the spell lifted. Only Sheraldov had stood unscathed, even shouting at the þing itself. Was it because of his mastery of the Way of the Word, or because his soul was utterly dark?

Either way, they were sinking deeper into the web of ancient magic, soul magic and word magic. The Trinity Charm, Hermione pointed out, was built on the same foundations.

"There!" she said one evening, slamming a book onto the kitchen table. "It keeps coming up!" She traced a passage with her finger. "Mastery of the word..." Then another. "The words are what sing to the soul..." And another. "The words, woven into the soul as they are, and the soul woven into the languages of man..." She looked up at them. "It doesn't say 'Way of the Word' outright, but it's everywhere. The Trinity Charm, and maybe all soul magic, is built on it."

"What does it mean though? Like for us?" Asked Ron

"It means that we need to be very careful with our words..." Said Hermione. "The words we use, the tone we use them in, the intent behind them... All of it matters..." She paused. "One of the other books that Phinius assigned to me, describes the word/soul relationship as a bow to a string..." She imitated the playing of a cello in the air. "The bow is the word, and the string is the soul... The bow makes the string sing... Just as words lift the soul..."

"That's poetic..." Said Ron.

"Exactly!" Said Hermione, slamming the book shut, which made a whist of dust shoot into Harry's face. "And that's why-" She punctuated her words with smacks on Harry's back as he coughed. "-It - is all - written - in poetry!" She finished as Harry finally drew breath.

"Great..." Said Ron with a look at a red faced Harry. "Now we have to become poets too..."

"Dumbledore always said that music is the highest form of magic..." Said Harry with a coarse voice, speaking for the first time. "I don't remember having heard him say the same thing about words, or poetry, but somehow I'm sure that he would..."

"yea well Dumbledore was a nut case..." Said Ron. "I bet he would tell us that knitting is a high form of magic too..."

"But what does it all mean for us Hermione? I mean during the ritual, we just have to rehearse our words beforehand, or like, be honest?" Asked Harry.

"I- I'm not 100% sure... Remember I told you that during the ritual there is a stage where you'll have to let me in?"

"Yea..." Said Harry.

"Well, that's the part where it comes into play..." She said. "You see, your soul wouldn't really like intrusion... So I'll have to appeal to it... And you have to be honest and sincere about wanting to let me in... Trusting the observer-me in this case- is very important..." She paused, and look at him hesitantly. "You do trust me, right?" She asked softly.

"Of course I do Hermione, with my life..." He said firmly.

"Thank you..." She said, with a smile. "And its good, because if you don't, or if you have a shred of doubt, the ritual will fail..."

"I trust you more than my own eyes Hermione..." Said Harry, reassuring her.

"Now that's poetic! Maybe you should learn Persian too!" Said Ron with a chuckle. "Actually this is great!"

"How come?" Asked Hermione, and Harry both.

"Well you've been worried about the ritual, and the 'feeling' aspects of this sort of magic Hermione... And now it turns out, that you don't have to feel your way around the magic at all, you have to word it!" Ron explained excitedly. "And though I think your feeling skills are fine, you are definitely not lacking anything when it comes to words!" He finished with a grin.

"I hope you're right..." Said Hermione thoughtfully, but with a weak smile nonetheless.