The real question was how to render it into Parseltongue. Snakes didn't have ears, at least not visible ones, and Harry didn't have Sals to ask; he'd left her back in Devon.
Still, she must have ears of some sort, since she could definitely hear him.
Actually, mirror might be the more bothersome term . . .
Hit or miss, Harry thought. All he could do was try a few versions of the incantation and see what happened. He was pretty well used to that, after all the time he'd spent working on his spell lexicon, recently.
Taking up the stance shown in the book, Harry stretched out his fingers, aiming them at the mirror, and swept his arm in the wide, swirling arc he'd practiced a few moments earlier. Then, carefully glancing at the snake etched into his glasses lens, Harry tried to speak.
"Stretch out along the ground and feel, hard grey looking-back at me . . ."
Well, that was kind of interesting.
Harry tried a few variations, but hear kept coming out as feel. Maybe that was how snakes perceived sound, through vibrations that were more like feeling than hearing? Harry wasn't sure.
He did know that the mirror wasn't reacting in the slightest. The surface of it was supposed to shimmer and look more liquid if the mirror was struggling to develop some capacity to hear him.
Sighing, Harry sat down on the toilet lid and read the instructions for the incantation again.
One must apply the charm using full and complete faculties of mind directed toward the mirror . . .
Harry set the book aside and tried again, this time making sure not to think about the vague noises he could hear drifting in from the party. He concentrated fully on the mirror, willing it to wake up and listen to him, but it remained as deaf as before.
Which could only mean that his incantation was off somehow, right?
When the answer came to him, Harry almost slapped a palm against his forehead. Full faculties of mind . . . he wasn't using that. He never did, these days, since part of his mental energy was always directed toward maintaining his Occlumency. There were walls of fire guarding his mind, every minute of every day.
The practice of Occluding his thoughts had become so second-nature that Harry could go days or weeks, now, without really even being aware that he was doing it. The mental discipline was just part of him now, like breathing.
But he could drop it when he needed to.
Anxious to see if his incantation actually was correct, Harry focussed his energy inward, and felt the fire flickering, dying, burning down to embers and then vanishing completely.
Standing up once more, Harry grabbed the mirror in his left hand and held it at arm's length. The book hadn't said that the wizard should be holding the mirror, but Harry thought it might help to be physically connected to it as he tried to establish a mental connection. Raising his hand and readied himself to begin the incantation.
The needed words never passed his lips, though. Instead, words began resounding deep inside his mind, the voice one he recognised from his nightmares.
Harry Potter, it whispered, a malevolent hiss that seemed to expand until it filled the inside of his skull, pressing into every crevice, then expanding still more, making his temples ache.
Voldemort, Harry thought, horrified, so shocked that he dropped the mirror.
It shattered against the bathroom floor, breaking into a thousand tiny jagged fragments.
Why, yes, the voice answered, oozing through his mind like slow-moving poison. And it's your special day, isn't it, Harry Potter? I've a present for you . . . Happy birthday, Harry . . .
Gritting his teeth, Harry yanked his wall of fire back into place. He knew better than to chat with Voldemort inside his mind!
He also knew better than to keep something like this to himself.
One wandless charm and he'd banished the broken glass from the floor. Grabbing his wand, Harry yanked the bathroom door open and rushed to the backyard to find his father.
Harry looked left and right, but didn't spot Snape anywhere. Draco was standing at the far edge of the yard, though, standing and talking with Bill Weasley.
Harry broke into a run, skidding to a halt when he'd reached them. "Where's Dad?"
"He said something about wanting to talk with Mrs Weasley--"
"Mum's probably in the kitchen," said Bill, tucking his long hair behind an ear. "What's wrong, Harry?"
"Something, I don't know, something bad--" Harry grabbed Draco's hand and tugged. "Come on. You should know, too. Come talk to Dad with me."
"All right . . ."
They found Snape leaning against the doorway between the kitchen and living room.
"Oh, it's my pleasure indeed," Molly Weasley was saying, her wand whipping through the air as she sent piles of dishes sailing into the cupboards. "So nice to see him coming along so well, and--"
"Dad," Harry interrupted, "I need to talk to you. Voldemort's planning something, he told me happy birthday in the creepiest god-awful voice inside my head, and--"
Snape's brows were drawing together, his face taking on a thunderous expression, and he was opening his mouth to say something--something scathing about Occluding better, Harry figured--when another voice cut across Harry's frenzied words.
"Attention, please, your attention. We interrupt the Celestina Warbeck hour with an urgent announcement," said a high, scratchy voice on the wizarding wireless, the noise streaming in through the open kitchen window. "The Ministry of Magic has been . . . has been . . ."
The voice broke, and a noise something like a sob echoed across the yard and into the kitchen as everyone at the party fell silent.
Another voice, this one a smoother, deeper one, took over the broadcast. "Breaking news bulletin. A few moments ago, several massive underground explosions were reported to have occurred in the heart of London, not too far distant from the Leaky Cauldron. Though all indications would suggest that the matter is serious, we must emphasize that little is known for certain at this time--" A sound like a flurry of parchments overlaid the announcer's next words. "Correction. We have now received confirmed reports about the scale of the destruction. The Ministry of Magic has been utterly annihilated. A section of Muggle London has caved into the crater that is all that is left of the Ministry. It is not known for certain if Minister Fudge has been killed--" A gasp, and then another flurry of parchments. "Correction. It is known for certain. Minister Fudge's ghost has appeared at his ancestral family home in Dorchester. He appears deep in shock and has offered no explanation for the destruction of the Ministry. An emergency election will have to be called although with the entire Ministry destroyed, one must wonder how that will be arranged. I repeat, the Ministry of Magic has been annihilated by as-yet-unexplained underground explosions . . ."
As the announcer began to repeat his information, Harry turned to his father. The truth was there in Snape's eyes, but it slipped from Harry's lips regardless. "Voldemort."
"Oh, sweet Merlin, Percy," gasped Molly Weasley, whirling away from the window to face the doorway leading to her living room. She seemed to be looking past Snape, looking for something specific.
Harry followed her gaze to the grandfather clock in the living room, and then, his own breath caught. All the hands but one pointed at "Home," but Percy's was pointed at "Lost."
"He had to work tonight, he had to attend the Minister during month-end reports at the Ministry," babbled Molly, her face paling. "He'd have been here at the party except he had to work, he's got an important post he can't neglect, but he must have left the Ministry before the explosions, and he doesn't know quite where he is now, poor dear--"