Percival Clearwater, the Minister of Magic, entered near the stage with an air of self-importance. His side-parted hair was now aggressively slicked, and his robes were spectacularly staid, lacking any warmth or flair. He saved that for his entrance. 

With much fanfare, Percival ascended the steps to the garishly decorated stage. No one looked particularly pleased to be there, and the crowd's chatter only grew as he took his place at the podium and his personal harp melody ceased.

"Order. Order, I said," Percival demanded in a serious voice. "You really are a most disappointing bunch. Do I have to conjure silence?"

With a sharp flick of his wand, a sudden, total hush fell over the room. Everything became instantly still. He swiped his wand a second time to return their voices.

"Welcome to this Extraordinary General Meeting," he continued, sounding unnaturally posh. "I'm pleased so many of you could make it."

There was some polite, albeit tepid and slightly oppressed, applause.

"It's been twenty-one years since we defeated Voldemort at the Battle of Hogwarts. The wizarding world has been living in relative peace."

From somewhere unseen, George Weasley's robust voice rang out. "You say we've been living in relative peace, but I have it on good authority that your relatives still think you're a prat. Care to respond?"

Chortles rippled through the crowd. Percival knew George was about to cause trouble. He kept his composure but braced himself for the worst.

"I've got some things to say—I ask that we deal with questions—and there will be a lot of questions—after I speak," the Minister pressed on.

George's voice was closer this time, dripping with sarcasm. "Questions like, why must we wait so long for this prat if he refuses to say something even the tiniest bit interesting?"

Percival tried desperately to maintain a ministerial tone. "As many of you know—and I'm delighted to say—there is a new generation being brought up having known only the slightest conflict. As I previously stated... the wizarding world has been living in relative peace..."

He gave them a severe and worrisome look, clearly building up to a dramatic revelation.

"...until now."

George appeared beside Ron and Hermione, wearing a bright purple trilby hat and brandishing a ludicrously tall feather quill. With exaggerated panache, he announced, "Mister Minister—George Weasley from the Weasley Register. It's been nigh on twenty-two years since the well-known Battle of the Seven Potters, where one George Weasley—no relation—lost a once remarkable ear. There's some buzz going round that this young man's cursed appendage may have sprouted its own body. Your opinion?"

There was giggling throughout the room.

"You do know... the ear was never recovered after the battle," George added with mock seriousness.

"There will be silence from the crowd. No more questions!" Percival demanded, visibly rattled.

"Follow-up question," George continued unabated. "We have insider information that the mislaid ear once belonged to a twin. Ears do come in pairs, after all."

Percival was visibly shaken now, his temper fraying. "George! Stop it! This is serious business! I am very important now, and I will not allow you to reduce my authority—"

"Would you be opposed to naming the reconstituted man? And, if so, might I suggest something Fred-like?" George quipped.

"Fine thing, bringing him up," Percival snapped. "You, out of us all, should grasp the ramifications of what I have yet to say." Turning back to the masses, he declared, "Death is upon us. We are on the brink of war!"

Doubts and inaudible questions rumbled through the room. Percival took a deep breath, attempting to regain control.

"I come with the gravest of news. I had hoped that my time as Minister would be nothing but peaceful, but it seems as though the terrorists we bravely overthrew at the Battle of Hogwarts have been reassembling for years. And now we know why. In fact, technically I'm endangering our entire operation... which is not... well, I'm not a natural risk-taker, as you know."

Uncertainties escalated among the crowd. Harry looked confused, exchanging glances with Hermione and Ron. Percival opened his arms wide, trying to corral their curiosity.

"The past has come back to haunt us. No one is safe, Muggle-born or pure-blood. As your dutiful Minister of Magic, I will not hide the truth from the wizarding community, no matter how terrifying it would be, no matter how much the truth will inevitably lead to the deaths of those we hold most dear."

An unknown wizard shouted, "Get on with it!"

"I'm through listening to this drivel," an unknown witch declared.

Some attendees began turning toward the exits.

"What we've been told for half our lives is that a certain evil has been vanquished. That—was—a lie!" Percival exclaimed. "A witness has come forward, confirming our worst fears. And I want answers!"

"You heard it here first. He's a prat," George interjected with a smile. Laughter followed with the rumblings of disappointed Ministry workers.

"I assure you, if anyone interrupts me again—" Percival threatened.

More people were turning away from the podium. Desperate, Percival put his wand to his throat, amplifying his voice.

"You-Know-Who has returned!"

There was an audible gasp. George removed his trilby hat, looking genuinely confused. Silence was followed by immediate chaos. Panic erupted, instant and infectious.

"No!" cried one wizard.

"How is that even possible?!" shouted another.

"The Daily Prophet was right!" exclaimed a witch.

"Voldemort is alive?" someone gasped.

"He can't be... he was killed!" insisted another.

Percival attempted to soothe them, but just enough so they could hear him speak, "Calm yourselves."

"Why now?" questioned a witch.

"This makes no sense," added another.

Percival, now in his element amid the chaos, continued his terrible announcement.

"I have recently learned that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named discovered a way to cheat death by splitting his very soul through the use of Dark wizardry. I understand that this is difficult for you to believe! But there is one truth we can't escape: He has been seen. He has returned."

Slowly, the anxious crowd was moved to a place of fixed attention.

"Here to explain to all of us how this was possible, and what actions or inactions led to this complete and utter failure — Harry Potter."

Harry's face fell as all eyes turned toward him.

"What?" he murmured to himself.

He scanned the faces around the room, from Hermione's distressed expression to Delphi's puzzled curiosity. The two of them moved closer, speaking in frantic whispers.

"Is this possible?" Delphi asked urgently.

"No. Of course not," Harry replied firmly.

"They're waiting. You need to say something," Hermione urged.

"After that display?" Harry hesitated.

Delphi looked at him intently. "They trust you, Harry. Just... tell them what you know."