Harry Potter and the Heart of the Hero by Jeograph
Summary: Dumbledore is gone, or is he? Harry feels the weight of the world rests on his shoulders, but he is soon to learn that his brooding nature and desire to face his fate alone may be his greatest weakness. It is his emotions, or rather his capacity for emotion that makes him strong, and his relationships his greatest source of strength.
When the summer begins and he faces a fortnight with the Dursleys everything he knows, or rather thinks he knows comes into question. Can he... should he do this all alone? And is he anywhere near ready?
Hogwarts is to be re-opened, the Ministry officially endorsing it as the safest possible place to be. As his birthday approaches there are monumental surprises in store for Harry. Who is he really? And what about his family, who came before his mother and father? Why is the Potter name so famous, and yet so unknown?
Encouraged not to run off to face his fate he returns to Hogwarts for his final year, but surprises abound at the school as well.
Can Harry become the wizard he needs to be to face the Dark Lord? Will he let the people he respects and love really help him? And what of help from unexpected sources; sources he might never trust?
Rating: PG-13
Categories: Alternate Universe, Post-HBP
Characters: None
Genres: None
Warnings: None
Challenges: None
Series: None
Published: 2013.02.19
Updated: 2023.05.12
Index
Chapter 1: Prologue - Wrath of the Dark Lord
Chapter 2: Chapter 1- Beyond Friendships & Chocolate Frogs
Chapter 3: Chapter 2 - A Little Advice
Chapter 4: Chapter 3 - Privet Perplexed
Chapter 5: Chapter 4 - Draco Displaced
Chapter 6: Chapter 5 - Life and Learning at Privet Drive
Chapter 7: Chapter 6 - Diagon Dalliance
Chapter 8: Chapter 7 - Muggle Shopping
Chapter 9: Chapter 8 - Alert and Alive
Chapter 10: Chapter 9 - Appenzeller, Gutzwiller, Lienhart & Prächt
Chapter 11: Chapter 10 - The Lock-Box
Chapter 12: Chapter 11 - The Most Noble and Honorable House of Potter
Chapter 13: Chapter 12 - Ministry Mayhem
Chapter 14: Chapter 13 - Welcome to the Jungle
Chapter 15: Chapter 14 - Hermione's Happy Place
Chapter 16: Chapter 15 - Weasleys Reunited
Chapter 17: Chapter 16 - Happy Birthday Harry
Chapter 18: Chapter 17 - The Party
Chapter 19: Chapter 18 - Shaman's Way
Chapter 20: Chapter 19 - Mayhem, Mourning and Memories
Chapter 21: Chapter 20 - The Potter Curse
Chapter 22: Chapter 21 - The Binding of Matrimony
Chapter 23: Chapter 22 - Relics
Chapter 24: Chapter 23 - Godric's Hollow
Chapter 25: Chapter 24 - A Grim Old Place
Chapter 26: Chapter 25 - Summer's End
Chapter 27: Chapter 26 - The Hallowed Halls of Hogwarts
Chapter 28: Chapter 27 - Defense Against the Dark… Lord?
Chapter 29: Chapter 28 - Hogsmeade Migration
Chapter 30: Chapter 29 - Chamber Chasing
Chapter 31: Chapter 30 - Potter's Keep
Chapter 32: Chapter 31 - Spirit Quest
Chapter 33: Chapter 32 - Wizard World War
Chapter 34: Chapter 33 - Winged Serpent
Chapter 35: Chapter 34 - Breaking and Entering
Chapter 1: Prologue - Wrath of the Dark Lord
Author's Notes: This is my version of book seven. Written out of adoration and respect for the world created by J.K. Rowling. This is my first fanfic. The Muse tapped me on the shoulder and I just don’t seem to be able to stop myself! It is my intent to stay canon through HBP, and follow the story through the seventh year, the final battle and to conclusions beyond. I hope you enjoy what I do with the characters as I try humbly to help them grow. This prologue contains a bit of violence, but we are dealing with the most vile and feared wizard to ever live... (Well in the memory of living Wizards anyway). If you are at all squeamish about acts of violence and torture I might suggest you stay clear, though I really think I’ve been fairly mild. Once you get past the prologue things will lighten up considerably. Thanks. I suppose I should state that I don’t own, or profess to own anything Harry Potter. That is all J. K. Rowling’s, and I would never claim otherwise. I would just like to express my thanks to her, for allowing so many of us to play in her garden.
Wrath of the Dark Lord
Severus Snape woke with a start and a harsh intake of stale, dank air. He hurt, not just from the hard surface he lay on, but from the horrible muscle-twisting and mentally-dimming effects of the Cruciatus Curse. It was dark around him black as pitch, and though he was sure his eyes were wide open, there was nothing before him but the void of darkness. Somewhere nearby he could hear random drips of liquid and he could smell not just the musty, damp air, but also the harsher scents of decay, and death.
He reached out along the floor, groping awkwardly for a wand he knew would not be there. He found cold hard rock beneath him, the edges of large, flat, squarely cut stones where they abutted one another. The careful fitting revealed that this was a place wrought by the hand of a thinking creature, wizard, goblin, elf, possibly even human, but he was not sure of what use that knowledge could be except to confirm that he was a prisoner. But that much he knew already.
His aching body protested as he pulled himself up to a sitting position, his legs crossed. He was a very powerful wizard, but he had never been particularly good at wandless magic. Still, he held his hand out in front of him, palm upward, and concentrated on articulating the words, Igni Lumen, in his head. There was a sharp sound like the momentary scrape of flint on steel; a small ember glowed about an inch above his palm. It lasted only an instant and it was gone.
His lungs protesting, he took a deep breath and tried to calm himself, focusing his mind.
Igni Lumen! he spat the words forcefully.
There was a crackling sound, and again an ember appeared an inch above his palm, a lightly glowing orange point in the darkness. He concentrated and a small flame grew from the ember flickering and growing like a newly lighted candle guttering in a light breeze. The flame grew larger and brighter illuminating the cell. It was a stone room about three meters square and possibly two meters tall. Each wall, the floor, and the ceiling were the same, composed of rectangular stones carefully fitted together to cover the whole space. Some of the stones were as large as a meter across and nearly as tall as the room itself. Any of these, he knew, could be the doorway.
Here and there drips fell from the ceiling and Severus thought he detected the liquid movement of millipedes across the joints of the walls, but he knew he was otherwise alone. He also knew that further exploration was futile as the cell would be magically sealed, and, wandless as he was, there would be little he could do. The light in his palm flickered away and he remained still in the darkness. He wished he could access a healing draught from his stores in his dungeon office at Hogwarts, but he recalled with sudden and terrible clarity that he could not.
He could not because all of Hogwarts and, for that matter, all of the civilized wizarding world were now his enemies, made so the instant that he had spoken the words that had taken the life of Albus Dumbledore.
That was the thing... He had done it. He had taken Dumblebore's life.
And the Dark Lord was furious.
"Draco Malfoy, whining, whimpering, worthless schoolboy!" The words hissed from the taut lips of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, the Dark Lord Voldemort.
Draco lay prostrate on the cold floor, magically bound, as the berating words poured forth from the lips of his father's master, the master he himself had longed to serve. Pain seared through him as Voldemort quite casually twisted his limbs with the Cruciatus Curse. Draco was sure he would have passed out from the agony had another curse not been keeping him conscious to experience the torment.
Draco had wanted to prove himself, to atone for his father's failure in the Ministry. He wanted to earn a Dark Mark, making him a true Death Eater, but he had failed in the last minutes of the plan when he had let doubt and uncertainty rob him of what might have been a certain victory. He was afraid... afraid then of what he would become if he killed his headmaster, the only wizard that the Dark Lord had ever seemed to fear, and afraid now of what would become of him at the hands of the most fearsome and terrible wizard to ever live.
So much pain had been inflicted upon Draco that it was now a dull ache compared to his fear. That fear gripped his throat and chest more tightly than the magical bonds that held him to the ground.
They were in a grand hall, but where that hall was exactly, Draco had no idea. In the middle of the floor where he lay was a large pentagonal stone of polished granite. Surrounding this centerpiece were darker slabs of a finer grained stone which continued outward from the center in alternating circles of color. Interwoven in the floor design was the image of a large snake, a basilisk, curling outward from the center, its head emerging from the design, becoming a raised dais directly above and in front of Draco.
Voldemort circled him moving counter clockwise while the snake, Nagini, slithered a wider circle in the opposite direction. Somewhere there were brightly burning torches casting flickering illumination and long shadows, but bound as he was, Draco could not see from where. Beyond the Dark Lord, there stood some twenty Death Eaters in a wide semi circle. "How could you fail me when I made it so easy?" spat the Dark Lord, "When Dumbledore did not defend himself with magic, but only words?"
Voldemort stopped and stared down at the whimpering boy. He kneeled low, getting down on his hands and knees, and bringing his serpentine face near Draco's. "Shall I kill you for your failure, or merely punish you for being a stupid boy; so much less than a man?"
Draco had no words to respond, his face grimaced in pain, his tongue magically plastered to the roof of his mouth to prevent his screaming.
The Dark Lord grabbed him by the hair and pulled him to his knees. Stepping back Voldemort raised his wand and pointed it at Draco's chest.
"NO!" screamed a hooded figure lunging forward from the circle of Death Eaters.
Tearing away her hood and mask as she lunged forward, Narcissa Malfoy threw herself between her tortured son and the wand of the dreaded Dark Lord. Her blonde hair and pale face shown brightly in the torch light as she thrust herself to the ground at Voldemort's feet, the straight locks of her hair splayed out from her upturned face.
"I beg you my Lord; do not kill my only son! My husband is sentenced to life in Azkaban. How am I to serve you well if you take everything from me?" Narcissa's pleading words filled the room, her voice choked with anguish and hysteria, her face covered in tears.
Voldemort stopped still, a look of fear playing across his face for a split second as this frantic woman threw herself at his feet, pleading to protect her son.
He directed his wand at Narcissa and a stream of red light arced from its tip engulfing her pale form in tendrils of light, like arcing electricity. She was lifted violently from the floor and tossed hard against one of the large stone columns that flanked the hall. She slid down the pillar collapsing limp to the floor. None moved to offer her assistance as she lay there broken, her chest heaving for breath.
"You have nothing save that which I grant you!" the Dark Lord hissed.
Voldemort again leveled his wand at Draco and the boy's lean tortured form rose up off the floor as though suspended from wrist bindings.
Voldemort spoke calmly now, all anger gone from his voice, "You shall learn the price of failing me, boy."
With a flick of his wand a pair of cat-o-nine-tails appeared in the air behind Draco. The Dark Lord smiled sadistically as each whip began in turn lashing the suspended boy. With a twist of Voldemort's wrist Draco's tongue was unbound, each lash eliciting an agonized scream. Blood dripped freely from the deep gashes spattering the granite beneath.
The Dark Lord stepped up onto the basilisk head shaped dais, and slid easily into a throne so elaborately carved that it appeared to be a mass of writhing snakes. From this vantage point he sat observing his Death Eaters as the whips performed their horrid work. Finally, after some twenty lashes each, Voldemort lightly flicked his wand and the whips disappeared.
Draco's head hung limp as his brain screamed for the release that might come through passing out. Low throaty sobs escaped him. Up again from his seat Voldemort approached Draco as he dropped slightly lower. Voldemort's outstretched left hand reached for Draco's face and he gripped it tightly. Turning it up a little he looked deeply into Draco's wide, terror filled, grey eyes.
"I must know your mind," he stated simply, flicking his wand. Voldemort's Legilimency spell was so intense it caused a rush of visible mental energies to flow from Draco's head into the Dark Lord's own, the effect blurring and obscuring Draco's terrified features.
For long seconds, Voldemort turned his head from side to side as though considering the rush of memories. He breathed halted "ahs" and slight gasps as the events, and more than that, the emotional essence of what was Draco Malfoy flooded through him.
Suddenly he broke his contact and stepped back. Voldemort breathed deeply and looked up at the boy, his eyes burning with disgust and hatred.
"Greedy, spoiled, lying, selfish, brat!" The words were venomous. "You believe that you actually deserve the wealth and station into which you were born." The Dark Lord's voice cackled dangerously as his anger rose. "You are nothing but an ignorant boy, and a coward!"
Voldemort raised his wand again, this time holding it close to Draco's forehead. A bright tendril of orange light streamed suddenly from the wand tip appearing to burn the boy's flesh. Sparks arched away as the Dark Lord slashed across Draco's face. The wand light dissipated revealing a bright yellow, ragged 'X' crossing at the bridge of Draco's nose. "Now, you have the ancient coward's mark, and I am done with you."
As the Dark Lord turned, slowly stepping up the dais toward his throne once more, Draco fell unceremoniously to the hard floor, his mother crawling painfully and desperately toward his unconscious form. Narcissa pulled Draco's limp body into her arms, sobbing.
"I am done with you both," Voldemort's voice intruded, again dripping with malice as his wand arm thrust forward. "Be gone from me."
A massive arc of violet energy struck the two broken figures like a flash of lightning. They were momentarily engulfed in dark flame and then they were gone, leaving only a scorch mark and a wisp of acrid smoke.
Please review - Thanks! NEXT
Chapter One
Beyond Friendships & Chocolate Frogs
Chapter 2: Chapter 1- Beyond Friendships & Chocolate Frogs
Author's Notes: Here begins the rethreading of events starting with relationships. Hope you enjoy!
Beyond Friendships & Chocolate Frogs
Harry sat still in the warm beams of light passing through the beveled panes of the window seat near his bed in the Gryffindor boys’ dormitory. He casually brushed a finger along the breast feathers of his owl, Hedwig, through the open door of her cage next to him. His thoughts were a whirl–too much to process, and he felt no resolve to do so.
He had been so sure of everything right after the funeral. Sure that he had to break it off with Ginny, sure that he couldn’t support the Ministry, sure that he had to go off alone to fulfill his destiny. But then Ron and Hermione had set him straight on that account. They were not about to let him go off alone, and he knew that despite his fears for them, there would be nothing he could say to dissuade them.
They had had, surprisingly, a good time together in the half hour or so after the funeral, walking around the lake, not talking about the future but reminiscing on their six years together at Hogwarts, their adventures, and their memories of Dumbledore. They even found laughter recalling memories of Seamus Finnigan’s every attempt at spell casting going explosively awry during their first year. That laughter had let loose a tidal wave of happy memories. They fell into a comfortable ease that defied the future, and afforded them a brief respite from the concerns of the world as they walked in the grass and the sunlight.
Somewhere along the way Harry had suddenly noticed that Ron and Hermione’s hands were together, the fingers firmly intertwined, as they walked casually. He had stopped, a huge smile spreading across his face. “Finally” he blurted out.
Ron and Hermione stopped. Harry could see them both look down at their hands in unison. Harry wondered for an instant if they had even been aware that they were holding hands. They both stiffened as they suddenly disentangled their fingers and pulled apart. Hermione spun around, and she was flushed pink with embarrassment. Ron turned more slowly, and hesitantly, his cheeks were flushed crimson and he looked more guilty than embarrassed.
“Don’t try and tell me that was an accident,” Harry exclaimed. He pointed at them, his finger wagging, gesturing to the moment that had already passed. “When are you two going to come to your senses?” Harry sighed, still smiling at his two best friends.
“Harry,” Hermione laughed in exasperation as she stepped towards him. “What is that supposed to mean?” She stood staring at Harry whose smile was widening into a stupid grin. “And wipe that grin off your face,” she demanded, feigning anger. She was clearly too embarrassed to do anything other than grin.
Harry looked at Ron who had not moved and was swallowing hard. He seemed cemented to his spot, and Harry knew that he had interrupted something unplanned and un-discussed. Harry glanced back at Hermione. She was one of his best friends and he knew that caught in this situation, embarrassed, she would revert to frustration and anger unless the moment was defused. Harry turned his eyes to Ron again and raised his eyebrow as if to say, I’m sorry, but now or never mate.
Ron had swallowed yet again and nodded very slightly. He stepped forward hesitantly and spoke in a timid, stammering voice, “Hermione.” She had turned to face him, her eyes widening, the corners of her mouth curled worriedly. “I… I…“Ron looked down no longer meeting her gaze.
Harry’s heart sank in his chest. He wanted to yell at Ron not to miss the moment, but he knew that Ron had to do this by himself, and he felt, sympathetically, just how hard it was for him.
Hermione seemed to know this too as she had reached out and taken Ron’s hands in her own. This small contact seemed to give Ron just the right nudge. Harry thought he heard Ron swear under his breath and he raised his head again looking Hermione straight in the eyes.
Harry heard Hermione’s breath catch, and he was suddenly aware of the intimacy of the moment, and how much he was the intruder. But, these were two people he cared for as family, he had watched their relationship build toward this kind of a moment and he couldn’t pull himself away, he had to witness this, he had to be sure that it was really happening.
“I‘ve been a complete git,” Ron’s voice was steady and clear, “And I have to tell you how I feel.”
Hermione’s mouth twisted into the lopsided smirk of a smile that Harry knew was a sign of pure delight. “And just how would that be?” Her eyes sparkled with the question.
Ron glanced sidelong at Harry for an instant. Harry could see the resolve in Ron’s face and he nodded encouragingly. “You are my best friend in the entire world,” Ron continued. “Well… except for Harry,” he tipped his head in Harry’s direction, “but I have wanted to be more than friends for a long time.” Ron paused, as if he were preparing his next words. Hermione leaned in closer. “Hermione… I would like you to… I… would you be my g-girlfriend?” Ron blurted out.
Harry wouldn’t have thought it possible, but Hermione blushed even pinker. In a rather serious tone she said, “Why on Earth has it taken you so long to pluck up the courage?” Then she threw her arms around his neck, “I’ve just been waiting for you to ask.”
Harry realized he had been holding his breath. He could see Hermione biting her bottom lip in anticipation, and Ron leaned in closer, his face moving near to hers. She craned her neck back and glanced at Harry suddenly. Ron turned his head then too, his face flaring red, and he said, “Um... Harry mate... would you mind turning around for a moment?”
“Oh... Yeah... of course,” came Harry’s halted response.
Harry could hear Hermione giggle as he spun on his heels and shoved his hands into the pockets of his robe. Searching for a distraction he pretended to examine a passing butterfly, trying in vain, to not be aware of his best friends in the entire world sharing their first kiss some few meters behind him.
He felt his resolve about Ginny dissolve suddenly as he thought about Ron and Hermione. And he wondered if there really was any way to truly protect her–If denying himself Ginny’s company, and she his, would really achieve anything. As he thought it to himself a fear gripped his heart. He felt in that instant that it was an irrational fear borne of his history of lost loved ones. The realization struck him that, as with all his fears, this one too must be dealt with before he could face his future, and he smiled to himself as he felt then the sense memory of Ginny’s hand clasped in his own. He would have to think about this some more.
“Eh hem,” Harry cleared his throat. “I’m gonna turn back round now.” He slowly spun around to see a smiling Ron and Hermione coming toward him, Ron’s arm draped comfortably across Hermione’s shoulders and her arm around his waist.
“I suppose we should be getting back, don’t you?” Ron said. “Everyone will be looking for us, ‘cos the Express is supposed to leave soon.”
“Yeah, I guess,” Harry mumbled.
Harry looked round slowly taking in the moment, realizing that he wasn’t sad, but happy; happy that his best friends had finally figured it out. Happy that the three of them were together, that the day was so beautiful, that there was life all around him, and happiest because he knew deep down that this was what Dumbledore would most want for him; to be able to feel happiness in spite of everything. He smiled to himself.
“Harry, are you alright?” Hermione’s concerned voice penetrated his thoughts and brought him back to reality.
“Yeah,” he replied wistfully. “I’m good... really good.” She held out her free hand to him and he took it.
“Come on then,” she said, and together the three of them made their way back along the lake path toward the castle.
When the threesome came back into view of Hogwarts, they could see that most of the crowd had disappeared. There was no sign of the Ministry delegation and the elaborate Beauxbatons’ carriage was gone. A small gathering of students was shuffling around near the entrance, mostly those who were Muggle born. They were waiting with their trunks for the carriages to come take them to Hogsmeade station. Harry, Ron and Hermione headed immediately for the courtyard and slipped back into the castle. Winding their way through familiar hallways, they were off toward Gryffindor tower to retrieve their trunks. Turning a corner they saw Ginny who noticed them immediately and ran toward them.
“Ron,” she called, “Mum and Dad are furious.”
She reached them and paused to breathe. Harry thought he detected a motion of her hand toward his, but if it was so, she retrieved it a mere instant after it moved.
“Well... I think maybe scared, actually,” Ginny continued. “When you three disappeared after the funeral Mum thought you’d been kidnapped or something, she’s been trying to get Professor McGonagall to start a search.” She breathed again, concentrating her words on her brother, obviously avoiding eye contact with Harry.
She continued briskly, “Hagrid announced that the train has been delayed a little to allow students a bit more time, but we are all supposed to be gathering with our stuff already.”
Ginny paused again, no longer looking at her brother’s face, but rather his hand, where Hermione’s was still clasped tightly within it. Her eyes widened and she smiled slightly. “You... You two?” she stammered.
“Yes,” Hermione answered softly.
Ginny exhaled loudly. “Finally!” was her only response.
Ron and Hermione both broke into a subdued laugh, looking over at Harry. He smiled slightly, understanding their laughter and appreciating his “ex” girlfriend’s response as identical to his own. Ginny looked at him confused. He shrugged his shoulders. Ginny shook her head forcing her thoughts to more pressing matters.
“Well,” she stepped forward grabbing Ron’s free arm. “We’d better find Mum and Dad and tell them you haven’t been taken by Death Eaters, or something.” She pulled him into motion. “I think they want to Floo home.”
Hermione, still holding Ron’s hand, was pulled into motion as well, but turned to Harry quickly. “Don’t worry, Harry, we’ll take the Express with you. We’ll be up to the dormitory in a minute to collect our trunks.”
“You up here, Harry?”
The sound of Ron’s voice from the stairs jerked Harry from his daydream review of the past hour’s events.
Ron entered the room, crossed directly to his four-poster, grabbed the small owl cage with Pigwidgeon in it, and his trunk. “We gotta go Harry; they’re waiting on us out front.”
Harry clasped the door of Hedwig’s cage and dropped the cloth cover. Hedwig cooed knowingly. He stood, lifting the owl cage and grabbing his trunk. He followed his friend down the stairs to the common room. Hermione was already down from her dorm, Crookshank’s carry basket slung over one shoulder, and her own trunk in tow. The three glanced around the common room for a moment, each wondering when, and if they would ever see it again, none voicing their thoughts. They turned and, levitating their trunks with a flick of each wand, left the tower.
The Hogwarts Express seemed nearly deserted compared to its usual packed condition. The aisle was quiet as most of the students had chosen to stay in compartments near the front of the train. Harry, however, had opted to move to the back of the train, the last compartment of the last carriage in fact, to distance himself from possible questions and curious gazes. He had been disappointed to learn that Ginny had Flooed back to the Burrow with her parents, but felt he understood. After all, he had just broken up with her.
Ron and Hermione had settled their things into the compartment with Harry but some twenty minutes later were off to check on the other students, being the only prefects on the train. They had been gone now for nearly an hour. Harry wondered if perhaps they had checked the whole train quickly and now had found a quiet compartment somewhere where they could engage in a proper snogging session now that they were officially a couple. He smiled at the thought, feeling happy for them. This line of thought made him miss Ginny again. He felt the creature inside of him stir uncomfortably, as if it wanted to sleep a bit longer before being awakened, and he did his best to banish the longing from his mind.
He stood up and pulled his trunk down from the luggage rack, popped it open and rummaged through the contents retrieving a comfortable, worn, gray sweatshirt and a pair of jeans. He clicked the lock on the compartment door, drew the blinds, and quickly changed out of his robes and school uniform, tossing them carelessly into the trunk. He began to close the trunk, but hesitated. Reaching back in, he retrieved the false Horcrux from his pants pocket. He held it up by its chain, really examining it for the first time since retrieving it from where it had fallen from Dumbledore’s robe pocket. It was truly nondescript, not a visible mark on it. It twisted on its chain, and Harry couldn’t help but think of the terrible price that had been paid to retrieve it.
Just then there was a knock on the compartment door and Ron’s voice called out, “Harry, you alright in there?”
Hermione’s voice joined Ron’s with what sounded like a slight bit of panic in the tone, “Harry?!”
Harry turned quickly, flipped the lock, and slid the door open. “I was just changing,” he offered as explanation. The faces of his friends shone with relief.
“Good idea,” Ron chimed, stepping in and pulling down Hermione’s trunk, followed by his own.
Harry, unnoticed, tucked the locket into his jeans pocket and stepped out into the aisle, watching the landscape slip past as the train rumbled along.
Hermione emerged from the compartment with a selection of neatly folded clothes and slipped into the adjacent compartment, drawing the blinds as she did so. Ron stepped out a minute later dressed much as Harry in Muggle jeans and a sweatshirt, though his was the orange color of the Chudley Cannons Quidditch team.
“You and Hermione getting on okay?” Harry asked casually.
“Magnificent,” Ron smiled in return, his ears reddening slightly, his eyes showing a momentary far off look.
They stood silently for the few minutes it took Hermione to return from the other compartment. She was also now dressed in jeans. Though, rather than a sweatshirt, she wore a light pink zip fastening jumper, with a matching singlet beneath. She smiled at them, but, Harry thought, mostly at Ron. She was carrying her carefully folded robe and uniform, obviously to be packed back in her trunk. Harry thought of his own clothes tossed unceremoniously into his trunk and knew that Ron’s had been packed no better. He suppressed a chuckle.
Suddenly Hermione’s expression changed from a smile to one of urgency and fear. She raised a hand pointing out the window behind Ron and Harry, her neatly folded clothing falling to the aisle floor.
“What?” cried Ron, stepping toward Hermione, reaching out in concern.
Harry spun to look out the window.
“There was something, I don’t know, something flashed past the windows,” Hermione sputtered, one hand clasped tightly to Ron’s, the other pulling her wand from her pocket.
Harry pressed his face to the glass trying to see what she had seen. Suddenly it happened again, a streak of red swooped into sight flashing past the windows and up out of view.
“There it was again!” Hermione screamed.
“I saw it!” Ron yelled. “Did you see it Harry?” Ron called at him, but Harry was already moving toward the back of the carriage.
“Harry!” Hermione yelled at him. “Where are you going?”
Harry was already at the back of the train and pulling open the door. As this was the final car a waist high gate was locked across the outside of the passage. Harry flung his head out the opening to look. Ron and Hermione rushed to his side.
“What is it?” Ron asked as they reached him.
Harry stepped back from the opening holding the door open as a large scarlet and gold plumed bird landed easily on the gate rail.
“It’s Fawkes,” he said excitedly. The Phoenix trilled loudly and tipped his head at Harry.
Harry reached up to stroke the Phoenix’s back.
“He’s got something there,” Hermione pointed out gesturing to Fawkes’ beak.
“Looks like a bit of metal,” Ron added.
Harry held out his hand and Fawkes dropped a small rectangular piece of what appeared to be pewter in his palm. Having delivered his gift, Fawkes nudged Harry’s hand with what seemed genuine affection, trilled quietly again, stretched his wings, and let the wind carry him majestically away from the train in a sweeping arc. He quickly disappeared from view amid the surrounding forested hills. For a minute no one said anything, they just stared in wonder at where Fawkes had been.
“What is it Harry?” Hermione broke the silence.
“I don’t know,” Harry replied, looking at the object in his palm.
He turned it over in his hand examining it. It was a simple bit of pewter, a clean rectangle two centimeters thick and about eight long. There was a narrow slit across what had to be the top. On one side, as he turned it again, was the name Albus Dumbledore, in raised letters across the front of the otherwise smooth object.
“I haven’t the slightest idea, Hermione,” Harry said.
“I do,” said Ron excitedly. “I know exactly.”
Ron turned to rush back to the compartment. Harry looked at Hermione with an inquisitive expression, and she returned a look that told Harry she was as confused as he was. They followed to the compartment where Ron was digging through his trunk hurriedly tossing clothes and books every which way.
“Ron,” Hermione called, a hint of exasperation in her voice, “What are you doing?”
Ron stood up and turned. He was holding a small tin, which Harry recognized as his Chocolate Frog Card collection. Ron smiled. “That bit there is a collector’s display base, mate.” Ron’s voice was excited, giddy, making him sound a few years younger. He tore off the tin lid, tossing it in the seat, and began rummaging through his cards. Harry looked at the piece of pewter in his hand and understanding dawned on him.
“Ron you’re brilliant,” Hermione exclaimed. She had obviously understood as well.
“Dumbledore is the brilliant one,” Harry said calmly. “This base has got to be enchanted. Got a Dumbledore card Ron?” he asked anxiously.
“I’ve got about six, mate!” Ron smiled. His fingers were quickly ruffling through his cards. He stopped, his smile broadening. With a victorious sweep of his arm he presented Harry with the desired card. Harry took the card, glancing at the image of Dumbledore, which smiled and quickly turned to step away, disappearing into shadow. Harry moved to the back of the compartment where there was a narrow drink ledge beneath the window. He set the base down on the ledge, crouching down so his head was level with it. Ron and Hermione came close behind him bending as well to look at the base. Gingerly, he held the card up, holding his breath as he positioned it over the small groove.
“Here goes,” Harry breathed as he dropped the card into the slot. For a second, nothing happened. Then the photographic figure of Albus Dumbledore stepped back into view, looking curiously as though discovering a forgotten window. It peered out from the small card and a delighted expression of recognition spread across the small face.
“Harry, my boy,” came the familiar voice. “What’s wrong?” Dumbledore asked concernedly.
Harry realized that thick warm tears were sliding down his cheeks. The sniffle behind him told him that Hermione was having a similar reaction to the animated photograph of their recent Headmaster.
“Nothing sir...” Harry sniffed. “I’m just very glad to see you.”
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Chapter Two
A Little Advice
Chapter 3: Chapter 2 - A Little Advice
Author's Notes: Dumbledore and Harry go over a few things, making a few changes.
A Little Advice
“I am very glad to see you too,” the photograph chuckled lightly, and a bit concernedly, as it looked at the emotional Harry.
“Delighted to see you as well, Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger,” the little Dumbledore nodded at them.
“And you, Professor,” Ron blurted out, a little more loudly than he intended.
“Professor?” Hermione plucked up, her curiosity getting the better of her. “How did you think to enchant a Chocolate Frog Collector’s base?” she inquired.
“Oh... Well… You see, I needed an object that would not attract attention to itself. Something that would seem commonplace amongst the possessions of someone like Harry or Ron, and...” the image smiled slightly, “I am, after all, a collector myself.”
“It’s bloody brilliant,” Ron exclaimed. “I have loads of cards and I’ll wager Harry has, too.”
Harry smiled and nodded in agreement.
“However,” the little Dumbledore cut in, his tone becoming serious. “The fact that I chose to enchant this particular object is of little concern at the moment,” he sighed slightly as he paused. “What is significant is that Fawkes has delivered this object to you at this time.”
The three breathed heavily in unison realizing that the animated trading-card-Dumbledore was coming to understand its reality.
“I can only surmise then that something terribly dramatic has happened to me,” it said.
Harry found the calm in the tiny Dumbledore’s voice a little infuriating and he knew suddenly what was coming.
“Tell me Harry...” Harry steeled himself for the question. “Have I died?”
The question, asked so matter-of-factly in Dumbledore’s own voice, hit Harry like hot wind, his face flushed, the events of that terrible night rushing back into his consciousness with a fury. Harry lost his balance, falling back from his crouching position, but was instantly caught and supported by Ron and Hermione together.
“Oh... I see,” the card continued evenly. “Well, I knew something like this might happen — obviously,” he paused in apparent thought and then continued. “Harry, eventually I will need you to tell me everything that happened. But not right this instant.”
Harry, who now realized he had been holding his breath, exhaled in relief, not wanting to tell the whole story again so soon. In the few days between attack and funeral he had recounted the events several times to several people. Professor McGonagall and key members of the teaching staff, some members of the Order of the Phoenix, the investigating Aurors from the Ministry of Magic, and, the entire story, Horcrux search and all, to Ron and Hermione alone. He was glad that the one entity that deserved the whole story didn’t feel it was so important at the moment.
“For right now,” Dumbledore forged on, “What is important is what happens next. I gather we are on the Hogwarts Express heading for King’s Cross?”
“Yes sir,” Harry responded automatically.
“Very good, then I trust you are returning to the Dursleys, Harry?” the inquiry followed.
“Yes sir.” Harry began. “Ron and Hermione are planning to accompany me for the required fortnight and then we were planning on going back to The Burrow for Bill and Fleur’s wedding.”
“I see.” There was a slight furrowing of the Dumbledore’s brow that was difficult to see in the small card. “And you have approved this with your Aunt and Uncle?” Dumbledore asked evenly.
“Well... No sir.” Harry felt a lump rise in his throat as the miniscule Dumbledore pointed out the first obvious flaw in his plan.
“Perhaps, Harry, we two should discuss this briefly... in private?” The tone was not commanding, simply a level request with a slight hint of concern. “Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger, do you have some prefect duties you might attend to, or you may find some other activity to pass a few minutes?”
Harry thought he saw a brief twinkle in the eye of the miniature Headmaster, and perhaps a slight smile just at the edges of his mouth. He wondered if the little Dumbledore knew something... and how that could be possible.
“Certainly sir,” Ron responded quickly. He reached down sliding his hand along Hermione’s forearm and into her own. He stood up, tugging her along. “I think we can nip off and find something to do sir.” Ron smiled, already pulling at the compartment door.
Hermione, blushing and, giggling slightly, offered, “We’ll just… go and check the other students.” Ron was tugging at her gently but persistently. Hermione rolled her eyes, as if to say “sorry about this Harry,” but Harry just nodded and smiled.
“Very good Miss Granger, do take your time,” said Dumbledore.
The compartment door slid back into place and clicked closed. Harry turned back to the card, still smiling just a little with the not so surprising joy he felt in the knowledge that Ron and Hermione had found their relationship in a new, and Harry felt, better place.
“Nice to see that those two have finally... come to an understanding,” Dumbledore chuckled openly. “Certainly has been steeping long enough.”
Harry smiled back at the card. “Yeah... I always felt they’d work it out though.” Harry reached over and turned the base on the ledge, then plopped himself up on the seat, next to his trunk.
“Forgive me, Harry.” The card spoke again earnestly. “I don’t want to appear to be poking into your private life. But, might I inquire about you and Miss Weasley?”
“Ginny?” The question startled Harry, pulling all his doubt and uncertainty to the surface. “Well, sir... I... Well, I broke it off sir... earlier today.”
“Oh, dear... I am sorry to hear that. Wasn’t meant to be then?” Dumbledore asked, more to himself than inquiring of Harry.
Harry was becoming a little uncomfortable with this question. What was Dumbledore getting at?
“Sir... No... That’s not it.” Harry couldn’t help but be honest, even if this wasn’t the living Dumbledore. He just wished he really knew what this was all about. “I just... I can’t make her a target... I can’t bear it... Everyone I lo—” Harry hesitated for the briefest instant, “care for… dies!” He felt a bit defeated and sank back against the seat a little deeper.
“Yes, well...” Dumbledore responded, a note of concern in his voice. “Harry, forgive me again, but I must ask. Do you love Ginny Weasley?”
Harry’s eyes widened and a rush of thoughts and feelings twisted in his brain, in unison with that creature in his chest and belly that always seemed to accompany thoughts of Ginny. He remembered first meeting the petite, boisterous, quick-witted girl at The Burrow who could handle all her big brothers with a steely gaze, but became tongue-tied in his presence. He recalled the seemingly lifeless Ginny lying on the floor of the Chamber of Secrets.
His heart skipped a beat.
He pictured the lovely smiling Ginny cheering on the Irish at the Quidditch World Cup, the beautiful graceful Ginny dancing with Neville at the Yule Ball, the flirty Ginny, dating Dean Thomas, but none-the-less the girl on the minds of half the boys in the Gryffindor tower, perhaps the whole school. Finally his mind rested upon the serene, contented and oh so strong Ginny whose hand fit perfectly in his own.
“Harry?” Dumbledore reminded gently.
“Yes,” Harry whispered the lone acknowledging word. Hearing himself speak it out loud, it was as if he were giving it permission to be… as if he were discovering some ancient truth. The creature inside him seemed to roar triumphantly. Harry, sat up, looked directly at the face of Dumbledore, and in a clear confident voice said.
“Yes sir... I love her.”
“Ah ha,” said the miniature Dumbledore, a bit more excitedly than Harry ever remembered hearing him. He was actually clapping his hands lightly. “Harry, my boy,” Dumbledore continued in a jovial tone. “All your life you have been protected by the one greatest thing that Voldemort doesn’t understand.” He chuckled lightly. “Love...” He said the word with warmth and reverence. “While it is true that people you’ve loved, and who have loved you, have died, some sacrificing themselves for your protection. It is wrong to believe that you have caused it to be,” Dumbledore paused, watching Harry closely. “Despite your unconscionable upbringing in the home of the Dursleys… Harry, you remain capable of so much love. You are surrounded by it and it flows from within you in great abundance. That is your gift, and your strength. Do not push it away.”
Harry relaxed back into his seat again, listening carefully, trying to let the words soak in.
“If, Miss Weasley returns this love, she may well represent your greater strength and your strongest weapon. Do not allow fear to rob you of anything, Harry, for fear is Voldemort’s strongest weapon.” There was a long pause. “To succumb to it is to forfeit the battle before it’s begun.”
Harry stared through the little card to the opposite side of the compartment, not saying a word. He could feel the faux Dumbledore watching him intently, searching for some indication that his words had had their desired effect. Harry recalled his own thoughts of just hours before; thoughts along these same lines. He felt slightly dizzy, as though his body and mind were out of sync. He knew the fear was not gone. But, the creature in his chest began a low contented purr. There was a long quiet.
“Oh dear...” came Dumbledore’s voice seemingly a bit distressed. It shook Harry out of his momentary malaise. He glanced over to see the little Dumbledore patting the front of his robes. “I do wish the manufacturers of these cards had thought to take my photo with a tin of lemon drops.”
Harry chuckled a little in spite of himself. He wasn’t sure if it was a genuine desire, or just a carefully calculated segue, but it worked, bringing Harry’s mind back to the moment.
“Now, Harry, tell me what you have been planning.”
“Well sir, I was planning to go back to the Dursley’s for the shortest time possible, then to the wedding and The Burrow to await my birthday. After that I was thinking to go to Godric’s Hollow and from there, who knows where, to find the remaining Horcruxes. But with you here now... Well sort of.” The little figure of Dumbledore bowed slightly in recognition of the last remark. “I imagine I should re-think everything.”
“Well, no Harry... and yes perhaps,” came the oddly contradictory response of the former Headmaster. “You are obviously following your heart, and that is most certainly a good place to begin. But, I imagine together we could... tweak... the particulars.”
Harry smiled deeply, understanding then for the first time that even though Dumbledore was... gone... he had neither abandoned nor stopped protecting him. He felt a pressing burden lifted from his heart, as though he need not carry the weight of the world alone. He felt now… that there were… possibilities!
Harry’s thoughts turned back to Ginny and he wished she had come on the train. He had been so cruel, not meaning to be, but he was... And she had been so understanding, ready to stoically abide by whatever decision he thought he must make.
A fear suddenly gripped him. What if she would not take him back? The creature inside him panicked momentarily causing Harry to sit bolt upright and clutch his chest. But, he knew in his heart that that would not be the case. The creature settled reluctantly. He looked down at the image of Dumbledore, who was regarding him thoughtfully from the small card.
“Harry...” Dumbledore spoke calmly and purposefully. “Am I correct in assuming that you are now distracted by thoughts of Miss Weasley?” Harry nodded, blushing slightly. Dumbledore continued, “I believe, Harry, that matter, while important, will be quite easily resolved. Now however, we should consider other things.”
“Right Professor...” Harry forced thoughts of Ginny out of his head with the contentment that they could soon return.
“Now, about the Dursleys...” Dumbledore began again.
Harry and the Dumbledore card discussed immediate plans for some time, working together a slightly altered plan for the next few weeks. After about a half hour, having determined a course of action for the immediate future, Harry realized that he was quite fatigued by the many events of the day and the excitement of discovering that he would have the continuing council of his greatest protector. Dumbledore, seeing this, suggested that they resume their discussions once Harry was back in his room at number four Privet Drive and Harry readily agreed.
With a smile and a sly wink, the little Dumbledore had turned and stepped out of the frame. With a simple, “talk to you soon then,” Harry had plucked the card from the base. It immediately ceased to be anything other than one of Ron’s Chocolate Frog cards.
Harry tucked the card in Ron’s tin, retrieved the lid from the seat, and settled the tin in Ron’s trunk. He quickly gathered the many scattered possessions, shoving everything back in, and clasped down the lid. He remembered then, to pick up Hermione’s clothes from the carriage aisle, and placed them neatly into her meticulously arranged trunk. Harry hoisted all three trunks up into the luggage rack one at a time.
Still standing on the seat to secure his trunk, he reached over and lifted the cloth of Hedwig’s cage to check on her. She cooed softly and nipped his finger gently in what seemed an almost maternal, reassuring way. He stroked her beak a couple times before letting the cloth drop back.
Harry stepped off the seat and picked up the pewter card base, where it stood still on the little drink ledge. He thought to slip it into his jeans pocket and remembered with a start the false Horcrux that already resided there. For an instant he wondered if he should retrieve the Dumbledore card so he could tell him about the locket and the mysterious R.A.B. But then he thought that there would, after all, be time yet for that discussion.
He shoved the card base into his other front pocket, slipped off his glasses, setting them on the drink ledge, stretched out across the bench seat of the compartment, and easily slipped into a peaceful slumber.
NEXT Chapter Three Privet Perplexed
Chapter 4: Chapter 3 - Privet Perplexed
Author's Notes: Things are a bit different at the Dursley's as Harry begins his stay.
Privet Perplexed
“Harry, wake up, mate.”
Harry opened his eyes to a fuzzy form with an unmistakable shock of red hair. He sat up, attempted to smooth back his unruly hair, reached for his glasses, and fit them in place.
“We’re pulling into the station, so wake up already.” Ron was muscling the trunks and cages down from the luggage rack and setting them into the aisle, not really seeing that Harry had already sat up.
“We came back here and found you sleeping,” Ron said. “Hermione reckoned you were beat and could use a bit of a lie down, so we didn’t wake you.” Ron set Hedwig’s and Pigwidgeon’s cages on top of his trunk.
“Right, and I’ll bet you two were busy with prefect duties the whole time, and never…say…snogging in the next compartment?” Harry shot Ron a knowing look. As happy as he was for his two best friends, he just wouldn’t be Ron’s proper mate if he didn’t have him on about it some.
Ron leaned his head back from where he was shuffling the luggage in the aisle, and a broad, stupid grin filled his face. “I can’t lie, Harry, there was a bit of snogging… maybe more than a bit, and…”
“Enough, Ron!” Harry exclaimed, “I may want to take the mickey out of you about it, but I don’t really want to know!”
“Well, you asked!”
The train stopped with a slight lurch. Peering from the compartment window, Harry could see a small crowd of rather somber looking parents, gathering expectantly toward the forward passenger cars of the train.
He dropped open the window and stuck his head out. The air felt a bit heavy, and clouds had gathered in a grey blanket overhead. It looked like it would rain soon.
As the students began to file off the train, there were the typical hugs and smiles, but there was an uncharacteristic hurriedness about the scene as the families departed quickly.
Ron, being curious, joined Harry at the window. They saw Hermione ushering younger students from the carriages. Harry didn’t have to see it to know that Ron was grinning broadly at the sight of his… ‘girlfriend.’ That was just grand, Harry thought, but he could tell it was going to take some getting used to.
Mr. and Mrs. Weasley emerged hurriedly from the wrought-iron archway, which was the passage from platform nine and three-quarters to the Muggle station beyond. They saw Hermione at once and rushed to her, Mrs. Weasley gathering her into a long hug as Mr. Weasley patted her shoulder in an affectionate, fatherly way.
Harry could not hear them over the noises of the train and the platform, but as Hermione broke from the hug, she pointed toward them, and, seeing them with their heads out the window, she waved vigorously. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley turned and started toward them briskly.
Harry and Ron ducked back into the compartment and hurried out and around to the exit where Ron had piled the trunks and cages. They started transferring the luggage out onto the platform. The Weasleys, with Hermione in tow, reached them just as they were hefting down the third trunk.
Mrs. Weasley caught Ron up in a huge hug.
“Geroff — Mum,” Ron protested, “Blimey, you hugged me when you saw us into the carriages at Hogwarts, just hours ago.” Ron pulled away.
“I know dear,” Molly Weasley exclaimed, “but it seems much longer.” She stepped toward Harry, holding her arms open and smiling. Harry had become used to Mrs. Weasley’s hugs over the years and, truthfully, he rather enjoyed them.
“Ginny didn’t want to come?” Harry asked rather sheepishly.
“No, dear,” Mrs. Weasley replied holding him at arms length and giving him a rather knowing smile. “She wanted to unpack and get settled, but you’ll be over to The Burrow soon enough.”
“Now then,” Mr. Weasley’s voice cut in, “Let’s get off the platform and get you two delivered to your families.” He motioned to Hermione and Harry.
“Oh, about that,” Ron started, “Hermione and I…we were gonna go with Harry...”
Surprise played across the elder Weasleys’ faces in unison, but before either could form a word in response, Harry cut in, “Oh, no, Ron…we’re not doing that anymore.”
Now it was Ron and Hermione whose faces registered surprise as they turned to Harry together. Before they could respond, Harry continued. “I’m not sure it would be wise to spring uninvited company on the Dursleys,” Harry said, patting his front jeans pocket unobtrusively.
Hermione seemed to catch on immediately, and she smiled very slightly. “Okay, Harry,” she blurted out, stepping closer to Ron and out of view of his parents she grabbed his forearm, to let him know to go along. “But you will owl us as soon as you get there?”
“Oh, yeah…right away,” Harry offered. “Besides, it’s not as if I’ll be alone…” He hesitated at the slip, but quickly recovered. “I’ve got, Hedwig to keep me company.” He gestured to the cage on his trunk.
“Right then,” Mr. Weasley spoke in a peremptory tone as he rocked from heel to toe and back. “Ron, grab that trolley there.” He pointed to an abandoned cart a few steps down the platform. “Now, let’s get moving.” His expression clearly communicated that he knew something was up, but was clueless as to what it was. He was obviously prepared to accept that it was one of those things between his children that he was not meant to understand, and left it at that.
As Harry, Ron, and Mr. Weasley ordered the luggage onto the trolley, Hermione approached Mrs. Weasley casually.
“Mrs. Weasley,” she said in a low whisper. Molly turned to Hermione. “I was wondering about security…for Harry,” Hermione whispered again. “Shouldn’t there be Aurors here to meet him?”
Mrs. Weasley glanced around the station slowly, turning her head a little, and stepped closer patting Hermione’s arm. “Oh, there is security here,” she whispered back. “It’s just that Harry is sort of on the outs with the Minister, so no one is supposed to be seen.”
“Oh,” Hermione responded quietly, sweeping the platform now, with her own eyes.
“Come along now... and don’t you worry.” Molly took Hermione’s hand, hooking it on her arm and patting it gently, as she moved to follow her husband, who, with Ron and Harry, was nearly to the archway.
They walked together a few paces, when Mrs. Weasley spoke again, “So…Ginny said something very interesting when we got back to The Burrow…about yourself and Ronald?”
Hermione’s eyes widened and she could feel all the blood leave her face. She gasped as together they stepped into the darkness of the passageway from the platform to the station beyond.
The small group weaved their way through the station with ease. Mr. Weasley, looking at all the lamps in King’s Cross Station, had asked Harry to explain about “eckeltricity.” The explanation, which Harry knew was lost on Mr. Weasley, nonetheless carried them through the station to the main entrance. As they approached, Harry noticed his aunt and uncle waiting uneasily near the main doors.
Harry waved the group to a halt a good three meters before they reached the Dursleys.
Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon were glancing about the station and trying to look as though they were casually interested in the architecture. Harry knew they simply didn’t wish to make eye contact with Mr. Weasley, whose encounters with the Dursleys had proved somewhat traumatic in the past.
“Right, then…” Mr. Weasley began, “I expect I ought to have a word with your aunt and uncle before you head off with them.”
Harry could see by the way that his uncle’s face was growing flushed that he had heard Mr. Weasley’s words. “That’s alright…” Harry stopped Mr. Weasley. “I am quite certain that I’ll be treated just fine this visit.”
Mr. Weasley looked over at the Dursleys, his face scrunched up in disapproval. He seemed to consider for a moment then let out a loud “Harrumph.” He too could tell that Vernon Dursley was listening, and he hoped it was clear how the people who really cared for Harry felt about his treatment in the Dursleys' home. Arthur looked back to Harry and smiled, “If you say so, Harry.” Harry smiled appreciatively at this friendly, concerned man, and offered his hand in a sturdy handshake. “Well, you just let us know when you are ready to come home to The Burrow,” Mr. Weasley added.
“I will, sir,” Harry replied.
Just then, Hermione caught Harry round the shoulders pulling him into a tight hug. “You be sure and communicate, Harry…and soon.”
Ron stepped up and offered his hand, which Harry shook vigorously before pulling him into a hug with him and Hermione. “I’ll let you know what’s happening right away. I’ve got loads to discuss with…well you know,” Harry whispered to Ron and Hermione.
“You take care, mate, don’t start any trouble,” Ron blurted a bit too loudly, his eyes traveling over the Dursleys.
“Oh, you know me, Ron…I wouldn’t do that without you.” Harry grinned at them as he stepped back.
Harry retrieved Hedwig’s cage and his trunk, and with a wave, he bid the group goodbye. With uneasy smiles, they were off to meet Hermione’s parents at one of the other exits.
Harry turned and wordlessly followed his aunt and uncle out through the exit and to the car. As they pulled from the parking lot and onto the road, the sky finally gave up holding onto the rain and heavy droplets pelted the car. Uncle Vernon flipped on the wipers, and Harry listened to the rhythmic clapping for nearly ten minutes before his aunt and uncle finally started conversing tersely. Mostly, Uncle Vernon was complaining about what they were going to do with the boy now that he was back again.
By the time they arrived at Privet Drive, the rain was quite heavy, and it was rather dark. The clouds were blotting out what might have been a bright sunset. Vernon Dursley stepped from the car, opened his umbrella, and waddled around the front of the car to open the door for his wife, escorting Petunia to the house beneath his canopy. As he reached the front entry, he opened the car boot with its little remote on the key chain. Harry knew Uncle Vernon would not be returning with the umbrella, so he stepped into the rain and pulled Hedwig’s cage from the seat next to him. He hauled his trunk out, closed the boot, and made his way to the door. Once inside he went directly up the stairs to the second bedroom.
Harry set Hedwig’s cage on top of the small bureau, plopped his trunk at the foot of the single bed, and sat on it heavily. He glanced around the room. Nothing seemed to have been touched since the last time he was there. In fact, if it hadn’t been for the distinct lack of dust, Harry would have sworn that not a soul had entered the room since the previous summer. He heaved a sigh…Well, he thought, At least it’s only for a short visit this time.
After he’d let Hedwig out, cleaned her cage, unpacked, and changed into dry clothes, he felt a low rumble in his stomach and wondered if it would be okay to go down to the kitchen and look for some leftovers. Harry opened his bedroom door and listened at the hallway. He could hear the telly and an occasional chortle from Uncle Vernon, so he suspected it would be safe to slip down.
He crept quietly down the stairs and stopped in the hall, listening to be sure Uncle Vernon was completely occupied with his program. He heard a loud rumbling guffaw from the sitting room and slipped across the hall into the kitchen.
Harry stopped suddenly as he saw his Aunt Petunia at the kitchen sink, clad in apron and yellow rubber gloves, laboring to scour the bottom of a heavy roasting pan. She looked up as he entered the room, but didn’t seem to react adversely at all, which surprised him. He glanced about the room quickly and noted that all was in absolute order…and not just clean, as was his fastidious aunt’s insistent condition, but truly orderly. And then it hit him…there was no video game console hooked up to the telly in the dining room. In fact, there was no telly at all in the dining room. That could only mean one thing…Dudley was not at home.
“I suppose, you are hungry?” Aunt Petunia asked, indifferently.
“Yes I am,” Harry said somewhat apologetically. “Perhaps there are a few leftovers?”
Petunia looked up from the sink and smiled very slightly. “I thought you would probably slip down to nick something, though I suspected it would be a little later. There’s a plate in there for you.” She tipped her head toward the fridge.
Harry was a little taken aback, he crossed to the fridge and indeed found a plate filled with a generous helping of roast beef, boiled potatoes, steamed carrots, and gravy, all neatly covered under a layer of cellophane. He had never before been offered so much food by his aunt. “Are you sure this is for me?” he asked hesitantly.
Aunt Petunia, who had finished with the roast pan and placed it neatly on the drying rack, slipped off her gloves and took the plate from Harry, who was still a little shocked. “Nonsense,” she said, looking him up and down. “You have grown so much and you are still so thin.” She pulled off the cellophane and placed the plate in the microwave. She covered it neatly with a paper towel and set the timer for two minutes. “Besides, with my Dudders still away at school, who else is going to eat it?” She retrieved a knife, fork, and napkin, setting them in front of Harry on the counter divide between the kitchen and dining room. She retrieved a glass from the cupboard and filled it with milk from the fridge.
Harry was stunned, and almost tripped as he crossed the two steps to the counter. He pulled out a stool and sat at the place his Aunt had set with knife and fork, and he accepted the glass of milk with a gracious smile. The microwave chimed and Aunt Petunia fetched the plate, setting it in front of Harry. He ate rather quickly, wondering if his uncle would jump out and snatch the food away, making it all a cruel joke, but he could hear his uncle chuckling along with the laugh track in the other room.
Harry watched his aunt as she returned to the rack of dishes with a fresh dishtowel and began putting everything away. She seemed much more relaxed than he was used to, and he realized that the whole house felt much calmer somehow. It could only be, he thought, because his cousin wasn’t back from Smeltings for the summer holidays yet. He had never considered what life in the Dursley home would be like without Dudley. “When does Dudley get home?” Harry asked quietly.
“What was that?” his aunt asked as she looked over from the pantry where she was straightening the shelves. “Oh, Dudders will be home next Saturday,” she said, her voice brightening. “Vernon and I will drive up to fetch him from school.” Petunia frowned slightly, and Harry took it to mean she wasn’t interested in conversing with him.
Harry finished his plate quietly as his aunt puttered around the kitchen. She seemed to be preparing a stock list in front of the open pantry, and even inspected the contents of both the fridge and freezer. He took his soiled dishes to the sink and washed them carefully. He dried them with the towel his aunt had used, set them away in the cupboards, and put the towel neatly back on its hook. “I’ll just be off to my room now,” he said.
“Okay,” Aunt Petunia muttered distractedly.
Harry slipped out of the kitchen and was halfway up the stairs when he heard his name called behind him. He turned and his aunt was standing at the base of the stairs looking up at him. “Harry…” she spoke again somewhat hesitantly. “I am sorry about the death of your Headmaster…I know, you were very fond of him…and, him of you.”
Harry’s jaw gaped open. It hadn’t occurred to him that his aunt would know about Dumbledore’s death. He realized suddenly that the Dursleys must have had some kind of communication from Hogwarts just to know to pick him up two weeks early at the station. He stared down at his aunt, not knowing what to say.
“Well, good night, Harry.” The corners of Aunt Petunia’s mouth bent upward slightly in what Harry assumed was an attempted smile. She turned, but then stopped and looked up at him again. “Harry…if you please, there is a certain matter I should like to discuss with you…perhaps tomorrow?”
If Harry had been stunned in the kitchen, he was now completely unsure if he was even in the right house. “Um…yes, of—of course,” he stammered in response.
“Good night, then.” Aunt Petunia stepped out of sight, and back toward the kitchen.
Harry shut his bedroom door and leaned back on it heavily. He hadn’t expected civility. True, his uncle had complained in the car, and had wordlessly made him lug his trunk in the rain, but his aunt had actually been nice to him. Well, polite anyway. He didn’t know what to think.
What a day it had been. He could hardly believe that he had awoken early that morning to pack before facing a subdued and mournful breakfast in the Great Hall at Hogwarts Castle. He had attended his Headmaster’s funeral that very morning, but that seemed somehow ages ago now. His hand slid to the hip of his jeans and he felt the shape of the bar of pewter in his pocket. It didn’t seem so much like Dumbledore was really gone.
Harry breathed several calming deep breaths and pushed himself off the door. Hedwig had returned to her cage and was hooting appreciatively as she preened in her clean space. Harry crossed to the window and closed it against the steady rain still falling outside. He petted Hedwig gently along her back and promised to let her out again soon.
Harry wasn’t particularly tired, having napped on the train, so he retrieved a quill and inkwell from his trunk, as well as a few sheaves of parchment, and sat down, determined to write Hermione her promised letter.
Harry smoothed the parchment on the desktop and dipped his quill in ink. He rubbed the feather end against his forehead as he thought, and then he began writing:
Hermione,
I am here and safe at Privet Drive. Everything is fine. It turns out that Dudley isn’t home from school for another week so the house is quiet. It is a bit perplexing really, I’ve never seen the Dursleys so calm. My Aunt actually fixed me a plate this evening, and it was good, not the usual tinned meat or soup. Then she said she wants to talk to me about something. I haven’t the faintest idea what it could be.
I am sorry to have changed plans on you and Ron like that at the station, but I could see you got it right away. Thank you. This way you can have the time with your parents, and I will see you at The Burrow before very long.
Please don’t worry about me. I know I should be mourning, but I have other things on my mind just now. I will not have time for loneliness during this time I have to spend with the Dursleys. I promise I will stay occupied.
I know you will want to try to help by doing research, but I think it is better to not worry about the future right now and concentrate on your own family. Somehow I now believe that there will be time enough for worry later.
Know that, for now, all is well. I promise to write again soon.
Harry.
Harry read through the letter a number of times checking to see if there was anything questionable there should it be intercepted. He decided finally that there was not, so he set it aside and wrote a second, nearly identical, letter to Ron. When he was satisfied that its content was also safe, he set it aside as well and smoothed out yet another piece of parchment. He dipped his quill again, and stared down at the smooth surface of the unblemished sheet. This next letter, he thought, was going to be hard. He touched his quill to the page and gently scratched out the beginning.
Dear Ginny,
He looked at the words on the parchment and felt the odd stirring of that creature that seemed to live inside him. He began writing, starting over several times and seriously diminishing his supply of parchment. Finally, after filling his dustbin with crumpled drafts he settled on what he felt would be safe to send.
Dear Ginny,
I wished you had come on the train with us today. Something happened that I so want to share with you. I have sent Ron a letter, and I told him it is okay to tell you about the train. But there will be much more to share when I come to The Burrow.
I know what I said at the funeral hurt you terribly. You seemed so understanding. That made it so much harder to do. I hope that you can forgive me for hurting you?
I was afraid…I am afraid, for you. I do not know exactly what’s coming, except that my future will be dangerous. The thought of subjecting you to that scares me, even though I know that you would brave anything. I just don’t want for you to have to.
I have so much I want to say to you, so much to try to explain. This morning I felt one way, but so much has happened and I am no longer sure.
I think I was wrong. I hope you will forgive me… and forget what I said at the funeral.
Please,
Harry
Harry carefully folded and tightly coiled the three letters, tying them securely with bits of parcel string, except for the one for Ginny, which he tied with a piece of red ribbon he had scavenged from inside his trunk, left from some Christmas present he suspected. He looked out the window to see that the rain had slowed to the barest drizzle. He opened it, breathing in the cool sweet smell of the rain-scrubbed air. Hedwig stirred and hooted at the breeze.
“Are you ready for a flight, Hedwig?” Harry asked. In answer Hedwig bounded from her perch out onto the bureau, and soared smoothly to the windowsill. Harry secured the letters to her leg with a leather tie, and ran his hand down her back. He explained where each letter went and to whom then he added, “I would really rather they are not intercepted, so you be alert.” Hedwig moved her head quickly and hooted at him in an insulted tone. “I’m sorry,” Harry responded, “But I worry about you, you know.” Hedwig, cooed apologetically, nudged Harry’s arm lightly, and then launched herself into the moonless night. Harry watched her flap quickly away and out of sight before he closed the window.
Turning back from the window, Harry went to the bureau, pulled out a pair of clean pajamas, and made his way down the hall to the loo. In a few short minutes he was ready for bed. He emptied the contents of his jeans’ pockets, the fake Horcrux from one, and the pewter base from another, climbed into bed, lifted his pillow, and stashed the locket beneath. With a pull on the chain of his bedside lamp, he sent the room into darkness. Harry turned the base around in his fingers, feeling its smooth edges and raised letters. He wondered for a moment where he had stashed his collection of Chocolate Frog Cards, but recalled seeing them in the bottom of his trunk, bound by a Muggle rubber band. He fell asleep quickly, still clutching the base in his hand.
It had been a very full day.
NEXT Chapter Four Draco Displaced
Chapter 5: Chapter 4 - Draco Displaced
Author's Notes: This chapter begins a radical new direction for one of J.K.R.’s characters. I hope everyone will find it enjoyable as I take Draco down a completely new path.
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Draco Displaced
Narcissa Malfoy winced at the sound of her son’s screams. She pulled her body along the smooth granite of the throne room floor. She had to reach Draco. The need was desperate and it drove her beyond the limits of her broken body. Something was wrong inside her—she could feel it. Her head hurt, her vision was blurry, her hearing muffled. Searing pain bit her consciousness with every centimeter she managed to crawl.
The Dark Lord was doing something to Draco, something painful and terrible. Voldemort stepped away and she could not clearly hear what he was saying. Something about the station to which he was born… and… Coward. Voldemort was calling Draco a coward.
Narcissa could no longer understand any of this. The truth was, she never had. Her husband’s ambitions and greed had taken her family down this path…
And for what?
Lucius was a prisoner in Azkaban, a confirmed Death-Eater, sentenced for life. And Draco, their only son, was paying a terrible price for the Malfoy failures under the yoke of the Dark Lord.
If Draco was a coward it was his father’s fault, she thought. And… my failure too... for never questioning Lucius’ actions.
She pulled hard along the floor, willing herself forward, despite the pain. She knew that the Death-Eaters would do nothing unless the Dark Lord ordered it, and so she forced herself closer, past them, toward her son.
Narcissa wanted to yell but her lungs rasped, refusing to hold enough air to utter sound.
The Dark Lord slashed at her sons face with his wand. Bright orange sparks flashed brilliant against Draco’s flesh, and as Voldemort turned away, she heard that word again; COWARD!
Draco fell to the floor, like a marionette, suddenly loosed from its strings. Narcissa reached him and pulled his body into her arms against her chest. He was limp, but she detected his shallow labored breathing. She could feel the blood of his wounds soaking the front of her robes as she held him tight.
“I am done with you both,” Voldemort’s voice was loud and angry… hateful.
Narcissa raised her eyes defiantly, as violet light erupted from the tip of Voldemort’s wand. There was a wrenching pull at the center of her being and she felt suddenly as though she were spinning off that pull. There was a burning flash of what seemed like lightless flame and the room disappeared. She clung to her son, closing her eyes against the dizziness that followed the spinning sensation.
The whirling persisted for what seemed a long time. She felt nauseous, but clung to her son, crushing him desperately tight in her clasped arms.
She felt the spinning begin to slow and the black-violet fog that was thick around them was fading green. Then, suddenly, everything was still and the world seemed bright in her eyes. The air was heavy and thick and fragrant with an Earthy rich under-scent. Her sight cleared and she could see a hundred shades of green as the shapes of trees and leaves filled her field of vision. The sun streamed down through a thick blanket of lush foliage.
Narcissa had never seen anything like this place. Her mind came up with a single word to identify it… Jungle… but the wildness of that word sent a shiver of fear down her spine. She felt her body giving way to unconsciousness, and she squeezed Draco in her arms to reassure herself that he was there.
And then the blackness consumed her.
Draco Malfoy stirred. He felt something tugging very gently at his hair. As awareness seeped into his consciousness, he felt weak, and sore, as though his whole body was stiff… hardened somehow. He moaned at the brightness intruding through his closed eyelids, but didn’t wish to open his eyes. As the fog of his mind cleared he registered strange sounds, birds; not the hoots of owls or the familiar caw of crows, but twitters and chirps, lighter and delighted. He could also hear splashing water, and oddest of all, the giggling laughter of children.
Draco opened his eyes. There was a child, tugging gently at his hair. A young girl, perhaps three or four years old, was coiling his white blonde hair around her small stubby brown fingers. The child’s face was broad and round and chestnut brown, and she had black hair, fine and straight shimmering like silk down her back. Her brown, nearly black, eyes shined with innocence and wonder as she examined him intently. She smiled wide at him and giggled delightedly at the sight of Draco’s pale gray eyes.
Draco’s confusion deepened. Where was he, how long had he been here, and how did he get to wherever here was? He was truly surprised that he was waking up at all, and so the incongruousness of his surroundings didn’t seem to register. He merely smiled at the girl and closed his eyes again.
Images welled in Draco’s mind, his body broken and bleeding… pain beyond tolerance, and the grotesque, serpentine face of Lord Voldemort, the narrow slit nostrils, the red, cat-like eyes, cruel and pitiless. Draco remembered, slowly, letting it wash over him.
Severus Snape had completed his task; he had been the one to kill Albus Dumbledore when Draco had hesitated. Then he had dragged Draco out of Hogwarts Castle. They had run, pursued by Harry Potter, to the entrance of the Hogwarts grounds and there they Apparated away. It had taken four separate Apparations, to arrive at the designated place, but they had made it. At first, Draco had thought this would mean safety, but he soon learned how punctilious the Dark Lord was.
The place appeared to be a very small open grove in an otherwise dark forest, but Draco had felt the hard stone at his feet. In the dim light of dawn he had noted the stones set in the ground in a circular pattern. A hooded Death-Eater had stepped forward from the shadows of the wood and held up what appeared to be the dry, fallen branch of a tree. Snape had taken it from the hooded figure and told Draco to grasp it. Amycus, Alecto and Fenrir Greyback each grabbed the branch as well and the five of them swirled away at the tug of the Portkey. Draco slammed hard against a cold stone floor and was hastily jerked up to his feet by Greyback.
The five of them stood before enormous doors, troll-sized double doors of carefully worked metals, entirety decorated in relief, the whole comprising a depiction of the violent mastery of all the known thinking races by one lone wizard. Giants, trolls, dwarves, elves, centaurs, humans, and all manner of what Muggles would call mythical creatures were cowering at the feet of one all-powerful wizard. Draco scarcely had time to take in the images as the doors, groaned and creaked, pulling themselves open, inward on heavy iron hinges.
The Dark Lord was seated on a large throne at the opposite end of the room. He beckoned them to approach with a wave of his hand.
They had stepped forward as Voldemort rose from his seat. They reached the center of the room, some two or three meters before the Dark Lord, and dropped to their knees, each laying their wand on the stone before them. Voldemort approached, first stepping to the brother and sister Death-Eaters. He quietly commanded that they look up at him, and as they did he seemed to examine their faces at length, looking hard into their eyes. He flicked his wand whispering the incantation “Legilimens” and the two gasped a hard protracted intake of air. There were no words spoken thereafter, but clearly Voldemort was extracting the evening’s events.
After a minute Voldemort drew his wand away and the two slumped forward, bowing their heads. He placed his sickly gray, spidery hand on Amycus’ shoulder.
“Amycus, Alecto, Fenrir, You have served me well and faithfully this night, join the circle, my Death-Eaters.” The three had hastily retrieved their wands and backed quickly into the circle of cowled figures.
The Dark Lord had then stepped toward Draco and Snape. He seemed to ignore Draco, approaching Snape directly.
“Severus, my most valued servant…” his tone was oily, but betrayed no hint of emotion or intent, “How could you let this happen?” The Dark Lord did not wait for an answer, nor did Snape offer one. “The task was for the boy to complete… or to fail.”
Voldemort raised his wand at Snape and cried, “Crucio!” A green light leapt from the Dark Lord’s wand, engulfing Snape, who collapsed to the floor writhing in torturous pain. In a panic Draco leapt from his place, retreating away, but was caught and held fast by Fenrir Greyback.
“Did you think I did not know of Narcissa’s request?” Voldemort’s eyes glistened with delight as Snape’s body contorted and twisted on the ground. “Did you think I really wanted Dumbledore dead?”
A scream escaped Snape’s lips, such as Draco had not thought humanly possible.
“You entered into an unbreakable vow… which guaranteed your betrayal… And why?… To assuage the doubts of your fellow Death-Eaters… to prove your faithfulness to me…” Voldemort raised his wand and Snape rose from the floor, his body still twisting impossibly, jerking and seizing violently.
The Dark Lord stopped. Snape’s body crashed to the ground with a sickening thud. He was unconscious…or dead. Voldemort stepped near, crouching next to Snape. With an uncharacteristic tenderness he gently brushed a lock of slick hair out of Severus’ face.
“You were my most trusted servant… my most guarded spy… Is it possible that all this time you have been capable of deceiving me, your Lord… and Master?”
Voldemort looked confused, his voice a soft whisper. After a long pause, while the Dark Lord seemed to be staring at Snape… considering him carefully, his face changed, confidence flaming in his eyes, he spoke again, “No… That is simply impossible.” A grin slithered across the Dark Lord’s lips as he stood.
“Remove them from my sight,” he commanded imperiously, and Death-Eaters stepped forward to carry Severus and Draco away.
Greyback pushed Draco roughly from the room and escorted him down a long hall. They came to a broad spiraling staircase and descended several floors to a plain, thick wooden door. It was pulled open and beyond appeared to be several small rooms along a narrow damp corridor. Draco was unceremoniously tossed into one of these. He sat for a long time, shaking with fear, until exhaustion overcame him and he fell asleep in a heap on the floor.
Sometime later he was awoken roughly and dragged back before the Dark Lord. Voldemort had not demanded an explanation, or even offered to hear Draco’s pleas for understanding. He was simply forced to the floor and magically bound… and tortured.
Draco winced at the memory, the taunting, the whipping, the violation of his mind… and the mark.
Draco pushed himself up suddenly. He had been lying on a grass mat on a wooden floor, in some sort of open walled hut. There was a thatched roof above him. He glanced around frantically. The skin of his back felt sore, but he ignored it.
The little girl jumped back from him, surprised, but not really frightened.
“Who are you? Where am I?” he demanded.
The little girl looked at him wide eyed and said “Nuncha.”
Draco had no understanding at all what her word meant. It might have been a name. He pushed himself up to his feet and stumbled toward the edge of the wooden floor. His legs protested painfully as he tried to navigate the few steps to a crude wooden stair. He leaned heavily on a support pole and launched himself down the two steps.
He found himself falling face-first into the dirt. It was moist and cool against his skin. He pushed himself again noticing now that there were other huts clustered in a semi circle around a flat worn patch of land with a stone fire-pit at its center. There were people too, perhaps twenty, women and children, all of the same coloring as the little girl. They were noticing him, pointing and shouting to one another in a language that Draco could not understand. None seemed to be approaching.
On his feet again, Draco staggered across the flat ground toward the sound of falling water. He plunged down a worn path, clutching at tree trunks to steady himself as he slowly gained better command of his legs. He emerged from the path into a wide opening. There before him was a tall narrow waterfall, cascading into a pool of crystalline water. Here there were more people scattered about on large boulders at the waters edge and some in the water itself. These were, it seemed, mostly young girls, none older than himself. At another time he might have gaped at their nakedness in surprise, but as they clustered in the water away from him, shouting and pointing, he simply turned away moving toward the boulders at the waters edge.
Clamoring across the sun-warmed rocks, Draco sought a place amongst the stones where the water would be still and reflective. Beneath the shade of a large clutch of trees at the waters edge, he found it. He leaned down low against the rock, staring into the still water, and there it was. Cutting a jagged “X” across his face was the yellow stain that the Dark Lord had called the ancient mark of the coward.
Draco lifted his head skyward and screamed balefully, “No!”
He got to his hands and knees, still peering down at his own, now unfamiliar, face and began to sob.
There was movement behind him. He turned suddenly to face whatever it was and he was struck dumb at the sight of young woman. She was perhaps his age, within a year, two at most. Like the young girl at the hut, she was the rich deep brown of roasted chestnuts. She was dripping wet and wearing only a small drape of tanned leather across her hips. Her long black, wet hair, hugged her torso covering her breasts. Her face was pleasantly heart shaped with full cheeks, a small round nose and broad nostrils. She had a wide friendly smile, beneath shining black eyes. She spoke, but again Draco could not understand her words.
Instinctively, Draco launched himself back and toppled into the cool water with a splash. He got to his feet sputtering in the waist deep water. He was aware suddenly of his own near nakedness, realizing that he was stripped to only his boxer shorts. He erupted in goose flesh in the coolness of the shaded pool.
The girl was giggling at him and shouting at her companions.
“Go away,” he yelled, and tried to wave her away. She stepped closer, considering him intently now.
She reached down and grasped an amber stone, which hung from a thong of leather at her hip. She deftly loosed its tie and raised it toward him, pointing. She spoke something, words clear and forceful, but still unfamiliar to Draco. A stream of yellow-gold light sparked from its tip and Draco felt a warm sensation wash over him. It felt as though a heated viscous liquid were dripping over his forehead, it seemed to encase his head and neck for a moment and then dissipate leaving a loud ringing in his ears. The ringing was slowly quieting.
Draco starred up at the girl in disbelief. This girl… this was a witch… a magical person like himself… but, nothing like himself. She deftly slung the stone back at her hip.
“You hear me now?” She said. “You understand my words?” Her voice was soft and cheerful, lyrical in his ears. His eyes widened with both recognition and disbelief.
“Come,” she said, “Come.” She stepped nearer the boulder edge and extended her hand toward him.
Hesitantly, still looking at her in wonder, Draco reached up and took her hand. As her flesh contacted his there was a pulse of something, like a beating of tiny insect wings along his arm and into his chest. It was gone before Draco could even properly consider it.
She pulled at him, helping him up onto the stone. He could hear the others giggling and it sounded to him distinctly like the twittering gossip of girls in the corridors at Hogwarts. He stood now next to this strangely beautiful girl. They were a study in contrast, she dark and exotic deep brown flesh, shining black hair and wide dark, dark eyes, and, he, pale pinkish flesh, with white-blonde hair and light gray eyes. He was a half head taller than her, as they stood, dripping on the shaded stone.
He moved to release her hand, but she held on, stepping away, guiding him cautiously across the boulders. He followed. Her hand was distinctly warm in his, the flesh of her fingers rougher than those of girls he had toyed with at Hogwarts, but pleasant and somehow reassuring.
They stepped to the path and started back toward the huts. The crowd of girls behind them were laughing and teasing with shouts that Draco was only half listening to. She blushed and smiled, and he smiled back at her as she led him away, up the path.
He noticed the lushness of this place now, the green everywhere, the softness of the earth beneath his feet, even on the well-worn path. The cool water had relieved much of the stiffness in his legs, but the pain of his back was still there. They moved quietly along the leaf canopied path and he began to notice the sounds of the place again, the twittering birds and shrieks of other animals in the trees around them. He looked up and noticed small dark monkeys leaping from limb to limb overhead.
“What is this place?” he asked finally.
She stopped, turning to him, her eyes bright and sparkling. She gestured around herself with her free hand. “This is our world,” she said with a smile. She could see that the answer was not enough for him. “The land of the Spirit People,” she offered.
“The Spirit People?” he repeated inquisitively.
“Yes, the Spirit People,” she said mater-of-factly as if no other explanation should be necessary.
Draco sensed that this was her understanding of the place and so he didn’t pursue it. “And, what is your name?” he asked.
“I am Titchi,” she said with a half giggle. “I am daughter of the Shaman, Watcher of the Word.”
“Titchi,” he repeated letting the simple two-syllable name echo in his mind. He smiled at her warmly, something that he felt his face was quite unaccustomed to. She smiled up at him shyly, suppressing another giggle and started up the path again tugging at his hand.
“Where is my Mother?” Draco asked Titchi, as the throng of people swarmed around him.
The people had approached as he and Titchi had emerged from the jungle path minutes before. They all, especially the children, seemed to want to touch him. It was momentarily disconcerting, but Draco realized that he was simply so different from them, and they were obviously curious. They were laughing and giggling, and some of them seemed to be saying words of welcome. He realized that he could only understand Titchi, her spell apparently only working between the two of them.
“They wish to know your name?” Titchi said, she was being tugged at too and apparently asked many questions.
“My name is Draco,” he said, “Draco Malfoy.”
“Dracho Malpoy,” Titchi repeated awkwardly.
“Dray-co… Maal-foy,” he said again slowly and a bit more loudly. She repeated his name once more, slowly, coming much closer with the second attempt. She turned to share this information with several women that were now surrounding her.
“Just call me Draco.” He said finally as he heard his name being pronounced poorly throughout the group now, and he began to laugh a little, the group laughing easily with him. He felt a gentle tug at the edge of his boxers and he looked down into the face of the little girl who had been at the hut where he had awakened.
“Dracho,” she said, smiling at him, and held out her arms, obviously wanting him to pick her up. He was aware suddenly that normally he would have found this whole scene rather repugnant. He shook the thought from his mind. That didn’t seem to be how he felt at the moment, these people were friendly and welcoming and he suppressed the notion that he should feel any particular way about them. He bent down and took the girl into his arms, pulling her up. She wrapped her arms around his neck with a smile and was saying something very animatedly.
Titchi was there again. “This is Nuncha,” she said, gesturing to the girl in Draco’s arms. “She says she is very glad that you woke up. And she likes your hair very much.”
The girl was curling Draco’s hair around her fingers again. Titchi pulled Nuncha away into her own arms and said something to her that Draco did not understand. The girl clearly frowned as she was set back to the ground, but she hurried away none-the-less.
“Nuncha, is my little sister,” Titchi said turning back to Draco, “Come,” she took his hand again, “You are still healing, we must get you back to the hut where you can be still.”
Draco allowed himself to be led a few feet, the gathering villagers moving with him, still reaching for him gently. Then the question had again occurred to him.
“Where is my Mother?” he repeated, this time more insistently.
Titchi Lead Draco toward a large raised hut. This structure was different from the surrounding huts of the village; it had solid wooden walls, made of rough-hewn planks. The seams where the planks butted together were sealed with some sort of thick tar, or tree sap mixed with mud. The door and windows were draped with sheets of leather. As they approached, Draco noticed smoke rising through the peak of the heavily thatched roof.
“My mother is in there?” he questioned as they came near the steps.
“Yes,” Titchi replied.
As they ascended the steps, Draco thought that it must be sweltering inside this closed hut, but as Titchi drew back the leather drape and he stepped inside he found it was definitely cooler. He realized that a simple cooling charm would do this, and he wondered what the extent of magic was within this unique community.
Once inside, his eyes slowly adjusted to the dim light of several low fires burning along a stone trough running through the center of the room. There were several earthen vessels suspended above the fires, each simmering with various colors of liquid. From all of the wooden beams there hung bunches of dried plants, and the air was full of fumes of various smoky and floral scents. Along one wall there were numerous clay pots of many shapes and sizes, some with lids of clay, or simple flats of wood that lay across their tops. There were also cages of woven wood containing small animals of several types.
Across the room at the far end there was a low platform upon which laid Narcissa Malfoy.
Draco stood still, watching his mother’s still form for some movement, which he could not detect. He felt Titchi’s warm hand on his arm.
“Go to her,” she urged, nudging him forward. “It is alright, she sleeps.”
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NEXT
Chapter Five,
Life and Learning at Privet Drive
Chapter 6: Chapter 5 - Life and Learning at Privet Drive
Author's Notes: Life continues at Privet Drive with more surprises in store for Harry
Life and Learning at Privet Drive
Thursday, five days later, Harry sat still on the edge of his bed, his arms at his sides, his feet comfortably flat on the floor. He was completely silent; not humming, not chanting under his breath – nothing. His mind was blank, filled only with a lightness and calm, as if he were floating in nothingness.
“Very good, Harry,” voiced the Dumbledore card, breaking the silence. “Very good.”
The sound reached Harry as though through a light fog, but it was enough to slowly bring into focus the world around him. He opened his eyes and the smallest bedroom of Privet Drive, his present sanctuary, came into focus. Light was streaming in through the window and he felt the warmth of the sun on his flesh.
“What were you feeling just then, Harry?” came the question from where the card was sitting, in its pewter base on his desk, the image of Dumbledore eyeing him intently.
“I was feeling… nothing, really. It was just a void, I suppose. Silent… white,” Harry replied, struggling a little to put the feeling into words.
“And for how long did you feel this?” Dumbledore asked.
“Only moments, sir.”
“Good… very good,” the card praised him. “Now look around you and tell me how long.”
Harry glanced at the sunbeams coming through the window and then to the clock on the bureau. The time was a quarter past noon.
“Over two hours?” he exclaimed. “How could that be, sir? It seemed to be no time at all!”
“You are taking to meditation very nicely, Harry. It is a valuable discipline; these exercises will help you greatly in the study of Occlumency.” Dumbledore paused and sighed. “We shall have to find you a true teacher soon - I am afraid all I can do for you at present is to guide you through these exercises of mental discipline.”
“Why did Snape never give me anything like this to do, sir?” Harry questioned.
“I suspect, Harry, that Professor–” he stressed the title, “–Snape found it necessary many years ago, due to certain hardships, to protect his mind. I think he did so, in a way by simply muting out much of his humanity and has, sadly, very little wealth of emotion that he must hide in order to successfully Occlude.”
“No strong emotions? How can that be true? He hated my dad and his friends!”
“That’s true, Harry,” Dumbledore responded. “I am not saying that Severus does not feel things strongly, but rather that his emotional range is somewhat narrow. The emotions he tends to feel acutely are jealousy, envy, hatred… I have a feeling that it is the nature of his emotions that make him such a formidable Occlumens.
“Hatred is a powerful emotion – almost impossible to conceal from an accomplished Legilimens – but it is also a slippery, cloudy emotion, and easily twisted and disguised. Purer emotions; love, grief, happiness, are far more difficult to belie. Hatred, by its very nature, obscures itself easily in deceit and partial truths.”
After an audible breath, Dumbledore continued, “Professor Snape’s success at Occlumency lies less in preventing someone from accessing his thoughts, and more in his ability to adapt and shape his thoughts to what he wishes the Legilimens to see.” He paused for a moment, looking contemplative. “I suppose that what he practices is not even true Occlumency – true Occlumency entails building strong mental barriers, not dealing in deceit.”
His tone lightened. “And in order to do that, you must learn how to make your mind first blank, and then a protected place, hence these meditative exercises. And as I said, I am extremely pleased with your progress!” He smiled, his eyes crinkling at their edges beneath his half moon spectacles.
On Harry’s first morning at Privet Drive, he had awoken from a deep and peaceful sleep. His dreams, if he had dreamed at all, had been pleasant and calming – not the type of dreams that linger in your consciousness or wake you in distress.
Upon waking, Harry had immediately retrieved a Dumbledore card from his collection, set it in the enchanted base and greeted his former headmaster. They talked at length about the events of the previous evening at Privet Drive, and Harry had asked whether Dumbledore had any idea what Aunt Petunia could wish to talk to him about. The card, however, could provide no insight, and so they concluded that Harry would have to wait for his aunt to raise the issue again. They were interrupted then, by a sharp knock on the door and his aunt’s shrill voice summoning Harry to breakfast.
It being a Sunday morning, Harry could hear his Uncle Vernon in the sitting room listening to a political program, with a nasal sounding commentator going on about Parliament something-or-other.
Again, Aunt Petunia had prepared him a plate, this time kept warm in the oven: sausages and kippers, toast with jam and scrambled eggs. Harry sat on the same stool he’d used the night before and thankfully ate as he listened to his aunt puttering in the dining room behind him and spritzing plants with a spray bottle in the adjoining patio sun room. He finished and washed his dishes as before and then stepped quietly around to the patio.
Harry stood silently in the narrow doorway for a moment and then softly and politely spoke, “Aunt Petunia?” She turned to him, her face expressionless. “I was wondering if there was anything you needed help with?”
“No,” she replied, then after a short pause, added, “but perhaps you would do a bit of weeding in the garden later this afternoon?”
“I’ll do that,” Harry agreed. And, as she turned back to the plants she was tending to with her garishly gloved hands, he considered the conversation concluded and returned to his room.
Upon reaching his room Harry sat down on the edge of his bed and waited for Dumbledore to appear on the face of the Chocolate Frog card. When he did, after only a few moments, the two of them began the conversation that Harry had been looking forward to the least – the one in which he would explain the circumstances of Dumbledore’s death.
After a few encouraging words and reassurances from the card, Harry recounted the tale – beginning with his summons to the Headmaster’s office. In as much detail as he could, he recalled his encounter with Professor Trelawney, her sherry bottles and the Room of Requirement. He continued, uninterrupted, to his anger at learning that Snape had been the one to reveal the prophecy to Voldemort, and the way in which he had yelled at Dumbledore, lost in his fury. The Dumbledore card made small noises of understanding at times, but did not interrupt.
Harry told of how he had asked Ron and Hermione to patrol the hallways and watch out for Malfoy and Snape. How he had given them the vial of Felix Felicis and asked them to share it with whatever D.A. members they could round up to help. Then he recounted going to the cave.
The memories flooded back as Harry recalled the chilling cold breeze of the sea and the salt air, as he described swimming into the cave, and Dumbledore’s careful inspection of its interior, finding the hidden passage and then opening it with blood.
Harry described the interior chamber and moving along the lake edge to find the hidden boat on its chain, and mentioned his attempt to use the Summoning Charm. He told of seeing the Inferi beneath the water as the boat approached the island and of how Dumbledore had determined to drink the potion from the stone basin, insisting that Harry ensure that he completed the task.
The first cracks in Harry’s voice came as he described his feelings while forcing Dumbledore to drink the potion. How he lied in response to Dumbledore’s pleadings and pushed the eighth and ninth goblets upon him, how he could not get the goblet to remain full of water as Dumbledore begged of him and how the Inferi began to attack when, in his desperation, he drew water from the lake.
As completely as he could, Harry described their escape: how Dumbledore fought off the Inferi with fire and how, once they had reached the mouth of the cave, Harry had been able to Apparate them back to Hogsmeade.
Tears finally began to fall as Harry described the Dark Mark; Rosmerta appearing and pointing it out to them, and their desperate flight to the castle on borrowed brooms.
Harry had to slow down as he retold his witnessing of the encounter with Malfoy from beneath his Invisibility Cloak – frozen there by Dumbledore’s Freezing Charm – and of the arrival of the other Death Eaters, and how Snape had finally come and taken Dumbledore’s life with Avada Kedavra.
There were several pauses, through which the Dumbledore card remained patient and encouraging, as Harry recounted the battle with the Death Eaters, chasing Snape out onto the grounds and dueling with him fruitlessly; Hagrid’s hut burning and then discovering the false Horcrux, and the note from the mysterious R.A.B. It was here that the Dumbledore card finally reacted, with a sudden gasp of what Harry thought was enlightened surprise – the sort of gasp that comes as you discover the last hidden piece of a puzzle – but he bade Harry continue nonetheless.
Harry described the aftermath of the battle and the comparing of stories in the Infirmary around Bill Weasley’s bedside, where they heard Fawkes’ mourning song, and then of being questioned by Professor McGonagall, but refusing to tell her where they had been that night. He spoke of his feelings of loss and the sense of the weight of the world settling upon him in the days following. Finally, he spoke of the beautiful funeral attended by so many.
Until this telling, even when he had told the story to Ron and Hermione - and some of it to Ginny - Harry had not relived these events so fully. Somehow in this telling, the full truth of it all came crashing upon him and he finally felt the complete weight of the loss of his Headmaster – and despite the presence of Dumbledore, embodied in the Chocolate Frog card, Harry knew that the great wizard would never again truly be his protector. Even his lingering anger at Snape was displaced by the sudden, overwhelming grief.
Harry sobbed heavily; not even the caring reassurances in Dumbledore’s own familiar voice could assuage the tide of Harry’s mourning tears. It was as if all of his pain of loss had come crashing in upon him, and it was not only for Dumbledore that he cried, but for his parents, and for Sirius; and for the Muggle, Frank Bryce, for Bertha Jorkins and for Cedric Diggory, whose ‘shades’ had appeared from Voldemort’s wand during the Priori Incantatem.
When, after a few minutes, the card’s attempts at reassurance still had not stemmed the tears, Dumbledore seemed to realize the importance of this purging and became respectfully silent and supportive. Finally, Harry cried himself to sleep upon the bed.
After about an hour Harry awoke. He stretched lazily and let out a satisfied groan as he extended his arms above his head and forced the sleep from his muscles. He sat up and looked over at the Dumbledore card, suddenly remembering that he had told the story of Dumbledore’s death and had been overcome with grief and tears. He was a little embarrassed, but at the same time he felt good, freed somehow of some of the weight that he had lately felt so heavily upon himself.
The image of Dumbledore returned to the card and smiled at Harry. “Feeling better?” Dumbledore asked. Harry nodded, looking quite refreshed. “Then I believe we have much to discuss. And I am quite certain you have many questions as well.”
For another hour, they discussed the particulars of the events of that final evening. Now that his grief had dissipated somewhat, Harry’s anger at Snape had returned, and his main concern was the man’s role in Dumbledore’s death. Dumbledore, however, made it clear that the matter would not be discussed. After another angry outburst from Harry, he sighed wearily.
“It would seem, in light of recent events, that I may have been overzealous in my protection of Severus Snape. However–” he held up a hand to silence Harry’s objections, “–I am not yet ready to admit that I was wholly wrong, either. I must reflect upon the matter…” His tone was firm and brooked no argument, and Harry reluctantly dropped the subject.
Instead, they turned the conversation towards Harry’s plans, and his preparation and training for destroying the Horcruxes, and eventually defeating the Dark Lord. He had discovered on the train that he was, in Dumbledore’s opinion, being rather too hasty in his plans.
“There are many things I would like you to learn before you face Voldemort, Harry,” the card stated earnestly. “For instance, I should like you to continue your study of Occlumency. And there is much regarding the wielding of power that I should like us to discuss.”
“Occlumency,” Harry’s tone was flat and his expression somewhat less than enthusiastic. “But, Professor, I tried that, and it didn’t amount to anything.”
“I am afraid, Harry, that once again I must admit fault in that situation,” the Dumbledore card said apologetically. “I felt that Severus Snape would be best qualified to teach you and, at the time, I thought that perhaps your dislike of Severus was preventing you from learning. For that assumption, I apologize.” The card considered Harry for a moment. “But as that appears not to have been the case, I would like for us to take a different approach to teaching you before we abandon the discipline altogether.”
Just then Harry heard his name called from the bottom of the steps. He excused himself and hurried down to a light lunch, again kept for him by Aunt Petunia.
As promised, after lunch Harry spent several hours in the back garden pulling weeds and tending plantings as tersely directed by his aunt. It was not at all unpleasant work and it afforded him a welcome opportunity to consider the events of the morning.
By late afternoon Harry was feeling a bit dirty and sweaty and, after seeking consent from his aunt, he went to take a shower and afterward returned to his room.
As Harry entered the little second bedroom, still dragging a towel over his hair, he was greeted by Hedwig tapping lightly at the bedroom window. He crossed the room quickly and pulled open the sash, allowing Hedwig to hop in. Harry held out his arm and she stepped up onto it, careful not to take too great a purchase with her talons. He walked her across the room to where her open cage sat on the bureau and set her on her perch, next to the fresh water and owl treats he’d set out before his shower. She held out her leg and he untied the small bundle of coiled parchments.
Harry stood for a minute, absently smoothing Hedwig’s feathers as she cooed, before looking down at the four pieces of parchment in his hand. One of them was tied with the red ribbon he had used to send his letter to Ginny. At the sight of it the creature inside him roared, but there was also a cold fear running down his spine.
He glanced over at the pewter stand on his desk and noted thankfully that it was blank, Dumbledore having disappeared from its borders, giving him some privacy. He sat at the foot of his bed heavily, staring hard at the letters. The thing in his chest was telling him to rip open the one from Ginny and read it first, but he was apprehensive. Carefully he plucked it from his hand by the ribbon and stared at it for a moment. Finally, he set it aside, next to his thigh on the bed.
Harry studied the other three pieces of parchment and realized suddenly that there was one more there than he had expected – who would be writing to him other than Ron, Hermione and Ginny? All three remaining rolls of parchment were of about the same size, though one was a slightly brighter white than the others. He took that one from his hand and set the others aside with Ginny’s. Upon closer examination he saw, scrawled in a tiny tight script across the edge of the parchment, To: Harry, From: Hermione.
Harry pulled the string, unrolled and unfolded the parchment, quickly recognizing Hermione’s familiar orderly handwriting. He read it through.
Dear Harry,
Thank you for writing so quickly. Hedwig arrived last night and wouldn’t continue on to The Burrow until I wrote you a response.
I am very happy to know that you made it to your aunt and uncle’s safely. It seems like there was some reason for you to make this last visit by yourself and I am glad that they are treating you a bit better. I can’t imagine what your aunt has to talk to you about, but I think you should listen politely and give consideration to whatever it is. She may not have ever treated you that well, but she is your only aunt and you are a much better person than to act spitefully.
The change of plans worked out nicely as my parents have planned a family holiday to Greece for two weeks. We will be leaving Monday morning. I will send you a postcard by standard owl post, but it would probably not be a good idea to try to write long letters. I will be home after that and am planning to go to The Burrow for a visit; hopefully you will be there by then.
I got a letter from Ginny just a little before Hedwig arrived, so I will warn you that the Burrow seems to be more chaotic than ever. Apparently the wedding has been pushed back to give Bill some healing time and between planning for the wedding and caring for Bill, Fleur is driving everyone a bit crazy.
Oh, and there are no secrets in the Weasley household! Everyone seems to know that Ron kissed me and that we intend to start going out! So I suspect everything that has happened between you and Ginny is common knowledge as well.
Harry, Ginny told me that you broke up with her? You didn’t say anything, but I suspected something had happened. I am not going to judge you for that, as I believe I understand, but please be careful of the twins!
I will see you in about three weeks and we can have a long talk then about everything. Until then, please be safe and careful.
Hermione
Harry read the letter a second time before setting it down on his opposite side from the unopened parchments. Great, he thought with exasperation. Just what he needed: for the whole Weasley family to know that he and Ginny had been together briefly and had now broken up - even if it was his intention to try and reverse that. Visions of vindictive pranks by Fred and George flashed through his mind and he made mental note not to eat any offered sweets for the remainder of the summer.
He looked down at the three remaining scrolls and picked one up, avoiding the red ribbon still. He examined it carefully, now wary of the twins, and could not find any markings on the outside of the parchment. So, holding it at arm’s length, he pulled the string and opened the letter. When nothing happened he looked at the signature line and saw that it was from Mr. Weasley. He took a deep breath and read.
Harry,
I am writing to confirm with you that you are welcome at The Burrow at any time. Whenever you are ready, just send word and I will arrange transportation for you.
I gather from the whisperings of my children that there are matters to be addressed on a personal level, but I believe your safety and security outweigh all else at the moment.
I have been asked by the Minister for Magic to arrange a meeting between the two of you as soon as you return to The Burrow. I informed him that I would deliver his invitation to meet, but made no promise that you would be willing. Mr. Scrimgeour is a persistent man, so I would encourage you to accept his invitation, rather than waiting for whatever pressures he might employ in order to force a meeting.
I was going to wait to tell you this, but when Hedwig showed up at our window during breakfast I thought I may as well inform you, so that you could think about it. Please give the matter your consideration.
Please be safe and come to us as soon as you feel it is right to leave your aunt and uncle.
Sincerely,
Arthur Weasley
Harry set this letter aside with Hermione’s and puzzled over it for just a moment. He was grateful for Mr. Weasley’s thoughtfulness, but it seemed obvious that he was now being pressured through his work, all due to his association with Harry. Harry felt as though he would have to accept the meeting with the Minister, if for no other reason than to do something to relieve the strain on Mr. Weasley. He had been shown too many kindnesses from the whole of the Weasley family and he felt determined to prevent any pressures from being imposed upon them if it was within his power to do so. He made a mental note to discuss the matter with Dumbledore.
He looked down at the two remaining scrolls of parchment and suddenly snatched up the one he knew to be from Ginny. He couldn’t put it off any longer; he needed to know what she had to say. The creature inside him was turning round and round uncomfortably, and he felt he might be sick if he didn’t get it over with. He pulled the ribbon away and opened the parchment with his eyes closed. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly as he opened his eyes and focused on the beautiful handwriting, both feminine and straightforward – much like the girl herself.
Dear Harry,
Ron told me a little of what happened on the train. It sounds wonderful, and I am so happy for you.
I understand how you feel about keeping me safe. Just try to imagine for a minute how I and every one of your friends feels about your safety, given whatever it is you must face in this dreadful war.
Of course I forgive you, Harry, and understand that you were acting as you thought was best, but please quit worrying about my safety and pay special attention to your own instead. I get quite enough coddling from my parents and brothers, thank you very much. I do not want it or need it from you.
I look forward to seeing you when you return to us at The Burrow, and we can discuss other matters at that time. However, let me just point out from your letter – you “think!” and you are “no longer sure?”
Well, Mr. Potter, what I think, is that you had better be sure, because if you are not sure then we have nothing worth discussing.
I will look forward to seeing you soon.
Cordially,
Ginny
The creature lay coiled, skittish and confused inside him. He read the note through three times in rapid succession. He could not tell if she was actually angry, if she was merely making light of him as she was sometimes inclined to do, or whether she was simply trying to be very careful not to say too much. Still, she had gotten right to the point and challenged him without completely dashing his hopes.
For a moment Harry longed for a different life in which his only worry would be deciphering Ginny’s words as she had written them, without thought of what she may or may not have written under the assumption that her mail could be intercepted. He sighed, and shook the thought from his mind. It would not do him any good to wish for a reality that simply wasn’t.
He set Ginny’s letter with her father’s and Hermione’s and snatched up the final scroll. This one would be from Ron. He pulled it open and read the final letter.
Harry,
Hedwig is pecking at me. She is a wonder, I wish Pig were as devoted. She came in the window before breakfast and after Dad untied your letters she flew to his desk and brought me a quill. Guess you told her not to come back without mail. Gee, thanks mate.
Must be different without your lump of a cousin there? Sounds like maybe your family has figured out that you are a good guy. Or maybe they just figured out that you’re rich? Whatever they figured, I’m glad to hear things are a little better.
I filled Ginny in a bit. She was busy writing to Hermione when I got home, and the whole family is buzzing about my finally getting up the courage to ask Hermione out. I swear my shoulders will be red for a week from all the back slaps from my brothers. And thanks mate, for the moral support. Mum seems to be really happy for me; she flushes and breaks into a huge smile whenever she looks at me and she keeps offering me snacks.
Unfortunately, they also keep asking Ginny about you. I guess your secret is out, but so far Ginny isn’t saying anything. What’s going on between you two? Why did she go home with my parents instead of coming on the Express with us? I didn’t really think about it before. I guess I was sort of distracted, sorry.
I think maybe I have written enough to satisfy Hedwig – she’s quit nipping at me. So I’ll leave off and look forward to talking when you get here.
Don’t worry about the change of plans, Hermione figures you want the time to “think.” Still, everyone is looking forward to seeing you here at The Burrow as soon as you can come. I’ll warn you, though, that the place is a zoo of activity, what with wedding planning and all.
Anyway, be safe and I look forward to seeing you soon
Your friend,
Ron
Harry read through Ron’s letter again quickly and then set all four letters on his small writing desk. He needed to think a bit before responding to any of the Weasleys, and Hermione had simply told him not to write to her. In any case, he could take some time to think. Unlike so many previous summer visits to Privet Drive, he was not feeling the restlessness and boredom of having nothing to do and no one to talk to. In fact, he was rather feeling that he had quite a lot to do.
Harry went to his wardrobe and drew out a fresh shirt. As he caught his reflection in the mirror he noticed that while he had grown quite a bit in the last few years, and all the Quidditch had left him in quite good physical condition, the unfortunate truth was that the hand-me-down clothes from Dudley had grown even more. He determined that he should replace all of Dudley’s old clothes as soon as possible.
Harry found himself wondering what sorts of clothes Ginny might pick out for him if given the chance. The wayward thought sent his mind back to her letter. What sort of response should he make? His thoughts were interrupted by Aunt Petunia’s shrill voice calling him down for supper.
After his meal Harry returned to his room. That second evening at Privet Drive, Dumbledore had begun Harry’s introduction to meditation and spoken of several things he felt might be important for Harry to familiarize himself with. The time slipped by quite rapidly, despite a few frustrating early attempts at meditation, and Harry soon found that he was yawning furiously, and eyeing his little bed. After letting Hedwig out for the night and saying his goodnight to the Dumbledore card, which he then removed from the base, Harry slipped into his bed and drifted easily off to sleep.
Monday had slipped by in a strange other-worldly way as the Dumbledore card had Harry aggressively pursuing this concept of meditation. During the morning the exercises had seemed rather fruitless to Harry and he found himself tired by the effort. But Dumbledore had kept counseling Harry to relax and not try to achieve anything; instead, he should just allow himself to drift. In the afternoon something had changed and Harry began to find calm within himself that he had not previously known.
After supper Harry had ventured out for a walk in the neighborhoods surrounding Privet Drive, as he had many times before. Covering familiar ground, he felt an odd sensation of detachment, a purposeful realization that all of this – his experiences growing up in these streets, his time spent at the Dursleys’ – was coming to an end.
Harry was not certain what he would do after his seventeenth birthday. He had Grimmauld Place, but he was fairly certain he never wanted to live there – not that he was sure what he would do with it. Yet another matter he could discuss with Dumbledore. He wondered briefly if one could sell a magical property, and supposed that it must be possible. He knew he was always welcome at The Burrow, but it wasn’t really his home – no, he decided; he would have to find another place to live. As an of-age wizard, it would be time to make a home for himself.
Becoming an adult wizard would mean he had to deal with so many practicalities – and all on top of matters concerning the war, and the Horcruxes, and the prophecy. It gave Harry a headache to think of it all. So, sitting on a swing in the park near Privet Drive, he pushed it all from his mind and found a soft, comforting void of white. In the calm he decided to consider only that which was most important to him, and as he did so a swirl of images crossed his consciousness. Hogwarts school, his parents and godfather, Dumbledore, Ron and Hermione, his Firebolt, Death Eaters, Wormtail, Snape and finally Voldemort himself all slipped past, flitting by and wisping away, all giving way to a final image; an image of Ginny Weasley. Harry could feel himself smiling.
On the edge of his consciousness, Harry heard the sharp snapping of a twig nearby, and was jolted instantly back to reality, drawing his wand from his pocket. He turned in the direction of the noise and saw a small flash of coat-tail slipping away at the corner of a garage near the far edge of the cramped park.
Harry ran quickly toward the building, his wand extended in front of him. He slipped around the corner of the garage. Before him was a little path, a row of garages on one side and a narrow wood on the other; it was down this path that the figure was running, already some distance from him. Without thinking Harry continued his pursuit, along the garage wall. As he reached the other corner, a leather-gloved hand reached out, catching the shoulder of his sweatshirt, his own momentum causing him to spin around.
Harry’s heart caught in his throat as he realized his mistake, and he tried to pull his wand hand around towards his assailant - but it was caught in the steel grip of another gloved hand. His assailant was shrouded in shadow, making it impossible for Harry to discern any details. Fear left Harry - no Death Eater would take him so easily! He kicked the man’s leg, hard. There was a loud, resounding thud as Harry’s trainer impacted with the man’s limb, and pain radiated through Harry’s toes. The man released him and Harry dropped to the ground, clutching his foot in agony.
Realization dawned as the man stepped forward into the low light of the setting sun and Harry looked up into the scarred face of Alastor “Mad-Eye” Moody. Moody’s voice was a low growl as he uttered a mumbled expression of pain and pulled back his coat to rub his leg where it was fitted to the wooden prosthesis. “That hurts!” he growled. “What did you have to go do that for, lad?”
Harry stared for an instant, forgetting the pain in his own toes. Then his voice caught up to him. “I’m… I’m sorry Professor, but you grabbed me? You… you might have been a Death Eater.” His breathing had nearly returned to normal.
Moody stared down at Harry with a hard expression that seemed almost comical, as his magical eye was wandering about looking at anything-and-everything. His normal eye, beady and dark, was fixed on Harry, and below it, an incomplete nose and a leathery gash of a mouth made up the rest of his face. Suddenly Moody’s expression transformed into what Harry could only assume was a smile and he reached out a hand to help Harry up. “Quite right, my boy, quite right,” Moody exclaimed, his voice now jovial, though it still sounded somewhat like the human equivalent of a large barking dog. “Still hurt… But I guess it hurt you just as much.”
Harry stepped down lightly on his foot as Mad-Eye righted him, and he looked up to see that the running figure was returning. As the silhouette stepped from the long sunset shadows of the trees, Harry recognized the face of Oliver Wood grinning at him. Wood extended his hand and shook Harry’s vigorously. “Great to see you, Harry,” he said beamingly. “I’ve joined the Order… Took me a bloody long time to figure out how, but I finally managed it.” Harry smiled back and looked down at their hands, whereupon Wood quit shaking and released him.
“That’s great, Oliver…” Harry began slowly, “But what are the two of you doing here? Spying on me?”
“Let’s just say we’re keeping an eye for your own protection,” Mad-Eye cut in, his magical eye fixed on Wood, “And this was just a little, unintentional test of your awareness - which I would say you passed,” he continued, reaching down to rub his leg again. “If I had been a Death Eater you’d have created an opportunity to hit me with a good defensive curse. A physical attack’ll catch most wizards by surprise – they rely too much on their wands.” Moody’s magical eye swiveled and fixed itself upon Harry.
Harry nodded his understanding, twisting his sore foot a bit against the ground. “But Professor, what are you doing here?”
“Please, boy, I’m not your professor. Never was, technically. Anyway, I was just teaching young Wood here about his duties for the Order. Which will include a shift guarding your aunt and uncle’s house; and you too, if you insist on taking these evening constitutionals.” Though Moody’s voice was stern, Harry could hear a hint of a kind undertone.
“So the Order is still active, even without Dumbledore?” Harry asked quickly.
“Yep. The Order is continuing, and we’ll be redoubling our efforts, and expanding our ranks.” Moody’s eye swung back toward Wood, standing next to him. “Things are very quiet right now; there have been no reports of Death Eater attacks anywhere in the country since… Well, since Dumbledore was killed. But if you ask me, this is the calm before the storm: we have to be prepared; we must maintain constant vigilance.”
“Yes, sir,” Harry replied, trying to ignore the slight chill that ran through him at the mention of Dumbledore’s death.
“Good. You’d best be getting back while there’s still a bit of light. So off you go,” Moody growled with finality as he motioned back toward the small park with a gloved hand, his magical eye matching the motion and swinging completely around; probably checking that the coast was clear.
Harry nodded to Moody and took Wood’s hand once more in a parting handshake. Then he was off, back around the garage, through the park and toward the house on Privet Drive. He took comfort in the fact that the Order was still operating, and he appreciated that they were guarding him, but it made him feel like something of a prisoner. Fortunately, he thought to himself, a prisoner very soon to be freed.
The rest of that night was spent in conversation with the Dumbledore card, discussing the Order and what role it might take with Dumbledore absent. They discussed Hogwarts, and the merits of Harry finishing his seventh year, and what the Minister for Magic would want from Harry - and what Harry might want in return. They speculated together about the apparent lack of activity from Voldemort. And of course, Harry did more meditation exercises.
That night Harry dreamed of Ginny standing alone beneath the broad snow-covered bows of the oak tree in the corner of the back garden at The Burrow. She simply stood there, her arm outstretched to him. She was wearing a set of evening robes that suggested the Christmas holidays and she seemed to glow, a happy smile spread across her lips.
Waking early Tuesday morning, Harry held onto the dream for as long as he could and before it faded completely he had taken out a bit of parchment and scrawled a few simple words:
Ginny,
I am sure, very sure.
Yours,
Harry
Harry coiled up the small note and tied it to Hedwig’s leg with the red ribbon. He fussed with Hedwig’s feathers all the way to the window and sent her on her morning mission before going downstairs to offer to help Aunt Petunia with breakfast.
Tuesday passed like a dream and Harry was certain he wore a ridiculous smile most of the day; his aunt asked him several times if everything was okay, and whether he was certain he felt quite well.
He spent most of the morning dusting, polishing and vacuuming for his aunt without complaint and in the afternoon he did more meditation exercises with Dumbledore. It was becoming quite easy now to set everything aside and find that empty white space. Even though thoughts of Ginny were ever-present in his mind, he was able to hold onto those emotions and keep them secure in the emptiness with him - almost as though he had contained those emotions in a protected place and held them safe as his mind was cleared of other concerns.
Wednesday passed in much the same way; more cleaning for Aunt Petunia and more lessons with Dumbledore. Harry also remembered to write a letter to the Daily Prophet to obtain a summer subscription and request a week’s worth of back issues. He folded the letter carefully to hold the few galleons that would pay for the whole summer and set the thick parchment aside to wait for Hedwig’s return.
Hedwig returned just after supper with a small scroll of parchment tied to her leg. Harry quickly retrieved the scroll and opened it. As he did so, a small piece of folded paper fell out of it; with seeker reflexes, Harry snatched it and took a closer look. It was a small rectangle of very white tissue paper, folded neatly in half, about one and half inches square. Harry unfolded the paper to discover what looked like pale pink lip prints. He blushed to himself slightly, folded the paper back and set it quickly on his bureau.
He finished unrolling the scroll to find a letter from Ron.
Hey Mate,
Don’t know what was in your last letter, but it sure seems to have made Ginny very happy. She’s been smiling all day and she and Mum have been whispering quite a lot. Guess that whatever was going on with you two, you must have patched it up.
Got a postcard from Hermione today, she says she’s having fun in Greece, and that she’ll be sending you a card soon as well.
Wish you were here, or better yet, that I was there with you. The women here are driving me completely batty with wedding talk about flowers and dresses, though I get the feeling that something odd is going on with the wedding planning. Fleur gets kind of sulky sometimes and spends most of her time tending Bill.
Anyway, I’m hoping the next week and a bit goes quickly, so that you can come be with me here, craziness and all.
Oh, yeah, Ginny is sending you a Whisper. I told her I didn’t think you would know what it was, so she asked me to write and explain. You’ll see it; it’s a small piece of thin white parchment. Just hold it between your palms. Your body heat will activate it, and the rest is self-explanatory. Oh, and it’s best if you close your eyes.
Ron
Harry set the parchment aside and retrieved the small square of paper from his bureau. He regarded it carefully and wondered exactly what a Whisper could be. He had seen Howlers and knew them to be particularly unpleasant, but a Whisper certainly seemed to hold greater intrigue. And besides, it was from Ginny; it couldn’t be anything nasty, could it?
Harry held out his right palm and laid the folded square across it. Gently he placed his left hand over his right and pressed his palms together, his fingers and thumbs aligned. For a moment nothing happened, but then Harry felt the slightest flickering of the paper, as though he had captured a butterfly, as he sometimes had when he was a child, playing in the back garden, and it was struggling between his palms. He eased the space between his palms and the fluttering increased. So, with the slightest trepidation, he opened his palms; the paper appeared to have actually become a white and pink butterfly.
In an instant it flew from his hands, leaving a brief trail of sparkling silver dust in its wake. It circled his head a couple of times and Harry, remembering Ron’s letter, closed his eyes. After a moment, he thought he felt a soft hand on his shoulder, and the sense of someone leaning close to his ear… But not just anybody… It was Ginny. And he heard her voice, a soft, clear whisper. “Harry, I am so glad you have come to your senses. I know what you were trying to do, and I love you for it, but you cannot hide what you feel from anybody.” There was a pause, the eternity of a couple of heartbeats. “And Harry… I have always loved you.” Then, before he could think, he felt the soft paper flutter against his lips and dissolve into the distinct feeling of one of Ginny’s softest kisses. It lingered for far too short a time.
As he felt the press of familiar lips withdrawing, he opened his eyes just in time to see the fluttering paper flit into shining silver dust just inches from his face and disintegrate into nothingness.
There was a light chuckle from the Dumbledore card in its base on the bureau, and Harry, blushing furiously, turned to see the small image smiling brightly. “Pardon my intrusion, Harry; I didn’t mean to spy,” Dumbledore apologized in a happy voice. “But I haven’t seen a Whisper in so many years. A rather spectacular way to receive a message, don’t you think?” Harry could feel the heat in his cheeks, and imagined that he was sporting a stupid grin, too. He quickly nodded in response.
Dumbledore reminisced for a few minutes about the few Whispers he had received in his lifetime, but then quickly set Harry to more meditation exercises, saying that it was the perfect time to practice concealing personal memories, and so that was how Harry spent the remainder of Wednesday evening.
Harry’s contemplation of the events of the past few days was interrupted by his aunt calling him to lunch from the bottom of the stairs.
As Harry descended the stairs, his thoughts remained in a similar vein, of recent events; since he had been back, without Dudley around, Privet Drive had actually been – dare he think it - pleasant. Through the week, his uncle was out all day, so he had seen very little of him – not to mention that his aunt was being civil toward him, if not actually kind. She certainly had been feeding him better than he ever remembered eating before while at Privet Drive. Of course, he knew that the most significant difference had been having Dumbledore with him… or rather, the Dumbledore card base. It had made all the difference to the way in which he passed the hours in his room.
As he thought about it he wondered what was going to happen on Saturday, once his aunt and uncle had retrieved Dudley from school. Well, he thought, I’ll simply deal with Dudders once I have to.
Harry found his aunt in the kitchen. She was looking a little anxious, and she quickly pointed him to a prepared plate set out with a roast beef sandwich and a few crisps. It was at the dining room table rather than the counter, which threw Harry for a moment, but he sat down and began eating anyway, surmising that his aunt must have decided that it was time for their discussion.
After a few minutes his aunt came and sat down at the table. She was clutching something tightly in one hand; it was a small leather book, Harry saw, rather like the small address book that his uncle kept. Harry took a drink of milk and cleared the food from his mouth before politely asking what it was that she wished to discuss with him.
Petunia fidgeted uncomfortably in her chair, looking rather like a child caught in a lie, finally cornered into telling the truth. She set the small leather book on the table, pushing it towards Harry. “I wonder if you could tell me what this is?” Her long neck seemed to crane unnaturally away as she spoke, as though it had taken considerable effort simply to speak those few words.
Harry leaned forward a little in order to see and immediately recognized the embossed seal of Gringotts Wizarding Bank in bright gilding on the cover. The seal was just a logo with the word “Gringotts”; perhaps this was why his aunt was unclear. It could have been anything, he supposed, unless you already knew that Gringotts was a bank. “It looks like an account book from Gringotts Wizarding Bank,” he said after consideration, then added, “Where did it come from?”
Petunia’s eyes widened and she crossed her arms as she leaned backwards in her chair. “A joke, then,” she stated rather disdainfully. “One of those birds brought it, a couple of weeks after you were left on our doorstep.” The distaste in her voice increased as she continued, “The note said that an account had been created in my name.” She exhaled sharply. “The letter was from someone who claimed to be a barrister, a Mr. Pratt or Pracht, something like that. It went on about how he knew that we, as your relatives, would expect no compensation for taking you in, and that it was not his intention to insult us by setting up a fund for your care.” She sighed again. “I knew that it was all a cruel joke when I opened the ledger because there was only one entry, for two hundred ‘g.’ - which of course isn’t real currency.”
Petunia paused again, pressing her thumbnail to her lips. “When I showed it to Vernon he was furious and he chucked it into the fireplace, letter and all.” Here she paused once more and looked up at Harry, as though unsure whether or not to continue. “Well, a few days later when I was cleaning, I found this book amongst the ashes, completely unmarked. When I looked inside it there was a second entry, dated the first of the month, for another two hundred ‘g.’ I never said anything to Vernon but I hid the book away, in case it was real – but no other letter ever arrived, nothing telling us how to withdraw it, so I assumed that it wasn’t.”
Harry just stared at his aunt, not sure what to say. Obviously, ‘g.’ was galleons – but aunt Petunia wasn’t to know that. His mind was racing with the concept that someone had set up a fund for his care, but the Dursleys were too frightened of the wizarding world, too proud, or simply too dim to investigate how to access the money. How different his life would have been if the Dursleys had treated him better, been happier with his presence and spent money on new things for him. There was no guarantee, though, that it would have changed anything - he wondered if his Uncle Vernon would have used the money toward his care at all.
Harry’s train of thought was broken by his aunt speaking once again. “We - especially Vernon - always resented that you were thrust upon us, that we were just expected to care and provide for you. We knew that your father’s family had money of some sort, and expected to receive at least some help towards your education and so on. But all we received was this stupid joke; it just made us even more resentful.”
There was a short, uncomfortable silence. Finally Harry picked up the account book and paged through it. There had been a monthly deposit of two hundred galleons for every month that Harry had been in the Dursleys’ care, until the age of eleven. Once he had started Hogwarts, Harry noted, the deposits continued at a rate of fifty galleons per month while he was away, and resumed at two hundred during the summer months. There was very nearly sixteen years’ worth of deposits listed, and the total balance, including accumulated monthly interest of two and half percent, was an impressive eight hundred twenty thousand, three hundred seventy-six galleons, eight sickles and twenty-four knuts.
Harry just stared at the little book for a while. He wondered where the money was coming from. Surely if it had been coming from his family vault he would have been notified. He also found himself wondering how it was that this account had been accumulating interest, while his vault simply contained whatever coins were placed there. He tried to clear his mind of the many questions and found that in a matter of moments his thoughts were enveloped in a void of white. Finally, in a calm, flat voice, Harry responded, “Galleons. ‘g.’ stands for galleons. It is real money, Aunt Petunia. It’s wizard money.”
Petunia’s eyes widened as Harry spoke and her lips pursed in an expression of agitated confusion. “Why didn’t they just send us it in pounds and be done with it?”
“They… whoever ‘they’ is, must have thought you would already know about the wizarding bank and would be able to arrange to get the money,” Harry offered. He thought for a moment. Hermione’s parents had been able to go to Gringotts and exchange pounds for galleons. His grandparents must have done the same thing when his mother had first started at Hogwarts.
“Aunt Petunia? When my mother was first notified that she was a witch and would be going to Hogwarts, didn’t your parents have to take her to Diagon Alley to buy her books and supplies?” He paused and glanced at his aunt; she wasn’t looking at him, but appeared to be listening. “And, didn’t they have to exchange pounds for galleons at Gringotts Wizarding Bank?” His aunt just sat, looking confused. “Didn’t you ever go with them? Even once?” he prompted.
Petunia looked over at Harry, meeting his steady gaze, and he was taken aback by how pale and frightened she looked. He found himself hoping that she would remember to breathe soon. Finally she did take a deep breath and began to speak. “I did… once. It was the very first time they went. They were all so excited, especially Lily. I was only thirteen years old at the time, mind, and I had become frightened of my sister… of the strange things she could make happen. And here we were, going to this odd and horrible place, for the express purpose of sending my little sister away to become even more strange.” She paused and took several deep breaths. She seemed to be calming slightly. “I remember…” she finally said, “I remember a large white stone building with strange creatures guarding the doors, and becoming very upset. We went in and the place was full of more strange creatures… everywhere. I… I believe I panicked, and my mother had to take me outside while my father finished with Lily. I remember them joining us later at the car, with a whole trunk-full of new things for Lily to take to school.” Petunia gave what sounded to Harry like a disappointed sigh and she finished, “They never tried to take me with them again.”
Harry glanced back down at the final figure in the account book. Someone had paid this money all his life for his care and he had never known. The Dursleys had resented him his entire life, partially because of the expense of his care, and yet they had had these funds available to them the whole time. Harry felt a spike of anger well in his stomach.
It simply wasn’t fair that the Dursleys would now reap this reward after treating him as they had. His mind raced with possibilities. Is there any way I can prevent this? He couldn’t immediately think of a way - after all, the money was clearly in his aunt’s name. He could simply refuse to cooperate, or to reveal any more information. But then it occurred to him; what did he care? Did he really wish the Dursleys ill? No, he had to admit to himself, in spite of everything, he did not; but neither did he wish them rewarded. He thought the whole situation rather absurd, and it aggravated him.
Harry looked at his aunt hard, so much so that a look of shock met his gaze in return. He could not hide the edge of anger in his voice. “Why now?” His aunt looked suddenly frightened of him as he spoke. “If you thought this was all a joke, why bring it up now?”
Petunia looked away, shame playing across her features. “Because–” her voice caught in her throat, “…Because a German company has purchased Grunnings, and Vernon is losing his job.”
The statement was a completely unexpected turn to Harry and the shock of it dulled the edge of his anger.
“And,” Petunia continued, “Some part of me has always wondered if it was real.” Her voice changed suddenly to a sort of guilty plea. “Harry, I am sorry. I told myself it was all a joke because I wanted reason to resent you, but I knew it could be real. We were so determined to weed out any possibility of magic in you that we treated you terribly. In the end we failed completely. We probably do not deserve this money, but right now it could mean the difference between staying afloat and losing everything by the end of the summer.”
Petunia produced a handkerchief from somewhere and began dabbing her eyes. “You see, Vernon and I have not been good with money; Vernon has always insisted on keeping up appearances, whether it was the car or the house, or clothes. And I have to admit how much we have spoiled Dudley. The truth is, unless Vernon finds another job that pays him just as much, we will have no way to keep up our monthly expenses.”
Harry was completely dumbfounded. As much as he told himself he didn’t care about the Dursleys, Petunia was his only blood family and he didn’t want to see her destitute. It was sheer irony, he thought, that his aunt was essentially turning to him for help. It was all too much to take in, and he couldn’t yet know how he felt about it, but he knew that the next step should at least be taken.
“Do you think...?” Harry began tentatively, all hint of anger now gone from his voice. “Do you think you could brave that place again, now that you are grown, in order to get the money from that account? I mean… I think you’ll have to go there, at least once.”
His aunt looked up at him with surprise, her eyes still welling with tears. She gave the slightest nod of affirmation. “Would it be possible for you to arrange it?” she asked rather timidly.
Harry realized suddenly just what he was being asked. His aunt wanted him to take her to Gringotts. Harry’s head began filling with thoughts of a trip to Diagon Alley. He was not thinking of security and other considerations, just the excitement of the bustling shopping center of Wizarding London. He didn’t really care about the money. Ever since he had learned about his inheritance in his Gringotts vault, money had just never been a concern to him. Instead what occurred to him now, was how much he would like to get away from the house, and the neighborhood, even if it meant having to go out with his aunt. He nodded back to his aunt.
“Harry.” His aunt’s voice invaded his thoughts again. “One more thing… do you know, is a galleon more or less than a pound?”
Harry considered for a moment. “I think I heard my friend Hermione once talk about the conversion rate from galleons to pounds; there’s something like four or five pounds to the galleon, I think.”
Petunia took the account book from Harry and was clearly inspecting the final figure. After a few seconds, she became pale again and uttered slowly, “But… But…That would mean there are over four million pounds here.” She just stared at the little book in her hands for a long moment. A greedy smile stretched slowly across her face, making her horsy features look rather uncomfortable. “Harry,” she said excitedly, “if you can arrange it… I’m taking Vernon to work in the morning and I’ll have the car to do the weekly shopping. I would like it if we could go tomorrow.”
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NEXT Chapter Six Diagon Dalliance
Chapter 7: Chapter 6 - Diagon Dalliance
Author's Notes: Harry accompanies his Aunt to Diagon Alley in order to retrieve the money from Gringotts. They meet up with their escort from the Order and the visit takes a few twists.
Diagon Dalliance Drive
Harry could barely breathe as his uncle’s sedan motored down the road toward London. It was all so unbelievable; he was actually on his way to Diagon Alley, accompanied by none other than his Aunt Petunia. And, perhaps most unbelievable of all, he was actually sitting in the front seat.
It had all happened so quickly, and Harry was still processing it in his head. After learning about his Aunt Petunia’s account book from Gringotts Wizarding Bank, and the Dursleys’ need to access the money, Harry had rushed to his room and told the Dumbledore card all about it. Dumbledore was as surprised as Harry about the existence of the account, and had no idea where it had come from.
Arranging to make a trip to Diagon Alley had proven a bit circuitous, but it had all finally come together. The Dumbledore card seemed to feel that such a trip would be safe enough, if the Order would be willing to provide discreet security, though he stressed that some safety measures were definitely warranted.
Harry and Dumbledore were in agreement that Voldemort had gone to ground, revising his plans, building power and preparing for future attacks. Harry proposed that the cause of the Death Eaters’ inactivity was fear of backlash over Dumbledore’s death. The card was somewhat self-effacing regarding this theory, and humbly discounted it as the reason behind the lull. Dumbledore felt that Voldemort was purposely creating a period of calm in order to encourage more normal, unguarded activity. After some discussion, the card base and Harry agreed that things would be relatively safe for a while, and though they knew that they should spend this time on planning and preparation, there was still time to take advantage of the opportunity for a relatively safe trip to Diagon Alley. Plus, the card had said, it might be good for the general morale of the wizarding world if Harry Potter were to be seen out in public.
In order to make arrangements for the trip, Harry first considered sending Hedwig with a letter to Mr. Weasley, but he knew that it would take her a few hours to make the flight and he figured there must be a way to send a message more quickly. Besides, he felt the person to contact was really Mad-Eye Moody, and he had no idea where or how far away he was. He then considered sending her with a note for whatever Order member was nearby on watch duty, but thought that might arouse undesired attention. As he sat on the edge of his bed considering the problem, Dumbledore reminded him that he did own a house-elf who could be used to deliver a message almost instantaneously. Harry retorted that he owned a house-elf, but one that he would never trust with anything. Then it occurred to him; there was one house-elf that he would trust. Still sitting on the edge of his bed, he uttered a name that rolled off his tongue with a bit of disdain: “Kreacher.”
After a few moments there was a “pop” and the decrepit and dirty little house-elf was standing before him. “My master calls and I am forced to obey,” Kreacher’s grumbling voice came. The little elf was clearly unhappy with having to respond to Harry, but all-in-all, Harry thought that he looked healthier and a bit cleaner for having been with so many other elves, working at Hogwarts for the past year.
“Kreacher,” Harry said clearly and authoritatively, “I want you to find Dobby and send him to me immediately. And you are not to communicate of this to anyone – ever.” Kreacher looked up at Harry with an expression that might have been disappointment, or just as easily disgust. “Kreacher will do as his master demands,” the old elf intoned, and then he disappeared with a “pop”.
Within two minutes there was another “pop” and Dobby appeared in Harry’s bedroom. “Harry Potter wants to see Dobby?” came the familiar squeaky voice. “Dobby is honored to come at Harry Potter’s summons. Dobby will do anything for Harry Potter; Harry Potter has but to ask.” The little elf’s large eyes shone with anticipation as he paced the room excitedly.
“Dobby,” Harry said, smiling at the effusive little elf, “I just want you to take a simple message for me.”
“Dobby would be honored, of course, Harry Potter.” Dobby grinned widely, the stack of knitted hats wobbling precariously upon his head.
Dobby had quickly located Alastor Moody and informed him of Harry’s need to speak to him. Moody had arrived in the back garden a short time later beneath his invisibility cloak, and though he wasn’t all that keen on the idea of Harry leaving the house, Harry insisted that he would make the trip regardless, so Moody agreed to arrange security through the Order. After supper that evening, Dobby had come with a final confirmation; Harry was to travel with his aunt to the Leaky Cauldron – accompanied by a broom guard, who would be camouflaged by Invisibility Charms – where they would meet with an escort and proceed to Diagon Alley.
Harry had not been told specifically who the escort would be, only that it would be someone he would know. Harry was also quite certain that Moody, being who he was, would have arranged for further protection, rather than leaving him with just one minder; he was sure that the camouflaged guard would not stop following them just because this leg of the trip was concluded. Knowing Moody, there would be sentries and lookouts all throughout the alley. He leaned back into the plush seat, relaxed, and tried to enjoy the ride.
Aunt Petunia had been very quiet so far, but her mixed excitement and trepidation showed in her manner as she steered her husband’s precious automobile into the busy streets of London. Harry thought it was greed and financial worry that was driving her against her fears, but as long as it got him out of Privet Drive and into the relative comfort of the wizarding world, even for a short while, he was prepared to take advantage of the opportunity; he was determined to have a good day.
It was proving to be a beautiful, sunny morning, with light, fluffy clouds punctuating the sky, and Harry felt better and better as they arrived in London and turned into a multi-storey car park, where Aunt Petunia was given a paper ticket. Once free of the car, they went on foot the short distance toward the Leaky Cauldron. Harry tried hard to quell his growing excitement as they rounded a corner and he recognized how close they were to their destination. He found himself wondering suddenly who their escort would be, and hoped whoever it was had the sense to dress like a Muggle to set his aunt at ease.
As they turned onto Charing Cross Road, Harry knew they would be less than a hundred feet from the entrance to the Leaky Cauldron, and he scanned the people on the street carefully, looking for anyone he might recognize. He noted rather absently that the large bookstore was still there, as he remembered from his very first visit to Diagon Alley all those years ago with Hagrid. But it appeared that the record shop had given way to a coffee shop of some kind, as the smell of freshly brewed coffee was wafting down the street and there seemed to be a steady flow of Muggles going in and out.
Then, with a breath of relief, Harry spotted their escort: Molly Weasley. She was standing next to a postbox right in front of the grubby little pub window. As he got close, she turned and saw him and smiled a broad, friendly smile. She must have been very well coached, he thought as he noticed her tasteful, khaki skirt and plain white blouse. Combined with a knit shawl, also of a single color, and with a canvas handbag, Molly looked like she could have been any Muggle unobtrusively waiting for a bus. Harry was grateful to whoever had helped dress her - not that he personally had any objection to her usual multicolored jumpers and otherwise eccentric wizard wardrobe, but for this meeting, looking like a normal Muggle was definitely a plus.
As Mrs. Weasley turned, smiling, Harry was hugely surprised to see a flash of familiar red hair on the other side of her, and before he could quell the sudden summersaults of the creature in his chest, Ginny stepped back from her mother’s side and came into full view. This day has just become brilliant, Harry thought to himself as he took in the vision of her standing there in hip-hugging flared Muggle jeans, and a simple form-fitting olive green jumper over a white singlet. Her hair was straight and loose with only a narrow braid from the front on each side pulled back and gathered with a simple hair band. He smiled at her and fought the urge to sprint toward her and gather her up into a huge hug.
As the two Weasleys approached, Harry stepped forward and carefully presented his aunt to each of them in formal introduction. “Aunt Petunia, I would like to introduce you to Mrs. Molly Weasley, and her daughter, Ginny,” he said, speaking clearly and politely. “Mrs. Weasley, Ginny, this is my aunt, Petunia Dursley.” Harry swallowed hard and hoped that the drive to become rich would be overriding his aunt’s usual fear of anything to do with the magical world. She had said that she had been here before as a girl, so Harry assumed that she could at least see the door and pub window, and was somewhat prepared to face her fears.
Molly extended her hand to a doubtful Petunia, who took it mechanically and with somewhat less-than-polite brevity. “Very nice to meet you, Mrs. Dursley,” Molly began in a cheerful, tempered tone. “We are good friends of Harry’s; as you know, he has spent considerable time in our home, and I have been asked to serve as your escort today, if that is acceptable to you?”
Petunia took in Mrs. Weasley suspiciously, and for a moment Harry feared that previous encounters between the Dursleys and the Weasleys would color this meeting. Both women, despite Molly’s carefully maintained smile, and Petunia’s expression of neutrality, seemed very uncomfortable to him. There was a long moment of tension clear upon his aunt’s face, but it seemed to be overridden by her desire to see this through and, to his relief, she replied, “It is nice to meet you as well, Mrs. Weasley. We have seen one another a number of times at King’s Cross, but never been formally introduced. I would be pleased of your company today.” Harry knew his aunt well enough to know that she was falling back on her ingrained etiquette, and that only Molly’s carefully groomed appearance and behavior were preventing her from unraveling. That and her desire to get the money from the bank account.
Harry had had all the previous night to think about it, and he had concluded that the money simply was not important to him. He did feel a slight bit of resentment, when he dwelled on it, that the money had been set aside to provide for him, but Dumbledore had told him once that it did not do to dwell on the past, so as long as the money was in his aunt’s name, he didn’t see any reason that the Dursleys couldn’t have it.
He had to admit, he felt some small hope that it would change their attitude toward him, but it was a very small hope. So far it had not been an unpleasant stay at Privet Drive, and if this money helped the Dursleys and bought him a continued pleasant final visit, so be it. Harry would be moving forward anyway once he turned seventeen. He glanced over at Ginny, whose bright eyes met his happily. For now, he decided, he was prepared to concentrate on this day, to make this day something special, and he could feel himself smiling.
“This, as Harry says, is my daughter, Ginny. She’s my youngest.” Molly was still addressing Petunia, and Harry realized his mind had been wandering and he had been staring at Ginny, who now stepped forward and shook Harry’s aunt’s hand, adding the slightest polite bow. “Ginny is at school with Harry and my son, Ron; she’s a year behind them,” Molly finished.
“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Dursley,” Ginny said sweetly.
“You are a very beautiful girl,” Petunia said, almost wistfully. “You remind me a little of Harry’s mother when she was your age. She had red hair, as well - did Harry ever tell you that?” Harry stared at his aunt, his jaw dropping slightly. He had never in his life heard his aunt utter a favorable word about his mother, and now to hear her compare his mother to Ginny was a little unsettling.
“Yes, Ma’am, Harry has mentioned it,” Ginny replied, blushing at what she obviously regarded as a huge compliment.
“Well,” Harry interjected, “I suppose we had best be getting on to Gringotts.”
“Now, Harry,” Molly said with the slightest frown. “We don’t want to rush your aunt. Diagon Alley can be an overwhelming place for non-magic folk, and Gringotts especially, so perhaps…” she had turned to Petunia now and was smiling reassuringly, “…If you have any questions, Mrs. Dursley, we would be glad to answer anything before we proceed.”
Mrs. Dursley regarded Mrs. Weasley then, with wide eyes, and Harry saw something in her demeanor change. It was as if this small display of understanding had cracked something in Aunt Petunia’s facade of frightened distrust, and she seemed to visibly relax slightly. “I’ll tell you what,” Molly continued, “Why don’t we go on through the Leaky Cauldron and into Diagon Alley - just a little way in is a very nice cafe, where I have arranged for us to have tea, and we can answer any questions there, and relax a bit before we proceed to the bank.” Aunt Petunia looked a little overwhelmed, her knuckles whitening as she clutched her handbag, but she nodded her acceptance, and moved forward stiffly.
As they walked through the Leaky Cauldron, Harry noticed his aunt had lost the usual haughtiness to her step and instead appeared quite timid. She was looking everywhere in wide-eyed, perhaps fearful, anticipation, but it didn’t really look much different to a quaint, old, smoke-filled country pub. Yes, the very few people there were dressed funnily by Muggle standards, but all-in-all it couldn’t be too unsettling.
Ginny led the way through the tables, away from the bar and toward the back courtyard. As they stepped past, Harry caught sight of a cloaked man in a small, shadowed alcove that he could tell would have a clear view of the courtyard exit. As Ginny pulled open the courtyard door, she seemed to be careful not to stand in the passage, and Harry noticed quick movements from the man. When he turned his head to look, he realized that it was Alastor Moody sitting in the alcove at a small secluded table, and it occurred to him that Moody had just opened the Alley archway from where he was sitting. Harry silently mouthed a thank you, and Moody winked at him with his natural eye.
Ginny continued to hold the door as Harry led his aunt and Mrs. Weasley outside and through the open archway, right out onto the sun-filled, twisting, cobblestone street that was Diagon Alley. Petunia looked as though she expected something to jump out at her as she hesitantly stepped through the archway, but she proceeded when he motioned her forward. Harry was grateful to see that the normally bustling alley he remembered was today only sparsely populated by tight groups of shoppers, though that was still enough to give a feeling of life to the street.
Harry hung back then, as Mrs. Weasley led his awestruck aunt down the street toward a small cafe. Harry wasn’t sure what his aunt remembered, but he imagined that she had twisted the memory into something nightmarish, and the reality around her, while strange to her idea of normal, had to be much less frightening than she had expected. Harry relaxed a little himself, suddenly aware that he had been a bit nervous. He was quite pleased when he felt Ginny’s hand slip into his own, and turned his head to smile at her as they followed the adults.
They passed the cauldron shop and the Apothecary, and just beyond was a small bakery/cafe called Mrs. Scheffelgroober’s Tea & Cakes. Harry remembered eating there a few times the summer before his third year, and had fond memories of treats from the bakery case at the front of the store, but all-in-all he had come to prefer Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor for both the ice cream and the homework help.
They stepped into the white-tiled bakery area and the wonderful smells of fresh bread and pastries flooded into Harry’s nostrils. Ginny pulled him over to the pastry case and began pointing out all her favorite tortes and biscuits. A jolly looking, heavy set, gray-haired witch appeared on the other side of the case. She bent to see what Harry and Ginny were looking at and upon seeing them — or rather, Harry — for who he was, through the glass, began waving excitedly. She came quickly out front through a set of counter height swinging doors, smoothing her white baker’s apron as she moved. She smiled and clasped her hands together excitedly. “Mr. Harry Potter, it is such an honor to have you in my little cafe once again! It has been years, and you have grown so much,” the gray haired witch said effusively.
“It is very nice to see you again, Mrs. Scheffelgroober,” Harry replied, blushing, as Ginny elbowed him in the side teasingly.
Mrs. Weasley cleared her throat loudly enough to capture Mrs. Scheffelgroober’s attention, saving Harry from any further embarrassment. Mrs. Scheffelgroober regarded Mrs. Weasley and Harry’s aunt and immediately assumed a more formal demeanor. “Oh yes, Molly, so good to see you. I have the table you requested ready; everything is prepared.” Her voice was that of a kindly grandmother. Mrs. Scheffelgroober ushered them through an archway to the side, directing the two women into the beautifully appointed dining area. The room was all done in Victorian decoration with paintings and tapestries up high on the walls and delicate tea tables scattered about the room with flowery upholstered chairs surrounding each. Even Aunt Petunia seemed impressed with the decor as she glanced around the room, taking in the delicacy of the small kick-knacks here and there, and the fine artistry of the tapestries and paintings. Harry noted that none of the paintings were moving, and he thought this must have been arranged beforehand.
Almost immediately upon their being seated, a young man arrived pushing a wheeled tea service trolley with a steaming kettle, fine china tea service and a tiered tray of succulent biscuits, cakes, tortes and tarts, enough to make Aunt Petunia’s eyes widen, and everyone smack their lips a little in anticipation. The young man began setting out sugar and cream, individual plates and forks, and set the pastry tray in the center of the table. Then he began spooning raw tea into a ball infuser, which he set into a porcelain teapot before pouring steaming water from the kettle.
Ginny was first to recognize the young man as Terry Boot, a Ravenclaw from Harry’s year. He was neatly dressed in a crisp, white, tab collar shirt, a floral print vest, obviously intended to match the room, and dark slacks covered by a long white apron.
“Terry, nice to see you,” Ginny said with a smile. “How long have you worked for Mrs. Scheffelgroober?”
The young man looked up from the trolley, obviously unaccustomed to being recognized at work. “Ginny!” he exclaimed, perhaps a bit more loudly than he intended. “And… and, Harry… it’s nice to see you as well.” He paused before continuing, “Oh… Um, just started this week…Got my Apparition license, and Dad thought it would be a good idea to get a summer job.” Terry smiled a bit sheepishly and reached to shake Harry’s hand.
“Terry, this is Ginny’s mother, Mrs. Weasley, and my aunt, Mrs. Dursley,” Harry said, gesturing with his hand as he introduced the two women. Mrs. Weasley smiled warmly, and Petunia seemed just a little taken aback. “Mrs. Weasley, Aunt Petunia, this is Terry Boot. Terry is in my year at school, though he is in a different house,” Harry finished.
“It is nice to meet you, Terry,” Mrs. Weasley said as she smiled. Terry bowed politely to the two women. Petunia did not speak, but somewhat hesitantly nodded recognition.
“It’s great to see you having a nice start to your summer.” He smiled. “I’ll just pour out now, and leave you to your tea.”
With that, the tea was served and Mrs. Weasley started passing round the treats from the center tray. After a few minutes, Harry noticed that his aunt seemed much more comfortable. He felt the change was pronounced and had happened rather quickly, but as Ginny’s foot bumped his beneath the table, he let the thought pass.
Aunt Petunia seemed very interested in the delightfully delicate pastries and was bending Mrs. Weasley’s ear about what a civilized tradition it was to take a proper tea. Both Harry and Ginny had tucked right into the treats and were soon finished with their tea as well.
Mrs. Dursley had finally become bold enough that she had begun to ask tentative questions about the wizarding world and its customs, and Molly Weasley was treating her with the warmth of an old friend and answering as best she could.
As Mrs. Weasley was pouring out a second cup, Ginny suddenly asked if she and Harry might be excused so that they could go visit the twins. Harry, who had become content to simply sit there nudging ankles with Ginny, brightened at the suggestion. “I should very much like to go round to see Fred and George quickly, if that would be okay?” he said with a hint of excitement in his voice.
“Well, Harry, I expect that is up to your aunt,” Molly said, smiling and turning toward a rather calm and relaxed Aunt Petunia who was preoccupied with looking at all the pretty things which populated the room. In fact, Harry couldn’t recall ever seeing his aunt looking so comfortable. Mrs. Weasley explained quickly that two of her sons owned a shop down the street, and that Harry and Ginny would like to go there until she and Petunia were done with their tea. To Harry’s great surprise, his aunt agreed, and he and Ginny didn’t hesitate to excuse themselves for a moment, but were up from the table, out past the bakery case, and through the door in a flash.
They practically sprinted through Diagon Alley, passing Flourish and Blotts, Madam Malkin’s, and Florean Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlor. Harry came to a stop abruptly; a very surprised Ginny, not letting go of his hand, was spun round to face him. He was standing only a few feet from a low post and chain barrier that marked the limits of the outdoor seating for Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlor. The area was filled with white furniture; what looked like round picnic tables with attached benches and a brightly colored umbrella above each.
“What is it, Harry?” Ginny asked him curiously after a moment of trying to figure out just what Harry was looking at. People at the tables had begun to notice them – some were pointing, and it was obvious that Harry had been recognized.
“Didn’t Fortescue go missing?” Harry finally uttered, still taking in the area with an expression of fondness.
“Oh,” Ginny responded, tugging at him and getting him moving again. “Yeah, Fred and George said that some relative showed up a couple of months ago and re-opened the parlor. An Irish woman named Slaine Soronen.” The effort of talking while walking so quickly was obvious in Ginny’s breathing. “Apparently she has a very attractive daughter… Otherwise, I am sure they wouldn’t have taken notice.”
Harry didn’t give it another thought as they breezed past Gringotts and were quickly on down the alley, past its many other stores until they reached Number ninety-three, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. The windows were filled with wondrous displays of colorful new products, and a new line of serious items intended for self-protection. Ginny had not let go of Harry’s hand the whole way, and she practically pulled him into the shop.
There was the clatter of a spring bell as they entered, and Fred and George both appeared, on opposite sides of the shop, from behind the dizzying array of displays. They were both hailing him with some sort of salutation when Harry realized that Ginny not only had not let go of his hand, but was pulling him forward past her brothers, and the spattering of customers, toward the back of the shop. Harry waved at Fred and George and followed Ginny through a door into what he assumed was Fred and George’s office, judging by the two desks and the general disarray. Ginny released his hand finally, closed and locked the door behind her and threw herself into Harry’s arms, wrapping her own arms around his neck and kissing him.
Harry was not about to object as he felt the lips he had so missed pressed against his own, and he hugged her firmly against himself. After what must have been a couple of minutes of sound snogging, Harry finally, reluctantly, pulled away smiling. “I’ve missed you, too… But, aren’t your brothers likely to have my head now?”
Ginny grinned up at him. “Sorry, Harry, but I just couldn’t wait another second. Don’t worry. The whole family knows we’re a couple now, and no one is going to hex you — at least, not over a bit of harmless snogging. I suppose you can talk to my brothers now.”
“Well, that’s a relief.” Harry grinned teasingly, his eyebrow rising curiously at her statement.
Once they were back out in the front of the shop, not a mention was made of their short use of the office. Instead, the twins were keen to ask how tea had gone. Harry quickly picked up that taking his Aunt Petunia to tea was part of the plan, and that the twins had supplied some sort of powdered calming draft which Mrs. Scheffelgroober had arranged to put in the bottom of the cup given to Harry’s aunt. Harry began to object, but the twins were quick to assure him that it would not impair her judgment in any way, only calm her fears, so that she could be talked to reasonably.
“It’s really very safe, Harry,” Fred chimed in. “We’ve tested it extensively.”
George continued, “Originally we developed it for witches and wizards who have trouble controlling their nerves when they go out. It seems many people don’t like to leave their homes, what with You-Know-Who and all.”
“Helps people maintain their composure is all it does, really. And it’s selling marvelously,” Fred finished.
“They call it Weasleys’ Remarkable Keep Calm Powder,” Ginny broke in. “And it was really Ron’s idea to slip some to your aunt.”
George picked up the conversation again. “Yeah, he was just sitting there last night at the dinner table when Mad-Eye came by and was telling us how you were going to make a trip to Diagon Alley with your aunt. He just looked up from his fifth roast chicken leg and said, pretty as you please, ‘Not Harry’s aunt, she’ll be wound so tight that she’ll explode; wish we could slip her some of your new calming powder, that would level her out.’,” George finished with a decent enough impression of Ron, complete with a pantomime chicken leg in his hand.
Harry was about to ask where Ron was when the cellar door burst open and someone emerged carrying a large stack of variously shaped and colored boxes. “You lot wanna give me a hand?” came Ron’s familiar voice. The twins hurried over and took the boxes, each heading for different displays. “Harry!” Ron exclaimed as he hurried over, smiling. “We’ve been wondering if you were really going to show up.”
“Oh, I’m here, right enough,” Harry replied with a smile, shaking Ron’s hand and clapping him on the shoulder. “Bet you never thought you would see me so soon?”
“Well, that doesn’t make us any less glad to see you, mate.” Ron clapped Harry on the back in return. “Now, what’s all this about your aunt having a Gringotts account?”
“Apparently, it was set up when I was a baby,” Harry began. “My aunt said that there was a letter from a barrister, but my uncle burned it, and tried to burn the account book as well.” He looked around to see if the twins were listening and when he was satisfied that they, and the few customers in the shop, were busy and out of ear-shot, he continued in a whisper so only Ron and Ginny could hear. “Dumbledore couldn’t tell me anything; he was just as surprised as I was to hear about it.” Harry paused, then continued normally again. “And what’s funny is that it’s a Gringotts account, but it has accumulated interest all these years. I’ve never heard of that.”
“Oh,” Ginny chimed in, “Gringotts has interest bearing savings accounts; you can ask Fred and George all about them. But most wizarding families don’t trust the goblins enough to give them control of their money, so they just use the vaults instead.” Both Ron and Harry looked at Ginny in surprise. “What?” Ginny said in response to their expressions. “I learned a long time ago to pay attention to Fred and George and not just discount their ideas.”
“Well, if the Galleons were coming out of my vault every month, then Gringotts would have had to tell me, or send me some sort of statement,” Harry continued on, giving Ginny’s hand a light squeeze. “And I have never, ever received any such thing. So, I have no idea where the money is coming from. It’s all part of the mystery.”
Fred and George returned to the conversation and shared their knowledge about the wizarding banking system. “Interest accounts have always been available through Gringotts, but people just plain didn’t know it because in Britain, the vault system is available to every witch and wizard at no charge,” Fred explained. “That’s due to an ancient Ministry decree,” George chimed in. “In other countries, savings accounts are the norm.” Fred continued seamlessly, “Gringotts makes investments and loans, and does lots more than just keeping everyone’s money locked up in the vaults.” This made all sorts of sense to Harry; he had just never given it any thought before.
“How much money are we talking about here?” Ron questioned somewhat tactlessly.
“Oh… I don’t recall exactly, something over eight-hundred-thousand Galleons.” Harry replied, nonplussed. “What does it matter?”
The spoken number seemed to hang in the air as each of the Weasleys appeared to be stunned into silence. Finally, Ron’s voice returned following a hard, pronounced gulp. “Harry, that’s a fortune!” he exclaimed.
“Is it?” Harry said with a distinctly Luna-ish air.
“Sure it is,” Fred chimed in. “Harry, most wizards don’t make more than four or six thousand Galleons a year.”
“And the Ministry doesn’t even pay that,” George added, not bothering to hide his disdain, and quite obviously referring to his father’s income.
There was a long pause as Harry tried to take in what they were saying. He realized that, because he had never had to think about money – before attending Hogwarts he had simply accepted that the Dursleys would never give him spending money, and after he’d turned eleven and learned of his Gringotts vault, he’d always known he had plenty – he was sadly unaware of how important it really was to nearly everyone else.
Since first meeting Ron, he had known about the Weasleys’ financial struggles, but Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had always dismissed any discussions about it and refused every offer of help he had ever extended. In Harry’s mind, the Weasleys were rich in every way that seemed to matter, so he had always completely overlooked their financial reality.
Ron’s words broke through Harry’s thoughts. “It’s a fortune, mate — and you’re just going to let the Dursleys have it?” Ron looked completely scandalized.
“Well…” Harry began, taken aback by Ron’s reaction. “I don’t think it’s really up to me; the money is in my aunt’s name.”
“But what if it wasn’t?” Ginny asked quietly as she squeezed his hand. “Would you just give them that much money?”
Harry contemplated this twist of the issue. He had already determined to himself that he didn’t care about this money… It didn’t seem to be his money, and besides, he had more Galleons than he would care to count in a vault just down the alley and who knew how far beneath the ground. And that was before his inheritance from Sirius. But this was a way of looking at it that he hadn’t considered. After a moment, he responded, “Probably not, but I don’t think I can really answer that. I can’t think of many reasons to just give the Dursleys anything. But if they really needed help, despite everything, I don’t think I could just turn my back on them.”
Ginny squeezed his hand and leaned into him, but Ron and the twins just stared at him rather blankly. Finally, Ron sighed heavily. “Harry… most people just aren’t that forgiving.”
“Oh, it’s not forgiveness, really. I was thinking about it, and the thing is… the Dursleys have been afraid of me all of my life, yet they still abided by what Dumbledore asked.” He paused and looked Ron directly in the eye. “Ron, what would you have done if someone had dropped an Acromantula baby off on your doorstep and said you had to take care of it for the next seventeen years, or it would most likely be killed?”
Chuckling loudly and nudging Ron hard with his shoulder, George spoke up. “After he was done screaming and flailing, he’d have come and got one of us to stomp on it.”
“But you’re not an eight-legged hairy monster, Harry,” Fred concluded.
“To the Dursleys, I am – or perhaps something even worse.” Harry’s voice was beginning to rise, so he took a deep, calming breath and continued, “My very existence threatens their way of life. All they ever wanted was to be normal Muggles, but instead they had to carry around the knowledge that something else existed. A world of which they could never be a part, and that held the potential of great dangers. If not for having me, they might have been able to convince themselves that our world simply didn’t exist. And they would have been much happier.”
Harry could feel Ginny clinging to his arm, and holding his hand firmly, completely in support of him. Ron and the twins were staring at him, as though what he was saying was taking time to sink in.
“The whole point is – they could have just chucked me into an orphanage and been done with me, but they didn’t. However they treated me, by keeping me in their home and allowing me to return each summer, they provided me with magical protection, and in a way I owe them my life for that. I don’t have to like them. And I am not holding out hope that they will suddenly like me. But don’t tell me I should begrudge them this money. I have more important things to think about.”
Everyone was silent for a few moments before Ron spoke up. “I wish Hermione was here… She always seems to know what to say in these situations… and somehow I think she would agree with you.” He smiled weakly, and shrugged his shoulders.
A few customers entered the store and the twins immediately went to help them.
Slowly, conversation resumed and Ron was soon telling Harry all about how crazy it was at The Burrow, and how he had finally agreed to come work for the twins just to get away, and to put a few Galleons in his own pocket.
Harry was taken through the shop and shown the many new products that the twins were introducing. Amidst all the conversation and between products Harry learned that Ron had received several letters from Hermione and, according to Ginny, enthusiastically replied to each one.
After about forty-five minutes Terry Boot came into the shop. After greetings all around, Terry delivered the message that Harry was to meet his aunt and Mrs. Weasley in front of Gringotts in five minutes. Terry quickly excused himself to return to work, but not before placing a small order with the twins.
Five minutes later, Harry and Ginny arrived at Gringotts, meeting Mrs. Weasley and Aunt Petunia at the foot of the white stone steps leading up to the heavy bronze doors. Harry, at first, was quite surprised to see the two women chatting pleasantly and his aunt looking very comfortable. He reminded himself about Weasleys’ Remarkable Keep Calm Powder and smiled appreciatively.
Once they were all together, Mrs. Weasley excused herself and Ginny so that Harry could take his aunt into the bank. They promised to be waiting at Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlor when Harry and his aunt were done.
As they ascended the marble stairs, Aunt Petunia commented how much she had enjoyed tea with Mrs. Weasley, and wondered aloud why she had been so dead set against her in principle for so long. “She’s filled me in quite a bit about your doings at school, Harry; I had no idea that you have been doing so marvelously. Of course, the assessment system is completely unacceptable by any practical standards, but all the same, I am pleased to hear that you have not been squandering your education.”
Harry braced himself for the moment that his aunt finally noticed the goblin guard at the outer door, but the moment came and went, uneventfully. Aunt Petunia was all business as they entered the bank entrance chamber, and she didn’t slow down enough to bother reading the inscription on the second set of silver doors. Harry was pulling such an astonished face at this point that it caught his aunt’s attention. “What is your difficulty, boy?” his aunt said, abashed, finally sounding a bit more like the aunt he had always known. “Stop making that face; I have been here before, I have an idea of what strangeness to expect, and I am an adult. And somehow none of it seems all that disturbing, anyway.” The two goblins at the inner doors bowed them through.
The main hall was bustling with activity, the many goblins busy on their stools, others pushing carts of coins and gemstones from one location to another, and still others escorting witches and wizards in and out of the many side doors toward the various vaults. They paused as Harry looked around for a goblin at the forward counter that didn’t seem to be with a customer.
From the corner of his eye, Harry noticed an odd movement. Well, not really an odd movement, just an out of place movement, as from behind the long side counter where the many goblins were weighing and counting, and writing in their ledgers, a full-sized man got up from a stool and moved with some haste toward he and his aunt. This, momentarily, struck Harry as strange, but then he reminded himself that so far the Order seemed to have planned the whole trip rather neatly, so he figured that this man was likely pre-arranged for his aunt’s benefit as well.
The man approaching them was middle-aged, quite tall and thin, with a long neck and prominent Adams-apple. His hair was thinning, and graying at his temples, but otherwise nearly black. He was a kindly looking man, but Harry noted that he had rather large ears, which stuck out from the sides of his head, and his nose was quite long and thin as well. His gray eyes seemed to be smiling, contributing to his overall benevolent appearance, and he wore a dark charcoal, crisply pressed, Muggle-style suit with a white shirt and red silk tie.
“Mr. Potter,” he said with the same sort of excited politeness that Harry had heard from many adults in the wizarding world when they first had the opportunity to meet him. “So very nice to have you here. I am Edwin Garron, Assistant Director of Muggle services.”
Harry took the man’s extended hand and shook it. “And this would be your aunt, Mrs. Petunia Dursley?” Edwin continued, turning to Petunia and shaking her hand as well. “One of our employees, Bill Weasley, informed me that you would be visiting this morning; I am so pleased to be of service.”
Mr. Garron took them from the main hall down an adjacent hallway and into a large office, clearly decorated and furnished in Muggle fashion. Once they were seated at a large, polished wood table, he asked Aunt Petunia for her account book and, upon examining it for a curiously long couple of minutes, went to a wall of large, thick, leather-bound books, pulled down one of the many identical-looking volumes and paged through it until he found whatever it was he was looking for, whereupon he made some small, curious noises common to recognition and understanding, and looked up at Aunt Petunia. “Very well, Mrs. Dursley, how exactly may I help you today?”
“I would like you to tell me about this account, where the money is coming from and whether it can be converted into money that is useful to me.” Petunia was quite business-like now and did not seem overly anxious, or even greedy.
Mr. Garron cleared his throat importantly. “Well, I will tell you what I can, Mrs. Dursley.” He consulted the large book once more, looking away only briefly. “This account was set up as a fund to provide for Mr. Potter’s care, just after he was given into your custody some years ago. I cannot tell you where the money comes from, as I do not have that information, though I can tell you that it does not come from Mr. Potter’s vault on these premises. The account originates from our bank location in Switzerland, and yes, the funds can be converted into British pounds for your use.” Mr. Garron paused. “However, there are some stipulations on the account.”
Aunt Petunia’s face dropped into a disappointed frown. “What sorts of stipulations?” she asked pointedly.
“Firstly, the funds were intended to be withdrawn on a monthly basis for ongoing use. As they have remained untouched all this time, they were not, and can no longer be, used for their intended purpose. Under the terms of the account, any accumulated interest and unused balance is to be held in trust for Mr. Potter and added to his vault upon his seventeenth birthday. Further, the deposits will end once Mr. Potter comes of age, so that means that there will be one more deposit of two hundred Galleons on July first, and one more interest payment calculated on the balance on July thirty-first. Thereafter, the account will be closed and the remaining balance placed in Mr. Potter’s vault.” Edwin took a deep breath, looking quite sympathetic. “I can cash out this month’s deposit for you, and convert it into pounds, but that is all the funds that I am allowed to disburse.”
Aunt Petunia’s head had dropped and Harry thought he saw a tear forming at the corner of her eye. “If I had clearly known that this was real money, I would have seen that it was used as it was intended,” she said with a slight break in her voice. “All these years, we believed that my nephew was left with us without any provision for his care, even though we knew that his father had been wealthy…” she paused, sniffling slightly. “I know you do not understand this. When Harry started school and he obviously had money from an inheritance, it made my husband even more bitter than he had been. When that account book originally came, we assumed it was a joke because it wasn’t anything we recognized.”
Mr. Garron offered Petunia a handkerchief, which she took gratefully. “I understand, Mrs. Dursley, but the terms of the account are quite specific, and it is not within my power to alter them.”
Harry interrupted then, speaking for the first time since entering Mr. Garron’s office. “However, would I be correct in assuming that it is within my power?”
Aunt Petunia looked at Harry with shock and surprise; Mr. Garron, too, looked over at Harry, though his expression was far less specific. “I would guess that would be true, Mr. Potter,” he said after a long moment. “What is it you have in mind?”
Harry looked over at his aunt. “What I have in mind is that I don’t care about the money.” Harry felt his emotion rising, and his voice caught a little in his throat. “It was no secret that I was resented in your home.” He was focused now on his aunt and was speaking directly to her. “I was never loved. You and Uncle Vernon were anything but kind to me, and certainly not once generous. You lavished gifts and affection upon your own son and allowed him both to flaunt his possessions, and tease and taunt me endlessly. I only ever had Dudley’s hand-me-down toys as a child, and have always had to endure his old clothing. Once in a great while I got something from a charity shop, and was constantly reminded of how much extra it cost to look after me.”
Harry paused to regulate his quickening breath; he was getting angry and he could hear it in his own voice. Edwin Garron was now looking with a rather horrified expression at Petunia, who herself was staring, wide-eyed, at her nephew, and turning several shades of flushed pink with embarrassment and shame.
Harry couldn’t help feeling that he would be justified to be hateful and bitter toward the Dursleys, but that was not what he felt. He wasn’t entirely sure what he felt, except that he understood somehow that they had been an obstacle that he had survived, and he had become the young man he was today in spite of them – perhaps even because of them.
They had done all they could to crush his spirit and to prevent him from learning he was a wizard; when that had not worked, they had belittled him and insulted him and continued to act as if he had been a total burden upon them his entire life.
He should hate them… instead… he pitied them, for the narrow, rigid and ultimately frightened lives they had led together at Privet Drive. Money was not going to make them any better; they would still be frightened, prejudiced and narrow minded. Harry’s victory over the Dursleys would be complete when he walked out their door on Privet Drive for the last time. It had been a silent, patient and determined battle that he had won, not by conscious action, but by becoming who he was. To have been loved in their household and simply become another Dursley…to have turned out anything like his cousin, Dudley, from his point of view, would have been the worst disservice imaginable.
“No one would blame me if I hated you,” Harry began again in a solemn, determined tone. “But I don’t. The truth is… despite everything, I never have hated you.” Harry looked away as his aunt began to sob into the handkerchief she held. “You, Aunt Petunia, are my only biological family, and even if it has pained you and embarrassed you greatly, I am your only link to a sister you must have, at some point in your life, loved. We share blood, and that alone has protected me thus far through my life; that means something to me.” Harry paused. “You may have feared and resented your sister, and despised the life she chose, but you did so out of the worst kind of prejudice, based on ignorance and irrational fear… But she was your sister, and I know in my heart that she never stopped loving you.”
There was a final long pause in which Petunia sobbed again heavily, and Mr. Garron just stared unbelievingly at Harry. “You can have the money; I want nothing to do with it. Just consider it the inheritance you thought you deserved and never got. But… I think… since there is apparently quite a bit of it, I would like to see some of it, say at least a quarter of it, go to the Weasleys. I know they wouldn’t want it, and if you asked them they would refuse it, but they have been more of a family to me in the last six years than you have cared to be for my lifetime and longer. The Weasleys have made a place for me in their family, and offered me love for no other reason than that they had it to give. So I think they deserve the money as much as, probably more than, you do. But, it is in your name. So, take it, and you decide.” There was no hint of bitterness in Harry’s voice, just a clear expression of sadness and disappointment. He had grown up, and he no longer accepted the position of disappointment to the Dursleys – instead, they were now only a disappointment to him.
There was a long, awkward silence. Finally, Mr. Garron straightened up in his chair and looked down at the large book with a sort of wonder. “Is that your final word, Mr. Potter?” he asked without looking up.
“Yes,” Harry replied.
“Very well, then,” Mr. Garron said, smiling at him, and he closed the large book and pushed it to the side of his desk. “I must say, Mr. Potter, you are a most remarkable young man, and I mean that beyond your fame and the speculation regarding your role in the future of the wizarding world.”
“Thank you, Mr. Garron,” Harry responded automatically. He was suddenly feeling a little embarrassed at the mention of who he was in the wizarding world. His aunt was looking at him with a confused wonder, as if she had only now seen him for the very first time.
“If you please, sir,” Harry interrupted, before Mr. Garron could say whatever he was about to. “If there is no further need for my presence, I should like to go and wait for my aunt across the street at Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlor.”
Edwin nodded graciously. “Of course, Mr. Potter, it should not take long now to arrange the transfer of funds, provided that Mrs. Dursley has brought information concerning her regular banking arrangements?” He looked over at Petunia with the question, and she nodded affirmatively and reached for the purse at her feet. “I will personally see that your aunt is escorted to find you when we are finished.”
“Thank you, sir,” Harry responded, and got up from his chair. He dug a small slip of paper, a thin leather coin purse, and a golden key out of his front pocket. “Finally, sir, if it would not be too much trouble, I wonder if you could have some Galleons retrieved from my vault for me and some of it converted into Muggle notes? I have written the amounts down here.” He handed the purse, key and note to Mr. Garron.
“Of course, Mr. Potter, I will see to it immediately and have it for you when I bring your aunt.”
Harry nodded his thanks and quietly left the room, finding himself moments later standing in the sun, on the bright marble steps of Gringotts, feeling as though his life had just turned a pivotal corner.
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NEXT Chapter Seven Muggle Shopping
Chapter 8: Chapter 7 - Muggle Shopping
Author's Notes: Aunt Petunia takes Harry, Mrs. Weasley and Ginny to a Muggle Shopping center. This chapter is a fun juxtaposition to the previous chapter in Diagon Alley. Yes it is largely a bit of fluff... But, who doesn't like a little fluff? Harry and Ginny get some time alone and find a bit of fun together. Plus, Harry gets a new wardrobe, one that actually fits!
Muggle Shopping
The sundae at Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlor was heavenly. Harry knew that he shouldn’t be spoiling his lunch, but after the scene in the bank he wanted something comforting and ice cream just seemed to fit the bill. The woman Ginny had mentioned had come out to meet him once word of his presence had filtered through the ice cream parlor. She was a very pleasant woman, a tall strawberry blonde named Slaine Soronen, with a Gaelic lilt to her voice. By way of introduction she had confirmed that she was a relative of Florean Fortescue’s — a granddaughter-in-law, to be specific, but the only living family the Ministry could find. She hadn’t taken much of Harry’s time but, like so many members of the wizarding world, she had been very excited to meet him.
Harry was becoming aware that passers-by in the alley were noticing him; small groups lingering close at shop windows were pointing and whispering. Between summers with the Dursleys, and all the rest of his time at school or with the Weasleys, he had always been somewhat sheltered from the public’s eyes. He was in fact famous, but he had been sheltered from that fame — something which he was sure had been part of what Dumbledore wanted for him.
If that had been part of Dumbledore’s plan it had worked fairly well up until his fourth year. Yes, he had gone through periods in school, during his third and fourth years particularly, when he was treated differently, but the fact was he had never really experienced the full weight of the public’s attention.
Before fourth year he had been ‘The Boy Who Lived’, a living legend, distinguishable only by a scar, so people didn’t always know him in public. There was the one time that Gilderoy Lockhart had identified him in Flourish and Blotts, and gotten his picture in the paper, but fortunately Lockhart had meant to steal all the fame of that incident. However, once he was in the Triwizard tournament, a year later, Rita Skeeter had put his picture, along with her own version of his story, in every wizard household, and he had lost that little anonymity.
Following the skirmish in the Ministry at the end of his fifth year, and confirmation that Voldemort was in fact a real threat once more, he had gotten even more public attention — thanks to speculation on the part of the Daily Prophet — and become ‘The Chosen One’, an epithet he liked even less than the first. So, now everyone knew exactly what he looked like, scar or no, and many — maybe most — believed and hoped that he was the only one who could defeat He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Harry suspected that the prevalence of that belief had skyrocketed in the wake of Dumbledore’s murder.
Having people — strangers — pointing and noticing him was an experience that he had had before, when he was much younger, but it had happened only occasionally in isolated instances, and he had been happily ignorant of the reason for it. When he had first gone to Hogwarts, many of the students had pointed, but that was somehow different; he had been more-or-less a myth they had grown up with, and the pointing had stopped once his identity was confirmed.
This recognition, out in public, was somehow new – somehow different. He didn’t particularly care for it, and he found that it was beginning to make him feel a little nervous.
The Dumbledore card’s theory about him being seen in public benefiting general morale came back to him. He had never wanted fame, just as he had never wanted to be orphaned, or to be raised by his aunt and uncle. It was all rather confusing, but he knew that there was a reason why Dumbledore had brought it up. He sensed that there was something to it… something useful about his fame… some way he should use it. But he just couldn’t quite understand what that way was. So he tried to ignore the passing people who whispered and pointed. Instead he attempted to concentrate on his ice cream. Sitting at Fortescue’s once again, in the open air on a sunny day, brought back fond memories of summer three years before, and soon he was ignoring the people; instead, he was focusing on Ginny… and her mother, Mrs. Weasley.
As they savored their sundaes, Harry told Ginny and Molly all about what had happened in the bank, though he left out the part about wanting the Weasleys to have some of the money. He had been honest with his aunt, but he had also nearly lost his temper and was feeling a twinge of regret now. In his experience with the Dursleys, the speaking of his mind was a punishable offence, though he doubted greatly that his aunt would ever tell his uncle about what he’d said.
Harry took some comfort in the idea that he only had another week to go with the Dursleys and he would be able then to pass out of their lives, and they out of his. A fortnight was all that had been required the previous summer and Dumbledore had confirmed that that would be enough to guarantee the magical protection through till his birthday.
“I am very proud of you, Harry,” Mrs. Weasley said as she reached across the table and squeezed his hand gently. “I know your aunt has not treated you as a son, but she is family, and family is important.” Harry could tell that Mrs. Weasley was being completely sincere. Something had changed during her morning’s conversation with his aunt. Gone was the usual lack of understanding that caused confusion and sometimes disgust toward the Dursleys and their treatment of Harry over the years.
“It is uncommonly generous of you to help your aunt and uncle, and I must say it shows a maturity beyond your years to be so forgiving,” Mrs. Weasley said, watching Harry closely.
Harry met Mrs. Weasley’s gaze. “It wasn’t generosity,” he said. “Or forgiveness.”
Mrs. Weasley frowned a little. “Well, what do you call letting your aunt have an account full of money, then?”
Harry frowned in return. “If it were generosity, it would have to be giving of myself. I don’t even know where this money came from. It’s not like I reached in and gave them money out of my vault. I don’t think I could do that. And it’s not forgiveness, either.”
Mrs. Weasley frowned more deeply. “I see, Harry… but to the rest of us it looks like generosity.”
“I see that, Mrs. Weasley, but believe me, that’s not it, and honestly, I’m a bit tired of having to explain myself. I just don’t want that money. Would you rather I gave it to you? You certainly deserve it more than my aunt and uncle.” Harry could hear his voice rising again and he tried to calm himself. He could feel Ginny’s eyes upon him, but he held her mother’s gaze rather than look over.
“Certainly not!” Molly exclaimed. “Harry, I… we… Arthur and I, we don’t want anything from you, least of all your money.”
“I know that, Mrs. Weasley…” He wanted to say he was sorry for raising his voice, but his throat seemed to lock up at the thought.
“Harry…” Mrs. Weasley’s voice was softer now, with purposeful calm. “It’s just that, after speaking with your aunt this morning, I think she needed to hear how you felt. I think she may have the potential to come around and change her mind a little with regard to the wizarding world. I thought you had seen that… I thought perhaps that was why you were giving her the money.”
“No… I mean, I have noticed she has been nicer than ever before this past week, but that’s not saying much… I figured it was just because she didn’t have Dudley to pamper.”
“I see…” Mrs. Weasley said, but looked thoroughly confused just the same. “Well, at least with the money the Dursleys will be able to go into hiding once you come of age.”
“Go into hiding,” Harry said, surprised. “Why should the Dursleys need to go into hiding?”
“Haven’t you ever thought, Harry, that the protection you receive while you’re a part of the Dursley household goes both ways?” Molly said matter-of-factly.
“No, I’ve never thought that… and no one has ever suggested anything like that before. Why should they need to hide; what would Voldemort want with them?”
“Harry, they are your only relatives and, Muggles or not, that is enough.”
Harry was dumbstruck by this development. It made complete sense, and yet it had never occurred to him before this.
“I suppose you’re right,” Harry finally said resignedly. He did not relish the idea of having to break this news to his aunt and uncle. “I just wish this next week was over. I’m tired of thinking about everything that needs to be done. I was hoping for a nice cheerful day today… I thought I might even manage to get my aunt to take me shopping so I could buy some new clothes.” He tugged at the oversized shirt he was wearing to demonstrate the need.
“I’m sorry, Harry,” Mrs. Weasley said. “You’re right, all of these things can wait until another day.” She looked at him with deep concern; it was the look of a mother worried about her child.
Harry was slipping into a torrent of thoughts he didn’t want to deal with at the moment. He dropped his spoon in his dish with a slight clank. He was no longer remotely interested in the ice cream.
A rather attractive, dark blonde waitress came to remove their dishes. She seemed to be about Harry’s age, but Harry was thinking too hard to notice. The young woman smiled brightly at Harry as she asked, in a lilting, flirty voice, if he “desired” anything else.
“I’m fine,” Harry replied rather automatically, his mind still processing what Mrs. Weasley had said. He was vaguely aware that she was leaning rather close as she gathered the dishes, but he was too distracted to give it a thought.
Finally she pointed at her name tag and said, “Well, if you need anything else, just ask for Kellie.” She stepped away with a rather exaggerated bounce to her step.
As Harry looked up he noticed immediately the scowls on Ginny and Mrs. Weasley’s faces. He couldn’t help but look over his shoulder to see if there was something behind him to elicit such looks of disdain.
“What is it?” Harry finally asked.
Ginny simply huffed and crossed her arms, looking strikingly like the fifteen-year-old girl that she was.
“Oh, Harry dear, it’s not you,” Mrs. Weasley said rather consolingly. “It’s the way that… waitress was flirting with you.”
“She was what?” Harry said animatedly, suddenly yanked into full awareness of his surroundings. He realized that he was smiling, and he quickly scowled. “Hm… I hadn’t noticed… Honestly!” he pleaded.
Ginny huffed again, but Mrs. Weasley leaned over and patted his hand gently. “I know you didn’t, dear; it’s just part of being famous, I guess.”
Before Harry could respond he caught a flash out of the corner of his eye and turned to see the approach of a small, thin wizard carrying a large, blocky looking camera. He was rapidly reloading it as he moved. With him was a tall, dark-skinned witch wearing bright, sky blue robes and carrying a small pad. A quill and ink bottle bobbed along in the air near the pad, weaving and dipping with her movements. She snatched the quill as she approached and came to a halt right next to their table, just the other side of the post and chain barrier.
Harry felt a swelling of irritation. He had been counting on something like this happening, but he hadn’t considered that the timing would be so abrupt and sudden.
“Imani Nowell, Mr. Potter, Daily Prophet reporter,” she said in a single excited breath. “What brings you to Diagon Alley today?”
Harry stammered a little under the sudden questioning. Then, he took a deep breath and steadied himself.
“Our readers would be so interested to know your opinions regarding He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named? And, as the ‘Chosen One’, exactly how you intend to defeat him — and when, of course?”
Harry hesitated momentarily, but stood up and stepped over to the chain. The photographer’s flash burst again and the small man began reloading almost immediately. “Mrs.? Miss? Nowell,” Harry said in what sounded like a completely rehearsed voice. He held out his hand to her.
The woman was clearly five or more years Harry’s senior, but she blushed deeply and shook his hand. “You may call me Imani, Mr. Potter.”
“Nice to meet you, Imani.” Harry smiled. “Well, if your readers must know, I am just enjoying a sundae and spending time with Mrs. Molly Weasley and her daughter Ginevra. Nothing of any interest, I’m afraid.” He smiled uncomfortably again, this time intentionally letting the photographer get a good shot from an angle that would block the Weasleys behind him.
“The whole wizarding community is hungry for news of you, Harry,” Imani continued, now scribbling notes with her quill. “What have you been up to since the term ended at Hogwarts, how do you feel about the death of the Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, and do you think the school should re-open for next term?”
“I’m sorry, but I don’t want to talk about any of that at the moment,” Harry responded. “However, I will say, I do think that Hogwarts should re-open.”
“And what about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named?” Imani asked again.
“Excuse me, Imani, but I’m here with friends, I’m not interested in giving an interview. So I’ll tell you what. How ‘bout you and your photographer friend leave us alone and in exchange, I will grant you a one-on-one interview later?”
The woman’s eyes grew large with excitement. “You would do that? Grant me a personal interview?” she said excitedly.
“Sure, but only if you leave me alone for now. Use what you already have, and as long as you write the truth, I’ll give you an interview.”
“And I can ask anything?”
Harry chuckled. “Yes… But I’m not promising that I’ll answer.”
Imani gave Harry a long quizzical look. The photographer next to her was just about to snap another image when her hand thrust out and covered the lens. “Alright, Mr. Potter, you have a deal.”
“Good.”
“And how shall we make these arrangements?”
“I’ll contact the paper with instructions,” Harry responded. “In just over a week.”
Imani produced a small card from beneath her robes. “My card,” she said simply. “In just over a week, then.”
Harry held the card up and nodded, and the reporter turned on her heels and departed, practically dragging her photographer with her.
“Wow, Harry, that was brilliant,” Ginny said as he returned to his chair. Apparently all thought of the flirty waitress was gone – which pleased Harry very much.
“Harry,” Mrs. Weasley said, beaming. “You handled that like it happens to you every day, almost as though it was rehearsed.”
“Well, it sort of was,” Harry confessed. “I suspected that something like that would happen when I knew I would be coming to Diagon Alley. So I sort of mentally prepared.”
“Harry… You have grown up so,” Mrs. Weasley said proudly. Just then Ginny pointed out that Harry’s aunt had emerged from the bank doors and was coming down the steps.
Harry turned to look and, true to his word, Edwin Garron was accompanying his aunt. Mr. Garron had spotted Harry and the Weasleys and was steering her toward them. They came into the chained area and right up to the table. Harry, Ginny and Mrs. Weasley stood as they approached.
Aunt Petunia was wearing what Harry knew to be a pleased expression, though her somewhat horsy face appeared rather pinched and uncomfortable. She was looking all around the alley now, reluctantly, taking in the sights and sounds of the place, it seemed.
Mr. Garron bowed slightly to Molly and Ginny and then without ceremony handed Harry his coin purse, key and note. “I have taken care of that matter for you, Mr. Potter.”
“Thank you, sir,” Harry replied genuinely.
“Well, I believe we have managed all our business today, and your aunt is returned to you safely, so I must return to the bank.” Mr. Garron bowed politely.
Mrs. Weasley reached out to shake Mr. Garron’s hand. “Thank you so much for all your help today, Edwin,” she said, smiling warmly.
“My pleasure, Molly — I do hope Bill is recovering nicely?”
“Oh yes, Fleur is nursing him constantly. We will see you at the wedding?”
“Wouldn’t miss it, of course; Bill is so well liked at the bank. We are all very pleased to hear he is improving.” Mr. Garron smiled pleasantly. “Well, good day to you all, I must be off.”
In a chorus of “thank yous”, Edwin Garron turned and briskly departed.
There was an odd moment of quiet before Mrs. Weasley turned to Aunt Petunia and asked if she would like to sit down.
“Thank you, no…” Petunia hesitated, but then seemed to gain resolve. “…I would really be pleased if I could return to more familiar surroundings now.” She shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot.
“I was so hoping you would let us show you more of the alley, Mrs. Dursley,” Mrs. Weasley said pointedly. Molly had fixed a rather steely gaze upon Harry’s aunt, though her voice remained friendly and conversational. “I rather thought you might want to take Harry shopping for some new clothes; there are several very good clothiers right here in the alley; Madam Malkin’s, for instance, sells most excellent robes.”
Petunia looked at Harry and her expression became rather embarrassed. There was no way she could deny that Harry indeed could use some new things; after all, he was standing there in a baggy pair of Dudley’s hand-me-down jeans, a worn sweatshirt, and a pair of torn trainers.
Petunia turned back to Molly. “You are right. Harry could use some new clothes.” She was being pleasant enough, but to Harry she sounded a bit reluctant, and even though he suspected he might pay for it in some way later, he appreciated what Mrs. Weasley was doing, appealing to his aunt’s sense of status and propriety to manipulate her into some generosity.
Petunia appeared to be thinking rapidly, weighing her options. “Actually… perhaps you all might want to venture out into London… I was just thinking I might take you to Barret Cross Shopping Centre. I have never been myself, and I have always wanted to go.” Petunia seemed genuinely enthusiastic all of a sudden, quite a change from Harry’s point-of-view, but he assumed that her newfound wealth was behind the transformation. The idea of going to a Muggle shopping centre pleased him.
Mrs. Weasley looked rather concerned, as though her plan had suddenly backfired. But, before she could raise any objections, Ginny grabbed her arm. “Oh, Mother, could we? Could we please? We never venture out into the Muggle world… It would be such an adventure!”
Mrs. Weasley looked down at her bright-eyed, excited daughter, then rather pleadingly over at Harry before looking again at Ginny. Her expression softened, and she spoke: “Yes, I suppose we could, as long as Mrs. Dursley is willing to act as our guide.” She looked around a little; Harry wondered if she was looking for some part of the Order’s security, and he imagined for a moment that somewhere Alastor Moody was furious with them.
“If we are agreed, I have grocery shopping to do later today, so I should very much like to be about it,” Aunt Petunia said with a forced smile. Now that she had accomplished her purpose in being here, Petunia seemed to be rather keen to return to more familiar environs.
Harry pulled a Galleon from his coin purse and set it on the table, and without delay they were off up the alley toward the courtyard wall to the Leaky Cauldron. Harry caught sight of the owls outside Eeylops Owl Emporium, and remembered that he was getting very low on owl treats for Hedwig.
“If it isn’t too much trouble, Aunt Petunia, I would like to pick up some treats for my… for Hedwig while I’m here?”
Mrs. Dursley stopped and turned, seeing the many owls in cages and on perches at the entrance to the Owl Emporium. Her nose crinkled up in disapproving recognition, but she relented. “Yes, Harry, but please be quick about it; I don’t want to take too much more time.”
Harry tugged at Ginny’s sleeve. “C’mon, Ginny, you can help me pick something.”
The inside of the shop was shadowed and dim. Cages hung from chains and cords all across the ceiling and perches were scattered everywhere. A large tawny owl hooted as they stepped into the shop, and the other owls started a low chatter. The many birds were preening and calling, each seeming to want to make a good impression. Harry spied the open bins of owl treats toward the back of the store and he made his way directly there. He already, in his opinion, owned the best owl in all of Britain, so he had very little interest in looking at the many proud birds in the shop. Ginny, however, was immediately distracted and was pointing out the various owls, excitedly.
She let go of Harry’s hand and disappeared down an aisle, as Harry went on to the bins and filled a paper bag with Hedwig’s favorite treats. Once he had filled a two pound bag he went in search of Ginny.
He moved slowly between the cages and perches, noticing now the beautiful birds in the Emporium. He stopped for a moment to stroke the breast feathers of a magnificent great grey. He clucked his tongue in the way that Hedwig always seemed to appreciate, and then he heard Ginny nearby, cooing and clucking at an owl in the next aisle. He quickly went around the end of the aisle and came up behind Ginny to see the owl she was giving all her attention to.
“Isn’t he beautiful, Harry?” she exclaimed.
“Bubo Scandiacus,” came a low, throaty voice from behind the cage. “The ghost owl… a male, this one… smaller than the females of the species but almost entirely white. He’s got only two light grey bands across his tail, making him a rarity among snowys. I’ve only ever seen one other anything like him. That must a’ been about six years ago. A gorgeous female - sold that one to a huge, scruffy fella, who I would’a swore knew exactly how special she was. He saw her, and wouldn’t have any other. Wish I knew whatever became of her.”
Harry and Ginny looked at one another and smiled; he had to be referring to Hedwig.
The man came between the aisles beneath a tall perch. He was a short, rather thin man, who seemed to be more legs than torso. His face was broad and rather round, and he wore large, round-rimmed glasses with very thick lenses that exaggerated the size of his eyes, and made him appear distinctly owlish. His head was cocked to one side as he spoke and he kept his hands clasped tightly behind his back, further adding to the impression that he might have been part owl himself.
“I don’t get a lot of call for snowy owls, not native to Britain, you know… And they are especially difficult birds to enchant. They are so intelligent that they choose to allow the enchantments to take or not by themselves. Most I’ve ever sold have abandoned their buyers and flown back to the artic - but the right bird… with the right owner… you’re not going to get a more devoted, or cleverer service animal.”
The owl was nipping gently at Ginny’s finger and making possessive, affectionate sounds that were familiar to Harry, through his relationship with Hedwig.
“He really seems to like you, Miss,” the man said… then he blinked several times and looked back and forth between Harry and Ginny. “Or is it Mrs.?”
Ginny blushed furiously and shot Harry a highly embarrassed look. “Oh, no, sir,” Harry stammered. “We’re not married.”
The owlish man leaned a little toward Harry and blinked several more times. “Sorry,” he said finally. “Eyesight isn’t quite like the owls’ anymore… wish it were.” He turned his attention back to Ginny, who was cooing quietly at the white owl. “He sure seems to be taken with you, Miss, first customer I’ve seen him take a shine to. Ever seen another owl anything like this one?”
Ginny smiled at Harry teasingly and turned back to the man. “Yes, sir, I’m a Hogwarts student, and that Harry Potter boy… he has a snowy owl named Hedwig that I’ve seen once or twice.”
“Oh, yes, yes… I had heard mention that the ‘Chosen One’ had a very special owl companion - maybe the only Snowy Post Owl active in all of Britain. I should like to get a good look at that bird some day.”
“We’d better get going, Ginny,” Harry interrupted. “We promised not to take too long.”
“Well, are you interested in this owl, then, Miss?” the man inquired.
“Oh, I wish!” Ginny exclaimed sadly. “But I can’t afford him, and when my parents get a new owl for the family, I don’t think they’ll consider such a lovely bird. We just came in for treats for Har… his owl.” She turned away from the beautiful owl and winked at Harry, despite a rather disappointed expression.
Harry drew up the price tag hanging from the snowy owl’s cage; he looked at the number printed there and then silently let the tag drop.
They accompanied the man to the front counter, where Harry paid for the bag of treats and picked up a roll of Invisi-line, waste-vanishing cage liners.
Moments later they were together with their aunt and mother respectively and moving back through the Leaky Cauldron, and out into the sunny streets of London.
Now it was Mrs. Weasley’s turn to seem a little nervous and out of place, as they walked back to the car park to retrieve Uncle Vernon’s sedan. Aunt Petunia gave the attendant her ticket and a few minutes later a driver brought the car down to them. Mrs. Dursley did a careful walk around and inspected the vehicle before moving to get in. The driver was standing nearby in anticipation of receiving a tip but when it was obvious that none would be forthcoming he turned away, grumbling under his breath.
Harry helped Mrs. Weasley get in to the front passenger seat and showed her how to work the seatbelt. “My husband, Arthur, would be absolutely fascinated by all of this,” she said, as they pulled out of the car park, and onto the street.
Harry was wondering how Moody had taken the news that they were leaving Diagon Alley to go to a Muggle shopping centre. He had looked for him in the Leaky Cauldron as they passed through, but seen no sign. He was sure that the Order would be able to manage whatever security he had deemed necessary.
As they moved down the road Harry suddenly caught a glimpse of what looked like the shadow of a broom rider flash across the second story of one of the buildings, but of course no broom or rider was visible anywhere above them. Harry settled into the soft seat, grabbed Ginny’s hand and smiled, rolling his eyes as he listened to his aunt talking animatedly to Mrs. Weasley.
It took about fifteen minutes to drive to Barret Cross, which Aunt Petunia had been telling them about most of the way. It was apparently the first totally indoor shopping centre constructed in England and contained some one hundred and twenty stores, cafs and restaurants, which Petunia seemed determined to list. Harry had begun to think that it must be quite like Diagon Alley, only with a roof over everything. He couldn’t have been more wrong.
After they’d parked the car and made their way toward the entrance, it occurred to Harry just how much of the Muggle world he had never experienced. Over the years he had been to supermarkets, charity shops, the occasional doctor’s office visit, school and even the London Zoo, but the Dursleys had always avoided taking him anywhere when it could be helped. He felt as though, for the most part, he had only glimpsed the broader Muggle world in small doses, through the television viewing habits of the Dursleys, and through books and films he had been exposed to in primary school, or odd newspapers and magazines left lying about the Dursleys’ home.
This shopping centre was unlike anything he had ever experienced. Instead of the frivolous, other-worldly, medieval feeling of most architecture he had encountered in the wizarding world, this was spectacularly sleek and straight, and modern, glass, metal and polished stone, and everywhere brightly lit by the unwavering, non-flickering light of electricity, so unlike the torches of Hogwarts.
Harry couldn’t help but think what it must be like for Ginny and her mother to be experiencing all of this, with virtually no experience of the Muggle world. He watched Ginny for a moment and he chuckled as he saw her eyes wider than ever before and her mouth gaping in wonder.
They walked around at first in a sort of daze, just taking it all in, oohing and ahhing at the dizzying array of shops, and the spectacular colors and variety. To her credit, Aunt Petunia seemed to understand their reactions and even share in their excitement to a small extent as, after all, it was her first visit to this shopping centre as well. Whatever she was thinking, Harry was glad that she was not making her usual pestering, disapproving comments.
They came, eventually, to the center of the building, where a huge atrium opened up, revealing a whole second level to the place with more brightly lit shops above and skylights letting in the sun. There was a large, round fountain with a stream of water that shot up higher than the second floor, and came splashing back down again. On one side of the atrium were a pair of moving staircases, which Harry explained to Ginny and Mrs. Weasley were called escalators.
Aunt Petunia simply followed quietly, her face only slightly disapproving as the Weasleys rushed from shop display to shop display, excited about each new Muggle item they encountered. Finally she announced that they should go to Marks & Spencer, where they spent the next hour clothes shopping.
As Harry was picking out clothes for himself he noted with a hint of unexpected jealousy that his aunt had begun picking out considerably larger sizes, obviously for Dudley. He shrugged it off, however, reminding himself that he really shouldn’t have expected any less. It seemed that whatever Harry decided on, Petunia pulled out one or more of the same for Dudley.
Harry had also said to Ginny that she should pick out a few things for herself, and told Mrs. Weasley that she could select a few things for Ron, and he had plenty of Muggle money himself to pay for everything. They tried to refuse at first, but he insisted and they were soon enjoying every moment shopping themselves rather than just watching Harry. It was a complete surprise, when they finally went to the cashier that Aunt Petunia insisted on paying for everything. Harry assumed she was just feeling the power of her new money, rather than actually being generous, and he tucked his own money away without complaint.
Between stores they stopped for lunch from one of the food court vendors. Harry and Ginny tried the cheeseburgers and french-fries that Dudley seemed to love so much, but Harry had always been denied. Afterward they continued shopping.
Harry was completely loaded down with parcels by the time they arrived back at the atrium. He had gotten more clothes than he had ever owned in his life; several pairs of new jeans, cargo pants, button down shirts, T-shirts, sweatshirts, jumpers, and more than a week’s worth of new socks and boxers. He seriously doubted that he would even need to do laundry every week. They had even gone to a shoe store and bought him a couple of new pairs of trainers. Aunt Petunia called it a good start at a new wardrobe and uncharacteristically seemed to be enjoying herself directing him in and out of dressing rooms, as she picked out items for her son and husband as well.
Somewhere along the line she had rented a small trolley to carry all the parcels. Harry was completely dizzy with the whole experience, and flabbergasted to see his aunt unexpectedly seeming to enjoy herself as well. He supposed that his words in the bank had gotten through to her and that her sudden participation was perhaps the product of guilt, while the feigned generosity was merely the coming into what he now understood was quite a bit of money. Whatever the case, Harry was actually enjoying himself.
When Petunia suggested that they all find a caf and have an afternoon tea, Harry asked if he and Ginny might be allowed to explore a little more, and get something to drink from the food court instead. Aunt Petunia seemed quite content with the suggestion – she was used to not giving him a care as long as he didn’t get into trouble – but Mrs. Weasley was far more hesitant. Molly seemed to be looking around nervously. She hesitantly agreed, but insisted that they stay within the confines of the shopping centre.
Harry and Ginny agreed to her terms without hesitation, and Aunt Petunia directed them to a sidewall where there was a huge expanse of large lockers. She had Harry load all the bags into three lockers, and then deposited coins and withdrew the keys. As she pushed her rented trolley into a return gate at the end of a long column of trolleys, she pointed at a clock up on the wall and said, “We will meet back here in one hour. Then we will really have to leave so that there will be time enough to do the weekly grocery shopping before I have to pick up Vernon from work.”
They all nodded their heads in agreement. Not even the passing mention of his Uncle Vernon could dampen Harry’s spirits; he was having far more fun than he had expected. The only thing that could have made the shopping better, he thought, would be to have Ron and Hermione here to share it as well. For the very first time in his life, his aunt handed him some money, smiled, though somewhat stiffly, and said, “Have fun.”
Aunt Petunia turned, leading Mrs. Weasley away toward a caf they had passed earlier, and Harry and Ginny took off in the opposite direction, toward the food court. They didn’t run as they had through Diagon Alley, but took their time and slipped into various shops, ogling and sniggering over the fascinating variety of useless — though often intriguing — Muggle items.
In one store they saw an amazing array of glass figurines, and a wall full of clocks. Another had an impressive display of small pianos, which the salesman referred to as “digital” that played music all by themselves. If Harry and Ginny had not known these were Muggle objects, they’d have sworn that they were charmed.
The variety was apparently endless as Harry and Ginny wandered from store to store. In one store of nothing but candles, Ginny was absolutely amazed by the scented candles and practically begged Harry to buy some for her mother. They left that store with a bag full of cinnamon and vanilla candles for The Burrow. Harry suspected that the vanilla ones would most likely end up in Ginny’s room.
Finally they reached the food court and each got a fruit smoothie from a place called LoveJuice. As they sat on metal stools at a small, circular table of bright red Formica, Ginny just grinned at the bustling Muggles around her. “Harry, I never imagined that the Muggle world was like this… I mean... I guess I don’t know what I thought it was like, but this is every bit as fun as Diagon Alley.”
Harry just grinned, shaking his head in agreement. “Ginny,” he said, “I may have been raised by Muggles, but this is the very first time I’ve ever been here. This is all new to me too.”
“I’m glad we got to be here together,” Ginny said with a smile that was full of promise.
“Ginny,” Harry continued, suddenly serious, “I’m sorry about the funeral. I mean... Well, I thought it would be best if…”
Ginny grabbed his hand and squeezed. “Harry,” she said, interrupting. “I understand… So let’s just not talk about it.” She smiled reassuringly. “I’m not asking you for anything but honesty, okay? I’m just sixteen in about two months, and you’re coming of age just before that. We’ve one more year at Hogwarts together, and I have another year after that. I don’t know what the future holds, I’m not Professor Trelawney.”
Harry gave a chuckle at that and nodded his agreement.
“Just promise me that whatever happens with us, you’ll tell me what you feel in your heart?”
Harry stared at her for a moment, her bright brown eyes boring into his. “I promise…” he said finally, “…to tell you how I feel about you… about us, good, bad or otherwise. But I’m not going to promise that I’ll not try to protect you. Or that I’ll take you with me for all the tasks I may have to perform in the months ahead.” He continued to stare into her eyes.
She squeezed his hand again. “Agreed.”
When they had finished their smoothies they went up the escalator to the second floor and headed for a novelty shop that they had seen earlier. The store was filled with lots of Muggle joke items, ‘Magic tricks’, and lots of interesting lamps, including something called a ‘lava lamp’ which fascinated both of them for several minutes. They determined together that they should make it a point to bring the twins back here sometime in the future.
As they were leaving the shop Ginny spied a booth along an expanse of wall down a side hallway which apparently led to an exit and another wall of lockers similar to the ones they had left their bags in earlier. There was no one down the hallway, so she dragged Harry to investigate. The booth was decorated with pictures of Muggle couples and featured the words Make a Memory, Photo Capture. There was a small slot on the side and a curtain where you could go into the booth.
“I’ve seen these before,” Harry said after examining the images for a few moments. “You can get Muggle photographs from this machine.”
“Oh, let’s try it, Harry,” Ginny said excitedly. She grabbed him by the arm and pulled him through the curtain. They sat on the little cramped bench and Harry read the instructions.
“Okay… I guess I have to put Muggle money in this slot,” he said, pointing. “Then there will be a blinking light and a bright flash when the picture is taken. It will blink and flash four times and then the strip of photos comes out the slot in the front of the booth.”
Harry fished out his pouch and inserted the appropriate amount; the money clanked and rattled into the machine. A green button lit up. He turned to Ginny. “Ready?”
She leaned closer to him so their shoulders were pressed together. “Yup.”
Harry pushed the button and the little light began to blink. He tried to smile, and just before the flash Ginny’s fingers dug into his ribs, tickling him. By the second flash they were both laughing and he was tickling her in reprisal. “Enough!” he exclaimed before the third flash, as he wrapped his arm around her shoulder and they both looked at the lens about ready to burst with laughter. He looked in her direction, still chuckling, after the flash and as she turned to look back he pulled her close and kissed her. The fourth flash lit the booth for its fraction of a second and they continued to snog for a good minute more.
They stumbled, giggling, through the curtain, and leaned against the booth, catching their breath. By the time the strip of photos dropped out into the slot they had regained their composure. Ginny retrieved the paper and giggled as she held it out for Harry to see. “Fred and George have got to see this booth, Harry,” she said finally. “Just imagine if these were wizard photographs… Now that would be making a memory.”
In the midst of his laughter Harry suddenly became aware that there was someone watching them. He wasn’t sure exactly how he knew this; he just felt it, like a sudden prick at the back of his neck. His face turned serious, eliciting surprise from Ginny, but before her expression could change he had spun around and was pulling his wand from the front of his sweatshirt.
“What is it, Harry?” Ginny said in alarm.
Harry was poised, ready, his wand outstretched and pointing at nothing but empty hallway. “Who’s there?” he called.
In answer, a familiar voice sounded from what otherwise seemed to be thin air. “Don’t worry, Harry, it’s only me, Remus Lupin.”
“Professor Lupin?” Harry exclaimed. “Where are you?” Ginny was now clinging to Harry, confused and a little frightened.
“I’m right here… I’m just invisible,” Lupin replied.
“Well, can’t you become visible?” Harry looked around momentarily to see that no Muggles were about. “It’s only Ginny and I here.”
“No, I can’t… well, I could, but then I couldn’t go invisible again.” The look of confusion on Harry’s face begged more explanation. “I’m not that good at the Invisibility Charm. Not many wizards are. Making an inanimate object invisible is one thing, but to make a full grown person and his broom invisible for an extended period is quite another,” Lupin finished.
“I see,” Harry replied. “So… Not to be distrustful… but how am I to confirm your identity if I can only hear your voice?” He continued to hold his wand out in front of himself, toward the sound of the voice.
“That is an excellent question, Harry,” Lupin said, sighing heavily. “Perhaps you can consider the fact that I haven’t attacked you and that I am speaking to you now as proof enough?”
Harry stared at the sound of Lupin’s voice for a moment. There was nothing there which he could see, but he sensed Remus’ presence very clearly, and he felt quite sure that he was talking to his former professor, and that there was no danger. Still, he was on guard. Harry searched his brain for a question to ask; something that Lupin, and only Lupin, would be able to answer. “Who made the Marauder’s Map?” he blurted out.
“Not a bad question, Harry; the answer is, your father, Sirius, Peter and I. But Wormtail would know the answer to that one as well, so it doesn’t quite work,” the voice responded with a familiar chuckle. “I promise you, Harry, I am only here as part of the security detail. But you are very right to be on your guard. Do you have another question?”
Harry stood still a moment, focused on the sound of Lupin’s voice. After a few moments he lowered his wand, slipping it back into his sweatshirt. “Very well, Professor… I believe you are who you say you are.”
“Good, Harry, I volunteered to act as your security straight away.” Lupin sounded very happy. “What with public knowledge of my… condition… I just don’t get out much, and I’m afraid Headquarters isn’t the most cheerful place.”
“The Order is back at the old headquarters?” Harry asked.
“Yes, Harry,” Lupin replied. “Your house,” he said, placing distinct emphasis on ‘your’. “You did tell Dumbledore it was okay… didn’t you?”
“Oh… yes, of course,” Harry responded indifferently. A stray thought had just occurred to him regarding the house he had said he never wanted to visit again.
“Oh dear… Harry… I’m sorry,” Lupin said apologetically. “I didn’t mean to bring up… Well… I know it’s only been about a week since…”
“It’s okay,” Ginny interrupted. She stepped up and gently placed her hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Isn’t it… okay… Harry?”
“Oh… yeah… fine,” Harry said, snapping out of his thoughts. “It’s nothing.”
Harry looked around to see that there were still no Muggles about. “Look… We need to be going; we promised to meet my aunt and Ginny’s mum, and our hour is about up. But I’m really glad to know you’re here, Professor.”
“Harry — Remus… or Moony. I’m not your professor,” Lupin said with an unseen smile. “I think I would like it if you called me Moony; that’s what your parents called me.”
“Okay… Moony,” Harry said hesitantly, testing the name as he spoke it. Somehow, it did seem to feel right. “Time for us to go now.” He began to turn toward the main part of the shopping centre.
“Right you are,” Lupin said. “But I have a question for you, Harry.”
Harry turned back around to face the invisible Moony. “What is it?”
“How did you know I was here? You cannot see me, and I wasn’t moving at the time so you couldn’t have heard me either.”
“I don’t know, really… I just knew you were there… I sensed you.” Harry sounded a little unsure.
“Harry, that’s incredible… not many wizards are that sensitive,” Lupin praised. “I would like to talk more about this at a more convenient time, if that would be okay?” Harry nodded slowly. Ginny was looking at Harry with wide eyes. “Well, off you go then,” Lupin said with a bit of finality. Thereafter he was silent, and if Moony still followed them, Harry didn’t hear another sound, or detect another presence.
Harry and Ginny quickly made their way to the spot where they were supposed to meet his aunt and her mother. The women were not there yet, so they took a seat on a bench near the lockers. They sat quietly for a few minutes, listening to the cheesy music coming softly from speakers in the ceiling.
“Is everything okay, Harry?” Ginny finally asked.
Harry took her hand in his, and looked her in the eyes. “Yes, Ginny, everything’s okay. Right now, at this moment, everything is perfect… But it’s not going to stay this way, is it?”
Ginny looked at him searchingly, trying to divine his meaning. Did he mean them… or did he mean the war? – She decided that he must mean the war. “No, Harry, I suppose it’s not. But whatever comes, whatever you have to face, you will have Ron and Hermione to support you, and me, and my family… We Weasleys aren’t the highest regarded family in the wizarding world… but we’re fiercely devoted, and loyal, and loving. And Harry… no matter what comes… you are an unofficially adopted Weasley.”
Harry leaned in and kissed her on the lips; a gentle, soft kiss full of all the promise of her earlier smiles. He pulled away suddenly. “Eww, I guess that makes me your brother then, doesn’t it? That makes this just weird.”
“Oh, Harry.” Ginny flushed pink, as she slapped him playfully across the shoulder. “If you don’t want to kiss me…” She batted her eyelashes at him. “I’m certainly not forcing you.”
They were laughing and joking together when Aunt Petunia and Mrs. Weasley came around the corner. Petunia went directly to the lockers and slid one of the keys in its lock. Harry and Ginny were up off the bench in a moment and at the lockers as well.
They gathered all the bags and headed for the exit nearest where they had left the car. Mrs. Weasley and Aunt Petunia continued to talk the whole way, though Harry felt it seemed a little forced, like neither woman was nearly as comfortable with the other as they had been earlier. They stopped occasionally to look in display windows, but eventually they made it to the car and managed to get all of Harry’s and Aunt Petunia’s bags in the boot.
When Harry moved to take Mrs. Weasley’s bag full of things for Ron, she motioned him away. “Oh no, dear,” she said. “You two have things left to do today, so Ginny and I will leave you here.”
“Oh, you don’t need us to drop you somewhere?” Petunia said, looking at Mrs. Weasley quizzically. “At least we could drop you at the tube station?”
“Oh no, we’ll be perfectly fine,” Molly countered, smiling at Petunia. “You’d best be going though, so you can get your shopping done and get home.”
“Well then…” Petunia said, as she walked up to Mrs. Weasley while digging a parchment envelope from her purse. “I want to thank you for a pleasant day.” She held out the envelope to Molly, who took it rather automatically. “Open that when you get home.” Molly looked at the envelope and then looked up with wide eyes. “Wait until you are home,” Petunia said rather insistently, though she appeared suddenly nervous. After a moment of hesitation she turned and went to get into the car. Molly hastily shoved the envelope into her bag.
Harry closed the boot and looked at Ginny. He stepped over toward her, hesitantly, aware that both Mrs. Weasley and his aunt were watching. He pulled his eyes from hers and looked over at Mrs. Weasley. “Well, I guess this is goodbye for now, then. Thank you so much for everything.”
“Oh, Harry dear, it was our pleasure.” Molly smiled with genuine warmth and affection. “You just spend the necessary time with your aunt and uncle and then you come right to us at The Burrow. Ron will be so happy to see you there, and Hermione is coming soon.” She looked pointedly at her daughter. “Everyone can’t wait until you come to stay… and of course there is so much to do in preparation for the wedding.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” Harry said. He turned back to Ginny, who reached up and took his hand. “I’m so glad you could come today, Ginny.”
“Me too, Harry,” she said, smiling at him, her light brown eyes sparkling.
“I’ll see you soon then?”
“You’d better.”
As they pulled away in Uncle Vernon’s sedan, the Weasley women were both waving at them.
“I take it she is more than just your best friend’s little sister?” Aunt Petunia asked, as they pulled onto the thoroughfare in the direction of Surrey.
Harry couldn’t detect any accusation, or even disapproval, in his aunt’s voice. “Um…” He cleared his throat, slightly embarrassed, not so much by the question, but by who was asking it. “Yes… Ginny is… well, Ginny is my girlfriend.” Harry couldn’t recall ever saying that out loud before, but now that he’d said it, he rather liked the sound of it.
“Well, she seems nice, and it sounds as though she comes from a nice family…” Petunia began. “For your sort, that is,” she added with a sniff. Harry could scarcely believe his ears as he listened to his aunt recount her conversation with Mrs. Weasley, and talk about how the Weasleys seemed like a good, solid, hardworking family, even if they did have the misfortune to be so poor. Molly had apparently told his aunt all about her family throughout the course of the day, as well as about the upcoming wedding. Harry finally decided that she would likely return to normal after the calming powder wore off, and didn’t give it too much thought.
On their way back to Little Whinging they stopped at a large supermarket and wasted no time gathering the grocery items from Aunt Petunia’s list. It was very close to four-thirty in the afternoon by the time they were done and Petunia seemed to be worried that she would be late to pick up Vernon from his office.
When they arrived back at number four, Privet Drive, Harry was quick to carry all the bags into the kitchen. As Aunt Petunia began putting away the groceries, Harry took his new things up to his room. At his aunt’s direction he hauled the bags of things for his uncle and cousin upstairs as well and left them on Dudley’s bed.
Back in his room, Harry pulled out all the new clothes and set them on the bed. He still could barley believe that Aunt Petunia had paid for all these clothes, as well as things for Ron and Ginny. He knew it was just because of the money - that she felt sort of indebted to him - but he was happy all the same. He gathered all the empty bags and carefully folded them as he knew his aunt would have and brought them down to the kitchen to add to the appropriate shelf in the pantry.
Aunt Petunia had finished putting everything away, so Harry helped her fold up the grocery bags as well.
“Harry,” Aunt Petunia said hesitantly. “I take it you enjoyed yourself today?”
Harry nodded in response, not sure how else to respond. In truth he had had a wonderful day, but that was very largely because of Ginny.
“I… I don’t know how to say thank you.” Petunia cleared her throat, and continued slowly and a bit tentatively, “Harry, I understand that Vernon and I have not been particularly kind to you… I want you to understand that when you arrived on our doorstep, nearly sixteen years ago now, we were not prepared for another child. Dudley was a baby, Vernon had just started his new job at the plant, we had just bought this house and money was very tight. When you were left, Vernon wanted to turn you over to an orphanage, but I insisted we had to keep you. Honestly, given what little I knew, I didn’t see that we had a choice. I’ll admit that we both felt a certain amount of resentment.” She paused then drew in a deep breath. “I don’t blame you a bit for every word you said in the bank… and I don’t think… well, if our roles were reversed… I don’t think I could have done what you did.” She was very near tears, it seemed, but Harry couldn’t tell if they were tears of regret, or embarrassment. “I want you to know that I’m very… very grateful, Harry, and I know it won’t really matter to you… but I do think you have grown into a nice young man… and I know that Lily… your mum would have been proud of you.” She pulled a handkerchief out of her kitchen apron pocket and dabbed at her eyes.
Harry just stared at her. He had no idea what to say. Slowly, he gathered the folded bags from the counter and walked over to the pantry to put them neatly away.
“Harry… I have to go pick up Vernon from work.” Again Harry nodded, still not knowing what to say. “When we get back I’ll have to prepare dinner… so I’ll expect you to stay in your room like you usually do. I don’t want you thinking that just because we’ve been shopping that it means everything has changed?”
Harry hadn’t considered any of this… He really hadn’t expected anything to change anyway, so once again he merely nodded.
“I’ll tell Vernon about the money after dinner. He doesn’t know anything about our trip today, and I am not entirely sure how he’ll react,” she said tersely. “Until then you are to behave as always, staying quiet and out of the way. Tomorrow Vernon and I will have to go and pick up Dudley from the Smeltings bus.” She paused and removed her kitchen apron, hanging it on a peg inside the pantry door. “I know you only plan on spending a little over one more week with us…” She gathered her purse and pulled out the car keys. “…But, Harry, I will do what I can to make the rest of your stay more pleasant than usual.” Petunia turned to move down the hall toward the front door, but then turned back around as she reached the doorway. “I gather from some of the things that Mrs. Weasley said that you will be facing great dangers in the future… Harry, I don’t pretend to understand… but… but I do want to wish you well.”
Harry was completely confused by all of this; it was unsettling to have his aunt treating him this way… as… as though she cared. All his childhood he had wanted her to care, and to treat him with even a fraction of the affection she showed her own son. Now the words and sentiment were so out of place it just didn’t feel as though it could be real.
Aunt Petunia turned and left the house. In a bit of a daze, Harry ascended the steps and closed himself in the littlest room in the house at number four, Privet Drive. He plopped himself down on the bed and stared at the ceiling. This was the only place in the house were he felt as though he belonged… well, this and the cupboard under the stairs.
After a minute he sat up. He looked over at Hedwig’s cage, where she was snoozing soundly. He quietly opened the cage door and filled her cup with fresh new treats from the bag he had purchased that morning. He thought to try and clean the cage, but decided to wait until she woke up and went out for an evening hunt.
Harry went to the loose floorboard and quickly retrieved the Dumbledore Chocolate Frog base and got a card from his trunk. Harry set the card in its base and waited impatiently for Dumbledore to appear. Harry so wanted to tell him all about the events of the day. There was so much to tell, and even more ideas to discuss.
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NEXT
Chapter Eight
Alert and Alive
Chapter 9: Chapter 8 - Alert and Alive
Author's Notes: This is a Draco chapter again, hopefully everyone is enjoying this particular twist of the overall story? Draco has a long road ahead of him. Please let me know what you think.
Alert and Alive
The sun beamed through the canopy above – a million points of light, filtered through layers of green, streaming down to the rich, red jungle soil – constantly shifting with the dripping leaves of the rain-drenched trees.
There was an air of anticipation in the village this morning that Draco could not quite make sense of. There was a lot of activity at the various huts, and a lot of movement between them, children carrying baskets, mostly. Everyone seemed busy, and no one appeared to have gone off swimming, gathering or fishing, or even sent the children off to play, which seemed to have been the norm on previous days. Instead, many of the villagers appeared to be cleaning and decorating their huts — hanging out elaborate, colorful woven banners, and straightening the small gardens that many kept between their huts and the main village pathway. He wanted to ask Titchi about it, but she had not been to visit him yet today. Neither had Nuncha, which was rather unusual, as the little girl seemed particularly curious about Draco, and she would come by and watch him even when he was sleeping.
By Draco’s calculations, he had now been among these very unusual people for twelve days. If he was correct, that made it a Tuesday. He felt compelled to try and keep track of the days. He had taken to scratching a notch for each day in the center pole of his hut, and he had asked Titchi to recount the days he had slept through after his arrival. He felt it would help him recover and maintain his judgment if he accounted at least for the passage of time.
He lay on the grass mats of his hut, not moving as a concession to the pain of his horrible sunburn. The first time he had been out in the sun for a short length of time, he had gotten a burn on his shoulders. Titchi had come to his hut with a potion, a thick, viscous, green, slimy concoction that she had rubbed into his shoulders, banishing the heat and pain immediately.
He was slowly becoming tan; his complexion was already a richer woody color, rather than the pale pink flesh that was his norm. Each time he burned he was healing a little darker, but he suspected he would always be fair, especially compared to the deep dark tones of his hosts.
This time, however, he was really burned. He had spent a good portion of the previous day swimming in the pools at the waterfalls because the cool water was soothing to the lingering soreness in his muscles. He was paying for it now, though, as he was burned from his head to his ankles. All along his back, the flesh was an angry red. His face, arms, shoulders, even his legs were burned. He lay on his belly trying not to move, his skin feeling tight and burning hot, a condition highly aggravated by the still healing scars of Voldemort’s lash. He hoped that Titchi would come looking for him and possibly think to bring more of that potion goop that would ease his pain.
Draco found himself thinking longingly of Madam Pomfrey, and the infirmary at Hogwarts. There, he would have complained loudly and the school Healer would have been able to cure all of his wounds in a matter of minutes… perhaps hours at worst. He also would have had Crabbe and Goyle to berate and belittle as they sucked up to him, seeking his favor and guidance. They really were quite idiotic, but they had been his idiots, there to do his bidding and provide a constant distraction.
Somehow, Draco didn’t feel like making a fuss. Yes, he was in pain, but it was nothing to the memory of one moment in the grip of the Dark Lord’s Cruciatus Curse, or the lingering memory of each lash of Voldemort’s whips, contained in the scars upon his back and sides. Draco knew that berating his sycophantic ‘friends’ just wouldn’t make that pain go away.
He lay there with his face turned toward the village; he was still trying to figure this place out. He felt completely the outsider in a place where nothing made sense to him. He had spent a considerable amount of time trying to tell the wizards from the Muggles here. He had been watching for days; whenever he was awake long enough. At first he’d thought that Titchi and the Healer were the only witches, but then he started to notice the wands; not like those he was used to, hewn from hardwoods into straight, sleek, polished perfection, but smaller, thicker, stubbier bits of wood, more like sections of branch cut directly from the tree with the bark still intact. And some villagers seemed to use stones instead of wands, like Titchi’s shard of polished amber.
He would see things; the spontaneous lighting of fires, the instantaneous ripening of fruit, the levitation of small objects, and other small acts of magic performed throughout the tribe. Then there were the familiars; animals that seemed inexplicably tied to individual tribe members. There was a squirrel monkey that was always near a young boy named Chunt’ea, a toucan that lived with an old man named Hautm, and then there was Kut’chem, Titchi’s scarlet macaw.
He wanted to ask about who was whom — were there Muggles and half-bloods? Who were the pure-bloods, the Squibs, the Muggle-borns? He was certain that Titchi must be a pure-blood… she had said she was the daughter of the Shaman, so it made sense that she must be from a pure family. He told himself that they must have known that he was a pure-blood also; he figured that it showed somehow, and after all, they were treating him so well. But then, it didn’t seem to matter to these people; at least, he couldn’t see any clear segregation, and all the members of the tribe seemed to laugh and talk and interact with one another with no discernable hierarchy or acts of deference. He found it very confusing… how was he to know who to befriend, who to ignore, and most importantly, who to avoid? He decided that Titchi would probably bring it up after he was fully healed from his wounds and his sunburn… when he was stronger.
Draco moved his arms to his sides and tried to push himself up. His flesh tightened, feeling as though it would tear if he tried to move, but he grimaced hard and forced himself up and onto a low stool, which was really nothing more than a section of log from a fallen tree. He sat very still, as each movement aggravated his sunburn. At least now someone would see that he was not sleeping, and, as had happened every other morning, his breakfast would be brought to him.
After a few minutes, someone did in fact bring him something to eat. One of the many girls of the village came, giggling, bearing food on a broad leaf in a small woven platter.
The food was not at all bad, in Draco’s opinion; freshly roasted coffee, tropical fruits and a type of fried bread, sweetened with raw cane sugar, nuts and plantains. There were also fresh fish and sweet potatoes. It was not exactly the fare he was used to in England, but it was not limited to a few simple staples either.
In the short time he had been here, he had eaten several types of fish and meats, an enormous variety of fruits, nuts and berries, as well as greens, tomatoes, carrots, sweet potatoes — and these people seemed to use several different types of spices, including different chilies and peppers. He had seen that they cultivated large gardens and groves of fruit trees and kept chickens. He also suspected that they kept other animals somewhere outside the direct confines of the village; goats, maybe sheep, perhaps even cattle.
These people truly didn’t conform to anything he knew. They simply weren’t civilized by any standard he had been taught… And yet, they seemed particularly civilized to him, as they were constantly friendly, quick to laugh, welcoming, affectionate and caring with one another. They had taken him and his mother in and asked almost no questions… so far. Draco couldn’t make it all fit together in his mind. Because he couldn’t seem to understand it, he decided to try to merely accept it.
The giggling girl retreated almost immediately, leaving the food at the top of the steps. Draco groaned at the prospect of having to move the few feet to retrieve his meal. He wasn’t sure he was quite that hungry.
Moments later Titchi arrived, gathering the platter as she came up the steps. She crossed to Draco, silently handing him the food, and circled around him to examine his sunburn. “So red, Dracho… Why do you stay in the sun so long when you know that it burns you?” she said, her tone not at all accusing.
“I… I forgot that the sun could burn me through the water,” he said through mouthfuls of sweet bread. “In England, where I am from, the sun is not so hot all the time.”
Titchi smiled at him, the way an adult smiles at a child who has just asserted something fantastical as fact. “Dracho, the sun is always hot, how can it be less hot in another place?”
Draco was getting used to these responses. He felt he could explain it given a little time, but she would just giggle at him through the explanation, so he didn’t care to bother. “It just is,” he insisted.
Kut’chem swooped in suddenly and landed on one of the cross braces of the open ceiling of the hut. Kut’chem was a rather large parrot, a scarlet macaw, brilliantly red plumed over most of his body with wings that transitioned to a bright yellow at the middle and deep blue-green to their tips. He squawked loudly and said, quite clearly, “Good morning, Dracho, good morning Titchi”, then squawked again.
“Good morning, Kut’chem,” Titchi replied, smiling brightly. The Malfoys owned a beautiful, majestic eagle owl back in England, but it never swept in and greeted them by name. Draco was still getting used to that. He nodded at the bird, but said nothing.
Kut’chem’s head bobbed up and down at the neck and he was making twittering, light squawks, to which Titchi seemed to be listening intently. Draco concentrated on eating a bit more of the fruit from his platter. Finally Titchi turned back to him. “Kut’chem says that Mistress Puntne has finished preparing your treatment.”
“My treatment?” Draco looked up inquisitively.
“Yes… for your skin burn,” Titchi answered.
“Oh… My sunburn, you mean?” He smiled, causing his burned face to tighten painfully. It was occurring to him that he smiled at Titchi quite a lot, and he couldn’t explain why. He supposed it was because she was still the only person in the village that he could talk to. But, it was occurring to him that smiling actually felt good somehow, so he tried not to think about that too much either.
They talked a little about the village as Draco ate. He asked what it was that the whole village seemed to be preparing for.
“It is the night of monthly celebration that we prepare for,” Titchi explained as Draco finished his breakfast, wincing frequently with each painful movement. “Once each month, the shepherds return from the mountains with the animals that have been chosen to be shared among the people. Different boys will be chosen to go shepherding for the next month. Those who return will join the hunting and fishing parties. We will have a great feast, and there will be two bondings this night.” Titchi seemed to become more excited as she spoke. “My father returns this night to perform these bondings.” She hesitated then, looking concernedly at Draco. “And he will examine your mother as well.”
They had not talked very much about Narcissa over the past several days. She still lay in a coma in the Healer’s… Mistress Puntne’s hut. Many things had been tried, but nothing had had an effect. She seemed to be sleeping. Mistress had erased all outward signs of wounds, and Narcissa seemed comfortable… but she would not wake up. The villagers were all very concerned about her and the practice of leaving offerings of food and flowers — even small caged animals — at the Healer’s door had begun right after Draco woke up that first time.
Draco had visited her every day and spent hours telling his mother about this strange place they had come to, and about the things he saw. He also explained what had transpired at Hogwarts, lamenting that he had done all that Voldemort had asked of him, but somehow couldn’t actually kill Dumbledore. He apologized over and over for letting the family down and bringing them to this ruin. But, he also had begun expressing his hatred of the Dark Lord for his cruelty and torturous treatment. Draco was extremely conflicted and often wept openly at Narcissa’s bedside, wishing she would wake. He wanted desperately to talk to his mother. She was the only person who had always treated him with gentleness and kindness, and he wanted to tell her that she meant safety and comfort to him. He was determined, now, to recover his strength and thereafter, show no further vulnerability to anyone else – to hide these emotions, which he had been taught to regard as weakness.
“I am sure if there is anything to be done… My father can do it,” Titchi said warmly as she reached forward and rested her hand gently on Draco’s arm. The soft touch hurt his burned flesh, but there was comfort in it as well, and he didn’t flinch.
Draco looked up from his food at Titchi, his saddened, pale gray eyes meeting her concerned, endlessly deep, dark ones. He was trying hard to mask his emotions. He said a bit dryly, “Thank you… I’m sure he will help.”
A few minutes later, Titchi was leading him, painful step by painful step, toward the Healer’s hut. He started very slowly, grimacing at every move, but as villagers began to gather, he choked down his expressions of pain, and forced himself to quicken his pace, acting as though he felt nothing.
As they approached Mistress Puntne’s hut, Draco smelled a lingering sweetness in the air and he saw what looked like a squared tub, large enough to be a deep bathtub, hewn from a single stone. It was set on four squared corner stones and a fire burned beneath. Something was bubbling inside it, like thick tar popping as air escaped its surface. The Healer was there on a stone step leading to the tub, casting what looked like deep orange and purple orchid pedals into the tub.
Mistress Puntne, in stark contrast to Titchi, looked old and deeply weathered; her hair was bushy and white and braided down her back, nearly reaching the ground. She wore a colorful shawl that appeared to be woven of soft wool, and covered her down to her gnarled knees. On her feet she wore leather sandals, and around her neck a long necklace of stone beads, bits of carved wood and bone, the talons of various birds, and the paws of several animals. She leaned frequently on a staff that she carried, which was carved smoothly from a brilliant orange wood and ended in a dark, bulbous burl. Her face was round and broad and appeared as hard as the bark of an oak tree, but when she smiled, an infectious kindness crept across it that was wont to make you smile or even laugh in return.
When she saw them approaching, she started talking very fast and beckoning Draco forward. He could not understand her, but caught the mispronunciation of his name that he was rapidly becoming used to: “Dracho… Dracho.”
Titchi directed Draco to the stone stoop and he stepped up so that he could see into the tub. It was nearly three quarters full with boiling liquid mud from the rich red soil. All throughout there appeared to be various flower petals, swirls of some sort of clear plant oils, and green leaves. Draco would have snarled at the idea of climbing into this tub, except that the smell of it was wonderful — earthy and floral, with rich accents of vanilla and citrus.
Mistress Puntne pointed the burl end of her staff at the fire and it flashed a brilliant blue before going completely out with an implosive pop. The bubbling mud became still at once and Draco could feel that all the heat was suddenly gone. “Get in,” Titchi said, as Draco stood staring at the now still surface.
He didn’t say anything, but leaned on the edge of the stone tub and carefully began to lift one leg toward the edge. “Take your clothes off first?” Titchi said suddenly.
Draco turned abruptly to face her, instantly regretting the sudden movement that burned through his skin. “What?” he exclaimed.
“Your shorts,” Titchi said, pointing to the tattered remains of Draco’s cut-off school trousers, which were the only clothes he had been wearing since waking up in his boxers. “Mistress Puntne says you should not wear anything in the tub, so that the mud contacts all of your skin.”
If Draco’s face hadn’t been burned pink already, it would have been obvious how embarrassed he was. After all, nearly a quarter of the tribe was standing there watching him, and it seemed that they were mostly women and girls.
“What is the matter with you?” Titchi said matter-of-factly as she stepped closer. “Give me those, and get into the tub. It is time we found you something better to wear anyway.”
Draco swallowed hard and turned around so that his back was facing Titchi and the rest of the crowd watching him. It was clear to him that these people knew no sense of shame or embarrassment about their bodies, but seventeen years of English aristocratic propriety was difficult to overcome in twelve days. He dropped his pants and boxers, stepping out of them, and quickly, despite the pain, hopped into the cool, mud-filled tub.
As he sank into the tub to his neck and stretched out, the burning pain in his flesh dissipated almost immediately. “Oh, this is wonderful,” he breathed with a sigh of relief.
The Healer came up to the side of the tub and, chattering away, began to scoop up mud onto his face. Draco turned to Titchi.
“She wants you to cover your entire body. She says you must be completely coated,” Titchi explained. Draco nodded. Mistress Puntne got down from the edge of the tub, picked up a stick and jabbed it upright into the ground. She drew a line straight away from the stick with the end of her staff and pointed at it, saying something in a very commanding tone of voice.
“She says when the stick’s shadow meets this line, you can get out and go to the river to bathe. Until then, you must stay in the tub, and cover yourself completely,” Titchi said with a slight giggle.
The Healer then turned and walked purposefully away toward the center of the village. The crowd turned away with her, as there seemed to be nothing left to see, and in minutes only Draco and Titchi were left.
If Draco looked uncomfortable, that was certainly not what he was feeling. The mud was thick and cool and felt wonderful against his skin. He took a deep breath and submerged himself, coating his face and hair and ears. He popped his head back up and opened his mouth to breath. The feel of it was enough that he didn’t care what he looked like. “How long do I have to stay here?” he asked, leaving his eyes closed tight and covered in mud.
“Until the shadow reaches the line,” Titchi repeated.
“No, in minutes,” he said. “Can you tell me how long in minutes?”
“I do not know ‘minutes’,” Titchi said, sounding suddenly serious. “I only know to watch the shadow.”
Draco felt a momentary swell of irritation, but reminded himself that he was in a strange place, and that he really didn’t want to be mad at Titchi. “Well then, I suppose I shall have to teach you… once I’m out of here, that is.” He smiled, again feeling the odd sensation that he felt whenever he caught himself doing so. He was glad that the thick mud was masking the expression.
“I would like to learn, Dracho,” Titchi said. “You will teach me about minutes?” She paused. “You will teach me about where you come from?”
Draco turned his head and opened his eyes to see her. She had stepped close to the side of the tub and her face was no more that a couple of feet from his. She was looking at him intently, her face gentle and serene — her dark eyes wide and curious.
“Sure,” he said finally. “I’ll tell you all about where I come from.”
Their eyes locked and he felt himself curiously drawn toward her. She was so unlike the girls at Hogwarts… and Draco realized with absolute clarity that he found her incredibly beautiful.
“I would like that,” she whispered. After a long pause, she shook her head, as though ridding herself of a feeling, or being drawn back to attention from a daydream. “I have to go help Nuncha,” she said suddenly. “I will come back to get you when it is time to get out.” She started backing away. “We are preparing chocolate for tonight. Nuncha loves chocolate.” She turned and bounded away toward the central huts.
Chocolate? Draco thought. “Where on Earth am I?” he said to himself, with curious exasperation.
“You cannot go back to England… at least not for a while.” The words slithered from the Dark Lord’s thin, pale lips.
Severus Snape looked up slowly through the bedraggled strands of greasy hair that cascaded over his face in disarray. “No, Lord, I cannot,” he said slowly, the hoarse words raking his parched throat. He was sat at the end of a long, elaborate dining table in a straight-backed chair, flanked by two burly Death Eaters he did not recognize.
The table was laden with a feast — cooked fowl, meats and minced pies, roast vegetables, fruits, breads, and tureens of savory sauces. The smells were torture to Snape, who had just spent the last twelve days in a dark cell of Voldemort’s dungeon. In that time he had been given only two meals, each consisting of mealy bread and a large tankard of stale water. He had had nothing to eat in the last four days and no plate was set before him now.
The Dark Lord sat at the opposite end of the table, eating gluttonously — sucking at cherry tomatoes and tearing roast fowl directly from its greasy bones with his slender, pale fingers.
“Severus, I have forgiven you your treachery.” The words were twisted, delivered through mouthfuls of food, making the Dark Lord look like a foul, feeding animal as he ate without aid of utensils. “I understand that you were attempting to protect your position by entering into the Unbreakable Vow, but I would rather you had come to me with Narcissa’s pleadings. I have — and would have — dealt with her as she deserved.”
Snape assumed that meant that Narcissa and, probably, Draco, were now dead. He showed no hint of regret at the statement but continued to stare at the Dark Lord.
“Your actions have cost me my greatest insights into the workings of Hogwarts… though, now that Dumbledore is gone, I suppose it no longer matters.”
“Yes, Master,” Snape uttered with resignation.
“It is very fortunate that you have, for so long, been of such value to me, Severus. My ire is usually fatal, and you’ve vexed me terribly.” Voldemort looked up from his meal, his red eyes burning into Snape’s. “You have been one of my most able servants. Time after time you have thought out your actions in such a way that they protected my interests and preserved your position in my service.” Voldemort took up his food again and continued eating in his unpleasant manner. “I should not have been surprised that you would finally get caught in your own carefully woven web of deceptions. Many of my Death Eaters have doubted you since before my return.” A hollow crack echoed through the broad dining room as the Dark Lord wrenched a game hen thigh from its carcass, and tore the flesh away with his sharply pointed teeth, his thin lips smacking sickeningly.
“I have served you, Lord, to the utmost of my ability.” Snape spoke into his lap, his voice weak. “It is my desire to continue to serve you.”
Voldemort took up a cloth napkin from the table, next to his unused silver, and carelessly wiped his greasy fingers and chin. He pushed back his chair and stood, tossing his napkin down and grabbing his crystal goblet of wine. “That is very good, Severus… very good… because I have an assignment for you.”
Voldemort stepped to the side of the table and began walking in Snape’s direction. As he moved, he raised his goblet and drained the wine, carelessly allowing it to drip down his chin and onto his chest. He drew his robe sleeve across his face casually and let escape a satisfied belch.
Snape looked up at his approaching master, his eyes darkening with sinister pleasure. “Will you finally allow me, Master, to dispose of the Potter whelp?” His voice was dry and rasping.
“Ah… dear Severus… your hatred of the father extends so easily to the son.” Voldemort snatched up a crystal decanter of water as he continued to move slowly toward Snape. “No, Severus… without Dumbledore, the boy is inconsequential; he has not learned nearly enough to defeat me, and he is better used now to fill the wizards of England with false hope of salvation.” He set his crystal goblet on the table before Snape. “I have another task in mind for you.”
Snape focused on the empty goblet before him, Voldemort’s greasy fingerprints marring the perfection of its finely cut body, and his lip prints dripping residue of his meal into the puddle of dark wine still left within it. Voldemort filled the goblet with water.
“You must be thirsty, Severus,” the Dark Lord said, his voice sadistically calm. “Drink.”
Snape jerked his weak arm up onto the table and reached out for the goblet. His fingers closed firmly around the stem of the glass. He slid the goblet toward himself on the table and quickly raised it to his lips, draining it completely, and setting it roughly back down on the table.
The Dark Lord chuckled darkly. He drew his wand from within the sleeve of his robe and with a flick of his wrist, a full place setting appeared before Snape. With a broad, slow wave, all the dishes and platters of food slid down the length of the table to fill the end around Snape’s plate. “Eat, Severus… satiate your hunger, and slake your thirst.” The open bottle of wine jumped up from the table and filled the fresh goblet before Snape. “When you are done, you will be shown to your quarters, where you may bathe and refresh yourself. When you’re quite yourself again, I will give you your instructions. I am going to honor you with an opportunity to lead directly. No more slinking in the background, undercover.”
“Yes, Lord,” Snape rasped out, the words laced with hunger.
Without a word, Voldemort stepped around Snape’s chair and, with the two Death Eaters in tow, left the chamber through a large wooden double door.
As the door closed with a precise thud, Snape tore the whole leg and thigh from the nearest game hen and brought it directly to his mouth, sinking his teeth into the roast flesh desperately.
The night was cool and damp from the light fog that rolled off the lake and enveloped Hogwarts Castle. Even high on the Astronomy Tower, a swirling mist hung in the air, illuminated eerily by the sickly, cold green glow of the Dark Mark, afloat in the sky above.
“I’ve got a job to do,” Draco said, uncomfortably aware of the imminence of the task imparted to him by the Dark Lord.
“Well, then, you must get on and do it, my dear boy,” said Dumbledore softly.
Sounds of the fight below drifted up the stone staircase; reminding Draco that he didn’t have a great deal of time. He stared at Dumbledore, disarmed and unsteady before him. Somehow, even in the face of defeat, this man was exasperatingly calm.
Dumbledore smiled. “Draco, Draco, you are not a killer.”
“How do you know?” Draco retorted. The words sounded a bit childish to him even as he said them. “You don’t know what I’m capable of.” His voice became harder, more forceful. “You don’t know what I’ve done!”
“Oh yes, I do,” said Dumbledore mildly. “You almost killed Katie Bell and Ronald Weasley. You have been trying, with increasing desperation, to kill me all year. Forgive me, Draco, but they have been feeble attempts… So feeble, to be honest, that I wondered whether your heart has been really in it.”
A sharp movement against the wall, near the staircase door, caught Draco’s attention and he turned quickly to see Harry Potter sweeping away his Invisibility Cloak, and stepping forward.
“Draco… Stop this at once,” Harry ordered, continuing to move closer.
Even as Harry spoke, he smiled that careless, aggravatingly kind smile of his. The one that made Draco find him so irritating.
“Potter.” Draco spat the name. “Right place at the right time as usual, I see.”
“Malfoy,” Harry said with urgent surety, “you’re making a huge mistake.”
“Am I?” Draco responded automatically. “And you, the famous Harry Potter, are going to steer me right?”
“I can only make you this offer, Draco…” Harry was stepping forward, raising his hand, but not clutching his wand; instead offering it in friendship. “Join us… Help us defeat Voldemort and his dark forces, before it’s too late.”
Draco’s mouth went dry. He stared into Harry’s determined eyes. How could Harry Potter, of all people — whom he had chided, teased and insulted for as long as they had known one another — offer him a chance at redemption?
Draco didn’t know what to do.
Wisps of swirling fog surrounded him, suddenly engulfing him in cool dampness, and in the distance he heard his name being called. “Draco… Draco… Dracho…”
Draco woke with a start, his eyes snapping open against the stiffening mask of mud covering his face.
“Dracho… Dracho, you’ve been sleeping.” The voice was Titchi’s and its lyrical tones were laced with concern.
“Yes… yes, I fell asleep… I was… dreaming,” Draco stammered.
“It is time to get out now, Dracho.” She smiled.
“Oh… yeah,” Draco said, as he moved tentatively; pushing himself up against the weight of the smooth, cool mud. He shook the remnants of the dream from his mind, coming fully awake.
Titchi led him down from the tub and they made their way to the waterfalls. The thick mud clung to Draco’s torso and legs, encasing him in several centimeters of thick, pasty coating. The weight made his movements sluggish, but there was no pain at all in his skin, or muscles. Only his scars itched, a persistent tingle that he suspected would never leave him. The mud oozed off of him as he moved, leaving a trail in his wake. In any other circumstances, he would have been severely embarrassed, but no one gave them a second look as they walked past the central stone fire pit and down the path to the water.
Once they arrived, Draco wasted no time, diving into the clear water and leaving a plume of red mud. Other swimmers dotted around the rocks watched him with curiosity, the cloud of mud drifting with the river as he rubbed his body clean beneath the surface.
After a few minutes, Draco was mud-free and felt wonderfully refreshed. He swam back toward the shore and stood in the waist-high water, his skin bronzed and shimmering in the sun. He looked down at his arms, appreciating his new skin color.
Never in his life had he been allowed out in the sun enough to get a decent tan, and now he was the deep, rich color of the skin of an almond. He couldn’t help but admire himself as he looked at his reflection in the water’s surface. His bright hair, slick and wet, now framed and contrasted his face. He moved to the edge of the water, near the protection of the shaded stones, where he could see his reflection better.
Draco examined his face. The yellow “X” still crossed his nose but it seemed somewhat lessened against his new complexion. He rubbed his pointed chin, realizing suddenly that he had not shaved at all since he had come to this place, and while there were barely enough whiskers to constitute more than a nuisance, he was far from his usual groomed and carefully presented self. He slapped at the surface of the water, suddenly angry at his own reflection. The momentary emotion passed just as suddenly as it had overtaken him. What can it possibly matter? he thought. What use is vanity in this place?
Confused, unaddressed thoughts resonated in Draco’s head as he stood there, the surface slowly settling. He was suddenly aware of Titchi’s reflection in the water. He looked up to see her standing on the boulder. The boulder, he recalled, where they had first met. She was holding something, a length of tanned leather as smooth and soft as fabric. She smiled at him. “Dracho… you have troubled thoughts?” she asked, her voice lowering with concern.
“Oh… no… not really,” he replied haltingly. “What have you got there?” he asked, changing the subject.
“This is for you, Dracho,” Titchi said proudly. “It is for you to wear. I made it for you.” She stretched out her arms toward him, offering the supple leather.
Draco realized the leather, along with a second strip, was a sort of loincloth, typical of the men of the tribe. He took it from her and was amazed at how soft it was in his hands. He was aware that he was naked in the water, but as that was how the tribe members usually swam, he swallowed down his residual embarrassment and climbed up onto the rocks to put on the simple, spare garment.
Once Titchi was satisfied that it was a good fit, they walked back toward the huts together.
Draco felt quite himself again… physically, at least. He was amazed at how invigorating the skin treatment was. He was aware of the constant pinprick pain in the scars all across his back, but that was a minor nuisance, one he hoped he would learn to ignore.
The residual pain in his limbs was finally and completely gone and he felt full of energy. Rather than wanting to go back to his hut and lie down — as he had done on each previous day he’d been awake — he wanted to do something more — anything but sleep. “I feel great,” he said out loud to Titchi.
“That is wonderful, Dracho,” she replied, smiling at him. “And you look like you are becoming one of us… well, except for your hair.” She reached out and brushed a strand away from his face. “Nuncha will be so happy to see its color is not changed, she loves your hair.”
Draco couldn’t help smiling back at her, though it registered once more in his head how strange it was for him to genuinely smile at anyone. With Titchi, he had no history, no reputation to protect, no family legacy to uphold. For the first time in his life, he was happy to be free of it.
“So, what do we do today?” he asked. “I absolutely do not want to sleep the day away.”
“I am so glad to see you feeling better, Dracho,” Titchi said genuinely. “But we must prepare for tonight’s celebration. Chunt’ea has been asked to go with some boys to catch more fish for this evening. I will ask if you can go fishing with them.”
Draco felt a momentary twinge of disappointment at the suggestion, but smiled and tried not to let it show.
Once back at the village, Titchi went off to find Chunt’ea, and Nuncha dragged Draco into a large hut to see all the cooking and preparation that was going on. Nuncha led him to a large clay pot that was stirring itself with a long, flat wooden spoon. It smelled deliciously of dark chocolate. The many women in the hut didn’t seem to be concerned by his presence; some looked up at him, and smiled, but mostly they kept at their various tasks. Nuncha picked up what looked like a length of grass reed about eight or ten inches long. She dipped it into the pot and pulled it out, the end coated in thick, glossy chocolate. She popped it into her mouth and sucked away the chocolate, smiling. Then she dipped it again and pushed it toward Draco. He opened his mouth automatically and instantly was rewarded with the sweet, delicate flavor of rich bittersweet chocolate. His eyes widened in wonder at the delicious taste and he smiled widely at Nuncha, which was obviously the reward she wanted.
A woman approached them. She was a handsome woman, perhaps in her mid thirties or early forties. She mussed Nuncha’s hair affectionately and spoke kind but gently scolding words at the little girl. Draco imagined that she said something like “Don’t eat it all before the feast.” Nuncha smiled at the woman, and he wondered if this was Nuncha’s mother — Titchi’s mother, too. Draco smiled politely at the woman, unaware of how he should act. He started to bow, from ingrained habit, but she regarded him neutrally, without any indication of feeling. She took the stick away from Nuncha and dipped it into the pot, tasting the delightful contents herself. She moved quickly to a nearby table and returned with a clay vessel and a mound of raw crystallized sugar. She dumped the sugar into the pot and poured what appeared to be milk from the vessel into the chocolate as well. She smiled again at Nuncha and said something more that Draco could not understand, before stepping away to rejoin the other women in a central circle. They were obviously preparing several different things at a low circular table, and Draco, now aware of the constant chatter, imagined they were also gossiping wildly, sharing stories of family.
Nuncha looked conspiratorially at the back of the woman Draco now suspected to be her mother, before dipping the stick again and sucking away more chocolate with a deep grin and a satisfied sigh. She immersed it once more and gave it to Draco, who savored the delicious flavor, now subtly more balanced for the added ingredients. He rewarded Nuncha with another delighted smile.
“You like chocolate, Dracho?” Titchi’s voice came from behind him. He turned, still withdrawing the sample stick from between his lips. He smiled. “Yes, as a matter of fact, I do… and this is very good.” Titchi seemed to blush a little as she smiled, and Draco noticed the boy standing behind her.
Chunt’ea was one of the first members of the tribe that Draco had noticed and asked about. After all, with his squirrel monkey always on his shoulder, or trailing nearby, he did sort of stand out. Chunt’ea was thirteen years old, or thirteen flood rains, as Titchi had said; Draco had assumed that was what marked years here. Chunt’ea was a full head shorter than Draco and was thin and wiry, not at all unlike his monkey companion, Draco thought with a smile.
“The boys have agreed to take you with them, and teach you to fish,” Titchi explained. Draco looked to where she indicated and realized that another half dozen boys were there, waiting.
Draco felt a bit of prideful resentment rise at the idea that he would have to be taught to fish by a bunch of thirteen-year-olds, but he swallowed the notion down and smiled politely. I have to quit reacting automatically, he thought to himself; he had no status or station to protect here, so his reflexive thoughts of superiority were a hindrance, not a help.
Titchi brought Draco out to the group of boys and then un-slung her amber shard wand and performed the Understanding enchantment on both Draco and Chunt’ea. Suddenly, Draco had another person he could talk to, but he felt an odd sort of disappointment rather than joy, at the notion that he would no longer have the excuse to spend all his time with Titchi.
The boys led him along the river at a jog. They were amazingly light on their feet and quiet as they moved excitedly toward their destination. Draco had been given a long, thin spear with a many-needled head, and a woven basket, which was slung over his shoulder, bouncing against him with each step. By the time they stopped, Draco was quite out of breath, a fact that the boys seemed to feel was very amusing, but their laughter and chiding seemed to be all good-natured, so Draco let it pass, and in fact laughed a bit himself, accepting the teasing, where before, he never would have let it go without a sharp retort.
Chunt’ea patiently explained to Draco how to use the spear and how to aim through the water’s surface. After several tries, Draco managed to spear his first fish and really began to catch on. He could see that he was still missing more than hitting, but it was slow, lazy work, mostly waiting for the fish to come by, so he was able to make up for the newness of his skill and fill his basket while the boys enjoyed talking and teasing one another, telling jokes more than watching the river for fish.
Asking through Chunt’ea, the boys seemed to be very curious about where Draco had come from, so he tried to describe England to them, telling them that it was a huge island country full of many people, that it was cooler so the people had to wear much more clothing, like the robes he had arrived in. He tried to describe the difference in the plants and the landscape, the kind of dwellings, and the habits of the people, but while the boys seemed very impressed, he was not at all sure how much they really understood.
The afternoon passed and Draco began to feel quite relaxed with these younger boys. At Hogwarts, he’d have found it quite irritating to spend an afternoon with a bunch of third-years, but while these boys had the excitement and joviality that befitted their youth; it was tempered with a sense of responsibility to their tribe that, in an odd way, Draco felt he understood. They had a tremendous amount of fun, but each eventually managed to take the time to fill their fish-basket. Draco was quite happy to have been able to fill his as well by the time one of the boys suggested they should head back.
Chunt’ea whistled for his monkey companion, who appeared a moment later, laden with several small fruit pods he seemed to be thoroughly enjoying, and quickly descended to take his place on the boy’s shoulder.
As they returned to the village at a jog, it occurred to Draco that they had used no magic to help with the fishing. He wondered about it; it would have taken them no time at all to sweep the river with a magical net and catch more fish than the boys had all caught together. If Draco had had his wand, he felt he could easily have accomplished it. But then… they would not have been able to enjoy the time together, away from other ears of the village, joking and laughing, and talking about various girls, as it seemed they had spent a lot of time doing. He wondered if there was some sort of restriction on underage wizards here, as there was in England. He was just beginning to dwell on this when he realized that they had arrived.
They jogged right up to the large hut where all the cooking had been going on and several girls came out to retrieve the boys’ baskets. They chattered excitedly at the overflowing baskets and quickly took them away into the hut, leaving the smiling boys filled with a sense of accomplishment. Nuncha had rushed out to take Draco’s basket; it was quite a feat for the small girl to carry the large basket, but she chattered animatedly just like the older girls and smiled proudly at Draco. Before she turned away, she said something to Chunt’ea, who nodded.
Chunt’ea led Draco back to the now familiar hut that he had been using. “Titchi and Nuncha have made you more things for tonight,” Chunt’ea explained as they stepped up into the hut together. “Nuncha asked me to show you how each garment fits,” he continued.
There, laid out across the sleeping mats, was a vest made of the same thin and supple leather of his loincloth, and with it were elaborately beaded leggings and forearm bands, which Chunt’ea quickly explained.
“These are celebration garments; you only wear them for nights like tonight, and then you will keep them safe.”
He showed Draco how to lace them up the back of his calf, and under his forearm. The last item was a simple necklace, which consisted of a leather cord and a half dozen simple, bleached white bone beads. Draco tied it around his neck as Chunt’ea explained that this necklace was his display of accomplishment and skill. As he was a newcomer to the tribe, it was only these few bare beads, but tonight, if the women were satisfied with his afternoon catch, he would be awarded a stone bead in the shape of a fish to add to his necklace, and each month he would be awarded new additions to recognize accomplishment.
When Draco was fully dressed in his new attire, Chunt’ea stepped back and nodded approvingly. Even his squirrel monkey seemed to be nodding with appreciation.
“I must go now and get ready myself,” Chunt’ea said as he moved around the room. He had drawn a short, stubby wand from a leather scabbard at his waist and was lighting the few lamps in the hut, which were made from some sort of gourd. “There is time now for you to go visit your mother if you like, and I will come get you when it is time for the celebrations to begin.”
Draco nodded. “Thank you,” he responded… “And thank you for the fishing.”
Chunt’ea seemed very pleased; he smiled and nodded before quickly leaving the hut.
Draco made his way along the now familiar footpath toward the Healer’s hut to visit his mother. His mind was awhirl with the events of the day. So much for a restriction on underage magic, he thought as he pictured Chunt’ea lighting the lamps in his hut. He looked down at himself as he moved, and marveled at his bronzed skin and colorful, beaded leggings. For a moment he imagined himself standing in the Great Hall dressed as he was, with the many Hogwarts students laughing at him in this colorful attire, but he quickly banished the thought… he was, after all, not at Hogwarts, and this costume was perfectly appropriate to this place and these people, and he was building a new sense of pride in his acceptance here.
He reached the Healer’s hut, climbed the wooden stairs and knocked at the doorframe, from which a heavy leather sheet hung. In a moment Mistress Puntne was there, pulling back the leather drape and beckoning him into the cool hut awash in the pleasant fumes of brewing potions.
Draco nodded to Mistress Puntne, and spoke. “Thank you for the treatment this morning,” he said, motioning to his chest with both hands, pulling open his vest to display his new complexion.
The Healer seemed to understand what he meant and she nodded, smiling. She spoke in acknowledgement, but Draco could not yet understand. She quickly directed him to the back of the hut, where his mother lay behind a gauze curtain.
Narcissa was still, her breathing regular and her face calm as she lay there, but her eyes seemed blank when you pulled back her lids, as Draco had done on several occasions. Draco took a seat on a familiar stool at his mother’s side and took her hand in his.
“I’m alive, Mother… I’m right here,” he began in hushed tones as he squeezed her unresponsive hand in his. He began telling her about the day, describing his thoughts at each event, and how he was perceiving things differently now, in this strange place, among these people who were so different from them and yet so overwhelmingly friendly, kind, and accepting. He described his new clothes and his new skin tone, the feel of the mud bath, and the fun he had had fishing. Finally he tried to describe the taste of the chocolate, which he knew she would love.
“You need to wake up, Mother,” he pleaded softly. “You have to experience this place for yourself. I feel so alert and alive here,” he confided. “It’s almost as though I’ve been resurrected after being killed by the Dark Lord.” He paused for a long moment and then recalled the dream he had had, the one in which Harry Potter had offered him a chance to join in opposing Voldemort. It came back to him vividly as he described it to his mother.
“I wish that you would wake up and help me understand all of this.” For a fleeting instant, Draco thought his mother’s fingers had moved against his own - the slightest twitch, barely noticeable… so slight that Draco was not even sure if he had imagined it. He held his breath in hope that it would occur again, but nothing happened.
After a long, still silence, Draco got up from the stool and smiled resignedly down at his mother. “I’ll be back again soon, Mother,” he said, though there was little hope in his voice. He turned and pushed away the gauze curtain, stepping away from his mother.
The hut was now empty, Mistress Puntne having slipped away at some point without disturbing him. He crossed the wooden floor and stepped out onto the small porch beyond the leather drape. The sun was setting fast, casting a reddish-gold glow over the village as he sat on the steps of the Healer’s hut. The warmth of the air enveloped and comforted him.
He noticed suddenly that there were numerous torches approaching the village from a short way up the main pathway toward the nearby hills and not very distant mountains. He thought he could hear the clopping of hooves, and the sounds of animals, mixed with calls from distinctly human voices. Before he could think much about it, he heard something hit the roof of the hut behind him and he turned to see Chunt’ea’s monkey clamoring down the side of the hut toward him. It came right up to him and tugged at his arm as a small child would. At that moment, he heard Chunt’ea calling to him, and spotted him running up the path toward the hut. “Dracho… Dracho… come quickly. The men and animals are arriving. The celebrations are beginning!”
Chunt’ea was very excited, and Draco couldn’t help feeling the enthusiasm as well. The monkey hopped up on Draco’s shoulder as he came off the step to join the younger boy.
“Come, Dracho… Hurry!”
Please review — Thank you.
NEXT
Chapter Nine
Appenzeller, Gutzwiller, Lienhart & Pracht
Chapter 10: Chapter 9 - Appenzeller, Gutzwiller, Lienhart & Prächt
Author's Notes: Ginny gets her owl, The Dursleys settle in with their new wealth, the Weasleys accept their gift, and Harry gets to tell off Uncle Vernon! This is the last of Harry at Privet Drive with the Dursleys. This chapter contains the answer to the question of where all that money came from and probably creates even more questions.
The whole issue of money in this story has spiraled out of control and for that I apologize, I never intended for it to be such a big thing. Hopefully now the story can move forward at a faster pace.
I have a fairly romantic chapter coming next (Hurray Fluff!) with Harry's arrival at The Burrow, and then when Hermione gets back from holiday we'll finally be getting back to the serious stuff.
Thanks for hanging on and continuing to read. Please do let me know what you think.
Appenzeller, Gutzwiller, Lienhart & Prcht
Ginny awoke Tuesday morning to the smell of sausages wafting up to her bedroom. She contemplated pulling her pillow over her head and trying to go back to sleep, but when the scent of fresh coffee hit her she knew that it was futile. She turned in her bed and looked out the window at the depressingly clear sky. Why did the weather have to be so marvelous when she felt so miserable?
She reached over to her night table and clutched the torn half of a set of Muggle photographs from the shopping center photo booth. The sight of Harry and her giggling together made her heart leap, but just as quickly reminded her of exactly why she was feeling so bad. It had been three days since they had been together at the shopping center and she still hadn’t heard anything from him. She wasn’t sure if she should feel neglected, or worried — after all, her boyfriend was none-other than the famous Harry Potter.
Then, yesterday, she had received the letter she had been dreading. The letter she knew was inevitable, but had hoped would be forgotten until next term. It too was on her night table. She picked it up and re-read it for perhaps the tenth time.
Dear Miss Ginevra Weasley,
As you know, the O.W.L. testing of all Hogwarts’ fifth year students was postponed, due to the tragic and untimely death of the Headmaster.
The Ministry has set a special testing schedule to accommodate students during the summer holidays.
You have been scheduled to sit your exams at the Ministry for Magic on July 3rd and 4th. You are to report to the testing rooms of the Wizarding Examinations Authority Offices, level six Ministry of Magic, London, promptly at 8 a.m. each morning of testing.
Testing by subject will follow according to your term schedule at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please be prepared for both written and practical exams at time of testing.
If you have questions, or need transportation assistance to and from the Ministry, please contact this office.
May I personally wish you great success with your examinations.
Sincerely,
Griselda Marchbanks
WIZARDING EXAMINATIONS AUTHORITY OFFICE
Ministry of Magic
Ginny set the letter back down on her night table with a frown and swung her legs out of the bed. She stood up, pulled on her pale blue bathrobe, stuffed her feet in her matching fluffy slippers and flopped out the door toward the kitchen.
“Morning, dear – sausage and eggs?” Even in the darkest of times, Ginny’s mother never failed to be cheerful in the morning, particularly when serving a meal.
“Just coffee, Mum,” Ginny responded blankly. She moved sluggishly toward the percolator on the stove as her mother flicked her wand, summoning a heavy mug from a shelf, which managed to fly beneath the stream of dark liquid as the pot rose up off the stove and tipped itself.
“Thanks,” Ginny said with subdued gratitude. She plopped down at the kitchen table where her brother Ron was finishing a plate. Knowing Ron, it was neither his first nor his last.
Ginny spooned a heap of sugar into her steaming mug and reached across to nab the cream, which she tipped in until the swirling, tanning liquid danced dangerously at the lip. She leaned in and blew across the surface, then settled her lips to the mug and slurped tentatively, drawing off the first potentially burning swallow of the hot, life-giving liquid from the over-full mug.
“Honestly, you need something more than coffee, dear,” Molly’s words displayed a concern that went beyond breakfast. “How I ever let you children start drinking that vile liquid, I’ll never know — but your father does love his first morning cup.” Molly continued talking as she loaded more eggs onto Ron’s plate. Ron beamed at his mother, but said nothing, as his mouth was too full of food to speak.
With a flick of her wand, the pan of eggs flew back to the stove and an iron skillet swept into her hand. Molly stabbed out a half dozen more sausages onto Ron’s plate. She turned to Ginny and speared the last few. A plate full of eggs glided to a halt in front of Ginny just in time to receive the proffered sausage. A few moments later, Molly joined Ginny and Ron at the table with her own plate of food.
“Going to work at the shop again, Ron?” Ginny asked, already knowing the answer.
“Yeah,” Ron responded after a heavy swallow. He took a big gulp of orange juice, and continued speaking. “Why else d’ya think I’m up so early? Fred and George are expecting a shipment of felt hats today. They’ve been going crazy keeping up with the demand for protection-charmed clothing, and they were thinking they’d try to make Disillusionment hats with this shipment.”
Mrs. Weasley sniffed in apparent disapproval, but neither Ginny nor Ron gave any indication of noticing. The entire family knew that it was all an act; Molly was fiercely proud of the twins’ success — in fact, it had been she that had suggested the tag line Fred and George now used with their top-selling line of serious protection and security items: “If it’s a Weasley, it’s worth it.”
“Gonna try to study today, Ginny?” Ron asked.
“Yeah… guess I’ll try.”
He shot her a knowing look as he shoveled another forkful of eggs into his mouth and chewed diligently to a solid swallow. “Don’t worry… When Hermione comes back from holiday, she’ll make sure you study plenty before you have to sit the tests.” He obviously couldn’t keep himself from smiling at the mention of Hermione’s name. “And… you’ll hear from Harry, I’m certain of it.”
Ginny blushed very slightly under her mother’s attentive gaze. “I’d better,” she proclaimed with faux fierceness belying the underlying insecurity of a fifteen-year-old girl anxious to hear from her boyfriend. “Or he’s going to be one sorry…” Ginny’s words trailed into nothing as she noticed a distant speck in the clear sky outside the kitchen window. It was an owl, certainly… but what owl?
Mrs. Weasley got up from the table and moved to open the kitchen window. “Looks like…” Molly hesitated, waiting a few more wing-beats to bring the animal closer. “…Like a barn owl, from the standard owl post,” she said with a hint of chagrin on her daughter’s behalf.
Ginny clutched her coffee mug with both hands and looked down into it, trying to hide her disappointed expression.
The barn owl landed heavily on the windowsill and hooted to announce its presence. Mrs. Weasley untied the leather cord and removed the parchments. The owl turned and leapt back into flight.
“Looks like the usual,” she said. “Oh.” She pulled one of the letters free of the others. “Ron, dear, another from Hermione.” Molly moved to hand the thick parchment to Ron.
“I hope she’s enjoying her holiday and not spending all her time writing to you,” Arthur Weasley said as he stepped into the kitchen carrying his work satchel. He moved directly to the head of the table and pulled out his chair. “What’s that — a letter every other day now?” Mr. Weasley sat, adding his habitual, “Morning, children.”
“Morning,” Ginny responded gloomily.
“Good morning, Arthur.” Mrs. Weasley summoned her husband’s breakfast and moved to give him a quick kiss.
“No Prophet this morning?” Mr. Weasley asked distractedly as he waved his wand, summoning the sugar and cream from across the table.
“Not yet, dear,” Mrs. Weasley responded.
Ginny looked up from her coffee and shook a lazy finger at the open window. “I think there’s another owl coming — I expect that’ll be your paper, Dad.” She looked down at her plate, picked up a fork and began to stab at her eggs.
Mr. Weasley reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a Knut. He got up from the table and moved to the window to pay the approaching bird.
“Um… Ginny?” he said teasingly, “I don’t think this one is the Prophet delivery… It looks like Hedwig… And, she appears to be carrying a rather large parcel.”
Ginny was on her feet in an instant, her mother and brother behind her. They all peered out the window at the approaching owl. “That’s a huge box she’s got there,” Ron commented. “Must be better than half her wingspan.” He turned to Ginny, grinning. “Told’ya you’d hear from Harry.”
They all stepped back from the window to allow the snowy owl to swoop out of the sky and into the room. Mrs. Weasley jerked her wand and the dishes moved aside, clearing a spot on the table. There was a loud thump and a flashing of white wings as the package hit the table and the owl righted itself atop the heavy box. The parcel looked like an oversized, round hatbox wrapped in brown paper and tied up with twine. The owl leapt down off the box and stared at them, seemingly considering each in turn.
“Blimey,” Ron exclaimed. “That’s not Hedwig.”
Ginny was beaming. “No… he isn’t.” She stepped closer, holding her arm out to the bird. “This is the owl from the Emporium! Remember, Mum, I told you I saw another snowy when Harry and I went in to get treats for Hedwig?” The owl trilled happily and hopped off the table onto Ginny’s outstretched arm. “Did Harry send you to me?” she asked. In answer, the owl nipped at her cheek affectionately and hooted with satisfied finality.
Mrs. Weasley nodded, understanding, as she continued to watch the beautiful owl with an awed expression. “Harry… he wouldn’t have… he didn’t? That’s too much to spend…”
Ron had crossed to the box and grabbed the tag. He read it aloud: “Eeylops Owl Emporium proudly presents this owl as a gift to Ginny Weasley, from one: Harry Potter. Yeah, he sure did, Mum.”
Without asking permission, Ron tore into the brown paper, pulling it away from the round box. In a moment, he had the top off of the box and was pulling from it a beautiful metal cage that was considerably taller than the box itself. Inside the cage were more items, feed and treats, dishes, a booklet on care and feeding and a letter addressed to Ginny in Harry’s hand.
Ron opened the cage door and pulled out the things. As soon as he had done so, the owl hopped onto the table and leapt up onto the perch. Ginny moved to pick up the letter. She tore it open hurriedly and began reading silently.
After a minute she looked up at the eager faces of her brother and parents. “He says…” she began, “the owl is an early birthday present. He wanted me to have it now because he thought delivering all the wedding invitations would be a bit much for Errol and Pig.” Ginny clutched the letter to her chest and giggled with unsuppressed glee.
She kept on reading silently, moving back toward the window and pulling herself up to sit on the counter. “He’s planning to leave the Dursleys’ on Sunday the twenty-second and come to stay with us here; he asks if you can make arrangements, Dad? He says as early in the morning as you want is fine with him.” Ginny continued to scan the letter, smiling, occasionally laughing, but not sharing the contents. Finally she looked up at her parents rather confusedly. “He says whatever was in his aunt’s envelope… You are not to even think about trying to return it, he says it’s yours, and that’s the end of it.”
Both Ron and Ginny were looking at their parents now and Mrs. Weasley glanced guiltily at Arthur. “Mum, Dad, what’s he talking about?” Ron asked.
“I remember now,” Ginny said. “Right before they went away in that automo-what’sit, Harry’s aunt handed you a letter. I didn’t even think about it till just now.”
“So what is it he’s afraid you’ll try to return?” Ron blurted out.
Arthur Weasley sighed heavily and left the room; he returned a minute later with two small sheets of parchment; he handed Ron the first. It was a note from Edwin Garron of Gringotts Bank. Ron glanced over it and handed it back to his father.
“Well, what does it say?” Ginny said waving it away as her father moved to hand it to her.
Mr. Weasley, shifted uncomfortably, cleared his throat and began to read:
Dear Mr. and Mrs. Weasley,
Enclosed is a deposit receipt to your Gringotts vault. I have deposited this money at the express direction of Mrs. Petunia Dursley, aunt of Harry Potter.
I felt you should know that Mr. Potter suggested to his aunt that your family deserved a portion of the account in question, in recognition of the care and concern you have extended to him during the time he has attended Hogwarts School.
As a third party and, I hope, a family friend, and knowing what little I have been witness to regarding Mr. Potter and his aunt, I encourage you to accept this money.
Yours truly,
Edwin Garron
ASSISTANT DIRECTOR OF MUGGLE RELATIONS
Gringotts Bank, London.
“It’s quite a bit, isn’t it, Dad?” Ron said knowingly. He did not seem the least bit surprised by this turn of events.
Arthur Weasley leaned forward and handed his son the second slip of paper. Ron glanced down at it and smiled a broad grin. “Of course it is.” Ron handed the deposit slip to Ginny who likewise glanced at it and also grinned.
“Two-hundred-fifty-thousand Galleons!” she blurted out. “Merlin’s beard!”
“But you see… we can’t keep it,” Mrs. Weasley said nervously. “We haven’t done anything to deserve it. It would be wrong to keep it.” She seemed on the verge of tears. Mr. Weasley nodded in agreement with his wife.
“You’ve got to be kidding!” Ron said, his voice rising a little in aggravation. “You can’t give it back. Don’t you get it? Don’t you know anything about him?”
Ron’s parents stared at him, looking slightly offended, but Ron persisted. “Harry would have given you money outright at any moment during the past six years, only you made it clear you didn’t want it from him. He would never insult you by offering you one Knut from his Gringotts vault, but this money didn’t come from there… and even if he had to suggest it to his aunt, she’s the one giving it to you. And I can tell you, that Dursley lot don’t deserve it.”
There was a thick silence. Not even the newly arrived owl made a sound.
“Harry’s been clever about it, son,” Mr. Weasley broke the quiet, his voice flat and uncertain, “but we can’t deny it’s really from him, and I’m just uncomfortable taking such a gift.”
“Harry has to know he doesn’t need to buy our affection,” Mrs. Weasley said between sniffles.
“Come off it, Mum, Harry knows that.” Ginny hopped off the counter and crossed toward her mother. “You do deserve the money… because you gave Harry the one thing he didn’t have… family, and a place he knows he can call home if he likes. And you let him know you love him… can’t you let him do this little thing for you?”
“Two-hundred-fifty-thousand Galleons is no ‘little thing’,” Mr. Weasley said.
“Not to you, Dad… or you, Mum,” Ron said determinedly. “Or to any of us… But to Harry, it is.”
Life with the Dursleys had become rather interesting now that they were suddenly rich. It wasn’t that they were particularly kind to Harry; in fact, Uncle Vernon and Dudley had seemed to be pretending he just wasn’t there. Aunt Petunia, though, had begun talking to him with more frequency — no truly significant conversations, but congenial, and she was seeing that he was well fed, despite the fact that Dudley was now home.
The days blurred into one big Dursley shopping outing, as each morning they seemed to be off somewhere to look at brand new things that they hardly needed. The first thing Uncle Vernon had done was buy himself a new Rolls-Royce, Silver Spur, and by mid-week Dudley had gotten… well, new everything.
Harry had been spending most of his time quite happily in his room, meditating, reading the daily issues of the Prophet, talking with the Dumbledore card, and planning for his final departure from Privet Drive. His meditation was coming along very nicely and Harry was finding that he rather looked forward to the mental exercise; it had also had the positive effect of making him feel calm and relaxed a good deal of the time.
In contrast to previous years, the Prophet now seemed to hold Dumbledore in the highest regard. Several articles had appeared, dedicated to chronicling the Headmaster’s life and contributions to wizard society. Harry read every one, despite the protestations of the card on his desk.
On Saturday morning, before his aunt and uncle had departed to retrieve Dudley, they called Harry down to an early breakfast. It became immediately apparent that Aunt Petunia had told Uncle Vernon about their activities of the previous day. Uncle Vernon was wearing his best suit and looked about as puffed up as a prize swine before the livestock judging of a regional fair. He informed Harry very matter-of-factly that it was about time he showed them the respect and reward they deserved for feeding and housing him for sixteen long years.
Harry might have lost his temper during his uncle’s speech, but instead he had taken a deep breath and reminded himself that he would be leaving soon. His aunt looked highly upset and embarrassed during her husband’s lecture, and that at least convinced Harry of her sincerity. Near the end of it, Uncle Vernon had uttered a very stifled “Thank you” that certainly had no thanks contained within it, but Harry imagined it was the best the over-stuffed walrus could manage.
Monday morning, Uncle Vernon was eager to go to work, to “… tell those gits at the office just exactly what they could do with their German takeover.” He spent the rest of that day polishing his new car in the drive way, and telling every neighbor that happened by about his early retirement.
Wednesday morning brought Harry his first close encounter with the new owl. It showed up at Harry’s window with letters from Ginny and Ron and a confirmation of travel time from Mr. Weasley. The male owl showed an immediate and rather keen interest in Hedwig, leaping onto the bureau and hooting in what Harry thought was a friendly and enthusiastic tone. After a few minutes of sizing one another up, the two birds flew out of the window together and Harry watched them until they disappeared into a distant line of trees.
Harry wrote return letters to both Ron and Ginny. Ginny’s letter included a post script that read: What have you named him? He and Hedwig seem to be getting along very well. I’m sending her along to The Burrow, as I don’t think I’ll need her for any messages in the next few days. I’ve told her she can stay there with Errol and Pig, and your new owl. So please, watch after her until I get there.
By lunchtime on Saturday, Harry couldn’t believe that the very next morning he would travel to The Burrow and be done with Privet Drive forever. Based on visits from various Estate Agents, it looked like the Dursleys too would be done with Privet Drive very soon as well. Aunt Petunia had confided to Harry that they would not be moving until at least the first of August, and she was hoping for further away from Vernon’s sister Marge, rather than closer.
At a quarter past four Saturday afternoon, there was a knock on the Dursleys’ front door. Harry, who happened to be down in the kitchen peeling potatoes for his aunt, paid it no mind, as there had been more strange visitors and deliveries to the house in the last few days than he had ever remembered in fifteen years.
Something struck Harry, though, as he heard the grumblings of his uncle in the sitting room – an odd sensation, like a slight warm flush along his temples. His uncle was apparently not expecting anyone either, and he suddenly knew that this caller was here to see him.
Harry hurriedly finished up the last potato as he heard his uncle’s heavy footsteps tread toward the front door. He braced himself for an explosion as his uncle confronted some eccentric member of the wizarding community… but none came. He couldn’t make out the conversation exactly through the kitchen door, but it sounded congenial enough.
Harry wiped up and dried his hands as his uncle approached the kitchen, and as the door swung open, his uncle’s voice bellowed “Boy!”
When Vernon saw that Harry was right there at the sink he lowered his voice considerably. “Boy, there are a couple of men here from a legal firm who say they have business with you?”
Harry shook his head in confusion, but his uncle held the door open wide and two men stepped into the kitchen.
The first was a small, balding man no taller than his uncle with glassy, sky blue eyes behind rectangular spectacles. His hair had once been very blonde but now had hints of gray throughout. He was dressed very neatly in a charcoal-colored, Muggle style suit, and wore a conservative tie. He carried with him a smart-looking, leather brief case.
The other man was much taller and broader and wore a dark suit coat, with black slacks and an open-collared shirt. This man’s hair was white, thick and slicked back on his head, though he hardly looked old enough for white hair. His eyes were also blue, but not as light and brilliant as the first man’s. He was holding what looked like a rather heavy metal lock-box which was decorated in intricate etching that appeared to depict a forest. The box had bronzed handles on either side and it seemed that the man was required to hold it by both to support its weight.
The first man spoke, his voice kind and calm, his accent, seemed to Harry, Germanic. “You are Harry James Potter; son of James and Lily Potter?” Harry nodded affirmatively, unafraid, but unsure of whom these men were and what they might want.
The man turned toward Aunt Petunia. “And you are Petunia Dursley, sister of Lily Potter, the boy’s mother?”
“I am,” Petunia squeaked out, obviously unsure as well of what this was all about.
The man reached into his inside jacket pocket and pulled out a silver business card holder. He flipped it open and drew out a card to hand to Petunia. He in turn handed one to both Harry and Uncle Vernon as he introduced himself. “My name is Reinhold Prcht, of the Swiss legal firm Appenzeller, Gutzwiller, Lienhart & Prcht. I represent the estate of the boy’s grandparents, Deyton and Philomena Potter.”
At the mention of the names — names he had never, to his knowledge, heard before in his life — a torrent of questions burst forth in Harry’s mind, as though a floodgates had opened. His very first thought was ‘why?’ Why had he never heard the names of his grandparents before, and moreover, why had he never even wondered about them?
Harry’s mind filled with questions. Were those really his grandparents’ names? Why had no one ever told him anything about them? Why had he never asked? What did this man mean — he represented their estate? Why was a Swiss law firm representing his grandparents and why was this the first time they had attempted to contact him? What was the lock-box? What was in it?
Harry suddenly realized that Mr. Prcht was watching him closely. He looked up, his questions playing across his face. “What is this all about?” Harry asked deliberately.
“It is, young sir, specifically about your inheritance,” Mr. Prcht replied, smiling, “an inheritance that the firm has been the guardian of since before you were born. Actually, since before your father was born.”
The meaning of the conversation seemed to be dawning on Uncle Vernon; he appeared to be holding his breath and he began turning a rather deep violet. “You…” Vernon blurted out, “You’re the man that sent my wife that account book when this one…” he wagged a thick purple finger at Harry, “…was left on our doorstep?”
Mr. Prcht turned to Vernon and rather crisply replied, “Yes, sir, that was I… though I was a great deal less experienced then in wizarding law. That account is one of the matters I wished to discuss with Mr. Potter.”
“Well, you can’t have it back!” Vernon blurted out angrily, a panic-stricken expression distorting his face, making his mustache wave with his heavy breaths.
Mr. Prcht calmly removed his glasses and began cleaning them with a handkerchief he produced from within his jacket. He looked up at Vernon, whose breathing was gradually slowing. “I assure you, Mr. Dursley, that if Mr. Potter wished it, I would and certainly could have it back.” He replaced his glasses upon the bridge of his nose.
Vernon’s face bunched up in anger, the deep violet of his cheeks spreading across his forehead, and Harry would not have been surprised if steam had issued from his nostrils. “Get out!” Vernon yelled. “Get out of my home! I’ll not have you lot come into my home and threaten me in this manner…”
Suddenly, Vernon stopped in mid-rant. In fact, he more than stopped; he froze completely, as though he had been hit with Petrificus Totalus.
“Thank you, Heinrick,” Mr. Prcht said to the larger man, who nodded calmly. Harry noticed then that the larger man had produced a wand from within his jacket; he’d obviously cast a non-verbal spell upon Uncle Vernon. The lock-box appeared to be floating in front of him, supported now by only one hand.
Aunt Petunia gasped. “What have you done to Vernon?” she asked fearfully, as she tried to back away against the kitchen counter.
“I assure you, Mrs. Dursley, your husband is quite unharmed.” He held out a hand toward Harry’s aunt. “I simply could not abide his irrational interference. Now perhaps we should all have a seat at the table and conduct our business?”
Petunia glanced at her petrified husband with a look of fear, but allowed herself to be led to the dinning room table.
Once Harry and his aunt were seated, Mr. Prcht set his briefcase down on the table and opened it. “Now the first order of business is to establish your identity, Mr. Potter.”
“Before we begin,” Harry interrupted, “I have to ask you and your friend to do something for me.” He watched the two men carefully. Neither seemed at all fazed by Harry’s words. “I will need to see your forearms.”
Both men removed their jackets without question and drew up their sleeves to show Harry their arms. If this struck Aunt Petunia as odd, she seemed to be too frightened still, to ask any questions.
“All right…” Harry said after closely examining each man’s left arm for any traces of the Dark Mark. “Well then, you wanted to confirm my identity?”
Mr. Prcht withdrew a linen scroll from his case. It had a wax seal and a ribbon tied around it. “This scroll will accomplish that.” He snapped the wax seal, pulled the ribbon, unrolled the scroll and set it in front of Harry, turning it so Harry could read the elaborately written words.
I, _________, affirm my identity by blood as the sole surviving member of the House of Potter.
Beneath these words was a beautifully drawn family crest, and beneath that a place for him to sign, and a space for a witness.
Harry looked up at Mr. Prcht.
“The process is very simple.” Mr. Prcht pulled what appeared to be a thick Muggle fountain pen from his case and handed it to Harry. ”First you fill in your name in the blank.” He produced a small, thin, extremely sharp looking dagger. “Then you prick your thumb to draw a drop of blood and press it to the family crest. If your identity is accepted then you sign the document.” He motioned to the signature line as he set the dagger down next to the scroll. “Then if your aunt would be kind enough to witness the document, we will be able to proceed?”
Harry looked over at his aunt, who still seemed to be quite frightened by all of this, but had obviously been able to follow the conversation as she nodded at Harry.
Harry gripped the pen firmly and wrote his full name carefully in the blank space provided. Then he set the pen down, took up the dagger in his left hand and pressed the sharp tip to his right thumb. The blade was so sharp that it easily and quite painlessly cut his flesh, allowing a drop of blood to swell there. He set down the dagger and pressed his thumb to the illustrated crest. At once he felt a warm sensation move through his body, and the ink, where he had written his name, was absorbed by the linen and re-emerged as though written by the original scribe in the same hand.
Harry pulled his thumb away and took up the pen once more, signing and dating the document at the signature line. Then he turned the scroll and pushed it toward his aunt, who signed and dated the witness line.
At Mr. Prcht’s instruction, she pricked her finger with the dagger and let a drop of blood fall onto her signature; at which point both signatures glowed for an instant with a faint light.
“Very good,” Mr. Prcht began. He leaned forward and retrieved the scroll, coiling it back up and tying it with the ribbon. “I am pleased to inform you, Mr. Potter, that upon the event of your coming of age in just over one month’s time, you will legally inherit all real properties, assets, and business interests of the House of Potter. Until such time you may explore your inheritance through the contents of this lock-box, which has remained unopened since it was sealed by your grandfather in nineteen-twenty.”
Heinrick stepped forward and placed the box on the table in front of Harry.
Harry peered at it closely. On the top was a gilded, etched and painted crest of the family Potter. Harry traced the design with his fingertip. He immediately recognized the animal symbols of the four Hogwarts founders in the quadrants of a broad shield, behind a rearing stag. Above was a wand and dagger crossed, and below a banner with the words Servator, Patronim, Defendo.
Heinrick produced his wand from his jacket once more and touched the tip to Petunia’s finger. There was a faint glow of golden light and it was healed completely. He did the same for Harry’s thumb, before stepping back from the table.
Mr. Prcht produced a small, gold key and handed it to Harry. “This key will open the box for you when you are ready,” Mr. Prcht explained, “but remember that it will only be opened by one who is of the blood of the House of Potter.”
Harry was dazed by all of these revelations; he wanted to push the key in the lock and throw open the box… but then again, he was not so sure that he wanted to do that in front of his aunt. He fingered the key, and then slowly dropped his hand to his side and pushed the key into his pocket. After a moment, he looked up at his aunt and then at Mr. Prcht. “You said that you also wished to discuss the account which was set up in my aunt’s name?” Harry said finally.
“Ah… well, yes,” Mr. Prcht said quietly, seeming now a bit embarrassed. “It was the news of unexpected activity regarding the account that prompted my early visit. I wanted to apologize for any confusion concerning the account. I was informed only a few days ago that the monies had been withdrawn from the account on your authority.” Mr. Prcht smiled warmly. “And, that you allowed your aunt to keep the funds despite the fact that none of the money had been used on your behalf as intended?”
Harry frowned slightly. “Yes, sir. That was my decision to make, wasn’t it?”
“Of course, Mr. Potter,” Prcht responded quickly. “However, you were unaware at the time that the money was coming from your inheritance. I have it within my authority at this time to offer you an opportunity to reverse that decision.”
Harry glanced over at his aunt, who was completely pale with fright. “May I ask, sir? If I allow the Dursleys to keep the money, have I given away my inheritance… have I given them all of my grandfather’s money?”
Mr. Prcht broke into a sudden, hearty laugh. He was still laughing as he answered. “Oh… no… Mr. Potter… not at all. The deposits made into that account were hardly noticeable against your grandfather’s wealth. Most of the accumulated funds were the result of interest.” He paused to catch his breath. “As the legal guardian of your inheritance I was merely attempting to provide something for your care. I never imagined that your aunt and uncle would leave it untouched for so long.”
“If this money only represents a small portion of the inheritance, then, there is no reason to reverse the decision.” Harry said with finality.
“Very good then, Mr. Potter, in that case, I believe our business for the evening is concluded. I will contact you again upon your birthday for a few more formalities but, as your identity is confirmed, there are no obstacles to your inheritance becoming official at that time.” Mr. Prcht gathered his case from the table and extended his hand to Harry, who stood and shook it. “You have your key, and lock-box, so you are free to explore your inheritance any time.”
“Thank you,” Harry said, not knowing what else there was to say.
“If you have any questions before we contact you again on July thirty-first, you may contact me by owl, or by telephone using the information on my card.” With that, Mr. Prcht turned toward the door to the hall.
Petunia stood up abruptly, still looking pale and frightened. She pointed at the still frozen form of Vernon in the kitchen, next to the doorway, and blurted out, “What... What about my husband? You’re not going to leave him like that?”
“I assure you, Madam-” Mr. Prcht turned to face Petunia, “-your corpulent husband will be himself again within minutes of our departure. And, he will have heard everything that has happened here tonight.” He and his white-haired associate gave formal bows, and made their way down the hall to the front door. Harry followed them to the door and watched them leave, in what looked liked a perfectly conventional Muggle car.
Harry returned to the kitchen, where his aunt was fussing over the Petrified Vernon. Harry couldn’t suppress his smile as he crossed to the table and looked again at the heavy lock-box. He grabbed it by the handles and hefted it off the table, then quickly made his way to his room and set the box on his bed.
The bellowing voice of his uncle reached his ears, indicating that the spell had lifted. He could tell that his uncle was ranting and that his aunt was trying to calm him, but he was not at all surprised to hear heavy, hurried footsteps up the creaking stairs, and his uncle yelling “Boy!” at the top of his lungs.
Harry crossed to the doorway and stood in the opening to the small bedroom. “I’m here,” he said calmly.
“What do you think you’re up to, bringing those men in here and having them do magic in my house?” Vernon shouted, his bushy moustache waving furiously about his lips.
“I’m not up to anything, and I didn’t invite those men,” Harry retorted, still composed, but reacting to his uncle’s fury with a rising temper of his own.
“How dare you,” Vernon spat, “allow them to put a spell on me!” His face was a deep purple, his fists balled up in anger. “Thought you’d cheat us out of our share, did you… Well, I’ll just have a look in that lock-box they gave you. Now move aside!” Aunt Petunia, who was behind her husband on the stairs, looked absolutely horrified, though this time, Vernon seemed to be the cause.
Harry stood his ground, his temper, which he had been calming through meditation, pulled taught as the skin on a drum at his uncle’s words, and he knew if he attempted to hold it back it would only burst. Instead he leaned forward, certain that a fury equal to his uncle’s shown in his eyes. “No!” he shouted at a volume that surprised him and froze his uncle in place just as surely as the spell had done earlier.
“Listen to me, you greedy, narrow-minded git. You will never have a ‘look at’ my lock-box!” Harry could feel the weight of his years of misery at the hands of the Dursleys, particularly his uncle, boiling to the surface. He made eye contact with his uncle and the emotion… the repressed rage… seethed through his vision. He could feel the older man’s will failing under the onslaught of his anger. “You have already gotten all that you’ll get from me, and if you aren’t content with it then I will call those men and have them take it back. Is that quite clear?”
Vernon took a step back looking horrified and quite wounded.
Harry stepped forward, keeping the gap between them narrow. “All you care about is that shiny new car in your driveway, and that your lawn is greener than your neighbors’. You’re a stupid, petty, self-centered buffoon, and I pity your son, who’s growing up to be the same. You’re a foul, evil man who has tried to make me into something weak and small, simply because you’re afraid of what you don’t understand. Well – what you don’t understand would fill a library!” Harry breathed hard, surprised that the words were simply pouring out of him. “And you have failed to keep me down! So, if you take a step toward that lock-box, or anything that is mine, or breathe an unkind word in my presence until I leave in the morning, I won’t need magic to make you regret your cruelty toward me for the rest of your lifetime.”
Harry paused; he glanced at his aunt, who was staring at him with a sort of dazed wonder. There was no fear apparent in her expression, just confusion at seeing her husband so thoroughly cowed.
Harry turned back to his uncle; he seemed to be trying desperately to formulate a response, but Harry was not about to give up his advantage. “Now, you’re going to go back downstairs and tinker with that ridiculous new telly of yours and be grateful for what I’ve already given you. You’re not going to speak with me at all for the rest of the evening. I’ll come down to dinner when it’s ready and we’ll have a civil last meal together. I expect you to keep your lump of a son in check as well. Tomorrow morning I’ll be leaving your home forever and I think it’s best if you sleep in until after I’m gone.” Harry stopped and stepped back toward the bedroom doorway.
The blood was drained from his uncle’s face, leaving him pallid. He had backed up completely against the opposite wall and looked weak, frightened and defeated.
“Have I made myself quite clear?” Harry said, finally returning to a rather calm voice.
Uncle Vernon nodded fearfully, glancing desperately to where Petunia stood on the stairs as though looking for a means of escape.
“Good!” Harry turned abruptly and stepped into his room, slamming the door closed behind him.
The next morning Harry awoke before five o’clock and gathered his few things, placing them in his trunk, and strapping his Firebolt to the side. He put the false Horcrux in his left front pocket and the Chocolate Frog Card Base, along with the key to the lock-box in his right; he carried his trunk down to the front hall as quietly as possible and then brought down the lock-box, and Hedwig’s cage. He went up to have a last look around, checking the secret place beneath the loose floorboard just to be sure he was not forgetting anything.
He went back down to the kitchen and was surprised to find his aunt there, pulling bacon and eggs from the refrigerator and preparing to cook them. Harry got himself a glass of orange juice and sat at the table to wait. Soon his aunt brought him a plate of eggs and bacon with toast.
Harry ate in silence, listening impatiently for a knock at the front door.
“Will we ever see you again?” Aunt Petunia said finally, breaking the silence.
“I don’t know,” Harry responded quietly. “Do you think you’d ever want to?”
An odd expression passed across Petunia’s face; Harry was unsure what it was. “Yes… at least, I think I should like to know that you’re well from time-to-time,” she said.
Harry’s expression softened. “Well… if you ever want to contact me, just get in touch with Mrs. Figg. I expect she’d be able to get me a message… Or, would it be okay with you if I sometimes sent a letter with Hedwig… at Christmas maybe?”
“I suppose that would be okay,” Petunia said, though she looked a bit apprehensive.
Harry nodded in response and after a moment, she stood and gathered away his empty plate.
At a quarter of six, there was a soft knock at the door and Harry went quietly to open it. There on the stoop were Mr. Weasley, Remus Lupin, and Nymphadora Tonks. Harry waved them in quietly.
“Ready to go, Harry?” Mr. Weasley asked in a jovial whisper.
“Yes, sir,” Harry replied quickly.
“Wotcher, Harry!” Tonks said happily. She was clinging to Lupin’s arm and pushing him forward. “We’ve come to help with your luggage. Is this it here?” She pointed at the trunk with the cage and lock-box atop it.
“Yes, that’s everything,” he said.
“What’s this?” Lupin asked, looking curiously at the crest on the lock-box. He glanced up at Harry with a questioning expression.
“I’ll tell you all about it later, I promise. Just now I’m anxious to get going, if you don’t mind.”
Lupin nodded understandingly and he and Tonks pulled the luggage out the front door and down the drive toward the street.
Harry and Mr. Weasley turned toward the door, and Harry heard a soft noise behind him. He turned to see his aunt in the kitchen doorway. “Goodbye, Harry,” she said softly.
“Goodbye,” Harry said, as he stepped out and closed the door of number four, Privet Drive behind him.
Harry walked silently next to Mr. Weasley as they followed Lupin and Tonks up the street. Ahead of them a little way, the two turned behind a large hedgerow and Harry heard the familiar soft popping sound of Apparition. A moment later he and Mr. Weasley reached the same spot themselves.
“You’re going to have to Side-Along, Harry,” Arthur said. “I know you’re familiar with it.” He offered his arm and Harry reached to take hold of it. “Before we go… I wonder if I might have a quick word?”
Harry looked at Mr. Weasley, a little confused. “Sure, Mr. Weasley,” he said questioningly.
“Well, Harry… You know Molly and I think of you as one of our family.” Harry blushed and nodded. “And now that you are… well, involved with Ginny… I just want your word that you will conduct yourself appropriately while you are staying with us at The Burrow.” Arthur smiled kindly. “It’s not that I don’t trust you, Harry… I do… It’s just that, well… I am a father, Ginny is my only daughter… and well…” Now it was Arthur who was blushing. “I was a young man once myself… You understand?”
Harry flushed with embarrassment, but he nodded just the same. “You have my word, sir,” Harry said.
“That’s fine, Harry, very fine.” Arthur smiled again. “Let’s get home then... Everyone’s waiting for you.
Harry grabbed Mr. Weasley’s arm firmly. There was a sudden “pop” and a familiar swirling implosion, like being wrung through a rather small tube, and then they were there outside the front door of The Burrow.
The low morning sun was casting long shadows across the garden lawn and the sweet floral smells of The Burrow’s garden flooded Harry’s nostrils. He couldn’t help but feel wonderfully happy to be there.
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Chapter Ten
The Lock-Box
Chapter 11: Chapter 10 - The Lock-Box
Author's Notes: Harry is finally back at The Burrow among his adoptive family and friends. After some explanation and examination the lock box will be opened which may lead of course to a greater mystery.
The Lock-Box
The Burrow was a profound change from Privet Drive. For one thing, everyone there was happy to have Harry among them — some of course a bit more than others, as Ginny would barely leave Harry’s side after his arrival.
The open grounds beyond the Burrow’s low-walled garden were an inviting expanse of calm in contrast to the crowded boxy houses of Little Whinging. And in the adjoining field there was a roughly marked Quidditch pitch, which would certainly be put to much good use over the remainder of the summer.
The morning of his arrival there had been an impromptu welcome party. The twins had dropped by for breakfast, Lupin and Tonks had stayed, Moody had shown up with Oliver Wood and Kingsley Shacklebolt, and of course Fleur was there with Bill, who came awkwardly down the stairs to join the party.
Bill’s face was much healed, though the ragged bite marks across his left cheek and the claw marks from above his right eye to his chin still looked wet and unclosed. He leaned heavily on a wooden crutch under his left arm and had Fleur for support at his right side. He waved and said “Welcome” to Harry from the steps, his smile a gross recollection of his former handsome appearance. Fleur had settled him into a chair near the stairs and come to give Harry a hug.
Mrs. Weasley had of course provided a huge meal and everyone wanted to know how Harry’s time with his aunt and uncle had gone. The matter of the Gringott’s account, and the fact that Harry had given his relatives the money seemed to be common knowledge, but not everyone was aware that the Weasleys too had been given a portion of the account, which was of course their business to reveal, to Harry’s way of thinking.
Harry simply smiled and tucked into his second breakfast in order to answer as few questions as possible, keeping his answers limited to, “It was fine. There were no problems.” And, “I’m just happy to finally be here.”
By eight o’clock an impromptu game of Quidditch had been proposed by the twins and they had moved the party to the pitch were Oliver and Harry were chosen as opposing captains. The teams consisted of Harry, Ron, Ginny, and Fred, against Oliver, Tonks, George, and with considerable persuasion, Fleur, with Remus agreeing to conjure goal hoops for either side of the field and to act as the referee.
They had to modify the rules so that the Beaters could also act as Chasers, and they played with only one Bludger, but they had a lively pick-up game that carried them through the morning, with the rest of the guests cheering them on from time to time as they came and went from the edge of the field. Even Bill managed his way out to the field and appeared to be very happy to cheer on his fianc.
Harry captured the snitch just after noon through a spectacular bit of flying in the sloth position. He snatched it away right when Tonks was inches from nabbing it herself, winning the game for the younger team and causing a loud round of cheers from the rest of the guests.
They lunched on sandwiches in the garden and after everyone had been afforded an opportunity to clean up and change out of their soiled game clothes, Harry returned to the sitting room where he found everyone lounging about, apparently waiting for him. Harry stood at the base of the stairs, looking at the expectant faces, and knew what they wanted to know.
As if he had read Harry’s mind, Lupin spoke, “We all know about the Gringott’s money, Harry. Everyone in the Order knows at least that there was a mysterious account, but no one beyond will ever know if you wish it. We are just curious.”
With a deep sigh, Harry told them why he had given the money to his relatives. He then explained about Mr. Prcht’s visit during the last afternoon at Privet Drive. Everyone in the room sat in rapt attention at this new information.
“So that is what that new lock-box you have is all about?” Lupin asked finally.
“Yes,” Harry responded quietly.
“This is an interesting development,” Moody croaked in his gravelly voice. “I want to take a look at this lock-box. Have you opened it?” His magical eye, Harry could see, was clearly focused on Harry’s belongings up in Ron’s room.
“No, I haven’t,” Harry said.
“And Dumbledore never hinted at anything about a larger inheritance… while he was still with us?” Lupin asked, his voice trailing off quietly, aware that the subject might be sensitive so soon after the Headmaster’s death.
“I don’t think Dumbledore knew about any of this,” Harry said flatly, trying to hide any indication in his voice that this thought was anything but speculation.
“I’ll need you,” Moody interjected, “to bring the box down and let us examine it before you attempt to open it?” He held Harry’s gaze for a moment, almost as though he were trying to will Harry to agree. Harry could feel somehow that it was a deep concern that was driving him. The older man’s face softened — in as much as Alastor Moody’s face was capable of softening — and he seemed to find his next words of assurance. “We won’t open it, I promise. We’ll only examine it for dark magic.”
Before Harry could respond a voice cut in, perhaps the one Harry would have suspected the least of having anything to say. “Eet is doubtful, I sink, zat zumthing from Appenzeller, Gutzwiller, Lienhart & Prcht, would have any dark magic azzociated with eet,” Fleur stated matter-of-factly.
All eyes turned toward Fleur, who looked somewhat confused by the sudden attention.
“You know about this law firm?” Lupin asked.
“Yes,” Fleur replied with slight surprise. “Zey are very well known in France, and most of zee continent “None of you ‘az ever ‘eard of zem?”
“No, missy, we have not,” Moody said gruffly.
“Perhaps zey are not known because zey are… oow you say? A Squib law firm? I ‘ave seen zat in zis country zere is much more prejudice against Squibs and half-wizards and Muggle-borns zen zere is in most of Europe.”
There was a long pregnant pause.
“I still want to examine that box, Harry,” Moody broke the silence. Most everyone else in the room seemed to agree as heads were nodding all around.
Harry turned without a word and went back up the stairs. He returned a minute later carrying the lock-box. Moody and Shacklebolt accepted it from him at the bottom of the stairs and took it to the kitchen.
“This goes with it.” He handed the key to Moody who looked at it as though it might be a dangerous object. “I don’t feel like hanging around for the examination.” The men nodded to him. “Don’t open it?”
“We promise,” Shacklebolt assured him. “We only want to be sure it is safe.”
Harry nodded and turned to head out the door. Ginny, and then Ron, trailed out behind him.
Harry was heading down the garden path toward the small dock at the pond. Ginny had caught him up and they were now walking hand in hand. “Wait up, mate,” Ron called after them. Harry and Ginny turned their heads together to look at Ron, and Harry cut their pace so that Ron could catch them. “Hey, aren’t you worried about letting them tinker about with your box?”
“No… not really, I’m certain it’s safe,” Harry responded nonchalantly. “I figure it’ll give them all something to do for a while so we can talk ourselves. I just wish Hermione was here, so I didn’t have to tell everything twice.”
“You don’t,” Ginny said emphatically. “Whatever you want to talk about can hold for a couple of days.” Ginny’s expression was stern, and amazingly like that of her mother when she was in full-on mother hen mode. “Hermione will arrive in a couple of days. I think we should just have a few days of relaxation to ourselves.” She smiled then. “Some time to just be ourselves and not worry about the future.”
Harry looked at Ron who shrugged in typical Weasley fashion. There was the same resignation in his expression that would have shone were it his mother making a similar proclamation.
After a couple moments consideration Harry responded, “Okay, Ginny… You’re right,” He knew he was being handled, that it was her way of looking out for him, trying to keep him from worrying or fretting too much, and he was content to let her assume that role. “So what do we do till then?” He smiled mischievously.
“Well… there’s Wizard’s chess, and Exploding Snap. I expect we have a set of Gobstones around here somewhere, and you two will probably want to compare and trade Chocolate Frog Cards.” Ginny smiled teasingly. “Or, you could help me study?”
Harry hugged her to his side, Ron conveniently noticing something in the other direction that very likely wasn’t there.
Ginny hugged him back, laying her head against his neck. “I’m just happy you’re finally here,” she whispered.
“Me too, Ginny, believe me… me too,” Harry spoke breathily into her soft, wondrously floral-scented hair.
Together, the three of them sat at the end of the low dock, took off their shoes and socks, and dangled their feet in the water. Ron filled Harry in on all the “goings on” at the twins’ shop, all the new products, inventions, and plans for expansion.
Ginny went on and on about her new owl, about how loyal and affectionate he was, and how he would be so much help when the wedding invitations were to be sent out. She had been pouring over her History of Magic text to find a name for him, as she knew that was how Harry had named Hedwig, and had finally settled on the name “Kyne” after an ancient member of Muggle royalty who had turned out to be a wizard.
The air was warm, the pond cool, and the hours meandered by as they lazed on the dock, watching the clouds roll overhead, pointedly not talking about anything of consequence. Harry realized that he was, in that moment, as happy as he had ever been, and more carefree then he had ever allowed himself to be.
Harry gave Ginny’s hand a soft squeeze, and was immediately rewarded with a gentle return. He rolled his head away from the sky and faced Ginny who had just turned her own head to face him. He felt he could become safely lost in the depth of her soft, brown eyes.
They returned to the house a little before supper, as measured by Ron’s increasing proclamations that he was getting hungry. Mrs. Weasley was busy preparing what smelled like a feast, and Fleur was directing most of the guests in the task of setting up tables in the garden.
Ginny was beckoned away to help her mother and reluctantly released Harry’s hand to do so.
“You two take Harry’s box back up to your room and get down here to help in the garden,” Mrs. Weasley said, as she turned from a pan to bend and check something in the oven.
Ron and Harry obeyed, taking the lock-box off the table and hurrying up the stairs.
Harry visually inspected the lock-box as they went, but could not detect any evidence of the magical examination. They arrived in Ron’s room and tucked the lock-box beneath Harry’s bed.
“Will that be okay there?” Ron asked, gesturing to the lock-box.
“I think so,” Harry replied, “very few people know that it even exists.”
“So,” Harry smiled, “tell me about you and Hermione — I know she’s been away — but how’s it going?”
Ron blushed furiously, a broad grin spreading across his face. “Harry, I think I’ve read more this past couple of weeks than I did the whole last term at school.” He didn’t look at all upset about it. “She’s written me nearly every other day.”
“So things are good then?”
“Yeah, mate, things are good.”
“I’m happy for you both,” Harry grinned. “It was about bloody time, you know.” They stood in silence for a few moments enjoying their mutual happiness through an unspoken bond that had been theirs since nearly the day they met in the station, first year. Then, as one, they turned toward the door.
In the garden they helped with the folding chairs and greeted new arrivals. More members of the Order had arrived, Minerva McGonagall, Hestia Jones, among others that Harry had only ever seen coming and going from meetings. Hagrid arrived looking, more than anyone, still a bit devastated by the recent loss of Dumbledore. Ginny tried to cheer him up by introducing him to her new owl, Kyne. This did seem to work a little as Hagrid smiled and cooed, with Kyne on one arm, Hedwig on the other, and Pig settling into the mass of hair atop his head.
Mr. and Mrs. Diggory arrived from the village and were quick to seek out Harry for a warm greeting.
Mrs. Weasley served up an elaborate feast worthy of the Hogwarts House-elves, and the group ate and drank, and talked well into the evening at their tables around a roaring fire. Everyone in turn extended their welcome to Harry, as his arrival seemed to be the excuse for the gathering.
Before he excused himself to leave, Moody returned the gold key to Harry and informed him that they could find nothing amiss about the lock-box. Harry took the opportunity to ask Moony about setting up the promised interview with Imani Nowell, the Daily Prophet reporter he’d encountered in Diagon Alley, and Moony agreed to make arrangements.
As the evening progressed a dark undercurrent emerged in the conversations. Speculation and concern for the future flowed through the gathering.
The twins had been doing their best to cheer up Hagrid and in the process had gotten him quite drunk. By the time most of the guests were leaving, Ron had joined in the Hagrid-cheering with his brothers and the core of the Weasley clan were gathered at a single table, sharing stories of youthful adventures and, in Hagrid’s tales, strange beasts.
No one seemed to notice when Ginny and Harry slipped away into the house and took up seats on the sitting room sofa before the crackling fireplace. They had shared words all day and so wasted no time on them now, but fell together into one another’s arms, their lips pressed together with an urgency created by the desire to have been in this place and this position far earlier.
After nearly an hour of intense snogging they lay together on the couch, Harry’s arms wrapped about Ginny as they watched the fading glow of the fire’s embers. Mrs. Weasley was shooing everyone toward bed and instructing the twins to see Hagrid home before returning to their own apartment above their shop in Diagon Alley. Bill and Fleur, Mr. Weasley and Ron all marched toward the stairs dutifully. Harry and Ginny were perfectly still, barely breathing as they listened to the footsteps creaking up the stairs and Mrs. Weasley casting quiet cleaning spells and humming conspicuously in the kitchen.
The dishes made quiet clinks as they floated in from outside and washed themselves in the sink. In barely fifteen minutes the sounds were slowing and Harry knew that the kitchen was ready for breakfast in the morning.
“All right, you two,” Molly Weasley called from the kitchen, “Off to bed already.” She had obviously known he and Ginny were there all along.
Ginny rolled up reluctantly and stood, straightening her rumpled jumper. Harry rose as well. “Yes, Mother,” Ginny said in a voice that dripped with reluctance. She dragged Harry toward the stairs by the hand.
“Good night, Mrs. Weasley,” Harry said with strain as he was pulled away.
“Good night Harry… Ginny,” Molly said.
At the door to Ginny’s bedroom they kissed again. Harry held her tight, reluctant to say goodnight, but worried that her mother would be trailing them up the stairs at any moment. “Ginny,” he whispered through their pursuant lips.
“I know,” she said, as she reluctantly released him, “time for sleep.” She smiled up at him. She backed into her door, easing it open with her hip. “See you in the morning.” She winked, and disappeared into the room, the door closing slowly behind her.
Harry exhaled heavily and turned toward Ron’s room. Ron was already snoring so Harry slipped in quietly, got quickly into his bed and soon fell asleep himself.
The next day Ron went into work for the twins. Harry and Ginny had a wonderful day together under the watchful eye of Mrs. Weasley. Tuesday morning, despite not planning to work, Ron was up at the crack of dawn. He fidgeted his way through the morning, not wanting to eat. Harry tried to engage him in a game of Wizard Chess about nine o’clock, but after he took Ron’s knight in three moves, he knew that Ron would just not be good for anything until Hermione arrived.
After lunch he and Ginny drug Ron down to the pond for a swim, but he was just no fun at all.
As they were returning to the house they heard the distinct sound of Apparition and Ron brightened up immediately.
They came to the gate in the stone garden wall and saw immediately that Hermione had arrived. She looked wonderfully tanned as she stood next to her Hogwarts trunk. She was wearing a bright floral sun dress which tied up the back, and something in her posture looked a little tired to Harry. Ron had stopped at the gate, his mouth agape. Hermione had not seen them yet as she was standing facing the house.
Ginny called out to her and ran to give Hermione a big hug. Hermione turned, a huge smile crossing her lips at the sight of her friends and the exuberant red-head bounding toward her. Crookshanks leapt from Hermione’s arms and padded toward the flower beds. Harry noted Ron’s sudden hesitance and couldn’t help thinking that the wrong Weasley was rushing forward. Harry clapped Ron on the back and shoved him ahead.
“Your girlfriend’s arrived Ron, get over there and show her how much you’ve missed her,” Harry said.
“But… but what if she’s changed her mind?” Ron asked in a whisper.
“You git, she hasn’t changed her mind. Just look at her,” Harry responded, also at a whisper, as the girls were now stepping toward them. Harry shoved Ron hard again. “Now is not the time for hesitation, Weasley. If you’ve missed her, show her.”
Ron gulped hard and his cheeks flushed; he stepped forward, bold in his action once he made eye contact with Hermione. They stepped toward each other, neither saying a word, their eyes locked. Ron caught her up in a fierce hug and kissed her. Hermione wrapped her arms around Ron’s neck and seemed to melt into him.
Ginny came back to Harry smiling, and took his arm. “What did you say to him?” she whispered.
“Nothing really… he just needed a little push.” Harry smiled.
Ron and Hermione broke their kiss and Ron pressed his forehead to hers. “So… how was Greece?” he stammered, short of breath.
“I’ve missed you too,” Hermione breathed back. “And Greece was fine.”
“Hey, do I get to say hello, too?” Harry interrupted. Hermione peeled herself out of Ron’s embrace and hugged Harry.
Ginny took Hermione’s hand and pulled her away. “Let’s go tell Mum you’ve arrived.” They turned and Ginny practically skipped toward the door, pulling Hermione all the way. “And I’ve got so much to tell you.” A moment later Ron and Harry heard Molly’s excited greeting.
“Thanks mate,” Ron said quietly.
Harry looked over at him. “Anytime – So, I expect we ought to take Hermione’s trunk up to Ginny’s room?”
Ron nodded and they each took an end.
The twins returned that evening for supper and spent a good portion of the evening expounding teasingly about their younger siblings’ new relationships. Ron blushed furiously through the whole meal.
Despite frequent warning and admonishments from their parents, and looks of disdain from Fleur, there was no holding Fred and George back from the golden opportunity of having the two, new, young couples right there at hand.
Harry and Ginny held hands beneath the table and laughed through the whole thing. Hermione scowled so much that she looked as though she would wear a permanent frown. Fleur looked rather affronted by the twins’ behavior, as she was clearly supportive of the relationships, and Bill chuckled, used to his brother’s antics.
Before the meal, Ginny had whispered to Harry that she was prepared for this and had shown him a pair of Weasley Brand Invisible Hot Foot Fuses. Together they had agreed to retaliate if the situation got too uncomfortable.
While Mrs. Weasley and Fleur were up getting pudding, Ginny slipped the fuses to Harry and he carefully levitated them to the twins’ shoes beneath the table. He was excited to actually use magic again after a few weeks without it, and was surprised at how easily he accomplished the task with a silent spell and a flick of his wand. He was not worried about the decree of underage magic use, being now in a magical household.
At the twins’ next silly questions about duel weddings and multi-child prams, Hermione’s scowl turned into a blush as deep as Ron’s and Ginny finally spoke up. “Haven’t you two got anything else to talk about?” She stared them into silence. “I’m telling you to leave off.”
The twins immediately turned on their sister. “Oh, is our widdle sister upset by a widdle teasing?” George said, practically folded over with laughter. “Of course she’s not,” Fred said. “She’s got Harry to protect her.”
“Fred! George! Enough!” Mrs. Weasley admonished in a low shout for perhaps the twelfth time.
Harry calmly looked up from his plate and caught the twins’ eyes. If he hadn’t been smiling so widely they might have actually taken him seriously, but he couldn’t stop his grin. “That’s right, you know. Ginny does have me to protect her… and don’t forget that Ron and Hermione are my closest friends as well.”
The twins looked at each other for a silent moment and then roared with laughter, literally falling from their bench. “What are you going to do Harry, hex us?” Fred said. That wouldn’t be very guest-like,” George finished.
Harry and Ginny were laughing too. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley looked rather confused and upset, and Ron and Hermione were still blushing with embarrassment.
“Hex you? No…” Harry was grinning and laughing still. “Why would I hex you when you two make it your business to invent more incredible means of revenge in your very own shop?”
The twins stopped laughing immediately, as did everyone at the table but Harry and Ginny. Ron and Hermione’s embarrassed looks turned to wide-eyed anticipation. The twins got up from the floor and began patting themselves down looking hurriedly for anything hidden in their clothing. They were like characters from an old silent slap-stick as they searched for some offending object. Finally they stopped and looked at each other, everyone at the table was roaring with laughter. They turned toward Harry. “Are you just having us on?” George said. “Good one, Harry, suggesting you’d use one of our own inventions against us.”
Harry, who had calmed himself down and was eating his tart again, just smiled up at them as everyone watched him. “Who said it was just a suggestion?” He pulled his wand up from his lap and waved it silently toward the twins’ feet.
Immediately the twins began dancing up and down as though they were suddenly standing on a bed of hot coals. They were yelling and stomping and together ran out the kitchen door to the garden.
Even Bill, Fleur, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were roaring with laughter now, as everyone got up from the table and followed the twins outside. Ron clapped Harry on the back and smiled at him.
“Serves them right,” Hermione said, a bit more judgmentally than Harry would have expected.
For a couple of minutes the twins danced around the garden, rapidly kicking up their knees, their legs flailing; they tried desperately to remove their shoes, but apparently the Hot Foot Fuses were so ingeniously made that they included both sticking and perpetual lace-tying charms.
Finally the dancing stopped and the twins stood there looking at one another, horrified. They turned to the others watching them. “Harry, were these the Purple Toes, Blister Blaster or Stink Foot Fuses?”
Harry turned to Ginny, who was hanging on his arm. She was laughing too hard to answer.
There was a loud explosive “pop” and foul green-gray smoke began to issue forth from the twins’ shoes. They turned to one another and in unison said, “Stink Foot Fuses!”
“This round goes to you, Potter,” George warned, a large grin broad across his face. “But don’t think this is the end of it,” Fred stated matter-of-factly. “Guess we’ll be off now. Mum, Dad, thanks for a wonderful meal.” Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, who were both still giggling heartily, waved goodbye to their prankster sons. The twins gave a slight bow and Apparated away.
Later in the evening Mr. Weasley got called away on Ministry business, and Mrs. Weasley went up to help Fleur with Bill’s treatments and medicinal exercises, leaving the quartet alone on the ground floor of The Burrow.
Hermione sat in the sitting room on one end of the couch, book in hand, her feet curled up beneath her. It seemed she had recently taken to reading Muggle fiction, and she was deep into something titled Wuthering Heights by an author named Emily Bront.
Harry sat across from her, nearer the fireplace, in a sturdy oak rocker that creaked a little as he tipped to and fro on his toes. He watched her carefully and couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something weighing on her… something she wasn’t telling them.
Ron and Ginny, in a rare occasion of voluntary sibling cooperation, were in the kitchen preparing tea for the four of them.
Harry sat up a little and Hermione, sensing that there was a question, glanced up from her book. In that instant Harry felt an impression from her, like a tickle in the back of his mind that seemed to be saying, “Please… please don’t ask.” He hadn’t done anything but meet her eyes, but the impression was there very clearly. It only caused in him even more questions, but before he could put voice to anything, Ron and Ginny were returning, laden with a large tray each.
Over tea and biscuits, Harry began to tell them everything that had happened over the past two weeks. At first it was mostly bringing Hermione up to speed on the major events, the Gringotts account and the visit from Mr. Prcht. Then he began to explain his discussions with the Dumbledore card, his meditation, and finally determined that it was time to let Ginny in on the secret of the Horcruxes.
Harry paused. “I think we should find another place to talk,” he said.
“I know a place,” Ginny said, “a place where Mum can see us if she’s looking for us. But we can still talk with some privacy.” She was up and headed through the kitchen toward the garden door.
“Where, Ginny?” Ron questioned.
Ginny didn’t answer but continued across the garden toward the huge sprawling oak tree at the far corner of the garden. She proceeded right to the base of its trunk, negotiating the thick roots with ease, and disappeared around it. On the far side, between the broad tree trunk and the stone garden wall were a series of boards forming a rough ladder. Ginny had already disappeared up the ladder and through a small trap door in the underside of a platform some fifteen feet up into the tree.
Harry followed and emerged onto an open railed deck surrounded by thick leaf cover above. He had of course been up in the tree on previous visits to The Burrow, but it was different now, much larger.
As if she had heard his unspoken thought, Ginny spoke. “Fred and George have been up here lately, I caught them practicing spatial-expansion charms. They have managed to make it much larger than it was.”
Harry moved to the rail and looked across toward the house. There was a clear view of Ron’s, open bedroom window. Harry raised his wand and summoned the lock-box and a card from his trunk with a simple “Accio.”
Ginny was at the trap door looking down through the opening and giggling. “Cut that out and get up here, you two,” she said, grinning. Harry shot her a puzzled look. “They’re having a quick snog down there,” she said. A few moments later Hermione and Ron emerged from the trap door, both blushing slightly.
“This should be private enough for talking,” Ginny said.
“It’s wonderful,” Hermione said as she turned around slowly, looking at the expanded space. “It could use a few touches, though.” She began waving her wand and speaking spells. A thick rug covered the decking and cushions appeared in clumps, creating a conversation area. Small points of flickering light appeared scattered throughout the surrounding branches, slightly visible in the shadow of leaf cover, even in the still bright evening.
“If you cast a ‘Leaf Whisper’ charm, anyone who tries to listen in will only be able to hear the rustling leaves,” Ginny told Hermione as she looked approvingly at the conjured comforts. Hermione nodded.
Harry stepped onto the rug and set the lock-box down. He emptied his pockets, pulling out the gold key, the pewter base and the locket, and set them on top of the box. The others gathered around and each took seats around the lock-box, as Harry set the card in its base.
The little image of Dumbledore came to life, smiling kindly. “Mr. Weasley, Miss Granger,” he said. “How wonderful to see you all together again… and Ginny Weasley as well.” He seemed very pleased, as he turned to Harry. “I take it then that you have arrived at The Burrow without incident?”
Harry nodded, smiling, feeling Ginny leaning into him and peering excitedly over his shoulder at the animated photo. “Sir, as we discussed earlier, it’s time to fill Ginny in on everything,” Harry said.
“Ah… very well,” Dumbledore said with an expression of calm. He began then to tell the tale of the Horcruxes, beginning with the memories and details about the life of Tom Riddle, and ending with the destruction of Marvolo Gaunt’s ring and the uncovering of the Cave.
Ron and Hermione had of course heard the entire story, but none of them had heard it recounted by Dumbledore and they sat in attention to hear the familiar kindly voice again.
At that point Harry had to take up the tale of how he and Dumbledore had journeyed to the cave and found the false Horcrux, on the night of the Death Eaters attack.
When that tale was done Harry recounted for Ginny the events on the train when Fawkes had delivered the Chocolate Frog Collector’s Base.
“And so, now everyone has heard everything,” Harry said, as he sat back into a plush cushion.
Everyone was quiet for a long minute as the recounting of events settled in their minds. The light evening breeze rustled the leaves of the oak tree and the multitude of lights danced like bright, slow-motion fireflies in the branches above.
Ginny leaned against Harry and he wrapped an arm around her reassuringly. Across the rug Hermione looked as though a million questions were playing across her mind and she was desperately attempting to select just one.
Ron on the other hand looked as though he didn’t have a care in the world as he was watching Hermione closely with an expression of complete contentment.
Finally the quiet was broken by the Dumbledore card. “You have shown remarkable restraint, Harry, in not yet opening the lock-box, as I asked.” The little visage looked out at them curiously from the card. “But, as it has now been examined, I think perhaps, there is no reason to wait any longer.”
Harry sat up from the cushion, pulling Ginny with him.
Hermione quickly conjured a small table and Harry moved the Dumbledore card there. Ginny had picked up the faux Horcrux and was turning it over and over in her hand. Harry pulled the lock-box closer to him and pushed the gold key into the lock. He tried to turn the key but it wouldn’t budge.
“Hmm.” Harry frowned questioningly. “Well, I guess I should have thought it wouldn’t be that easy,” he said, looking around at the others, silently soliciting suggestions.
“It’s got to be something to do with you, Harry,” Hermione said, “Some way of telling the box that you are a Potter.”
“Maybe if you just command it to unlock?” Ginny offered hesitantly.
“Doubtful,” the Dumbledore card cut in politely. “Magical seals usually require a more concrete form of identification… a lock of hair, or a fingerprint, or…”
“Blood,” Ron said. “It needs a drop of your blood.”
They all turned to look at Ron who was still looking at Hermione and seemed as though he had not been listening to a word the whole time. “Excellent, Mr. Weasley,” the card said in a proud instructional voice.
“Harry, you said that that Prcht guy told you the box would ‘only be opened by one who is of the blood of the House of Potter,’ and what with the blood seals on the proof of identity, it just follows that the lock-box needs a drop of blood, too.”
Hermione beamed at Ron and gave him a big hug. “Of course,” she exclaimed.
“Well if we need a drop of my blood, I’ll need something to cut myself with,” Harry said. “Perhaps we can summon something from the house?”
“No need,” Ron said sheepishly, “I’ve got just the thing.” He dug into the pocket of his jeans and pulled out a well worn, discolored badge. On its surface were the letters S — P — E — W; it had obviously been carried in his pocket for a very long time. “Every once in a while the pin of this thing pops free and gets me in the leg, so I know it’s sharp enough.”
Hermione stared at Ron in complete disbelief, her mouth fallen slightly open. Ginny was giggling at Harry’s side and Harry reached out and took the badge from Ron’s outstretched hand.
“Oh, Ron,” Hermione said with a crack to her voice as she practically tackled him into another huge hug and kiss.
Harry unclasped the badge pin and quickly jabbed the tip of his index finger. With a little coaxing a drop of blood formed there. He picked up the key and dabbed the tip of it into the drop of blood. He lined the key up with the lock and slowly pushed it into the slot. “Here goes,” he said, as he turned the key, which he was able to do quite easily. There was a slight momentary glow of golden light; an audible ‘click’ and the lower portion of the lock clasp fell open.
Everyone was watching eagerly as Harry slowly lifted the lock-box lid. He wasn’t sure exactly what he was expecting… but what he found inside elicited a slight sigh of disappointment from himself, Ron and Ginny. Hermione on the other hand gasped with excitement and if the Dumbledore card reacted at all, Harry didn’t hear it.
The lock box was filled to the top with a very orderly collection of tightly rolled scrolls. On the very top was a neat square of folded parchment with a wax seal. Harry picked up the note and examined it. The wax seal was a miniature replica of the coat of arms on the lock-box.
Harry had an odd feeling, not a bad feeling, but the sort you get when you know that you are about to do something that will change your life forever. Like sensing that something hugely significant is poised ready to jump out at you, and even though you don’t know what it is, you are anxious for it to happen anyway. He looked around him and couldn’t imagine not sharing everything about himself with these three people… well four, if you included the Dumbledore card. Using the nail of his thumb, he popped the wax seal loose and unfolded the parchment.
He stared down at the crisp white parchment and the fine-lined cursive writing that he saw there. He began to read aloud; everyone was still and quiet, listening intently.
To our beloved grandson,
It is our most profound regret that we will not be alive to know you. We feel so much that we already do.
You will not be aware that your Grandmother was a very gifted Seer and Prophetess; it is a vein of magic that we have seen greatly diminished in our lifetimes.
For many years, through your Grandmother’s gifts, we have pieced together a most troublesome future. We have foreseen the coming to power of a terrible dark force, and we have seen the way in which our family will be irrevocably affected by this rising evil.
If we are correct, our son and his bride will fall at the hand of this terrible Wizard in an effort to protect you. And you yourself will be branded by this Wizard in an act that will nearly destroy him.
We have seen that this evil will return and its life will be intertwined with your own, but you possess the gifts necessary for this evil’s final defeat. And though we cannot be with you, we have tried very hard to prepare for your future beyond this time of trial, which we are confident is yet to be.
As a consequence of our fore knowledge we have made the decision to place our lives and possessions under a unique protection. We have saved out enough resources to provide ourselves and the son we know we shall soon conceive with an adequate lifestyle. The rest, our wealth, our properties, and Potter Manor, have all been hidden under a particularly powerful Fidelius charm, along with many other enchantments powerful enough in fact that no one would ever give the Potters a second thought.
You may wonder now why even you yourself have had little curiosity about your family beyond your parents. This is all the effect of the charms that have protected your family name from consideration by the curious and particularly from the rising evil that has intensely pursued the well-to-do and ancient Wizarding families among which the Potters have long been prominent.
Thus, we have protected everything for your benefit, in the hopes that our resources will not be diminished over time, or by attack, and will be available to you as your true inheritance and birthright as the sole remaining son of the House of Potter.
In this lock-box you will find papers documenting your wealth and possessions, as well as the means to travel to Potter Manor, where you should find resources that we hope will be of great help to you.
The very act of unlocking this box will have broken certain enchantments protecting the Manor and awakening its long sleeping caretaker.
Know that your Grandmother and I have done all of this out of love for you… to give you the greatest advantage possible in facing what you must face. Know also that the Potters have always been protectors, and we have great faith that you have already honored our family in so many ways.
You will be expected at the Manor.
With deep and abiding love,
Your Grandparents,
Deyton and Philomena Potter.
Harry set the letter down. The others were all looking at him with questioning expressions. Harry turned to the Dumbledore card. “Did you know my grandparents, Professor?” Harry asked.
“My only memories of your grandparents are of meeting them a few times while your father was at Hogwarts,” Dumbledore said gently. “If I ever knew more about them, knowledge that might have been unlocked by the learning of these enchantments, I am afraid such knowledge was lost by my death, and can no longer be retrieved.”
“So, what’s this ‘means’ to get to Potter Manor?” Ron said suddenly. “If you’ve got a house bigger than Grimmauld Place, I’d sure like to see it.”
“I don’t know,” Harry said as he leaned forward and began pulling scrolls from the top of the box and dropping them haphazardly across the rug. “Must be something more in here besides old scrolls.”
Hermione picked up one of the scrolls and slowly unrolled it.
“Here’s something,” Harry said excitedly as he pulled a small wooden case up from the bottom of the lock-box. It was perhaps five inches square, and just as deep, making it an almost perfect cube, smooth on all sides and of a darkly stained and polished hardwood. Harry pulled at the top and it came off quite easily. Inside, encased in a cutout, lined with red velvet, was a rather plain looking brass door-knob. He held out the opened box, showing it to the others. “Suppose it’s a portkey?” he asked.
“Harry…” Hermione said in a voice they all recognized to mean she had just discovered something… something important. She had one of the scrolls completely unrolled in front of her. “Harry… according to this document you own… well, you own nearly all of the land that is Diagon Alley!”
“What?” Ron blurted out. “How can that be?”
“Well, it says here that management of all the properties is handled through a company named ‘Lot and Glebe, Asset Management LTD,’” Hermione added in response.
“The twins deal with a man named Alphineus Lot, to rent their store,” Ginny offered.
“Harry, that’s only one scroll, there are at least two dozen more here.” Hermione said with awe. “How wealthy do you suppose you really are?”
“I don’t know,” Harry responded, in a rather disappointed voice. “And I really don’t care right now… wealth is not so important to me. As exciting as all this is, it doesn’t make me forget that Voldemort is still out there… and that apparently, I’m the only one who can defeat him.”
Hermione nodded and rolled the scroll up quietly.
“Do you want to check out that door-knob then?” Ron asked. “At least find out what this Potter Manor is all about?”
“Do you think it would be okay?” Harry replied. “Wouldn’t your Mum be awfully worried if we all just disappeared suddenly?”
“She would indeed,” the Dumbledore card interjected. “I think it would be wise to at least tell Mr. and Mrs. Weasley before you venture off. There may not be any particular safety concerns, but they still feel responsible for all of you while you are at The Burrow.”
“Yes, sir,” Ginny said with a sigh. “You’re right.”
“And as for that door-knob being a portkey,” Dumbledore continued, “I suspect it is a much more powerful magical portal than a portkey.”
Harry looked down at the box and tipped the knob into his other hand. It was warm to the touch and smooth in his palm, but there was no sudden transportation as there would have been with a portkey. He handed the knob to Ginny who looked at it with wide eyes.
Hermione was gathering the scrolls and setting them back in the lock box.
Harry looked up and noticed that the sun was setting; brilliant gold and ruby light was washing through the leaves all around him. He looked down at the case, still in his hand, and saw a small slip of parchment in the depression where the knob had rested. He fished it out and turned it over to read it.
Home is the heart of each man’s soul
The place where his peace is found
To return to his home is every man’s goal
No matter for where he’s been bound.
Twice right and thrice left is the turn of the wrist
If it is home to the Manor you seek
Once again for good measure to open the twist
And be sure of the place that you speak.
Harry read the simple lines a second time then passed it around, finally reading it out loud to the Dumbledore card. Once he had spoken the words, to his great surprise, the paper ignited in a flash of flame and was gone.
“That, I am quite certain was your combination,” Dumbledore said softly, “I am sure that between us all we have managed to memorize it.”
To be sure, they all recited the lines quickly in unison.
“So you know what this door-knob is, and how to use it Professor?” Harry asked.
“I suspect Harry, that that it is a Portis Omnibus,” Dumbledore said. “Or what is commonly referred to as an Any-door-knob.”
“I’ve read about those,” Hermione said excitedly, leaning over to Ginny to get a closer look. “They used to be quite common, before the development of the floo network. Basically it is door-knob that can be used to open any doorway into any other doorway, wherever the turner chooses.”
“Yes, Miss Granger,” Dumbledore said approvingly. “Though it is not quite as simple as that; you can put that knob on any door, tell it where you want to go and it will open a corresponding door in that place - provided that there is an enchanted doorway to accept.” He paused. “And, as evidence by the poem, some doorways will be protected by a combination, so that even though they are appropriately enchanted, they still will not allow access to anyone.”
“So with this I can travel instantly to Potter Manor?” Harry asked.
“Yes, Harry, as long as you use the right combination.”
Ginny handed the knob back to Harry who held the warm brass object in both hands, as though he was offering it for everyone to see. He looked at it with intense curiosity and smiled.
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NEXT
Chapter Eleven
The Most Noble and Honorable
House of Potter
Chapter 12: Chapter 11 - The Most Noble and Honorable House of Potter
Author's Notes: Harry's curiosity gets the better of him and he makes a late night visit to the Manor.
The Most Noble and Honorable
House of Potter
Ron’s bedroom was lit only by the beams of moonlight streaking through the upper pane of the solitary, broad window. Harry lay in bed tossing and turning. He had not been able to sleep. He listened to the steady rise and fall of Ron’s snoring in the bed across the room, but he knew that after so many years as roommates at Hogwarts, it wasn’t the snoring that was keeping him up. It was something else. It was, thinking… thinking about the Manor.
Once the sun had set, and they had said their “good evening” to Dumbledore and removed the card from its base, they had sat around talking a little about when they could try to investigate the Manor, and then they had fallen into a hushed discussion about the Horcruxes. Hermione, of course, had started pre-planning a research agenda, thinking what books she might be able to acquire to help her investigate the problem.
Soon however, the darkening sky, and twinkling lights in the branches of the oak tree had worked their spell and the two couples had fallen into a lazy cuddling and snogging session at opposite ends of the rug.
Mrs. Weasley proved to have some sort a sense about youthful romance and she was very quickly out in the garden calling them down from the tree and into the house for the night.
Harry had clasped shut the lock-box and levitated it right across the garden and into Ron’s bedroom window, but he had kept out the case with the brass knob. Now, he reached beneath the camp bed and retrieved the case. It was smooth and cool in his hand and he sat up in bed, fetching his glasses from the night table.
He opened the case and dumped the knob into his hand. It was warm to his touch, as it had been before. His mind raced at the idea of Potter Manor; he imagined it to be something like Hogwarts, with stone walls and broad corridors. But, then maybe not... As much as he loved Hogwarts, it was an old, often drafty, castle. When he thought of a house he pictured Privet Drive, but he knew he wouldn’t want to live in such a place ever again. He realized that what he was imagining kept shifting and he had no real idea of what might await him there.
Whatever it was — it was his home. Really his home — not Grimmauld Place, or Privet Drive, or The Burrow, or even Hogwarts, but Potter Manor, a place where his family had very likely lived for generations. Even if he hadn’t shown it, the idea of a place where he was truly meant to be had had a profound effect on him and he was extremely anxious to see it.
On impulse Harry threw the covers off, swung his feet to the floor and stood. Turning, he peered into the shadows toward Ron’s bed, thinking, together, they might enjoy a late night adventure, but then there was a particularly loud snore. Ron was obviously rolling in his sleep, and Harry thought he might enjoy this adventure on his own. It was, he thought, a little like visiting the Mirror of Erised during his first year at school; this was something that would have unique meaning, just for him.
Harry grabbed his old robe and threw it on over his T-shirt and pajama bottoms, then he collected his wand, and slowly opened the bedroom door. Quietly he crept down the dark hallway toward the stairs, and, freezing at each creak of the floorboards, slowly made his way to the sitting room. He crossed the room and stepped into the kitchen thinking that a glass of pumpkin juice would be a plausible excuse should anyone catch him up at this hour.
He sat at the kitchen table and drank his juice, listening to the quiet house, and looking intently at the various doors to the room. There was the one back to the sitting room, on a simple two-way spring hinge with no knob, the one to the garden with a heavy iron latch and handle… and then there was the pantry door, a simple four-panel door with a plain wooden knob. That was the door to use.
Harry crossed to the pantry door and opened it, checking that it swung easily, and quietly. He carefully twisted the inner and outer knobs until he was able to remove the knob from the kitchen side. He set the wooden knob on the counter and pulled the Portis Omnibus from his robe pocket, fitting it in the former’s place. A ribbon of soft, blue light emerged from the catch and stretched itself along the edge of the door in both directions. Harry pushed the door closed gently. It appeared as though the door were brightly lit from the opposite side.
Behind him there was a very soft gasp and Harry swung around, leveling his wand at the intruder.
“Going somewhere?” Ginny asked quietly “Without any of your friends?”
Harry lowered his wand. “I couldn’t sleep… I… well… I want to see the Manor, just for a minute. I didn’t want to wake anyone.”
Ginny smiled and shuffled up to Harry. “I understand, Harry, but would you mind very much taking me with you?” She wrapped her arms around his waist, inside his robe, and pulled herself close to him. “I couldn’t sleep either, and I heard you on the stairs. Only Ron and I know where to step to avoid the creaks.”
Harry chuckled as he hugged her close, enjoying the sheer feel of her satin pajama top, and breathing the scent of her hair. “Of course you can come with me, but we’d better be quick… And we don’t even know if this knob works yet.”
Ginny looked up at the blue glowing outline around the pantry door, so prominent in the dark kitchen. “Oh, I suspect it works,” she said playfully. “Do you remember the combination?”
“I think so.” Harry took her right hand in his left and entwined their fingers. He pocketed his wand and reached for the brass knob. He turned it a half turn to the right and it sprang back to center, just as a normal door knob. He turned it again to the right and then three times to the left. One last time he turned the knob to the right and as he did so he said “Potter Manor” and pulled gently on the door. The door swung open easily and the whole doorway seemed to be filled with a sheer fabric of soft blue threads of light.
Ginny gasped excitedly.
Harry pulled the knob free and pocketed it in his robe, drawing out his wand. “Ready?” he whispered.
“Ready,” Ginny confirmed, as she squeezed his hand reassuringly.
Harry stepped through the threads of light, Ginny a half step behind him, and they emerged into total darkness. The only significant changes that Harry detected were that the air was cooler, and he could now feel a soft plush rug beneath his bare feet, where before there had been the cool stone floor of The Burrow kitchen.
There was a soft thud as the door closed behind them.
Ginny clung to Harry as he whispered “Lumos” and lit the tip of his wand.
They were standing in a wide hall, longer than they could see in the wand light. The walls and floor were a light color and a thick carpet runner stretched beneath them. Harry quickly turned back to the door that had closed behind them and opening it discovered a large cloak closet.
Above they discovered a vaulted ceiling covered in an elaborate fresco, depicting a wizard standing at a castle window. The wizard had a long, white, braided and bound beard, which nearly reached the floor. His hair too was white and long, flowing down the man’s back from beneath a traditional pointed hat. The depicted wizard carried a gnarled staff and wore a thick purple and gold robe.
“That’s Merlin,” Ginny said in a whisper that sounded of awe and respect. As she spoke, the painted figure turned its head slightly and gave a small nod, but made no sound.
There was a sound of footsteps behind them and a soft panting breath, and Harry spun around abruptly, shining his wand light on the hallway.
“Master?” The word sounded odd to Harry, spoken as a question in a voice very much like Dobby’s, only a bit lower. “Young Master Potter?” The voice broke a little, a mixture of excitement and apprehension.
Harry found the source with his wand light. It was indeed a house-elf, a rather tall, skinny elf compared to the others he had seen. Or, perhaps it was only the fact that the elf was fully dressed that made it appear taller.
This elf, somewhat like Kreacher, had no hair on its head apart from a number of rather thick grey hairs protruding from its high, pointed ears. Its eyes were large, bulbous and a rather pale, aqua-green and its narrow nose hooked downward. Harry had the distinct impression that this was a very aged elf, as old, if not older, than Kreacher.
“Harry,” Harry said. “I’m Harry Potter.”
“Master Harry,” the elf squeaked joyfully, and stepped forward. The elf was wearing a perfectly tailored suit of clothes that looked like it had come from the eighteenth century, complete with leather shoes with polished buckles, white stockings, knee length trousers and a dark blue velvet coat with narrow tails.
“Jarphred, at your service, sir,” the elf said as he made a small dignified bow. “But please, Jarvy, if you prefer. You were not expected at so late an hour, sir, and not with company.” Jarphred looked Ginny up and down apparently quite approvingly, as he was smiling broadly.
“Wait a moment… You are the house-elf of this place?” Harry asked. The elf nodded confusedly. “But hasn’t this house been sealed, like the lock box?”
“Yes sir, Jarphred himself was asleep under an enchantment.” Jarvy bowed again. “Jarvy begged for the honor, awaking only hours ago; my apologies that there has not been time to properly clean the Manor.”
“Oh, don’t worry about it, Jarvy,” Harry responded.
“Master is too kind.” Jarvy snapped his fingers and lights flickered into being all along the hall. These were not the flickering torches of Hogwarts, but neat, gas-light sconces placed at even intervals along the hall and the light was much more bright and consistent.
“You served my grandfather, Jarvy?”
“Every day of his life,” the stout elf said proudly.
Jarvy motioned toward the open hall. “This way, sir and madam; you will wish to see more of the manor?” Jarvy turned and began to walk slowly down the hall.
They emerged from the hall into a great cavernous foyer. Opposite them across the foyer was another short hallway much like the one they had stepped from, ending in a set of double doors. To their right were two hallways flanking a broad marble staircase that went up to a second level and, from the look of it, split into two and continued up for at least another two stories. A crystal chandelier hung down into the space to light the foyer.
Across the space, on the wall between the entry and hallway, above a beautiful Victorian side-board was a large life-size painting of a very handsome couple, dressed in formal dress robes. At first Harry thought the man could be an older version of his father, but then he realized it must be his grandfather.
“These, Harry,” Jarvy said, gesturing up at the portrait, “are your grandparents, Deyton and Philomena Potter.” The couple in the portrait, upon hearing their names, turned from their rather formal pose and bent down as though to get a closer look. The woman burst into happy tears. The man took her hand and patted it gently.
“Its okay, Mena, we knew this day would come. It is only our grandson.” The elderly man spoke softly and reassuringly to the woman. Then he turned and looked questioningly at Harry.
“Harry, sir, my name is Harry James Potter,” Harry spoke slowly, and stood straight. His grandmother sobbed happily in response to his name. Ginny was standing a bit behind him, nervously biting at her thumbnails, her hands clasped against her chin.
Harry realized suddenly that he was standing there in his pajamas, his robe hanging open, and Ginny, behind him, was in her satin, sleeveless, pajama top and pants, without a robe at all. He quickly pulled off his robe. “I am sorry to come so late,” he said apologetically. “I didn’t plan it; my curiosity got the better of me.” He moved to put his robe around Ginny and gently pulled her forward. “Grandfather, Grandmother, this is my friend… my girlfriend, Ginevra Weasley.”
Philomena clutched at her husband’s arm anxiously and smiled. “Ginny? Weasley?” she asked as though she knew the names already.
“Yes, ma’am,” Ginny said as she gave an awkward curtsey. “It’s such a pleasure to meet you.”
Philomena smiled so wide at Ginny that Harry was sure she would have grabbed her up into a huge hug if she had been able to get out of the painting.
Deyton produced a painted handkerchief from his robe pocket and handed it to Philomena. “You have to forgive your grandmother, Harry. We’ve been waiting such a long time for you to arrive. She is just quite overjoyed.” The elder Potter smiled down at Harry and Ginny. Harry suddenly felt a sort of comfort that he had never known in his entire life, and realized now, that he did not know how much he had craved. It was the real love of family that exuded from this portrait like splashes of bright sunlight through a stained glass window. He knew he was grinning at his grandparents like a fool. He didn’t care.
“Jarvy,” Deyton said kindly. “Would you show Harry and Ginevra to the drawing room and set them in front of a fire? They’ll catch a chill in the hall.”
“Yes, sir,” Jarvy squeaked.
“But I want to talk more,” Harry protested.
“We want to talk too, darling,” Philomena said, still wiping her swollen eyes. “Your Grandfather and I each have another portrait in the drawing room.”
“Oh.” Harry continued to grin.
To get to the drawing room, Jarvy led them through the double doors into a huge lounge where there were several clustered seating areas, then into another long hall filled with dozens of portraits. Many of the portraits protested as the lights flickered to life, but they quieted to awed murmurs as Harry and Ginny passed. Harry slowed almost to a stop, studying the images as thoroughly as they seemed to be studying him. But Jarvy spurred him on, “Come, young Master, now is not the time for meeting the paintings.” Ginny squeezed Harry’s hand and gently tugged him forward.
At the end of the hall they emerged into another large room. This room seemed to be dominated by a huge fireplace, where a roaring fire burst into crackling life at Jarvy’s command. The walls were wood panel, floor to ceiling, and thick wine-colored curtains hung along the entire expanse of one wall.
As promised, on each side of the fireplace was a large portrait; these however were simple images of empty wing-back chairs that looked like they had been painted in the room. As Harry watched, his Grandparents came into the frames, Deyton on the right and Philomena on the left. Each sat in their chair completing the portraits.
Harry fell into an easy conversation with his grandparents, at first learning all about his father’s life, before and during his time at Hogwarts. He also told them about growing up with the Dursley’s, before his own Hogwarts years. Ginny listened intently as Harry recounted more details of his life than even Ron and Hermione knew — Harry had always been reserved about his times away from school and friends.
Jarvy had left them in front of the roaring fire on a plush, comfortable sofa. Later, he returned with a procession of floating trays. He poured out tea for them with milk and sugar, and offered them an array of treats that easily rivaled the baking case at Mrs. Scheffelgroober’s, in Diagon Alley.
As the hours passed, Harry learned that there had been seven generations of Potters in the time since the construction of Hogwarts School and that from that time, there had only ever been a single child born in each generation - always a dark-haired son.
After listening for a couple of hours, Ginny succumbed to sleep, cuddling up close to Harry on the soft couch beneath his comforting arm. Despite his interest and excitement, Harry too eventually could not hold sleep away and drifted into a contented slumber, listening all the while to the soft voices of his grandparents’ portraits.
“Wake up, Ron!” Hermione shook him roughly, her voice invading his lingering dream of her. “Do you know where Harry is?”
Ron lifted his head and tried to focus his blurry eyes on the camp bed across the room. “Isn’t he in his bed?” he said with a stifling yawn.
“No Ron, he’s not… And Ginny is missing too!” Hermione sounded frightened.
Ron sat up quickly, knuckling his eyes hard as if he could press away sleep. “Are you sure they aren’t already up, and down to breakfast?” he asked through yet another yawn.
“I’ve been down to breakfast already and Ginny wasn’t there.” She exhaled heavily, exasperated. “I said I would come up and wake you and Harry, but Harry isn’t here.” There was a growing look of panic on Hermione’s face.
“Well, don’t jump to conclusions, Hermione,” Ron said doubtfully, “They’ve just got off somewhere together is all.”
“But, where, Ron - and what are we going to tell your parents? They’ll be furious,”
Ron, looking over at Harry’s bed, suddenly noticed the small polished Portis Omnibus box lying open on the bed, mostly obscured by the tossed covers. He got up from his bed quickly and crossed to Harry’s, where he pulled away the covers retrieving the empty box and cover. He held it out for Hermione to see. “The Manor… They’ve gone to the Manor.”
Hermione’s eyes widened. “Oh dear… Why would they go without us? And why haven’t they returned? And still, what are we going to tell your parents?”
Ron and Hermione entered the kitchen with looks of apprehension on their faces. They went directly to the table and sat down. Mr. Weasley was buried behind a copy of the Daily Prophet, his free hand searching aimlessly for the cup of coffee just inches from his finger tips. “Morning, children,” he said automatically. Bill smiled at them both and nodded, as he reached for a platter of bacon. Fleur was next to him, fiddling with the edge of the tablecloth and picking at her breakfast with a fork.
Ron pulled a plate from a stack and began filling it with food from large serving dishes laid out across the table.
Mrs. Weasley looked over at them from the kitchen stove, smiling. She looked expectantly at the sitting room door and spoke, “What’s keeping Harry and Ginny? Aren’t they right behind you, dears?”
Ron conveniently shoveled a fork full of food into his mouth just at that moment and shrugged in response to Hermione’s elbow and pleading face. With Mrs. Weasley’s questioning gaze upon her, Hermione stammered, “Um… well… you see… Harry and Ginny aren’t coming to breakfast…” Mr. Weasley lowered his newspaper suddenly and fixed an expectant look upon the already uncomfortable Hermione. “… Because… you see… they… they aren’t here.”
“Oh, don’t be ridiculous Hermione, of course they’re here,” Mrs. Weasley said dismissively. “Harry, Ginny!” she called suddenly at the top of her voice, looking up at the ceiling. “Come down to breakfast!”
“No, Mum, Hermione’s right,” Ron said, finding his voice after a thick swallow. “We think they’ve gone to Harry’s house.”
“Harry’s house?” Mr. Weasley said, becoming increasingly distressed. “Grimmauld Place? Why and how would they get there?”
“No, Dad, not Grimmauld Place, Harry’s house… Potter Manor.”
“Potter Manor?” said Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Bill and Fleur, nearly in unison.
A sense of panic was now pervading the kitchen as Ron and Hermione were questioned repeatedly. Mr. Weasley had insisted on contacting Grimmauld Place, which had brought Moody, Lupin, and Tonks hurriedly to The Burrow. For perhaps the third time Ron and Hermione were explaining about opening the lock box the night before and finding the Portis Omnibus. But, having an idea of where Harry and Ginny had gone didn’t seem to calm any of the others particularly.
Moody kept going on about foolishness and irresponsibility; Mr. Weasley kept agreeing, but looked a bit more worried than upset. Lupin was examining the small polished box closely, and Tonks kept coming up with more questions to ask of Ron and Hermione, rooting out every small detail she could think of. But they simply didn’t know when Harry and Ginny had gone.
Mrs. Weasley, Fleur and Bill, after searching Ron and Ginny’s rooms, concluded that the only things missing were Harry, Ginny, and the night clothes they were wearing, which seemed to particularly agitate Mr. Weasley.
The whole scene in the kitchen was rapidly deteriorating into a heated argument about what exactly was to be done.
A small voice cleared its throat near the Pantry. “Eh hem.” And though the sound was not particularly intrusive it none-the-less captured everyone’s attention immediately.
The whole group, suddenly silent, turned to see the very peculiar sight of a clothed House-Elf standing just inside The Burrow kitchen, before the pantry door, which was filled with a bright lattice of blue light.
The elf casually ran a finger along the under edge of the kitchen counter and looked disdainfully at the dust left on his finger tip. Then, realizing that he had everyone’s attention, he smiled broadly. “Master Harry bids you all join him for a late breakfast,” Jarvy announced.
“Master Harry?” Ron repeated breaking into a low chuckle.
Hermione, elbowed Ron in to silence, and standing, gave voice to everyone’s question. “And… You are?”
“Jarphred, Chief Manor-Elf of the House of Potter. You may call me Jarvy.” The elf bowed low to the surprised company. Jarvy then turned a crisp half turn and gestured to the pantry doorway, bidding them silently to enter.
Moody found his voice. “Now, I’m not so sure we should be trusting some strange House-Elf… constant vigil--”
Tonks cut him off mid proclamation, “Oh, don’t be ridiculous Alastor, some things are exactly what they seem.” She was up from the table, pulling Remus by the hand, and, smiling at the elf, stepped into the web of light.
Ron smiled at Hermione and taking her hand in his, followed Tonks and Lupin through the door.
The small group of awed witches and wizards stood huddled in a group in the broad hall, with the fresco of Merlin smiling down upon them.
Jarvy was the last through the door and he shut it silently behind him, removing the polished brass knob and replacing it with a polished ivory one with a snap of his fingers. He turned to the group and said, “If you would all please follow,” before proceeding down the hall briskly.
Jarvy lead them down the hall and into the entry where the large portrait of Deyton and Philomena Potter stood. He had to hurry them a few times as they were walking a bit slowly, talking in whispers, and pointing at the frescos above and the various decorative appointments of the hall.
He led them to the portrait and introduced them. “Master Harry’s grandparents, Deyton and Philomena Potter, welcome you to Potter Manor.” There were polite introductions all around and each guest was formally greeted by the two beaming figures in the portrait, Remus, receiving special attention, as the only one of them to have met the elder Potters while they were alive.
“Now, if you will follow me, I will take you directly to Master Harry,” Jarvy said.
As the group followed the elf away, Philomena addressed Molly Weasley from the portrait. “Molly?” Mrs. Weasley turned; the others didn’t seem to notice and were proceeding away. “I do hope I may call you Molly?”
“Of course, Mrs. Potter,” Molly responded.
“Oh, please call me Philomena… I wonder if I might have a word with you… without the others?”
“Yes, yes of course Philomena,” Molly said a bit curiously.
The bright sunlight had woken Ginny slowly from a contented, comfortable sleep. She reached out, hoping to find herself still leaning against Harry, but found a deep, soft mattress and thick comforter as far as she could reach on either side. She sat up and opened her eyes.
The room was bright, the high walls covered in cream-colored silken wallpaper. The lush furnishings were white with gold trim, the curtains and hangings were of various shades of wheat and yellow. She was in a huge four-poster bed and heard water running somewhere nearby. She didn’t know if the sound was new or she just hadn’t registered it before then.
Crawling from the bed she followed the sound, marveling at the lovely room and the thickness of the soft carpet beneath her feet. She came through a large dressing room with deep alcoves lining one wall, opposite a beautiful Victorian dressing table. She found a water closet just beyond in a short hallway and finally located the source of the running water as she stepped into an octagonal room with a deep sunken bath set in its center.
She didn’t hesitate to remove her pajamas and slip into the warm water. When she emerged refreshed and clean from the scented, bubbling, water she found a warm towel on a stand and wrapped herself in it.
Back in the dressing room she sat at the dressing table and looked at herself in the mirror. To her mild surprise a brush and comb leapt from the table and on their own began to brush her hair. A sudden rush of warmth dried it and soon various ribbons and jeweled clasps had managed to appear from drawers and joined together to do her hair up in a beautiful lattice of binding silver/white ribbon, and flowing red ringlets. She smiled at herself.
She got up and turned to discover a beautiful pale blue silk and velvet dress floating out of one of the alcoves; behind it a set of silver/blue, laced over-robes bobbed on a second hanger. A drawer of silks opened in a nearby wardrobe and lace slippers stepped over by themselves. Ginny drew her hand across the soft fabrics gleefully.
As she dressed she wondered if Harry was experiencing the same sort of morning.
Harry sat quietly on the pristine patio, just outside the drawing room in which, only the night before, he had learned so much about his family and met, through their portraits, the grandparents he had never even dreamed of having.
Jarvy had served him a breakfast of toast and a soft-boiled egg in a silver egg cup. He hadn’t touched it. He felt odd in his, he thought, overly formal slacks and pressed shirt, with dress robes. He had declined the vest, starched collar and bow-tie when they had bobbed toward him from the closet in the dressing room, off the elaborate bedchamber he had awoken in. He had to admit, though, that it was much better than facing the Weasleys still wearing his pajamas from the night before.
He had been worrying about the reaction Mr. and Mrs. Weasley would have to the fact that he and Ginny had been away and alone all night, from the moment he had roused that morning. And, he was overwhelmed by the discovery of his family history and the elaborate Potter Manor. His mind was a blur of questions and emotion.
He tried to sort his mind and wished that he had the Dumbledore card at hand to solicit its opinion. With a deep sigh a line from his grandparents’ letter came to him. Know that your grandmother and I have done all of this out of love for you… to give you the greatest advantage possible in facing what you must face.
And there it was… the undeniable truth that, despite all of this discovery, despite the wonder of this place, despite the revelation that he was of a truly noble wizarding family… his fate was irrevocably tied to the life of the most feared and horrible wizard ever known. His destiny was wrapped up with Lord Voldemort and he just couldn’t allow himself the luxury of looking beyond that.
He crossed to the stone patio railing and looked out across a swan-filled reflecting pool to a great clearing surrounded by dense forest. There was movement there, and looking closer he could see a herd of deer grazing on the succulent grass shoots of the open meadow. Doe were feasting, ever aware of their surroundings, their heads popping up to look to and fro. Harry thought of Moody, “ever vigilant” in the fight against dark magic. There were many fawns prancing joyfully about and Harry was struck that this was the very sort of peace he was destined to sacrifice his life, if need be, to protect. He pictured in his mind the faces of all those he had come to love, Hermione, Ron, Lupin, the Weasleys, the members of the Order, Neville and Luna and other friends from Hogwarts… and of course Ginny.
Harry sighed again, momentarily unsure of himself. And then another movement far in the distance caught his eye. It was a huge stag, strutting majestically at the edge of the forest, strolling out to survey its charges in the meadow. It turned, and though Harry knew it to be impossible given the distance, he swore that the stag met his gaze. In an instant the stag shook its huge head and the whole herd leapt from the meadow to the cool cover of the forest. The stag remained, turning slowly, despite real or imagined danger, and strolled back into the shadows of the trees, disappearing entirely.
Harry knew then, that he was where he belonged, and that he would do whatever was required of him to protect his friends and his world from the twisted, greedy, ruthless desires of Tom Marvolo Riddle, the self proclaimed Dark Lord, Voldemort.
Ginny embraced him from behind pressing her head to his shoulder. He had not heard her come out onto the patio, but he was filled with joy at her presence. He turned and held her at arms length, taking in her beauty in the gorgeous robes.
“Good morning,” she said. Harry held her by one hand as she turned to show off her dress and robes, and he smiled wide.
“Not exactly my usual comfort wear, but it will do, don’t you think?” she said, playfully.
Harry looked at her hungrily. “Yeah… I guess its okay,” he teased.
Ginny smiled at him, blushing, and cuddled up close to his chest. “You are looking quite dapper yourself, ‘Master’ Potter,” she grinned.
Harry reached up and raised her chin gently with his hand; his eyes met hers and everything was forgotten as he leaned forward and gently pressed his lips to hers. Her arms slid up beneath his to his back and she deepened the embrace and the kiss.
When they broke apart a minute later, “Good morning, Ginny,” was all Harry could think to say.
Ginny blushed and giggled as she turned to the finely set patio table, her eyes fixed on a porcelain coffee service, and Harry’s untouched egg and toast. “Aren’t you hungry?” she asked.
“I wasn’t,” Harry replied, as Ginny helped herself to his toast and poured out a cup of coffee. “I’ll eat when your parents arrive. Jarvy has gone to bring them.”
Ginny stopped still, a sudden look of panic coming upon her. She dropped the toast and swallowed hard. “Oh Merlin… My parents! They’re not going to be happy, Harry.”
Harry couldn’t help grinning at her, dressed beautifully in her formal dress, one foot up in the chair under her, a bit of jam at the corner of her mouth and the fearful look on her face at the mention of her parents’ arrival. He crossed to her, picked up a napkin from the table and dabbed the jam from her mouth. “It will be fine,” he said. “Eat my breakfast.”
Ginny smiled again, the fear disappearing, and reached to finish the toast.
Just then there was a clamor of voices inside the drawing room.
Hermione appeared at the doorway followed closely by Ron. “Harry, it’s magnificent,” she said.
“Better than magnificent, mate, it’s bloody brilliant,” Ron added enthusiastically.
Next to appear was Tonks, dragging a thoroughly delighted-looking Lupin by the hand, followed by an awed-looking Fleur, leading a smiling Bill. Tonks caught her toe on the door jam, and would have fallen had it not been for Lupin’s hand in hers. “Wotcher, Harry,” came her familiar greeting, “quite the digs you’ve been hiding.”
“Oh, I haven’t been hiding… I just discovered….” Harry stammered.
“She’s just teasing, Harry,” Bill interrupted. “We know very well that you didn’t know about any of this.” Fleur did a turn in place, taking in the bright patio. “But you might have given us some warning before you ventured off on your own. And, I expect dad is none to happy that you brought Ginny with you.”
Lupin glanced at Ginny and gave her a fatherly, yet understanding, look.
“I know… I’m sorry about that. None of it was planned.” Harry looked at his feet awkwardly.
Ginny, set her coffee cup down. “I didn’t give him a choice,” she said, a little defensively.
“Where are Mr. and Mrs. Weasley?” Harry asked, a hint of determination rising in his voice.
“They’re here,” Tonks said, smiling, still looking about a bit in awe. “So’s Moody.”
Jarvy stepped through the patio door at that moment. “Your guests have arrived, Master Harry. Shall Jarvy serve breakfast here on the patio?”
Harry smiled at the elf. “Yes please, Jarvy.”
Ron’s face brightened at the prospect of food.
With a snap of Jarvy’s fingers the patio table cleared itself and filled with a selection of steaming silver serving trays making the whole table a spectacular buffet.
Harry smiled. “Well, I hope at least you’re all hungry?”
Ron crossed to get a plate and started filling it.
Hermione rolled her eyes. “Ron, you just ate at The Burrow.”
“And?” Ron said, as he popped a sausage in his mouth with a delighted expression.
As everyone started moving toward the table, Harry stepped toward the patio door. “Thank you, Jarvy,” he said as he passed the excited-looking elf.
In the sitting room, Moody and Arthur Weasley were standing near a cluster of chairs, talking in rather hushed tones. Harry crossed toward them. Neither man looked particularly happy.
Moody’s magical eye found Harry first. He turned as Harry approached. “Totally irresponsible, Potter, wandering to an unknown place on your own right now.” His gravelly voice sounded disappointed.
“Yes.” Harry conceded the point. “But I am certain sir, this place is completely safe.”
“We shall have to make certain of that,” Moody croaked back.
“Alastor, could I have a word with Harry?” Arthur spoke, “Alone.” Mr. Weasley’s tone was grave and Harry could feel the disappointment in his words and in his stance.
Moody looked from Arthur to Harry. “Very well,” he said, “I’ll join the others on the patio.”
“I’m very sorry sir,” Harry said as he stepped up to Mr. Weasley, his expression apologetic, “It all just happened… and I didn’t intent to spend the night… and…”
Arthur Weasley raised his hand to silence Harry. “Harry,” he paused, exhaling heavily, “I thought I made clear my concerns about your seeing my daughter, and now first thing you wander away with her to an unknown place — and you spend the night away, and alone.” His eyes were intent on Harry’s and his voice was growing louder, a finger raised menacingly.
“Arthur!” Molly Weasley’s voice carried across the room from the doorway where she was stepping into the room. “You will not be upset with Harry. I’ve just had a nice talk with Mrs. Potter and she explained that the kids simply fell asleep. Harry is not at fault and they were properly chaperoned the entire time.”
“But, Molly, still they should have told us they were leaving,” Arthur rebutted his wife.
“True, but under the circumstances I think a little understanding is in order,” Molly replied.
Harry stood there as Mr. and Mrs. Weasley exchanged looks that he knew were filled with some sort of understanding based on a long, loving relationship.
“Harry, dear, you go on and join the others and don’t you worry about last night.” Mrs. Weasley smiled at him. “I would like a quick word with my husband.”
“Yes Ma’am,” Harry responded confusedly and turned away to return to the patio, feeling a bit as though he had been saved, but not really understanding why.
Out on the patio, the others had filled their plates and were happily eating between comments about their surroundings. Ron and Hermione were sitting with Ginny in happy conversation. Tonks, Lupin, Bill and Fleur were together at the opposite end of the table, and Moody was in a chair talking intently with Jarphred.
Ginny got up and crossed to Harry hurriedly, slipping her hand in his, looking concerned. “Was dad hard on you?”
“No actually… he wasn’t,” Harry responded, “Your mother stopped him.”
“Mom?” Ginny now looked confused. “Well, I’ll tell them I made you bring me.”
“I don’t think that will be necessary.” Harry squeezed her hand in his.
“So, what are we going to do about this place?” Moody’s voice broke the moment.
“What do you mean?” Hermione asked.
“I mean, from what this elf tells me this whole place has been hidden from the world since nineteen twenty. But, I still think this could all be a trick of the Dark Lord.”
“Nonsense,” Lupin interjected, “Voldemort has tried some elaborate schemes, but this is too much to set up. He hasn’t had the time.”
“I’m certain this is all exactly what it appears to be,” Harry responded.
“Of course you are, Harry, which would be exactly the point.” Moody said dismissively. “If this place is hidden from the Wizarding and the Muggle worlds by, what would have to be the most complex and powerful Fidelius charm in all of history, it would have to be held in place by a secret keeper… So, just who is the secret keeper?” The whole group was taken back by the question and thrust into silence — including Mr. and Mrs. Weasley who had appeared in the doorway.
“I am,” Jarphred stated, rather quietly.
Moody turned on the little elf, who stepped back reflexively. “Impossible!” Moody stepped forward menacingly. “An elf can’t be a secret keeper. A secret keeper has to have a free will, and an elf’s will is bound to its Master’s.”
Jarphred stepped back further, clearly afraid of the larger man and looking suddenly a bit ashamed. “Moody!” Harry’s voice was strong and clear. “Leave Jarvy alone, he‘s not part of some plot.”
Moody spun around to face Harry, his scarred face a study in angry concern. “How can you be so sure?” he said gruffly.
“I don’t know — I just am, and you’ll have to take my word for it!” Harry retorted, his voice rising in response.
Lupin was up from his spot at the table his hand on Moody’s shoulder pulling the older man back. “As there seems to be no immediate threat to any of us here, perhaps we should give Jarphred an opportunity to explain himself.”
All eyes were riveted on the little elf, as he gulped nervously. “Master Harry, is the Master of this house, but he is not my Master. Jarvy is a free elf.” Jarvy gestured to his clothes. “Jarvy was made free by Deyton Potter, in order to become the secret keeper. No will commands him but his own.” Jarvy looked thoroughly ashamed at having to explain himself. He rushed forward to Harry and fell to his knees. “Please do not ask Jarvy to leave your service sir, Jarvy is sorry to dishonor you with his freedom, Jarvy is sworn to serve your family of his own free will. Jarvy will never betray you!” Great tears were welling in the elf’s large eyes as he looked to Harry pleadingly.
Harry glanced around, his eyes falling finally on Hermione, the one person in the room beside himself with no lifetime indoctrination toward the servitude of House-elves. He did not need to say anything. She was up from her seat quickly and coming to his aid.
Hermione knelt next to Harry taking Jarvy by the shoulders and pulling him to his feet. Her voice was gentle, full of kindness. “Jarvy, there is no dishonor in what you have done… in fact it honors us all that you care enough to serve from your heart,” Hermione paused. She looked up at Harry, her concerned expression becoming a smile. “Harry would never make you leave.
Jarphred looked back to Harry his eyes wide. “No, Jarvy, I will never make you leave,” Harry assured him.
“That’s all well and good, Harry,” Moody interrupted again, “But we still haven’t determined the security of this place.”
Harry paused, looking from Jarphred around the patio, his eyes coming to rest finally on Moody who still looked as though Death Eaters might appear at any moment. “I‘m convinced that the Manor is nothing more that what it appears to be. My inheritance, my house, and I’m staying.”
“No, you’re not,” Moody growled. “Not until I’m convinced that it’s safe.”
“Talk to my Grandfather’s portrait, I’m sure that he can provide all the answers to all your questions,” Harry snarled back, his voice tense with rising anger.
“How about a compromise,” Lupin suggested, stepping into the space between them. Everyone looked at him, questioningly. “Harry, you’re not of age yet, not until your birthday.” Harry began to protest, but Lupin gestured for him to wait. “So, until your birthday, or until Moody is satisfied, you may explore this house during the day, accompanied of course by an adult wizard - someone of us here, I suppose - and you will spend your nights at The Burrow.”
Harry was silent, his temper urging him to protest. But the slight pressure of Ginny’s hand in his made him think the situation through. “Okay,” he said finally.
Lupin turned to Moody. “Well?” he said rather insistently.
“Agreed,” Moody said, somewhat reluctantly.
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NEXT
Chapter Twelve
Ministry Mayhem
Chapter 13: Chapter 12 - Ministry Mayhem
Author's Notes: Harry journeys to the Ministry for an appointment with Rufus Scrimgeour. Ginny and many of the Hogwarts fifth years are gathered at the Ministry for OWL testing. Plus, there are surprises in the works.
Ministry Mayhem
It had been eight days since Harry and Ginny had unintentionally spent the night at Potter Manor. Harry had decided that he rather missed the deep feather bed. The camp cot he had woken in this morning creaked loudly as he twisted beneath his covers and pressed his head to the pillow hoping to capture a few more minutes of sleep. His mind was already clearing and he knew he would be fully awake in a matter of moments so, getting up was the only real alternative.
As he made his way down the hall to the water closet, it hit him; just what he had to do today, and a mild sense of foreboding came over him. Today was the day he was to meet with Minister Scrimgeour. It also happened to be Ginny’s first day of OWL testing so they would be heading off to the Ministry immediately after Breakfast. He would have liked to go with Mr. Weasley and Ginny, but he knew that security would be an issue and Mad-eye Moody would have made some other arrangements.
Upon return to Ron’s room he gave the corner of Ron’s bed a quick kick, at which Ron popped up to a sitting position and muttered “M’up, I’m up,” and promptly fell back against his pillow into a full snore.
Harry dressed quickly and then made sure that Ron truly was awake before heading down to breakfast.
In the kitchen, as had happened every morning since the discovery of the Manor he found both Mr. and Mrs. Weasley seated at the table enjoying a leisurely breakfast, served by Jarvy, who had insisted upon coming to The Burrow every day to see that “Master Harry” was well fed and cared for. At first, there had been a delicate struggle between Mrs. Weasley and Jarvy, as Molly had not wanted to give over meal preparation to the elf. However, eventually, as she realized that she could use the time to help with wedding preparations, and attend Bill, she had relinquished the kitchen, still somewhat reluctantly, to the insistent elf.
Harry had barely tucked into his breakfast when Ron shuffled into the kitchen groggily, followed by a characteristically chipper Hermione, and a frowning Ginny. Hermione was reciting a passage from some textbook, at Ginny, as she had done almost constantly all week in preparation for Ginny’s tests.
“Morning, children,” came Mr. Weasley’s automatic greeting, as they each found their seats around the table. “We’ve about an hour before we have to leave for the Ministry,” Mr. Weasley stated matter-of-factly.
“Oh, my goodness, so soon?” Hermione responded, as she stood back up, nearly in a panic. “I’ll run and get your transfiguration text, Ginny; we’ll just have time to go over your fifth year spells tables one last time.”
“Please, Hermione let’s not,” Ginny said as she gripped her coffee mug tightly. “I’ve had all the study I can take.”
Hermione sat back down reluctantly. “Okay… I guess we’ve done enough preparation,” she said, barely hidden disappointment shown across her face.
In fact, in the past eight days Hermione had had Ginny in a state of almost constant study, so much so that Ginny had not even returned once with Harry to the Manor, when Lupin had come, as promised, to take Harry for exploration visits to his family home.
“Harry,” Mr. Weasley was speaking through his morning paper. “As a security precaution, Moody would like you to floo to Grimmauld Place as soon as you’re ready, and he’ll accompany you to the Ministry for your Meeting with the Minister.”
“Yeah, and I’ll bet you’ll be flooing all over Britain before you land at the Ministry, mate,” Ron added between bites of toast with marmalade.
Harry chuckled at the comment, but the atmosphere at the table remained subdued for the Weasley home. Even the happily offered food from Jarvy, hovering about the kitchen did little to lighten the mood.
After finishing his breakfast, Harry excused himself to return to Ron’s room where he consulted briefly with the Dumbledore card. They had discussed the impending meeting a number of times during the past eight days, and Harry was confident that he knew what he had to do, but Dumbledore’s always-thoughtful reassurance was still a help.
Upon his return from the Manor eight days past, Harry had written a letter to the Minister agreeing to meet with him. Rufus Scrimgeour, he knew would not be put off indefinitely. Now in less than an hour he would be meeting with the Minister.
Harry tucked away the card and base safely in his trunk and headed down the stairs to the sitting room.
Mr. Weasley and Ginny were ready to depart for the Ministry. Bill and Fleur had come down for breakfast now and everyone was wishing Ginny good luck with her exams.
“Harry, you had better get going,” Mr. Weasley called as Harry crossed from the stairs. “If I know Alastor, he’s getting quite anxious by now.”
Harry crossed to the fireplace where everyone was standing, Bill and Fleur moved aside knowingly to clear the path to Ginny. Harry stepped right up to Ginny and took her hands in his. “Good luck with your OWLs Ginny,” Harry smiled at her.
“Good luck with the Minister, Harry,” Ginny smirked back. “Wanna trade?”
“No,” Harry chuckled along with everyone else. “I’ve already done my OWLs,” He said, “I suspect what I have to do this morning is a bit easier.” He grinned looking deep into Ginny’s eyes. Her clear return gaze told him she knew he wanted to kiss her, and if not for her family all around them, would have pulled her into a firm hug. She stood to her tiptoes and pecked him on the cheek.
“You’d better go.” She said. Harry reluctantly released her hands and turned to the fireplace. Harry took a handful of floo powder from the canister Mrs. Weasley was offering and stepped into the grate. Waving a silent goodbye to his surrogate family, he tossed the powder to his feet, spoke “Grimmauld Place” in a strong clear voice, and swirled away in a burst of green flame.
The dingy kitchen at Grimmauld Place had not changed much since he had last seen it. It was a bit cleaner perhaps, but still the same dark cavernous stone room. As he stepped from the grate, Lupin got up from the kitchen table to greet him. “Finally, Harry. You made it. Alastor was starting to worry.” Harry took his outstretched hand and shook it firmly. “Have you had breakfast?”
“Yes, Sir,” Harry muttered.
“Moony.” Lupin corrected. “Harry, call me Moony, or Remus, but not, Sir. Remember you agreed?” Lupin smiled warmly and released Harry’s hand. Harry smiled in return.
There were a number of people in the room, most of whom Harry recognized as members of the order, though there were a few he had never met before. His eyes landed on a woman at the far end of the table, a woman he recognized immediately and was very surprised to see there.
Imani Nowell, the Daily Prophet reporter stood as she noticed Harry’s recognition. She crossed to him and offered her hand. “Very good to see you again Mr. Potter,” she said. Harry shook her hand silently, and looked to Moony questioningly.
“It’s perfectly alright Harry,” Lupin said reassuringly, “Miss Nowell is a member of the Order, one of many new recruits. She has been very valuable at helping us both feed information to and receive information through The Prophet.”
“You need not worry about my status as a reporter Mr. Potter,” she said, “as with all members of the order I have submitted to certain magical vows of secrecy… Though I still want to collect on your promised interview?”
“Of course,” Harry smiled.
“And you shall, Imani.” The gruff voice of Alastor Moody preceded him through the kitchen door. “In fact, you may get your opportunity yet today after Harry has his meeting with the Minister.” Moody lumbered toward them and placed his hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Well, boy, we’d best be off if we expect to get you to the Ministry in time.”
Harry nodded to Moody, “Good to see you again Miss Nowell, and please call me Harry,” he said as Moody guided him toward the door.
“Good luck,” Lupin said as Harry and Moody disappeared into the hall.
As they headed up the stone steps toward the main hall Harry asked, “Are we going to Apparate to the Ministry? I somehow thought we might just floo there directly?”
“No Harry,” Moody said as he reached the main hall and turned toward the front of the house. “We aren’t traveling by any means any Wizard would expect, wouldn’t be secure to be predictable.” They moved quietly down the hall, past the curtained portrait of Mrs. Black, and right out the front door.
The sun was bright and warm on the front stoop as Harry stood for a moment letting his eyes adjust. Moody, took his elbow and hurried him down the steps and through the front gate. As they moved along the walk, Harry noted, absently, that many of the homes around the little square had undergone considerable repair since his last visit almost two years before. Still, it was clear as they made their way toward the miserable little Under-ground station, that the area was far from the nicest part of London.
The run-down streets were completely deserted, until they neared the station where a few Muggles were coming and going. Harry, assuming they were going by train, as he had done with Mr. Weasley before, turned toward the station, but Moody caught his arm and stopped him at the curb. Moody hailed a cab as though he had done it a hundred times before, and soon they were rattling down the roadway in an old, black, London taxi.
It was a short drive to central London and Harry began to recognize the streets from years before. The taxi rattled down the road with the single pub, and shabby offices, past the still over-flowing dumpster toward the red telephone box that Harry knew was the visitor’s entrance to the Ministry of Magic. Harry reached for the door handle in anticipation, but then turned to Moody in confusion as the taxi passed the lonely disheveled landmark and turned the corner. They passed a stone and wrought iron topped wall and turned again down a narrow road with recessed doorways and sunken windows. They came to a stop finally in front of a long brick wall, which impressed Harry with its marked lack of graffiti.
Moody produced a few Muggle notes from the pocket of his leather coat to pay the fare, and the cab rattled away, leaving them standing on the narrow sidewalk. Harry glanced up and down the road, which was entirely unremarkable. The buildings were tall and close and nothing broke the lines of the walk but an occasional no-parking sign and a dingy forgotten blue police box; toward which Mad-Eye was already moving. Harry followed.
The blue paint on the solitary booth was faded and flaking and the small windows along the top had been broken out. An orange tape was stretched across the door which read “out of service” in large black letters, and a small official looking note had been pasted to the side which said that the box was scheduled for removal, but the portion with the removal date was torn away.
Moody ripped away the tape and pulled the door open, ushering Harry into the small space. The booth was completely empty; everything that once occupied the small space had been removed leaving obvious blank spaces. Questions about what they were doing here were burning in Harry’s mind, but he decided that he wasn’t sure he needed to know the answers.
Moody, turned and tapped the closed door with his wand, muttering a spell beneath his breath which Harry didn’t catch. There was a faint, momentary illumination around the edges of the door and Harry felt a lurch in his stomach, as though he had suddenly dropped several feet and been thrust up again. Moody pressed the door open.
“Hold!” came a loud, shouted command, from outside the police box, startling Harry. The door swung open to reveal a group of alert and anxious looking Wizards, all with their wands out, all pointed at the open door.
Moody stepped forward slowly. “Alastor Moody, former Ministry Auror,” Mad-Eye said, as he moved from the dark Police box into the light of the room. There was a tense few moments as the group stood silent, wands leveled at Mad-Eye.
“Welcome, Alastor,” Kingsley Shacklebolt’s voice broke the palpable silence. “I’ve been expecting you.” He turned to the room full of Aurors. “Wands down everyone,” he said.
Harry stepped out of the dark box to the curious stares of the Aurors. He glanced back to see the door he had emerged from was a broom cupboard.
“No one has used that emergency entrance in years, Alastor,” Kingsley spoke as he lead them across the lounge into an adjoining room, which Harry recognized as the interior of the Auror’s offices of the Ministry. “Most of this lot, didn’t even know it was there,” he said, motioning back toward the bewildered looking group of young Aurors in the room.
Kingsley led them through the tightly packed maze of cubicles toward the front of the Headquarters where they stopped at a small desk. “We can do your security check here and issue you visitor’s badges.” He motioned to a small desk which sat just inside the main doors. A cleanly shaven neatly dressed young man sat at the desk examining what looked to Harry like a Remembrall, though the smoke inside the glass sphere was a brilliant teal.
There was a broader space between this desk and the first row of cubicles, which formed a short hall toward a set of double doors. Gilded letters on the double doors read, “Head of Auror’s,” and beneath these words was a brass placard with the name Gawain Robards.
“Morning, Hamlish,” Shaklebolt said to the man as they approached. The Auror at the desk quickly set down the small device and retrieved a thin, golden Dark Magic Detector from the top desk drawer. He stood up and stepped to the side of the desk, motioning for Harry to stand on a spot next to him.
“Quite a morning we’re havin’ in’ it?” the younger man said to Shaklebolt. “Morning, Mr. Potter, Mr. Moody,” he added quickly acknowledging, Harry and Mad-Eye. He swept the DMD along Harry, front and back, and then held out his hand. Harry took this to be a request for his wand, recalling the security check from his visit to the Ministry on the morning of his hearing two years before, and handed it over. This was obviously the correct response as the man set it on what looked like a small kitchen scale and a moment later a small slip of paper issued forth from the base of the thing.
“Heard about the to-do this morning, with the raids?” The man continued to try to engage Shaklebolt in conversation as he evaluated Harry’s wand. Kingsley made no response. “The field team reported they broke the wards on a Death Eater hideout, sounds like they may have uncovered some real valuable information.”
The man handed Harry back his wand, and a square silver badge which read “Harry Potter, meeting.” He then motioned Harry back and Moody forward to repeat the process.
“And I heard you had an interesting morning yourself, Kingsley? Can’t wonder what the Minister is thinking having you bring that Muggle into the Ministry?”
Moody snatched his wand and badge from the young man and grumbled audibly. “Hamlish?” he questioned out loud, causing the man to look directly at him. “Your father wouldn’t be Augustus Hamlish?”
The younger man stood a bit straighter and replied, “Yes sir.”
“Humph,” Moody looked him up and down, his magical eye focusing on him as well. “Makes sense, ole’ Gussie always talked too much too.” Moody turned toward the main doors leaving the suddenly silent man in his wake. Kingsley chuckled aloud as he motioned for Harry to follow and pushed through the doors in to the polished hallway outside the Auror offices.
They walked silently till they reached the lifts and then Harry’s curiosity got the better of him. “So… There has been Death Eater activity?”
Kingsley glanced at Moody, and received an almost imperceptible nod, before turning back to Harry. “Yes, Harry, there have not been any deaths or disappearances since… well, since Dumbledore’s murder. But the Death Eaters are definitely still out there and the Aurors are looking for them.”
Harry nodded quietly, as the lift door rattled open and they stepped in. A moment later he spoke again. “And… You brought a Muggle into the Ministry this morning?”
Kingsley chuckled again. “Yes, Harry, I did.” Seeing that this simple response only elicited more questions in Harry, Shaklebolt continued. “I’ve been, well, sort of a liaison to the Muggle Prime Minister for over a year now as the activities of He-Who-Must-Not-be-Named, have been having an effect on the Muggle world. And at the request of the Muggle Minister, we have accepted a kind of observer, a rather interesting Muggle, as a matter-of-fact.” The lift halted with a clank, and they stepped off into another polished hall. “I expect you’ll learn all about it in due course, but right now, I suggest you concentrate on your meeting with Minister Scrimgeour.”
Harry nodded silently. He wanted to ask more questions, but Kingsley was right he needed to remember what he was there for, so he tried to refocus his thoughts as they moved down the sparsely populated hall.
As they turned down a final hallway, Harry could see a very prim; rather severe looking young Witch sitting at a desk. When she noticed them she leaned down briefly and touched something which she appeared to speak into. Two young men in Ministry Security uniforms stood to attention on either side of the hall. The Witch motioned Harry and his escorts forward.
Kingsley stepped up to the broad, thick, oak door of the Minister’s office, just as it opened. Rufus Scrimgeour stood in the doorway waving them inward, and stepping back. Harry moved forward with determined calm and entered the office. Moody followed him in, but Kingsley remained in the outer office as the Minister quietly shut the door.
Scrimgeour’s office was a formal room befitting his station. The walls were lined with shelves, filled with books and pictures, mementos of accomplishment and objects that Harry recognized as similar to magical devices he had seen in other offices; Dumbledore’s, Snape’s, and the various occupants of the DADA office over the years.
Rufus Scrimgeour moved toward a wall where several glasses and bottles rested on a low shelf. “May I offer you something?” he said, “a butter-beer perhaps, Mr. Potter or, pumpkin juice?” The Minister proceeded to pour a generous amount of an amber liquid into two glasses, from a stoppered crystal decanter. Then he grabbed a bottle from a lower shelf, opened it, and with his wand sent the bottle floating toward Harry, the second glass toward Moody.
Something about the Minister seemed different to Harry. He was an imposing figure, dressed in his black robes, his mane of tawny, graying hair hardly tamed about his face, fierceness in his eyes. But, he seemed tired in his movements, and this cordial manner, offering drinks, it somehow felt like a different Minister than Harry had encountered before.
Harry looked at Moody who was holding his glass up at arms length, examining it. Moody brought the glass to his lips and sipped at it. He smiled then, and took a larger draught. Harry sniffed at the bottle in his hand, and detecting nothing but the smooth scent of butter-beer, took a deep swig as he stepped to the chair to which the Minister was motioning.
Scrimgeour moved around his desk, exhaling deeply. He took a slow draw from his drink and sat in his deep leather chair. He eyed Harry for a moment before setting his glass down and leaning forward. “Harry,” he began, “May I call you Harry?” Harry nodded. “Harry, we two have gotten off on the wrong foot, I believe.” Harry set his bottle up on the edge of the desk. “The fact is, like it or not, the Wizarding world believes you to be the chosen one.” Harry nodded again. “They therefore are looking to you for some form of guidance. Guidance I suspect you are feeling somewhat unprepared to offer.” It hadn’t really been a question, and Harry was not inclined to respond, as the Minister paused. “I on the other hand,” Scrimgeour continued, “I’m in the position to offer guidance and leadership to Wizarding Britain. My biggest problem however, to state it matter-of-factly, Harry, is you.”
Harry was slightly taken aback, but made no expression; he leaned back in his chair. There was a quiet disapproving “harrumph” from Alastor Moody, standing behind him. Harry waited a moment to see if there was comment to come from Mad-eye, but when a moment had passed, he looked directly to the Minister, reached for his butter-beer, and said, “How so Minister?”
Rufus Scrimgeour leaned back, steepled his fingers and looked assessingly at Harry. “Because dear boy, you assume that I am merely another Fudge.” There was a long pause as Scrimgeour drew in his breath. “I can assure you that I am not. I have never doubted your story, nor as head of the Aurors, did I ever doubt that He-Who-Must-Not-be-Named would one day return.” There was another pause, as the Minister seemed to be considering how much to say. “And, now that I am in a position to help the Wizarding world combat this dreadful evil, I find myself surrounded by an ineffectual, woefully compounded bureaucracy, and mistrusted by the very person all of Wizarding Britain is looking to, to save them.” The Minister took up his glass again and drained the remaining amber liquid. He set the glass down on the desk with a thud. “The truth is Harry; we are at war. Even though, so far only small skirmishes have been fought, it would be folly to think that larger scale battles can be entirely avoided. I want you to help me win this war. I don’t pretend to fully understand your role in all this, but only a fool could look at the events that have surrounded your life and think that it is all merely coincidence.”
Moody shifted his weight, making a soft, but somehow menacing “thud” with his prosthetic leg. The Minister glanced at him momentarily, but only cocked an eyebrow slightly before returning to Harry determinedly. ”I understand that the Ministry, under Cornelius Fudge, gave you plenty of reason to mistrust it, and as Dumbledore declined to work with me, you have persistently done the same. But I am here to tell you boy. The time has come to wake up and realize that ‘Chosen One’ or not, you have a role to play and you cannot do it all by yourself.”
Harry stared at the edge of the Minister’s desk, memories of his previous meetings with the Minister swirling through his mind as he listened to the Minister’s words. There was a hint of frustration, and perhaps even anger beneath. “Dumbledore’s man,” Harry said in what he thought was not much more than a whisper.
“Yes, exactly, Dumbledore’s man,” the Minister said, exasperated. “So you have said.” There was another long pause, before the Minister spoke again. “Harry, I am not asking you to tell me any of Dumbledore’s secrets, frankly, I don’t much care what he was up to, beyond it’s bearing on defeating the Dark Lord. But I must insist that you wake up and accept that we have a common enemy, Merlin, boy, the war is here, and we are ill prepared.”
Harry looked at the Minister wanting to hate and distrust the man, but despite his emotions he could see that before him was a man of conviction. Scrimgeour wanted to fight this war, and he wanted to win it. Harry shifted uncomfortably in his chair, part of him knew that whatever his part finally was, he would have to do it alone, but the Minister was correct that they did have a common enemy. This war was much larger than Harry avenging his parent’s murders; he knew that in his heart, even if it was that anger that still drove him forward. Harry was still unsure and so he grasped at his only arguments. “How can I trust a Ministry that imprisons Stanley Shunpike, and employs a woman like Dolores Umbridge?” Harry rubbed the scars on his right hand at the distasteful memory of the unpleasant woman.
The Minister leaned forward and fixed an irritated gaze upon Harry. His voice was hard and flat as he spoke again. ”Everyone tells me you are a smart boy, inclined to mischief, but intelligent and resourceful. I am afraid all I am seeing right now is a child, and I am gravely disappointed.”
The words stung Harry; he felt his cheeks flush as though he had been slapped, and he looked down from the minister’s steady stare. Moody leaned forward as though he might say something but stopped as the Minister held up a hand.
Still watching Harry closely, the Minister persisted, his voice rising steadily. “What matter are these small things in the face of the true conflict before us?” Harry fought back his reacting temper and looked up into the Minister’s eyes, as Scrimgeour raised an accusing finger. “I tell you, Harry, once, and only once, Imperiused or not, there was good reason for Stanley Shunpike’s arrest. And, Dolores Umbridge, while a wholly unpleasant and over zealous woman, stood a Ministry inquiry and came through acquitted. You may not agree, or feel that justice has been done, but right now we have far more important concerns, and I cannot afford to waste time on these issues, or indulge your boyish concerns. So, let me ask you Harry, is this all about you, or do you understand the real threat that we face?” Blast it boy, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named may have something against you personally, but he is a very real threat to the whole of the Wizarding world beyond you, and beyond Britain.”
Harry realized that he was gripping the arms of the chair and had begun to breathe faster as the Minister’s voice became impassioned and angry. He didn’t much like being talked to in this way, but he couldn’t deny the point the Minister was making. Dumbledore had warned him that the meeting might go this very way, and still Harry was fighting to remain calm against his pounding heart. He forced himself to release the chair’s arms and took a deep breath, closing his eyes momentarily and exhaling slowly, the meditative action calming him considerably.
“Yes,” Harry said finally, his voice was calm and steady. “This fight may be personal to me, but I do understand what’s at stake.” He paused the span of another long breath, “and I will help you, as long as you are really going to fight this war.”
Almost two hours later Harry and Moody left the Minister’s office with what Harry believed was a good understanding of the Minister’s plans, and a very good start at cooperation. The discussion had been lively at times with Moody finally joining in the talk of forming a Wizarding Army, and actually training a force to stand against the Dark Lord. Harry knew it was a new and potentially dangerous venture, but it had been exactly what he wanted, and what he had discussed with Dumbledore. The Minister, had readily accepted Harry’s suggestions, and agreed that he would not be put on display. Harry had finally reluctantly accepted an honorary position as special advisor to the Minister, and agreed that the appointment would be publicly announced through the Daily Prophet.
“You know, I still don’t trust him,” Moody grumbled, as they turned down another corridor and approached the lift that would take them to the Ministry’s main atrium.
“Neither do I… completely,” Harry reassured Moody. “But better to work with the Ministry, than continue to work against them. We’ll just have to be very careful, is all.”
“On that point, I completely agree.” Moody growled.
The lift clanked and rumbled toward its destination, a small number of paper airplanes hovering over their heads. A slight surge of residual adrenaline ran through Harry and he shuddered a little.
“Glad to have that behind you?” Moody asked his voice uncharacteristically calm. “Do you think the Minister was a bit hard on you?”
Harry looked up at Mad-Eye, standing next to him in the lift, his magical eye slowly spinning away, as though looking through the back of his head. “I am not sure he likes me much. What did you think?”
The magical eye swung around and fixed itself, so that both Moody’s eyes were clearly focused on Harry. “Do you like him?” Mad-Eye didn’t pause long enough for Harry to form his answer. “Rufus Scrimgeour is a good man. I have not agreed with him very much in our careers as Aurors, but he is smart, and he is genuinely frightened by what he sees coming. He didn’t get to be Head of Aurors, and now Minister for Magic by depending on others to make decisions, and under normal circumstances he would never seek the help of an underage Wizard.”
“That’s how he sees me then?” Harry asked clearly disappointed.
Moody chuckled kindly. “Harry, that is what you are.”
“But I’ll be seventeen in less than a month” Harry protested.
“Seventeen is just a number, boy, there is nothing magical about it. Rufus Scrimgeour was telling you it’s time to grow up, and I would have to say, this is one time that I agree with him.”
Harry felt his temper starting to rise. He didn’t like being told he was still a child. Hadn’t he faced more in the last six years than many Wizards face in a lifetime? Hadn’t he been forced to take care of himself almost his entire life? He wasn’t sure how to react. “Everyone treats me as a child.” Harry said with resentment.
“Some do,” Moody agreed gruffly. “But the thing is, Harry, the war is bigger than you and Voldemort.”
The lift lurched to a halt and the doors squeaked open. Harry was glad of the interruption, not wanting to pursue a topic to which he sensed the answer was not going to come through conversation.
What stood in the hall, at first glance, appeared to be a stack of filing boxes with thin legs. “Make room.” A rather familiar voice commanded as the stack pushed forward into the lift and turned. “Filing” the voice commanded the lift. The boxes slowly settled to the floor revealing the identity of the person behind them.
Percy Weasley did a double take as he suddenly found himself alone in the lift with Harry Potter, and Alastor Moody. He flushed and stammered a little, “Harry Potter… I never expected to see you here?”
Harry, locked a cold gaze upon the wayward Weasley and spoke flatly, “Percy.” Moody nodded slightly, his magical eye roving over Percy and his boxes.
There was an awkward silence as the lift resumed its journey. After a few moments Percy swallowed audibly and spoke again. “Harry,” his voice seemed determined, but it was clearly difficult for him. “I feel, I owe you an apology. I doubted you, and time has proven you correct. So, may I say that I am sorry?” Moody chuckled a little on the opposite side of Harry, but Percy didn’t appear to notice.
Harry could hardly believe what he was hearing, he felt his temper rising with irritation and as it seemed he had been doing all morning, he forced himself to be calm. Percy looked almost frightened. Harry could tell it had taken a lot for him to say that, but it felt so out of place and misguided. The lift lurched again and the doors opened slowly. Percy flicked his wand, making the boxes float back up and out the doors into the hallway. Percy followed them, but turned to face Harry and said, “I just wanted you to know that I know I was wrong, and I believe in you now.”
The calm that Harry was concentrating on snapped. He thrust out a hand to stop the lift doors closing. “Percy, you career obsessed prat, I don’t care what you think of me.” Harry’s voice was rising in both pitch and volume. Percy‘s face flushed from ear to ear. “You wouldn’t believe me when Fudge was against me, but now you do, how very convenient for you.” Harry’s voice dripped with angry sarcasm. He stepped forward but felt Moody’s hand on his shoulder, holding him back. “How could you turn your back on your family for the sake of your career? When you quit being a git and patch things up with your Dad, and Mum, then you can apologize to me, and not before!” There was a loud crash, as Percy’s levitation charm failed and the file boxes tumbled to the ground tearing apart, their contents spilling to the floor in a flood of sheaved parchments in all directions. Percy just stared at Harry his face deep crimson as if he had just been slapped. The doors of the lift trundled shut.
Harry stepped back as Moody removed the hand from his shoulder. “Feel better?” Moody chuckled.
“Brilliant,” Harry smiled.
Once again the lift doors squeaked and rattled open as the lift reached the Ministry Atrium. Harry and Moody stepped off the lift and walked past the main gates into the expansive hall. A large group of former Hogwarts fifth years was crowding around a snack trolley. Among the bobbing heads in the crowd Harry easily identified a specific red-head that could only be Ginny, right next to an unmistakable blonde that had to be Luna Lovegood.
There was a murmur through the crowd of students as Harry and Moody were recognized, and several of the students turned to greet them.
“What are you doing here?” seemed to be the common question as Harry turned from one face to another smiling. He looked to Moody for some indication of how to respond, but received only a raised brow above Alastor’s natural eye.
“I’ve been to a meeting with the Minister of Magic,” Harry responded finally. This news was greeting with a number of “ooo’s” and “ah’s” from the younger students.
“But I’d much rather hear how your OWL testing is going?” Harry asked in an effort to divert the student’s attention. This brought on a flood of simultaneous responses of which Harry could not decipher much more than the typical mixed feelings he’d experienced regarding his own testing.
Just then a skinny, long legged Wizard appeared from one of the gilded fireplaces. He was carrying a large hourglass and announced loudly that there were only twenty minutes remaining before the next round of testing would begin. Harry took the opportunity to suggest that the students had better get their treats before the testing resumed. To his relief this effectively broke up the group of students as they returned to the treat trolley or broke into smaller groups to compare notes.
Mad-Eye tapped Harry on the shoulder, “we should be going now. We have other things to do today.” Ginny and Luna were making their way toward him through the rest of the fifth years. They approached quickly, Luna practically skipping.
“Just a few minutes to visit,” Harry asked. “Alone?” Moody looked at the girls approaching and chuckled gruffly. “What can happen here in the Ministry?” Harry finished.
“Very well,” Mad-Eye grumbled finally, “But just a few, I’ll just have a quick visit with Eric.” He motioned toward the Security desk, before he stepped away.
“Hello Harry,” Luna said with a bright, wide smile, as the two girls arrived in front of Harry. Ginny stood next to him and slipped her hand silently into his.
“Are you here for something to do with Hogwarts, Harry?” Luna asked.
“No,” Harry replied, “well at least not directly.” He looked at the girls quizzically.
Ginny chimed in then. “They told us before the first testing session, that the Governors are meeting this morning to decide about keeping the school open. McGonagall is here at the Ministry with a bunch of the professors.”
“I’m sure that Hogwarts will remain open.” Harry said with confidence. “How else would kids learn about being Witches and Wizards?”
“Lots of families keep their children at home, Harry.” Luna said, though she seemed to be looking at a particular set of symbols moving across the peacock blue ceiling. “My father wanted to teach me at home, except that he travels so much for the Quibbler.”
Ginny squeezed Harry’s hand a little, but covered her giggle with a smile. Harry imagined for a moment what sorts of things Luna’s father would have taught her at home. She seemed to already have an extensive knowledge of things the rest of the Wizarding world knew nothing about. He too, suppressed a chuckle.
“So how are your tests going, Luna?” Harry finally asked.
“Very well, thank you Harry,” Luna replied airily, as she pulled at her Butterbeer cork necklace. “I expect my charms score will be acceptable, but Ginny’s will be much better, I’m certain.”
“How can you say that Luna, you were way across the hall from me during the practical portion?” Ginny protested.
Luna rolled her eyes and smiled. “Oh, I just sometimes know things like that.”
“Really, Luna, I didn’t know you were a seer?” Ginny teased.
“Well,” Luna began, drawing the word out as though she was unsure of what to follow it with. “I know Divination is not the most popular of magical arts, but It does sort of run in my family. So, I come by it honestly.”
“Was your mother a seer?” Harry asked.
“No,” Luna focused on Harry, “It comes from the Lovegood side of my family. My father says that the Lovegood line only produces a daughter every few generations, and a Lovegood daughter usually possesses some sort of magical perception.”
Harry imagined this was probably something Luna’s father had told her just to make her feel special, and it seemed a rather harmless thing to him, in fact it seemed nice that he would want her to feel special.
“When was the last Lovegood daughter before you Luna?” Ginny asked.
“Oh, according my father, his father had a sister.”
“Whatever became of her?” Harry asked. He knew he hadn’t done well in History of magic, but if there had been a famous seer named, Lovegood, he felt sure he would have remembered.
“All my father has ever told me is that my Great Aunt Philomena married a man named Deyton, for some reason he can never remember a surname. Then, one day they just disappeared. He suspects that they moved to America, or that they were abducted by the Glanconer during a trip to Ireland.”
Ginny, shot Harry a look of surprise, and squeezed his hand, upon which he realized that his mouth was hanging open, and he shut it. He was a bit in shock, realizing suddenly that he might be in some way related to the Lovegood’s. He was beginning to form a response when activity near the lifts attracted his attention.
Multiple lifts had arrived all at once and several people in formal looking, white robes were disembarking. Each of the robes appeared to be lined and piped with different colors. Harry realized that these must be the council of Governors for Hogwarts. Professor McGonagall was stepping off one of the lifts with Professors, Sprout, Slughorn, Sinistra, and Flitwick. The group of professors and Governors moved through the gates in to the main atrium and gathered near the gold fountain. Many of the students had seen them and were gathering around. Luna, without a word, had begun walking toward the crowd, and Harry followed anxiously with Ginny, the matter of Luna’s ancestry, momentarily forgotten.
One of the Governors stepped forward, making motions with his outspread hands to quiet the questions of the surrounding students and gathering parents. He was a rather tall, stout, blonde, Wizard, with a full beard and round face, which gave him a jovial appearance. As he spoke it was clear that he was originally from Scotland.
“I’m certain you’re all very concerned about the fate of Hogwarts School.” The man’s voice was crisp and measured. “The council has concluded its deliberations and I’m pleased to announce that the school will indeed remain open. Further, it is my privilege to introduce the newly appointed Headmistress, Minerva McGonagall.” The man stepped back motioning Professor McGonagall forward.
Minerva paused, capturing a breath, and looked across the crowd of students, parents and other curious onlookers. “I am quite pleased that so many students are present for this, rather impromptu announcement. It is my great honor to accept the post of Headmistress, of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Much work must be done to prepare for the fall term, as I will need to fill a number of positions.” She paused again and took another deep breath before continuing. “I have been given the Ministries firmest assurances that all possible precautions will be taken to provide in Hogwarts a safe and secure living and learning environment. It is my fervent hope, that despite the recent tragedy, parents will send their children to Hogwarts without fear or reservation.”
Harry, was trying to listen, but was distracted, as Luna asked Ginny a question. “Who is that man standing next to Professor Slughorn?” Luna said with an inquisitive lilt.
“I don’t know,” Ginny replied simply. “Harry,” she tugged at his wrist to get his attention. “Have you any idea who that man is?”
Harry looked beyond Professor McGonagall. There was indeed another man with them, someone Harry had never seen before. The man was not wearing Wizarding robes and so looking a bit out of place. The man looked to be of a good height, but not so tall as to stand out, Harry estimated about 183 centimeters (6 feet). He was wearing a Muggle style tweed sport coat over a dark button down dress shirt, with a knit tie, and pleated corduroy slacks. He was quite slender. His hair was cut short and must have once been completely black, but now appeared graying, particularly at the temples. Looking closely, Harry thought his eyes were a dull blue, or blue-grey, and he had a vertical scar along his right cheek. He seemed a pleasant enough man though there was something cruel about his mouth. Harry found himself wondering if this was the Muggle that Kingsley had escorted to the Ministry that morning. Harry, leaned a little toward Ginny, and whispered. “I have never seen him before, but I have a suspicion that he is a Muggle. I’ll tell you everything later.” Ginny turned to look at Harry, her eyes wide with questions.
Professor McGonagall was continuing to speak. “I can announce at this time that I have asked Professor Pomona Sprout to serve as my Deputy Headmistress.” Professor Sprout, stepped forward, blushing and smiling, then quickly stepped back. McGonagall hesitated momentarily. “And, Mr. Sean Fleming of Glencoe will be joining our staff as the new Muggle Studies Professor.” The mystery man, Mr. Fleming, stepped forward and bowed slightly then stepped back. “Other appointments will be announced through the Daily Prophet, as positions are filled…”
Without warning, there was a loud claxton, and the atrium ceiling transitioned from its normal blue to red. The crowd was momentarily still as they looked to the changing ceiling in shock. Several of the fireplaces blazed bright green and Aurors stepped from the flames. Panic swept the crowd and people surged toward the fireplaces. Others moved toward the lifts, but were stopped as several wrought golden grilles exploded forward and cloaked figures surged out of the lifts. Spells began to fly as the dark figures seemed intent on opening a path through the gates to the fireplaces. Several students were stunned in the first volley of spells.
Harry spun around trying to take in the whole picture. A couple of Aurors, as well as the Hogwarts professors, were directing the panicking crowd to evacuate through the fireplaces, the rest were moving forward to engage the cloaked figures. Harry caught a glimpse of Mr. Fleming from the corner of his eye standing still, apparently calm, watching the scene with a look of fascination.
Ginny clung to Harry’s arm tugging him, but he was not moving away. Luna too, was standing still watching with a sort of amazement.
Moody and Kingsley appeared at their side. With a broad flourish Moody, wand in hand deflected a stray spell and growled “Stupefy” causing a stream of pale light to erupt from his wand and drop one of the dozen or so cloaked figures. Harry, Ginny and Luna, each drew their wands.
“Are those Death Eaters?” Harry yelled to Kingsley, over the din of the fight and the panicking crowd. The Aurors had formed a line between the cloaked figures and the fire places, and the volley of spells was flashing every which way.
“Yes, Harry,” Kingsley managed to come closer. “We received information this morning naming several possible Ministry officials from various offices.” Kingsley ducked as a stream of green light flew over his head. “Somehow they knew we were going to raid offices… this is not an attack, it is an attempt to escape!”
The Auror’s were managing to hold the Death Eaters near the golden gates, but casualties were mounting on both sides. A half dozen of the Death Eaters lay sprawled across the dark floor, and as many or more Aurors had been struck with various curses.
One of the cloaked figures seemed to be directing the others leveling his wand at the line of Aurors and screaming out the most forbidden curse. The words rang through the hall “Avada Kedavra” and time seemed to slow as Harry watched the stream of sickening green light erupt from the wand tip and move through the air to strike a Witch in the line of Aurors. The Witch was tall and slender and wore an eye patch over her left eye. Harry, felt he had seen her before. In the moment the curse struck she was engulfed by the green light, she screamed, her body contorted horribly, and she crumpled to the floor.
Ginny was pulling at him, but Harry felt no fear, in fact a great swell of anger was building in him. The Aurors seemed to be reacting the same way as a uniform volley of spells assaulted the Death Eater’s shield charms in a spectacular explosive display of light. The Death Eaters staggered from the shear force of the assault. Their shields dropped and before the charms could be re-cast four of the dark cloaked figures were hit and collapsed to the ground leaving only the leader remaining.
Harry leveled his wand, at the man, but was momentarily distracted as he became aware of Sean Fleming stepping up next to him on his left. The remaining Aurors, including Moody, were advancing on the man. Harry heard a yelled incantation that sounded like a variation on the blasting spell. A solid wave of force suddenly moved outward in all directions from where the man was standing. In that moment Harry yelled “Protego” setting his shield, and heard Kingsley doing the same.
Moody, who was closest, was knocked back, and flew over Harry’s head as the force threw him away. The whole line of Aurors was knocked back and many of the evacuating crowd crumpled beneath the wave of blunt force. Harry’s shield charm held protecting himself, Mr. Fleming, and the two girls.
The man’s hood fell back revealing his face, a portrait of anger and panic. He turned and focused on the first standing target he could see, Harry. Harry’s eyes met his and there was recognition as the man’s expression changed suddenly to fear.
“Yaxley!” Kingsley Shaklebolt yelled. Harry turned at the sound of the voice, but Sean Fleming was standing between him and Kingsley. The man called Yaxley turned as well and yelled “stupefy.” Kingsley fell to the floor unconscious. Harry instinctively moved toward Fleming, who was pulling something from within his jacket. Harry leveled his wand at Yaxley who’s eyes were turning back to find the next target. Harry began to speak his spell when a deafening sharp “bang” split the air, filling the Ministry atrium.
Harry watched as something struck Yaxley in the chest causing him to drop his wand and stagger backward, falling to the floor.
Harry looked to the source of the sound which seemed to have come from Mr. Fleming’s outstretched arm. Harry had seen guns on Muggle television and so that was all he could think of as Sean Fleming smoothly tucked something small and black back beneath his coat.
A murmur was running through the crowd as the realization hit that the conflict was over, and all of the Death Eaters had fallen.
Harry turned fully to face Mr. Fleming, his wand arm fallen to his side.
Sean Fleming looked over at Harry, as he calmly straightened his jacket and tie. Then, with a slight, rather friendly smile, he winked.
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NEXT
Chapter Thirteen
Welcome to the Jungle
Chapter 14: Chapter 13 - Welcome to the Jungle
Author's Notes: This is a Draco chapter. Draco still has a long road before him, and it is time now to say some goodbyes, before moving forward.
I just want to say thank you to whoever nominated me for a Silver Trinket. I was completely unaware. Imagine my surprise when I read the post listing the winners and found my story listed there among the winners! Thank you so much to everyone who voted for my story! I am honored, and I do hope I can continue to make this story very enjoyable for all who read it.
Thank you all, so very much!
Welcome to the Jungle
Draco pulled himself up onto the low moss covered wall were he would be concealed behind the dense bushes. He reached his small hands into the pockets of his robe and pulled out a half dozen nicely rounded cones he had collected from a nearby Scots Pine.
He pulled a catapult from another pocket and loaded a cone in the leather, pulling back to test the springy resistance.
Easing along the wall he spied his quarry, a small elf, busying itself pulling weeds in the garden around a small fountain.
His tongue perched at one side of his mouth and one eye closed he extended his right arm and pulled back the cord taking careful aim. He released the cord and the cone shot forward arching cleanly through the air to strike the elf on the head just behind the right ear.
There was an audible “smack” and loud squeaking proclamation of pain from the injured elf. It turned and searched the ground till it found the offending cone and picking it up, cast its bulbous eyes through the surrounding garden while placing the cone in the rubbish bag with all the weeds. Rubbing the red mark on its head the elf turned and began tentatively pulling weeds again.
Draco, giggling, loaded another cone and lined up another shot. He released and the second cone arched through the air smacking the elf hard, right on the center top of its head.
“Ouch!” the elf called angrily. The elf turned and examined the garden looking carefully at the spot where Draco lay hidden.
There was a tense moment while Draco held back his delighted laughter so as not to be discovered, and the little elf slowly turned back to his work.
Draco loaded yet another cone and again lined up a shot. He let it fly, and as he did the elf turned on its spot its hand poised ready to snap its fingers in some sort of defense. As it searched the air for the cone its eyes landed on Draco and it dropped its hand, allowing the third cone to strike it hard on the forehead.
Draco laughed out loud. The elf grumbling beneath its breath picked up the cone and tossed it dejectedly into the rubbish bag.
“Draco,” his mother called.
“Yes Mother,” Draco responded disappointedly.
“Come down from there, Draco. You should not be climbing around on the garden walls,” Narcissa called concernedly.
Draco clamored down from the low stone wall and walked to where his mother was standing, several feet away on the garden path.
Narcissa looked him up and down, reaching to straighten his collar and brush some moss from the shoulder of his robe. She spied the catapult hastily shoved in his pocket and cocking an eyebrow, frowned at him.
“What have you been up to Darling? Harassing poor Dobby again I suppose?” Narcissa questioned.
“Oh no Mother, no such thing,” Draco lied coolly.
“Come with me, Dear.” She extended her hand and he grasped her slender fingers with his small hand as she led him down the garden path, away from the wall.
They walked in silence for a few minutes until they came to a small stone bench. They could see the back of the house, and his father’s prized peacocks pecking and preening on the manicured lawn.
Narcissa bent and picked him up setting him on the bench. Draco’s feet dangled and she bent down to tighten the laces of his shoes. She looked him in the eyes and he could see her sad gaze.
“You lie as easily as your father, Draco.” She stated matter-of-factly. “I wish you would stop, and I wish you would stop being so mean to Dobby,” she said.
“Aw mother,” Draco complained, fidgeting a little at her attentions. “He’s just a house-elf and not a very good one at that according to father,” he said in his own defense.
Narcissa sat on the bench next to him taking his hand in hers.
“Only seven years old and already so like your father,” she paused. “I suppose it is only to be expected,” she said with a sigh. “Still, you could be such a good boy, if you would only try,” she exhaled.
Narcissa turned to Draco, and she looked quite serious now. “I know your father is the world to you right now, as any father ought to be to his son at your age. But, I really don’t want you following in his footsteps your whole life,” she said.
Draco was confused. “Mother?” he paused, not sure how to phrase his thoughts. “I want to grow up to be like father,” he said finally.
Narcissa turned her face from her son. “One day, perhaps after you’ve started at Hogwarts, hopefully your eyes will be opened and you will see the truth of things,” she paused again and Draco thought he heard a crack in her voice, as though she might be crying.
“What’s wrong, Mother?” He said finally, still confused.
“Nothing, dear,” she patted his leg affectionately. “I just have such high hopes for you,” she said, turning to face him again, a smile across her lips that Draco knew, even at this young age, was a mask she wore designed to make her world more comfortable.
“At least,” Narcissa sniffed once, dabbing at her face with a handkerchief she’d produced from within her robes. “At least, we no longer live under threat of he-who-must-not-be-named,” she said finally as she began to stand.
“What are you saying mother?” Draco started angrily; he pushed himself from the bench and turned on his mother. “Father says we would all be better off if he-who-must-not-be-named was still with us. Father says he will return one day.”
Narcissa looked at her son with utter disappointment.
“Father says it is all the fault of that stupid ‘boy who lived’!” Draco shouted, his tiny hands balled into frustrated fists. There was a long pause as Draco stood silent, angry and confused by the obvious difference in his parent’s opinions.
“Well,” Narcissa said finally. “I think that Potter boy performed us a service, even if your father thinks differently. One day, I hope you will see.” She turned and walked toward the house.
Draco stamped a foot angrily. “Potter!” he yelled with distain. “I hate Harry Potter!” He screamed after his Mother.
Narcissa turned. “One day, I hope you will see things differently,” she said back loud enough that he could barely hear.
Draco kicked the ground as he watched his mother disappear into the house. He stood then in silence, angry that his mother should say such things in apparent defiance of his father. He was certain that his father would be right.
As he stood there, seething in confusion over conflicted feelings for his parents, the sky rapidly began to darken. He felt a few drops of rain pelt his robes. Suddenly the world around him began to blur and fade, like rain washing away a chalk drawing.
Draco woke with a start. Large droplets of water were seeping through the thatched roof above him, splashing on him where he lay.
The last vestiges of his dream faded fast, as he shifted on his mat to avoid the falling water. He felt like he had barely slept, but there was light beyond the overcast sky so he knew it was morning, or at least very soon would be.
Draco sat up and drew his knees to his chest. He rubbed at his face knowing that he would just be making it dirty with his muddy hands, but he no longer cared. For a moment he contemplated his dream. It was more than a dream, it was a memory. He had been having such dreams every night, dreams of his mother. She was gone now.
It had happened the night of the celebration. Chunt’ea had come to collect him at the healer’s hut. Together they had made their way to the main path where the procession of men and boys were arriving with various animals.
The younger boys excitement was infectious and Draco had found himself following as together they clamored around the edges of the gathering crowd like children searching out the best spot to watch a parade.
Chunt’ea had slipped into the crowd and disappeared, leaving Draco on the outer edge, watching. Woman and children were waving excitedly to specific men and boys. There were happy reunions all around him as families found one another. He began to feel a bit uneasy and for a moment thought he might just return to his hut.
Draco felt a soft hand on his shoulder. The slight touch was startling and he swung around to discover Titchi behind him.
His instinct was to go for his wand, except that he had none.
She was breathtaking, in her celebration garments, her two piece costume was beaded in a multitude of color, rich and bright against her warm brown skin and her hair was pulled back, adorned with beads and feathers.
Titchi’s expression was serious and if she noticed his momentary apprehension she gave no indication.
“Dracho,” Titchi said seriously, “it is your mother, you must go to her.”
“I was just there,” Draco replied, not wanting to understand.
Titchi reached out and grabbed his arm leading him urgently back toward the healer’s hut. She stopped a few paces from the stairs as the leather drape was swung aside and two figures appeared from within.
One was Mistress Puntne; the other was a man Draco had not yet met. He was a small man, not possibly any taller than Titchi and yet he stood with such conviction and authority that clearly he was a man of some importance.
The man wore a simple leather loin cloth similar to the one Titchi had made for Draco. Around his waist was a belt from which Draco could see hung small pouches, a small axe and a large knife in a leather scabbard. His skin was dark and hard looking like Mistress Puntne’s. His black hair was cut short over both ears, but long on the top and in back, pulled and tied with a leather strap. There were shells and feathers woven into it in back. Across his chest were numerous strings of carved bone, wood, claws, teeth and other ornamental objects. He had a short leather cape over his shoulders and on his back a bow, quiver and some sort of travel sack. He also carried a staff very much like Mistress Puntne’s.
“Father,” Titchi said, as she bowed her head respectfully.
Draco took his cue from Titchi and lowered his head as well. This then was the Shaman, Draco thought, for a moment hope sprang in his chest. Perhaps he had been able to do something more for his mother.
“This is the boy?” the Shaman said as he came down the steps. Clearly no answer was needed, or expected. For a moment Draco wondered how it was he had understood the man’s words, but the thought was fleeting.
The Shaman stepped toward Draco and walked slowly around him. After what seemed minutes of silence the shaman placed his hand under Draco’s chin and raised his head.
Their eyes met and Draco felt the man’s black eyes boring into him. Draco knew what this was, and he didn’t fight it. There was no pain as there had been with Voldemort. In fact the experience was almost soothing. After a minute it was done.
The Shaman reached into one of the pouches at his side and drew out a small flat stone, pulling up Draco’s hand and placing it in his palm. The stone was small and smooth and unremarkable, such a stone could be found anywhere in the river.
“Take him to his mother.” The shaman commanded, and began to walk away. He paused for only a moment in his departure to turn and command his daughter to follow. Titchi hesitated for only a moment and then turned to follow.
Mistress Puntne held open the leather drape to her hut and motioned Draco inside. Once he was inside, she left quickly.
The hut was as it had been the short half-hour before when Draco was there previously, nothing seemed to have changed.
Draco made his way to the back where his mother lay and took up his seat once more on the familiar stool. He was confused, there did not seem to be any change in her condition. She lay there, neatly dressed in a simple woven, white, night robe, her brilliantly blonde hair straight, pulled forward over her shoulders and chest nearly down to her hips trailing along her thin body.
She was so beautiful he thought she looked quite peaceful. He took her hand in his and spoke quietly. “Mother?” he began, “Are you going to wake up now?” He pleaded.
For long minutes there was silence as Draco sat there holding his mother’s hand. Then he noticed that her breathing seemed to be shallower.
“Mother,” he cried, “you cannot leave me mother.” He came off the stool and collapsed on the floor at her bedside, still clutching her hand in his, he pressed his face against her arm and wept.
The small stone fell from his unused hand, forgotten.
For a long time he laid there, sadness overwhelming him, he could sense her slipping away. The flood gates broke and he cried profusely occasionally pleading, “No, mother... No you cannot leave me,” he did not know how long he cried; until there were simply no more tears.
Draco raised his head and looked up at her. She still looked perfectly peaceful, though she was barely breathing now, her chest hardly rising at all in slow shallow breaths.
Draco rose on his knees rubbing at his wet face with his forearm. “Don’t leave me mother,” he said with a hint of anger in his voice.
“Wake up,” he commanded, “Wake up!” He reached over her and grabbed her by the shoulders, shaking her. “Wake up!” he yelled. Nothing changed. He shook her again, pulling her up, her hair splaying about. “Mother!” he screamed pleadingly. She collapsed back into the pillow, no change.
Draco, now sitting on the bed, leaning over her, his arms at each shoulder, stared at his silent mother for long moments. Suddenly he pulled her up in to his arms embracing her desperately. He cried out, a frustrated, wordless, garbled scream. He held her there for a long minute rocking back and forth. Then he gently laid her back down, straightening her hair as best he could.
Draco stood looking down at her. The gently flickering candle light around her made her glow beautifully, she seemed very peaceful, and he resigned himself to the idea that she was not waking up. His heart ached painfully in his chest like a large stone had been placed there. He turned; squaring his shoulders, and quietly said “Goodbye Mother.”
Draco began to walk toward the hut entrance but his movements were slow and unsteady. He felt as though the air was thick and fluid, it resisted him like water, as though he was walking against the current in the river. He paused at the doorway, he was tempted to look back, but he wasn’t sure he could face such a loss as he knew was coming, he wanted to sleep. He did not want to be left alone. He wanted the world to simply go away.
Then, very suddenly he remembered the stone the Shaman had given him. Why? He realized he must have dropped it and he turned, searching the floor. He saw it then at his mother’s bedside. He moved toward it quickly and picked it up.
In his palm the stone was warm and he thought it was beginning to glow. As he stared at it, it did begin to glow, a slight purple illumination from within. He held it between his thumb and forefinger examining it, as it became brighter.
Unsure of exactly why, he stepped to his mother and dropped the small stone in her right hand, it glowed steadily. He clasped his hand over hers and squeezed gently. There was a pulse of deep purple light and the world disappeared around him.
Draco found himself standing in a purple mist, dressed now in his Hogwart’s robes. He moved and the mist swirled around him. He stepped forward; there was a light ahead of him, he moved toward it. With each step the deep purple mist faded around him. He could see a figure ahead, it was his mother. He ran to her calling “Mother... Mother!” She turned, smiling. There was nothing but grey fog all around her; she stood still, dressed in black robes, her hair draping her.
As he approached she raised a hand to stop him. He stopped a few paces from her, “Mother?” he said questioningly.
Narcissa lowered her hand to her side. “It is time for me to go Draco.” She said quietly.
“Yes Mother, I understand,” he replied.
“I am afraid, son” Narcissa said.
“No mother, what have you to be afraid of? I will be fine,” he said reassuringly.
“No, Draco, darling, I know that, you have it in you to be wonderful, I have always known that,” she said with conviction. “It is this that scares me.” She held her left hand forward, pulling the sleeve of her robe to reveal the dark mark.
Draco stared at it, the black mark on his mother’s arm was moving, the snake coiling and repeatedly slithering through the mouth of the skull.
Draco took a step forward. But his mother raised her right hand for him to stop. She bent over apparently in pain. The mark seemed to slither from her arm like a thing alive and it rose in billows of black smoke into the air above her, growing larger.
The floating mark solidified in the fog, its darkness pushing back the surrounding light. Narcissa drew her wand from her robes and cast a spell at it, a bright flash of orange light that splashed over it. It pulsed and protested, shaking off the spell and then the skull seemed to roar at her. It was an unearthly noise, unlike anything that Draco had ever heard.
The snake sprang forward, solid and black and struck Narcissa, its fangs gashing through her shoulder. She collapsed as the snake recoiled. She dropped her wand as she fell and it clattered to Draco’s feet. She lay there, a pool of red growing around her.
The snake recoiled, poised to attack again. Draco picked up his mother’s wand pointing it at the snake and skull and the spell that issued forth surprised him with its bright ferocity as it slammed into the snake knocking it back. He stepped forward over his collapsed mother, screaming at the thing in the air, “You cannot have her! You’ll never have her!”
The snake sprang forward as Draco cast a shield charm and its fangs shattered against it inches from his head. It recoiled and Draco screamed “Confringo,” blasting the snake apart. Another appeared from the mouth of the skull springing at him. He twisted as its fangs tore through his robe at his shoulder ripping the fabric away from his back. If he was hurt, he didn’t feel it, and didn’t care.
Draco began casting every spell he knew, blasting away at the whole apparition as the snake lunged and sprang at him. He was unrelenting as again and again he obliterated the tendrilling phantasm causing the skull to crack. He was bleeding and battered from the onslaught, but he stood his ground.
After what seemed long minutes of heated battle, the mark began to waver, its darkness retreating and its solidity fading. In one final thrust Draco yelled “Reducto.” And the mark shattered, collapsed in on itself and was gone.
Breathing heavily Draco dropped his mother’s wand, and it simply ceased to be before reaching the ground. He looked beneath him and his mother was gone.
“I am here Draco,” came Narcissa’s voice clear and strong.
Draco turned and there was his mother standing before him whole and beautiful in pure white robes, awash in light.
“Have I saved you Mother?” Draco asked.
“You surely have, my son,” she smiled.
“Then, will you wake up now?” he pleaded.
Narcissa’s face saddened and she stepped forward, embracing him. Draco hugged her tight. “No, Draco... You have saved me from a death worse than death; saved me so that I can begin a new journey... a wonderful journey.” She pulled herself from his embrace and held his hands, smiling again. “We both have new journeys before us. You have saved me, now it is time for you to save yourself,” she said.
“I don’t understand Mother,” Draco replied.
“Cast off all that you know and become the man I know you can be, my son,” Narcissa said.
Narcissa’s hands slipped from Draco’s and she seemed to be drifting slowly away from him.
“Mother!” Draco screamed.
“Be brave, Draco, It is there within you. It has always been there within you.” Narcissa's voice was trailing away and he couldn’t see her any longer. “I love you my son. I have always loved you.” She was gone.
The world snapped back around him. He was there, in the healers hut, and she was gone. Her lifeless body lay before him.
Draco released her hand, taking up the small stone, now cool and unexceptional. He stood, glancing only for a moment at his mother’s silent form, before turning. He straightened himself and walked slowly toward the hut entrance. He paused at the leather drape. “I love you Mother,” Draco whispered. He drew back the drape, stepped out onto the small landing, sat sternly on the steps, and waited.
Severus Snape relaxed confidently in his chair on the patio adjacent to the office of Henri Royer Deforest, Mayor of the town of Beaujardin, in Southern France.
It was a warm evening but Severus still wore his customary black robes. He sipped the wine his host had offered him as he watched the man pacing back and forth uneasily.
Henri Deforest was a short stout man with rather spindly legs. He had a round face, with small brown eyes and a round bulbous nose. His dark hair was slicked close on his head and he had the wisp of a dark moustache cropped tight to his broad upper lip. There were obvious signs of perspiration showing through his salmon colored silk shirt, which he had matched with a pale teal vest and cream colored linen trousers. Henri’s obvious nervousness might have been simply because they were waiting for a couple of very prominent people to arrive, or it might just have been that the man sitting on his veranda was a known Death Eater, and wanted for the murder of Albus Dumbledore. Either or both reasons were plenty to be nervous about and Snape really didn’t care one way or the other.
The others who had been invited to the hastily arranged meeting were Hercule Lefurgey, the French Minister of Magic, and Madame Olympe Maxime, Headmistress of the Academie de Beauxbatons de Magie. It was so far unclear if either would be arriving, though both were late.
From his seat on the patio Snape could see a large portion of the town of Beaujardin. It was a quaint village, like most places throughout Europe which were exclusively wizarding communities; it seemed completely out of time with the modern muggle world.
The town was set on the slope of a hill leading down into the wizard known valle de chevaux de val (valley of the flying horses) so named because of the breeding of Abraxan horses carried out within the grounds of Beauxbatons palace. The palace itself could also be seen in the distance, perched at the edge of the village, its spires glittering in the waning sunlight.
Snape nonchalantly fingered the exterior of his left robe pocket checking that it’s contents was securely in place in case it was needed.
The sun was setting fast and a series of lanterns flashed to life around the white stone patio, as the valley fell into deep purple shadow from the surrounding hills, beneath a still light sky.
There was a noise in the adjacent office and the door sprang open as a steward stepped neatly through and crisply announced the arrival of “The Honorable Minister, Hercule Lefurgey, and Madame Olympe Maxime, Headmistress of Beauxbatons Academy of Magic,” (translated from the French).
A tall thin man stepped onto the patio. He was nearly bald with evenly set grey eyes, a pointed nose and a narrow severe chin. He was dressed in semi-formal charcoal robes. Behind him, stooping to get through the doorway was the imposing figure of Madame Maxime, dressed in cream colored robes. Behind her was the Minister’s security detail; two average looking wizards wearing deep green cloaks.
Without noticing Snape, the Minister greeted Henri Deforest, who stepped forward to shake the man’s hand. Madame Maxime however, noticed Snape immediately and she glowered at him.
“What iz zee meaning of zis?” Madame Maxime proclaimed loudly. “What iz zis man doing ere?”
All attention immediately focused on Snape, who stood slowly from his chair. He finished the last sip of his wine and set the glass on the adjacent table.
“Thank you for coming Minister,” Snape acknowledged the man with a very slight nod of his head as he spoke. “And, Madame Maxime, it is my pleasure to meet you once again,” he bowed very slightly, though there was little sincerity in his tone.
“Ee must be arrested at once, for ze murder of Albus Dumbledore,” Madame Maxime spat out angrily.
At that the two security Wizards drew their wands and leveled them at Snape. The Minister waved them off calmly and seemed to be visually taking stock of Snape.
After a few moments the Minister spoke. “You are Severus Snape, of Hogwarts School; the man accused of killing Albus Dumbledore?”
“I am,” Snape answered calmly.
“And, are you responsible for this death?” The Minister questioned further.
Snape hesitated; he had not been quite prepared for the question so directly. After a moment Snape replied, “I am.”
There was a hint of something in his voice that the astute Minister was finding difficult to identify. “And, you are in service of the terrible Wizard whose name we do not speak?”
Again Snape hesitated, “Yes,” he finally replied darkly.
“Regrettable,” was the Minister’s cool response.
There were a few tense moments as Snape sized up the obviously confident Minister, and the security wizards at his command.
“I have a message for you from Lord Voldemort,” Snape said coolly.
“Go on,” the Minister said after a moment.
“My Lord demands that all wizards of less than pure blood be immediately dismissed from public service throughout France. He insists that the village of Beaujardin, be restored to a pure-blood wizard community, as it was intended. That all muggle-born wizards submit to registration.”
“Ridiculous!” Henri cut in angrily. The Minister raised his hand calmly to silence the Mayor.
“Further,” Snape continued, “He demands that the student body of Beauxbatons Academy be restricted to full blood wizards only, and that the half-giant, Madame Maxime along with all mixed-blood wizards throughout France be immediately incarcerated.”
“Zees ez an outrage!” Madame Maxime burst out angrily. “I’ave been Headmistress of Beauxbatons for fifteen years. I am guilty of no crime!”
“Minister, you cannot abide zis absurdit,” Henri protested. Again the Minister raised his hand for silence. He stared at Snape giving no hint of reaction, Snape met his gaze evenly.
“Is that all?” The Minister asked.
“You and the Ministry are to swear allegiance to the Dark Lord,” Snape replied flatly.
“And none of this is negotiable I surmise?” The Minister questioned.
“None,” Snape answered.
The tension was palpable as everyone awaited the Minister’s reply. The two security wizards were fingering their wands; Henri Deforest was ranting beneath his breath and had resumed his nervous pacing. Madame Maxime, seething with obvious anger stood motionless watching the Minister closely.
Hercule Lefurgey cleared his throat lightly. “Arrest this man,” he said.
In the split seconds hesitation it took for the security wizards to comprehend the order, Snape was able to draw his wand and cast a shield charm, so that their initial binding spells bounced away ineffectually.
Madame Maxime in her anger cast a much more destructive curse, but it too failed to breach Snape’s shield.
Henri Deforest leaped behind the cover of a large potted plant were he attempted to draw his wand, but dropped it and in that moment the Minister, according to established protocol, apparated to a safe location.
Snape easily deflected the next spells cast by his three opponents, and was able to cast a bombardment curse that crumbled the wall behind the security wizards bringing it down upon them with a sickening thud.
An arc of fire exploded from Madame Maxime’s wand and twisted toward Snape, he was able to meet it with a blast of frigid water from his own wand and the two forces struggled together between them. For a moment there was a seeming stalemate, but Snape pushed harder and the fire dissipated leaving Madame Maxime drenched in a deluge of icy water.
Madame Maxime next caused a table and chairs to leap at Snape violently, but he was able to duck out of the way deflecting the heavy table back at her. In her anger she raised her arms and smashed the table to the ground.
There were a series of popping sounds as more security apparated around him, leveling their wands.
Snape thrust his left hand into his robe, and disappeared.
Severus Snape reappeared a moment later in the woods across the valley, his prepared portkey having worked perfectly. Around him from the concealment of the trees appeared a dozen hooded Death-Eaters. Beyond them Snape knew was an army awaiting his command.
The sun had set and the woods were growing dark. Bellatrix Lestrange pulled the hood off of her head stepping forward. “What is the answer, Snape?” She hissed her voice laced with jealousy.
Snape nodded. Bellatrix turned and rushed toward a low wall that marked the edge of the grounds of Beauxbatons. She raised her wand high into the air and cast the dark mark. It hung there sickly green in the dusk, moving high above the palace.
Bellatrix’s eyes shone with excitement as she screamed “Attack!” and thrust her arm forward casting the first of many ward-breaking curses. From the surrounding forest Voldemort’s army of followers surged forward toward the palace.
Snape stood there watching as the hordes moved around him, his face unreadable.
Draco trudged down the path toward his day’s task. He was barely awake and his stomach complained of hunger. He was filthy from head to toe and he could hardly think straight. He missed England. He hadn’t before while he was in the village, but they had been caring for him like a guest, tending his wounds.
Now, he was away from the village, out in the hills at the base of the mountains with only the men and boys. Here he was being treated, in his mind, like nothing more than a slave.
Everything here was a struggle. Everything was hard, and Draco had never liked hard; actually, Draco had never known hard.
He arrived at his work site. It was a hole, no; it was pit, four meters long and two meters wide and so far, as deep as his shoulders. He did not know what it was for, or how deep it would eventually be. He just knew that the Shaman was telling him to keep digging, and nothing Draco had done had gotten him any more explanation.
Draco shook himself to try to clear his head. He looked down into the pit. The heavy morning rain had turned the bottom into mud, and as with every morning there were fallen leaves and debris strewn throughout. He knew there would also be lots of small creatures there as well, frogs and salamanders particularly seemed to like the pit bottom and he would have to shoo them away.
Draco rubbed at his stomach, breakfast had been only a small portion of cooked plantain and a few bits of sweet fruit, hardly enough that he knew he had even eaten. He retrieved the steel spade that he had left leaning against a tree, walked to the edge of the pit and jumped in.
Immediately there was a flurry of movement as, as he had suspected, small creatures darted from the cover of leaves and fled from him. He scraped at the leaves, gathering them together, causing more creatures to flee. He picked up as much as he could and tossed it out of the pit. He casually brushed away several centipedes and other insects from his arms onto the grassy pit edge.
This was not the first hole he had dug since his arrival here, but it was certainly the largest. He remembered the first time he had cleared away debris with is bare arms and how he had panicked and jumped with fear and disgust at the insects. The Shaman had laughed at him, causing him to feel very foolish. Now, three weeks later it was just a matter of course and he didn’t fear the insects. In fact, he couldn’t recall ever being bitten by an insect in all the time he had been in the jungle.
On several occasions now he had taken time to examine the small creatures. Many were rather large by English standards, and he had found them quite fascinating. Somehow there had been a small paradigm shift and these creatures he had once ignorantly feared, were now simply a part of his daily life, he didn’t even think of them as a nuisance anymore. If they were in his way, he simply brushed them away gently and went on with what he was doing.
Draco cleared away the rest of the debris and began to scoop at the mud, shoveling it and throwing it out of the pit. His arms ached, but he persisted. At least, he found himself thinking, his hands had callused over and he was no longer suffering blisters.
The Shaman had brought him out to the men’s camp the day after the village celebration. It had taken all day to make the walk. There had been no explanations, and very little conversation, in fact much of the day Draco had been lost in thoughts of his mother as he walked along trying to keep pace a few meters behind the Shaman.
During the night of celebration Draco had been with his mother as she had passed away. Later, Mistress Puntne had returned and discovered him on the steps of her hut.
Several men had come, along with the Shaman, and bore Narcissa’s body away to the central fire pit where a pyre had been hastily constructed. Much of the tribe gathered solemnly as Narcissa’s body was laid gently atop the pyre.
The Shaman had made some sort of speech, which Draco had not understood and barely listened to.
Titchi, had apparently wanted to comfort Draco, but when she placed her hand on his shoulder Draco had shrugged it off, and stood there stoically.
When the Shaman was done speaking he approached Draco with a torch. Before accepting the flames Draco had handed him the small stone, met his gaze and said simply “Thank you.” The Shaman had dropped the stone into one of his pouches and lead Draco toward the pyre. He stepped up close to the body and pulled back the left sleeve of Narcissa’s robe exposing her forearm. He smiled slightly at Draco revealing that not a trace of the dark mark remained there.
When Draco gave no reaction the Shaman frowned concernedly. He motioned for Draco to light the pyre, and Draco did so, thrusting the flames into several places around the base. Draco handed the torch back to the Shaman and returned to his spot where he stood stiff and motionless as he watched the flames grow, and consume his mother’s lifeless form.
The tribe began to sing, a low mournful song that grew with the increase of the flames into a joyous crescendo. A happy delivery, Draco thought briefly, from one life to the next.
He had stood there, while the tribe slowly dissipated, watching the flames burn. What seemed hours later the Shaman, and Titchi stepped in front of him. The Shaman spoke “Dracho, you are alone now. What do you intend to do?” After a long moment Draco met the Shaman’s gaze.
“May I remain here?” Draco asked.
The Shaman made no expression. “If you remain, you must become a part of the people. That will not be easy.” The Shaman said. Draco did not respond.
“We will begin in the morning,” the Shaman said finally. He nodded at his daughter and turned, walking away silently.
Titchi took Draco’s hand and gently lead him away to his hut. At the steps she paused, turning to face him. “Dracho,” She said her voice full of concern. “I am glad that you wish to remain here.” Draco simply nodded. “You must now become a man,” she stated emphatically.
Draco met her caring gaze. “But, I am a man, he protested. I am seventeen; I have already come of age.”
Titchi giggled a little at his insistent tone. “Then, maybe, becoming a man among the Spirit People will be easy, for you. I do hope so,” she said smiling. “Now, sleep Dracho. My father will collect you very early.” Titchi smiled broadly as she turned and left.
Draco climbed the steps and crossed to the woven mat which passed for his bed. He removed his decorative clothing and laid it on a low table. He lay down barely able to process what had happened during the day. He shut his eyes and fell quickly into a deep restless sleep.
The Shaman had woken him before dawn, handing him a small leather bag and saying simply, “follow me.”
Draco rubbed the sleep from his eyes, hoisted his tired body from the mat and followed.
They walked at a pace that Draco found difficult. They moved along easily on a well worn road, passing through thick jungle, occasionally crossing shallow rivers. After what seemed hours of walking Draco asked “where are we going?”
The Shaman did not stop or turn, but simply replied “I am taking you to where we keep our herds, there you will begin to understand how to become one of the Spirit People... or you will not. That will be up to you Dracho.”
Draco was silent again for a long while. He noticed himself falling behind the Shaman and he was forced to jog to catch up. He was getting more and more tired. He asked if they could slow down and the Shaman replied, “Even the youngest of our children can make this walk; our boys can run the entire way and make the trip in a few short hours. A boy of your age should be able to make that run.” The Shaman did not slow down.
Draco struggled to keep up getting more and more frustrated. During the hottest part of the day, when Draco was painfully thirsty and very hungry, the Shaman disappeared around a turn and Draco lost sight of him. As he came around the turn himself he saw that the road headed steeply down hill and wound quickly out of sight. He couldn’t see the Shaman anywhere. He called out, but there was no reply. He started to jog to try to catch up, but with each turn in the road there was no sight of the Shaman.
Draco started to run, his legs aching. As he neared the bottom of the hill he entered a very dark part of the jungle the tall trees and thick cover blotting out the sunlight. He came around a turn and just ahead of him he could see a river cutting through the jungle and there on a rock at the side of the path sat the Shaman.
Draco came up to the Shaman, out of breath and upset. He bent over, panting, his hands at his knees. Before he could say anything, the Shaman spoke. “You are slow Dracho, and you still have far to go.”
Draco’s instinct was to reply with an acerbic remark, but his breath was still caught in his chest.
“Sit, rest, eat,” the Shaman said in a surprisingly kindly voice. “There is food in your bag, you may drink from the river, perhaps even let the cool water ease your legs. I must leave the path for time, I will return shortly.” The Shaman stood tapped his staff to the ground and was gone.
Draco said “thank you” very sarcastically. He sat where the Shaman had been sitting and swung the leather bag from his shoulder. In it were a few slips of dried meat, some nuts, dried berries and half a dozen oranges. Draco pulled out an orange and bit into it hungrily through the flesh. After devouring it he ate the meat and a handful of nuts and berries. After resting a few minutes he stood and walked into the river up to his waist and scooped up handfuls of the cool water to drink.
The Shaman appeared on the opposite shore. “Dracho, we have a long way yet to go,” he beckoned with a wave of his arm.
“I want to rest a bit longer.” Draco replied curtly. There was a long moment of silence. Draco had the strong sense that the Shaman was not to be crossed, but he thought it reasonable to rest a while longer.
“As you wish,” said the Shaman, “But I will not wait for you. Come when you wish, stay on the road and you will be fine. But I warn you; even the road can be hazardous in the dark.” With that the Shaman turned and strode away.
Draco walked quickly to the shore of the river and retrieved the leather bag, slinging it over his shoulder as he rushed back through the water and up the embankment to try to catch the Shaman. He ran along the road until his lungs burned, but there was no sign of the Shaman, and apparently no chance of catching him up.
Draco found a large stone at the side of the road, and sat there, pulling out another orange to eat. He swore to himself loudly. He did not want to be out in the jungle alone.
After finishing his orange and one more, he set out walking, now at an easy pace, following the road. The walking might have been pleasant, as it was beautiful, but Draco began to wonder what dangers might lurk with every unfamiliar sound he heard. He wished he at least had his wand.
Draco walked along easily for what seemed several hours. He had fallen into a sort of daze as he walked, his mind going over and over the events that had brought him here.
Draco recalled himself at Hogwarts over the past several years, he would have been practically running the school he thought, if it hadn’t been for the presence of Harry Potter, who hogged all the fame and glory for himself. He imagined that he would have been Head Boy in the fall if not for Harry Potter. He recalled his life at home in England with his parents in their grand Manor home, with servants and all the luxuries, even if he had to endure a life always under his father’s thumb, it was a comfortable life.
The past year ran through his mind, and all he had done at the command of the Dark Lord, and his thoughts grew dark, everything had begun to go wrong in that year, and he had to admit that his life had become very uncomfortable while trying to gain the Dark Lord’s favor.
Then, with sudden severity, Draco recalled the torture at the Dark Lords hands, the fear, the agony, and the humiliation. The scars on his back began to itch and burn at the thought. He understood now that this was not a man, a creature, to be followed. He tried to force the feelings and images from his head but they persisted, as he recalled the effects of the Cruciatus curse, and the whipping. He started to run along the road as though he could out run the thoughts in his head, and the burning in his scars.
Draco felt his head begin to throb and he stopped, screaming aloud, trying to blot out the memories. He bent over and vomited.
Was this really all that he had become, an unhappy fool, the pawn of his father and the Dark Lord, the mean spirited, spoiled boy of his upbringing? He fell to his knees. He shut his eyes and tried to make it all go away.
Draco felt a few drops of cool rain strike his back, and an image began to form in his mind; an image he had not expected, but welcomed, an image of Titchi, first leading him from the water on the day he awoke among the Spirit People, then of her face above his as he lay in the healer’s mud bath.
Rain began to fall hard around him and it eased the pain in his back. In moments he was completely drenched. He forced himself to his feet and resumed walking. At first walking in the rain was pleasant but after a while it slowly began to turn in to one more ordeal. He trudged on through the rain, hoping that he would soon arrive at his destination.
It took a few more hours of walking before he arrived at the encampment, the last of which was in darkness; an altogether frightening experience, after the Shaman’s warning.
Finally he spotted a fire ahead through the rain and he dragged his feet forward until he could see the Shaman, and several other men and boys around a large fire, beneath a thatch roofed shelter.
Once Draco arrived at the encampment the Shaman offered him a small meal wrapped in a banana leaf and a wooden cup of water, which Draco accepted. He was then directed to a small lean-to a short distance from the central camp. Draco nodded and went there directly.
Draco was wet, and angry and thoroughly exhausted, but he suspected that complaining would not get him anywhere so he climbed under the protection from the rain, ate his meal quickly, and collapsed on the grass mat. Almost immediately he was asleep.
The next morning the Shaman shook him awake early. Draco rubbed his eyes and stretched. The Shaman handed him the leather bag, which had obviously been refilled and once again simply said “follow me.”
They walked a short distance to where there were four sticks pressed into the ground. The sticks formed a rectangle about three meters long by one meter wide. The Shaman picked up a stick from the ground and shaking his staff at it transformed it into a shovel. He handed it to Draco, saying, “We need a hole.”
Draco tired still from the long walk the day before and a restless night’s sleep on a grass mat just starred at the Shaman as though he didn’t understand. “It needs to be as deep as your shoulders,” the Shaman said.
“Why can’t you just do it by magic?” Draco asked.
The Shaman laughed, and then he spoke, “Magic is not always the right way Dracho.” He began to walk away, “dig, Dracho, dig.” Draco could hear him still laughing lightly as he went.
Draco pushed the shovel blade into the ground half-heartedly. After a while he had managed to break through the whole surface defining the space and started digging more easily into the compacted ground. As he worked he complained to himself growing more and more upset. He found the work pointless and demeaning. He wished he had his wand and could just do it with magic but he assumed it was a test of some kind so he persisted.
That first hole had taken Draco fully three days to complete. The Shaman had checked on him a few times each day, saying very little, but was obviously unhappy at the pace of the work. By the end of the first day Draco’s hands were blistered and he complained, but nothing had been said accept to continue his digging.
Draco continued to grow more and more upset, but his outbursts were patiently ignored. He received only small amounts of food each day, and he continued to have no interaction with anyone but the Shaman.
Once the hole was completed, he was taken to a new location and asked to dig another the very next day. After his third hole he was asked to clear stones from a field and put them in a pile. This task had taken up almost two weeks. He hated it, and he hated the Shaman more and more with each new task; a fact that the Shaman didn’t seem to mind in the slightest.
Once Draco had had a huge outburst during which he had attempted to break the shovel over a rather large stone in the field, and used some particularly foul language. The Shaman had simply magically dowsed him with cold water, told him he was still a child, instructed him to look at the work with pride and left laughing.
It had been like that for three weeks now. Draco had quit complaining, as it achieved nothing. He still slept and ate away from the others. He was constantly exhausted, but at least the actual physical labor had become easier, he was able to accomplish more in less time as his strength improved, but he felt very alone.
Draco didn’t see that he was receiving any training and this angered him. He was plagued by nightly dreams that replayed events of his life, and he didn’t like these memories. Or maybe it was that when he looked at his memories with detachment, he didn’t like the image of himself that he saw. He wanted to quit, but quitting didn’t seem to be an option. So now, he was digging yet another hole; this, the largest one yet.
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Chapter Fourteen
Hermione’s Happy Place
Chapter 15: Chapter 14 - Hermione's Happy Place
Author's Notes: Something has been heavy on Hermione's mind, and Harry has noticed, so there is no hiding from it anymore. Harry takes Hermione, Ginny, Lupin, Tonks, Bill and Fleur to the Manor. He has surprises in store. Plus, what is Ron getting himself into now.
I do hope you enjoy this chapter.
Strictly speaking it could be considered fluff, but there is more there if you look a little deeper.
Happy reading!
Hermione’s Happy Place
Hermione was curled on the window seat in Ginny’s room. She was staring out the window, uncharacteristically morose. Around her feet lay several editions of the Daily Prophet, which she had read through a number of times.
The last week and a half had been particularly newsworthy. First, in the July fourth edition, had been the account of the attempted escape of Death Eaters discovered within the Ministry. The banner headline read “CHOSEN ONE SAVES MINISTRY” and featured a large photograph of Harry casting a spell in the heat of the conflict.
The article had differed substantially from the first hand accounts Hermione had heard from Ginny, Moody, and Harry himself, but did give a fairly accurate tally of the lives that had been lost in the conflict.
Two smaller articles in that same edition had also been of interest. First, was an article that covered the appointment of Minerva McGonagall, as the new Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry; which had also detailed some faculty appointments, along with giving a calendar for the coming term. The second was an article in which Rufus Scrimgeour had discussed the Ministry’s plans to form a standing army in defense of Wizarding Britain against “He-who-must-not-be-named.”
Four days later, had come the exclusive interview of Harry Potter, by Imani Newell. This had been an extensive piece covering much more of Harry’s life, history, and opinions than he had ever before discussed publicly. In it he had expressly asked that he not be referred to as “The Chosen One.” He had judiciously answered questions on all sorts of topics, from being raised by Muggles, to his relationship with Albus Dumbledore. He had even been asked about the nature of his relationship with the Weasley family, most specifically Ron, and with a Muggle-born girl named Hermione Granger. This he had simply explained as, fellow Gryffindors and his two closest friends from Hogwarts, and avoided very much detail.
Harry had supported the Minister’s plan to form a defensive army, and he had discussed the identity of Tom Riddle, who had later re-named himself, Lord Voldemort. He had suggested that people use the given name, and quit building fear by accepting anything else. It had been an amazingly forthcoming interview, though very carefully planned not to build mystique in the idea that Harry was somehow destined to save the Wizarding world.
The rest of the Prophet that day was devoted almost exclusively to articles about the interview, featuring analysis of what had and hadn’t been said. There were also, a number of exposs featuring wild speculation about things like Harry’s favorite foods, favorite hangouts, sense of fashion, and about his love life, most of which had been entirely inaccurate.
Ginny had been particularly upset about the “love life” expos, not because of who Harry had been linked to, but because she had failed to make the list. It had not helped that Harry was rather relieved by that fact.
Then, on July eleventh had come the news of the attack on the town of Beaujardin in France, and the leveling of Beauxbatons Palace.
Accompanying articles had featured interviews with Henri Deforest, Mayor of Beaujardin, and Madame Maxime, Headmistress of the former Beauxbatons Academy of Magic.
The attacks, by all accounts had been brutal and the deaths had been many. The enemy forces had included Giants, Trolls, Werewolves and Vampires, among a host of other magical creatures, all commanded by “The Dark Lord.”
An account had been given of a meeting between the interviewees and Severus Snape in which several demands had been made, and ultimately rejected.
Worst of all, the land on which the palace of Beauxbatons had once stood had been cursed. It was said that the Dark Lord had appeared and performed the curses himself at the conclusion of the battle.
The French Ministry had not responded to requests for comment on the atrocities, but it was rumored that a proclamation of war might soon be issued.
There were also articles covering several other attacks in towns throughout Eastern Europe. There were mountains of speculation about just how much power Voldemort had obtained across the European continent. It was clear that at the very least he now controlled the Wizarding leadership in Albania, the former Yugoslavia, Bulgaria, and Romania. His influence and power were clearly growing.
Hermione had gotten in the habit of reading every printed word of the Prophet to make sure she did not miss anything. It had become a part of her role, to stay on top of the news and keep Ron and Harry, and now Ginny, current. To be the one that looked for connections, and always had the facts at hand. She didn’t mind it, no, she actually loved it. It was who she was, it was who she had always been and she wouldn’t trade her adventures with the boys for anything.
Hermione loved the boys, ever since first year. She loved them both, and now, she had to admit to herself that she was “in love” with Ron as well. Her life was a wonder, she was part of something much bigger than herself, but it had come at a price; a truly dreadful price that caught her off guard, that she had not been prepared to pay. She felt a tear creep down her cheek and she sobbed lightly.
There was a light knock at the open door. Hermione hastily wiped her face and turned, getting up suddenly as Harry entered the room.
“Hermione?” Harry’s voice was gentle and full of concern.
“Harry, oh,” her voice caught a little, “I was just coming down.” She crossed the room toward the door.
“Hermione, wait.” Harry said. She stopped still. “Hermione, something is wrong. I know you, I know whatever it is you think you need to deal with it on your own,” he began.
“No, Harry,” Hermione objected, but Harry raised a hand to stop her.
“Hermione,” Harry continued, somewhat sternly, “I have known there is something since the night we opened the lock-box. But so much has been happening, well, I sort of let it go... But, I haven’t forgotten, and now I find you up here crying.” He motioned to the window seat. “It’s me, Hermione, whatever it is, trust me.”
Hermione stood motionless staring blankly at Harry. Her expression began to soften and then tears rolled from her eyes. “It’s... It’s my parents.” Her voice cracked and she sobbed deeply. “They’ve kicked me out!”
“WHAT?” Harry replied, much more loudly than he intended. From what little Harry knew about the Grangers, this seemed a complete impossibility.
Hermione was sobbing into her hands. Harry crossed to the door and closed it, then he lead Hermione back to the window seat and sat her down. He sat across from her on the opposite end.
“Tell me what this is all about,” Harry said. After a minute Hermione got control of herself and tearfully poured out her secret to Harry.
“Well, it all started in Greece, after we came home from Dumbledore’s funeral,” Hermione began. It didn’t take Harry long to grasp what had happened. Hearing it was one thing, believing it was another.
While the Grangers were vacationing in Greece, her parents had questioned Hermione for details about the death of the school’s headmaster. They had received a letter from Hogwarts, just as all the parents did.
Hermione had decided that it was time to tell her parents all about the goings on of the Wizarding world and about her adventures at Hogwarts over the past six years. She knew that there was a possibility that they could become targets themselves and so she knew the truth would have to come out, because they would have to consider going into hiding for their own safety.
Hermione had told them all about Harry, and the stories about “the boy who lived.” About the evil wizard, Tom Riddle, who had fashioned a new name for himself and killed Harry’s parents. She told them how she had met Harry Potter and his friend Ron Weasley, and how they had all become the best of friends. She told them about how each year at Hogwarts had been an adventure in thwarting this wizard’s return, and how during the fourth year, Voldemort had managed to kidnap Harry and use his blood to complete a re-birthing potion and so achieved nearly human form again.
Hermione had tried to stress how important it was that this wizard be defeated, and that she was part of a secret order devoted to this goal.
Harry, was a bit dumbfounded by all of this, but listened carefully.
“I didn’t tell them about the prophecy, or the horcruxes, or anything truly secret,” Hermione assured Harry.
According to Hermione, after that her parents asked a lot of questions for a few days and then they started asking about her plans for after she completed Hogwarts. She had to eventually admit to them that she was planning to seek some sort of a job at the Ministry of Magic.
After that they talked a lot about their own ambitions for her, going on to University, becoming a Doctor, or Lawyer, or something else acceptably Muggle oriented. Their discussions had become increasingly tense. They admitted that they were proud that she was a witch, and they had always seen it as a distinct advantage in her life, but they had never thought that Hermione would choose to live and work within the Wizarding community.
Mr. and Mrs. Granger had expected that once Hogwarts was completed Hermione would rejoin “normal society,” was the expression her father had used. They had never suspected that their daughter would ever be caught up in something as truly dangerous as the stories that she had told them. They were extremely frightened and disappointed.
After they had all returned from Greece, apparently Hermione’s parents had told her they had decided that she should not return to Hogwarts in the fall. Her father had presented her with a couple of alternatives for completing studies, and they had told her that they could not allow her to continue to place herself in danger.
When Hermione had refused their suggestions there had been quite a row. They had argued for several hours and finally her parents had told her that they could not condone her choices and that if she insisted on pursuing her path in this whole affair that she would have to do it without their consent, or support.
Hermione had told them, that they couldn’t understand what was really at stake and that she could not do as they wished. Their response had been to cut her off. If she was going, they had said she needed to be prepared to do so completely on her own, and that she would not be welcome to return unless she was willing to do as they insisted.
Mr. and Mrs. Granger were adamant, and had not altered their position the next morning, so Hermione had left them a long letter trying to explain, and come to The Burrow.
When she was done speaking she sobbed again heavily and wiped her face with her sleeve.
“Hermione,” Harry said after a brief silence, “I am so sorry. But, why have you been keeping all of this a secret?”
“I’m not sure Harry,” she replied “I didn’t want to burden anyone else... I really don’t know what I am going to do. I know the Weasley’s will insist that I stay here until school begins. I have some savings, but not enough to pay for a place to live, or even to cover the tuition at Hogwarts.”
“I am sure your parents are just frightened, if you give it some time they will come around, they love you too much not to,” Harry said firmly.
Harry stood up and pulled Hermione to her feet. “And as for a place to live, well, you can’t very well imagine me living in the Manor alone can you? You can have any room you want, I insist.”
“Oh Harry!” Hermione exclaimed. She threw her arms around his shoulders and hugged him, burying her face in his shoulder as she sobbed, though now with a bit of relief, as well.
Harry returned the hug with genuine affection. “It will all work out Hermione, I am sure of it.” He said as he rubbed her back gently trying to comfort her.
After a moment something occurred to Harry and he asked. “What was that about tuition at Hogwarts?”
“What? Hermione replied, momentarily confused.
In that instant, the door to the bedroom flew open and Ginny rushed in.
“Hermione, have you seen Har...?” she was asking as she entered.
Ginny stopped still, not finishing the name, she was staring right at them both, a look of confusion on her face.
Hermione looked up from Harry’s shoulder and seeing Ginny, stepped back awkwardly from his embrace.
“What’s...?” Ginny started angrily but paused, seeing Hermione’s eyes and the obvious tears on Harry’s shoulder, her expression completely changed to concern. “What’s Ron done?” she said. Ginny crossed the space between her and Hermione quickly and hugged her.
“No... It’s not Ron,” Hermione choked out.
“Well, then... please tell me what’s going on.” Ginny implored.
They sat back in the window seat and Harry pulled a chair from Ginny’s desk.
Hermione quickly explained, giving Ginny an abbreviated version of what she had just told Harry.
When she was done Ginny looked positively scandalized. “This will all blow over,” she said. “They need a bit of time to come around.”
“See, Hermione,” Harry cut in. “That’s what I said,” He smiled at Ginny, who responded in kind.
“In the mean time you can stay here with us, until Harry can move into the Manor proper, and then you can stay there with him,” Ginny said.
Harry smiled at Hermione, rolled his eyes, and shrugged, slightly.
“What?” Ginny asked seeing Harry.
Hermione laughed a little at the two of them. “You’re just saying exactly what Harry said.”
“Oh? That’s just because I can read his mind,” Ginny winked.
“In any case,” Harry cut in again. “The whole reason I came up here looking for you Hermione, was I want you to come to the Manor today. I think now, it would cheer you up.”
“I would like that Harry,” Hermione replied.
Ginny got up and grabbed Harry by the arm pulling him from the chair and directing him to the door. “Just give us a few minutes to get Hermione freshened up and we’ll be right down,” she whispered.
Remus Lupin had arrived while Harry was talking with Hermione, and he had Tonks with him. They were having a late morning tea in the sitting room with Bill and Fleur.
Harry came down the steps to warm greetings all around. He took a seat and helped himself to a biscuit from the tea tray.
Harry had visited the Manor only twice since he had first gone there and inadvertently spent the night. He would have liked to go more often, but it had been difficult for Lupin to get away and act as an escort, which is what Harry had agreed to during that first visit. During those two visits he had done some exploring, but mostly he had just sat and talked to his Grandparents’ portraits. They had explained everything they could think of about the Manor, and Harry had some surprises in store for this visit. He was feeling a bit anxious to get going.
“Harry,” Lupin addressed him. “I hope you don’t mind that I’ve brought Tonks along today, she had the time free and I told her I thought it would be okay.”
“Oh, it’s fine,” he smiled at the two of them. “In fact.” He turned to Bill and Fleur, “Why don’t the two of you come as well?”
“Oh, ‘Arry, zat would be magnifique.” Fleur answered for them both. Harry had thought that she in particular had wanted to visit again.
“Well then,” Harry said, “Once Hermione and Ginny come down, I guess we have everyone.”
Harry had wanted Ron to come as well, but he had needed to go work for his brothers at the shop. He had been taking too much time off from his summer job in order to spend as much time as possible with Hermione over the past week. While Fred and George had been very understanding and accommodating, they had insisted that they just couldn’t spare him today and so Ron had gotten up early and grudgingly headed out to work.
Ron arrived through the public floo grate in Diagon Alley. There were not many shoppers out yet, but he suspected that today would be another busy day. The recent news items had seemed to have the effect of making people more comfortable to be out and about. The incident at the Ministry seemed to suggest that it had been purged of Death Eater activity. That, coupled with the evidence that Voldemort was preoccupied with activity in continental Europe, and the uplifting nature of Harry’s interview, all was having a positive effect on the Wizarding community. That meant people were out shopping.
Ron turned quickly to the right and headed down the alley, which was not the direction of his brothers’ shop. He hurried along excitedly fingering the heavy coin purse in his pocket. His brothers had actually been paying him pretty well and in the short four weeks he had worked for them he had already managed to save sixty galleons. He knew exactly what he wanted to do with that money.
Ron arrived at his destination and looking around, not really wanting to be noticed, he ducked in.
The shop Ron entered was very clean and well lit. There was a thick emerald carpet runner the length of the shop, surrounded on three sides by counter height glass cases. A handsome witch was seated on a stool at the far end of the shop on the opposite side of the cases. She quickly got off of her stool and greeted Ron. “Welcome to Peninnah Promise, fine Jewelry. How may I help you?”
Ron’s feet wouldn’t move and his throat went dry. The Witch stepped closer and recognized him. “Oh, Ron, isn’t it? Ron Weasley?” she asked. “Are you here about your Brother Bill’s rings?”
Ron, found his voice. “No. I mean, yes I am Ron, but no I am not here about Bill’s order.” He still didn’t move.
The Witch smiled kindly, noting his obvious nervousness. “Well then,” She said in a very soothing tone. “What may I help you with, Ron?”
“I want to look at rings... Muggle style engagement rings,” Ron cleared his throat, which seemed to have the effect of un-sticking his feet. “I noticed when I was in here with Fleur and my Mother earlier, that you carry some.”
“Of course, they’re just over here.” She directed him to a specific jewelry case. “As you know, common Wizarding tradition does not usually include an engagement ring. But we have found that they are very popular when one intends to marry a Muggle-born witch, or even for those who choose to marry a Muggle.” She paused, looking at Ron with a kindly questioning gaze. “May I inquire about the lucky girl?”
“She’s Muggle-born,” Ron said. “And, I think she would appreciate following the Muggle tradition,” He smiled. “But, she is a very practical sort, so nothing too flashy.”
“Very good,” the Witch responded. “Well, all the rings in this case are self-sizing enchanted, so do you see anything you think she would like?”
Ron peered into the case, looking at the many beautiful rings. Finally he saw one that he rather liked. “May I see that one?” he pointed.
The Witch opened the case and drew out the one Ron had indicated. She set it on the counter so that Ron could get a closer look. “A wonderful choice,” she said. “This is a lovely ring, beautiful, but certainly not ostentatious. It is a gently gliding white gold ribbon topped with a trio of small round diamonds on either side of the square cut center diamond.” She pulled the ring from its case and handed it to Ron to hold. “You have excellent taste.”
“May I,” Ron stammered a little “may I ask how much it is?”
The Witch checked the bottom of the ring box. “This one is only 300 galleons,” she replied.
“Do you offer any purchase plans?” Ron asked, handing the ring back to the Witch.
“Certainly, we can place any item on hold and take payments,” she replied. “We also offer an exchange service on any purchases, if for any reason the girl in question should prefer another style.”
Ron nodded. He thrust his hand into his pocket, drawing out his coin purse. “Can I put sixty galleons on it today?”
“That would be perfect, and will you be making additional payments weekly, monthly?” The Witch asked.
“Monthly,” Ron said after a small pause.
“Very good, I’ll just write this up then?”
Ron nodded, smiling.
It took a few short minutes for the Witch to fill out a hold agreement and give Ron his receipt. He thanked her, walked to the front door, looked carefully both ways and exited the shop. He moved quickly up the alley toward Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, and was soon inside.
The familiar spring bell sounded and Fred and George appeared from different sides of the shop. “Glad you could finally make it,” Fred said as Ron headed to the back of the store, still unable to wipe the grin from his face. “You’re late.” Fred and George said in unison.
From the look of things the Manor had been meticulously cleaned and polished top to bottom; which, of course, is exactly what had happened. Jarvy was proudly leading the small group on a tour. They had started at the grand foyer at the portrait of Deyton and Philomena, after warm greetings and repeat introductions; they had walked up the main stairs to the second floor.
They were walking down a long corridor going slowly to accommodate Bill who had graduated from a crutch to a cane. The corridor was a light cream color and populated by a series of small stands topped with bright bouquets of fresh flowers, between doorways. “This is the main wing of sleeping rooms,” Jarvy was saying. “The Master suite is the last room at the end.”
“Oow many rooms are zere?” Fleur asked. She was particularly excited about this visit.
“There are seven rooms in this wing,” Jarvy said, as he opened the door to the first room.
The room was quite large, beautifully decorated with dark oak Victorian furniture. There was a large wardrobe, a desk and chair, a four poster bed and a sitting area beyond. The walls were a subtle olive green below and an elaborate floral patterned wall paper above. All of the fabrics were beautifully matched so that the room achieved a comfortable, relaxing harmony.
“Mistress Philomena, is always very particular about the decorating,” Jarvy said as he entered the room, waving them in. “There are five rooms like this on this floor, each has it’s own bathing and dressing rooms, and each is decorated in a different color scheme.”
As Jarvy spoke Ginny, Hermione and Fleur were rapidly moving through the spaces, “oowing” and “aahing” at the detailed finishing and decorations.
“Why is the Manor so large,” Tonks asked, “I mean... not to be impolite, but don’t the Potters only ever have a single child every generation?”
Jarvy did not seem fazed by the question, and Harry, was just as curious to hear the answer as everyone else. “That, unfortunately has always been true for as long as I am aware of the Potter family history,” Jarvy began, “However, this house has been the Potter family home for three generations, not counting Master Harry and his father who never knew the Manor.
The Potters have always been very generous, when it comes to having house guests.” Jarvy seemed excited to talk about the Manor, and all the things that had gone on there. “The most elaborate celebrations and balls have taken place in this home, sometimes with guests staying on for months at a time.” Jarvy continued. “Please feel free to look at as many of the rooms as you like,” Jarvy stepped back into the corridor, motioning down the length of the hall. “Though the last door on the right is Master Harry’s private suite, no one enters there without his personal permission.”
The girls set off to explore some of the rooms leaving Lupin, Bill and Harry, standing in the corridor with Jarvy.
“How many bedrooms are there Jarvy?” Bill asked.
Jarvy looked up at Harry as though checking that he was not speaking too much. Harry smiled and nodded. “There are five sleeping rooms on this floor, along with the nursery suite and the Master’s suite. The floor above has ten rooms of similar size. There are four larger guest suites in the North wing on this level and another ten rooms on the floor above that, so total there are thirty-one sleeping rooms in the Manor.” Jarvy continued, “However, on the attic level of this wing there is a single large room that could accommodate many bunks if it were necessary. And the North attic houses Jarvy’s personal rooms and House-elf quarters.”
“I had no idea it would be so big,” Bill said after a short pause. He turned to Harry, “How much of it have you been able to explore during your previous visits?”
“Not all of it, but a fair bit,” Harry said. “We’ve already had the tour,” Harry indicated Lupin with a slight wave of his hand.
“’Arry, et ez all so marvelous!” Fleur exclaimed excitedly as she returned to Bill’s arm, “I was not expecting et to be so lovely, and so grand.”
“I am very happy you like it,” Harry replied graciously.
“Harry, I’m going to show Hermione the room where I slept,” Ginny enthused, almost giddily. “It was in the other wing,” she said to Hermione, whose arm she was holding, practically dragging her around.
“Go right ahead,” Harry responded. He was very glad to see Hermione smiling, especially after the events of the morning.
Ginny raced away toward the North wing, Hermione in tow.
“Jarvy,” Harry turned back to the House-elf. “Why don’t you take our guests to the drawing room, through the Ballrooms and Dining rooms? I think lunch on the patio might be very nice.”
“Very good, Sir,” Jarvy replied contentedly. It was obvious that he was thoroughly enjoying having the Manor coming back to life again.
“There is something I want to show Hermione while she is in the right part of the house,” Harry said to the others. “Do you mind?” Harry asked, not really expecting any objections. “I’ll meet you all on the patio in a few minutes.”
“Go on then,” Lupin replied. We’ll take the four-knut tour and meet you there.”
“It’s really all brilliant Harry.” Tonks said, as Jarvy lead them toward the central stairs.
Harry ran down the corridor to catch up the girls. He found them exploring the suite that Ginny had been in on the night they had stayed at the Manor. It was the first of the guest suites and Harry found Ginny and Hermione in the dressing area examining some of the charmed items that populated it. Ginny was seated at the dressing table letting the brush and comb tend her hair, as Hermione was in one of the alcoves looking at gowns.
“Harry, it’s all so amazing!” Hermione said enthusiastically as she noticed Harry enter the room.
“Overwhelming is more like it really,” Harry replied, a tone of truth evident in his voice.
“Yes, I suppose it must be.” Hermione replied empathetically, unable to squelch her smile as she ran her hand along a lovely silk gown.
“Do you like the suite?” Harry asked.
“It’s brilliant,” Hermione nodded.
“Good, it can be yours if you like,” Harry said. “Unless of course Ginny wants it to be reserved for her own use, if she is ever allowed to visit again,” Harry winked at Ginny as she turned in her seat. Before any reply was made, Harry continued. “If you two are done here, there’s something else I would especially like to show you, Hermione.”
Ginny and Hermione followed Harry out of the suite and down the corridor through a set of double doors into another hallway running at an angle to the first. This hallway was filled with what seemed to be Muggle paintings, as none appeared to have moving occupants. Hermione had the feeling she had stepped into an Art Museum. She slowed a bit wanting to look more closely at some of the informational plaques, but Harry continued through the space and Ginny tugged at her to keep up.
“Do you know where Harry’s taking us?” Hermione whispered to Ginny.
“Nope,” was Ginny’s only reply, but Hermione could tell she was excited to get there, wherever there was.
Harry came to large, arched double doors at what seemed to be the end of the museum like space. He stood in front of the doors, placing his hands on the knobs.
“Hermione,” he said ceremoniously. Hermione felt a chill of anticipation, her curiosity piquing. Harry pushed the doors open wide. “Welcome to the Library.”
Hermione’s eyes widened and her jaw dropped. She could hardly move. Ginny nudged her into her first step and she managed to slowly enter the space, Harry and Ginny following behind her.
Hermione was awestruck. She had never seen so many books in her life. They had entered on the second floor of what appeared to be a huge oval room. All around her were long shelves of books lining the whole of the second level. She crossed to the banister and looked into the open space. There were three floors of books. At the opposite end of the space was a huge set of windows reaching the full height of all three floors. Above was a glass dome supported by narrow columns reaching all the way to the first floor. It flooded the whole room with natural light. The oval appeared to be at least sixty meters across and about forty wide. Every ten meters was a cast brass circular staircase winding between levels.
Hermione turned back to Harry, rewarding him with exactly the heavenly expression he had anticipated; the events of the morning clearly forgotten in the present excitement. “My god, Harry! It’s glorious!”
“When my Grandmother told me it was here, I knew you were the one who had to see it Hermione,” Harry said. “I think it is at least twice the size of Hogwart’s Library.”
Hermione rushed Harry and hugged him. Ginny stepped back from his arm to let him hug her back. It only lasted a few moments, but it was the greatest heartfelt “Thank you” Hermione could muster through her excitement. She pulled away, and immediately moved to one of the shelves, running her hand along the hard polished wood.
At the end of each shelf unit was a brass plaque with an alphanumeric designation, this one was 2A. Above each plague was a small, hand sized, carved face in relief, not quite human in appearance, but kindly looking. It appeared to be sleeping. Hermione ran her hand across the carving gently feeling the depth of it.
Suddenly the face moved, its eyes blinking awake and its mouth yawning open. Hermione stepped back momentarily startled. A gentle, almost elf-like high voice whispered “May I help you Miss? What sort of book are you looking for?”
Hermione stepped forward again curiously. “Oh... Um, excuse me for waking you. I was just curious.”
“That is quite alright Miss. I have books on Arithmancy on my shelves. From Artemus Arccot’s ‘Arcs on a Circle, the Importance of Precision in Magical Seals,’ to Hayden Heron’s ‘The Triangular Box’.”
Hermione stood there in amazement. “Spectacular,” she whispered. Ginny and Harry chuckled.
“If you have any sort of research agenda, Hermione, I suspect this is a place to begin.” Harry said.
“I should think so!” Hermione replied as she turned and headed to the nearest staircase. Harry and Ginny followed as she descended to the first floor.
Here the shelving units were two deep and the center of the room was filled with several tables and chairs, in neat rows. At the far end of the Library beneath the expansive window was a lounge area filled with overstuffed chairs. Along the outer walls of the first floor, between equally spaced windows where tall display cases filled with hundreds of objects, from small curiosities to genuine artifacts, and near the center just off the ends of the shelves were display cases with various rare and one-of-a-kind books preserved under glass.
Harry and Ginny stopped near the tables and watched as Hermione moved around the space running her hands across all the wood surfaces as if to assure herself that it was all real. Finally she randomly pulled a large leather bound tome from one of the shelves and brought it back to the table where Harry and Ginny were standing. She set the book on the table and without noting the title simply opened it and started reading. “I could spend years in here,” she said looking up at them.
“I’m sure you could, but I did tell the others we would meet them in a few minutes,” Harry replied.
Hermione frowned at him.
“But, you can come back you know.”
Hermione smiled broadly.
“There is a problem with the Library though.” Harry said.
Both Ginny and Hermione looked at him curiously. “What could possibly be wrong here?” Hermione asked.
“Well, the house has been closed since 1920, so there have been no books added to the collection from that time on. My Grandmother seemed particularly distressed by that fact.” Harry stated. “Someone needs to start ordering books.”
Hermione’s eye lit up again, her mind clearly calculating the possibilities. “I’ll do it!” she exclaimed.
“I thought you might be willing.” Harry smiled. “Now, just one more thing and we really must go.” Harry reached into his jumper pocket and pulled out a small cellophane bag and handed it to Hermione.
Hermione looked at it. It was a bag of various colored sugar gumdrops.
“What’s this for?” she asked. “I don’t really care for such sweets.”
Harry pointed up toward the ceiling. “Set one on the table, and watch.”
Hermione pulled a red gumdrop from the bag and set it on the table by the open book. Then she focused on the ceiling where Harry had pointed.
At the ceiling line all along the base of the domed glass was a heavy ledge, from which a thick blanket of foliage was growing. It hung down in several places and was speckled with small brightly colored blooms. As she watched there seemed to be movement in several places, a sort of translucent fluttering. Soon there were several small creatures darting about. From the distance they appeared to be humming birds.
As they watched one of the small creatures began to spiral downward tentatively. As it got closer Hermione could see it more clearly. At first she thought it looked a bit like the Cornish Pixies they had encountered during their second year DADA class with Gilderoy Lockheart, but this was a much more delicate creature with more graceful limbs and less angular features. The creature slowly approached and landed on the table near the book and gumdrop.
She was very thin with distinctly pinkish coloring and gossamer wings. Atop her head instead of hair was a mass of what appeared to be delicate downy feathers. Her large eyes blinked at them. She bowed, seemed to smile broadly and trilled at them, a very happy inquisitive sound.
She moved toward the gumdrop and looked expectantly at Hermione.
“Yes, it’s for you.” Hermione whispered. The little Pixie picked up the gumdrop in both hands and popped it whole into her tiny mouth, her cheeks bulging comically. Then she pointed at the book and motioned to the shelves. “Oh, would you please?” Hermione replied to the unspoken question.
The little Pixie, still smacking on the gumdrop in her mouth, heaved the cover of the book closed, took it by the binding and though aerodynamically impossible, flew it back to its place on the shelf. Then she smiled and waved, and darted back up toward the ceiling.
“She was beautiful Harry.” Ginny said. Hermione nodded in agreement.
“Grandmother says they live here in the Library. Up there.” He pointed to the ceiling. “Strictly speaking the sweets aren’t necessary, but clearly they are appreciated.” He chuckled. “If you want to leave a book out, you need to leave an unshelled chestnut on it otherwise I guess they will put everything back in its proper place.”
“Is the entire Manor going to be such a wondrous place as this?” Ginny asked.
“I shouldn’t be surprised,” Hermione answered speculatively.
“Well we’d best go catch up with the others,” Harry said as he began to turn toward the door.
“Harry,” Hermione said. “I’m going to need a big bag of chestnuts,” she was still staring at the ceiling.
Harry chuckled again, reaching for Ginny’s hand and giving it a gentle tug. “We’ll ask Jarvy,” he said.
Back on the patio Jarvy had laid out an extensive lunch buffet. When Harry, Ginny and Hermione arrived the others had already begun to serve themselves. They filled plates and joined them at the table.
Fleur was going on about the size of the Manor’s main Ballroom and from the conversation it was clear that they had visited the extensive gardens as well.
“So, has Moody come to any decisions about the Manor?” Bill was asking Lupin.
“He was here the second time I brought Harry. He and I did an extensive sweep of the grounds while Harry visited with his grandparents portraits.” Lupin said. “I think he’s convinced that the Manor is nothing more than it is presented to be.”
“Has he said anything to you Harry?” Bill asked.
Harry looked up from his plate. He was hungrier than he had thought when he first filled his plate. “Yes, he said I can move in on my Birthday. But, he wants me to have at least two members of the Order stay here with me at all times. At least until Voldemort is no longer a threat.” Harry smiled.
“Zat ez wonderful!” Fleur said. She was nudging Bill in the side.
“That is wonderful Harry, though I think Mom will miss having you at The Burrow.” Bill said, “And Ron, of course.”
“Well, for now the only way to and from the Manor is going to remain The Burrow pantry, so I think I will still see plenty of your mother, not to mention all of the Weasleys.” Harry squeezed Ginny’s hand beneath the table. “And, I have plenty of room here, so I was thinking that I would ask Ron to stay here with me, if your parents think it is alright.”
“Well, he is seventeen already, so they probably won’t object, too much.” Bill chuckled, “But you don’t want Mom thinking you’re stealing all her youngest away.” Bill winked at Ginny.
“Will you be okay here Harry?” Tonks asked. “I mean, this place is huge, won’t you feel a bit lost?”
Harry chuckled a little. “It is huge, especially for a boy who spent the first ten years of his life sleeping in a cupboard. I’m still getting used to it, but it is home... and it feels like home.” Harry paused. “Besides, it seems that I will have plenty of others here with me.” He looked over at Hermione. “Hermione is going to move in here, so will Ron I hope, and I was thinking maybe the two members of the Order could be you and Moony?” he asked.
“Harry,” Lupin cut in, “I am not sure that would be such a good idea, after all, I am... well, it can be dangerous.”
“Ah, well, I can only ask.” Harry set his fork down. “But, if you’re worried, I happen to know that the Manor can accommodate your needs.”
Lupin looked at Harry quizzically, then, he smiled. “I suppose it can. Alright Harry, if that is what you want, we can give it a go.”
“Tonks?” Harry asked.
“Blimey Harry, I never expected... Well, sure I would be honored!” Tonks nodded.
“Well, it seems like you’ll have a full house Harry.” Bill said.
Harry smiled.
“There is something more I would like to ask you.” Bill continued. “Fleur and I were wondering, would you consider letting us have the wedding here at the Manor?”
“Oh please ‘Arry!” Fleur said pleadingly “Et would be so beautiful!”
Harry smiled at her. “Hmm, I should have thought of that myself.” Ginny squeezed his hand beneath the table. “I would be happy to, but it seems to me we will have to run it by more than me. What will your Mum think Bill?”
“Well, we’ll have to break it to her gently I suspect.” Bill responded.
“And we’ll have to work out some security. Moody will probably be furious with me. And I would like to talk to my Grandparents about it.” Harry paused. “And one other.” Harry paused a second time. Then in a somewhat commanding tone he said, “Jarphred.”
There was a “pop” and the House-elf appeared behind Harry. “Yes, Master Harry?”
“Jarvy, do you think we could throw a big wedding here at the house?” Harry asked.
Jarvy’s eyes widened and a delighted smile crept across his lips.
“And, of course there will have to be tea parties beforehand, and a reception, not to mention a dance, and of course probably a bunch of house guests.” Harry went on.
Jarvy bowed slightly. “Of course we can accommodate whatever is required, Master.” Jarvy looked like he was about to burst with excitement.
“Oh! ‘Arry, you are marvelous!” Fleur was up from her seat and came around to Harry, hugging him in his seat. “Zank you, zank you, you would do so much for me. Zank you so, so much!”
Fleur hugged Harry happily for a moment longer, and then she returned to her place and took Bill by the hand. “We, must go and talk to your Mothair immediately, we have so much planning to do.” She practically pulled Bill to his feet.
“Thank you Harry. Thank you so much.” Bill said. “It appears Fleur and I will be leaving now. Thanks for the tour, and for lunch.”
“You are very welcome.” Harry replied.
Once they had left, Hermione asked. “Do you think it is really wise Harry?”
“I’m not sure, Hermione, but I do think it will actually be safer than having the whole thing at The Burrow.” Harry responded.
“I think you’re quite right about that Harry,” Lupin offered.
“Yes, but you’re also right, Harry, I think Moody will be furious.” Tonks said, giggling a little at the thought.
“I think it will be fun.” Ginny offered. “Besides, the Manor is clearly built for entertaining.”
“Well, you’ve certainly made Fleur happy.” Hermione said. “She couldn’t ask for a better wedding gift.”
“I dunno,” Tonks spoke, “You are talking about Fleur Delacour. She’ll come up with something more.”
They all laughed, not unkindly, but knowing that Tonks was probably right.
“Well, if we’ll all finish our lunch, we can continue exploring the Manor. I still haven’t seen a lot of the grounds,” Harry offered.
“Quite right Harry,” Lupin said, as he focused back on the food before him.
“Have you seen the Library yet?” Hermione asked Tonks, who shook her head no.
“Oh it’s marvelous, bigger than Hogwart’s, and...” Hermione went on and on, quite unlike herself as she explained the Library to Tonks and Lupin who listened indulgently.
Harry sat quietly, eating his lunch and listening to Hermione.
After lunch Hermione of course could not wait to get back to the Library. Harry and Lupin had a short discussion with Harry’s Grandparents and then Lupin and Tonks went out to the carriage house to check on something Harry’s Grandparents had mentioned.
That left Harry and Ginny to walk the grounds together. They walked hand in hand talking idly for a long time, circling the gardens and finally ending up at a stone pavilion.
Harry turned toward Ginny, taking her hands in his. “So, having a good day?”
“Of course I am,” Ginny responded, looking at her feet. “You’ve made everyone’s day Harry, what with the Library for Hermione, the wedding for Bill and Fleur, asking Tonks and Lupin to move in here. It’s all quite wonderful.”
“But... not so much for you, hey?” Harry gently lifted her chin. “You know I would have you move in too, but I really think your parents would hex me into oblivion if I dared even suggest it.”
“I get that Harry, really I do.” Ginny replied, looking him in the eyes.
Harry could see in her eyes that it really was alright. But, there was still something.
Ginny smirked. “But...” she pressed her finger to his chest. “We really have to do something about you hugging Hermione and Fleur, but not me.”
Harry laughed.
“A girl could get jealous.” Ginny winked at him.
Harry pulled Ginny into a long deep hug; which of course, turned into a kiss.
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Chapter Fifteen
Weasleys Reunited
Chapter 16: Chapter 15 - Weasleys Reunited
Author's Notes: Charlie comes home from Romania, the wedding invitations finally go out, and a bit more fun at the Manor.
Weasleys Reunited
Kyne and Hedwig were perched somewhat impatiently on the windowsill of The Burrow sitting room. They had been there since sun-up, shuffling uneasily back and forth and cooing whenever someone passed through the room. Neither had been tasked to deliver anything for well over a week, so the large stack of wedding invitations in neat envelopes on the coffee table was understandably making them a bit anxious.
Ginny stepped from the stairs, still half asleep, heading toward the kitchen. Both owls called loudly, and she stopped. She crossed to the window and stroked each bird affectionately, trilling and cooing. She noticed the stack of envelopes and spoke empathetically to the owls. “I know, I know, you want to get at the deliveries, I understand.” She trilled a bit more scratching gently at their breast feathers. “But, I’m sorry; you’ll just have to wait, like the rest of us, for Fleur to give her final okay.” Both birds looked up at Ginny with their wide dark eyes and made chittering noises that sounded to Ginny like they might have been a rather impolite complaint. The owls turned their heads toward the stack of envelopes, staring for another moment, then turned their heads back to Ginny, nudged her with genuine affection, then fluttered off into the morning mist.
Ginny pushed through the kitchen door crossing quickly toward the smell of brewing coffee.
“Good morning, Ginny, dear,” Molly said warmly to her daughter.
“Morning, Mum,” Ginny replied. “Fleur left the invitations out again,” she said a little bitterly as she filled her cup and turned to the table.
“I saw, dear,” her mother replied, looking up from the morning paper.
“Well, she’s got the whole house riled up, and now she’s even got Kyne and Hedwig upset with her,” Ginny grumbled.
“Breakfast, Mistress Ginny?” Jarvy said, appearing with a “pop.”
“Just toast please, Jarvy,” Ginny replied, “Thank you.”
Jarvy set a beautiful plate of Eggs Benedict, garnished with a sprig of mint and several sliced strawberries in front of Molly. “Your breakfast, Mrs. Weasley.”
“Thank you, Jarvy,” Molly said in a rather monotone voice.
Jarvy stepped back from the table and was gone again.
“Still trying to challenge him, Mum?” Ginny asked.
“Honestly,” Molly leaned toward Ginny and whispered, “I ask for things I know we don’t have, and he just pops off to the Manor and gets them,” she said in a defeated tone. “I appreciate him, but I really want my kitchen back.”
Ginny patted her mother’s hand with understanding. “Just a couple weeks more, Mum,” she whispered back.
Ginny sipped from her mug closing her eyes for a moment savoring the warmth; then the moment was over. She turned to her Mother, who was hidden by the turned up paper. “Anything interesting in the Prophet?” She asked.
“More terrible reports out of Eastern Europe; things are really going badly there,” Molly said, and her voice broke.
Ginny pushed the paper down and looked at her mother. Tears were starting to slip down her cheeks. “What is it Mum?” she asked with concern.
“Oh, dear,” Molly patted Ginny’s hand now, “I’m just being overly emotional.”
“It’s Charlie, isn’t it?” Ginny said knowingly, “Has something happened?”
“No... Well, at least I hope not. We just haven’t heard from him in almost two months,” Molly wiped her face with a kerchief from her apron.
Ginny got up from her chair and moved to hug her Mother.
“It’s just...” Molly sobbed, “With all that’s happened in Romania and him way up in the mountains at that Dragon Reserve. I can’t help but worry what might have happened.”
Ginny patted her Mother’s back, letting Molly hold her as firmly as she needed to. “I wouldn’t worry too much, Mum. Charlie is way too clever to get caught up in anything he can’t get out of.”
“Here, here, well said, sis!” came a strong voice through the open kitchen window.
Molly raised her head almost in shock, “Charlie?” she said.
The Garden door flew open and in walked a rather scruffy, bedraggled looking Charlie Weasley. He dropped a heavy rucksack on the floor with a thud and held out his arms for his expected hug.
“Charlie!” Molly screamed as she leaped from her chair and pulled her son into a massive embrace. “Oh Charlie is it really you? You’re here!”
“Yes, Mum, It’s really me,” he hugged her back.
The sitting room door burst open. Arthur Weasley rushed into the room, wand drawn. “What’s all this?” he was yelling. Behind him were Ron and Harry, also with wands drawn, and coming down the stairs across the room were Bill and Fleur, with Hermione close behind.
“Molly, step back,” Arthur commanded.
“But, Arthur, its Charlie,” Molly protested.
“I see, Molly, but we have to be sure,” Arthur insisted.
Charlie chuckled. “Right you are, Dad. Give me a test,” he said.
“I’ve got one,” Bill said from the doorway, “your fifth year, after the final match for the Quidditch cup, I surprised you when I found you in an alcove just outside the Griffyndor Common room. What were you doing?”
“Snogging Cassie Hedgemour,” Charlie replied with a broad grin.
Everyone in the room laughed. “That’s our Charlie,” Bill said triumphantly.
The room erupted into a flurry of welcoming hugs. There were questions about where he’d been and how he’d gotten home.
“Hang on, Hang on,” Charlie said loud enough to quiet the questions, “I’m not alone. I’ve brought company.” He stepped back to the still open door and waved in his unseen guests.
Two figures emerged from the morning mist and entered the kitchen. They were both covered by dark travelling cloaks with the hoods up, which made their appearance a little disconcerting at first. They quickly pulled back the hoods as they entered to reveal two women. Both had raven black wavy hair and bright sky blue eyes, the elder appeared to be in her mid to late thirties, had pleasantly angular features and dark olive skin. She was at least as tall as Charlie. The younger, who could not have been older than twenty, by appearance, had a rounder softer face and fuller lips with skin just slightly lighter than the elder. She was half a head shorter. They were both strikingly beautiful.
“Mom, Dad, everyone, this is Alexandrina Burgestikoff, Chief Keeper Trainer, and Second Chief Keeper, of the Romanian Dragon Reservation,” Charlie said formally.
The older of the two women bowed slightly. “There is no need to be so formal Charles. Please to call me Alex,” her voice was throaty, and heavily accented. “I believe I met your parents when they ‘wisited you at the reserve,” she nodded specifically to Molly and Arthur, who smiled with recognition.
“This is her daughter, Helena,” Charlie said, gesturing to the younger woman.
Helena curtsied; “I am very pleased to meet you all,” Helena’s voice was much softer and far less heavily accented.
Charlie took Helena’s hand. “When we were forced to flee the Reservation, I refused to leave Helena behind,” he said, smiling at the young woman, and then at his family.
“And I ‘vould not be parted, in such dark times, from my only child,” Alex added.
“I insisted that they would be welcome here,” Charlie finished.
“Of course, of course,” Arthur spoke up, “please come in, sit, eat, you all look a bit travel weary.”
Everyone crowded around the large kitchen table, which was now suddenly laden with several breakfast platters. There were introductions all around and many, many questions.
Arthur sent Patronus messages to Fred, George and Percy. About twenty minutes later the twins Apparated to The Burrow eager to see their older brother.
After everyone had finished eating, Molly offered to let Charlie and the Burgestikoffs get cleaned up, and asked if they needed to sleep, but her offer was politely refused. Charlie asked that Mad-Eye Moody be contacted. They wanted to give him a report on the situation in Romania, and both women were eager to join the Order of the Phoenix.
Upon receiving the Patronus, Moody arrived by Floo equally eager to receive their report.
Moody came through the sitting room fireplace in a swirl of green smoke and flying ash, followed by Remus Lupin. Harry suspected that Moody rather liked the more dramatic entrance of the floo as he could have easily Apparated. There were perhaps advantages to arriving inside over possibly being seen arriving outside, but as no one had ever brought it up, Harry was inclined to think it was more about drama.
Moody dashed his coat for ashes, which had the effect of creating more of a cloud around him, than clearing any actual debris from his coat. His magical eye scanned the room.
Lupin straightened himself behind the more imposing Moody.
Before any introductions could be made Alexandrina stood up, “Alastor Moody, you old reprobate. I have not seen you since the Skorzeny case in 1972, yes? You still like the dramatic entrances I see.”
The room went quiet as everyone looked between Alex and Moody. Harry could not suppress a soft chuckle, his suspicions confirmed, which brought Moody’s magical eye straight to him. He quickly straightened himself.
“Alexandrina Dalca, it’s been a long time,” Moody said, “I heard you gave up your Auror post to go chasing dragons with that boy, what was his name, Burgestikoff?”
“I married him,” Alex replied.
“And how is Grigori?” Moody asked congenially.
“Alas, he is no more, killed by his own dragons some fifteen years ago,” Alex said sadly.
The room was silent again.
“You knew my father, Sir?” Helena broke the silence.
Moody looked between mother and daughter. “And who have we here?”
“Helena Burgestikoff, Sir,” Helena stood and bowed slightly.
“Yes,” Moody looked between mother and daughter again, and then smiled kindly, in as much as it was possible for him to do so. “Yes, I knew your father before your parents were married... Only briefly, you understand. Still, I may have a few stories you would like to hear.”
Helena smiled brightly and sat back down next to Charlie.
“Now, as nice as it is to renew old acquaintances, I’m here for a report on the situation in Romania,” Moody said.
Everyone listened intently as Charlie began to explain what they had seen happening and how they had escaped.
The Wizarding Ministries in that part of the world had been, for some time, slowly falling under the influence of Lord Voldemort. While there was Death Eater activity, there seemed to be far less of it as there was already much more conflict and ethnic tension inherent in the whole of Eastern Europe.
Among the Wizards of the area, these ethnic tensions had already manifested as anti-Muggle sentiment, so the roots of Voldemort’s agenda was much nearer the surface; a flame, ready to be fanned.
As Voldemort gained more and more influence over regional leaders, there came the rise of a political faction that drew upon anti-Muggle sentiments. It grew so terrible that all Muggle-borns and suspected Mixed-bloods became subject to a registry and were eventually made to wear a badge that identified them. A yellow “M” for Muggle-born, and a red “M” for Mixed-blood. In the previous few months things had become so bad that Muggle-born Witches and Wizards were being rounded up and forced to live in particular areas separate from the rest of Wizarding society. Sanctioned gangs of “pure-blood” Wizards began scouring the country to hunt down the un-registered.
When they came to the Dragon Reserve they had a list of names, including names of suspected sympathizers.
“Alex feared that my name would be on that list,” Charlie said, “and she was right. I hid up in the mountains in one of the Dragon caves, along with other non-Romanian trainers.”
“They were very interested in capturing Charles and taking him for questioning,” Alex continued. “They separated a few of our apprentice trainees for registration, they ‘vere not kind. One of the men protested and was killed where he stood,” she paused. “When they could not find Charles, they became very angry. We told them that he had fled, along with the other international trainers at the reserve, to return to his homeland. They called us all sympathizers and threatened to take us all away, but I was able to convince them that we had been abandoned there. They burned our station and all of the buildings, and told us to go to our homes for a census.”
“After they had gone,” Charlie cut in, “we escaped across the reserve eastward. We stayed in the mountains as long as we could, following the Carpathians North into Ukraine. From there, we went east again, travelling like Muggles to avoid any magical detection. Most of the group split off to go to their respective countries. Only Hans Jorgensen remained with us. We slowly made our way into Russia and eventually north to St. Petersburg. After a few days hiding there, with Hans’ contacts, we were able to cross into Finland and get on a Muggle ship from Helsinki to Stockholm. In Sweden, Hans helped us get across the country to Oslo, where we said our goodbyes and boarded a ship from there to Newcastle. We arrived this morning and felt it would be safe to Apparate here. So, here we are.”
After the story had been told, Moody had lots of questions. They discussed the goings on in Eastern Europe in greater detail for some time.
Eventually the Twins excused themselves and left to open their shop. Molly peeled away, taking Ginny and Hermione to go make the Twins old bedroom suitable for guests.
By lunch, Moody seemed satisfied that he understood everything Charlie and the Burgestikoff’s could tell him and everyone gathered in the Kitchen for a good meal.
After lunch, before Moody and Lupin departed, Harry was able to catch them for a word about the Manor. Moody brought up a few security concerns about holding Bill and Fleur’s wedding there, but reluctantly conceded that there could be nothing nefarious found about the Manor. He agreed that Harry could visit as he liked without escort.
When Fleur came into the sitting room, complaining loudly about some fabric that was, unfortunately, unavailable, and insisting that someone must have nicked her seating chart; that was everyone’s cue to make their departures.
Harry went upstairs to retrieve the Portis Omnibus from beneath his bed. On his way back down he overhead Bill and Charlie talking in Bill’s room. His curiosity made him stop to listen.
The conversation was about women and marriage. Bill was saying something about “The Bonding” that Harry did not understand. Charlie reassured his brother that it was nothing to worry about. If it hadn’t happened yet, it surely would in its place during the ceremony. Then he confessed that it had already occurred between him and Helena, which was the whole reason that he had not returned to England alone. Bill congratulated Charlie, but Charlie quickly asked him to keep it quiet for a while so that none of the focus would come off the wedding, saying that he did not want to steal any of Fleur’s excitement. At that point, Harry felt terribly guilty that he was eavesdropping. He continued on his way down the stairs.
When Harry got to the sitting room, Fleur and Helena were sitting together going over the guest list and seating chart in rapid French. Fleur called to him and asked once more if her guests must arrive at The Burrow. Harry assured her that there was no other way, but that he and the Twins were working out a plan to make the transfer of guests to the Manor more befitting the event than coming through The Burrow kitchen. Fleur seemed unsure but agreed that she must trust Harry on this, and asked if the owls might be ready to begin delivering the invitations.
Harry nodded, then gathered up the stack of invitations and took them to the kitchen. There he, Ginny, Hermione and Ron separated them into stacks by location. There was no need to call the owls as they appeared on the kitchen window sill shortly after the sorting had started. Hedwig was given the large pouch of international invitations, which needed to be delivered to the International Owl Post Office, near Dover. The rest were divided so that each owl could make deliveries according to its own best ability.
With the owls happily on their way, Mr. Weasley gone to work and Bill and Charlie apparently hiding in Bill’s room. There remained only Molly and Fleur who seemed to be deeply entrenched in wedding planning in the sitting room. The Burgestikoffs had finally retired to the Twins’ room for a badly needed rest.
The quartet decided that, with the restriction lifted, there was nothing stopping them from slipping off to the Manor for the afternoon. They left a note on the Kitchen table saying they would be back for supper, and off they went.
Hermione had insisted on showing Ron the Library right away. Ron was extremely impressed, though there was no hiding that any size library would still just be a collection of books to Ron.
More rewarding was the reaction of the Dumbledore card, which Harry had remembered to bring with him. He had not brought it on any previous visits as they had all been escorted and the existence of the Dumbledore base was to remain secret for the time being. Harry set the Collector’s base on one of the central tables in the Library and dropped in the card. Harry had already described much of the Manor to Dumbledore, but seeing it now the little card was suitably impressed. He readily agreed that the Library was easily larger than the one at Hogwarts.
They fell into an easy conversation about what had been happening over the last couple of weeks, bringing Dumbledore current on events in Europe and activities at The Burrow. Including what they had just heard from Charlie and the Burgestikoffs’. Harry apologized that he had not had the base out very much because of fear he would be discovered at the busy Burrow.
Dumbledore dismissed his apologies politely, agreeing “It was indeed prudent.”
After a short time, they began to discuss the need to locate and begin to destroy the remaining Horcruxes. They reviewed what they knew, at which point the Dumbledore card surprised them by declaring that it thought it knew the identity of, R.A.B.
“It occurred to me, Harry, when you first recounted the story at your Aunt and Uncle’s house. Our mysterious R.A.B. may very likely be Regulus Arcturus Black, Sirius’ younger brother,” Dumbledore said. “He was a fine boy and a good student at Hogwarts, though he and his brother seldom saw eye-to-eye. He was in Slytherin House, and he was young when he became a Death Eater,” Dumbledore sighed. “Very sad; still, if he had somehow become aware of Voldemort’s efforts to conceal Horcruxes, it might have been enough to cause him a change of heart.”
“Hey, hang on,” Ron cut in, “fifth year, summer at Grimmauld Place; do you all remember the cleaning Mum made us do?”
Harry, Ginny and Hermione nodded.
“In the drawing room, in the glass cabinets there were lots of magical objects. Do any of you remember a locket? The one none of us could open?” Ron asked.
“I remember it,” Ginny interrupted, “it was a heavy thing, gold, and it had a snake on it, made kind of an ‘S’.”
“You think we had it right then, and we just didn’t know it?” Hermione questioned.
“That could very possibly be,” Dumbledore said concernedly, “which would mean that a search could be made of Grimmauld Place.”
“But, didn’t Sirius chuck it in the rubbish sacks with everything else?” Ron asked.
“Then who knows where it could be,” Hermione said, sounding a bit defeated.
“Kreacher probably nicked it from the rubbish. I can ask him for a start,” Harry said.
“Very good, Harry. That is at least a beginning,” Dumbledore said.
Together they determined that they needed to somehow uncover the location of Helga Hufflepuff's golden cup, and do some research to try to find candidate items that could have belonged to the remaining Founders, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Godric Gryffindor.
Additionally, Hermione wanted to find out everything she could about Horcruxes, especially how they were made, and how they might be destroyed. She wasted no time at all uncovering books with sections on dark magic.
In the Hogwarts’ entire Library, Hermione had only uncovered one reference to Horcruxes. In the Manor Library, she was able to find three within twenty minutes. They were all references, none giving any more information than they already knew. Still, it made Hermione tremendously hopeful that she would be able to find much more.
Dumbledore proposed caution on the matter, but he too seemed genuinely interested in what the Library might be able to offer.
As the afternoon wore on, Ginny, Ron and Harry, grew a little weary of searching through the shelves. They decided they wanted to go check out the Manor’s Quidditch pitch. When they suggested taking a break to Hermione she grumbled a little and told them to go ahead without her.
Likewise, the Dumbledore card chose to remain in the Library. There was a large book propped up before it and a bluish Pixie was lazing nearby chomping on a gumdrop and obediently turning pages.
The Quidditch Pitch was a full regulation size field, complete with six observation towers each containing seating for up to fifty. The whole oval pitch was surrounded by bleachers, and there were identical locker rooms on either side.
“Blimey Harry, this is a full professional set up,” Ron observed as they walked through the first locker room, toward the actual Pitch. “We could get in loads of practice here,” he beamed.
Along one of the walls was a series of team photos from matches that had been played on the Pitch. Ron was surprised and pleased to see nearly every UK team represented there. Including, his beloved Canons.
Ginny discovered the door to the equipment room and was surprised to find it unlocked. She slipped in and came back out with a broom. “Look at this old thing,” she said releasing the broom so that it hovered at her side. It was actually quite a pleasant broom, well finished, straight and presumably accurate. But it was, as Ginny described it, old. “There are about twenty of these in there,” she nodded to the doorway.
“That’s a Moontrimmer,” Ron exclaimed! “Those predate the Cleansweep series. The only place I have ever seen one is in the Quidditch Museum.”
“Well, it makes sense with the Manor closed all this time,” Harry said, “I suppose all the equipment is outdated?”
Ginny smiled and nodded. “There are pads and robes in there too, but they all belong in the Quidditch Museum.”
Ron pushed past Ginny and entered the equipment room. He returned with two more Moontrimmers. “She’s right, Mate,” Ron said, “that’s a room full of relics, that is,” he handed one of the brooms to Harry.
They stepped out onto the pitch and mounted their brooms. Ginny was first to kick off, followed by Harry and Ron. They arched into a lazy turn clockwise around the pitch. They flew in formation two turns around.
“Feels good to be back on a broom, don’t it?” Ron yelled. Harry and Ginny smiled nodding their heads in agreement.
“Pretty stable brooms, but I doubt they’re very fast,” Ginny called.
Harry flew up close to Ginny, smiling. He leaned over toward her. Ginny leaned in, thinking he was about to say something. “Tag, you’re it!” Harry yelled, lightly tapping Ginny’s leg. He zoomed straight up into an overhead arc and came over heading the opposite direction. Both Ginny and Ron stared for a moment, both impressed by Harry’s maneuvers on the old Moontrimmer. Then Ron, catching on, darted off across the Pitch. Ginny swung around and came after her brother, casing him up around one of the towers and past one set of goal posts. They were all laughing happily.
Harry came around the opposite direction and passed between her and Ron, and she reached for him, but he was just out of arm’s length.
Ginny rolled and arched upward building height above Ron, then she leaned into her broom handle and dived, gaining speed. She slipped right up behind him and slapped him on the arm. “Tag,” she yelled as she darted away in a rapid turn.
Ron chased after Harry for a couple of minutes, but every time he got close, Harry would roll away or flip over and dive, or arc upwards into an overhead turn. Ron knew he was outmatched trying to catch either of them, even on the old brooms.
Harry zoomed over when it seemed Ron was giving up. “Ron, don’t try to catch us, you’re a Keeper, fly the way you know how,” he yelled.
Ron gave that a few seconds thought and then he slowed almost to a stop. Ginny was laughing and swooping, she came along the pitch edge fast. She was a good three meters to Ron’s right. At the last second, Ron moved straight sideways to intercept her and tagged her arm as she zoomed past. “Tag,” He yelled triumphantly!
They had been chasing one another for what seemed a fairly short time, when Hermione appeared on the pitch below them. They all seemed to spot her at once, and they swept down to land near her.
As they dismounted, Hermione was pulling one of her faces that showed she would never truly appreciate the joy of flying. None-the-less, she was clearly happy to see them each enjoying themselves.
“You do know you have been out here over two hours, don’t you?” she asked, “I was starting to wonder where you’d gotten to.”
“Sorry, Love, I guess we just kind’a lost track of time,” Ron genuinely apologized. He stepped right up to her happily and gave her a quick peck. Hermione blushed but kissed him back just the same.
They walked back through the locker room and put their brooms away. Harry had them take a quick inventory of the equipment and proposed that they should order new equipment to replace everything. Ginny and Ron were both quite keen on that idea, making mental notes about what would be needed. They closed up the locker room and started toward the Manor.
The two couples, each walking arm in arm made their way lazily up the manicured walking path to the garden entrance. They passed through the garden quickly and made their way to the entrance nearest the Library.
“Hermione,” Harry said as they were coming to the center of the room, “I’ve been thinking about the Hogwarts founders.”
“Yes, Harry,” Hermione said in acknowledgement.
“How we might find out about things that they possessed... things that might have been good candidates for Horcruxes,” Harry said.
“And?” Hermione prompted.
“Well, I was thinking about the magic that my Grandparents used to conceal my family from interest, and to protect this place,” Harry continued. “And I wondered what sort of far reaching effects it might have had,” he paused. “This might sound dumb, but I wondered if it might have effected editions of books that came out after the Manor was hidden. Say like, Hogwarts: a History. I thought there might be earlier editions of such books in this Library that would contain things that have been inadvertently left out of newer copies.”
“That’s brilliant, Harry,” Hermione said excitedly, “I should have thought of that myself.” She began looking at the shelves, obviously considering Harry’s suggestion.
Harry went to the central table and asked the Dumbledore card if it was ready to head back to The Burrow.
“That would be fine,” Dumbledore responded.
Harry pulled the card from the slot and pocketed the pewter base.
“We had best head back for supper,” Harry said, stepping back to take Ginny’s hand. “We can look into that possibility when we come back again.”
Once back at The Burrow, Harry headed directly upstairs to stow the Portis Omnibus beneath his bunk. As he hit the stairs, he could hear Ron and Ginny being recruited by their mother to help set up the garden for an outdoor dinner. He felt only slightly guilty for escaping before he could be recruited as well.
On his way back down, he heard a heavy thump come from Ginny’s room. It sounded as though someone had fallen to the floor. As he came to the open doorway, he found that he was not far wrong. Hermione was standing before her open school trunk and had dropped a rather large book onto the floor. He chuckled slightly at her stricken expression, and the way she was carefully checking the binding for damage. Her alarm quickly turned to relief upon finding it intact.
“Need any help in here?” he said casually as he entered the room.
“Oh! No,” she said slightly surprised, “Crookshanks startled me and my book slipped. But it’s okay.” The large Ginger fur-ball emerged from beneath Ginny’s bed indignantly, and meowed at her, almost as though, guilty or not, he didn’t appreciate being blamed.
“That’s a pretty big book,” Harry observed out loud.
“Yeah, it’s my copy of Hogwarts: a History,” Hermione replied. “I was just thinking about what you said, and I wanted to take a quick look at it before I search for a copy in the Manor Library.”
Harry plopped himself down on the window seat.
Not bothering to get up from the floor, Hermione turned so that she could lean against the bed. She picked up the thick tome and pulled into her lap. She thought Harry looked a bit pensive. “Is something the matter Harry?” she asked.
Harry looked up. “No, no. I was just thinking about the wedding.”
“Ah,” Hermione acknowledged, not quite knowing why Harry might have any thought at all about the subject.
“It’s just that... Well, I’ve never been to a wedding, Muggle or Wizard, so I really know nothing about them,” Harry said with the tiniest hint of embarrassment. “In fact, I would have to say that I don’t know much about marriage at all. Except what I have seen on the telly in very small bits; and that of course never seems to work out. Well, aside from couples who are older and have already been married quite a long time,” Harry laughed a little at himself.
“Hmm,” Hermione collected her thoughts. “That’s quite the subject Harry,” she seemed to be examining him intently from across the room, “any particular reason for the interest?”
Harry looked back at Hermione. She was smirking a bit mischievously. Harry didn’t understand what that was about, so he simply answered the question.
“Just the upcoming wedding is all... Oh, and then I overheard Bill and Charlie talking about something they called ‘The Bonding’ and it seemed to be connected to marriage somehow.” Harry paused not sure how much to say about what he had overheard. "From what I gathered, Bill and Fleur have not bonded yet, and I guess Bill is worried about it. And, apparently Charlie and Helena have bonded, but, what I heard was a private conversation so you cannot repeat any of that."
Hermione nodded her understanding. “Really, Harry, sometimes I forget that while you are a Wizard, you weren’t raised in a Wizard home,” Hermione smiled. “Okay, I can tell you what I know, but it’s mostly from reading about it.” She set the heavy book off her lap back onto the floor. “Well, you do know what marriage is, it’s when a couple commits their lives together. You know married couples, like Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, and your Aunt and Uncle. It seems like, in the Muggle world, marriage has become less and less meaningful over time. Or, at least, people seem to rush into it before they really know what they are getting into. That’s why the divorce rate among Muggles is something like thirty-five percent. The very first thing I suppose you ought to know is that there is no divorce in Wizard society. When a Witch and Wizard get married it is for life.”
Hermione adjusted herself against the side of the bed, crossing her legs. “The big difference seems to be, what’s called ‘The Bonding.’ It is some sort of magical connection that forms between a Wizard and a Witch when they are truly in love with one another. What I have read describes it as a linking of their souls so that they really and truly know one another.”
“So, like, they can read each other’s minds or something?” Harry asked.
“No, not really, at least I don’t imagine so. More like they know how each other feels about things. It’s supposedly an extremely intimate emotional connection. Some things I have read say that it makes it so that you cannot lie to someone with whom you are bonded. But, other sources have said that is not true. In any case, it is a unique magical connection,” Hermione paused, looking like she was trying to remember.
“So how does it happen?” Harry asked, taking advantage of the slight lull.
“Well, again, according to what I have read, it can happen pretty much any time within a couple’s relationship,” Hermione said, “though, it has sort of become the expectation that it happens either before, or during the wedding ceremony.” Hermione blushed slightly, “there is also some suggestion that it often happens when a couple first consummates their relationship physically. Which now-a-days seldom means on their wedding night.”
Harry shifted on the window seat and tugged a little at his collar.
“It doesn’t seem to be something a couple can control. There are lots of accounts of marriages were it hasn’t happened, and some where it’s happened years into the marriage. There are even a few accounts of it happening between people who never actually get married, and never have, what you would consider, a married relationship. But, the normal expectation is that it happens when a couple professes their love for one another in complete honesty. Therefore, it has become linked to the wedding ceremony. I don’t know enough about it to know if there is any sort of stigma associated with it not being evidenced in the ceremony,” Hermione paused again. “Oh, and it is extremely rare that it happens before the age of seventeen, which I guess has something to do with why seventeen is considered the age of adulthood in Wizard society.”
“Hmm,” Harry responded, “I guess I sort of understand now.” There was a brief silence. “Okay, but what about weddings? I still have never been to one,” Harry said.
“Well, I have only ever been to one or two myself,” Hermione smiled slightly. “From what I can tell there are not a lot of differences between Wizard and Muggle ceremonies. They still are highly formal affairs, with all the usual trappings, wedding gowns and wedding rings, and vows, etc. There will be a representative from the Ministry to preside over the ceremony just like a vicar would do in a Muggle ceremony. I have quite a bit of curiosity about it myself, and I am looking forward to witnessing Bill and Fleur’s ceremony.”
Harry still looked a little lost in thought.
“I can do a little more research about it if you are still curious,” Hermione suggested.
“Oh, no,” Harry replied, “I was just curious because I overhead Bill and Charlie.”
Crookshanks crawled up into Hermione’s lap. Hermione began to scratch at his neck in a way that he obviously enjoyed. Harry could hear the purring from across the room.
“Well, if you really want to know more, you could always ask Bill,” Hermione suggested. “After all, he’s the one getting married. Or, you could ask Charlie about bonding since he claims to be bonded with Helena. Personally, I kind of think that the bonding is nothing more than a variation on the Unbreakable Vow, and the rest is all an old wives tale.”
The homecoming supper for Charlie was a modest affair. Between the Weasleys and the house guests, it was a large enough group that moving to the garden for a cook out was more comfortable than crowding the kitchen.
After the events of the day, everyone was eager to have a good relaxing meal and do some catching up.
The Twins showed up in time for the meal, and everyone enjoyed the warm company and laughter that was the Weasley family together. Even the Burgestikoff’s, who were the nearest to strangers among the group seemed to be extremely comfortable as though they had been family friends for years.
Harry wondered if that had something to do with the fact that Charlie and Helena were “bonded” even though that was not yet public knowledge. Harry made a mental note to ask Hermione or Dumbledore about it. Somehow, it didn’t seem to him to be a topic to discuss with Ginny.
As the meal got into full course, there was a set of soft “pops” near the garden gate and to everyone’s surprise Percy appeared along with Penelope Clearwater. He entered the garden gate and approached the table a bit nervously. Penelope remained at his elbow smiling congenially clearly there to support Percy.
Everyone stopped eating and looked at him in silence. Molly tried to get up, but Arthur held her arm and prevented it. She started to say something to Arthur, but he silenced her with a squeeze of the arm.
Harry glanced around the table quickly. Most everyone’s expressions were somewhat dumbfounded, but not angry. Ron looked a little angry, but not nearly as much as Harry would have thought. Clearly no one had expected Percy to turn up.
Ginny gave Harry’s hand a squeeze beneath the table. It made him wonder if he perhaps looked angry. He turned and smiled at her. She smiled in return.
Percy cleared his throat. “I have come this evening because I received your message Dad, and I wanted to see Charlie,” he paused. He appeared even more nervous now. “But also, because I knew that the whole family would be here,” he paused again clearing his throat once more. “Over the last couple of years as I have attempted to seat my career with the Ministry, there have been a great many changes, and in an effort to forward my position I have been guilty of siding against the family. It is easy to see with hindsight that I was wrong. I felt that my faith and loyalty needed to be with the Ministry, I thought that was the way it was supposed to be, that when you work for a man like the Minister of Magic you owe him your belief and loyalty completely. So even though it pained me to keep faith with the Minister against my own family, and friends, I convinced myself that it was the right thing to do.”
There were low murmuring reactions around the table, and at least one gasp from Mrs. Weasley. Percy pushed forward. “Time has proven out that the Ministry is no better than the perceptions, desires and fears of our elected leaders, and I find that I have been very guilty of following our leaders with blind devotion; so blindly, in fact, that I participated whole heartedly in forwarding their misguided agenda. I now understand that I helped to spread fear and delusion against a truth that fear and paranoia were preventing our previous Minister from facing. I realize that our leaders must be questioned and that blind faith accomplishes nothing when it flies in the face of the facts,” Percy stopped, as though he felt his was losing his point. He recomposed himself.
“I am happy to say that our new Minister appears to be embracing the facts. But, even the feeling that I am following a better leadership does not excuse my actions of the past. I have a better understanding now of what the facts are, but I have come to the conclusion that I must seek my own understanding. And, that I must make apologies where they are due. To that end, I have come here now to apologize for my lack of faith in all of you. Not because I now see that you were all right all along, but because I see that I was wrong. When I disagreed with you, it was because of my own ambitions, and because I failed to listen. I failed to give you the consideration that you deserved as individuals, and devotion that you deserve as family. I am truly sorry.”
Arthur released Molly’s arm, and she was up from the table, rushing toward Percy. She pulled him in to a huge embrace. Penelope stepped back a little and appeared to be crying happily.
Fred and George stood up at their spots at the table. Fred began, “Dad, family, if we may?” there was no real pause for an answer.
George continued seamlessly, “Percy, you have always been a bit of a git when it comes to rules and regulations and such. Personally, Fred and I have always found it a bit annoying.”
Fred picked up the thought, “Still, you are our brother, so we have always accepted you.”
George cut in, “Teased you terribly we know, but always accepted.”
Fred continued, “So we feel it is only fitting that we point out to you now that among your many habits, is a tendency to ramble when you are nervous, and to make the simplest of tasks, rather complicated.”
George finished, “All any of us really needed to hear, was a simple ‘I’m sorry’,” he paused to pick up his glass, indicating to everyone to do the same. “I think I speak for the whole family in saying, Welcome home, Percy.”
Everyone tipped their glass in agreement. “So, how many times did you practice that speech?” Fred asked, bringing a chorus of laughter from around the table. Percy gave him a wry, embarrassed smile.
Places were made for Percy and Penelope at the table. Food was passed, and by dessert it was as if there had never been a rift in the family.
There was a lot of catching up to do, as well as introductions to be made, and the meal continued well in to the darkness of the evening.
Once the dishes were cleared, and the tables put away, a large fire was built, and the camaraderie continued with a few bottles of fire-whisky that the Twins produced from their robes.
Arthur and Molly were the first to excuse themselves as they said their “goodnights,” reminded everyone, especially the youngest, not to stay up too late, and headed into the house to retire.
In their room, Arthur and Molly were getting ready for bed. Molly stood at the window looking out on the garden where the fire still burned, and everyone was sitting around it. She casually dragged her hair brush through her hair.
Arthur came up behind her, hugging her, “Happy to have the whole family together in one place?”
“Oh, yes, Arthur, it’s wonderful,” she said with a sentimental catch in her voice.
“It’s going to be growing before too long, I would imagine,” Arthur said, “What with Bill marrying Fleur, and from the look of it Charlie is not far behind him with marriage plans.”
“And Percy too,” Molly replied, “From the way he seems bonded to Penelope.”
“I would hazard from the look of things that Harry and Hermione will become official members of the family eventually, though that can wait a good while as far as I’m concerned,” Arthur said.
“So you think we have a glimpse of the future, sitting right out there around a fire in the garden?” Molly said thoughtfully.
“I expect so,” Arthur said, pulling Molly from the window toward their bed.
Molly hummed a happy tune as she pulled back the covers and got into bed next to her husband.
Arthur reached out and flicked his wand from the nightstand causing all the lamps in the room to dim and flicker out.
“They are all nice matches, don’t you think?” Molly said in the darkness.
“Yes... Yes I think they are,” Arthur replied through a yawn.
“Even Fleur,” Molly asked hesitantly.
“Yes, Dear... Even Fleur,” Arthur said his voice drifting already.
There was a long silence, during which Arthur began to snore quietly.
“Arthur?” Molly said with a sudden sense of concern.
Arthur snorted but didn’t truly reply.
“What ever can we do about the twins?” Molly said.
Please review - Thanks!
NEXT
Chapter Sixteen
Happy Birthday Harry
Chapter 17: Chapter 16 - Happy Birthday Harry
Author's Notes: Thank you everyone for the wonderful reception this story has received her at SIYE, I am especially pleased with all the reviews and comments!
This chapter brings us to Harry's birthday (finally!), and an eventful day it will be. So much so that I was forced to break it in to two chapters. I do hope everyone enjoys it!?!
Happy Birthday Harry
Harry stood before the bathroom mirror rubbing his chin and examining his reflection. He did not look any different than any other morning. Nor did he feel particularly different. The stubble on his chin was an every morning occurrence and had been now for a couple of years. He reached into his toiletries case and drew out his shaving kit. With his wet shaving brush he worked the tub of shaving soap building up a rich lather before applying it to his face. His beard was still quite thin and sparse in spots but it was certainly enough that he required a morning shave. He knew that there was a hair removal spell that had been developed by some wizard somewhere for dealing with this daily ritual. As he stood there stropping his blade, he recalled the morning a few years before when he had asked Ron about it.
“Yeah, mate, there is a spell but some things are just more satisfying without magic,” Ron had said sagely, as he dragged his own razor along his chin.
It was Ron who had taught him this skill. Ron who had helped him pick and order a shaving kit by owl post. And, as Harry pulled the straight razor across his cheek, enjoying the smooth feel of the hard edge through the creamy lather, he thought, it was Ron who deserved credit for passing on a lot of knowledge that he would have lacked without the presence of a father in his life. Harry wondered briefly if Ron could use a new shaving kit for Christmas. It was a way off, but it might be a nice gift and a veiled “thank you” that Ron would understand.
Harry finished off his chin and upper lip and wiped his face, admiring his whiskerless appearance. He hopped in the shower and emerged a short time later, refreshed and ready to face the day. He had a full agenda, he knew, but he suspected there would be a few surprises as well. He hoped nothing he would need to be too on guard for, but that was also a possibility.
As the days had been warm Harry pulled on a short sleeve button down and pair of cargo shorts so that he would not be too hot. Dressed and ready, he made his way down the hall, noting the silence of all the rooms. It occurred to him that even Ron had gotten up before him, and that was a bit odd. It was very seldom that Harry was the last down to breakfast. He crossed the sitting room and pushed the kitchen door, not giving it another thought.
“Happy Birthday, Harry!” came a chorus of voices in the kitchen. Harry smiled broadly and joined everyone at the table.
“Feel any different, Harry?” Charlie asked.
“No, I can’t say that I do,” Harry replied, “but, maybe that’s just because I have so much to do today.”
“So, presents now, or later?” Mrs. Weasley asked, making a sweeping gesture toward a pile of brightly wrapped gifts on the counter under the window.
Harry thought about it for a moment. “I am thinking later, if you all don’t mind,” Harry replied as he leaned forward and stabbed at a couple of sausages from the platter in front of him.
“That’s it Harry, wonderful resolve,” Mr. Weasley said, chuckling a little, “business to attend to first, aye. Are you two ready for your apparition testing?” he asked, including Ron in the question.
Harry grinned and nodded his mouth too full of breakfast to reply. Ron was doing the same. In fact they had been practicing for the test during the past week and a half. That was the wonderful thing about being in the Weasley household; even though underage magic use was in principal forbidden, the trackers at the Ministry couldn’t tell if magic in such a large home was cast specifically by the underage Wizard. Consequently, both he and Ginny were relatively free to use magic while there, without fear that the Ministry would come to investigate. Still, Harry was glad that sometime during the day he would be free of the underage restriction.
Breakfast turned out to be as loud and boisterous an affair as any time you gathered that many Weasleys around a single table. Usually, there were not so many questions directed toward Harry, but it being his birthday, today was a bit of an exception. Mostly everyone wanted to be on the same schedule, so that was the main topic of conversation. After breakfast Harry was going with Ron, Mr. Weasley, Charlie and the Burgestikoffs to the Ministry where he and Ron would complete their apparition tests. The testing had been arranged by the Minister for Harry's Birthday at Harry's request. The Burgestikoffs had an appointment at the Wizarding Immigration Office, part of the Department of International Magical Cooperation . After finishing their tests, Ron would go on to the Twin's shop and Harry had arranged to meet with Reinhold Prcht, to formally complete his inheritance. As there were some papers that Harry would have to file with the Ministry, he had asked to have the meeting there and had been granted use of the Minister’s conference room.
Assuming that all of that went as quickly as Harry hoped, he was planning on meeting Ron, Hermione and Ginny for lunch in Diagon Alley. This idea had been met with some security concerns, but Harry had insisted that it was his Birthday, so eventually all had agreed. In the afternoon Harry intended to transfer his belongings to the Manor and settle in. Lupin, Tonks, Hermione and Ron, who would also be moving in to the Manor, were to meet at the Weasley’s at three o’clock.
As Bill and Fleur’s wedding was in ten days, Fleur had convinced Harry that she and Bill should stay at the Manor as well so that she could oversee final wedding preparations.
Harry had invited the Burgestikoffs to stay in his home as well, at least until they could make more permanent living arrangements. At the Manor, at least, everyone would not be living on top of one another, and Harry sincerely hoped that Mr. and Mrs. Weasley would appreciate a bit more calm at The Burrow as that would leave only them, Ginny and Charlie. The final plan was for everyone to come to the Manor around seven o’clock for Harry’s actual birthday party.
With the day's plans all laid out to everyone’s approval, breakfast was concluded and they all moved to the sitting room for departure to the Ministry. They were determining floo order when there were two distinct “pops”, and Dobby, and a completely intoxicated looking Winky were standing there. Dobby was carrying a small, brightly wrapped package complete with a ribbon and bow.
Dobby looked around the room sheepishly; he had obviously not anticipated so many people. He held out his gift, “Dobby has come to wish Harry Potter a most wonderful Happy Birthday,” he said.
Harry knelt down to Dobby’s height and accepted the gift. “Thank you, Dobby,” Harry said. He looked over at Winky who wobbled a little and “hiccupped” quietly. “Is Winky okay?” Harry asked.
“Dobby does not let her out of his sight anymore,” he smiled apologetically. “She is very unhappy in her freedom, and Dobby worries for her.”
Harry nodded and proceeded to unwrap Dobby’s gift. It was a pair of matching knit socks, purple with a pattern of gold stars and crescent moons. Harry smiled; Dobby was obviously getting quite good at knitting. “Thank you, Dobby, these are wonderful,” he said.
“There is something else Dobby would like to ask Harry Potter,” Dobby said, as he shuffled nervously.
“What is it Dobby?” Harry asked.
“Dobby is very worried about Winky, and he thinks he has come up with a way to save her from herself,” Dobby said quietly stepping closer to Harry, and wringing his hands anxiously.
Harry was catching on and though the thought had not occurred to him previously, it suddenly seemed that it could make sense. “Dobby, are you trying to ask me if I will make Winky my house-elf?” Harry questioned.
Dobby nodded, “Harry Potter is seventeen now and Dobby thinks that he will be having a place of his own, and since Kreacher is very old, Dobby thought, if Harry Potter were to take another house-elf things would be easier for him,” Dobby’s eyes grew large and pleading. “Also, Dobby does not want to leave Winky alone," he paused, looking embarrassed. "Dobby cares for Winky so much that Dobby hopes that Harry Potter will accept him as well, and Dobby and Winky can be together.”
Harry was surprised at this. “But, Dobby, you are a free Elf. Why would you give up your freedom?” Harry asked.
“Dobby likes being free of his former Masters, and Dobby enjoys working at Hogwarts School,” Dobby said quickly, “but, Dobby knows that it is part of an Elf's nature to be a servant. Being free elves makes Dobby and Winky a dishonor in the eyes of their own kind. Perhaps if there were more free elves... perhaps if other elves felt differently, being free would not be so hard.”
“You are certain of this, Dobby?” Harry asked as he rubbed his chin in thought.
“Harry,” Hermione piped up, “you can’t really be considering this?”
“Actually, Hermione, I am considering it,” Harry said, “especially if it is the best thing for Winky.”
“Actually,” Mr. Weasley spoke, “it is probably a good idea for Dobby as well. After all he may be a 'free' Elf, but there is always the possibility that he could be captured and forced back into servitude... And, well, Dobby knows a bit too much to be allowed to fall in to the wrong hands.”
Hermione looked rather aghast, and she stood shaking her head at Harry.
Harry looked around the room. Hermione was the only one that seemed to be having a difficult time with this turn of events. While Harry really didn’t like the idea of forced Elf servitude he knew enough to know that it had been that way long enough that the Elves themselves had adapted to it. And, further, Winky was clearly not adapting to her freedom.
“Hermione,” Harry said, “I really think that I can offer them a better life. I understand your objections, and in principal I agree with you, but in this case I have to think about security.”
Hermione looked terribly sad, but she nodded to Harry in reluctant agreement.
“Dobby,” Harry said, turning back to the anxious Elf, still fidgeting nervously in the center of the room. “Answer my question. Are you certain?”
“Dobby worries that what Mr. Weasley says is true. While Dobby can never be enslaved again by his former Master, or any member of the Malfoy house, the danger of being captured and returned to forced service is real,” Dobby stopped wringing his hands, gesturing to Harry with open palms. “Dobby would not like to serve just anyone, but to be the servant of Harry Potter... that would truly be an honor, and Dobby knows that Harry Potter would be a good Master and allow Dobby and Winky to stay together.”
Harry looked over to Winky, who didn’t seem to be particularly aware of what was happening. “Winky,” he said loudly, snapping his fingers in her face to get her attention. “Winky!” he said a little louder, “do you wish to have a new Master?”
Winky’s eyes got big as she focused on Harry. She wobbled a little but kept her feet. “No one wants Winky,” she said with a slur, “Winky has no one to call Master.”
Harry took that as a yes.
“Well, can someone tell me how it’s done?” Harry asked.
“It is really very simple,” Alex said. “Just grab them by the ear, but it must be firm enough that they cannot pull away. Then simply say “I capture you in the name of the house of Potter, and claim you as a servant from this moment onward, for all time,” she said.
“But, Harry,” Mister Weasley added, “You have to speak with conviction, and you must really mean it.”
"It cannot be that simple," Harry replied a bit confused. "Don't I need my wand or something to cast a spell?"
"Not at all Harry," Alex replied. "You have to understand, this is part of what makes the whole issue of House-elf slavery so complex. The binding magic does not come from the Wizard at all, it comes from the elf. It is part of their nature."
Harry nodded.
Dobby looked suddenly like he might run away. Harry wondered for a moment if it might be some kind of instinctive response. Dobby reached for Winky and his free hand began to rise like he would snap his fingers and Apparate away. But with practiced seeker reflexes, Harry was faster and he reached out with both hands and snatched each Elf by the end of an ear. Dobby jerked reflexively but Harry’s grip was firm and though Dobby winced, he was suddenly smiling a broad smile that eased Harry’s heart. Winky seemed to become suddenly sober, but made no effort to free herself; she too looked happy in a slightly confused way.
“I capture you in the name of the house of Potter, and claim you as servants from this moment onward, for all time,” Harry said in a loud firm voice.
Both house-Elves fell to their knees as a faint glow began to emanate from their ears where Harry held them tightly. The glowing grew golden as it spread through their little bodies until each Elf shined brightly for a moment, and then the effect was gone. Harry released them.
“Excellent,” Alex said aloud, “you don’t often see that sort of a golden effect. It means you have two very devoted servants.”
Harry smiled at the two Elves who were slowly getting to their feet, looking expectantly at their new Master. Winky appeared to be free of her intoxication and she was grinning and straightening herself, suddenly aware of her disheveled appearance. Dobby seemed to be examining himself, not as though he had lost himself, but as though he had discovered himself anew.
“Master Potter,” Dobby spoke rather delightedly, testing the new way of referring to Harry, “Shall we go to your home at Grimmauld place and make it ready for you?”
“No,” Harry said perhaps a bit more firmly than necessary, “you two will not be living at Grimmauld place.”
This brought a frown of confusion to the Elves who nevertheless stood ready to be commanded.
“Jarphred,” Harry called.
With a “pop” Jarphred appeared next to Harry. He seemed to take in the whole scene before him without a hint of surprise or confusion.
“Jarphred,” Harry said pleasantly, “I have just secured you a bit of help with the Manor, even though I am quite sure you don’t really need it,” he said intending to flatter the devoted Elf. “This is Dobby and Winky,” he gestured to the two Elves whose eyes had grown wide at the sudden appearance of another Elf. “Dobby, Winky, this is Jarphred,” The Elves nodded to one another. “He is in charge of my household, where the two of you will now live; you are to follow his orders as though they are my own.”
Dobby and Winky looked a little confused, and a bit excited, and nodded their understanding.
“Jarphred, you will take them home now and assign them living quarters, and duties,” Harry said, “and please see that they are properly groomed and attired for their new home. I do not wish to see ragged tea towels on any servant of mine.”
“Yes, Master Harry,” Jarvy replied as he bowed deeply.
Harry turned back to Dobby and Winky. “Go with Jarvy now; he will tell you all that you need to know. Everything you learn and see is to be kept strictly secret; you may tell no one about your new home. Do you understand?” Harry didn’t pause for an answer. “I will see you both later today.”
“Yes Master Harry.” They bowed deeply.
Jarvy stepped forward and with a “pop” the elves disappeared.
Harry stood up.
“Well,” Ron stepped forward, clapping Harry on the back. “Happy Birthday, Master Potter,” he teased.
Harry gave Ron a quick elbow to the ribs grinning at the teasing, leaving Ron rubbing his side. Harry turned to the fireplace. “I suspect we should get going. Very sorry for the interruption,” he said.
“Not at all, m’boy,” Mr. Weasley said as he motioned the other travelers toward the grate, “I suspect Moody will be quite pleased with this turn of events.”
Mr. Weasley took a handful of floo powder from the canister mounted on a bracket near the hearth, and stepped into the grate. He threw the powder at his feet and said “Ministry of Magic” in a firm clear voice. With a swirl of green smoke he was gone. Harry went next, followed by the others.
Upon arrival at the Ministry they had all gone to security where they had been put through wand checks and received their visitor badges. Afterward, they had each gone to their separate appointments. Mr. Weasley walked Ron and Harry to the Apparition testing room before going on to work.
Harry had been pleased to find that the Apparition testing was conducted by Wilkie Twycross, who had been the instructor at Hogwarts. The test proved to be rather simple. Mr. Twycross had asked him and Ron to make several Apparitions to various spots marked around the large room. They had practiced so much that the requested apparitions were quite easily done. Mr. Twycross seemed quite pleased and congratulated them on making each successfully. He had left long enough to process their licenses in another room and then unceremoniously presented them. The whole ordeal had taken about half an hour.
After completing the test Harry walked with Ron down to the atrium. They congratulated each other happily and then Ron headed for Diagon Alley using one of the public fireplaces. Harry turned on his spot and headed toward the Minister’s office in anticipation of his next meeting.
Harry arrived at the last hallway, where he could see the very prim, rather severe looking young witch sitting at her desk. As before, when she noticed him, she leaned down and touched whatever it was that she appeared to speak into. The Security guards snapped to attention on either side of the hall. The witch motioned Harry forward.
The oak door of the Minister’s office opened, and Rufus Scrimgeour stood in the doorway. “Good to see you again, Harry,” he said pleasantly.
Harry nodded greetings to the Minister and stepped into the outer office. Scrimgeour directed him to a side door. They stepped through the door into a large conference room. Inside Harry recognized Mr. Prcht and his associate Heinrick, who had been at Privet Drive. Minister Scrimgeour, and Arthur Weasley were there, and he noticed Percy sitting at the table. There was a woman sitting next to Percy who he did not know, and couple of goblins at the far end of the table, which surprised him. Mr. Prcht stepped forward to greet him.
“Welcome Mr. Potter,” Mr. Prcht said pleasantly. “Let me first wish you a happy birthday,” he smiled and motioned Harry toward a seat at the near end of the table.
“Thank you, sir,” Harry replied as he stepped toward the chair.
“If you will take a seat, we can get through all these formalities as quickly as possible and free you to enjoy your celebrations,” Mr. Prcht said. “I hope you don’t mind, I have asked the Minister and Mr. Weasley to stand witness for the verification of your identity?”
Harry nodded his consent.
“Let me quickly make introductions before we begin,” Mr. Prcht said as he stepped to the chair just to Harry’s right. “Starting from your left Mr. Potter,” he motioned as he spoke, “this Ms. Weiss, she is from the firm and she will be handling documentation.” The woman seated near him was very kind looking with a nice smile, blonde hair and bright blue eyes. She had a large filing attach case in front of her. She smiled congenially and nodded. “Next we have Mr. Weasley, head of Ministry filing, who is also here to process documentation.”
Percy was sitting there with an official looking stamp and pad in front of him. “Happy Birthday, Harry,” he said quietly, nodding.
Harry nodded back.
“Across from you are Mr. Gnarggbok, Senior Vice President of Gringotts U.K., and his assistant Mr. Keklorm,” Mr. Prcht gestured to the two goblins at the opposite end of the table. Both looked as though they were frowning deeply, but Harry imagined that was as close to a pleasant expression as they were capable. Harry nodded across the table, but it was hard to tell if the goblins reacted at all.
“Alright, then,” Mr. Prcht said, “let’s proceed with the verification of your identity, shall we?”
Mr. Prcht motioned to Ms. Weiss who pulled a multi-colored crystal from her case and set it before Harry. It looked like a natural crystal formation cut clean across the bottom so that it would sit flat. It reminded Harry of a paper weight he had once seen at Mrs. Figgs’ home.
“This is a Revealer stone,” Ms. Weiss explained, “It will reveal any deceptive magic or spoken untruth.” She tapped it with the tip of her wand and it glowed softly. She set out a quill and inkwell before Harry and then produced a one page document which she handed to Harry.
Across the top of the page in plain unadorned lettering it read CERTIFICATION OF IDENTITY.
Harry did not read the whole document, but scanning it understood that it simply certified that the recipient of legal action was correctly identified in the presence of a Revealer stone, and before witnesses. He took up the quill and at Mr. Prcht’s direction filled out the document in the appropriate places. Then both the Minister and Arthur Weasley signed the document as witnesses, and the document was handed to Percy who stamped it with his official seal and signed and dated it as received.
After that The Minister and Arthur Weasley were politely excused from the room. The remainder of Harry’s inheritance meeting was actually rather monotonous. It consisted of a lot of being handed documents by Ms. Weiss, having each explained to him briefly by Mr. Prcht, signing them in the appropriate spaces and handing them to Percy for Ministry processing. Harry was actually rather confused by all the real-estate and business interests he was inheriting and as the meeting proceeded he asked that the arrangement with the legal firm for management of the business dealings of the estate simply remain as it was for the time being. This seemed to be acceptable to Mr. Prcht who apparently had devoted a large part of his career to managing the estate, and no doubt owed the majority of his apparent wealth to doing so. It also triggered the signing of a new set of documents.
The two Goblins from Gringotts were there to propose a streamlining of Harry’s wealth. First they presented Harry with a set of papers which was a detailed accounting of the contents of his three vaults. Then they proposed that his vault, the Black family vault which he had inherited earlier, and his Grandparents’ vault, which he was inheriting today, all be consolidated into a single vault. Harry agreed to this, which brought forth a new set of documents from the Goblins. Mr. Prcht insisted on carefully reviewing the Goblins forms before allowing Harry to sign them, which seemed to provoke some consternation from the Goblins, but was clearly part of his job as Harry’s representative.
Next the Goblins produced all of the Bank paperwork to give Harry access to the various accounts that were set up for different purposes and reviewed the allowances which were currently being paid. There was a household allowance set up for the Manor, which they referred to vaguely as “the Potter main residence”. There was another for Grimmauld Place, as well as an allowance set up for Harry’s personal use. Harry was given a check book for his personal use account and some brief instructions on how to use it.
A final accounting was made of the funds Harry had given to the Dursleys, and he was presented with notice of the account's closure. Harry then asked that accounts be set up for each of the Elves under his keeping. He requested a small monthly stipend be deposited on an ongoing basis into an interest bearing savings account to be held until such time that each Elf might be given their freedom. This seemed to be a very puzzling request to everyone present and even received objections from the Goblins, but as Harry was quite insistent his request was met, and he was issued appropriate ledger books for all his accounts.
After the banking business was concluded the goblins thanked Harry for his continued patronage and were excused as well.
Once all the paperwork was in order and properly processed, Percy performed a duplication spell which provided a set of copies for the firm and a set of copies for Harry. Afterward he gathered everything together for filing and excused himself.
Once Harry was alone with Mr. Prcht and his two associates from the firm, Henrick drew up a large leather bag from the floor at his feet and revealed another lockbox which he set on the table before Harry. This one was considerably smaller than the first and was not decorated. It appeared to be a simple iron box with a brass locking mechanism similar to the other.
Mr. Prcht spoke, “Mr. Potter, that concludes all the legal aspects of your inheritance and brings us to this one final bit of business. This box is the final item left for you by your Grandparents in my care. I have no knowledge of its contents, but I would guess that it pertains to certain magical aspects of your inheritance. I am aware that your Grandparents took great care to magically protect themselves and your interests, so I recommend that you open this box in a private and magically protected place. By handing you the key to this box I will be releasing myself from a magical vow to protect it until such time as it could be given to you.” He reached into his vest pocket and produced an iron key which he handed to Harry. There was a faint flash of light as it dropped into Harry’s open palm.
“Unless you have any questions,” Prcht concluded, “our business today is done. I continue as your legal representation and you may contact me at any time regarding any matter.” He stood and offered his hand to Harry.
Harry shook Mr. Prcht’s hand and thanked all three of them for their time. They each likewise thanked Harry and quickly gathered their things, congratulating him, wishing him happy birthday and disappearing out the door.
Harry looked at the large stack of paperwork left on the table and wished that he had brought some sort of a bag. He pocketed the iron key and reached for his new checkbook, pocketing that as well. After a minute it occurred to him to call Jarvy to retrieve the box and the stack of papers, but when he called the Elf’s name out loud there didn’t seem to be any response. Harry stood there confused for a minute when suddenly there was a “pop” and Dobby appeared. Dobby looked like he had been scrubbed from head to toe and he was wearing a maroon robe with a Potter family crest embroidered on the chest. He seemed very pleased with his appearance as he stood before Harry.
“Dobby,” Harry said, “why didn’t Jarvy come?”
“Jarphred regrets that he cannot come to Master Harry. Only an indentured Elf may Apparate to his Master through all magical protections,” Dobby said, bowing apologetically “Dobby was glad to come in his stead.”
The concept had not occurred to Harry, but it did seem to make sense. “Very well,” he said, “Dobby, please take these things directly to my private room and leave them on my desk. Thank you.”
“Yes Master,” Dobby squeaked. Dobby quickly gathered the stacks of papers and the iron lockbox and with a faint “pop” was gone.
Harry smiled. Despite how he felt about, or perhaps, what he thought he should feel about it, he was enjoying having devoted servants to perform such tasks.
In the outer office, Minister Scrimgeour was waiting for Harry and invited him for an impromptu discussion, which Harry obliged. They spoke for about thirty minutes, mostly regarding the progress establishing a Wizard Army. And much of that discussion centered on where to establish a base for the growing organization. As it happened, the Minister had a few ideas and was seeking Harry’s help on the matter. The two came to an agreement very quickly and Harry promised his full cooperation.
His business at the Ministry complete, Harry made his way to the atrium. Hurrying toward the public fireplaces he paused, recalling the events of his last visit. There was no evidence anywhere to be seen of the escape attempt, or the resultant conflict, but upon reflection Harry got a feeling of unease. The Ministry was a large and complex organization and Harry doubted very much that all potential threats had been eliminated. He would just have to trust that the Minister’s strong stance on security was enough to keep it safe for the time being.
Harry emerged from the public grate into Diagon Alley. The sun was warm, and he felt a surge of satisfaction at the little independent movement he was enjoying. He imagined that there were probably security personnel from both the Ministry and the Order tracking his movements, but that was understandable as long as he was in such a public place. Harry resolved to ignore all such thoughts as long as they kept their distance and allowed him the freedom to enjoy his day. The public awareness and reaction to his presence, and the possibility of reporters was another matter.
Harry walked quickly toward the twin’s shop in the hope that a brisk pace might help him avoid being noticed. He arrived within minutes, and pushed through the door. The spring bell sounded as he entered Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Fred and George appeared from the back of the shop. “Happy Birthday, Harry,” they said in unison. “Pick anything you like, Harry, consider it a bonus birthday gift,” Fred said smiling.
“Within reason of course,” George added.
Ron appeared on the stairs from the upper level. “You made good time, mate; Hermione and Ginny aren’t supposed to arrive for half an hour yet,” Ron said as he came to the bottom step and wove his way through the displays to meet Harry.
Harry grinned happily. “Do you think Ginny would be upset if we snuck off to Quality Quidditch Supplies without her?” Harry asked.
“Well, I know Hermione wouldn’t mind,” Ron responded, “but Ginny might feel a bit left out.”
“Oh, Ginny will understand,” George said, “you two should go ahead.”
“The girls will get here before long, and we’ll send them to catch you up,” Fred finished.
Harry and Ron didn’t need any more encouragement. They were out into the alley and on their way.
Quality Quidditch Supplies was quite a large store. There were two stories of open space filled with everything Quidditch. One whole wall was filled with nothing but brooms on display hooks, and the mannequins, wearing brightly colored Quidditch attire were all mounted on brooms in dramatic poses and suspended from the ceiling. Toward the back of the store was an enchanted set of carved figurines on a miniature pitch that played match after match of Quidditch, to the delight of watching customers and several snitches zoomed freely about the store. Best of all, was that everything smelled of fresh broom wax. Harry loved coming in the store and he could hardly believe it had been so long since his last visit.
Ron was drawn immediately to the broom wall where he stood in awe. Here were all the latest models from the best manufactures. There were Cleansweeps, and Nimbuses, Comets and Firebolts, as well as numerous others by lesser known creators. Ron was examining a Nimbus 2004.
A man approached them; he was wearing the mock referee robes that served as the uniform for the QQS sales associates, a badge on his chest read ‘Gideon’. “How are you this morning? In the market for a broom are we?” Gideon asked.
Harry turned to face him and Gideon did a double take, clearly recognizing who he was serving. To his credit, and Harry’s relief, Gideon managed his reaction well, and made nothing of it. “Yes, in fact, we are looking to replace some old equipment so we’ll be placing a large order today,” Harry replied.
Gideon smiled broadly.
Ron turned to see who had approached and immediately recognized the man. “Gideon Brock?” he blurted out and extended his hand. Gideon returned the gesture and Ron shook his hand vigorously. “Harry, Gideon is a beater for the Tutshill Tornados,” Ron exclaimed excitedly.
“Former beater,” Gideon corrected, “took my twelfth injury last season, and league rules dictate retirement after a dozen,” Gideon replied. “So, I took a job here.”
Harry shook his hand as well. “Well, then I guess you are well qualified. It is very nice to meet you.”
“And, you as well, Mr. Potter,” Gideon said. “So what can I interest you in today?”
“Well, as I said we are replacing some old equipment, and I would like to get the best available, we’ll be needing a bit of everything,” Harry said. “Two teams worth,” he added.
“Well, let’s start with brooms.” Gideon began, turning to the broom wall, “Do you have a preference?”
“I’ve been flying a Cleansweep Eleven, and Harry here has a Firebolt,” Ron blurted out.
“Very good,” Gideon said, “Cleansweeps are a good choice for Beaters and Keepers, very stable, but not as fast. For Chasers and especially Seekers, I usually recommend the Nimbus series, now up to the Nimbus 2004, or if you can afford it, the Firebolt.”
“I recently read in Which Broomstick that Firebolt Inc. has come out with new models?” Harry asked.
“Yes, we have several,” Gideon responded. He led them down the wall to the Firebolt display section. “Here is the newest entry, the Firebolt XT; XT stands for extreme. They have also come out with the model ‘B’ and the model ‘K’ for beaters and keepers specifically. Model ‘B’ is slightly heavier and more rugged so that it can withstand bludger hits, while the model ‘K’ is quite thick designed so that the broom handle can be used to bat away incoming quafles.”
Ron was examining the brooms closely. “How are they rated?” Ron asked, “There are not a lot of reviews yet.”
“Early reviews are, so far, quite positive,” Gideon said. “I understand the Arrows and the Falcons have already ordered full team sets for the start of next season.”
“What do you think Ron, should we go for all Firebolts to replace those Moontrimmers?” Harry asked.
Ron looked like he’d been hit with an excitement charm. “If you think that would be okay, Harry,” he said tentatively, clearly disbelieving.
“Did you say you have Moontrimmers?” Gideon asked.
“Yes,” Harry replied.
“I’ve never seen a working Moontrimmer, they are worth quite a lot on the collector’s market," Gideon commented.
“Really?” Harry asked.
“Certainly,” Gideon said. “Moontrimmers were the preferred Quidditch broom for a long time and they were usually only replaced once they had been broken or worn out. Finding them today is unusual, especially in working condition.”
“There is one in the Quidditch Museum,” Ron chimed in.
“Yes, but even that one has been restored, and is no longer flyable,” Gideon offered. “If you have such a broom, I’ll bet the owner would love to acquire it for the store. It would be quite a find.”
“I was planning to donate my old equipment to the Quidditch Museum, but I think we could work something out,” Harry replied. “I’ll need at least two full team sets of Firebolts, plus a few reserve brooms, if you can manage such an order?”
Gideon beamed, “I think we can accommodate you, Mr. Potter. Let me just go check with my Manager?”
Harry nodded, and Gideon turned away quickly.
Just then, the shop door opened, and Hermione and Ginny strode in. Ron waved at them, and they made their way quickly to the broom wall. Ron met Hermione with a kiss, which caused her to blush slightly, though she didn’t complain at all.
Ginny, likewise kissed Harry. “You couldn’t wait for me?” Ginny teased.
“Harry just ordered two full team sets of new Firebolts,” Ron blurted out.
Ginny looked at her brother surprised. “Of course he did,” she smiled at Harry. “Did you think he would settle for anything but the best?” She took Harry’s arm. “Have you looked at pads and accessories yet?” she asked.
They all started looking through the store. Gideon returned with news that he could have such an order delivered in a matter of a few days. They spent the better part of an hour going through the store and adding items to the order. Gideon was very informative and politely shadowed them the whole time offering tips and recommendations. When they were finished Harry had ordered brooms, beater bats, pads, three full sets of regulation play balls, additional snitches, broom servicing kits, broom wax, and two teams worth of ready-chant Quidditch robes, which were made of specially enchanted fabric to adopt the color scheme of any team, with a simple coded spell.
Harry summoned Dobby and instructed him to bring a Moontrimmer, for Gideon’s inspection. Gideon was very impressed and brought the broom to the Manager, who was astounded by the find. In the end Harry traded one of his antique Moontrimmers to offset a small portion of his order.
Gideon tallied it all up and threw in a couple silver referee whistles and subscriptions to Which Broomstick and The Quidditch Questioneer free of charge. Harry happily wrote out his first check after agreeing on delivery at The Burrow within three days.
With everything finalized they left the store and made their way further up the Alley to Mrs. Scheffelgroober’s Tea & Cakes, where they had a very pleasant lunch. As usual, Mrs. Scheffelgroober doted on Harry and brought out a special birthday cake to end the meal. They managed to fill their time with conversation of the impending wedding, speculation about Charlie and Helena, and Percy and Penelope, and returning to Hogwarts at the end of the summer. Harry was very pleased at how easy it was to spend time with his friends and not dwell on Horcruxes, prophecies and Lord Voldemort; it made his birthday, so far, a very special day.
Once they had completed lunch they popped into Eeylops to pick up some owl treats. Mr. Eeylop recognized Harry and Ginny, and this time realized just who they were. He asked about their owls and thanked Harry for sending Hedwig to visit him when Harry ordered Ginny’s owl. He went on and on about what a special owl Hedwig was and how perfectly suited she was to him. Finally, as they were about to leave, he asked Harry if the two owls had become a mated pair and expressed great interest in any chicks that might result. Harry had to admit that he had noticed a particular bond between the owls, but he wasn’t sure if they had nested or not.
“I was quite certain when they were together in the shop that they would develop a bond in time,” Mr. Eeylop said, “but, it was a bit early in the season and sometimes the enchantments will prevent service owls from mating, but I had a good feeling about those two.”
“Mr. Eeylop,” Ginny asked, “if they were nesting, how exactly would we know?”
“Oh, well," Mr. Eeylop expounded, "Snowys are ground nesters, so they would seek a high spot, in an open area. If they have been together for long enough in the right sort of habitat they would have chosen a site nearby. Simple observation could alert you to a nesting site.” He paused, “Let me think, Snowys can have clutches anywhere from three to fourteen eggs depending on the availability of food and hatching would begin after about thirty days and be spaced out one or two days apart.”
Ginny clutched at Harry’s arm. “It is possible, don’t you think?” she asked Harry, “we haven’t asked them to carry a lot of post all summer. They have mostly been alone outside the house and they haven’t been coming in at night.”
“Sounds like we’d better look into it,” Harry agreed.
“Well, please let me know what you discover,” Mr. Eeylop said concernedly. “If you need any assistance or have any questions, feel free to contact me. I will gladly do anything I can to help.”
They thanked Mr. Eeylop for his time and information and agreed to let him know what they discovered. Then they left the shop and made their way leisurely through the alley taking time to browse at window displays. Eventually they ended up back at the twin’s shop and went in long enough to talk to Fred and George for a few minutes and remind them to show up at The Burrow before seven o’clock.
After leaving WWW, they made their way back to the Alley centre, where the public floo grates are located. Harry was sorely tempted to Apparate back to The Burrow, having obtained his license that morning, but he was not certain he wanted to try a side-along with Ginny just yet, so flooing back seemed easiest.
They were back at the Burrow about two-thirty and began packing up their things in preparation for transfer to the Manor. Harry was quickly packed and summoned Jarvy to take his things to his room. Afterward, Jarvy returned with Dobby and Winky, and they transferred Hermione’s trunk as well. Ron took a little longer as he had his entire room to pack, and Harry had told him he could bring everything, including his Chudley Cannon’s posters. Dobby turned up to help him, and before three o’clock, Ron, Hermione, Harry, and the Burgestikoff’s things were all neatly installed in their rooms at the Manor. Bill was ready as well, but they had to wait a bit on Fleur who had managed to assemble several trunks and baskets full of things in preparation for the wedding.
Lupin and Tonks showed up right at three o’clock, and in no time everyone was assembled in the kitchen. Harry installed the Portis Omnibus on the pantry door and deftly turned the appropriate combination, opening the door to the now familiar lattice of blue light.
Mrs. Weasley was giving out hugs to the kids as though she might never see them again, even though they would only be a doorway away. “How will it work to contact you all now if the Any-door Knob will be with Harry?” she questioned.
“Oh, yes,” Harry said, “we almost forgot. Hermione and I worked that out.”
Hermione produced a small pouch and from it began passing out fake galleons. “These coins are similar to the ones we used to arrange meetings of the DA at Hogwarts. They are lighter than actual galleons, so they should be easy to identify. Each of these is linked to one that has been given to Jarphred. If you give it a squeeze in your hand, his coin will alert him and he will come to you. That way you will always be able to communicate back and forth, or he can facilitate passage to or from the Manor,” she explained. She gave a coin to everyone who was coming to the Manor to live, as well as giving one to Mrs. Weasley for the Burrow, and one to Ginny. “The pantry will remain the only way to get to the Manor for the time being, so Harry and I thought this would be a good way to maintain security.”
“Good thinking,” Lupin commended, as he turned the coin over and over in his hand. “This is all there are?”
“Yes,” said Harry, “We didn’t want to make too many, we figured one for The Burrow would be enough, one for each of you that will be living at the Manor, and well, Ginny was the only exception,” he smiled, reddening a little in the cheeks.
Ginny smiled, joyfully embarrassed, and took Harry’s hand. She turned the coin over in her free hand and without thinking gave it a happy squeeze.
There was a “pop” and Jarvy appeared. “Yes Mistress Ginny,” Jarvy said with a bow.
“Oh!” Ginny said surprised, “I am sorry, Jarvy, I didn’t mean to summon you. I just...”
They all began to laugh.
“Well, at least we know they work,” Tonks interjected with a chortle.
Jarvy looked a bit confused, but maintained his composure.
“It’s alright Jarvy,” Harry said. “Thank you for responding so promptly. Would you please take Lupin and Tonk's things to their rooms?”
Jarvy nodded and turned to the last trunks and with another “pop” he and the luggage disappeared.
The assembled company made their way through the pantry door and into the Manor. Charlie and Ginny came along to spend the afternoon, and with a quick “See you soon,” to Mrs. Weasley Harry shut the door behind them.
Dobby and Winky were waiting in the hallway to lead everyone to their respective rooms.
As they were all making their way down the hallway, Lupin stopped Harry with a hand on his shoulder.
“Harry,” Lupin said, as Harry turned to face him, making Ginny stop as well as her hand was still firmly in his. “Harry, I was wondering how you would feel... Well, I don’t know how you stand on propriety, but Tonks and I wondered if we could share a room?”
Harry noticed that he and Tonks were holding hands.
“If you would rather we not, we’ll understand,” Tonks said.
Harry thought for a moment. “Well, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley have asked that Bill and Fleur maintain separate rooms until after the wedding,” he said, “but nobody has said anything about the two of you. I take it this means you are officially a couple?” Harry asked.
Lupin looked a bit embarrassed, Tonks smiled brightly, and they both nodded. Ginny giggled lightly and squeezed Harry’s hand.
“Very well then, you are both adults. I have no objection,” Harry said.
“Thank you Harry,” Tonks said, as she leaned into Lupin, smiling.
“I had you put in one of the suites in the North Wing, Tonks, so I guess the larger room would be the better to share,” Harry said as he turned and started away, pulling Ginny with him.
On the second floor landing Jarvy was handing out keys to the rooms. The four suites in the north wing had been assigned to Hermione, Fleur, Tonks, and Helena. Ron had chosen the first room in the South Wing nearest the stairs, and Bill was in the room next to that. Alex had elected to give Fleur and her daughter the larger rooms until after the wedding, and so she too was in the South Wing in the room across from Bill. The room across from Ron had been intended for Lupin, but Harry bent down and whispered to Jarvy the change in arrangements and the Elf produced a second key to the appropriate suite.
Harry took a moment to formally welcome everyone and assure them that they should feel at home. He told them that they were free to go anywhere in the Manor and make use of all of its accommodations, accept that he would prefer they stay out of what had been his Grandfather’s private study on the first floor off the Library. As nothing was planned for the afternoon he suggested that everyone get settled in their rooms, and use the time to relax and get familiar with their new surroundings.
“Jarvy assures me that he, Dobby, or Winky will come when called by anyone within the Manor, so if you need anything, don’t hesitate,” Harry finished.
Jarvy disappeared with a “pop”, and everyone hurried off to their rooms, leaving Harry standing there on the landing with Ginny.
“I thought you would go to Hermione’s room and help her get settled?” Harry said.
“Hermione is a big girl, she can handle things alone. Besides, I suspect Ron will turn up there in short order,” Ginny responded. “Besides, I was kind of hoping to see the elusive master suite?” She said with a mischievous sparkle in her eyes.
“Oh, you were, were you?” Harry smiled. “Very well then.” Harry took her hand and led her down the hallway toward the last door.
Inside the door was a private sitting room, all wood paneled and finished in amber chestnut. To the right there was a large marble fireplace flanked on one side by a deep leather, wing backed reading chair and on the other by a very comfortable looking lounge. In front of the fireplace was a beautiful Victorian sofa. To the left were a couple of built in book shelves on either side of a large wooden writing desk. Atop the desk were the iron lock box and the papers from Harry’s inheritance meeting earlier in the day. Across the room was an open door through which could be seen the bed chamber.
Ginny kicked off her summer sandals and scrunched her toes in the deep carpet. Harry followed suit leaving their shoes in a heap near the door.
“This is beautiful, Harry,” Ginny exclaimed as she took a turn around the room, giddy with excitement. She bound into the bed chamber eagerly exploring the space. The elaborate woodwork continued into the bed chamber, though the walls here were finished with silken fabric of Griffyndor Maroon. There was a king sized four poster bed that dominated the room and chairs finished in gold silk each with a side table of polished chestnut.
Ginny kept exploring passing through a curtained arch into his and hers dressing alcoves with separate closets that were each larger than her bedroom at The Burrow. Beyond was a short hallway, off of which were the water closet to one side and a large shower room to the other. The hallway lead into a bathing chamber similar to the one she had bathed in, only this was much larger with an octagonal sunken bath that had stairs leading down into it. Ginny thought it could have been a small swimming pool. The bathing chamber was finished in shimmering gold tile with maroon curtains across a broad window, and an open alcove filled with fluffy maroon towels, soaps, shampoos and bath oils.
Ginny came racing back through the curtain into the bedchamber where she had left Harry, he was standing there, chuckling at her. “Not much different than the guest chambers,” he said.
“I guess not, but it’s larger,” Ginny responded.
Ginny crossed to Harry and took his hands entwining their fingers. “So, do you think it will be different living here?” she asked.
“Different? Definitely, but I think I am going to like it,” Harry said, “It feels good having a place to really call home.”
“Won’t you miss knowing I am just down the hall?” Ginny pouted.
“Of course I will,” Harry pulled her close against himself, “but you will be here everyday, won’t you?”
“Every second Mum and Dad allow, I will.” Ginny released his hands and hugged him close pressing her face to his chest. “But, I’ll miss knowing you are sleeping down the hall.”
“I’ll miss that too,” Harry said with a wistful sigh. He wrapped his arms around her and held her tight.
They stood in their hug for a long moment, content in the warmth of one-another.
“I’ll bet your bed here will be more comfortable,” Ginny said finally. She turned her face up to his.
Harry chuckled. “You are right about that,” he said. “I will not be missing that cot.”
Ginny pulled away from Harry moving to the side of the bed and sitting up onto it. She spread her arms to her sides and ran her hands over the soft down comforter. “Ummm, nice,” she purred.
Harry followed her, standing against the bed between her knees. He leaned down and kissed her. She wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled at him as their tongues entwined. Harry’s heart was pounding as he leaned into Ginny and she pulled herself fully onto the bed, Harry with her. They kissed more passionately than they ever had their mouths hard and frantic against one another. Harry kissed at her neck; the smell of her hair was intoxicating as he nibbled at her ear eliciting a slight moan.
“Harry,” Ginny called pleadingly, as she reached for his face pulling their lips back together.
His hand slipped down her side pulling at her blouse, un-tucking it from her shorts. Ginny’s hands slipped from his face moving to his shirt buttons deftly popping each one top to bottom to reveal his bare chest.
In kind Harry worked the buttons of her blouse in the opposite direction. The backs of his fingers brushed the smooth flesh of her belly beneath and each touch tingled causing him to fumble the buttons.
Ginny’s hands on his skin felt electric as she caressed his sides beneath the open shirt reaching behind to his shoulders and pulling him tight, again bringing their mouths together in a rush of breath-defying passion.
They fell back onto the bed entangled, she pushing his shirt from his shoulders and he slipping her blouse from hers.
The imagined creature in his belly roared as Harry, dizzy with desire, pulled at Ginny, devouring her lips with his, pressing his bare flesh to hers. He couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t think, his hands moved to the clasp of her bra, and she willingly arched her back from the mattress allowing him access.
Their mouths parted, both gasping for air.
Harry released his hold on the unopened clasp and pushed himself up. “Ginny!” He panted, realization frantic in his voice, “what are we doing?”
Harry threw himself off the bed, his heart pounding in his ears.
Ginny raised herself on her elbows, she too breathing harsh frenzied breaths. “Giving in to desire,” she stated unabashedly, “it's okay, Harry, it’s your Birthday and I have nothing greater to give you than me.”
“Oh, Ginny,” Harry exclaimed, his breath returning, the pounding in his ears subsiding. He returned to the bed and pulled her up in to a deep hug, “Ginny, I want you so badly, I really do, but not just because we can and not just because it’s my birthday.” Harry kissed her again, but more calmly and softly. “Ginny, I don’t know if this will make sense to you, but I want you for a lifetime, not just for the moment.”
Ginny collapsed against him tears welling in her eyes. “I do understand that Harry,” she whispered, as she pressed her head on his shoulder and nibbled at his neck.
Harry, felt her tears against his neck slip down along his collar bone.
“Ginny? Are you alright?” Harry questioned.
“Yes, Harry, I’m happy,” she whispered.
Harry held her still for a long moment, before easing her blouse up her arms and back over her shoulders.
Ginny nuzzled his neck and turned her face up to his to collect another kiss, which grew from sweet to passionate. Harry returned each kiss, but eased himself forward off the bed leading her until they were standing next to it in a tight embrace. He peeled himself from her arms and retrieved his shirt throwing it on over his shoulders.
Ginny pulled him back to her, kissing him again, deeply. “You... Really... Do... Want me..., Harry?” she asked in staccato gasps between darting kisses.
Harry pulled back again and met her fiery eyes with his. “Are you kidding? You know I do...” he took a deep breath, “it’s just that... Ginny... I love you... and I don’t want to do anything that is not right for us, and for everyone around us.”
Ginny frowned slightly, “My Dad made you promise didn’t he?” she said wryly.
“Well... he made me promise I would behave myself at The Burrow... But that has nothing to do with it. It’s just the way I feel about it... about you...” Harry’s voice trailed away. He didn’t know what more to say. He pulled her back into another kiss. After a long moment he parted the kiss and turned, taking her hand and pulling her toward the sitting room, away from the bed.
“Harry,” Ginny said innocently, “You really do want me though?” she moved with him hesitantly.
“Madly,” Harry said.
She stopped at the doorway, tugging him back. “You’re sure? We probably have a couple hours before anyone will look for us,” she said enticingly.
“Don’t tempt me,” Harry said teasingly, pulling her forward and kissing her yet again. He turned her and stepped her out of the bed chamber with a barrage of kisses. “You’re not upset with me?” he asked, as he backed her against the couch.
Ginny sat, pulling her legs up beneath herself. “No!” she exclaimed, “how could I be mad at you for proving to me that you really love me,” she smiled giddily, clutching at a throw pillow. “Of course, either way, I would have taken as proof,” she batted her lashes at him.
Harry smiled. “You’re terrible Miss Weasley,” he said teasingly.
Ginny blushed, “Besides, Hermione predicted you would react something like this... I’ll bet Ron is not nearly so noble.”
“Ginny!” Harry exclaimed, “You didn’t discuss this with Hermione?”
“Of course I did,” Ginny said matter-of-factly. “Where else was I going to learn the appropriate charms?” she blushed again.
“And, Hermione? She’s not planning to... with Ron?” Harry asked with disbelief.
“Oh, no!” Ginny responded, “at least I don’t think so... but, maybe.” Ginny was clearly enjoying Harry’s expression. “It’s none of our business either way,” she giggled.
Harry shut his eyes and shook his head as though banishing the thought, “You’re quite right about that,” he said, “nothing I want to know.”
Please review - Thanks!
NEXT
Chapter Seventeen
The Party
Chapter 18: Chapter 17 - The Party
Author's Notes: This is the second half of Harry's Birthday. Originally it was all intended to be contained in a single chapter, but obviously it would have been one very long chapter.
I would like to acknowledge and thank my new Beta reader Seekers-destiny for help with chapter, as well as my proof-reader B. Hanzel. They make a huge difference!
The Party
Lord Voldemort stood at the castle window looking out at the surrounding grounds and the dark woods beyond.
The castle was a recent acquisition and while comfortable enough and nicely located high in the Carpathian Mountains. It was no Hogwarts. That was the one castle he really wanted; the one castle that still held many of his darkest secrets. In time. he thought to himself, All, in time.
He glanced far to the distant west at the surrounding peaks. He was waiting, and it was something he was not very good at. He adored keeping others waiting, but waiting himself he just couldn't ever be comfortable with. And, yet he had been waiting. Waiting for years; waiting for opportunities. They had come; people whose bodies he had possessed, lives he had influenced toward his long term goals. His years as a spirit had actually taught him much more about human nature than he had previously comprehended.
He had achieved a great deal while waiting. Then the idiot Quirrell had come and he was finally able to start acting on his plan; returning to Hogwarts in search of the Philosophers stone. Unicorn blood had helped him achieve the beginnings of a corporeal rebirth. But then there had also been the boy. He hissed angrily at the memory; Harry Potter, who should have died by his hand; the boy who had lived. Harry had grown, and through some unknown magic had managed to thwart him a second time. Dumbledore had always theorized that the unknown magic was 'love', but he had never seen any evidence that 'love' was anything more than a desperate man's fantasy, a trap for the weak minded.
He had returned to the East, reuniting with the one creature that had never disappointed him, his familiar, Nagini. After two more years of waiting the most unexpected of his servants had found him, and he was able to once again act on his plan. With very careful planning and the help of a more capable servant he had been able to achieve the goal of corporeal rebirth. Again, the boy had to be involved and again the boy should have died, but always there were surprises where the boy was concerned. It was then that he had learned about the relationship between the wands; two wands, each with a core from the very same creature, a very fortunate coincidence for the boy, one that had saved his life yet again.
Next had come the plan to retrieve the Prophecy, a plan again thwarted by the wildcard that was Harry Potter. It had caused him to regroup, to rethink, and to return again to the East. One thing was clear, his triumph was coming, his plans were falling into place, but none of it would be complete until he himself could kill Harry Potter. That day too was coming, but it would require a little more waiting.
None could know the full extent of his plans. Even Dumbledore, who had uncovered the most could never have realized the full extent of his conviction. Or the lengths to which he had gone to guarantee ultimate success. The Diary, he had learned, had been destroyed, but it had only been one; one of six. Even Dumbledore, he thought, could not have guessed the number, let alone uncovered the objects themselves. And even if he had told the boy, Harry Potter had never been able to achieve anything on his own, and Dumbledore was gone now. The boy himself posed only a minimal threat.
There was a knock at the chamber door. "Enter." Voldemort commanded.
Severus Snape walked tentatively into the dark room. The snake Nagini slithered toward him, hissing lightly in the darkness. "Master," Snape dropped to one knee, bowing deeply. "He has been located."
"Very good," Voldemort said, still looking out the window. "Then we shall proceed."
"Yes Master," Snape answered quietly.
"Fetch the crucible, Severus," Voldemort said, his cruel voice dripping with sadistic mirth.
Voldemort drew his wand pressing the tip to his forearm were his own master mark darkened upon contact. It took only a moment for him to locate the Death-eaters at the desired location and centering on them, he Apparated.
A moment later, Voldemort appeared among a small gathering of his newest Death-eaters. Cold wind wiped about him. They were high up in the mountains, near a jagged peak, with only a very narrow passage allowing them entry. There was a level area of crushed stone before the mouth of a dark cave. Voldemort smiled a cruel smile through his narrow lips.
Snape appeared behind the Dark Lord. He was carrying a large ceramic pot with a flat lid. He remained stern and silent, both arms supporting the ceramic container.
"Excellent, Severus, it looks large enough," the Dark Lord hissed.
"Yes, Lord," Snape responded, head remaining bowed.
Voldemort turned to the small group of Death-eaters. "You are certain this is the one?" Voldemort asked in a commanding tone.
One of the Death-eaters stepped forward and bowed. "Yes, Lord, he is the oldest... and most deadly."
"Your work here will be aptly rewarded," Voldemort said off-handedly as he stepped anxiously toward the cave mouth. He turned slightly, facing the Death-eaters. "This is a turning point my friends, one more step on the great path that shall lead to my victory; the dawn of a new age for Wizard kind." Voldemort drew his wand and turning strode purposefully into the cave.
The Death-eater who had spoken moved closer to Snape. "Can he really do this?"
Snape cut the man off, "Do you doubt your Master?"
"No... No not at all, sir," the Death-eater responded defensively. "It's just that, well that is the oldest known Romanian Longhorn in there. And I have never seen a man face a dragon before without lots of extra magical gear." The man paused, listening intently. "Our Lord is truly great and powerful," he said, somewhat apprehensively.
"Terribly powerful," Snape said quietly, giving the man a sidelong glance.
An unearthly, gurgling roar split the silence and the mouth of the cave exploded in hot flame.
There were quick flashes of colored light punctuated by more roars, and more flames. A loud clamoring of what sounded like huge stones crashing into the cave walls and the whole mountain seemed to shake.
Snape set down the large pot drawing his wand. The others followed his example. Despite themselves they stepped nearer the cave mouth.
For long agonizing minutes they witnessed the battle of lights and flame as it illuminated the cave opening; and kept their feet as the mountain shook with fury. Then, there was silence. Great billows of smoke rushed from the cave mouth flowing into the clouded sky.
They stood in excited anticipation, waiting for what if anything would emerge.
Lord Voldemort came slowly into view his blood soaked cloak smoldering and steaming about him. In his hands he held a gruesome bloody heart, large as a Christmas ham. The thing undulated and pulsed still, glowing with rivulets of magical power as blood dripped from torn veins. "The crucible," Voldemort demanded.
Snape picked up the ceramic pot and rushed it to his Master, setting it before him and removing the heavy lid.
Voldemort eased the dragon heart into the pot, his hands thick with dark red blood. "The beast is defeated, the prize is mine," he said, his lips slithering into a smile. "Severus, take this to the wand maker."
Snape gathered the heavy pot and Apparated away without a word.
"Gather all that is of value my Death-eaters," Voldemort commanded with unabashed revelry. "I leave you now to finish your work." With a loud implosive "pop" the Dark Lord was gone.
Voldemort appeared back in the castle chamber. He was drenched in Dragon blood, his cloak still smoldered sickeningly. "Attend me!" he bellowed.
A young woman entered from a side door, she was a beautiful blonde girl dressed in a thin, sheer robe that revealed much of her form beneath. She bowed to one knee, barely able to hide the fear on her face. "Yes, my Lord," she said tentatively. Two more, similarly dressed and equally beautiful woman, one raven haired, the other with long auburn locks, appeared behind her and bowed low.
Voldemort kicked off his boots with a blood soaked sloshing sound and opened the front of his robe casting it off his shoulders revealing a few nasty burns on his arms and shoulders. Dragon blood dripped down his face chest and back as he revealed the fullness of his waxy white form before the attendants. "Heated water," he commanded, "I wish to be bathed of this dragon foul."
The woman quickly turned and left the room returning moments later, the first carrying a large basin on a tray, filled with a cake of soap and two large sponges. The second carried a stack of thick towels, which she set carefully on a side table, and the third carried a fresh heavy robe, which she also laid on the table. A procession of haggard looking Elves appeared carrying a large round brass tub and several large steaming ewers of water. The tub was fully a meter and a half wide. They set them down before the Dark Lord and quickly scurried from the room.
Having performed healing spells on his burns, the Dark Lord stepped into the center of the tub. The first two women dropped their sheer robes to the floor and stepped into the tub, setting the basin at the Dark Lord's feet. The third woman gathered the first of several ewers of water and filled the basin from outside the tub, then handed the ewer to the raven haired servant. The blonde gathered a sponge and soaping it prepared to wash her Master as the other, stretching to reach, slowly poured water over Voldemort to rinse away the bloody filth.
Voldemort stood silently, eyes closed as the two servants carefully attended to him, obviously enjoying their soapy caress.
There was a knock at the door. "Enter," Voldemort commanded exultantly.
Snape entered the room, casting his eyes down hastily at the sight of the three naked bodies before him. "I am sorry, my Lord, I did not intend to disturb your cleansing," Snape apologized hastily, bowing low.
The women made no attempt to cover themselves, despite obvious expressions of embarrassment. They continued washing their Lord.
"Nonsense, Severus, there is no need for apology," Voldemort responded unabashedly "Do not tell me you are embarrassed by the scene before you?"
"No Lord," Snape raised his head, not quite meeting Voldemort's gaze. "I wished to report that the heart has been delivered. Mr. Ollivander has already begun harvesting the heartstrings."
"Excellent," The word practically slithered from the Dark Lord's lips.
"Lord," Snape continued, "I wondered if you remembered that today is the whelp's Birthday?"
Voldemort chuckled sadistically. "I have not forgotten. Did you hope I would include you in some plan to attack Potter?"
"One can hope, my Lord," Snape bowed low again.
"Rest assured, Severus," Voldemort said sardonically, "I have arranged an appropriate gift for 'the whelp' as you so like to call him." There was an uncomfortable silence, as a couple of Elves returned, quietly spiriting away the soiled boots and robe from the floor and banishing all traces of blood including the filthy rinse water from the tub.
The raven haired woman began pouring water over Voldemort again rinsing away the soap from his sickly looking flesh.
"You may go, Severus," Voldemort said commandingly, "I have my bath to finish." Voldemort reached for the blonde beauty and roughly pulled her body against his, chuckling darkly. The young woman gasped.
Snape turned abruptly and hastily exited the room.
Harry rolled off the couch onto the floor and began buttoning his shirt. Ginny smiled at him from the couch. Her clothes were crumpled and her hair was a mess, but she had never looked more beautiful to him.
They had talked for a while after their incident in the bedroom and it had not surprised Harry that their views on the matter had never been far out of tune. They talked about the impending dangers of the Horcrux search, the need for Harry to eventually face Tom Riddle, Ginny’s parents and what concerns they might have, as well as their personal views, fears and hopes for a long wonderful life together. They agreed that while the passion between them was undeniable, they did not need to be in any sort of a hurry to push their physical relationship in any particular direction. There were a lot of unknowns in their future and they felt that they didn’t want to act because of them, or in spite of them. What they both wanted most of all, is that when it did happen, it would be for all the right reasons, and free of any sort of reservations.
That heartfelt conversation had led finally to a long unreserved snogging session there on the couch both of them confident in their mutually agreed limits.
Harry pulled himself up and crossed the room to the desk. He retrieved the iron lock box and brought it back to the couch where Ginny had sat up and was straightening herself.
"More of my inheritance," Harry said as he set next to Ginny indicating the lock box with a gesture. "I was thinking I should probably open it."
Ginny looked at the non-descript iron box with an intense curiosity. "Any idea what could be in this one?" she asked.
"I've no clue," Harry responded, "but, Mr. Prcht seemed to feel its contents might be important, and probably magical." Harry paused, "I was thinking we should get Ron and Hermione, and then head down to my Grandfather's study and I'll open it there."
"Okay," Ginny smiled, "but give me a chance to straighten up a little," she said as she stood and headed into the bedroom and through to the dressing rooms. She emerged a few minutes later, clothes straightened and hair brushed. "Alright," she said, "Now I don't look like we've been snogging for the last hour." She raised her wand and hit Harry with a quick de-wrinkling charm. "There, now, neither do you."
Harry chuckled, smiling at her.
Harry and Ginny headed down the hall to Ron's room where they knocked, but it was clear that Ron was not there.
"See, I told you," Ginny giggled as they headed to the North wing.
They arrived at Hermione's door, Harry raising his hand to knock when Ginny grabbed his arm and pulled it down. "Wait, Harry, what if... what if they are?" Ginny blushed scandalously.
Harry looked momentarily puzzled. "Ginny! They are my best friends in the whole world and I really do not want to think about such things," Harry paused, seemingly unable to raise his arm again. "Still..."
"They are a couple now, Harry, and they are both of age," Ginny said, biting her lip.
"That doesn't mean they..." Harry looked suddenly uncomfortable. "Ginny, why does it matter? We should still knock as if we assume nothing, because we know nothing."
"I know, but I can't help but wonder, Harry," Ginny blushed again. "I don't really care, but I can't help it."
"You are terrible, Ginny," Harry teased.
"Oh, come on, Harry, you are wondering too," Ginny said, putting on an innocent face.
"Only because you keep bringing it up," Harry admonished her playfully.
"Okay, knock then," Ginny challenged, "but what if they are, doing it?"
Harry raised his hand to knock but they both were stuck in the moment staring at the door before them.
"Doing what?" Ron's voice cut the momentary silence.
Harry and Ginny turned, startled, frozen by Ron's sudden presence.
Ron was standing behind them in the hallway. He had a rather large sandwich from which he had obviously taken several bites, as he was still chewing.
"How long have you been standing there?" Ginny demanded guiltily.
"Long enough to know you two are nutters," Ron said, taking another large, appreciative bite of his sandwich.
Harry and Ginny were both red with embarrassment.
"Go on in, it's not locked," Ron said through his mouthful. "Don't worry; I won't tell Hermione, you two have lost your minds." He pushed between them and opened the door, stepping into the room.
Harry and Ginny followed sheepishly, remaining near the door.
Hermione was sitting cross legged on the bed pouring over a book laid out in front of her. She looked up. "Hey you two," she said. "We wondered if you would be around before this evening."
"So, what's with the new box, Harry?" Ron asked, diverting conversation before it could begin.
"Another lock-box from Mr. Prcht," Harry stated. "This is the final piece of my inheritance. We were just going down to my Grandfather's study to open it." Harry held the box forward so they could see it better. "We thought you two might like to come along?"
"Oh, yes," Hermione said, "wouldn't miss it. Just give me a minute." She placed a book mark in her book and climbed off the bed heading for the dressing room.
There were a couple of minutes of silence. Harry and Ginny fidgeted uncomfortably still recalling the scene in the hallway. Ron just tucked in to his sandwich as though he was oblivious.
Hermione reemerged and they all headed from the room making their way toward the Library.
From a window at the landing of the northwest stairs, Ron caught a glimpse of Lupin and Tonks crossing the outer courtyard toward the carriage house. He paused, "Wonder what they are up to?"
Harry and the others joined Ron by the window and watched as the two disappeared into the carriage house. "Oh, nothing to worry about," Harry said quietly. "It is the full moon in a few days, that's all." The others looked at him wide eyed, their expressions begging further explanation. Harry sighed lightly, not really wanting to bring it up. "There is a passage beneath the carriage house that leads to a special, secure cell. I made sure they knew about it when I invited them to move in. I expect they are just making sure everything is ready should Lupin need to use it during the full moon."
Ron, Hermione and Ginny all nodded in slightly apprehensive understanding. Harry turned and headed down the stairs. "Will it really be safe, Harry," Ginny finally asked as they descended the stairs.
"Yes, I expect," Harry said, not stopping. "I didn't have to tell the Elves about Lupin's condition, they just somehow already knew, and they will look after him." Harry paused, "Jarvy tells me that the Manor has accommodated werewolves in the past, and he is not the slightest bit worried about it."
They reached the door to his Grandfather's study and Harry opened it with a master key. The room was all wood panels, lined with built in shelves and glass fronted cabinets. It was a bit reminiscent of the Headmaster's office at Hogwarts, with lots of wondrous objects in the cabinets that moved on their own. The shelves were packed with books, which Hermione began to examine immediately. There was a large oak desk which dominated one end of the room, and a comfortable reading/sitting area by the single broad window. Harry crossed the room to the desk and set the lock box on it as he stepped around and seated himself in the comfortable leather desk chair.
Hermione and Ron each took seats in the heavy chairs opposite Harry, Ginny pulled up a third chair from against the wall. Harry removed the Dumbledore card base from his pocket and set it on the desk, producing a card to set in it. After quick greetings, birthday wishes, and a short explanation, "Mr. Prcht said to open this in a secure location, and I expect this is about as secure as the Manor has to offer," Harry said. The others nodded their agreement, as Harry dug the iron key from his pocket. He pushed the key into the lock and turned it to no effect. Harry sighed, "I guess this one is like the other."
Harry opened the center drawer of the desk looking for something to prick his finger. He found a small box of map pins and used one to perform the task, drawing a small drop of blood on his left index finger. He dabbed the end of the key into the drop of blood then slowly slid it into the lock. As with the previous lock-box there was a slight momentary glow of golden light; an audible ‘click’ and the lock clasp fell open.
Harry opened the top of the box. Inside was a thick set of folded sheaves of parchment. Harry removed the parchment revealing a dozen small crystal vials beneath, set in neat dividers.
Setting the parchments aside for a moment, Harry picked up one of the vials holding it up to examine the contents. Inside was a silvery liquid. Harry recognized it as a memory at once.
"Is that a memory?" Ron asked. "You've told us about them, and about using the pensive, but I've never seen one before."
"Yes, yes I think that's exactly what it is," Harry replied, holding the vial out farther for everyone's examination. "But, whose?"
"That is an excellent question," Dumbledore responded, "your family, and your history seems to be filled with surprises, Harry."
"Here," Hermione said, reaching into the divider slot from which Harry had drawn the vial, and pulling up a small paper tag. "It says, 'Caractacus Potter, c. 900 - Potter curse'."
"Curse?" Harry said chuckling gravely, "just what I need." He set the vial back in its slot hastily.
He turned to the parchments and picked them up unfolding the top sheets and pulling them away. It was a letter from his Grandfather. Harry read it aloud.
To my Grandson,
Congratulations, you will have come of age now and your legal inheritance is complete. Great pains have been taken to ensure that your inheritance has remained intact and your financial interests have continued to grow. It is my hope that this will help you on the dark journey you have before you. Mr. Prcht has done a great service to the Potter family and I am certain he will continue to assist you in whatever legal way you may need.
Having received all legal rights and responsibilities it is now important that certain magical matters be attended to as well. Most urgently, as the head of the Potter family you will need to claim and re-enforce the charms and wards that protect the Manor and our family name. I have left detailed instructions for doing so in the parchments you have now received. This must be done within forty-eight hours of your legal inheritance or you will run the risk of the magic fading to dangerous levels.
Through your Grandmother's gifts we have been able to see only glimpses of the darkness that you must face; enough to concern us gravely, and cause us to take drastic measures to protect the family. Still, we could not protect your parents, or shield them from the tragic roles they had to play in the unfolding of the Potter fate. For this we are sorely grieved.
Knowing some small details of their roles in these overall events, and as a birthday gift for you, I was able to commission a portrait of your parents. If the artist has upheld her portion of the contract, it should have been painted shortly after their wedding without their knowledge, appropriately charmed to receive their life impressions, and sealed away for safe keeping by the artist herself. Instructions for retrieving this portrait are included in the enclosed parchments. It is my sincere hope that this will make up in some very small way for you being denied your parents presence in your life.
You will not lack for financial resources, and there are many magical objects and devices collected at the Manor which may or may not be of help to you. Lacking specific details, attempting to prepare a way for you was very likely beyond our grasp, but we have tried none-the-less.
Deep beneath the lowest cellar of the Manor is a treasure room where we have preserved the greatest object of the Wizarding world. An artifact so often sought after that it has passed into Wizard myth. An artifact I do not dare name in a letter. It is our hope that it may be of help to you.
Unfortunately, we can not know if any of our preparations will be of any help at all, they may not be. Therefore we have also left you a magical record of your heritage, in the form of these family memories, so that you may come to know who you are through the lens of your ancestry.
The history of the Potter family is shrouded by its own curse, a curse we have come to suspect is connected to all that is unfolding in your lifetime. Find the answer to the Potter curse and you have found the key to all.
We wish that we could have done much more and given you exact clear answers to the many questions that you must have. The path before you is yours to travel, and we have every faith that you will traverse it with courage and conviction, we hope that we have helped in some small way.
Know that you are loved and have always been loved, before, during, and beyond your lifetime, and that no matter the outcome of your journey in this life, that bit of magic will never change.
With deep and abiding love,
Your Grandfather,
Deyton Potter.
Harry set the letter down. There was silence, as though everyone in the room were holding there breath.
"Well, it seems, Harry, that your life is even more complicated than any of us ever suspected," Dumbledore said in what sounded like a slightly troubled tone. "This is certainly beyond the scope of anything I ever imagined.
"Yes, Professor," Harry agreed dubiously. "But, it does not change the tasks at hand. We still need to focus on our search for the Horcruxes. We will investigate this artifact that my Grandparent's have left, and hopefully it will prove useful. And, I would like to find out more about my family and whatever this 'Potter Curse' is, but I cannot let it distract me from the here and now."
"Quite right, Harry," Dumbledore replied, "But let me encourage you, as it is your Birthday, to take the time to enjoy your day. The most urgent matter seems to be the Manor wards, which you have been given forty-eight hours to address. I suggest that we can determine to deal with this first thing tomorrow, as well as the other matters in your Grandfather's letter. Today, let us focus on the party yet to come."
Ron, Hermione, and Ginny all nodded in agreement. Harry stood still and seemed to be looking at the lock box as though he were making a difficult decision.
Harry reached forward and picked up the additional folded parchments and handed them to Hermione, who began to unfold them curiously. He placed the letter on top of the memory vials and closed the box. "No, Professor," he said finally. "While I appreciate your trying to focus on some fun for my birthday, I think we should take care of the wards immediately." He exhaled a slight sigh. "The artifact, these memories, and even the portrait of my parents can wait a little, but starting tomorrow there will be more people in the Manor, so I think we should take care of security first." He gathered the closed lock-box and opening a lower drawer of the heavy oak desk he set the box in and slid it closed.
"I think you're dead right, Harry," Ron said supportively, "better to see to security while you can."
Ginny nodded her head in agreement.
"Well, I will not disagree, Harry," Dumbledore said, "In fact; I commend you on your consideration of the matter."
Harry turned to Hermione who was reading through the parchments. "Well, what does it say I have to do, Hermione?" He asked.
"It all looks pretty simple, Harry," she replied. "Your Grandfather's instructions say that all the Manor wards and protections, including the Fidelius charm are focused through an ancestral blood stone." She continued to scan the instructions "It looks like you simply cast whatever wards you desire on the stone."
"What is a blood stone?" Ginny asked.
Dumbledore spoke in answer. "A blood stone is a magical stone that uses drops of a family's blood to bind and reinforce magic. It is a very old, and very powerful way to do this. It is not surprising; given everything we have learned about the Potters, that one of Harry's ancestors would have created such an object to protect this house." Dumbledore seemed very pleased. "I have never seen one myself."
"Harry," Hermione spoke, "It says here that the stone will accept blood not only from your family, but from any of your maternal ancestors' families as well." She paused, and looked up rather excitedly. "There is a list here of six names. The family names of your male ancestor's wives." Hermione paused, "The first name on the list is, 'Weasley'." She looked up at Ginny whose eyes had grown wide.
"Excellent," Dumbledore exclaimed, "That would mean that any directly descended Weasley could add their charms and wards to the stone to reinforce its power." He paused, "what are the others?"
Hermione looked back down at the parchment, finding her place hurriedly and read the list. "Weasley," she repeated, "Fenrimore, Trelawney, Soronen, Lovegood, and Evans." Harry chuckled loudly. "Well, I guess that answers the question of whether or not my Grandmother is Luna's lost Great Aunt."
Ginny, joined Harry's laughter.
"Since when have you suspected that?" Ron asked, beginning to chuckle himself at the thought.
"It was something Luna said at the Ministry the day of the escape attempt," Ginny said, "I guess with all the excitement about the to-do with those Death-eaters, we just sort of forgot about it."
"This is all very interesting," Dumbledore cut in seriously. "It seems that if you chose to, you could include Miss Lovegood and her father, as well as Professor Trelawny in reinforcing the wards," he paused, "I am afraid the other names are unfamiliar to me."
"Soronen, is the name of the woman who took over Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlor, do you suppose she is somehow related?" Ginny asked.
"It doesn't matter," Harry said, "The only name on that list that I trust is 'Weasley', I am not about to ask any others for assistance. I suppose maybe Luna, but I don't think it is worth trying to contact her right now."
"Very good, Harry," Dumbledore said, "It would be extremely important that you trust anyone you would ask to participate."
"I think we should do this now, with who we have on hand." Harry paused, "Bill and Charlie are in the Manor now, they could participate if they are willing and we can add wards from the twins and your Father, later." Harry said turning to Ron. "Ron, would you go find your brothers and ask them if they are willing?" Harry turned to Hermione, "The instructions must say where to locate this blood stone?"
Hermione was still reading through the parchments. "Um, yes," she said, "they say that Jarphred knows the location of the ward room and will lead you there." She looked up from the parchments again. "Harry, this also instructs you to reinforce the Fidelius charm, and change secret keepers, so that Jarvy can be returned to his position as your House-elf." She looked slightly defeated. "I assume this means you are supposed to recapture him."
Harry nodded, but didn't open the matter to discussion. He turned back to Ron "Go find your brothers, and meet us in at the central stairs in a few minutes."
Ron nodded, and turned to leave the room, "be there in a few," he said as he left the room.
Harry turned to the Dumbledore card. "I'm sorry Professor, but if we are going to keep you secret, you won't be able to come for this."
"I quite understand, Harry," the little Dumbledore conceded, "You will of course tell me all about it later, I hope?"
"Of course, Professor," Harry said, he reached out to remove the card, but then stopped. "Later, Professor, if you would like, I can leave you somewhere in the sitting room, so you can witness the party. I don't think my having your card out at my birthday party would arouse any suspicion. If you behave like a regular Chocolate Frog Card, I think it would be fine."
"I would like that, Harry," Dumbledore said, "I think you are right, everyone would simply see your having my card there, as a sentimental gesture. And, I thank you for that."
Harry leaned forward and reached to pull the card from the base, "See you later then, Professor."
Dumbledore nodded with a smile, and Harry pulled the card, pocketing the card and base.
Harry, Hermione and Ginny left the room making there way to the central staircase. They arrived well before the others. Harry called for Jarvy and Dobby and both elves appeared at once. Harry knelt to address them directly. He turned to Dobby first. "Dobby, I want you to go to Hogwarts now, and find Hagrid. Tell him, if he would come to The Burrow an hour early, I have a favor to ask him."
"Yes, Master," Dobby squeaked, and snapping his fingers disappeared with a 'pop'.
Harry turned to Jarvy. "Jarvy, I have received instructions from my Grandfather," I must reinforce the Manor wards. I will need you to show me to the Blood Stone."
Jarvy's eyes widened. "Yes, Master Harry," Jarvy said calmly.
Ron arrived, with Bill and Charlie in tow, along with them came Lupin, Tonks and Alex Burgestikoff.
Harry let Hermione give a brief explanation of what they were going to do, and why Bill and Charlie were to be included, and then Jarvy lead them up the stairs to the highest level of the Manor.
On the fifth floor landing of the main staircase there didn't, at first glance, appear to be any doorways, just a wrap around, wide, banistered walkway. There was nothing there accept a fresco covered ceiling, and the walkways only purpose seemed to be so that interested observers could get a closer look at the ceiling above. Jarvy lead them to the side wall and pointed to a small latch set in the wall.
Harry pulled the latch and a section of the wall swung open silently. Inside was a, narrow, steep, wooden stairway that led up the inside of the wall. Harry looked at Jarvy who just smiled and waved him inside. Harry drew his wand and said Lumos, holding it before him he climbed up the stairs. The others lighted their wands and followed. At the top of the stairs was an open attic. The rough timber structure of the roof line was clearly visible. At the center of the attic was a mechanical, hand operated winch that's clear purpose was for raising the massive chandelier which hung below. Everyone looked a bit confused as there didn't seem to be anything else in the large attic room.
The hairs at the back of Harry's neck bristled and he felt flush with goosebumps. He was certain there was a very powerful source of magic nearby.
"Doesn't appear to be anything up here, Mate," Ron said casually.
Ginny took Harry's hand. She whispered, "What is it Harry?"
"Oh, there is something here," Harry said, "Something very powerful."
Harry turned around to face a wooden wall. It appeared to be very solid. He stepped up and touched it. It felt unyielding. He closed his eyes and stepped through, pulling Ginny with him.
"Okay, that was interesting," Lupin said, unperturbed.
"It must be like the barrier to the platform at King's Cross," Hermione said. She took Ron's hand and together they stepped through.
Bill looked over at Charlie and smirked mischievously.
"Cool," Charlie responded, and the two brothers stepped through the wall. Lupin took Tonk's hand and they stepped to the wall, crashing into it.
Alex approached and cautiously swept her hand over the solid boards. "Vell. It vould appear that the tree of us are not velcomed by diss barrier."
Tonks rubbed her noise gently. "Apparently not."
"But Hermione went through," Lupin observed, "and she is not a Potter, or a Weasley?"
Tonks banged on the wall loudly. "Can you hear us in there?" she yelled at the wall.
They turned to Jarvy, who just shrugged his shoulders. "Jarvy cannot cross the barrier, now that he is a free elf," he squeaked.
Inside the hidden room, at its center, stood a marble pedestal; on top of it were a large half globe stone, and a small, golden, ceremonial dagger. The stone was blood red and so highly polished that it looked like it might have been an oversized drop of blood. The room seemed to be illuminated by a dim pinkish light with no obvious source, and around the pedestal was a ribbon of ruby light that floated and undulated just above the floor at a radius of about two meters.
Harry seemed to be transfixed by the stone as they crossed the barrier, he and Ginny stepped into the room a few paces. Harry released Ginny's hand, dropped his wand and proceeded through the ribbon of light, right up to the stone. Ron and Hermione appeared next to Ginny and stepped to the side allowing for others to follow. Bill and Charlie appeared next. They watched as Harry reached out and placed both his hands on the stone.
There was no time for a reaction as the stone pulsed bright and fluid light moved up Harry's arms quickly engulfing him. Bill raised his wand, but Ginny thrust her arm out to stop him. "No, he's okay," she said.
The light seemed to fade, absorbing into Harry and when it was gone, he turned, a huge smile broad on his face. "It is fantastic," he said, "truly fantastic. I don't believe I'll need those instructions anymore, Hermione."
Hermione looked down at her free hand; she was clutching the parchments so hard she had crushed them. She hastily released Ron's hand and tried to smooth them.
Harry chuckled, and suddenly they could all hear Tonks yelling from the opposite side of the wall.
Harry stepped from the pedestal and picked up his wand. He waved it wordlessly at the wall and Tonks stumbled through the barrier. Lupin, Alex and Jarvy followed her.
Both Lupin and Alex moved toward the ribbon of light, moving around it in opposite directions curiously. "This is amazing Harry, I've never seen anything like it."
"It is indeed a spectacle," Alex said, "I too have never seen its like."
"What needs to be done is very simple," Harry directed. Each of you that is willing and of proper blood, pass through the ribbon, to the stone, cast whatever protective wards you know and then seal the spells by drawing the dagger across your hand, enough to draw blood, and placing your hand on the stone."
"Simple, but a bit intimidating, Mate," Ron said.
Alex raised her hand curiously and reached out. The air around her hand, above the ribbon, sparked and crackled. "Ouch!" she pulled her hand back hastily. "Obviously, I am not of de proper blood." She stepped back to the others clutching her hand.
"Are you hurt?" Ginny asked.
Lupin was moving to Alex's side to examine her hand.
"No, I do not tink I am injured, but my hand is now, how you say? Numb?" Alex said.
"That will pass," Harry said calmly, "There is no permanent damage."
"Well, I'll give it a go," Bill said stepping forward. He moved to the ribbon and tentatively reached in front of him. The air sparked and undulated, but made no crackling sounds and he stepped beyond the ribbon. "It is amazing, Harry," He turned to face the others, "If feels like... well, sorta like a great big hug from Mum."
Harry smiled.
"So, all the wards I know?" Bill asked, as he stepped to the pedestal.
"Anything that will protect the grounds and Manor, including, wards, detection spells, anti-Muggle charms, anything you can think of. Then seal it all to the stone with your blood."
Bill nodded. He turned back to the stone and began casting spells. As a Curse-breaker, his knowledge of wards was perhaps the most extensive in the room and they all watched for a while as he cast spell after spell.
Hermione began to coach Ron on various wards, and Lupin, Tonks, and Alex came over to help as they quietly reviewed various wards and protections with Charlie, Ron and Ginny.
Harry watched Bill quietly.
After about twenty minutes of spell casting Bill quietly picked up the dagger and drew its sharp blade across his palm. He laid his hand over the stone and it glowed momentarily. He drew his hand away looking at it. No evidence of the cut remained. He turned smiling and returned to the group. "Who's next?" he said, he was obviously invigorated by the process.
Charlie went next. Afterward, Ron went, with Hermione and the others coaching him through several spells from outside the ribbon. When Ron was finished, he stepped back across the ribbon of light and Ginny moved forward.
"Ginny," Lupin cautioned, "you are not yet seventeen. The protection may exclude underage Wizards," he said as kindly as possible. "I just don't want you to be surprised, if it excludes you."
Ginny nodded her understanding, but proceeded undeterred. She reached out toward the air above the ribbon and it shimmered spectacularly but she passed inside without rejection. She boldly stepped up to the stone and began to cast spells. She too had to be coached through several spells she had never cast before, but she got through the process brilliantly. When she was finished she stepped back and went to Harry giving him a big hug.
"I guess that just leaves you, Harry," she said smiling as she examined her healed hand.
"I am not so sure about that," Lupin interrupted, "I think we should let Hermione give it a try."
Hermione looked shocked. "Me?" she stammered, "but I am not related to the Potters, or the Weasleys,"
"Perhaps, but you listed five additional family names that could possibly contribute," Lupin reminded, "Perhaps you are in some way related to one of them?"
"You did step right through the first barrier," Tonks said, "remember?"
Hermione looks surprised, "I guess I did, but I was holding Ron's hand, I thought that was the reason."
"Go on, Hermione," Ron encouraged gently, "Give it a go."
Hermione stepped up to the ribbon, looking very unsure, and pulling a face reached out forward. The air shimmered and she stepped through. She turned, excitedly, "I'm... it... it let me inside!"
Harry chortled quietly. "That means you are somehow related to one of the families on the list," he paused, "cousin." He smiled at her.
Hermione grinned and turning began casting spells on the stone.
When Hermione was finished she turned and practically skipping came to Harry giving him a big hug. "No wonder, you've always felt like family to me, Harry."
"Me too, Hermione," Harry said returning her hug.
Harry then stepped through the ribbon and approaching the stone, trance-like, began casting spells. The others waited to see if he would need any coaching, but he did not. In fact, he seemed to cast several spells that were unknown to any of them. Finally he paused, and turning he approached the ribbon. "I need to recast a family variation of the Fidelius charm. It is the main protection of the Manor and the family name, but it required a secret keeper." He paused again. "Jarvy is currently that secret keeper, but he had to be freed to assume that role." The proud little elf stepped forward tentatively. "Leaving him a free elf entails a certain amount of risk to both him and the Manor, so I would like to change keepers."
The others looked about at each other curiously.
"Nymphadora Tonks," Harry said, "Would you be willing to serve as my secret keeper?"
"Harry? Me?" Tonks said surprised.
"Yes, you, Tonks," Harry said confidently. "Ginny, Ron, Hermione, and all the Weasleys are obvious targets. Lupin, was a best friend of my father, which makes him a target as well." Harry turned to Alex. "Alex, you have become a member of the order and you are obviously trusted by its leader, Alastor Moody. We welcome your help, and I welcome you to my home, but I am sorry, I have simply not known you long enough to trust you completely in this matter."
Alex nodded, "You need not explain, Harry, I understand completely."
"Tonks?" Harry turned back to her, "You are a cousin to my Godfather and you have proven your devotion to me and to the cause of the Dark Lord's defeat. You are also a fully trained Auror, and well aware of the risks, can I trust you with this?"
Tonks stepped forward, "Yes, Harry, I would consider it a very great honor."
Harry smiled at her.
"If you would step forward and take Jarvy's hand?" Harry said.
Tonks stepped next to the elf. Jarvy reached his hand up, looking very apologetic that a Wizard would have to hold his hand. Tonks smiled at the elf reassuringly and took it in her own.
Harry stepped around the pedestal so he could face them and began to cast the spell. As he spoke Tonks felt great warmth build up in Jarvy's hand and it began to spread into her. Suddenly, she knew the secret of the Manor's location.
Harry finished the incantation and drawing up the dagger sealed the stone with his blood. The glow of the stone flashed blindingly bright for an instant.
When everyone's vision cleared, Harry was standing up from kneeling next to Jarvy; the elf smiling up at his Master a faint golden glow fading around him.
Harry led them all through the wall and down the narrow wooden steps to the fifth floor landing. There, he instructed Jarvy to serve tea in the drawing room, and the elf disappeared with a 'pop'.
They all made their way down the stairs to the drawing room rather silently.
They all seemed to recover quickly from a sort of daze, and none seemed to be aware of the change of secret keeper, but they were discussing the various wards they had each contributed to the Manor's protections. They enjoyed tea and sandwiches the elves served and the conversation grew lively.
Fleur and Helena joined them and the others explained excitedly about the magical blood stone and how they had reinforced the Manor's wards.
At six o' clock, Harry, Ginny, Ron and Hermione returned to The Burrow to await the arrival of the rest of the Weasleys, and a few members of the Order of the Phoenix.
As requested, Hagrid arrived early and was there at The Burrow when they returned. After greetings and a hearty 'Happy Birthday' from Hagrid, Harry told him about Mr. Eeylop's questions regarding Hedwig and Kyne, and asked if he would help them determine if the two owls had indeed nested.
Hagrid excitedly agreed, and in no time at all they had walked out past the orchard and called for Hedwig and Kyne. The two birds came, each to the arm of their respective owner, but they were clearly anxious. Harry explained to Hedwig that they wanted to know if she'd been nesting, and she lit into the air circling a patch of ground not far to the west, closer to the Otter River. After a few minutes slogging through the underbrush they found a nest and a clutch of seven good sized eggs. Hedwig and Kyne hooted proudly.
After performing a silent examination of the area and the nest sight, Hagrid recommended that they cast a few nest sight protection wards and then leave the owls to their business. He said that it would be possible to move the eggs, but better to just leave the Owls to nature and let it take its course. Harry and Ginny each congratulated their birds and nuzzled them affectionately before telling them to find them at Hogwarts once the hatchlings had left the nest. The birds seemed to understand and Harry left them each a handful of treats on the ground near the nest.
Hagrid cast a few wards around the nest that would protect it from unwanted attention and from any predators. They returned to the house happy at the thought of a nest full snowy hatchlings.
On the way back to The Burrow, Hagrid explained that the hatchlings could be born with a residual magical enchantment and follow their parents when they returned. Or, they might simply choose to follow their natural instincts and adopt purely natural behavior. He promised he would return to check on the clutch and keep Harry and Ginny informed of their progress.
They arrived back at The Burrow in time to greet Mad-Eye Moody and the twins, who were Apparating in for Harry's party. And a short time later, Percy and Penelope arrived, as well as Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Oliver Wood.
Harry smiled as he tore into the shiny wrapping paper covering the small box in his lap. He quickly pulled the last of the ribbon away and nodding at Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, whose gift it was he was opening, pulled the top from the box. In the box, on a cushion of soft cotton padding was a beautiful pocket watch. Harry pulled the watch from the box by its chain and held it up.
"It is Wizard tradition that a male child is given a watch on their seventeenth birthday, Harry." Mr. Weasley said in explanation.
"Usually it would be a family heirloom, Harry, but we asked your Grandparents, and... well, there isn't a family watch remaining for you, so we asked if we could give you one," Mrs. Weasley said a bit apologetically. "We hope you don't mind, dear."
Harry nodded approvingly. The whole body was intricately worked. The front of the watch featured a running stag against a forested backdrop. As the watch was turned the trees and leaves swirled into a backdrop of endless space filled with stars and comets and planets. Harry opened the cover to examine the face. Instead of numbers there were moons waxing to the right and waning to the left, and in the center a blazing comet that changed its direction so that its fiery tail blazed toward the correct time, all against a magnificent backdrop of twinkling stars.
"Thank you so much!" Harry grinned, "It is fantastic!" he enthused.
His party was turning out brilliantly. Once everyone was assembled at The Burrow they had come through the pantry door to the Manor, where a little explanation was required for those making their first visit to the Manor. A little time was spent on a quick tour for Hagrid, Kingsley, Oliver Wood, and Percy and Penelope.
The Elves had served an exceptionally delicious feast of all of Harry's favorite foods in the formal dinning room, and Harry had felt a stirring of pride at being able to share his home with so many people he considered friends. Ginny, despite side glances from her parents was acting every bit the hostess, sticking to Harry's arm, sitting at his right side, instructing the Elves and generally conducting the evening.
After dinner, with everyone groaning in satiated pleasure, they had adjourned to the sitting room were the chairs had been set in a large circle, and Harry's gifts were set on a low table at its center. Glancing around the circle Harry couldn't help but smile as everyone was encouraging him to open his gifts.
He had torn into them with pleasure. As he had opened each one, Winky was there to spirit away the scrap wrappings and carefully take each gift to a side table to set it neatly on display, after it had made its way around the circle for everyone's examination and approval. The little Elf was amazing Harry had thought, attentive and discrete, and beamingly happy, not a hint of the bedraggled, drunken, sullen, creature that Dobby had presented with earlier that day.
Harry handed the beautiful watch to Ron, on his left so that it could be passed around.
"I guess that's everything," Harry said, as no more presents seemed to be before him.
"No," Ginny interrupted, "one more." Ginny handed Harry what seemed to be a Birthday card in a silver and gold envelop with a small glittering bow. "This one's from me," she smiled, "though, I do have to credit Fred and George for finding it." She nodded to her brothers a few seats along the circle to Harry's left.
Harry opened the envelope and pulled the card out. At first it appeared to be a Muggle style greeting card, but there was only a patch of blue sky surrounded by an elaborately gilded border. Words formed along the bottom. "Here's hoping you capture the snitch of your dreams." A golden snitch flitted into the patch of sky, followed abruptly by an excited, illustrated seeker, which clearly was meant to resemble Harry in his Gryffindor colors. The illustrated Harry reached out and snatched the snitch. Harry opened the card and the illustrated Harry, hovered above the card opening the golden ball. A miniature volley of fireworks burst out of the snitch and flew toward the center of the gathering were they burst into an explosion of color. "Happy Birthday Harry" formed in the bursting lights and glittered away as it fell toward the floor.
Everyone cheered and clapped at the spectacle. "The first of our new line of personalized greeting cards." George called triumphantly.
"That's brilliant," Ron said appreciatively.
Ginny was ignoring the fireworks display and watching Harry intently as he looked down at the card in his hands and noticed a second smaller envelope setting there within it.
Harry handed the card to Ron and picked out the smaller envelope. Opening it he pulled out a lone Chocolate Frog Card. Harry stared at it in disbelief.
"What is it?" Oliver Wood asked, first to notice, as the fireworks ended.
"That there is a rare, first edition, Dumbledore, Frog card," Fred explained, "Ginny said you had to have it, so George and I tracked one down," he explained.
"Wasn't easy either," George finished.
Harry held the little card in front of him. The image of a considerably younger looking Dumbledore appeared on the card standing in front of the desk in the Headmasters office at Hogwarts. The image smiled and bowed politely and then turned out of the image. Harry noticed that what could be seen of the desk included a familiar glass candy jar of sherbet lemons. Harry smiled broadly at Ginny. "Thank you, Ginny," he said simply leaning over and giving her a quick kiss.
Intentionally not fussing over the card too much, Harry handed it to Ron who gushed over it, explaining to Hermione how rare the card was and what a prize it was to any Chocolate Frog Card collection.
Harry snuck a peek at the mantel over the fireplace where, as promised he had left another Dumbledore card sitting in the enchanted base to overlook the festivities. He thought he saw the little figure wink at him, but it was too far away to be sure.
"Thank you everyone for such very wonderful gifts," Harry stood, "I could not have asked for better." Harry bowed politely to the company before him. "Now..."
"Vait!" Alex interrupted, "In Romania, it is an important tradition when a Vizard celebrates deir comink of age Birthday, dat each friend in attendance tell de story of how dey first met," She looked around the circle, "Dis is not also tradition here?" She asked.
"It is indeed," Moody interjected, "but one that has fallen largely out of practice. I think however, in Harry's case it would be a pleasant tradition to revive."
"Okay," Alex nodded. "As I am, I hope a new friend to Mr. Potter, I vill begin."
Alex described first meeting Harry upon her entrance into The Burrow only a few weeks before, she flattered him by calling him a determined and able looking protector, standing there with his wand out ready to defend the Weasley's home. She managed to make him sound very noble. Harry nodded and smiled as she finished.
Alex turned to Charlie who was seated next to her in the circle. Charlie told a story about meeting Harry when he came to Hogwarts with Dragons for the Tri-wizard Tournament.
Helena was next, and her impressions echoed her mother's.
Fleur told of meeting Harry in the confusion of his being chosen as a Tri-wizard champion.
Bill described a simple first meeting at The Burrow.
George and Fred told of meeting an eleven year old Harry on the platform at King's Cross and helping in to the Express with his trunk.
Hermione and Ron talked of meeting Harry that same day on the Express.
Ginny, sheepishly described first seeing Harry that same day on the platform, but she maintained that they had really first met the following summer when her brother's had rescued him from the Dursley's and brought him to the Burrow.
Remus Lupin, told a marvelous tale of meeting Harry on the day of his birth. Of being there with his parents and Sirius at the Cottage in Godric's Hollow as the St. Mungo's Mid-wife had presented the black haired babe, gurgling and cooing, to his spell stricken parents and a proud Godfather.
Tonks talked colorfully of bursting into Harry's bedroom at Number 4 Privet Drive to rescue him, and take him to Grimmauld Place.
Hagrid told of frantically arriving at the ruined Cottage and finding the young Harry, sitting stricken in his cot. Hagrid described him in much the same way he would have any lost or wounded animal, as he gathered Harry up from the wreckage and secured him comfortably inside his mole skin coat and spirited him away to safety.
Mad-eye told a tale of going with Dumbledore to visit the Potters at their home some months after Harry's birth and being amazed that the infant was allowed to play so roughly with what he thought at first was the family dog, a huge black dog he described, with paws as big a the babe's head. He described how the dog curled in front of the fireplace and gently nuzzled the infant Harry who clung to its thick fur and drifted to sleep in the warmth of the animal's patient attendance. If he'd had his magical eye then, he would have known, he proclaimed, that the dog was actually Sirius Black.
Kingsley echoed Tonk's tale of retrieving Harry from Privet Drive.
Oliver Wood, told of his introduction to Harry by Professor McGonagall, proclaiming proudly that she had found his Quidditch team a new seeker.
Penelope described a meeting Harry had not remembered, of directing a lost looking first year toward the dungeon classrooms for his first potions lesson.
Percy told of a brief introduction at the Gryffindor table just after Harry had been sorted.
Arthur, told of finding an extra child seated at his breakfast table one morning and eagerly discussing Muggle objects. When he finished his short tale he turned to his wife Molly, who was the last around the circle.
Harry was amazed at the tales he had heard around this circle of friends, and was filled with wonderful warmth, as he anticipated a simple story of introduction from Mrs. Weasley.
Molly Weasley, cleared her throat and looked across the circle at a waiting Harry. She glanced at Ginny and then at Arthur, who took her hand and nodded to her.
"I have a tale to tell you, Harry, that only a few in this room are remotely aware of," she paused glancing at Hagrid. "It is the story of how I first met you, and it will shed some light on why I have oft thought of you as part of my family. I apologize if it may embarrass you a little," she paused again.
"On the night that your parents were killed, I was at home. Arthur and I had joined the Order of the Phoenix but as I had Ron, who was a twenty month old toddler, and only recently weaned, and Ginny who was not even three months old, not to mention a houseful of then young children," she glanced around at the twins and Percy, I had not been asked to do anything of particular service to the cause."
"On that dreadful night I was knitting in front of a comfortable fire, the children having gone to bed, when a Phoenix Patronus swept into the room. It was Dumbledore's Patronus and it informed me that my services to the Order were needed immediately. It said that Arthur was to arrive home directly to care for the children, but that I should gather myself and my youngest to go to a safe house in Wales."
"I nervously gathered Ginny from her cot and threw together a few supplies for her care before Arthur arrived. He explained that your parents had been killed, and that you were being taken to a safe-house and someone was needed to look after you until permanent arrangements could be made. Arthur gave me a Portkey, I kissed the boys in their sleep and off I went, babe in arms, to do what I could for the Order."
"I arrived at what appeared to be an unused cottage in a dark and lonely wood. I had barely time to start a fire before Hagrid arrived on that awful, noisy, motorcycle of your Godfather's. Hagrid ran up to the door and thrust you in to my arms, saying he had to keep going in case he was being followed . He took off like a flash leaving me alone with you, and a thankfully sleeping Ginny."
"You were so small, Harry," Molly began to tear a little at the memories. "You were nearly a year and a half old, but smaller than any of my own at that age. You must have been in some sort of shock, and the fresh wound on your forehead was red and inflamed. I tried healing charms, but nothing seemed to make a difference. You whimpered and shook in my arms, but you never wailed," Molly paused again leaning on Arthur for emotional support. "I couldn't imagine then, what you had witnessed and what you had survived. Even today, I can hardly image it." She composed herself with a deep breath and continued. "I didn't know how long you had been unattended, your were soiled and covered in small bits of debris, so there was nothing for it but to give you a warm bath, wrap you in one of Ginny's fresh blankets until I could get a chance to wash your own things, and rock you in front of the fire."
"You settled some but you were understandably fussy. When Ginny woke for her nightly feeding, I realized that you must be hungry too. I don't mean to embarrass, you dear, but I had nothing else to feed you, so I did what any compassionate Mother would do, I nursed you right along with Ginny, rocking you both by the fire, until you had each had your fill and fallen asleep in my arms."
"I have never known a night of fear like that night, thinking that any minute; Death-Eaters would burst in and carry you away. I was up the whole night holding you and Ginny, singing to you both and keeping watch. When the dawn came, I conjured a cot and laid you both together whilst I attended to washing your things. I must have dozed off in the rocker after that, but later I woke up and found the two of you awake in the cot, just watching one another intently. You babbled on at Ginny so expressively and she gurgling back at you, smiling and giggling."
"We spent that whole day together, just the three of us in that little cottage, and I must say you were a little angel, you were so gentle with Ginny, and seemed to want to attend to her. The only time either of you cried was when I tried to pick one of you up without the other."
"Getting on toward evening, Dumbledore's Patronus appeared again and told me to get you ready for Hagrid to retrieve you, and take you to where you would be living permanently. I must say, by that point I had determined that you should just come home with me. And, years later when I got an inkling of what your life with your Aunt and Uncle had been like; I truly wish I would have just taken you."
"Hagrid arrived quite late and I gave you to him. You woke up then and started to cry, and to this day I think it was more because you were being taken from Ginny than anything else. After that, I gathered Ginny and Apparated home." Molly retrieved a kerchief from her robe and dabbed at her eyes.
"I have never told that story to anyone but Arthur. So, you see Harry, I will always consider you like one of my own, and you will always have a bit of home in my heart."
Hagrid sniffled loudly and Harry found that his own eyes were a bit moist.
Harry got up from his chair and crossed to Mrs. Weasley, giving her a big hug. "Thank you so much for telling me," he said.
Harry released Mrs. Weasley who sat back in her chair turning to her husband.
"So, I think perhaps it is time for cake?" Harry said turning to the others in the room.
Instantly a large cake appeared on a table in the center of the circle and Harry moved to pick up the serving knife as the others gathered around taking up dessert plates.
After gorging themselves on Harry's birthday cake, the room broke up in to smaller conversational groups, with some playing games, or just visiting.
Harry got in to a game of exploding snap with the twins, Ron, Hermione and Ginny, which went on for some time.
About eleven o' clock Harry found himself sitting back contentedly in a large leather chair before the smiling portraits of his Grandparents, thinking that this had been the best Birthday he had ever had.
Suddenly, something deep in Mad-eye Moody's coat began to wail. He fished the object out and looked at it intently. He looked up at the surrounding company and said, "Death-Eater attacks, multiple locations! Those of you, who are Order members, follow me. He started to move to the door, toward the hallway, but Jarvy had produced the Portis Omnibus and set it to a doorway leaving the room. The blue lattice of light glowed faintly as he opened the door.
"This way to The Burrow," Jarvy announced.
Moody turned and nodded to the little Elf. Others were already heading through the door.
Harry rushed up to Moody, drawing his wand. Everyone here is in the Order except Ron, Hermione, Ginny and I, and we all want to come fight.
"Drawing you out, is the most likely reason for these attacks, tonight, you are safest if you remain here," Moody retorted.
"I agree completely," came Arthur's voice over Moody's shoulder. Arthur was pulling on his travelling robe and stepping to Moody's side. "Ginny, you are to remain here at the Manor until we can come to retrieve you," Arthur turned to Harry. "I know you want to fight, Harry, but I would appreciate it if you would watch over Ginny tonight." Arthur's eyes were deeply intense as they met Harry's.
"Yes sir," Harry said finally.
Everyone rushed through the doorway leaving Harry, Ginny, Ron and Hermione standing there, a bit defeated.
Jarvy closed the door.
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NEXT
Chapter Eighteen
Shaman’s Way
Chapter 19: Chapter 18 - Shaman's Way
Author's Notes: We're back to Draco's story in this chapter. He's making progress on his path, I do hope you'll all approve? Next chapter we will see the aftermath of Harry's Birthday. As always, big thank you goes out to my Beta reader Seeker's Destiny and my proof reader B. Hanzel. They make a huge difference!
Draco leaned heavily on his shovel handle and pried up yet another stone from the ruddy earth. This was, by his count, his seventh week in the encampment with the men and boys and his third straight week working on this particular clearing. His task was rather straightforward; he was to clear the field of large stones, presumably to make it suitable as a pasture for one of the herds of animals. Knowing the reason for the work didn't help to break the monotony of the task, or diminish the harshness of the hard labor beneath the tropical sun.
He had cleared another field, but it had been much smaller, and much less populated by rock. He had begun to suspect that the earlier field had been cleared at least once before. He did not understand why this work could not be done magically. The answer to that question, as he had pondered it seemed to be that it could. So, he had rephrased the question in his mind; why did he have to do this work manually? The answer to that question was proving much more elusive.
After about a month of these manual tasks Draco had gathered the courage to ask the Shaman if he was a prisoner. The Shaman, had chuckled at the question and asked him; "If I told you that you were free to leave at any time, where would you go?" Draco did not even know where he was, so he couldn't really imagine how to leave. He had not learned how to Apparate properly on his own, and even if he had it would do him no good, as he could not likely Apparate far enough to reach the edge of the jungle. That is, even if he had known a direction to begin.
The Shaman had watched him thinking, and then after a minute had said, "I am not your jailer, Dracho. I am a teacher."
"When then, will I begin to learn?" Draco had responded sharply.
"There are things to be learned in every moment, of every task," The Shaman had responded calmly, "When you begin to learn them, is up to you. Only you will determine when each new lesson begins."
Draco had turned away in complete frustration, returning eventually to his task. His anger at that encounter had remained for days.
In truth, the labor, though monotonous and tiring had become much easier to bear, what were most troubling were his dreams. Every night he had dreams of his life, memories of his past. For the first several weeks he had seen these dreams as his longing to return to the life he knew, to the comforts of his home in England, and the excesses of his family's social and economic standing. Gradually, the focus of his thoughts had turned, and now he saw each memory as a glaring example of a life dependent on a situation that no longer existed for him.
Draco knew for certain that he no longer believed in the goals of the Dark Lord, in fact he saw the man, if he could in truth be called that, as an evil tyrant who must be defeated. This realization was causing him to look carefully at his life, and consider it in comparison to other people he knew to be widely admired in the Wizarding world back in England. Not the people he had always looked to as examples; his father, his Aunt Bellatrix, but people he had never before considered worthy of note, people like Albus Dumbledore, the faculty at Hogwarts, and even, though it pained him to admit it, Harry Potter.
Many of these people would have described him as a spoiled, selfish, self centered, brat, and he would have always until now shrugged away such descriptions as the petty jealousies of lesser people. But, the Dark Lord too had called him these things, and drove home the point with torture and unspeakable horror. And, Voldemort had branded his face with what he called the mark of a coward. Even though he now considered the Dark Lord his worst enemy, Voldemort had managed to drive home a lesson that Draco had never before considered, and had always been taught otherwise. Some part of him knew now that there was truth in these descriptions and facing these truths was a difficult realization. He did not want to be that person anymore, but, how did one change oneself? How did one become something other than what they were raised to be? He was frustrated by this thinking, some part of him deep inside raged against it.
His father had always driven into him that he belonged to the highest class of Wizard and therefore he was entitled to expect people to serve him. And, people had served him, just as they had served his father, but Draco was not unintelligent, he had observed many times that his father expected and received the service of others, but always it was minimal, always it was the least that could be gotten away with, and always his father met it with complaint, disdain and anger.
Draco jabbed the shovel blade into the ground to pry up another stone, and as he did so the realization hit him suddenly as though he had jabbed the blade into his own mind and pried up a buried truth. His father was all the things he -Draco- had been accused of. Lucius Malfoy was every bit the spoiled, selfish, self centered brat that people said he was, and Draco had to admit that he had been his father's son. The difference was only that Lucius was older; he commanded the wealth of the Malfoy family. He expected to be served and he was, but only because people feared him, and what he could and would do to them. Nobody liked his father, in fact, they hated him, and even his closest business associates clearly didn't trust him. Small wonder Lucius had sided with the Dark Lord. Voldemort offered the promise of superiority imposed by power and force. The only way that Lucius had ever known it. But the truth was that it didn't really exist. If it was imposed it couldn't be real.
Draco pulled up the stone and rolled it aside. His mind was racing. His entire life, everything he had been taught was false. It was so obvious it was funny.
Draco began to chuckle. He jabbed the shovel blade back into the earth and there was a sickening wrenching sound as it impacted a stone. He felt an instant of anger. He pulled the blade up and examined it. The tip of the blade was bent and flattened at nearly a ninety-degree angle. He felt anger building inside him as he stared at the shovel. But instead of rage bursting forth, his lips curled up and he let loose a huge laugh. He dropped the shovel and took a few steps away, leaning finally on his own knees as he bent over in laughter. He could not stop laughing.
Memories of his childish anger began to bubble up inside of him, all the times he had lashed out, called people harsh names, or cast about insults. It was all absurd, and suddenly comically immature. As the memories bombarded him he felt remorse for the first time, actual sorrow at his behavior, he wanted to cry, but it all continued to burst out of him as laughter.
He had always wanted to be liked and admired, but he had learned only to inspire dislike. Those who did seem to admire him, Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy Parkinson, and a host of other Slytherins; they only did so because they had been raised the same way, and their fathers were beholden to his father. It was all an absurd web of monetary power, and it was all an illusion. He felt pity for them and in a sense for himself, but he could not stop laughing.
Draco fell to the ground on his hands and knees, laughing. He was laughing so hard that tears began to stream from his eyes. He felt the swirling memories in his head begin to run together, along with every act of pettiness, every time he had mistreated someone just because he could, all of it serving no purpose but to support his own illusion of reality.
He realized slowly that his tears of laughter were turning into tears of sorrow and regret. He wanted to be rid of it all and he felt it move from his head lurching into his stomach. He sobbed heavily and vomited as if to expel all of the memories.
As he did so the ground beneath him began to rumble and shake. As he retched up violently a lifetime of memories and misdeeds, the ground itself did the same with the stones he was there to clear, they burst up from the earth like the memories he was so eager to expel.
When he was done, and there was nothing left in his stomach to be expelled he felt a relief he had never known he rolled over laying on the uneven ground resting his head on a large stone that had just slipped itself from the ground's grasp. He chuckled again, suddenly realizing how hungry he was, but there was something else there too, something new to him something he had not before experienced, not even in the midst of his torture at the hands of the Dark Lord. It was the sense that he had done many very wrong things with his life. It was, he thought, guilt.
Draco knew now, he had much to atone for.
At the edge of the field, in the cover of the trees, the Shaman stood watching. He smiled, and turned away.
Draco spent the rest of the afternoon hefting stones onto a makeshift wooden sled and pulling them to the edge of the field where he piled them together. It was backbreaking labor, but it was going very fast, especially now that the stones sat atop the ground, wrested from the grip of the earth by some magical effect of his emotional outburst. He smiled to think that he had actually, finally done it by magic.
By the time the sun had disappeared behind the hills, leaving the field cast in long shadow, Draco had completed clearing the stones. He looked out over the field with intense satisfaction, something that felt new and strange to him. He gathered his broken shovel and his leather bag and headed up the path toward the encampment, and his little solitary shelter. When he arrived he leaned the shovel against a post in the ground and hung the bag on a peg at the top of the post.
He stood and watched the main camp building for a short while. As always he could see the glint of fires from within and hear what sounded like the boisterous din of conversation. It reminded him for a moment of the Hogwarts great hall during mealtime, even though he could not understand a word of the foreign language. For a moment he felt himself longing to join in that merriment.
He was exhausted, as he had been at the end of every day for seven weeks, but this night felt somehow different. Gone was any hint of resentment, anger or fear. He was oddly content. He turned and entered his small shelter. He lay down on his grass mat and fell quickly into a deep sleep. That night, he had no dreams of his life that had been.
Severus Snape hurried down the long corridor of the old castle toward the throne room. He slipped in through the heavy oak doors, into what was a crowd of murmuring Death-Eaters. The room was a mixture of tension and exhilaration. Those Death-Eaters who had completed their night's tasks were eager to report their accomplishments to the Dark Lord. Others, who had not been so successful, were understandably wary.
Snape was indifferent, as he had been given no task and therefore had no anticipation of having to report anything. He had spent much of the night in the potions laboratory tending to the many cauldrons in various stages of preparation. The Dark Lord demanded a large stock of potions be kept on hand for many various uses, and for the use of his Death-Eaters, so Snape was kept very busy most of the time simply tending that very rudimentary task. It was not as glorious a function as he might have liked, but it kept him occupied and in the Dark Lord's good graces, and so he saw to it diligently.
Snape skirted the side wall making his way toward the right side enclosed wooden seating gallery. His position of favor with the Dark Lord afforded him the front corner seat nearest the throne, opposite Bellatrix Lestrange who occupied its mirror in the left gallery.
Since leaving England and having experienced greater success in Eastern Europe, the Dark Lord had begun to impose far more ceremony to his appearances. Because the ranks of the Death-Eaters had grown so rapidly, part of this was necessary just to maintain an authoritative structure. But certainly, as Snape well understood, much of it was just Voldemort establishing himself as "Lord" Voldemort, and succumbing to his own ego.
Snape arrived at his seat amid stares and the usual grumblings and empty flattering comments from postulants to the inner circle. He was surprised to find a folded scrap of parchment left on his seat. He snatched it up as he sat and guardedly unfolded it, reading the note.
We seek escape from the Dark Lord's grasp. Rumor has it that you may be willing and able to help us. Go to the Postern gate at noon if you are willing to help.
Snape slipped the note into his robe pocket, and prepared his hood and Death's head mask for the Dark Lord's entrance.
Thankfully the proceedings had only lasted a couple of hours. All the reports throughout Eastern Europe were much the same. Most of the magical governments had bowed quite willingly to Voldemort's demands and the programs of sorting by blood worthiness were proceeding quickly. Snape was not naive enough to believe that there wasn't far greater resistance than was being reported, and he knew that Voldemort knew the same, but no one was fool enough to report this to the Dark Lord, and he was likewise content to let these local henchmen deal with their local problems for as long as they were able.
Snape heard nothing of any particular interest until finally Rodolphus Lestrange stood to deliver his report on the events in England of the previous evening. There had been several planned attacks on magical locations, including shops in Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade. There had also been attacks on Muggle locations which Rodolphus reported as going just as planned. This piqued Snape's curiosity, but there was no way for him to inquire as to specifics. If the Dark Lord intended to inform him further he would do so in his own time.
When the proceedings concluded, Snape was quick to exit the throne room without being drawn into conversation. Mentally calculating his options he proceeded to the Dark Lord's private chambers. He rapped purposefully on the door, aware that an interruption so soon after the proceedings might not be particularly welcome, but Snape no longer possessed the excuse of distance and other duties to prevent him from reporting quickly to the Dark Lord. He knocked again.
"Enter," came the Dark Lord's command.
Snape pushed the door open and stepped into the room. Voldemort was sitting at a table looking over a number of documents. He looked up as Snape entered the room. "Ah Severus," he greeted idly, acknowledging Snape's presence. He turned back to the document he had been reading. He set it down carelessly.
"Bureaucrats," he said with a distinct air of distaste. "No matter how governments change, they will ever be present." He pushed the pile of parchment away from him. "And the paperwork they feel compelled to produce never ceases." He eyed Snape intently. "Perhaps I should enlist you in deciphering all of this?" he said.
Snape bowed his head in acknowledgement. "I would be pleased to serve however my Lord sees fit," he said.
Voldemort seemed just short of chuckling at Snape's response. "I presume you have a purpose for this visit?" he asked.
"Yes, Lord," Snape said as he hesitantly approached. He reached into his robe pocket and slowly drew out the note. "I found this," he gestured with his hand to draw attention to the slip of parchment, "set on my seat, before this morning's proceedings." He set the parchment on the table within Voldemort's reach and backed away a few steps.
Voldemort snatched up the note and read it. He chuckled darkly. "So," he stood, picking up his wand and turning to Snape, "we have treachery in our midst." His expression turned hard and angry. "Have you any idea who this is from?"
"None, my Lord," Snape answered slowly and truthfully.
"Or why it would come to you?" Voldemort spat, eying Snape with a hint of suspicion.
"Because of my past association with Dumbledore, perhaps" Snape offered.
"Yes," Voldemort said almost to himself, "yes, of course." The Dark Lord paced back and forth quickly, his wand wagging carelessly in his slender fingers. "This cannot go unpunished, Severus," he stopped again facing Snape. "You will go to the Postern Gate. You will do whatever you need to reveal where this note comes from. And, when you discover its origin, you will alert me." The Dark Lord looked excited and gleeful. Having made his decision, he handed the note back to Snape.
Snape pocketed the note, bowed his head low and answered, "yes, my Lord," he quickly turned and exited the room.
Less than an hour later, Snape arrived at the Postern gate. It was almost exactly noon. The gate had been unused for years and was quite rusted shut. He stood beneath the arch and waited. After a few minutes a young girl appeared on the other side. She said nothing, but pushed her small hand through the grate and handed him another slip of parchment. She then hurried away out of sight.
Snape glanced at the parchment. Written there was the name of a tavern, Gheară de Dragon. Snape recognized the name of the place, though he had never been. He knew it to be remotely located on the other side of the village a few hundred meters into the forest along the main road. He tucked the parchment into his robe pocket and pulled out his wand, leveling it at the heavy, rusted, gate latch. "Alohomora," he said decisively. The latch popped open and the gate, protesting, creaked slowly open.
Snape, slipped through the gate, on to the village road, taking a few hurried steps to put him beyond the reach of the castle wards. There was a hollow imploding "pop" and he was gone.
Draco woke before the sun. Without his dreams nagging at his mind he actually felt better rested than he had since his mother's death. The thought hit him like a new realization, as if he had not been previously aware. He felt tears trail down his cheeks and realized that they were for her.
He had been taught not to cry, that it was a sign of weakness, but somehow these tears felt right and he did not try to hold them back. Memories flooded his mind, of his mother, and he felt as though he was seeing them for the first time. Her grace, her beauty, her concern, and her kindness, all suddenly realized in a new light, his mother had loved him. Unlike his father she had never dictated what he should be or not be. She had made attempts to correct him, but always with kindness. He had been taught by his father to ignore her, a lesson he had absorbed like so many others, but now he knew completely that his father's lessons had all been wrong. He knew that he truly had loved his mother. And now she was gone, and he could only weep for her.
It was truly for her that he wept, the loss of her hurt deeply, but he did not cry for his loss, he cried for her. She had been a beautiful woman, born in to one of the proudest, most prejudicial of pure-blood families, forced into an arranged marriage, made a Death-eater at her husband's command and cast in to a role she would not have chosen for herself.
Draco felt that he had been a disappointment to her, even though she had never said it, how could it be otherwise. But even till the last she had loved him. He was suddenly thankful that the Shaman had provided a means for him to save her, for unless it had been an illusion he had been able to do just that. That was who he wanted to be now. A man that would do what was right, not a boy cowering at the forces around him. He continued to weep for her, believing that she was now in a better place, and free of her earthly bonds. He would miss her, every day of the rest of his life.
There was movement on the path from the main building and Draco looked up to see the Shaman approaching. He got up from his grass matt and stepped out to receive his new task, he had after all, finished clearing the field.
The Shaman strode up to his small shelter and stopped at the post. He looked down at the bent blade of the shovel and Draco thought that he saw a hint of a smile cross his lips.
Draco stepped before him, suddenly aware of what a mess he was, his hands and feet seemed permanently covered in dirt, his hair, which had grown longer than he had ever worn it before was matted to his head with mud and his unshaven face he imagined was a scruffy mess that would have embarrassed him under other circumstances. "I am ready for my next task," Draco said, with no hint of resentment.
"Are you?" the Shaman questioned.
"Yes, Sir," Draco said without hesitation.
The Shaman seemed to be examining him closely. "Tell me Dracho," the shaman began, "What have you learned so far in your time here?"
Draco reflected on this for a moment. "I have learned that there is nothing dishonorable about labor without magic, that it can strengthen my body and calm my mind."
"And," the Shaman prompted.
Draco, was unsure what the Shaman wanted to hear. He groped for more conclusions. "And," he continued somewhat hesitantly, "I have learned that my dreams can help me to examine my life."
"Ah, and have you drawn any conclusions about your life?" the Shaman asked intently.
Draco met the man's eyes, they were dark and shadowed in the dim of early morning, but he thought that what he found there was calm, genuine compassion. "Yes," he started confidently, "I have concluded that I can no longer be the person I have been, that I have to choose another path, and learn another way."
"And are you ready to put aside your habits of scorn, prejudice, anger and the idea that there is anything about you that is in any way any better than any other?"
The Shaman's gaze upon him seemed to deepen and Draco knew that only the truth would do.
"I am ready to try, Sir," Draco said.
There was a long pause. "Very good, Dracho, I am glad to hear it. Trying is where it begins, but do not try without focusing on less than triumph. I have looked into you and know the life you have led. It is a web of falsehoods, built upon illusions of birthright. You were born a magical being, but this gift does not make you more than human." There was another pause. "I believe you are ready for your next challenge, but I warn you, while your tasks will change, they will become no less a demanding. If you can find joy in the challenge, you will surely succeed."
Draco nodded silently.
"Wait here, I will send another for you." The Shaman took the leather bag from the peg and picked up the broken shovel. "You will not need this any longer," he said. He shook his staff at it and it transformed back in to the stick it had once been. He handed it to Draco. He turned and walked away along the path to the main building.
Draco examined the stick in his hands. It was about a half meter long, mostly straight and ended in a heavy burl, where it had once been part of a tree. The opposite end was broken and worn. He peeled back some of the grey bark to reveal a brilliantly orange wood beneath. It was about three centimeters thick and felt good in his hands. He decided to keep it, as a reminder of his labors. He set it inside his small shelter on the grass mat.
He had made his decision. All that he had been, he would leave in that cleared field, and he would become something better. For now he would do what he was asked and learn what was taught. He would try this the Shaman's way, even though he was uncertain of what that way was exactly. Anything he became from this point on would surely be better than what he was.
Snape appeared on the road, outside the village, near the forest. Without knowing an exact location he dared not Apparate further. He proceeded up the road, the cobblestones giving way to the worn earth at the forest's edge. After a hundred meters or so he could see the tavern in the distance. It was an ancient structure of stone, timbers and plaster, and looked, like so much of the Wizarding world, like it existed in another time. The surrounding forest cast a grayness about it that made it seem bathed in evening, even under the noontime sun.
Snape approached warily, his senses on alert. A couple of women exited the building as he approached. They were quiet, pulling their robe hoods over their heads and offering no greeting as they passed him on the road. A large sign hung from a wrought iron bracket over the door. It pictured an elaborate, stylized carving of a Romanian Longhorn, and the name of the establishment, Gheară de Dragon. Snape paused at the heavy doorway, then, pulling it open, stepped cautiously inside.
He stood for a moment to let his eyes adjust to the dim room. The active conversations seemed to pause momentarily at his entrance, and he thought that he detected a muffled gasp or two at his presence, but the sounds of conversations and the clinking of utensils quickly resumed. He approached the bar and ordered a tankard of ale from the large hairy barman, before spying an open booth and moving to sit down. He sipped his drink and waited, noting that several people seemed to be finishing hurriedly and departing the tavern. He was glad of this. A weary looking, though otherwise attractive, barmaid came to the table and asked if he would like anything to eat. He declined, gesturing to his drink, and she half smiled at him as she turned away.
After several long minutes and fully half of his ale, three men got up from a long table near the front and approached his booth. Snape counted seven still at the table, some of them eyeing him suspiciously. The eldest looking of the three men greeted him and asked if they could sit. Snape gestured to the seats. "If you will forgive me," he said, "my Romanian is quite horrid, do you speak English?"
The older man nodded, "my English is surely no better than your Romanian," he said in a thickly accented, haggard, voice.
"You are the one who sent the note?" Snape asked calmly.
"Not I, no," The man said, "that was my son," he gestured to the man across from him seated next to Snape.
Snape looked at the man next to him and thought that he had seen him at the castle, though they had never spoken.
"These are dark times, and this new ruler in the castle, this man whose name shall not be spoken, who pulls upon the strings of governments, he is no greater than any despot who has ever claimed an unearned throne," the older man said.
"These are dangerous, traitorous words you speak," Snape spoke calmly, "I should be very careful to whom you express such thoughts."
"True enough, but you have come, so you can only have one of two purposes." The elder man began. "If you have come to help as we have asked, than my words can be of no surprise to you, and may even echo the truth of your own heart. Or, you are here to expose us, in which case the truth, remains the truth, and it does not change our desire to escape from tyranny." He paused and looked closely at Snape. "So, tell me is there any hope of escape?"
Snape took a draw from his ale. "In the long term, I know of only one hope, but it resides in the life of boy back in England and will be of no help to you here, and now."
The old man frowned. "And in the short term?"
"If you can travel through the mountains to Latveria, you may escape the Dark Lord's wrath, but I cannot help you, my hands are tied."
"This is all you can offer?" The younger man next to him spat. He got up from the booth and drew his wand leveling it at Snape. "Then we are already betrayed," he shouted. With his wand pointed at Snape he backed away, the others got up from the booth and hurried back to the table where the rest of the company were hurriedly gathering their things and making for the door.
Snape flicked his wand beneath the table placing a sealing charm on the room. The front door closed and locked. There were several "pops" from attempted Apparition, but the Tavern was obviously warded against it as no one disappeared.
Others in the room, seeing and hearing the conflict were also rising hurriedly to try to leave. The Barman, and Barmaid had disappeared somewhere into the back of the building.
Still beneath the table, Snape exposed his left arm and touched his wand tip to the Dark Mark. He sighed heavily.
At once he heard the familiar popping displacement of air that was the arrival of the Dark Lord, the power of the dark mark easily overriding the Tavern's wards. As Voldemort arrived in a swirl of darkness and fury, there were several futile, shouted spells that bounced around the room, easily deflected by the Dark Lord who cackled with sadistic laughter.
People were ducking behind the tables and chairs, and some behind the bar as the exchange of wand fire continued. Bits of furniture erupted all around the room as spells bounced furiously destroying many of the tables and chairs. The mirrors behind the bar shattered and Voldemort sent the shards cascading at his attackers, striking with sickening thuds into upturned tables being now used as shields. Several people were caught in the volley and fell wailing and bleeding to the floor.
Snape casually cast his own shield charm as the Dark Lord furiously cast destructive spells, blowing out most of the windows and knocking his attackers to the ground. Finally, Voldemort yelled "Petrificus Totalus" and everyone visible in the room froze.
As the dust settled Snape could hear the moans of the wounded on the floor and behind the bar. The smell of fear permeated the air.
The Dark Lord turned to where Snape still sat in his booth, his wand in one hand the other covering his drink. "Severus, my servant," Voldemort said with pleasure, "You have done well."
Snape nodded, "Yes, my Lord," he said with a hint of defeat in his voice, as he raised his mug to finish his ale.
Voldemort began casually circling the room. "First," he proclaimed, "those who would dare raise their wands against me; they shall know ultimate defeat." He hatefully cast "Avada Kadvra" upon each who had a raised and pointed wand. Twelve bodies fell dead against the floor boards.
"And, who are the traitors, Severus?" he gestured to the remaining statuesque figures.
Snape pointed to the group nearest the door, four of which had already fallen before the Dark Lord. "These, my Lord," Snape identified them, with no alternative to do otherwise.
Voldemort approached the group, and carefully removed their wands, snapping them each in turn and dropping them to the floor as he spoke. "So, you wish to escape me?" he chuckled darkly. "Many have had this same thought I warrant, but few have been fool enough to declare it." He paused, snapping the last two wands. "What price I wonder should I exact for your treachery?"
At that moment a woman at the far end of the bar attempted to flee into what must have been the kitchen, Voldemort yelled "Avada Kadavra," and the woman fell dead in the doorway.
"I dislike interruptions," he said coolly. Abject horror glared in the eyes of the petrified group. He turned to the bar and pointing his wand yelled "Flamm devorantis," a jet of fire leaped from his wand and the bar erupted into flames. There were screams from behind as the flames consumed the whole space and the wall and ceiling caught fire. The whole room began to fill with thick black smoke as it billowed across the beamed ceiling and poured out the destroyed windows.
Voldemort turned back to the group of six and cried, "Crucio," at once they were released from the petrifaction and fell writhing to the ground.
Voldemort flashed his wand again and deep slashes tore across the faces and chests of the six on the ground, blood flowing freely.
"This is the worst sort of treachery," he spoke to the few still petrified, figures in the room, "Wizards, turning against me." There was a long pause, the six still writhing, and screaming on the floor. "This is a sad day, but, one that shall leave a lasting memory in those few of you who remain," he released the petrified figures, who ducked to the floor beneath the smoke, but remained still. "Spread well the cost of such treachery to any you hear whisper of dissent," He commanded.
Voldemort turned and kneeled low next to the old man who was convulsing in pain. He whispered, "You wished to escape me. I will grant your wish. I will banish you to a place from which none has ever returned." Voldemort stood and stepped back a few steps away from the small group. He thrust out his wand and yelled "Recesserimus a me!"
A massive arc of violet energy burst forth from the Dark Lord's wand like a flash of lightning striking where the six figures lay. They were momentarily engulfed in dark flame and nothing remained, leaving only a dark circle burnt into the floor and rising wisps of acrid smoke.
Voldemort blasted the door from its hinges, and casually strode around the charred floorboards exiting the building. Snape rose quickly from his seat and followed. In their wake the few survivors scurried from the burning building and fled off in multiple directions.
The building erupted with fire behind them, massive plumes of billowing smoke rising in to the sky as the thatched roof disappeared in flames. Without turning to look, Voldemort pointed his wand at the swirling black and whispered "Morsmordre," the smoke formed itself into the dark mark.
Draco, waited as instructed, but it was not long before he saw a boy bound out of the main building followed by what looked like a monkey hot on his heels.
As the boy approached Draco became quite delighted to see that it was Chunt’ea. This was the first face he had seen in seven weeks, apart from the Shaman, that he recognized. Chunt’ea's monkey companion arrived just before him and clamored up Draco's leg and arm to perch neatly on his shoulder. Chunt’ea was laughing as he stepped close. Pmp remembers you. He has asked me where you were. This made Draco laugh as well as he pulled at the monkey's tail which kept trying to curl around his neck.
"How long have you been here?" Draco asked, "I have not seen you. But then, I have really not seen anyone but the Shaman."
"I have been here for three weeks. I was going to go back for the next celebration, but now I have accepted an important task and I will be staying." Chunt’ea said matter-of-factly.
"Oh, speaking of tasks, I guess you are supposed to give me my next one?" Draco asked as he struggled to pull Pmp down from atop his head.
"You are my task, and I am yours, Dracho," Chunt’ea said proudly, "I am to teach you my language, and many other things that you must know if you are to become a man among the people."
Draco smiled, "Oh, is that all," he chided happily, "well in that case, how do we begin?"
Draco had learned to speak French, German, and Spanish as a child, as his mother insisted it would help in international business when he was older. The last time he had used any of it was during his fourth year when students from Beauxbatons and Durmstrang had been at Hogwarts, but he imagined that learning another language would not be too difficult.
"We begin first, by getting you to clean up," Chunt’ea teased, pointing at the dirt on his feet and arms. "Here, this is for you." He handed Draco the familiar leather bag which he had been carrying. "Follow me." Chunt’ea turned and started up the path toward the main building.
Draco followed him as he opened the leather bag and looked inside it curiously. Rather than the usual sparse bits of food the bag contained what appeared to be a large cake of soap, and several other objects including a small mirror and a straight razor. Draco closed the bag smiling, and followed Chunt’ea past the main building and down another path. After a few minutes walk they emerged at the edge of a wide stream. There was a small waterfall that emptied in to a clear pool.
"This is where we come to bathe," Chunt’ea announced, "and it is about time you became familiar with it." Chunt’ea reached in to his own bag and drew out a cake of soap. He untied his loincloth and waded in to the pool. Immediately he began scrubbing at himself.
Draco looked down at his arms and legs and excitedly retrieved the soap from his bag, he waded in to the pool up to his waist and then removed his loincloth. It was as crusted with dirt as he was so he gave it a good scrubbing with the soap and wrung it out as best he could before wading to the stream edge and spreading it out across a warm flat stone. He returned to the deeper water and began scrubbing his torso.
It felt really good to finally be washing away all the dirt. After scrubbing himself for a short while he waded under the waterfall and began to wash his hair, getting it lathered up and rinsing it clean. He had barely been aware of how long it had gotten. He could feel it on his shoulders as he rinsed it. When he got to really scrubbing his face he was suddenly aware that there was more than whiskers there, in the nearly two months since he had arrived he had not shaved once, and it seemed he had the beginnings of a beard. Once he felt sufficiently clean we waded back to the shore and searched through his leather bag. Chunt’ea had finished his bath, but was playing some game with Pmp and seemed in no rush to hurry him up.
Draco dumped out the bag and quickly found the mirror and straight razor. Upon closer inspection the razor was made of bone rather than metal, but appeared to be plenty sharp to do the job. Draco found a deep edge of the pool where he could prop up the mirror on some stones while still standing in waist deep water. Gazing at himself in the mirror he was impressed with the amount of beard that had grown. It was a bit spotty on his cheeks but he felt he had grown a respectable moustache. He lathered up his face and started scraping at his cheeks. He had only used a razor a few times, preferring to use grooming charms for this particular task, but he managed fairly well. On a whim he decided to leave his moustache and a goatee, as he felt it made him look a bit older, and he thought he could do with a change of appearance. When he was done he took a last dip in the pool and got himself well rinsed.
Draco emerged finally feeling wonderfully refreshed, he was happy to discover the sun and warm stone had nearly dried his loincloth, as he secured the lone garment in place. As a last touch he snipped a bit of the extra length from his waist tie with the razor and used the strip of leather to tie his hair back off his face. He examined himself in the mirror and was well pleased. This was not the Draco he remembered. The longer hair tied back, the goatee, and the darker skin made him look a different person all together, and this pleased him, as he felt like a different person. He could have done without the still visible faded yellow X across his face, but here it seemed to have no meaning, and it did seem to be fading away.
Returning the where he had dumped the bag Draco found that there was a knife and scabbard there along with the necklace he had been given on the night of celebration. Upon closer examination he found that a stone bead had been added that was in the shape of a fish, hanging from its tail. To his surprise the small stone that the Shaman had given him the night his mother died was also there having had a hole created on its narrow edge so that it could be strung as a bead. He quickly put this around his neck and tied the knife belt around his waist.
Chunt’ea asked if he was finished, and not waiting for the obvious answer got up from his spot and started toward the path back to the encampment. As they went Chunt’ea pointed out various plants and talked about their uses, some could be eaten, and others had medicinal uses. Draco did his best to commit this all to his memory as they walked. When they reached the main building Chunt’ea turned up the steps, but Draco hesitated.
Chunt’ea turned back to him. "It is alright Dracho, you will live in here with us now," he said.
Draco smiled and followed the boy up the steps. The main building was a large circular structure with rough wooden sides and a grass roof, once inside Draco realized that the center was open and that the whole structure was built around a center platform of natural rock. There seemed to be three separate rings of space. In the middle was a large central fire pit hewn from the rock itself. Surrounding this center area was a circle of space filled with tables, benches and what looked like various tools and utensils for doing everything from cooking to weaving. There was a lot of activity there at the moment as it appeared several men and boys were involved in preparing breakfast. The outer perimeter was divided in to four sections of living space. To the left as they entered was the area where the youngest boys lived, it was to this area that Chunt’ea brought Draco first. Here there were no walls just a series of posts that held numerous hammocks strung to the outer wall. There was a walkway between posts and a second inner ring of hammocks. Draco counted a full thirty hammocks in this section, many occupied at present by still sleeping boys. Chunt’ea brought him to the two last hammocks in the section and pointed at the one in the last space before a dividing wall.
"That one is yours," Chunt’ea said.
Draco sat into the hammock and swung his legs up stretching out. "Nice," he said. "This should be more comfortable than my grass mat."
Chunt’ea explained that in this section the youngest boys all lived together, those that were eleven to thirteen flood rains. In the next section beyond the dividing wall lived those boys who were fourteen, and in the third section those who were fifteen, and preparing for the rites of manhood. In the last section lived the men who were there as guides and teachers.
"You are an exception Dracho, you will live here in this section until the Shaman says you can move to the next. Usually we move only by age, but as you are already old enough to take the manhood rites, you will move according to how quickly you learn," Chunt’ea said. "You will be here with me only as long as you need to be."
"Dracho," Chunt’ea sounded suddenly serious, "it is part of my task to teach you our language. The charm which allows us to understand one another now will wear off sometime today and after that you will have to learn, it will require patience from both of us."
Draco nodded his understanding.
"I want you to learn quickly, you must keep your eyes and ears open and learn much from example. Everyone will help you."
Draco nodded again, smiling.
"Good," Chunt’ea said with a grin, "Now, shall we see about getting some breakfast?"
The smells of cooking food had been causing Draco's stomach to rumble since he had entered the building, so he readily agreed.
Chunt’ea wound his way through many of the hammocks rousing the sleeping boys, who seemed to wake eagerly. Draco followed him to the center of the building where fresh cooked food was laid out on large banana leaves. A line was beginning to form and Draco stepped in behind Chunt’ea. He helped himself to a flat wooden plate and in turn served himself the largest breakfast he had enjoyed in many weeks. He sat with Chunt’ea near the central fire pit and enjoyed his meal, asking many questions of the younger boy, with frequent interruptions and introductions. Everyone it seemed wanted to meet him, and everyone seemed very friendly and enthusiastic. Everywhere around him it seemed was constant laughter and conversation, and it seemed a huge amount of friendly teasing going back and forth between the groups of boys.
Finally, when the meal was done and he was returning his plate to a large woven basket he caught a glimpse of the Shaman sitting with the other men across the fire pit. The Shaman looked up at him and smiled. Draco smiled and nodded back.
This is going to be an adventure, Draco thought, his heart feeling light for the first time in... well, in a very long while.
Chunt’ea pulled at his arm, "Come Dracho, we have clean up duty." Chunt’ea reached for a handle on one side of the woven basket containing the used plates and utensils, and motioned for Draco to take the other. Together they carried the large basket out of the main building to an outside table that was set up with several large basins of water for doing the washing.
After digging holes and clearing fields, he could hardly squawk at scrubbing a few dishes. Especially when everyone involved seem to consider it more fun than work.
Yes... This was going to be an adventure!
Please review - Thanks!
Chapter 20: Chapter 19 - Mayhem, Mourning and Memories
Author's Notes: So now we find out just what happened on the night of Harry's Birthday. Thanks again to my Beta reader Seeker's Destiny and my proof reader B. Hanzel. You guys are the best!
Mayhem, Mourning and Memories
Dudley Dursley leaned against the back wall of the kennel at his Aunt Marge's home and took a long drag from his second cigarette. He "shushed" the dogs that barked at his movements. Fortunately they knew him well enough to settle down, even as he remained where he was. He didn't much like being here. They were supposed to be leaving in the morning, but from the look of things he thought they would probably have to stay at least one more day.
His parents and Aunt Marge had eaten a huge, late evening meal, and now they were getting quite pissed on expensive brandy. Not that any of them could really tell the difference, but his father believed that if he had bought the most expensive bottle, it had to be the best. He looked at his watch; it was already a quarter past eleven.
The moon was nearly full and a heavy ground fog was rolling in. He pulled his new leather jacket a bit tighter. He had sat at dinner for as long as he could stand, listening to his father prattle on about how all of his investments had paid off in a grand windfall. It was a load of codswallop. Dudley knew he could be a bit thick at times but he was certain his father had never invested a penny in his life, and the money they had recently received could only have come from one source, Harry.
Dudley still couldn't figure why Harry had given them so much money just before he'd disappeared. His parents wouldn't talk about it. In fact his father had gone on and on about how pleasant it was to be rid of Harry once and for all. Dudley had been caught up in the excitement of the spending spree for most of the summer and it had not even occurred to him that Harry was gone until his father had announced that they had found a buyer for the house on Privet Drive.
He had asked his mother about it but she hadn't said much, instead trying to placate him with food. All he had been able to glean from her answers was that Harry had said it would be safer if they left Privet Drive before his birthday. Well, it was Harry's birthday and they had indeed left Privet Drive. Now they were here with his bint of an Aunt, waiting to move in to a new, much grander, house closer to London.
Dudley crushed out his second cigarette and lit a third. His parents would be furious if they caught him smoking, but he didn't care right now, and they would be too rat-arsed to notice.
The truth was, as hard as it was to admit, Dudley missed Harry and not just because he wasn't there to pick on. There was something else, something much deeper. He'd felt safer when Harry was around, and now that he had left, Dudley had been a bit of a wreck. It was the damn things he had started seeing. After Harry had saved him from, what had Harry called them? Demontaters, or something like that.
It had begun gradually, so gradually, in fact that for the first year he had never believed he had really seen anything, just very short wispy glimpses of what might have been ghosts, or fairies.
Then during the last school year he had actually seen a full fledged ghost. And, it had talked to him. Dudley had been frightened of it at first, but as it kept coming around he realized it was not out to hurt him in any way, just mostly eager for someone to talk to. It turned out that it was the ghost of a former teacher at Smeltings who had unfortunately died from cancer. The man had been quite all alone in life, and found himself remaining at the school.
Dudley had tried to tell a few people that he was seeing things, but realized quickly that it was getting him nowhere. As he didn't want to be carted off to the loony bin he had quickly shut up about it.
Not quickly enough however, to prevent becoming the butt of pranks and jokes and turning into a bit of a social outcast. Not even his success at boxing had gotten him back in to social prominence. Sometime during the year he had begun to wonder if this was what it was like for Harry, being constantly picked on and ridiculed. It hadn't been all bad though, as he began to see more things, fairies and other magical creatures, at least the ghost had been able to explain what he was seeing, and informed him that he was, what the Magical world referred to as a Squib. It hadn't hurt his marks any to have a teacher constantly looking over his shoulder, explaining things and really taking the time to make sure he understood.
Dudley had intended to talk to Harry this summer, explain what was happening to him and see if Harry could offer more information. There was a lot Dudley felt bad about that had gone between him and Harry over the years. He didn't intend to apologize or anything ridiculous like that, but he felt some regret that the opportunity had been missed.
He wondered where Harry was now and he hoped that it was a good place wherever it was. After all was said and done Harry was still his cousin and he had come to the point that Dudley wished him well. "Happy Birthday Harry," he said as he glanced up at the moon.
Dudley dropped his fag end and stepped it into the dirt, figuring it was time he should be getting back in. He didn't relish the idea of listening to more of his Aunt's going on about her stupid, ugly, Bulldogs, but he seriously doubted it could be avoided.
He was about to turn back to the house when he heard something, It sounded like voices; one female, though low and harsh, and the other a raspy, growling male voice. He couldn't make out what had been said but he turned and feeling suddenly frightened he flattened himself against the kennel wall peering into the fog in the direction he thought he heard the voices from.
In a moment he was able to make out two figures entering the back garden from the field beyond the property line. They were both cloaked and hooded. As he watched intently the larger figure seemed to be removing its cloak, handing it to the other. Then to Dudley's amazement and horror, the figure dropped to the ground on all fours and began to transform into something inhuman, something Dudley could only describe as... a werewolf. He gasped, and clasped his hand over his mouth, fairly certain that he could not be heard over the whining and growling coming from the massive creature. He inched his way toward the far end of the kennel as he heard the woman speak.
"They are all yours, Greyback," the woman said cackling.
The creature howled; which set the dogs to barking wildly.
"Do as you will" she shouted over the howling, "Now go!"
The creature bounded toward the house and as Dudley turned around the corner of the kennel he saw the thing crash through the back garden door and leap upon his screaming mother.
Dudley froze with fright, he wanted to go to her aid, but more, he wanted to run. He turned quickly, and there was the woman, standing right behind him. She said a word Dudley did not recognize and there was a flash from something in her hand. Dudley found himself writhing in pain on the ground.
She grabbed him roughly by the jacket collar and pulled him up, the piercing pain in his limbs made it impossible for him to resist her.
"You must be Dudley," she said to his horror, as she dragged him, staggering, toward the house.
He could hear screaming coming from inside, the sounds of crashing and breaking furniture and the sickening sounds of tearing fabric, and flesh.
They reached the back door and standing there Dudley could see blood splattered everywhere. The body of his Mother lay torn and broken in a bloody heap on the dining room floor. The dining table was split and splintered, bits of food and broken stoneware scattered everywhere.
Gasping hard he realized that he could see parts of his dismembered father in at least four places strewn through the dining room and in to the sitting room, where beyond the overturned sofa the snarling beast was biting into and tearing chunks of flesh from the bloody mass that could only be his Aunt Marge.
The woman laughed in a sadistic and completely terrifying way as she took in the scene before them.
The creature turned, flesh in its teeth, its muzzle dripping with blood, focusing its unearthly yellow eyes, cruel with blood lust as it snarled at him. For a moment Dudley thought it would spring at him and he felt a warm wetness trailing down his right leg, soaking into his sock and boot.
The woman released his jacket collar, leaving him paralyzed with fear in the doorway.
"Scared the piss out of this one, Greyback." She laughed.
The woman stepped casually through the carnage toward the sitting room, as the beast continued to eye Dudley with intense appetite. But, it did not charge.
The woman flashed her wand at the sitting room wall and all the many framed pictures and small shelves of dog trophies and little ceramic bulldogs went crashing to the floor.
In that moment, Dudley had the absurd thought that he had always hated the ghastly felted, striped, salmon colored wallpaper in his Aunt's house.
The woman bent down and dragged the tip of her wand through a large pool of blood and raising it sent streams splattering to the wall forming letters. It read Many happy returns, and was ended by some sort of symbol that looked like a skull with a snake slithering from it's mouth.
Dudley felt command of his legs and as the beast shifted its head away, Dudley turned and ran from the house. The woman screamed something after him and he burst into flames. Intense heat took him beyond pain as he fell to the damp ground.
The snarling beast leapt over him and crashed into the kennel, followed by the woman who stepped past him, laughing.
Dudley heard intense screaming ringing in his ears. The sound seemed far away, but he realized, in his final moment of clarity that the screams were his own.
Harry was beside himself. He paced furiously in front of the sitting room grate. He had not been able to sleep the entire night. Not being allowed to fight was weighing heavily on him. He was angry. He wanted to wade in to battle wand flashing and bring Tom Riddle to justice. He wanted to make it right!
He glanced over at Ginny who had finally succumbed to sleep on a sofa near the fireplace. And then to Ron and Hermione who were curled together asleep on a matching sofa. He wanted to keep them all safe. If that meant he had to stay out of the fighting, for now, so be it. He did not have to like it. He promised himself that one day; Riddle would face his righteous fury.
It was the quiet and the sense of helplessness that was infuriating him. He needed news. He needed to know what was happening.
Less than an hour after everyone had departed Jarvy had reactivated the Portis Omnibus and through it had come Hagrid, carrying a wounded and bleeding Helena Burgestikoff, followed by a confused, but determined looking Poppy Pomfrey, and Fleur Delacour. They had not wasted time on explanations, Harry had the Elves Apparate them all to Helena's suite and then left the healer to do her work with instructions for Winky to provide whatever Madam Pomfrey needed from the stores at the Manor.
Hagrid had said only that there were still attacks going on and he needed to get back to Hogwarts to watch the gates. He bolted back through the open portal and was gone.
Molly Weasley had come through briefly with tight hugs for all of them and explained that there had been an attack at the Burrow. She said that the wards had held and The Burrow itself was fine, but something in her voice made Harry believe there had been casualties beyond Helena. She assured her two youngest children that the family was all alive and so far unharmed. She and Arthur were remaining at The Burrow to rebuild the wards and insure its safety, while their brothers and the members of the Order along with a squad of Aurors had dispersed to other skirmish sites. That was all the news they'd been given.
Now it was early morning, the sun was beginning to rise and still there had been nothing else.
Fleur and Madam Pomfrey entered the room, both looking crisp and clean. It was Fleur's bearing and demeanor that told Harry that Helena's injuries had been severe. Madam Pomfrey assured them that Helena would make a full recovery.
Jarvy appeared and opened the Portis Omnibus, Fred, George, Bill and Charlie practically fell in to the room, their clothing was singed and covered in soot. They appeared to be unharmed and they were actually laughing.
"Cor, that Death-eater he'll not be sitting down again... for ever!" Fred said, laughing and slapping George on the back.
"Yeah, George," Bill chimed in, "Whatever made you think, in the middle of battle, with spells flying all around, to cast such a specific slashing spell on his arse?" he continued laughing.
"Dunno really," George replied, "I just kept thinking the lot were a bunch of arses, and that wanker's bum was such an easy target." He dropped heavily in to one of the nearby chairs.
Charlie had already found Madam Pomfrey with questions about Helena. They quickly left the room together.
Bill crossed the room to Fleur and pulled her in to a deep embrace. They seemed to be sharing some quiet words together when suddenly the two of them appeared to glow golden for an instant. It went unnoticed by the others as the twins were still laughing about the Death Eater's bum. Harry suspected he had just witnessed the moment of bonding between them, and he smiled at them both as they looked up with giddy expressions of wonder.
Not wanting to draw attention to them, as they seemed to suddenly be in their own little world, Harry turned to Fred and George, "so, what happened?" he asked.
Ron and Hermione, waking together on the couch, sat up and focused on the conversation. Ginny too, was rousing at the sound.
"Oh, after the skirmish at The Burrow, the Aurors said that one of the attacks was in Diagon Alley, so the four of us, and some Aurors apparated there to help out," George replied.
"The place was a right mess," Fred continued. There were a couple dozen Death-Eaters and they were smashing everything in sight, busting shop windows and setting fire to the buildings."
"There were a bunch of Aurors already there, and some of Scrimgeour's new Army recruits," George put in.
"We arrived just outside our shop, and found ourselves right on top of the Death Eaters," Fred continued. "George was brilliant! First thing he summons our supply of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder from inside the shop and dropped the whole lot right on top of the Death Eaters. They were firing blind and we were able to get them pinned down in a crossfire."
"The buggers were persistent though, they kept right on firing at the store fronts and set most of the west end of the Alley ablaze," George finished.
"Was anyone hurt?" Hermione asked.
"Nah, just a few scrapes and scratches and most of that was from fighting the fires after the Death Eaters were contained," Bill responded. "I think the Aurors captured nine or ten of them, the rest finally Disapparated away."
"Is the shop okay?" Ginny asked.
"Oh," Fred responded, "total loss unfortunately."
"But, when the fireworks went up it was truly spectacular," George said. They both laughed.
"Yeah, completely distracted the Death Eaters, and helped us put a quick end to the fighting," Fred said, leaning on the back of George's chair.
"What! You mean the shop was destroyed?" Ron asked, concerned.
"Completely," Fred and George responded again in unison, "including our flat, above."
"What will you do?" Hermione asked.
"Oh, I guess we'll bunk at The Burrow for a while. Mum and Dad won't mind," Fred said.
"That's not what she meant, and you know it," Ginny interjected, "What will you do about the shop?"
"Rebuild of course," the twins answered together.
"The shop has been doing really well, and we've got quite a bit of savings," George said.
"Plus, we can still do Owl orders," Fred continued, "We might even expand."
Harry was relieved that the twins were taking their loss so well, but he was still troubled by the attacks and upset that he had not been able to join the fighting. Ginny crossed to him and took his hand. He smiled wanly at her.
"What about the other attacks?" Harry asked.
Bill stepped forward. "We really don't know much yet, Harry," he said, "After the Death Eaters were gone we spent most of the night dealing with the fires. We do know that there was an attack in Hogsmeade, and on a couple of Muggle locations, but we won't know any details until Moody comes back."
Harry took a deep calming breath and let it out slowly. "Fine," he said, visibly upset. "Why don't you all get cleaned up, and maybe have a quick kip. I'll tell Jarvy to have breakfast for everyone a bit later." He looked at the twins. "You can use one of the guest rooms to clean up and I'll have Dobby see what he can do about your clothes."
"Brilliant, Harry. Thanks," George said, getting up from the chair he was sitting in.
Dobby appeared and bid the twins follow him. With a snap of his fingers the soot was banished from the chair where George had been sitting.
Ginny took Harry's other hand and looked up into his emerald eyes. "It's all going to be alright Harry," she said with deep concern. "You need to sleep a bit yourself, c'mon." She turned and pulled him toward the door. He followed still clearly upset by the night's events. "Hermione, could you send Dobby to wake us when we start getting actual news?"
Hermione smiled and nodded, as they left the room.
Ron turned to her looking a bit perturbed, "Ginny shouldn't be going to Harry's room with him." He frowned.
Hermione frowned back at him, "They were alone together all yesterday afternoon and you are worried about it now?" she said in a slightly scolding voice. "Quit being an overprotective brother for a minute and just be a friend."
Ron nodded, a little ashamed.
Hermione took his hand, "besides we could use a bit more sleep ourselves." She tugged at him and he followed. "We'll tell Dobby to wake us too."
Harry stirred at the sound of Dobby entering the room. He was obviously trying to be quiet but the soft click of the door was enough to alert Harry to his presence. He raised his head slightly and smiled at the elf.
"Master, Dobby is come to wake you as requested," Dobby whispered. "The Moody man has returned and Mistress's parents are asking after you two."
"Thank you Dobby, we will be down in a minute," Harry replied.
Dobby smiled, seeming to consider fondly the occupants of the bed, and turned quietly, leaving the room as he had come.
Harry found himself on the bed with Ginny, her arm draped over his chest, her right leg across his right thigh, her head tucked into his shoulder. He smiled thinking how easily he could get used to this. He wished that he had been able to get some sleep. He knew he would not be able to until he heard news of what had happened during the night. He shifted slightly wrapping his arm around Ginny's shoulder and pulling her tight.
"Ginny, time to get up," Harry whispered shaking her a little.
Ginny's eyes opened and focused drearily on Harry. "Already?" she hugged herself to him, "I don't wanna," she pouted.
"Okay," Harry said, enjoying the feel and smell of her next to him, "but you get to explain when your Mum and Dad burst in here looking for us." He chuckled.
Ginny sat up suddenly, looking around the room. "Damn, you're right. I'm up." After a second she seemed more awake. She leaned down and kissed Harry deeply. "We should really do this more often," She whispered.
"I don't disagree," Harry said, "I just wish it were possible."
Ginny gave him a bright and, he thought, rather sexy smile, as she climbed from the bed. Harry watched her appreciatively as he got up and straightened his clothes.
A few moments later they were meeting Hermione and a rather bleary looking Ron at the stairs. They had also obviously decided on a nap, and apparently together as well, as they were both coming from the direction of Hermione's room.
They made their way down to the sitting room where a number of people had gathered. It wasn't everyone from the party. Hagrid had not returned, neither had Wood, Tonks, or Shacklebolt. It was quite obvious that it had been a very long night for all of them.
Seeing them enter the room, Moody called the room to order.
"As we all know there were several Death Eater attacks last night," Moody growled. "The main attacks have been reported at, The Burrow, Diagon Alley, Hogsmeade, and..." Moody paused, looking directly at Harry, "number four Privet Drive, in Surrey. All of these attacks were accompanied by the Dark Mark. I have spent much of the morning at the Ministry debriefing with the Aurors. We are awaiting any other information on associated attacks within Muggle communities, but no other Dark Marks have been reported."
"The Dursleys?" Harry asked rather emotionlessly.
"The house at Privet Drive was empty Harry," Moody assured him. "Your Aunt and Uncle had moved from the property," he paused, "the house was burned to the ground. The implanted cover for the Muggles is that there was an electrical fire caused by faulty wiring. The present welfare of your Aunt, Uncle and cousin is unknown. My agents indicated yesterday that they were leaving Privet Drive for an undisclosed location. Diggle and Cranbrooke, who are currently assigned to the Dursleys, have not checked in. This in itself is not unusual as watching the Dursleys is a rather..." he paused, "dull assignment," he paused again, waiting for Harry to nod his understanding. "Unfortunately there was one casualty associated with this attack. Miss Arabella Figg, a former member of the Order, was found dead in her home, victim of the Avada Kadavra. Most likely, she was tortured for information and, assuming that she had no information to give, she was killed simply because she was a Squib."
Harry moved to a couch and sat heavily. Ginny sat with him and squeezed his hand reassuringly.
Moody continued, "The attack on Diagon Alley was thwarted by Aurors and members of the Ministry's Army, along with Bill, Charlie, Fred and George Weasley. I am pleased to report that we suffered no casualties in this attack, though there was significant property damage. The whole of the west end was destroyed by fire from the entrance to Knockturn Alley, right up to Weasley's Wizard Wheezes. The fires were contained early this morning, and clean up is already under way. The Ministry has ten Death Eaters in custody from this altercation."
There was a brief applause and the Twins couldn't help but stand and bow.
"The attack in Hogsmeade was thwarted by Aurors, members of the Army, a few local residents, Alex, Kingsley, Remus, Tonks and me. Several stores were destroyed along the high street and there were a number of casualties. Two Aurors and eight young Army recruits were killed in the battle. I will have a list of the names of these brave men and women later today. To their credit and that of all the combatants no less than eighteen Death Eaters were killed, and a dozen more are now in custody with the Ministry."
There was no applause accompanying this report.
Moody continued, "Upon leaving here last night we entered into an altercation at The Burrow. The wards were still holding when we exited the house. There were at least two dozen Death Eaters attacking the wards. As we confronted them a group of ten Aurors arrived behind them. Clearly they did not anticipate so many would be present at The Burrow, and it was the strength of our numbers that ended the altercation quickly. Regrettably, Helena Burgestikoff was badly wounded in the battle, and I am personally saddened to report the death of Oliver Wood."
Harry sank deeper into the couch; Ginny could feel the anger building in him.
"Madam Pomfrey," Moody said, "Would you be kind enough to tell us Helena's condition?"
"Certainly, Mr. Moody," she stepped forward a little and cleared her throat. "Miss Burgestikoff was the victim of at least two slashing curses. The slashing damage was confined mostly to her front torso and left side. It would then appear that she turned to protect her injuries and took a blasting curse to her right side, which extensively damaged her right arm, shoulder and ribs. If not for Miss Delacour's quick actions, she would surely have died."
Charlie sobbed lightly, and was immediately comforted by Mrs. Weasley with a firm half hug, and by Alex with a hand on his shoulder.
"It was a very good decision to bring her here rather than returning to Hogwarts as was my instinct. Wherever here is, and I am not asking, it is apparently as well stocked with medicinals, potions and surgical equipment as any place I have ever visited short of St. Mungos," Madam Pomfrey, paused for a moment.
Harry caught Moody's eyes during the pause and he winked with his natural eye, nodding slightly.
"With the assistance of Miss Delacour, and a very efficient Elf, I was able to de-curse and knit her internal injuries. Her bones have all been reset with the exception of her right Humerus, Radius and Scapula, which were so extensively shattered that it was easier to banish them and repair the tissue damage. She was given a blood replenisher potion as well as a number of potions for pain, healing and sleep. Right now she is in an induced sleep that should last at least seventy-two hours, at which time I shall return and commence treatment to re-grow her missing bones. If all goes accordingly she should be completely healed in four or five days."
"Thank you, Madam Pomfrey," Moody said sincerely, "your services to the Order have been, as always, exemplary."
Madam Pomfrey, bowed lightly, and stepped back.
"That is everything we know at present about the events of the night," Moody continued. "There were also a few incidents of magic use in Muggle areas, but as no indication of the Dark mark was present, these were made low priority and are being investigated as we speak. Such events are not unusual and may be unassociated with the Death Eater attacks. The Minister has promised a full report as soon as the Aurors have finished their investigations. I will provide information on any services for Mr. Wood, and Miss Figg, once the next of kin have been contacted. Thank you everyone for all your efforts. While we mourn our losses, I would ask you to remember that all things considered these skirmishes should be regarded as a victory for the Ministry and the Order."
There was a short round of half-hearted applause.
"For now, I suggest that we avail ourselves of the hospitality and safety provided here at the Manor, and then retire to our individual homes to catch up on much needed rest. Thank you everyone," Moody finished.
The subdued group moved a bit slowly, but eventually gathered around the provided breakfast buffet.
The mood of the room seemed to lighten a little as people formed small groups at the tables. Harry picked at his food, still trying to manage his building anger.
A few minutes later Shacklebolt and Tonks entered the room. Tonks went to Lupin and began speaking with him in a whisper, as Kingsley went directly to Moody and handed him what looked like a Muggle newspaper and a sheaf of parchment. Moody examined the parchment and then opened the paper, looking at it with an unreadable expression. He immediately approached the table where Harry, Ginny, Hermione and most of the Weasleys were seated. Lupin and Tonks approached as well.
"Miss Granger," Moody addressed Hermione. At the sound of her name she paled. "We have received word that one of the Muggle sites where magic was used was in Brentwood, outside of London."
Hermione heart leaped in to her throat at Moody's words.
"It appears that your parent's home was targeted. The house was turned over but there is no indication of a fight of any sort. Your parents have not been located. Have you any Muggle means of contacting them?"
Hermione seemed frozen with fear for a moment, but it passed quickly and she burst into action opening her small handbag and digging through it frantically. She pulled out a small rectangular bit of something, obviously Muggle made with numbers on it. "Yes," she said, a bit too loudly, "my mobile!" she was tapping at the numbers, and pressed the thing to her ear. "Damn!" she said, "no signal!" She looked slightly panicked.
"It must be the wards," Ron put in. "let's go to the Burrow where we can get outside of them quickly. He was already standing and offering his hand to Hermione. Hermione looked at her boyfriend in amazement; she took his hand and they left at a run.
"Fred, George," Arthur Weasley said suddenly, "please go with them for safety."
The Twins did as their father asked without hesitation.
"Harry," Moody turned to him. "The other attack was at a country cottage outside Shrewsbury." Harry gave no indication of understanding. "It was your Aunt Marge's home."
Harry suddenly understood, inhaling deeply. "The Dursleys," he asked, "are they dead?"
"I am sorry, lad," Moody said, as he set the paper down in front of Harry. "I am afraid the Muggle authorities beat us to the site."
Harry looked at the large front page photograph of the Shrewsbury Gazette, under the bold banner which read, "MURDER IN QUIET COUNTRY COTTAGE." The picture was of the wall of his Aunt Marge's sitting room and the bloody message left there. "Many happy returns," Harry read out loud as he noticed the dark mark following the scrawled words.
Ginny gasped next to him, also seeing the eerily unmoving Muggle photograph.
Harry began scanning the article.
"The Ministry has dispatched a team to deal with the matter. We recovered the bodies of Diggle and Cranbrooke, but, the Dursleys... well, it complicates things when the Muggle authorities have already gotten involved," Kingsley said.
Harry stood up, "Well it serves them right I suppose," he said angrily. No one believed that he actually felt that way.
Molly Weasley got up from her chair and pulled Harry in to a hug, as tears began to run down his face. Ginny stood and wrapped an arm around his shoulders.
"I didn't want them dead," Harry said unable to control his quiet sobs.
"I know, dear," Molly soothed, stroking his back.
"It's not them," he said, "it's everything; my parents, Sirius, Riddle has taken them all and left me alone in the world."
Molly held Harry by the shoulders at arms length and with tear filled eyes said; sternly, "Now you listen to me young man. You are not alone in this world. We are your family, and I don't want to ever hear you say such a thing again."
Harry's tear filled eyes widened and he nodded slightly. Mrs. Weasley pulled him back into a hug.
After a minute Harry pulled himself from Molly's grip and practically collapsed against Ginny. She supported him as he sobbed against her shoulder.
"I am so sorry Harry," Ginny whispered in his ear.
"Take me out of here, please," Harry whispered back.
Supporting Harry, Ginny lead him toward the door. Madam Pomfrey followed, but Moody asked everyone else to remain in their places.
Ginny, and Madam Pomfrey, lead Harry to his room where Dobby was waiting. They brought him to his bed where Ginny began to undress him and tucked him in bed. Madam Pomfrey raised an eyebrow as she observed Ginny, but said nothing. She gave some instruction to Dobby who popped away, and returned a moment later with a vial of potion.
"This is a draft of dreamless sleep, Mr. Potter," Madam Pomfrey said in her direct, no-nonsense manner, "I want you to take it now and get some sleep."
Harry nodded and took the vial, draining the liquid without complaint. He laid his head on his pillow and was instantly, deeply asleep.
Ginny's instinct was to crawl in with him, but she knew she couldn't do so with her parents in the house and Madam Pomfrey standing there. She bent down and kissed his forehead, whispering, "you will never be alone, my love."
"He will sleep now," Madam Pomfrey said. "It's best we leave him, his Elf will remain and watch over him."
"Do not worry Mistress," Dobby said addressing Ginny, "Dobby will watch over Master Harry, Dobby will always protect Harry Potter."
"Thank you, Dobby," Ginny said kneeling to address the faithful Elf, "Harry is very lucky to have you."
Dobby blushed furiously at the complement and turned to take a seat in a nearby chair.
Madam Pomfrey again with her eyebrow raised, placed her hand gently on Ginny's shoulder and turned her to leave the room. As they crossed the attached sitting room toward the hall she said, "It appears that Mr. Potter has had an eventful summer. It is obvious that this house and the three Elves I have met here belong to him."
Ginny nodded in response.
"I have noticed that the Elves refer to you as Mistress, Miss Weasley. Do you know why that is?"
"I thought it was because I am Harry's girlfriend," Ginny said uncertainly.
"That alone would not be enough for the Elves to address you so, my dear." She took Ginny's hand, chuckling slightly as Ginny looked up at her with wide eyes. "I think perhaps we should have a talk, you and I. Is there a quiet place we can sit comfortably?"
Ginny smiled and lead the kindly matron toward a comfortable seating area on the third floor landing opposite the main stairs. As they climbed the stairs Madam Pomfrey spoke again. "I think perhaps I should have a talk with Miss Granger as well before I return to Hogwarts."
Ginny smiled, and nodded.
The remaining members of the order gathered around a single table in the sitting room. The night had taken its toll and they all looked quite worn.
"We were very lucky, weren't we?" Arthur Weasley addressed the table at large.
"We could have been better prepared," Moody replied, "we need greater communication between the Order and the Aurors. The Ministry's new Army is still in its infancy and a bit of an unknown. I will speak with Scrimgeour about better coordination. All-in-all, I was pleased with our response time and our success."
"Will attacks be more frequent now?" asked Molly.
Kingsley Shacklebolt looked at Moody for a moment and receiving a nod spoke in answer. "We think that these attacks were mostly about Harry. The events in the Alley, The Burrow and at Hogsmeade, served no real strategic purpose, other than to show that the Dark Lord's forces could reach such sites within England. They were a distraction and intended to spread fear. Still, they were very costly to he who shall not be named, given the numbers of Death Eaters we captured. We think the real goal was the attack on Harry's family. Sadly, we did not think that the Dark Lord would bother with Harry's Muggle relations, and we have to accept that our own attitudes perhaps are to blame for an insufficient effort to protect them. I personally will offer my apologies to Harry for this. Given what is happening in Eastern Europe, we think these attacks were in response to Harry's birthday and do not believe that they mark a true attack on Wizarding England, just yet."
"Poor Harry," Molly said, "He has experienced so much loss."
"Yes, he has," Moody growled, "And he is sure to experience more before this war is at an end. We must do our best to minimize further losses directly associated with him, but we are hampered somewhat by the fact that he was given a mission by Dumbledore before his death, a mission Harry will not reveal to us. All we can do is focus on the larger campaign and help however we can to ensure Harry's success."
"Oh, that Dumbledore," Molly exclaimed with frustration, "Why did he have to leave us all in such ignorance and focus so much on Harry? Harry is still so young, it's just not fair. If Albus was still with us, I'd give him a piece of my mind!"
The sound of a familiar voice clearing its throat cut through the room.
"Of that, I have no doubt Molly," came the voice from the Chocolate Frog Card, still in the base on the mantle. "And I would listen patiently, but it would not alter the fact that Harry remains central to this entire conflict."
In stunned silence everyone was looking around the room to locate the source of the voice.
"Albus?" Moody asked out loud.
"Yes, old friend, over here on the mantle," Dumbledore replied.
Lupin crossed to the mantle and retrieved the base and card, bringing it to the center of the table.
"Albus Dumbledore? How is dis possible?" Alex asked, as Lupin set the base down.
"Ah, Madam Burgestikoff, your reputation is well known to me, I am pleased to have you among us." Dumbledore replied. "In answer to your question, it was a surprisingly simple bit of magic," Dumbledore paused. "In anticipation of my impending death from a curse, I imbued this vessel with the contents of my mind. A copy, if you will. I then prepared it to temporarily receive my soul upon the passing of my physical body. I am surprised and delighted that it worked, as I felt that I had not yet given Harry all the information I have to give."
"Such a thing has only been accomplished through dark Magic!" Alex exclaimed.
The Dumbledore card chuckled, "Yes, well, it is certainly unprecedented, but I do not believe it is dark magic. I have no desire to cheat death, or alter the natural order, I simply wished a bit more time to properly fulfill what I feel is an obligation to Harry, and all of the Wizarding world. Eventually, if not interrupted, this magic will desperse allowing my soul to continue its final journey, I wanted only more time with Harry, time to help him prepare."
"You do seem vell intentioned, but I am skeptical that such a thing could be accomplished vithout the dark arts." Alex responded.
"Alex," Moody interrupted, "You have not known Albus as we have. I am inclined to believe him in this, and I detect no darkness here."
"I trust you Alastor, but this still goes against my understanding." Alex replied.
"As a teacher," Dumbledore added, "I welcome your skepticism, and find it refreshing. I encourage any examination you might wish to apply to the matter."
Alex nodded.
The room was contemplatively silent as Hermione, Ron and the twins returned. Hermione looked quite relieved as she announced that her parents were alright, and she had successfully contacted her mother. "As it turns out, they had gone to spend a few days with family friends, Ian and Barbara Chesterton. They have agreed to remain there for now, and I told them I would contact them again soon," Hermione said.
Hermione was clearly not finished, but Ron cut her off. He was pointing at the card and base at the center of the table. "That's Harry's, why is it off the mantle?" Ron demanded.
"It is quite all right Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore said, "please join us, and let's all have a nice chat shall we?"
Harry was walking around the Quidditch pitch glad of the quiet and the solitude. The last couple of days had gone by in a blur and he was still feeling rather lost. He couldn't believe that the deaths of the Dursleys had affected him so deeply. It wasn't so much that they were killed, as the whole situation; all of the death that had surrounded him his whole life, all because of a stupid prophecy.
When he had woken from the induced sleep a few days before it was as if all his anger had left him and he just felt sad. Ron, Hermione and Ginny had all tried to talk to him, but nothing seemed to help. The Manor had gotten very busy with the arrival of Fleur's family, but Harry had for the most part been avoiding everyone. He hadn't been doing his morning meditations with Dumbledore, and he hadn't looked at the memories his Grandfather had left him. He had just been walking around the grounds like a ghost.
He knew people were worried about him, but it was as if he didn't have the energy to care. He was glad in a way that everyone was so busy with wedding preparations and looking after Helena.
Ginny had been tasked by her mother to help keep Gabrielle and her cousins busy until the wedding so even though Harry knew she was worried about him, she had not had much time to spend with him. He was okay with that as he was aware that his mood was sullen and he had not been very good company for anyone in the past few days. He needed to find a way to get past his current mood.
As he rounded the far end of the pitch he heard what sounded like the popping burst of a blasting curse on the other side of a thick hedgerow. His mind seemed to suddenly clear a bit and he drew his wand as he walked to the edge of the row.
To his mild surprise he found Alex Burgestikoff there, casting offensive spells at a number of hay bale targets. She lowered her wand upon seeing him. "Ah, hello Mr. Potter, it is good to see you out enjoying the day."
Harry stepped closer, "please," he said, "call me Harry." He moved behind her to better see the targets she was firing at. There were four stacks of hay bales at a distance of about ten meters.
"It is adwisable to get in a little practice vhen you can. Besides, it is alvays fun to blow thing up," Alex said, "I hope I vas not disturbing your valk, Harry."
"No, not at all," Harry responded, still eyeing the targets.
"Vould you like to give it a try?" Alex took a few steps back allowing Harry a clear field of vision.
Harry raised his wand and carefully aimed at the first target, "Confringo" he yelled, there was a slight trail of red light and the bottom right side of the stacked bails blew apart spectacularly.
"Very good, Harry, again." Alex urged.
Harry eyed the next target and repeated "Confringo." This time the upper left corner of the target blew apart in a hail of dust and flashing straw.
"It feels good, does it not?" Alex asked.
"Yes it does," Harry replied. He shouted twice more in rapid succession, his first spell just missing the third bale, and the last striking squarely and sending the final bale apart in all directions. Harry turned his wand in his hand, working his grip. It did feel good, perhaps it was just what he had needed.
Alex was applauding quietly next to him. "You have a lot of power in your casting for one so young, Harry," she praised him. "If it is not too presumptuous of me, I vould enjoy vorking with you, so that you can do it like dis." She stepped forward and extended her wand arm almost casually. Without a word there were three bursts of wand fire in rapid succession. Harry watched as the trails of light seemed to spiral and curve in the air, each striking the remaining bales squarely, blasting them apart completely.
It was Harry's turn to applaud. "That is marvelous!" Harry exclaimed, "could you teach me to do that?"
"Of course," Alex smiled, genuinely pleased. "Ve must talk about aim, Harry," she said, "casting a spell is magic. It is not like shooting an arrow, or firing a Muggle gun. You do not need to aim your vand and send your spell in a straight line. Your vand is an extension of yourself. It is your concentration and intent that will find your target, not your aim."
Harry puzzled over this for a moment. No one had ever said anything like this to him in all his years at Hogwarts. Going by example, he had always tried to aim his spells by visually aligning his wand to whatever he was casting at. But, Alex's statement made sense to him. He nodded.
Dobby trotted out from a nearby hedgerow and snapping his fingers restored the bale targets and smiling broadly at Harry, trotted back to cover. Harry laughed, as he realized that the little Elf was wearing a WWI doughboy helmet.
"Now," Alex said, refocusing Harry and gesturing toward the fresh bales, "dis time, do not vorry about vhere your vand is pointing so much. Instead, focus on the targets you vish to strike."
Harry, turned and raised his wand, he shouted four rapid spells. Despite himself he noticed that he was still moving his arm, pointing at each target. The spells each struck their intended bale, but none was a square hit.
Dobby quickly ran out again to restore the bales.
"Very good, Harry," Alex said, "I am impressed. It takes time to change habits."
Harry smiled. He took his stance again to give it a second go.
Alex interrupted, "vhy don't ve try something to help you focus your mind. Concentrate on the first target, Harry. Fix it in your mind." She gave him a moment before reaching up and gently tapping his glasses with her wand. The lenses turned opaque.
"But, now I can't see the target at all," Harry protested.
"You do not need to see it. You already know vhere it is. Now, vhen you are ready, picture the target and cast your spell."
Harry imagined the target before him. He concentrated on its center. He raised his arm and cast the spell. Immediately he could hear the sound of the blast and he knew that he had hit something. Alex applauded. She tapped his glasses again, allowing him to see that he had obliterated the target.
"Vonderful Harry," Alex praised, "you are a natural."
They continued to practice for about an hour, by which time Harry found that he was consistently hitting the targets. Alex, he thought, was a wonderful teacher, giving him easy to understand instruction, constructive criticism, and genuine praise.
As they walked back to the house, Harry realized that he felt quite himself again, the practice had helped him focus on something else and he was not feeling lost or sad anymore.
"Thank you. Mrs. Burgestikoff," he said genuinely.
"Not at all, Harry, I quite enjoyed vorking with you," Alex replied, her smile brightening, "but please, call me Alex."
"I mean, thank you, for more than just the practice," Harry said.
Alex nodded knowingly.
"So, Alex, would you be willing to teach me more?" he asked.
"Of course, Harry, I vould like that very much," she said, "Vhat things would you like to vork on?" Harry could see that her mind was already forming an instruction strategy.
"I would like to learn more offensive spells, fighting techniques, and to cast silently."
Alex nodded, "Dese are all things I think I could help you vith, yes. Vhy don't we set a regular time each day, and you can inwite, Ron, Hermione and Ginny to join us. Ve vill make it a regular class," she smiled.
"That sounds wonderful!" Harry exclaimed, "I'll go ask them right away." They reached the door and Harry started off toward the Library.
He turned, "Alex," he paused, "thanks again."
Alex nodded with a smile.
Later that evening, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and the twins came for dinner and they all enjoyed a wonderful meal in the main dining room. Harry, had instructed Jarvy to approach Fleur about meal menus during her family's visit. At the time it was really because he did not want to be bothered with it, but he recalled now, how during his fourth year, many of the Beauxbaton students had complained about the food at Hogwarts.
Fleur had been completely and pleasantly surprised that whatever she asked Jarvy to prepare he produced without the slightest hint of confusion or apparent extra effort. On this particular occasion they had enjoyed Blanquette de veau followed by a dessert of Tarte Tatin. Harry was very pleased, not only with the French food, but also that Monsieur Delacour, proclaimed it the finest example of the dishes he had ever eaten.
Everyone was in very high spirits as they retired to the sitting room after dinner. It had been a good day all around. Harry was himself again after target practice with Alex. He was especially pleased that they would be practicing again in the morning. He had asked Ginny, Ron and Hermione to join them and they had all responded enthusiastically. As he looked around the room he decided that he might invite Fleur's sister Gabrielle, and their cousins to join them as well.
Fleur had spent the day with her parents, shopping and going for a dress fitting.
Helena had woken up and Madam Pomfrey had returned to examine her and administer the treatment to re-grow her bones. Harry knew from experience that she was in for a restless and painful night, but she was expected to be up and around in the morning.
Hermione, who had been spending all her time in the Library, had found some interesting information on treatments using variations on the Wolfsbane potion and after showing her research to Lupin and Madam Pomfrey they had devised a new treatment for Bill that was showing wonderful progress in healing his scars.
Lupin, who often seemed a bit lost while Tonks was at work, had also discovered the Library and was embroiled in some researches of his own.
Ginny, had spent her time showing Gabrielle and her cousins around the Burrow, and the Manor, they had even ventured in to Ottery St. Catchpole. As Harry's shipment had arrived from QQS, she had promised to show them the Quidditch pitch in the morning, and let them each have a go with a professional quality Quidditch broom.
Ron, the twins, Bill and Charlie, had spent most of the last few days at Diagon Alley sorting through the rubble of the Twin's shop. They had been pleased to recover far more than they originally thought they could. With the clean up nearly finished, the Twins were busy planning the rebuilding.
Of course, on top of everything else, wedding planning had moved in to high gear and there were lots of things that had to be done before the wedding could take place in just a week's time.
Harry had a wedding project he had to see to with the twins, but it was on track and there was no need to rush the Twins now that they were excited about rebuilding the shop.
With everyone relaxed after a good meal the room settled in to comfortable conversations. The younger adults were all gathered in one seating area with Alex, Tonks and Lupin, while Molly and Arthur were getting to know the Delacours.
The Delacours had arrived late in the day on August first, international travel having been delayed by the events of that night. Their party consisted of Fleur's parents and younger sister Gabrielle, her Aunt, Uncle and their four children, JeanBaptiste, Jacquelyne, Josephina and Jerard.
Ron and Hermione had engaged the younger guests in a spirited game of Exploding Snap to pass the evening. Hermione was not normally one to play, but she was rather keen to practice her French with the guests. Ginny was hovering around the card game at the crowded table. Harry waited until she glanced up and he raised his eyebrow. She smiled knowingly in return.
Harry wandered over to Lupin and told him that he had some things he wanted to review in his Grandfather's study, so no one should worry if they noticed his absence. Lupin, thanked him for letting them know. Harry slipped out of the room and headed down the hall toward the Library.
He arrived at the study a little surprised that Ginny had not yet caught him up, but he unlocked the door and entered the comfortable room. He waited a step beyond the closed door and began counting down from ten. He got to six before there was a knock at the door. He turned, opened the door and pulled Ginny in to the room, greeting her with a hug and kiss.
"Did you sneak away, just so that we could have a snog, Mr. Potter?" Ginny teased.
"No, sorry," Harry replied, "I actually have something else in mind, but I don't mind a bit of a snog now that you mention it." Harry pushed the door shut and it clicked locked. He continued kissing Ginny for a few minutes. "I am sorry I have been out of sorts the last few days," he said finally.
"Harry, you don't have to apologize," Ginny said smiling, "everyone understands." She kissed him again hugging him close. "Now, as much as I would be content to snog you silly for the rest of the evening. If that is what you intended we would not be in your study. So, what did we really come here for?" Ginny released him, stealing one final quick kiss.
"I wanted to look at some memories," Harry confessed. He turned and went to the desk, unlocking the drawer and retrieving the small lock box.
"Do you want to do that alone, Harry?" Ginny asked concernedly. "They could be rather private."
Harry looked at her with a slightly confused expression, as though he was about to state the obvious. "No, Ginny, I want you to see them too." He said matter-of-factly, "there can be nothing here too private to share with you."
Ginny beamed.
"Have you ever used a pensieve?" Harry asked.
"No, never," Ginny said hesitantly.
"Well, it is very easy," Harry smiled. He began setting the vials out from the lock box lining them up on the desk. He pointed to a wide drawer below the bookcase behind Ginny. "I am guessing that my Grandfather kept one in there. Would you mind?"
Ginny turned to the drawer and slid it open, inside was a wide stone basin with runes carved all around the base. Ginny thought that it resembled a mirrored bird bath. Next to it in the drawer was a wax sealed jar filled with crystal clear liquid. She could see her reflection in the polished surface. "This looks like it, Harry." She reached in and pulled it out, it was quite heavy, but not unmanageably so.
As she turned, Harry flicked his wand and said "Wingardium Leviosa" levitating the pensieve from her grasp over to the desk. She retrieved the jar and carried it across the room.
After opening the jar and adding the liquid to the basin, Harry sat in the desk chair and looked at the line of vials. He carefully read each of the tags. "I think these are a set of memories from each of my ancestors for six generations," he said, "the names are all Potters, and the last two are my parents." Harry showed Ginny the last two vials. The first tag read 'James Potter, April 1978 - Destiny.' and the second, 'Lily Evans-Potter, June 1978 -Wedding.'
"Do you suppose your Grandfather kept a family tree somewhere?" Ginny asked.
"I would think he did, and I'll bet it is somewhere in this room," Harry agreed. They began rummaging through drawers and looking around the room. "Hang on," Harry said after a minute, "let me try," he flicked his wand, "Accio, family tree." At once there was a soft knocking in a low drawer across the room. Ginny went to it and slipped the drawer open. A scroll popped up from the drawer and floated across the room to Harry.
Harry unrolled the parchment scroll and laid it out across one end of the desk. The parchment was elaborately illustrated with a beautiful tree. At the base of the trunk were the names, Caractacus Potter (856 - 1170) and Armes Weasley-Potter (1048 -1171). Moving up the trunk were the names of the rest of Harry's family. Each name corresponded to a tag on one of the memory vials. Harry unrolled the top of the scroll to reveal an end to the illustrated tree where the names of his parents should have been listed.
"This scroll must have been locked away here in the Manor before my father was born," Harry said.
Ginny nodded agreement. "Your Grandparents must have kept this lock box with them until later in order to include memories from your parents," Ginny concluded.
It was Harry's turn to nod agreement.
Harry pulled open the center desk drawer and began searching through it. He pulled out an inkwell and quill. Carefully flattening the scroll he dipped the quill in the ink and very carefully began adding his parent's names to the family tree. As he did so the illustrated tree began to grow further up the scroll around them. A space grew up further where Harry added his own name. He was monetarily tempted to just write in Ginny's name in the space that appeared next to his, but thinking that was a bit premature, he ignored the impulse.
"Well, that's one mystery solved," Harry said, smiling at his handiwork. "Now the question is do I start with the earliest memory and work forward, or start with the most recent and move back?"
Ginny smiled and leaned forward giving Harry a quick kiss. "Why don't you start at the beginning," she said. She picked up the first vial marked 'Caractacus Potter, c. 900 - Potter curse' and handed it to Harry.
Harry read the tag with a bit of apprehension, but then removed the wax sealed stopper and holding it over the pensieve poured the contents out. The heavy memory seemed to settle into the bottom of the basin. Harry stirred the surface with his wand as he had seen Dumbledore do in the past. The memory swirled and clouded across the pensieve surface.
"Ready?" Harry asked Ginny.
"What do we do?" Ginny said with a hint of excitement.
"In the past I have always leaned my face to the surface, but I don't think that is strictly necessary. Dumbledore always just dipped a hand in," Harry said as he leaned forward and took Ginny's hand in his.
Together they reached their free hands to the surface and at once their perceptions swirled as they were drawn in to the memory.
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NEXT
Chapter Twenty
The Potter Curse
Chapter 21: Chapter 20 - The Potter Curse
Author's Notes: Harry and Ginny investigate the memories left by Harry's ancestors.
The Potter Curse
Harry and Ginny tumbled through nothingness landing finally on a stone floor. As figures and furniture swirled into existence around them they found themselves in a large open hall filled with many people. It seemed to be an extremely rustic tavern constructed of heavy wooden timbers with an open beamed, thatched roof. There were lines of heavy tables filled with rather rough looking men, and women, dressed in heavy woven robes adorned with furs. There was an atmosphere of celebration as large trays of food were being brought out from a kitchen and set at tables around the room. Toward the front of the hall the frivolity increased as people were dancing happily to lively music. It took them a moment to adjust to the idea that this memory was a step back in time somewhere around a thousand years.
They were standing behind a tall, heavily muscled man, who was seated at the head of the central table, eating a shank of mutton between large draws from a huge tankard of strong smelling mead. He was talking animatedly with the others at the table, particularly a burly red headed man to his right.
"Harry," Ginny squeezed Harry's hand tighter as if to assure herself that he was still there. "It's all so real."
"Memories feel very real when you are inside them," Harry assured her, "but no one will see or hear us." As if to illustrate his point a lovely ginger haired woman came along the back of the tables carrying a large tray of food and walked right through them. Ginny giggled.
Harry moved a step closer to listen to the two men.
"Pray, what would old Hengist of Woodcroft say if he knew you'd been off slaying a dragon at the very Muggle settlement he was fleeing when he founded our quaint little Hogsmeade village, Caractacus?" asked the red head.
"He would no doubt try to curse me, but then he was always a bit dim when it came to getting along with people, even Wizards. And ye know full well if I hadn't gone to slay the dragon there, it would have turned up here sooner or later, or worse at the castle, and then what would have happened to all our years of labor?" The black haired man responded.
The red haired man laughed boisterously. "Always a thinkin' man Caractacus," he said. He reached in front of the platter of mutton and picked up a small triangular left side breast plate of metal armor. It was fitted with leather straps and elaborately worked with a raised heart motif. "And what do you plan to do with this muggle trinket, then?" he asked.
"I'll keep it of course," Caractacus responded, "'twas a gift from the Muggles, given in gratitude." He took the breast plate from the other man and set it back down on the table.
"Sometimes you are the most sentimental of fools Caractacus," the red head laughed again, "'tis naught but a Muggle bit of worked iron and too small for you as well."
"Tis a symbolic gift, Roald," Caractacus said, "given by a grateful people, they called it the hero's heart, and they meant that hero to be me. No honorable man treats such a gift with disrespect, even a Muggle gift."
That brought a broad smile to the red haired man, who then tore in to a shank of mutton with gusto.
Ginny giggled again, thinking that the man, Roald reminded her of her brother Ron as he devoured his food.
A moment later a woman approached the table carrying a platter of meat and sausage pies. She was quite beautiful, Harry thought, though a bit sturdy for his taste, but her long red hair, braided down her back was quite striking and her eyes, could have come directly from Ginny. Or perhaps it was the other way round he thought momentarily. She leaned between the two men to set the platter down in front of them.
As she was straightening back up, Caractacus pushed his chair back and pulled the woman down in to his lap. She protested playfully, making it obvious that there was a comfortable familiarity between them.
"Ah, Beathas my beauty," Caractacus teased, "when are you goin' to leave that no good husband of yours and realize 'tis I who truly loves thee?"
The woman grabbed the end of his thick beard and gave it a hard, but playful yank. "When are you going to realize that you could have any eligible woman in this whole village and quit flirtin' with your best friend's wife?" She pushed herself up from his lap. Harry and Ginny both realized that she was quite obviously pregnant, as she smoothly moved from Caractacus' playful embrace to Roald's waiting arms. She settled comfortably into the big man's lap and gave him a demonstrative kiss.
Caractacus smiled genuinely at them.
"She's right you know." Roald said, "If you took yourself a wife it might do you a world of good." Roald caressed his wife's belly with obvious pride and affection.
"Oh, you know I will never settle for a wife any less special than your Beathas," he smiled at the couple, "And where am I ever goin' to find such woman?" he chided.
"Well, I do have a few sisters, or if ye can wait, Caractacus," Beathas teased, "We'll just have to start having daughters 'til you find one that you like." She winked at Caractacus and pushed herself from her husband's arms smiling, "Now, I have to get back to the kitchen."
She practically danced away as Roald leaned in toward Caractacus and said. "Don't get your hopes up boyo, this first one's goin' to be a boy." The two of them laughed heartily.
Just then the large doors at the front of the building flung open and the room fell silent, the dancers parting to make a path.
A large imposing man walked in to the hall. He was dressed in a burgundy and gold traveling cloak. As he stepped forward he pulled away his hood revealing penetrating green eyes and a thick mane of dark red hair, streaked with hints of gray.
"Lord Gryffindor," Caractacus stood hastily, "to what do we owe the honor of this visit?" he asked.
The larger man shot Caractacus a look of displeasure. "Do not call me Lord, Caractacus," he said hastily, "You know I do not hold with such titles," his eyes shined with momentary mischief, "or would you prefer I call you, Lord Caractacus, knight of King Alfred's court, defender of the crown, defeater of Danes and Dragon slayer?"
There was a moment of silence as the two men seemed to lock gazes across the long table. Suddenly both men burst in to laughter. "You have me there," Caractacus conceded, "Professor then. To what do we owe the pleasure? Come to join us for a meal?"
Gryffindor's smile faded. "I wish my mission were of so friendly concern. I must needs speak with you, privately." he responded.
"Of course," Caractacus gestured to a side door.
Roald made to stand but Caractacus waved him stay with an open hand.
As the two men crossed the room, Harry and Ginny followed, slipping through the door just behind them. Beyond the door was a long hallway, the two men stepped in to yet another room which, upon entering appeared to be a private dining room. There was a single heavy wooden table and chairs, the walls were adorned with the trophy heads of several hunts.
Godric Gryffindor removed his heavy cloak and laid it on the back of a chair. He pulled his wand from his sleeve and cast a silencing charm upon the room "I will get right to the point my friend," he said turning to face Caractacus. "When did you last see Salazar?" the question hung in the air almost as though it were laced with accusation.
"It has been at least eight days," Caractacus answered, "What is your concern?"
"Rowena, Helga, and I have asked him to leave the castle." Godric spoke, his voice conveying a hint of sadness, "We have all been great companions these past fifty years through the founding of the school and the construction of Hogwarts. But he insists on professing these philosophies of blood status and Wizard superiority with which we do not hold. And, we suspect he has been dabbling in the Dark arts. So it has come to this."
Caractacus nodded his understanding. "He is a proud man," he said concernedly, "he will not take such a request easily."
"That is why I have come to you, Caractacus," Gryffindor said, "I have heard rumors that Salazar is raising forces to back his beliefs among former students. I fear that left unchecked this could escalate into a war of Wizard kind." He paused, watching his companion closely.
Ginny gasped at Harry's side. Harry patted her hand gently. "We know such a war never occurred, Ginny," He whispered comfortingly "Let's listen."
Ginny nodded.
"You have spent so much time with Salazar during these final years of construction and expansion, Caractacus; I feared that perhaps you and your men had been so approached." Gryffindor said finally.
"I am well aware of Slytherin's teachings, and they hold no sway with me, if they did I could never have served so many years with the Muggle King Alfred." Caractacus said. "My men followed me here years ago because we tired of fighting the Muggles' constant wars. We laid down our arms to take up tools and finish construction of Hogwarts because we believe in the founders' vision, your vision, of a safe haven for the education of young Wizards and Witches, and the foundation of a greater Wizard society." He paused, crossing the few steps toward Gryffindor and placing his hand on the larger man's shoulder. "Do not fear, if I and my men have to take up arms again, it will be on the side of Hogwarts, its students, and its greater ideals for Wizarding kind."
Gryffindor likewise placed his hand on Caractacus' shoulder. "If Salazar has not departed the castle within the month, I may well call on you to come to the castle's aid."
"Let us hope it does not come to that," Caractacus responded.
The memory began to dim and twist around Harry and Ginny, fading into darkness before it quickly reformed leaving them standing on rough rocky ground.
"What happened?" Ginny asked.
"It's alright," Harry assured her, "just a change from one memory to another."
"Where is this then?" Ginny questioned as they looked around. Stone rose sharply from the ground on either side of them rising so high that the top was obscured in mist. A steady stream of water was splashing along the ground. It would have soaked their feet had they actually been standing there and not just phantoms within the memory.
Caractacus came around a sharp turn and slogged past them through the water. He was dressed now much as he had been in the previous memory, though he was wearing a heavy furred cloak and Harry saw that he carried a battleaxe across his back. He had a darkly determined look on his face.
"I think this is the bottom of the gorge just east of the castle," Harry said.
Ginny nodded. Together they followed Caractacus as he pressed on along the gorge bottom. Before long he reached what seemed a natural crack in the rock face in the left side of the gorge wall that had split wide enough to just permit the passage of a grown man. Caractacus forced himself into the crevasse with obvious effort.
Fortunately for Harry and Ginny, neither was as tall or stout as Caractacus, nor confined by the physical parameters of the memory, so they were able to follow with ease.
After about ten meters the space widened. Caractacus drew his wand and lit the end. After a few more meters the open top of the crevasse closed becoming a cave. It quickly opened in to what appeared to be natural cave formations. They continued to follow Caractacus closely as he wound his way through the labyrinth of natural passages until he came to a still pool of dark water deep in the recesses of the rock. Here he removed his formidable axe and threw off his heavy cloak, quickly re-securing the weapon. He began to move down into the water.
"Ginny," Harry said squeezing her hand, "I think this is going to lead us to the Chamber of Secrets. Are you going to be okay with that?"
Ginny looked at Harry her face filled with fear and apprehension. "I'll be okay," she whispered as she tried to form a smile, but failed. "Do we have to swim, Harry?" she asked.
Harry began to say something, but what it was, was lost as they suddenly felt themselves pulled down into the dark water. They both reflexively held their breath. It was an odd sensation as they felt surrounded by the cold water and yet not actually wet. They watched as Caractacus, illuminated only by his wand, navigated the narrow passage at a powerful swim, yet neither of them was swimming, in fact they were still quite upright. It was a long half minute before they could see an illuminated area of surface water above them. Caractacus broke the surface of the water silently and quickly made his way to the edge where he pulled himself up from the cold water. Harry and Ginny both gasped as they broke the surface allowing themselves to be pulled along by Caractacus in the memory.
Harry chuckled a little, suddenly realizing that he was not wet, he imagined there had been no reason for holding his breath. Ginny gasped at his side and he became aware suddenly of just where they were. Towering stone pillars entwined with carved serpents rose to support a ceiling lost in darkness. They followed Caractacus up from the natural slope of the cave to where the constructed stone floor began. Harry recognized the large entrance door of the Chamber to his left realizing that they were indeed within the Chamber of Secrets. Caractacus took a moment to draw his wand and cast a drying charm. He then proceeded cautiously down the center of the hall between the large pillars. Harry and Ginny followed.
At the far end of the huge chamber the statue of Salazar Slytherin stood quiet vigil over the expansive space. Torches flickered and guttered at each pillar casting the chamber in an orange light.
"It seems much bigger than I remember, Harry," Ginny said quietly.
"I think that is the effect of the firelight," Harry whispered back.
Caractacus came to the center of the open Chamber before the massive statue and stopped. There he suddenly called, "Lord Slytherin." His voice echoed in the chamber. After a moment he repeated himself.
There was the distinct sound of rock sliding against rock, though Harry could not tell where it was coming from in the echoing chamber.
From behind the statue a man appeared, walking calmly around the massive sweep of carved robe. He was a tall, thin man with a bald head and a long thin graying beard that swept nearly to the floor. His robes were green with silver trimmings. He raised one bushy eyebrow in recognition as he came round the front of the statute.
"Lord Caractacus, son of a potter," Salazar Slytherin said, "May I ask how you entered my secret Chamber?"
Caractacus seemed to wince at the use of his Muggle title. "I and my men constructed this chamber for you Lord Slytherin," he responded. "Do you find it surprising that a chamber of secrets should have a secret entrance known only to its builder?"
Slytherin seemed unaffected. He spoke calmly, "no, I suppose not. Though, perhaps I should have chosen another as my secret keeper."
"I have not betrayed your secret," Caractacus spat with a bit of anger, "not even the men who carved your precious statue recall doing so. Beyond yourself, only I as secret keeper, have knowledge of this place. Your charms have not been violated, and I will honor my oath unto my death."
"Good," Slytherin said, "So, what is your purpose in coming to me here?"
"I know of your army of followers gathered in the forest," Caractacus spoke, "My own men are gathered above ready to repel them should it become necessary." He paused staring intently at the man standing confidently before him. "You have been asked to leave the Castle, I come to discover if you intend to do so, or if you intend to plunge the Wizard world into a war that may well prove to be its end?"
"And if my answer displeases you?" Slytherin said smirking.
Caractacus did not respond immediately, clearly his mind was considering various possibilities. "History already considers you one of the foremost Wizards of the age, you are one of the founders of Hogwarts and your name will live on through one of its student houses for as long a the school stands, do you really wish to be remembered as a tyrant who plunged the Wizard world into war over blood status?"
Slytherin seemed momentarily taken aback "I cannot expect you to understand the need for blood purity, you who were born to a daughter of the house of Peverell in marriage to a lowly Muggle potter."
Caractacus laughed, "You seek to insult me with my heritage? I am proud of my Muggle father, he was a great man, who taught me honor and bravery. Even your colleagues thought so, for was it not Rowena Ravenclaw who personally asked him to come and begin construction of Hogwarts Castle? I am proud to wear the name Potter, just as I am proud to have taken up his work on the castle upon his death. Do not forget, Lord Slytherin," somehow Caractacus made the title sound insulting, "I too know a little about history, and I know the Peverell family story of Anabal Slytherin."
Slytherin's eyes widened with terrified surprise.
Caractacus pushed on. "The story goes that a Muggle came to my great-great grandfather's house seeking work and refuge. He was made a stable hand and later became groundskeeper. He married one of the house servants and had a beautiful raven haired daughter. She grew so beautiful that the Master's sons each sought her hand in marriage, but Master Peverell would not allow a union between any of his sons and a servant. One day, mysteriously, Anabal Slytherin packed up his family and disappeared to the east. The rumor of course was that his daughter was with child by one of the Master's sons. That is the only other place that I have ever heard the name Slytherin." Caractacus paused. "Do you even know which of my great uncles was your father; you who are a bastard son of the house of Peverell."
Slyherin's eyes betrayed his anger. "Who have you told of this tale?"
"No one," Caractacus replied, "one does not freely share the dishonor of ones family." He chuckled darkly, "Funny, don't you think, that if pure blood status is so important, that the union of Wizard and Muggle so often produces such powerful Wizards?"
Slytherin's wand flashed suddenly, a bolt of red light shot at Caractacus, who was obviously ready for the attack and had his shield up deflecting the spell.
Ginny screamed as the deflected spell passed through her and Harry. Harry gripped her hand tighter.
The two men launched in to heated battle, spells flashing between them at a furious pace. At first both men's shields seemed to hold. Deflected spells of intense force crashed in to the walls of the chamber causing the stone walls to crack and splinter. Slytherin attacked with fire, which Caractacus countered with water raised from the surrounding pools. The water turned to ice as a blizzard assaulted Caractacus, who countered with his own fire.
For long minutes the two men seemed evenly matched as they weaved and dodged each other, neither letting the other rest against their assault. The pace seemed to slow as they each tired, but the spells keep flying causing them to seek cover behind statue and pillar respectively.
Caractacus drew his battleaxe as Slytherin stepped from his cover and cast a powerful blasting curse. It slammed into Caractacus' shield and battered his protection down to nothing before both spells dissipated. Caractacus flashed his wand upon his axe and it glowed as he raised a powerful arm and cast the axe at Slytherin.
Slytherin seemed to find the action humorous as he cast his shield. The axe struck the shield and stuck there as if lodged in a tree. Tendrils of magical energy flashed from the axe, like lightening, encompassing the shield charm and surrounding Slytherin. There was a deafening explosion of cracking thunder and a flash of blinding light.
Slytherin lay dazed, on the stone floor of the chamber. Caractacus got to his feet and cast "Expelliarmus" causing Slytherin's wand to fly from his hand and crash into the stone wall of the chamber, where it fell broken to the floor.
Harry and Ginny came closer as Caractacus retrieved his axe and pulling Slytherin to his knees held the broad blade of the weapon to his throat.
"You are defeated Salazar," Caractacus growled angrily, "concede and swear it!" he demanded.
Slytherin's voice came in a raspy whisper, "I concede, I am defeated and I shall never battle you again, lest my own life be forfeit, I swear."
Caractacus withdrew his axe and dropped Slytherin to the stone floor. "Thou wilt disband thy followers and return to the lands of thy birth where I expect I shall not hear of you again." Caractacus ordered. "You may keep your place in history. I will not disgrace Hogwarts with the truth of your intentions. If you attempt to build power again I will hunt you till I see your end."
Slytherin looked up at him angrily, "I will leave the castle and do as you wish," he pushed himself up to his knees and leaning heavily on the foot of the statue pulled himself to his feet. "I see now, that it is not yet time for my war. I will seal this chamber for a thousand years. But know this, Caractacus, the seeds I have planted will grow, that you cannot prevent. You have averted the war at this time, but one day there will come a child of my line, who will embrace my ideals and forward my work no matter the cost."
Caractacus turned and began to walk back toward the front of the chamber. "On that day, there will be a Potter to defeat your champion," he said.
"That I cannot allow," Slytherin shouted, he reached beneath his beard and grabbed something which was hung around his neck.
Harry gasped as he recognized the gold locket. It was the one they had seen at Grimmauld Place.
Holding the locket in one hand Slytherin waved his other hand before him and spoke an incantation in a language Harry did not recognize. A green mist rose from the locket which had opened in his palm. It floated toward Caractacus.
Turning, Caractacus cast a shield charm, but the mist floated through it as if it weren't there. It engulfed him and disappeared into him. He fell to his knees.
"What magic is this? Cast without wand, by one already defeated?"
Harry pulled Ginny closer to Caractacus as their perception of the world around them began to fade.
"It is ancient magic," Slytherin said as he stepped closer, gloating. "It is fae magic, taught to me by the Witch who raised me. Cast through the last wisps of a fairies' wing kept in my locket." Slytherin circled. "Yes, I am defeated Caractacus, you defeated me and I conceded. I cannot kill you, but I can curse you! And my curse is that you shall not father children."
Caractacus glowed a sickly green for a moment before collapsing to the ground. Harry and Ginny's perception began to narrow and fade rapidly as Caractacus was losing consciousness.
Slytherin began to cackle with laughter.
The world collapsed in on itself. With a gasp both Harry and Ginny found themselves standing against the desk in the study. Harry sat heavily in the desk chair and Ginny pulled herself into his lap. They sat in silence for what might have been minutes, or moments.
"What was that all about Harry?" Ginny finally asked, "none of it fits with any history we have ever been taught."
"No, it doesn't," Harry conceded, "but I'm inclined to believe it's true nonetheless."
"But how could it be true Harry? If it is as we saw, then your ancestor Caractacus would never have had any children?"
"And yet, here I am," Harry sighed, "perhaps I am not truly a Potter after all?"
"That cannot be," Ginny said, "what about your inheritance? The blood locks, the blood stone protecting this house? All of that seems dependant on you being exactly who you are, Harry Potter."
"Then perhaps the answer lies in one of the other memories," Harry said after a short pause. "Are you up to looking at another?"
Ginny got up off his lap and pulled him to his feet. "I am ready if you are," she smiled excitedly at him.
Harry used his wand and carefully withdrew the memory from the Pensieve returning it to its vial. Satisfied that it was secure in the proper slot within the lockbox he picked up the next vial in the line. The tag read, 'Armes Weasley-Potter, c. 1147 - Potter Curse/Blessing.'
Harry broke the wax seal and removed the stopper from the vial. Carefully, he tipped the pearly contents in to the Pensieve and stirred the surface with his wand.
Again, Harry and Ginny stood hand in hand and placed their free hands in the Pensieve. Ginny found the sense of falling into the memory a bit less disconcerting this second time. They lit on a solid stone balcony. It was near dusk and a cool fragrant breeze made Harry guess that it was springtime.
There were two figures on the balcony, apparently enjoying the pleasant evening. One was a tall grey haired man dressed in a deep blue silken robe that hung loose from his broad shoulders. Even from the back Harry could tell this was Caractacus. The man had his arm around a woman. She was a full head shorter than him and dressed in an equally splendid robe of a similar blue. From behind her most striking feature was her fiery red hair, elaborately braided, adorned with wild flowers and reaching nearly to the floor.
"Happy Anniversary, my love," came Caractacus' voice, calm and gentle. Gone were the commanding authoritative tones so evident in the previous memory.
The woman turned to him and wrapping her arms about his neck pulled them together in a deep and telling kiss. That these two people were deeply and abidingly in love was evident.
Harry felt Ginny cling to his arm and lean into him at his side. He wrapped his arm around her affectionately.
After the couple broke from a long lingering kiss they stood together eyes locked. Harry got the impression that there was deep communication passing in their gaze.
The balcony door opened and a House-Elf stepped through quietly. She was carrying a golden tray upon which stood two crystal goblets. They were filled with a shimmering liquid that appeared to be golden in color and luminescent.
"Master, Mistress," the Elf squeaked in a high, childish sounding voice, "Jeri is so pleased to bring the blessing of the fairies to her beloved and honored Masters."
The woman turned and kneeling down to the Elf's level took the two goblets from the tray. "You flatter us so, dear Jeri, it is you that brings honor to our household, with your service." The little Elf blushed pink, and bowing backed away.
"Have all the casks of honey cream been set out, Jeri?" Caractacus asked.
"Jeri has seen to it herself, Master. Not a single nut or berry has been missed, all that the house has to offer is set out as instructed," the Elf squeaked happily.
"Then you must gather all the House-Elves and join your cousins in the start of the Maying," Caractacus commanded gently, "I do not wish you to serve us further until you have had your fill of the celebration's frivolities. You will honor us beyond measure with your happiness."
A broad smile stretched the face of the little Elf, "Yes, Master," she replied as she closed the balcony door.
Ginny giggled at Harry's side, "Harry, I have never been much around House-Elves until I met you, but it seems to me that your ancestors got it right. If it is in their nature to serve, it seems only right that we should assure their happiness."
Harry nodded in agreement, "it does seem that a happy Elf, makes a happy Master."
"Caractacus?" the woman questioned, recapturing Harry and Ginny's attention. "Dost thou feel ever wrong in accepting the gift of life from the fairies?"
"No, Armes, my love, it is after all, a gift, freely given," Caractacus replied, and he clinked his goblet to hers, "to long life, health and happiness," he said.
Armes smiled happily at her husband, "life, health and happiness," she repeated, and they each drank the contents of their goblets. After a few moments of silence, she turned again. "Art thou contented, my husband?" she asked.
"I am content, you know this, my love," he said without hesitation.
"Aye," she smiled wrapping her arms about his neck once more, "but we both know there is one thing that would make us truly happy, beyond content."
Caractacus looked suddenly sad. "I thought we had agreed not to speak of it again," he stated plainly.
"Aye, my Love, I know, we did agree," Armes said apologetically, "but each year at the Maying, I feel a longing."
"Aye, Love, I feel it too," Caractacus said with resignation. Then he chuckled, "how could we not feel something when by midnight the fairies will reach a mating frenzy."
There was a long silence, "I would like to try again," Armes said.
"My dear, what have we left to try?" Caractacus asked, not expecting an answer. "For years I went to every curse breaker I know, and none were able to offer solution. The curse is unbreakable; I've accepted it as the price for averting a war." He paused. "Then, once we found each other were bonded, and wed, we tried again for twenty years. I do not know what is left to try."
"Please, my Love, do not be angry with me," Armes said "I have acted without you; I have invited, Helga and Rowena to visit us anon, here at the Castle."
Caractacus looked at his wife with surprise. "Lady Hufflepuff, and Lady Ravenclaw?" he asked with astonishment. "They have not left Hogwarts in many years; surely they declined such an invitation. And why during the Maying, we do not have guests during the Maying."
"Surely you are not saying that Lady Hufflepuff, and Lady Ravenclaw are not welcome in our home, Husband?" Armes asked teasingly.
"Of course they are welcome," Caractacus pronounced, "but, certainly they did not accept?"
Armes smiled mischievously at Caractacus.
"They did?" Caractacus asked, clearly hoping for a negative answer.
Armes nodded affirmatively. "They will arrive early afternoon on the morrow."
"What is it you expect that they can do?" Caractacus asked.
"I do not know, but what is the harm in telling them the story and seeing if they have any ideas?" Armes said pleadingly.
"Alright, my Love, you win," Caractacus said, looking deep in to her eyes. "But you know what this means, now I must go and make their visit okay with the fairies."
Armes blushed and giggled girlishly, "It means you will have to address the fairies, during the start of Maying." She giggled a bit more. "Which means you will have to appear before them naked in the moonlight, and you will return after filled with amorous need," She blushed more deeply. "But, 'tis our anniversary, husband, surely you were planning to make love with me anyway?" She flashed her eyelashes, "May I watch from the balcony?" she teased.
Ginny began to giggle at Harry's side and Harry was struck by how similar she sounded to Armes. He turned to look at her and she was blushing furiously. It made Harry blush as well and he chuckled with a slight embarrassment.
Caractacus pulled his wife's arms from around his neck, but held firmly to both of her hands. "Oh no, m'lady," he said firmly, "'twas all your idea, so thou wilt attend with me," he pulled her toward the balcony doors. Ginny and Harry reflexively stepped out of the way.
"Oh my," Armes said as they passed through the doors. She was still giggling.
Darkness fell upon Harry and Ginny as the memory faded, only to reform anew.
Harry and Ginny found themselves in a very nicely appointed parlor. It was a bright room filled with light from broad windows. At a small table sat Armes, beautifully dressed in a simple pale green gown. At the table with her were two very elderly women, both had pure white hair, one was slightly plump and dressed in black, trimmed with gold, the other tall and lean dressed in deep blue with Bronze trim. Both women showed their extreme age not only in their rugose appearance, but in their slow movements.
"We were delighted that you accepted our invitation, you honor us with your visit." Armes was saying.
"Nonsense, child" Rowena Ravenclaw, said in what Harry thought was a rather deep and very stately voice. "Twas an honor to receive your invitation," she said, "As you can well imagine, we do not venture out much at our age, but none would refuse an invitation from the Potters."
"After all," Helga Huffelpuff cut in, "thy husband, and his father before him, practically built Hogwarts." Her voice was much higher and almost girlish compared to her companion's.
Just then Caractacus entered the room levitating a tray laden with a pitcher of ale, and one of currant juice and a succulent array of sweet breads and honey biscuits. The tray landed gently at the center of the table and he began to serve drinks.
"My goodness, Caractacus," Rowena commented as she took a glass of juice, "You have doted on us all afternoon, there is no need to serve us personally, where ever are your House-Elves?"
"Rowena," Helga interrupted abruptly, "Haven't you noticed, the Castle is inundated with Fae magic at the moment. Doubtless the Potters have released their elves for the Maying."
"The Maying?" Rowena said, the thought obviously not having occurred to her. She looked around the room. "Oh my," she said with sudden realization.
"We have long honored the fairies in our household," Caractacus said with a broad smile. "As the Maying began last evening with the new moon, you may see many fairie here, and you will have to excuse them, if they are a bit indiscreet." Having served drinks he took a seat next to his wife.
As if to example his statement several fairies entered the room flitting here and there, a few lighted on the trolley and began to help themselves to biscuits, while others landed about the room and began doing things that most Witches and Wizards would consider required the utmost secured privacy.
Rowena acted as if she simply hadn't noticed, but Helga leaned forward and said, "I think it most beautiful. If there were not students at the Castle this time of year I would release all the Hogwarts elves to celebrate."
"As it is they manage to celebrate quite enough down in their quarters," Rowena added and the two women began to laugh.
Their laughter caught the attention of the fairies at the table and they inched closer sitting on the table edge as though joining the conversation, while munching on crumbs of biscuits which they brought in small piles next to them. They seemed to be watching the older women with curiosity.
Helga eyed the small creatures with intense curiosity of her own. "I was not aware, Caractacus, that you had such a good relationship with the Fea," she asked.
"Yes, well I built it up over many years after settling here," Caractacus answered dismissively, trying to make nothing of the question, "Tis a very simple matter of respect and kindness."
Helga nodded understandingly, before continuing, "And I am guessing, given your obvious physical health that you have unlocked the mystery of the famed fairie potion of health and long life? After all you are only, what, roughly a hundred years younger than Rowena and I? And you my dear," she said turning to Armes, "you must be rapidly approaching your centennial birthday? And look at you, not a grey hair to be seen."
Armes blushed slightly.
Caractacus finished a bite of his bread and set the remainder down. "I am sorry, I cannot tell you the secret of the potion," he said. Helga nodded her understanding, but disappointment showed on her face. After a moment he smiled. "All I can tell you is that the secret is very simple as many secrets indeed are. It took me many years to discover and the gift is not mine to share."
"Well, the pursuit of a long and healthy life is not necessarily a pursuit of the dark arts, as Godric would have taught," Rowena, said a bit forlornly. Helga reached out and took her hand at the mention of Gryffindor. "It is the pursuit of immortality that becomes dark. I trust this is not thy purpose here?" she asked.
"Oh no," Caractacus answered, "I have no desire to live forever. Just long enough to..." his voice trailed away.
"What is it," Helga asked, "what troubles you?"
Armes took her husband's hand and patted it gently. "My husband has a tale to tell you, a secret tale that he guards most diligently, but it is the reason we have asked you both here for this visit."
The two elderly women nodded, wide eyed.
"What I have to tell you concerns the events of Salazar Slytherin's departure from Hogwarts," he paused, "there are parts of the story which I am bound by oath to keep secret, so please, let me tell my tale, and ask me no questions."
Rowena and Helga again nodded.
Slowly, and deliberately Caractacus began to tell the tale, beginning with Godric Gryffindor seeking his assistance, should it come to a battle. He elaborated some on his preparations and his despair at the idea that it might come to a blood status war between Wizard kind.
Leaving out entirely the detail that he faced Slytherin in the Chamber of secrets, he described going to see Slytherin with intent to plead with him not to pursue his course of action. Rowena and Helga both gasped when he explained how despite his intention the conversation turned quickly to accusation about blood status, and again as Caractacus recounted Slytherin's heritage, and the impurity of his own blood.
Caractacus described in as much detail as he could, dueling with and finally defeating Slytherin. He told how Slytherin promised that after a thousand years a child of his line would come to finish his work. To which he had responded that a Potter would be present to defeat such a dark champion of injustice.
Then he described how Salazar had used a remnant of a fairie wing to cast a curse upon him proclaiming that he should never have an heir, a curse that to this day Caractacus had not been able to break.
"My intent in befriending the Fea was to seek an answer to the curse, when no Wizard had been able to give one," Caractacus paused, nearly in tears. "The fairies here have become great friends to this household, but even they have no means to defeat this dreaded proclamation."
Clutching at Caractacus' hand Armes spoke up. "We have sought every means to overcome this curse, and for these past many years we have resigned ourselves to its hold, but I convinced my husband to tell you this tale so that we might seek your advice," she said, "The two of you are our last hope for an answer."
There was a long silence in the room as Helga and Rowena considered the problem. Both seemed determined to offer something, but neither looked like an answer was forthcoming. Finally Rowena spoke. "Curses of any kind are a complicated matter, and this one is very perplexing. I should like to examine you Caractacus, if you are agreeable?"
"Of course," he responded quickly.
Rowena and Helga both rose and moved a chair a little away from the table, asking Caractacus to move to it. Once he was seated they both drew their wands and began circling him, casting various spells upon him and consulting the resultant colors which glowed about him, or sparked from their wards. After nearly fifteen minutes of examination, both women returned to their chairs at the table where Armes refreshed their juice.
Caractacus returned to the table as well.
"Secrets and promises surround you Caractacus, you are bound to Salazar Slytherin by more than this curse," Rowena said finally.
Caractacus nodded.
"It is quite certain that there is no way to break this curse," Helga concluded.
Caractacus took Armes' hands in his as she dropped her head a bit and tears streaked her face.
"However," Rowena continued, "tell me once again, exactly the words Salazar used when he cursed you."
Caractacus looked up in confusion, as if searching his memory. "He said, 'I cannot kill you, but I can curse you! And my curse is that you shall not father children'."
"You are certain these where his exact words?" Helga asked.
Caractacus nodded. Armes looked up at the two women who were looking back and forth between each other and had begun to smile.
"It is possible, we may be able to help you after all," Rowena said.
Armes' expression brightened.
"Curses, especially very powerful curses can be very particular and quite literal things," Helga began to explain, "in this case, if Salazar's words were exactly as you have recounted and he in fact said 'you shall not father children' it is certain that he meant, and you interpreted, that you would never father 'any' children. But taken literally, you may not father children, but 'a child' is not 'children' so even though we cannot break the curse, we may be able to amend it with a curse of our own," Helga smiled triumphantly.
"There would be consequences, you understand," Rowena said, "but if we, say, cursed the House of Potter so that there could only ever be a single child in each generation," she said.
"Perhaps a single boy child," Helga added hastily.
"This we may be able to accomplish," Rowena stated, clearly she was still thinking about it. "We may have to add some conditions."
"What conditions are you thinking?" Caractacus asked.
"Future Potter marriages would have to be bonded couples, most certainly," Helga offered.
"It would mean that the curse would be extended in to the future, but it would allow for a future that right now does not seem possible," Rowena stated, "you must decide if that is something you can live with."
Armes looked up in to her husband's hardened face with a pleading expression. After a moment his features softened.
"We will have to consider this matter carefully," Caractacus said, "It is not a decision to be made hastily."
"Quite right," Rowena concurred, "If we agree to proceed some considerable preparation will be required as well."
"I suggest that we conclude the matter for now," Helga stated, "Rowena and I will give it our attention upon our return to Hogwarts, and you can send us an owl once you have had appropriate time to consider and come to a decision,"
They all nodded in agreement.
"Now," Helga continued, "if we have all had enough refreshment, I for one would very much like to see the Castle gardens."
They finished their glasses and setting them all on the service tray, set out from the parlor. Armes walked arm in arm with Helga, and Caractacus with Rowena to support the older women.
As they were leaving the room the memory began to fade, just as Rowena leaned in close to Caractacus and whispered, "She's never been all that fancy on gardens; she just wants to see more of the fairies a Maying."
Caractacus chuckled.
The memory swirled to nothing and quickly began to reform again. Harry and Ginny found themselves in a fire lit bedchamber where a woman was screaming. A quick glance about the room revealed that the screaming woman was Armes, who was near the foot of the large bed propped into a near squatting position against a padded triangular shaped support. Three matronly women attended her. Harry turned red at the realization she was giving birth, and he was grateful that he was standing near the edge of the bed at her side and somewhat behind her. Ginny on the other hand released Harry's hand and rushed to the foot of the bed where she could get a more direct view.
As Armes screamed again Harry found himself examining the room and noticing that it was a winter night outside, the windows, covered in frost.
After a few more screams the room was filled with a new screaming voice as a wailing baby was removed to a sideboard to be washed and dressed.
The attendants were bustling about the room, one taking the baby while the others saw to Armes' needs as she too was cleaned up and plied with potions. The birthing board was removed and she was set to rest comfortably in the bed.
The woman attending the baby came to the bedside and presented the now calm child to its mother. "You have a strong son m'lady," she said as she placed the baby in to Armes' waiting arms.
"My husband," Armes asked.
Almost immediately the chamber door swung open and Caractacus rushed in from the room beyond. He came directly to the bedside.
The attendants hurried from the room and closed the door behind them.
"You have a son, my Husband," Armes said proudly.
"We have a son, my Love," Caractacus corrected as he leaned down to kiss both mother and child. After a minute he stood back up and Armes held up the baby to his gentle embrace. With tears of joy trickling from his eyes he held back the swaddling blanket from the baby's face and beheld his son. "Would that we could have prevented my curse from moving to you our son," he said.
"How can you look at him and think of the curse my Love," Armes said, "I look upon him and think only that we are mightily blessed," she paused, "all else will be solved in time."
Caractacus sat on the bed next to Armes and together they held their son. "Yes my Love, all things in time, for now we know that the House of Potter will abide," he said.
Ginny had returned to Harry's side and taken his hand, she smiled up at him obviously delighted with the memory before her. Harry smiled at her in return, as the memory faded into darkness and once again they found themselves leaning against the desk in the study.
Harry sat heavily in the desk chair; he wasn't upset by the memories, or even confused, just a little astounded, that his family history was so complex and so interwoven with Hogwarts history. And these had only been the first two memories; there were still ten more to go.
Ginny sat herself in Harry's lap. "Well, at least we know that you are in fact a Potter," she said, "Your family history is amazing, Harry."
"Yeah, well it seems like Potters are always at the center of trouble to me," Harry said off handedly, "seems like this whole thing with Voldemort started way before any of us existed."
Ginny took Harry's head in her hands and lifted his face to meet her gaze. "Caractacus was a hero, Harry, he put everyone and everything he knew ahead of himself, and he averted a war that so early in our history might have been truly devastating," she said, "you should be proud to be descended from him."
Harry nodded his head, "I am Ginny," he said, "I guess I am just a bit overwhelmed."
"I guess that is understandable,' Ginny said as she leaned in and kissed him.
"What about you?" Harry asked.
"Me?" Ginny said, giving him a quizzical look.
"Aren't you curious just how you are related to Armes?" Harry asked, "And didn't you notice that the woman Beathas and her husband Roald looked a lot like Weasleys? I swear you have exactly the same eyes."
Ginny giggled. "Yes I noticed," She said, "the way Roald was eating reminded me of Ron too. He got the same sort of look Ron gets, that look that warns you to keep your fingers clear of his plate."
Harry laughed. "Well, it is certainly a lot to think about," he said, "and that was just the first two memories."
"Well, do you want to look at another," Ginny asked.
Harry pulled out his pocket watch and looked at it. "We have been here nearly two hours," He said with mild surprise, "I suspect people have begun to wonder where we have gotten off to. I think perhaps more memories can wait. We should get back before your mother comes looking for us."
Ginny smiled and nodded agreement. She wrapped her arms around Harry's neck and leaned in to him pressing her lips to his. The kiss grew quite passionate, lasting a good minute or two. When Ginny finally pulled herself away, gasping for breath, she said, "there, if we are going to have to face the assumptions that we stole away for a bit of snogging, I want it to be at least partially true."
Harry, chuckled. "Right you are," he said, and pulled her back in to a repeat performance.
Some fifteen minutes later, when they finally pulled apart, Harry carefully withdrew the memory from the Pensieve and returned it to its vial. Then he levitated the Pensieve back to its drawer, leaving the liquid in it ready for its next use. Ginny returned the empty jar to the drawer as Harry locked up the box of memories in the desk.
They left the study and began walking back to the sitting room.
They had barely made it to the central stairs when they saw Ron and Hermione coming down the stairs from the floor above. Hermione had the parchments of instructions from his Grandfather clutched in her hand. Harry had completely forgotten about them.
"Where did you two get off to?" Ron asked.
"We've been in the study," Harry explained.
"Harry," Hermione began, "I was reading these instructions some more," she indicated the parchments with a gesture. "Your Grandfather says in here, that the memories which have been left for you have remained sealed since they were collected, apparently no one has ever looked at them, not even your own ancestors. He says that you are the one they have been left for and you should look at them alone."
Harry looked a little embarrassed and then he squeezed Ginny's hand a little. "Well, it's a bit late for that," he said, "Ginny and I just looked at the first two."
"Really?" Hermione asked enthusiastically, her curiosity getting the better of her. "And, they weren't too private to share?" she asked.
"No, I don't think so," Harry responded, "The first one was from, what would it be, my great- great-great-great-grandfather, Caractacus Potter." Harry counted off the 'greats' with his fingers as he spoke. "And, while I really wouldn't want just anyone looking at it, there was nothing there too private to share with Ginny. As a matter of fact, I suspect there was a glimpse of some Weasley ancestry in it as well."
Ron's eyes grew large, "Really?" he asked, "Do you think I could give it a look see, Mate?"
"Yeah, I think both you and Hermione can look at it if you like," Harry replied, "The second one was about Caractacus and his wife Armes, who we know was a Weasley."
"And the 'Potter Curse'?" Hermione asked, "Do you know what it is now?"
"Yes," Harry said, "basically, in the first memory, Salazar Slytherin curses my ancestor Caractacus so that he cannot have children. And, in the second memory, with the help of Rowena Ravenclaw and Helga Hufflepuff, the curse is modified so that the Potters can only have one boy child each generation. But, there was nothing there that yet explains how to break the curse. I suspect there will be more about it in later memories."
"The Hogwarts founders appear in these memories?" Hermione exclaimed. "Harry, that is fantastic, there are very few records about the founders still in existence. This could be historically significant."
Harry chuckled, "I suppose so, but the memories are not about them directly."
"Even so," Hermione persisted, "I should very much like to see them if I may?"
"Of course," Harry said, pulling out his watch again and looking at it. "But right now I suspect we should be getting back to the sitting room," he looked from Ron to Ginny and back again. "I suspect your parents are thinking about returning home soon, and they will want Ginny to return with them. And, there are guests in the manor."
"I suppose you are right, Harry," Hermione said resignedly, obviously anxious to view the memories as soon a possible.
The four of them headed for the sitting room.
"So, when did you get all grown up, Mate?" Ron said nudging Harry's arm with his elbow.
Harry shrugged his shoulders, "dunno," he said.
"Well, c'mon then," Ron said increasing the pace with his long strides. "Maybe one of the Elves put some more puddings out."
Ginny, Hermione and Harry all laughed.
"What?" Ron turned to look at them, still moving, "I'm hungry."
"Ron, you are always hungry," they said nearly in unison.
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Chapter Twenty-One
The Binding of Matrimony
Chapter 22: Chapter 21 - The Binding of Matrimony
Author's Notes: I am not one to usually leave chapter notes, But as it has been so long between chapters I thought I should probably say something. Let me begin with, I am truly sorry for the delays. It has been a rocky past six months and I am therefore quite happy to be welcoming in a new year. Without going in to details the delays have been caused by family matters, work matters and an unexpected failure of my computer. Fortunately I have been able to recover the story so far simply by collecting it from site postings. I hope to move forward from here without such massive delays. Thank you for continue to follow my story and I do hope you enjoy!
I other news, for those of you who may be interested, I have started a Facebook page devoted to this story and I welcome any comments and discussions there. It seems a good place to engage in more direct interaction. Not that I don't appreciate and look forward to the wonderful reviews here. If you are interested you can find the page by searching the story title in Facebook.
The Binding of Matrimony
Harry eyed Ron across the open field; he was standing at the ready, his wand drawn. At a word from Alex they both bowed to one another, a traditional nicety to signal that their duel was a friendly practice match.
Under Alex's tutelage they had all been getting much better at dueling. After just six days of morning lessons, Harry was becoming quite accomplished at wordless spell casting. It was giving him a distinct advantage. Ron was well aware of Harry's advantage and he looked a little nervous, but he had been getting much better himself.
Alex counted down from three and waved her hand sharply through the air to signal the beginning of the match.
Harry cast his first spell, a silent Expelliarmus, but Ron had his shield up and ready deflecting the spell easily. Harry cast a binding spell as he moved to his left, then cast a shield quickly to meet any attack from Ron. The binding spell bounced harmlessly from Ron's shield. Ron cast a stunning spell, but it passed Harry harmlessly as he dodged.
After several days of lessons Ron was upset with himself that he was still not doing better. He continued calling out his spells, and during duels he was still reverting to aiming them as well, despite the evidence that with proper concentration it was not at all necessary.
When his stunning spell missed Harry entirely, he leaped to his right and rolled, knowing Harry would follow with another attempt at Expelliarmus. He was right and as he rolled he tucked his wand in tight and gripped it hard. The spell struck him and he felt the hard jerk at his wand, but with sheer determination he maintained his grip. He rolled to his feet and without hesitation cast another stunning spell.
Harry saw his spell hit Ron and thinking that would end the duel, he lowered his wand. To his surprise Ron still held his wand and the momentary hesitation cost him as the stunning spell struck full force and knocked him off his feet. He landed hard, with the wind knocked out of him. He quickly cast a shield, as Ron pressed the advantage casting a binding spell followed by "Expelliarmus." Luckily, Harry's shield diverted the spells.
Ron was advancing on him at a run and had cast a shield. Thinking quickly, Harry cast a Muddy Bog charm on the ground in front of him. Unable to change direction, or stop in time, Ron fell face first into the mud with a satisfying splash. Harry cast a final Expelliarmus, causing Ron's wand to fly from his hand. Everyone began to laugh and cheer as the duel ended.
Even Ron was laughing as Harry retrieved his wand and stepped forward to help him up from the mud. Ron splashed Harry with handfuls of mud as he approached. "You win again Mate," Ron said with genuine congratulations.
"You almost had me there for a moment," Harry nodded, grinning.
"Wery good, wery good," Alex said, as she stepped before the group motioning for Harry and Ron to rejoin them.
Harry paused to restore the muddy ground to normal.
"Can anyone tell me, vhat happened here? Vhy did Ron lose de duel?" Alex asked the group.
Hermione's hand shot up. Standing next to her JeanBaptiste, had raised his hand as well, not nearly as high, but it was enough.
Alex nodded at the French boy and he answered a bit tentatively. "Ee gave up 'is advantage by charging 'Arry. 'Ee didn't need to charge. 'Ee could have won the duel from where 'ee was, with a binding spell, or some other charm."
"Yes, wery good," Alex said, "moving in on your opponent too soon can sacrifice your adwantage. In dis case, vhile Ron's shield vas in place protecting his adwance, his speed and aggressiveness created instability that Harry vas able to turn against him." She turned directly to Ron, "You must alvays be avare of your movements lest you give a clever opponent too much opportunity."
Ron nodded, looking a little embarrassed.
Alex turned to Harry. "As for you, Harry," she continued severely, "You should have lost that duel. You must never drop your guard until you're sure that your opponent is subdued. It was only Ron's tactical error that allowed you to vin. In combat, you only get to make a mistake like that once." Seeing Harry's chastened expression, her own softened a bit. "Dis is vhy ve practice. To eliminate mistakes vhen the vorst that can happen is that ve get a bit muddy."
"That vill be all for today," Alex said, "tomorrow ve vill practice silent spell casting again."
With the lesson ended, they all thanked Alex, and pausing only a moment for Hermione and Ginny to cast banishing spells on the mud covering their respective boyfriends, they headed back to the Manor.
The morning lessons had proven a very good idea as, not only did they feel that they were progressing rapidly, but the lessons brought a sense of purpose to everyone concerned. Even Lupin, had been recruited taking the younger children under his wing giving them separate lessons while the older students worked with Alex. Their parents had readily agreed thinking it would be a good introduction to how they would be instructed once they were attending Hogwarts come September.
Over the past few days they had gotten in to a routine, and Harry was anxious for the wedding to be done with so that Ginny's sixteenth Birthday could be celebrated the next day and following that, things at the Manor would calm down.
In discussions with Ginny, Hermione, Ron and the Dumbledore card, they had agreed that once the Wedding and the Birthday were over they would begin real efforts at tracking down the Horcruxes or at least the few items they believed were most likely to be the Horcruxes. Harry had been growing increasingly anxious to get on with it, and had it not been for the memories left by his ancestors, which he was still in the process of reviewing he felt that he would be to anxious to concentrate on anything else.
They all headed in from their lessons to the busy sitting room for a relaxed lunch. The sitting room had become sort of a central planning room for the wedding as it was where everyone had been gathering for buffet style meals.
More of Fleur's guests had arrived from France, two of her former schoolmates, Antoinette, an attractive raven haired girl with what Harry thought was a rather annoying giggle, and Odette, a blonde girl with a rather aristocratic air, who everyone seemed to agree, was a bit too skinny. They were to be bridesmaids along with Ginny and Gabrielle.
A special guest of Bill's had also arrived. Daniel Peterson, was an American Wizard, who Bill had befriended in Egypt while working for Gringott's as curse breakers. He was a very friendly sort and it was easy to see why the two men had become good mates. A tall blond, with a lean muscular build, a squarish, handsome face and a laid back southern California attitude, his arrival had been particularly welcomed by Fleur's friends. He in turn had seemed to be equally taken by the two French girls.
There had been a rehearsal the previous night and all that remained was a Bride's high tea in the early afternoon before they all disappeared to get dressed. The men too would be gathering for a private drink, though that would be just before the ceremony. Harry was not a part of the formal wedding party, but he had been asked to join the men in this traditional bachelor's last toast.
The sitting room was bustling when they stepped in from the outside patio. The seamstress was arriving with her assistants carrying all the dresses in garment bags. Fleur and her Mother were quick to meet the woman and direct her off to the suite where the ladies would be dressing. The Florist had also arrived with a procession of assistants. Harry watched as Jarvy summoned Winky, and the female Elf quickly presented herself to the Florist, leading her out to the ceremony site. A contingent of Aurors had arrived from the Ministry to serve as security and they were obviously intent on getting a bit of lunch.
Harry was pleased to see that everything was functioning smoothly, according to the plans that he had worked out with Fred, George and Moody. Harry drew out his watch and looked at the time; it was a quarter past eleven, coming on time for a special surprise. He grabbed Ginny's hand and turned to her, Hermione and Ron. "Okay," he said, "let's grab a quick bite and then we'll all go change.
"It's not near time to change yet Harry," Hermione said as Ron began to inch toward the buffet table. "We have loads of time before we need to start getting ready."
"It's not for Fleur's wedding," Harry persisted, "We have something else to do before that and it requires we be a bit dressed up," he paused. "Not as formal you understand but looking nice."
All through lunch Hermione and Ginny tried to get Harry to reveal the secret, but he wouldn't budge. Finally, once they had cleaned their plates they agreed to head off to their rooms and change.
About twenty minutes later they met back in the sitting room. Ron and Harry each had decided upon Muggle style dress slacks, summer weight button downs and ties, while Hermione chose a simple summer dress in a light floral pattern, with her hair pulled in to a bushy pony tail.
Despite Hermione's petitions to know what they were up to, Harry hurried them through the Portis Omnibus where they emerged through a set of double doors hung on a freestanding wooden archway that the twins had constructed at Harry's suggestion. The archway was standing at one end of a large tent that let out at The Burrow garden path. In front of the double doors, which glowed with the telltale blue lattice was a wide carpet runner flanked by several free standing floral displays that barely concealed a number of security devices, dark magic detectors and the like. Several of the visiting Aurors were already stationed within the tent and they were eyeing everyone warily. As they exited the tent they found the twins discussing security with the lead Auror, and Alastor Moody. They were setting up a table for wand registration, and there was a sign which read, "All guests must present forearms for examination prior to entering."
As they passed the group Moody, pulled out a watch and looked at the time. "Cutting it a bit close aren't you Harry?" He turned from the table and followed the three of them.
"Blimey, Harry, I knew there was going to be loads of security," Ron said, "but isn't this a bit much?"
"Not at all Mr. Weasley," Moody answered from behind them, "it is all much less than I asked for."
Ron was momentarily startled by Moody's unexpected reply. Harry couldn't help but chuckle, which in turn made Hermione laugh.
They entered the kitchen door of The Burrow where Ginny was waiting for them in obvious excitement. "Harry," she said, taking his hand, "it's a wonderful surprise!"
"What is?" Hermione asked urgently as they crossed quickly to the sitting room.
"This," Ginny said as she pushed open the door.
In the Burrow sitting room were six people each dressed nicely, but casually compared to the formality that would come later in the day. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were there as well as Tonks and Lupin, along with two women that Harry did not recognize. One was a tall, dark haired, stately looking woman dressed in dark blue robes, whose features Harry thought were vaguely familiar. The other was a shorter, happy looking, light haired, woman, wearing a gold robe, with white trim and an academic style hood of white velvet. Around her neck was a gold amulet bearing the insignia of the Ministry, and in her hands was a tattered leather book.
Mrs. Weasley waved them in. "Come in all of you," she said. She quickly introduced them all to Nymphadora's mother, Andromeda Tonks. Harry realized suddenly as he bowed slightly, that the familiarity was a Black family resemblance.
They were then quickly introduced to the Ministry Officiator, Miss Gore, who bowed deeply, mostly to Harry.
"Thank you all for coming," Lupin said, "It is not our desire to detract at all from the events of the day, but as Nymphadora and I have recently found ourselves bound, it made little sense to put a marriage off. We desire nothing more than to share this event with our few good friends in a very small ceremony." He paused, waving Harry to come to his side. "So as not to deflect attention from Fleur and Bill, we would ask that you keep this matter silent until all the celebrations of the day, are done," he bowed a bit nervously.
Harry straightened Remus' tie for him and clapped him lightly on the shoulder, "I wish so much for you that my father and Sirius were here to witness for you," Harry said in a whisper.
"Harry," Lupin said, "I also wish that were so, but do not think yourself a substitute, they are here in you, and you are here at my request." He paused, "And, Harry, thank you for the suit."
Harry smiled as they all moved in to positions, Tonks and Lupin, facing the Officiator, Harry to Lupin's right, facing them, and Andromeda on Tonks' left opposite him. The others formed a loose semicircle around them.
The Officiator began. "Today is a day of blessing..."
Harry was quickly lost in his own thoughts as his gaze fixed on Ginny, who had also chosen a simple floral, summer dress for the occasion and whose hair was loose and tossed behind her shoulders. A light breeze from the open window made her dress cling to one side framing her figure in a way that made him wonder that he might be drooling. So lost in contented splendor was he that the Officiator had to address him twice to ask for the binding powder. With a slightly embarrassed smile he reached in to his pocket and produced a small glass vial filled with a small amount of gold powder, and handed it to Miss Gore.
"Having each proclaimed your love and devotion, I offer you the most time honored Wizard tradition of binding rings," she paused, "If you would each raise your left palm?"
Turning to face one another Lupin and Tonks held their left hands out to one another, palms facing up and pressed gently together.
"Remus John Lupin, do you take this woman, Nymphadora Antares Tonks, as your one true love to be forever bound in the sacred state of Matrimony?" the Officiator asked.
"I do," Lupin stated without hesitation, his eyes locked to Tonks'.
The Officiator poured about half of the powdered gold in to his upturned palm. At once it began to swirl like a small, slow motion, wind funnel in his hand.
"And do you, Nymphadora Antares Tonks; take this man, Remus John Lupin, as your one true love to be forever bound in the sacred state of Matrimony?"
"You better believe it!" Tonks proclaimed excitedly.
The Officiator poured the remaining gold powder into Tonks' upturned palm and it swirled just as the portion in Lupin's did. The two swirls of gold came together as a single funnel and there was a slow illumination as the material seemed to become liquid and glowing as though it were heated. It formed a thin fluid figure eight above there palms until it shined so brightly that it was difficult to look upon. With a sudden flash it was gone and all that remained was a simple gold band upon each of their ring fingers.
The Officiator smiled brightly. "Having exchanged vows and completed the magical rite of ring binding," she said, "by the power vested in me by the Ministry of Magic, it is my great honor to pronounce you Husband and Wife."
Applause filled the room as Lupin and Tonks shared their first kiss as husband and wife.
Mrs. Weasley had prepared a cake and they all gathered in the kitchen to share a slice and extend their congratulations.
As the ceremony had been a surprise to most everyone, there were no gifts, but Harry had a thought of just what to give them once he'd had a chance to look into it.
After a very brief celebration, they all agreed once more to keep it secret until after the further events of the day, and they adjourned to return to the Manor and the preparation for the evening's festivities.
The quartet exited The Burrow kitchen into the bright mid-day. It seemed to them that the garden had only gotten busier. Mrs. Scheffelgroober had arrived with several large crates of catering equipment which the security teams were going over carefully. This had resulted in a bit of a row between she and Alastor Moody, and she was complaining rather loudly that she would not tolerate them spoiling any of the food and fresh ingredients.
"I hadn't realized that Mrs. Scheffelgroober was doing the catering" Harry said.
"Oh, yeah, she and Mum have been friends for years," Ron answered, "Mum's a bit jealous that she's a better cook, but it is all in good fun."
Harry felt a firm tug at his hand and he turned his attention to Ginny in surprise. "What is it?" he asked.
Ginny was waving at someone down the road and tugging Harry toward the garden fence.
"Oh, it's Luna!" Hermione said enthusiastically, and she too began to wave, and drag Ron toward the fence.
Luna waved back and began skipping toward them.
"Why's she showing up so early?" Ron questioned.
"Remember, we sent her an owl and asked her to come early," Ginny said. "Harry wants to introduce her to her Great Aunt."
"Oh, yeah, I forgot," Ron said rather unenthusiastically.
Hermione gave Ron a slap on the shoulder. "Ronald, be nice," she said, "Luna is our friend, and as it turns out she and her father, are probably Harry's closest living relatives."
"Oh, right," Ron replied uncertainly.
Luna had reached the fence and Ginny directed her through the garden gate, greeting her with a big hug. If it was unexpected, Luna gave no indication, but seemed to return it rather joyfully.
Luna was dressed in bright orange Capri pants and a cream colored flouncy blouse with a pattern of large pink flowers. Harry thought the combination clashed terribly, but somehow Luna seemed to pull it off. It may have been the customary necklace of Butter beer corks, or perhaps the fact that she had adorned her hair with what looked like hundreds of blossoms that consisted mostly of clover and dandelion.
"Did you bring your dress for later?" Ginny asked Luna.
Luna reached in to her shoulder bag and pulled out a dress bag that had been reduced to doll size. She showed it to Ginny as she smiled at everyone else. "I have it here," she said, pausing as she took in the busyness of the garden, "hope I haven't forgotten anything."
"Well, if you have I am sure we can make do," Ginny said as she took Luna's arm and started toward the big tent.
"We're glad you could make it, Luna," Harry said finally, as Ginny grabbed his hand and pulled him along.
They hurried over to the security table, where Moody measured Luna's wand and she was subjected to a security sweep with a DMD. Where most would find the security intrusive, Luna just smiled brightly and seemed to be flattered at the attention. She smiled at the young Auror operating the DMD and he smiled back in a way that made Harry momentarily uncomfortable.
Harry became aware of two things simultaneously. First, Luna had grown into a very attractive young woman, in the short years he had known her. Her features had balanced out, her eyes, which had once seemed overly large for her face, now, were simply wide, silvery gray pools, that the young Auror seemed quite prepared to get lost in. Her hair had grown so long, that she would have to be careful not to sit on it – and the rest of her... Well, Harry had never taken much note, simply because, he only had eyes for Ginny. And second, realizing that he was about to tell her that they were actually related, he suddenly understood in some small part the protectiveness that the Weasley brothers felt toward their little sister.
"So, Luna," he interrupted, "have you been having a good summer?"
She accepted her wand back from Moody, and turned nonchalantly toward The Burrow. "It's been okay, Harry. Father and I have mostly stayed at home, what with his work on the Quibbler. But it's been nice; I've had lots of adventures taking long walks almost every day. You'd be amazed what there is to discover even staying close to home."
Harry felt a twinge of guilt, even though she acted her usual optimistic self, Harry thought she seemed a bit lonely.
After a long pause, Luna said, "well, should we go inside? Ginny, can I hang my dress up in your room?"
"Actually, Luna," Hermione said, "We're going to get dressed later, in my room."
"Your room?" Luna questioned, "Are you living here now? Is there something you haven't told me?" Luna looked curiously at Hermione, standing next to Ron, their hands entwined.
Ginny stepped forward and took Luna's arm again, turning her toward the tent entrance. "Actually, we've a lot to tell you, Luna."
They all headed into the tent and back through in to the Manor.
Upon seeing the Manor, Luna came to the conclusion they hoped all the guests would arrive at. She was very impressed and expressed her surprise that the Weasley's had been able to rent such a lavish facility for the wedding. Maintaining this minor deception had been carefully planned and had required the participation of everyone staying at the manor. Even Fleur's family had believed, with the help of a simple suggestion spell, which Moody had insisted would prevent them from looking too intently around the Manor. Now, that the day of the wedding had arrived, the visiting Aurors would be stationing sentries, to prevent guests from wandering anywhere off limits during the festivities. Harry was pleased that everything was going well in that respect.
After depositing Luna's dress bag in Hermione's suite, they started toward Harry's study. As they walked, Ginny engaged Luna in a conversation about the OWL testing at the Ministry, which had been their only common experience of the summer. Hermione was excited that both Ginny and Luna, felt they had done quite well on the examinations and speculated that the results should be arriving any day by owl.
Upon reaching the study door, Harry stopped and turned to address Luna. "Luna," he began tentatively, "we asked you here early today because we, or I, have something very important to tell you."
Luna's eyes widened, and a look of concern crossed her face, "What is it, Harry? Has something bad happed?"
"No, Luna," Ginny interrupted excitedly, "something wonderful!"
Confused, she stared at Ginny. Which for Luna meant a look of far off bewilderment. "Oh, I am glad," she said finally. Has this something to do with the DA?"
"Well, no Luna," Harry said, "this summer has been filled with lots of unexpected discoveries, some of them having to do with you."
Luna looked far away again. "Me?" she questioned, "I can hardly imagine how anything interesting would have to do with me."
"Luna," Harry began again, more seriously. "I've some things to tell you, but first I have to know that you can, and will keep what I have to tell you a secret." He paused, "it could very well put you and your father in great danger, if what I have to say became common knowledge."
Luna gave Harry a look of mirrored seriousness, "Of course, Harry," she said nodding.
"Okay," Harry nodded in return. "During the summer, I've discovered a great deal about my family." He paused, seeming a little uncertain of what to say next. "For instance, this Manor, which we hope everyone assumes, is rented for the wedding. It's actually my home."
Luna nodded again. "That's wonderful Harry, I'm happy for you, but it hardly seems to have anything to do with me."
Harry nodded at Ginny, and turning, retrieved the study key from his pocket and unlocked the door.
"Luna," Ginny began. "Remember, at the Ministry, just before all that mess with the Death Eaters, you were telling us that you had a Great Aunt?"
Luna looked a bit bewildered as she tried to recall. "Oh, yes," she said finally, "I had a Great Aunt Philomena. She was my Grandfather's sister. But, she disappeared, long before I was born. My father speaks of her sometimes."
"Well, it turns out," Harry began as he opened the door and lead them all into the study, "that I've discovered what became of your Great Aunt."
The life size portrait of Harry's Grandparents had been removed from the entry hall, in the interest of security, and now stood in the room propped up against one of the book cases.
Harry turned to the portrait and announced. "Luna Lovegood, I'd like to introduce you to my Grandparents, Deyton, and Philomena Potter."
Luna froze; she stood before the life size portrait, her eyes wide. She began to visibly tremble.
"Grandfather, Grandmother, I present your Grandniece, Luna Lovegood," Harry finished.
"My dear, I've so been looking forward to meeting you," the image of Philomena spoke, as she clutched at Deyton's arm.
There was a loud gulping sound, and Luna erupted in to tears. She turned and launched herself at Harry, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her face in his shoulder. Ginny had to take a step to the side, but she caught Harry's eye and smiled. He looked startled, but he wrapped his arms around the trembling Luna and held her tight.
After a second, Harry asked gently, "Luna, is there something wrong?"
Luna sobbed loudly and her head shook slightly from side to side.
"Harry," Ginny said, "she's just overwhelmed with happiness."
Luna's head bobbed a little, and she continued crying loudly.
After a long minute, Luna pulled herself away, and though huge tears continued to stream down her face, she was smiling. "Family?" she said, finally, in a questioning tone.
"Yes, Luna," Harry responded gently, "we're family." He hugged her once again quickly.
"You're cousins, Luna," Philomena said.
Hearing her Great Aunt's voice caused Luna to tense a little, so much so that both Harry and Ginny reacted with a look of concern.
"Luna?" Philomena said again, gently, "Deyton and I, have so been looking forward to meeting you." She paused, "From the first moment Harry told us about you, you have been in our thoughts... Our beautiful girl."
Luna turned and stepped slowly back to the portrait. She held her hand out in front of her until she touched the painting, her palm flat against the brush strokes. Philomena matched her movements so that the two were as close to touching hands as was possible. Luna stood there, palm to pigment for what seemed a long time before she dropped her hand and leaned onto the painting her face pressed to the canvas where Philomena's hand remained.
"It's been so long since I've had any family but Daddy," Luna said, her voice trembling.
"Well, now you have us, Sweetheart," Deyton said warmly, "and you have Harry."
Deyton gave Harry a wink and a nod.
"I think we'll just give you a few minutes alone, Luna," Harry said as he directed the others toward the door, "We'll be right outside when you're ready."
"Second cousins," Hermione said as soon as the door was closed behind them.
"What?" Ron asked.
"Technically, they're second cousins." Hermione said very seriously.
"Yes, you're right, Hermione," Harry said. He looked at the very serious expression on Hermione's face and slowly started to grin, the grin growing in to a warm chuckle.
Ginny and Ron joined Harry in his amusement. Hermione looked momentarily perturbed, until finally the absurdity of her seriousness struck her and she too began to laugh.
After a couple of minutes, Luna opened the door and invited them all back in and they passed nearly an hour chatting with Harry's Grandparents about the Lovegood side of the family. Filling Luna in on some of the developments of the summer. Luna became excited to learn about their lessons with Alex Burgestikoff and wondered if there was any way she might join them.
Eventually, they realized that the scheduled events of the day would not wait for them and it was time, for the girls at least, to be going for the bride's high tea. Luna promised the portrait she would return as soon as possible and they all made a lengthy, lingering exit.
The girls rushed off leaving Ron and Harry a bit of time to wander leisurely toward sitting room. Of course, leisurely, meant that there was enough time for them to stop at the buffet so Ron could have a sandwich, before they went to change into their formal attire.
By four-thirty the Weasley men were all gathered in the rustic gaming room, along with Mr. Delacour, his brother, and Daniel, the good friend of Bill's from California.
The game room had been one of the twin's first discoveries once they had been given limited permission to wander Potter Manor a few days before. It was directly across the hall from the main ballroom and featured an assortment of recreations. There was a true billiards table, two pool tables, several darts options, card tables, and an original Jaques of London 1918 "hard bat" Ping Pong table, which had intrigued the twins immediately. Harry suspected that the real attraction of the room was the fact that it featured a large built in, fully stocked bar, and had the feel of an upscale London, Victorian era pub.
Harry had been in the room before them, of course, but he had failed to recognize the room's potential in the same way as the twins.
Guests had begun arriving as early as three-thirty and were enjoying pre-ceremony hors d'oeuvres and cocktails in the garden. With the ceremony scheduled for five o'clock, it was only minutes before the twins, who where the lead ushers, would have to go to begin seating guests.
With all of them dressed in their wedding finery, and the fathers looking particularly proud, there was a feeling of joviality permeating the room that bordered on magical. Which made Harry eye the twins with suspicion, knowing their work with magical mood altering powders.
They had all gathered around the bar where Bill and Charlie were passing out shot glasses. Charlie had asked Harry earlier, if they could have a few bottles of firewhiskey, from the Manor's stores for the occasion. Harry, in turn, had asked Jarvy for the best the Manor could offer. Charlie was agog, when the Elf had presented a half dozen bottles of Red Stag, thirty year old, single barrel firewhisky, in bottles dated 1902.
Charlie stood in the circle of men proudly displaying one of the bottles and announced that they were in for the finest drink of firewhiskey that any of them had ever had pass their lips. He ceremoniously uncorked the bottle and held it at arms length as the expected swirl of blue flame danced from the bottle neck, as the one-hundred-twenty-one year old liquid, met oxygen again for the first time in a century. Once the burst of flame had dissipated, he carefully began filling each shot glass, starting with his own.
Bill held his glass high. "In keeping with tradition," he began, "this is my last toast as a bachelor, and I dedicate this moment to my soon to be bride – my bonded soul mate, Fleur Delacour, who will do me the very great honor, less than a half hour from now, of becoming my wife." There was a raucous response of "here, here!" and they all tipped their glasses.
Harry was surprised by the smooth delicious flavor of the firewhisky as it slid warmly down his throat and settled in his belly, spreading a wondrous comfortable heat through him. There was total silence as the surrounding men all seemed to be experiencing the same delicious phenomenon.
A moment later Charlie was refilling everyone's glass and he offered a toast to Bill and Fleur's happiness, adding that he hoped, his own bonded relationship with Helena Burgestikoff would soon lead to their own marriage.
After that, a second bottle had to be opened so that both Mr. Weasley, and Mr. Delacour, could offer toasts of their own.
Some minutes later, Alastor Moody entered the room and produced a dark flask from within his robes. He summoned the twins and filled their glasses with a dark purplish liquid from the flask, made them drink, and sent them off to begin seating quests. He pushed through to where Bill and Charlie were standing at the center of the company and took a third bottle from the bar examining it with obvious reverent recognition. He quickly retrieved a glass for himself and uncorking the bottle filled his glass and emptied it without hesitation. Everyone fell silent and watched as what could only be described as a smile, cracked across Moody's weathered and scarred visage. He released a satisfied "ahh" and said "wondrous!" as he viewed his empty glass with amazement. "And just how much of this have you lot had?" he questioned.
"Only four a piece," Charlie slurred happily.
"Right then," Moody said, the smile still firmly anchored on his lips. "Then you'd best all have a bit if this." He began filling everyone's glass with liquid from his flask. "We can't have any of you falling down during the ceremony. This will moderate the effects of the firewhiskey."
Once he had assured that everyone had consumed some of the anti-alcohol potion, he ushered them all toward the door to assemble near the far end of the ballroom, where much of the wedding party was gathered.
Bill pulled Harry aside quickly to whisper a last minute request, and though it confused Harry a little, he none-the-less agreed.
As he crossed the room Harry was able to get a glimpse of Ginny standing in line with the other bridesmaids. He was stunned at how she looked in her shimmering, leaf green, goddess style, floor length dress. The green color while chosen perfectly for the garden setting of the ceremony seemed expressly chosen for Ginny who stood out, with her fiery red hair beautifully pulled in to an elaborate French braid trailing down to her mid back.
Harry wanted to go over and tell her how stunning she was, but he was headed off by Fred who had come to usher he and Hermione to their seats.
They were walked out of the ballroom, down to the garden path and a short distance, to where the garden opened up through an arched hedgerow. A sea of white chairs had been set up in a half circle around the garden gazebo. Hermione was commenting with wonder at all the decorations, especially the elaborate webbing of floral garlands that hung from posts at the back of the seating area, extending all the way to the top of the domed gazebo, forming a beautiful ceiling and giving the whole setting a feel of intimacy and inclusion.
As they entered the seating area Harry waved to Hagrid who was seated in the back row on the groom's side. He tried to nod politely to the many quests that were waving and smiling at him, even though he was quite certain that he had never met most of them.
He was not at all surprised to see a contingent of Gringott's goblins seated on the groom's side and he acknowledged a nod from Edwin Garron, who was present it seemed with his wife and three children.
He waved again as they passed Neville Longbottom, sitting with his grandmother very near Luna and her father.
As they neared the front, Harry nodded in recognition at the pointed glance of Rufus Scrimgeour, the Minister for Magic, whose unexpected acceptance of his invitation had turned the wedding in to a major social event.
Harry and Hermione were seated at last in the front row on the groom's side next to Aunt Muriel.
A few minutes, and a few random quick seatings later, George escorted his mother and father to their seats, followed quickly by Fred escorting Mr. and Mrs. Delacour to their seats.
Miss Gore and Bill, appeared from the opposite side of the gazebo and took their places. Fred and George came to the front and standing like sentries on either side of the carpeted isle they flicked their wands over the audience's heads and a great number of candelabras, placed on the gazebo and surrounding the setting, popped gently alight.
The music changed from the light chamber music that was setting a calm atmosphere, to a more robust festive orchestration, signaling the entry of the wedding party.
Charlie and Antoinette entered first, traversing the isle at a comfortable pace, they arrived at the gazebo and took there places on either side of where Bill stood with Miss Gore.
Daniel and Odette were next, taking places one step down from the main level of the gazebo. They were followed by Percy accompanying Ginny, and finally Ron with Fleur's sister Gabrielle.
Once the wedding attendants were all in place, Fred and George, who had been standing at attention turned and flicked their wands at the bride's runner which was sitting coiled at the base of the stairs. As they marched down the isle the white silken runner rolled behind them aligning perfectly in the center forming a pristine walkway. As they reached the end, they disappeared through the arched hedge.
The music changed again to the bride's chosen march.
Fleur appeared in the archway and was still for a moment as everyone stood to their feet. She slowly began her approach.
She was stunningly beautiful; her blonde, almost white, hair was elaborately braided beneath her simple jeweled tiara and gossamer thin veil. Her silken A-line wedding gown swept with her graceful movements, the wide scalloped, lace finished hem flowed into a ten foot chapel train. The sweetheart bodice was a shimmering work of beaded lace, embellished with crystals. Even without the benefit of her inherent Vela attraction, everyone would have agreed she was the most beautiful bride they had ever seen.
In her obvious state of elation she moved with what seemed a natural, unpracticed grace, practically floating the length of the isle to meet Bill at the base of the stairs. Together they ascended the stairs to stand before the Ministry officiator as the music dramatically concluded. Surprisingly, they both turned to face the guests and together stepped to the right of Miss Gore.
"Welcome, family and friends to this joyous celebration," Miss Gore began, "If you will remain standing. Before we begin, I am privileged to inform you that we have a very special and unusual surprise. Our Bride and Groom, Fleur Delacour and Bill Weasley, have decided, that it would be their great honor to share their ceremony today with the Groom's brother Charlie Weasley, and his intended, Miss Helena Burgestikoff."
Charlie looked momentarily stunned as a second bridal fanfare began. He recovered quickly and hurriedly descended the stairs to await Helena. As he did so, the guests erupted in applause, and turned again to face the floral archway at the end of the isle.
"That's my cue," Harry said quietly to Hermione, and as Bill had requested he stepped forward, as Daniel and Percy each stepped up a position, and occupied Percy's previous step in the wedding party opposite Ginny. No one seemed to notice the quick adjustment, except for Bill who gave Harry an appreciative wink.
Helena, who had barely been seen since her recovery, appeared at the archway. She too was a stunning bride. Her dress was slightly less elaborate than Fleur's; an elegant French Mikado gown with intricate lace floral detail on the fitted bodice, and a simpler, clean, A-line skirt with a shorter train. Her raven hair swept elaborately up, created a stark contrast to the white of her short veil, and accentuated the lace open back of her dress with its fabric covered buttons trailing the length of the train.
As the fanfare built to a final crescendo, Helena met Charlie at the base of the stairs and they ascended to take their place at Miss Gore's left.
Molly Weasley burst in to a fit of happy tears.
"Today is truly a day of manifold blessing," Miss Gore proclaimed exuberantly. "We come together on this beautiful day to witness the joining of not one, but two, wonderful young couples in the sacred rite of the binding of matrimony..."
Harry did his best to listen this time, and he was rightfully impressed by Miss Gore's experience as an orator and an officiator. She was eloquent as she stepped through the traditions, exacting the permissions and blessings of the parents, asking for any objections, impressing upon the couples the importance and permanence of their commitment and love, and expressing the myriad rewards that would surely be theirs through the bonding of souls in honesty and purity of love.
He tried to listen, but he couldn't help but steal occasional glances at Ginny. More than once she was doing the same and their eyes met in a fury of emotion and desire. It was all he could do to remain planted to his spot and he was certain she was enduring the same.
By the time the couples had recited their personal vows, Harry was certain there were very few dry handkerchiefs remaining among the guests. There were moments of humor as well, as Charlie stumbled over his heartfelt, but entirely impromptu vows, and as Bill and Charlie each fumbled to produce a vial of powdered gold for one another's ring bindings.
The ring bindings were each more spectacular and blinding than the first Harry had witnessed earlier that day, and, in what seemed only a flash of time, Miss Gore was proudly proclaiming each couple wed, and, applauding as they sealed their vows with their first kisses as husband and wife.
As the couples were presented enthusiastically, music rose triumphantly from the orchestra, and the newlyweds were quickly on the move down the isle. Fleur and Bill were first, followed quickly by Helena and Charlie, and in turn each of the attendant couples. Harry was ecstatic when he was finally able to feel Ginny take his arm and they hurried down the isle after Percy and Odette.
What followed was a tremendous feat of choreography. As the guests were ushered away back in to the open garden and plied with more cocktails. The wedding party and families were gathered for pictures by the photographer and three assistants. Afterward they quickly assembled for the receiving line as the guests entered the main ballroom for Mrs. Scheffelgroober's sumptuously prepared feast.
Harry had never been in a situation before where he had to stand and meet so many people. He was worried at first that his presence would distract from the bride's and groom's, but while the guests did gush over him and want to shake his hand, Ginny’s presence, and the fact that the line did seem to keep moving, made the ordeal tolerable. Luckily, most everyone kept their composure and remembered what they were there for. After everyone was finally seated the feast began and the ballroom settled in to a kind of happy chaos.
Once the dinner was nearly done, the toasts began, After which, dishes were magically cleared and the band began playing. Fleur and Bill, and Helena and Charlie, took to the dance floor for the first dance, and soon the ballroom was filled with happy guests, enjoying themselves rather enthusiastically.
After dinner and a couple of quick dances, as they had agreed before hand, Ginny went to ask Luna's father, and Neville's Grandmother, if the two might be allowed to spend the night, "at the Burrow", so that they could be present for her Birthday celebration the following day.
This gave Harry the opportunity to walk around a little and meet some of the guests. It was not something he was truly enthusiastic about doing, but he had determined, in discussion with the Dumbledore card, that it would be a good thing, if he made himself a bit accessible during the event.
Harry moved about the ballroom being drawn into conversation after conversation. He was surprised by the number of guests that seemed very keen to express their condolences about Dumbledore’s recent passing; an event that he had dealt with, with the help of the Dumbledore card. He was pleased by the apparent depth of Dumbledore’s significance to so many across several generations. He listened politely and at times eagerly to the many stories people had to recount about the man and his many contributions to Wizarding society. Most enjoyable were stories from those who had known Dumbledore in his youth, and during his own attendance of Hogwarts.
Many of theses stories and discussions appeared to be fueled by the recent publication of an unofficial biography by Rita Skeeter. Though, among those who mentioned the book to Harry, the consensus seemed to be, that Ms. Skeeter had gotten many of her facts quite wrong, and had given to base sensationalism in order to fuel book sales.
Hermione, had gotten the book almost immediately, and after reading it, had proclaimed it a piece of literary drivel. In his inspired, but often off-handed way, Ron had suggested to Hermione that she should write a more accurate book. Hermione seemed to be considering the idea quite seriously. She had even begun soliciting among the wedding guests, for those who had personal accounts and encounters with Dumbledore, and was seeking permission to contact people for interviews.
After making his round of most of the room, Harry finally arrived at Minister Scrimgeour's table where he was invited to sit down for a brief discussion, and a photo op. Though it was impossible to discuss anything of any importance at the reception, he did agree to come to the Ministry that coming Friday for a formal meeting with the Minister.
After excusing himself from the Minister's table, Harry moved purposefully to the table where Headmistress McGonagall, was seated with several of the Hogwarts Professors. He greeted everyone, and inquired how preparations were coming for the approaching school year. His question was met with very enthusiastic answers from most of the table, and he gathered that a lot of changes were afoot for the new term – mostly due to an influx of students who would be attending Hogwarts following the unfortunate destruction of Beauxbatons Academy of Magic. After listening to some of the ways in which they planned to accommodate the French students, and some of the French Professors, including Madam Maxime, Harry quietly, and rather pointedly inquired of Headmistress McGonagall, if she had filled the post of DADA Professor. Somewhat reluctantly, Minerva confessed that the position remained unfilled and that she was finding the problem quite troublesome. With a rather large grin spreading across his face he asked politely, if he might be allowed to make a suggestion.
Minerva looked at Harry for a rather long moment, with a somewhat surprised expression. "That would be a bit unorthodox, Mr. Potter," she said finally. "However, if you know of a suitable candidate, I would be remiss if I did not at least hear your suggestion."
With that, Harry quickly described some of his recent lessons and directed the Headmistress' gaze to the head table.
Afterward, Minerva thanked him for his suggestion, and promised to give the matter her consideration. Harry, quite happily, asked to be excused from the table then and after final greetings made his way back to his own table.
Having fulfilled his more-or-less social obligations, Harry was quite relieved, when he was finally dragged onto the dance floor by Ginny, to join Ron, Hermione, Neville and Luna.
For a while Harry expected something to happen to compromise the security and identity of the Manor – or, that there would be an attack by Death Eaters. But, as the night wore on and nothing of the sort happened, he finally relaxed and enjoyed himself.
By about ten o' clock, many of the more elderly guests, and those with young children had begun to take their leave, but that just seemed to signal the party to move into higher gear. The raucous merriment continued unabated until midnight when the two couples announced that they would be retiring to their suites. That triggered the guests to gather and form a pathway for the two couples to move through as they exited the ballroom. As they moved along the path, the guests showered them with pink and blue flower petals, which had been set out on all the tables in large bowls. The gesture was meant to wish the couples fertile unions and gave the guests the opportunity to register their opinion as to the gender of a first child.
As they left, Harry noted that Fluer's train was covered in predominantly pink petals, while Helena's was predominantly blue. He wondered flippantly if this gesture would be an accurate predictor for the future.
Ginny noticed as well, as she pulled Harry close and whispered in his ear. "Guess I'm gonna have a niece and a nephew," she cooed, "eventually."
Harry smiled at her and nodded. "If the petals are right, it certainly looks that way." Harry pulled her out onto the dance floor as the band began to play again. "Oh, by the way," he said, "Happy birthday, Ginny."
Ginny gave him a big smile and pulled him close as a slow song began.
By one o' clock in the morning most of the guests had departed. Moody quietly started making rounds suggesting to guests that were not staying at the manor, that it might soon be time to leave.
Mr. and Mrs. Weasley departed about two in the morning, but not before coming round to thank Harry once again for use of the Manor, and informing Ginny, that she and Luna, were expected to follow shortly, and were to sleep at The Burrow in Ginny's room.
Once all the guests were gone and security was satisfied that everything was in order, Moody left with the last of the Aurors and the Manor was once again quiet.
Ron and Hermione, said their good nights and went off with Neville to have Jarvy open a room for him. Harry retrieved the Portus Omnibus and walked Ginny and Luna to the cupboard that would take them directly to The Burrow kitchen.
It had been a wonderful full day and a magical evening, and Harry was glad it had gone so well. He was very tired and ready for sleep, but, instead he headed to his study to say goodnight to his Grandparents.
Tomorrow was likely to be another full day.
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NEXT
Chapter Twenty-Two
Relics
Chapter 23: Chapter 22 - Relics
Author's Notes: I am so very sorry for the horridly long wait between postings. My life has been a bit of disaster the past several months, from job loss, to the loss of my Father in March. I hope to be back to writing much more regularly now. Thank you so much for your patience and I hope this new chapter is to everyone's liking.
I am so grateful to Beta readers Arnel and SeekersDestiny, and proof reader B Hanzel for their wonderful quick work.
Harry sat crossed legged on the thick carpet of the small sitting room adjoining his bed camber. He was deep in meditation.
On a small table before him stood the pewter base with the collectable Dumbledore card perched in its slot. The little Dumbledore looked up every minute or so to consider the silent young man.
"Harry," Dumbledore said finally, in a gentle voice.
Without opening his eyes, Harry responded. "Yes, sir, I hear you."
"And you are aware of your surroundings?" Dumbledore asked.
"I am," Harry said slowly, "at least, in as much as I know I'm in my room."
"That is a beginning, Harry," Dumbledore said with a slight chuckle. "And, what have you been thinking about?"
"Well, nothing, sir," Harry responded with a hint of question in his voice. "I thought the object of the exercise was to learn to control my thinking and clear my mind?"
"Yes... Yes, it is, Harry," Dumbledore replied, "but wouldn't you agree that it really is impossible to think of nothing?"
"Is it?" Harry asked.
"So, tell me, Harry, if you can, what it is you think about when you are thinking of nothing," Dumbledore asked.
Harry was silent for several moments. "I would best describe it," he paused, "as being within a bubble."
"Yes," Dumbledore said encouragingly.
"Only, it's not a bubble exactly, more like a sphere. Inside it, I am still and silent and calm," Harry said.
"And, you feel safe within?" Dumbledore asked.
"Yes, sir," Harry replied. "It's as though nothing could possibly get to me within, so I need not be concerned about any particular thoughts."
"Do you think, Harry, that this sphere you describe is magical, or imaginary?" Dumbledore questioned.
"I..." Harry hesitated. "At first it was certainly imaginary... But, now, I feel it has become quite magical."
"Very good, Harry," Dumbledore said. "You have made tremendous progress."
There was silence again for a few minutes as Dumbledore continued to observe.
"Harry?" He did not wait for a response. "When I asked you if you were aware of your surroundings, you said, yes, at least as much as you know you are in your room, correct?"
"Yes, sir," Harry responded airily.
"If you try, without awaking from your meditative state, can you tell me anything more about the room?"
Again there were a few minutes of silence.
"It pulses," Harry said.
"What?" Dumbledore asked a bit anxiously. "What pulses?"
"The Manor," Harry replied. "It's as if just a wisp of magic is constantly moving through the structure itself. I can see it, like small curls of shiny smoke along the walls, floor and ceiling."
Dumbledore chuckled. "And so it does," he stated matter-of-factly. "Is it any wonder that in such a magically imbued building, some trace of all the magic performed there would remain?"
"I had never tried to look before," Harry said.
"It is often amazing what can be seen when one actually takes the time to look," Dumbledore said in his most professorial voice. "You will never see Hogwarts quite the same again," he said with a satisfied chuckle. "Harry, as ever, your progress in our sessions continues to exceed my expectations. It is most satisfying, and makes me very proud of you."
"Thank you, sir," Harry said somewhat bashfully.
"Harry, go back to your magical sphere," Dumbledore said. "I want you to imagine it slowly shrinking... Shrinking around your thoughts and memories, until it is inside you, rather than you inside it. Imagine it becoming stronger as it grows smaller, protecting all that you are."
"I am," Harry said.
"Harry, I would like you to end all your meditation sessions in this way from now on. Imagine your magical sphere shrinking within you, protecting your mind. Further, I would like you to mentally picture that sphere within you several times a day, every day. Soon it will become habit to think of it there, and it will become a part of you, consciously and unconsciously, protecting your mind," Dumbledore said.
There was more silence as Harry did as Dumbledore described. He felt considerable comfort imagining a small orb surrounding his thoughts and memories.
After another minute, Harry stood up from the floor. He stretched, as was common practice, he thanked Dumbledore for another meditation session. The image in the card, as always, nodded in return. Harry moved to pick up the base, but was stopped by Dumbledore's voice.
"I think it is time we should try to find you a proper Occlumency instructor," Dumbledore said.
Harry looked at the face on the card. "Should I speak with Moody about it? Or perhaps Lupin?" Harry questioned.
"I think perhaps you should contact Headmistress McGonagall as you will need lessons once you've returned to school," Dumbledore responded. "You really have made remarkable progress, Harry."
"Thank you, sir," Harry said, "I really look forward to these sessions." He picked up the card base, careful to not drop the card. "Want to join us at breakfast sir?" Harry asked.
"Thank you, no," Dumbledore responded, "Watching you all eat, just reminds me that I am left with only these lemon sherbets." He motioned to the jar of sweets on his desk in the card photo. He chuckled. "Still, I suppose it is something to be grateful for. Perhaps once you have resumed your search of the Manor," he said finally.
Harry nodded and gently removed the card from the base. He pocketed both card and base and left his room, headed in search of breakfast.
In the days since the wedding the Manor had calmed considerably. Bill and Fleur and Charlie and Helena were away on their honeymoons in the Canary Islands, courtesy of Mr. and Mrs. Weasley.
Tonks and Lupin had not made any honeymoon plans. So, in conjunction with Harry, Hermione made hasty arrangements to book a suite at the Covent Gardens for a ten day stay, complete with theatre tickets, and various other Muggle evening outings. They surprised the couple with the impromptu plans upon returning to the Manor after Ginny's birthday celebration. At first Lupin protested the gift, but Harry made it clear that it had already been paid for by courier, arranged through Gringotts, and it would be impossible to cancel. Lupin grudgingly agreed and the couple departed the next morning for a honeymoon in London. After they left, Harry wondered if they would be angry about the large amount of spending cash he'd had left in the hotel safe for them, but he figured he'd deal with that upon their return and truly hoped they would actually spend it.
Fred and George, had found a temporary flat on Diagon Alley, so they could more closely supervise reconstruction of their shop.
Fleur's family and guests had departed, as had Bill's friend Daniel Peterson, who had been invited to Paris by Fleur's bridesmaids.
All that remained at the Manor where Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Alex Burgestikoff. Neville had been invited to stay following Ginny's birthday, but his grandmother had insisted he return home. Luna, however, was spending the remainder of the summer with Ginny at The Burrow, under Molly Weasley's supervision.
Ginny's birthday had been a grand day. Alex canceled morning lessons, and everyone had been allowed to sleep in after the wedding reception the night before. The day's events had begun with a huge, late-morning brunch at The Burrow.
Ron had recalled that Ginny once confessed a long standing curiosity about Muggle roller coasters, so Hermione had suggested a surprise trip to Alton Towers in Staffordshire. Moody had been able to arrange secure Portkeys, and the Order approved of the completely Muggle location from a safety standpoint. So, by noon, after a short visit with Kyne and Hedwig, Harry, Ginny, Ron, Hermione, Neville and Luna, found themselves at the Muggle amusement park, mostly queuing for the roller coasters and thrill rides. In the end they had a wonderful time and were glad they had gone, though, Harry, Ginny and Ron agreed that they could have experienced more thrills by just taking out a few of Harry's new Firebolts.
The day continued with a late meal and a family gathering at The Burrow for Ginny's gift opening. The couples away on honeymoon had not forgotten and had left gifts for the occasion, while the rest of the family and a few others presented her with a wide variety of gifts, ranging from her parent's gift of an extra fluffy, leaf green, dressing gown and matching fluffy slippers, to what Molly Weasley considered Luna's scandalous gift of a copy of One Hundred and Fifty Charms and Potions a Mother Should Teach Her Daughter.
Molly had at first felt affronted by the gift until Arthur quietly reminded her that Luna had lost her mother and certainly didn't mean the gift as any sort of slight. Still, the book was widely considered scandalous because of its in-depth chapter on reproductive and contraceptive magic.
When Ginny had found the end of her pile of gifts she seemed to be looking for one more.
"What's the matter, dear?" Molly asked, as Ginny searched through the pile of empty wrapping papers.
Ginny looked up at Harry who was seated across the room next to her mother and in a sad sort of voice she said, "Nothing, I guess... I had just..."
Ginny didn't finish her thought, as if on cue, Kyne swooped in through the window with a large red bow around his neck and lighted on Ginny's knee. She pulled off the bow and hugged the beautiful bird, kissing his head, to his half-hearted protest. She began cooing at him and petting his back when he lifted his leg and shook it at her, there was a small white box attached there and she quickly slipped the tie from his leg. Kyne nipped her neck affectionately and hopped to the back of her chair.
Ginny shot Harry a wide smile as she held the small box in her hand. She just looked at the box for a minute while everyone seemed to lean a bit toward her expectantly, except for Harry who leaned his chair a bit backward.
"Well, open it... go on," Ron said finally, breaking the silence that had gripped the room.
Ginny pulled open the box and looked inside. She squealed happily and danced across the room, landing in Harry's lap to give him a hug. "Oh, Harry, thank you!" she gushed. "I didn't say a word, and I only looked at it once... But, I knew you would, I just knew it!"
She remained on his knee and held her arm out expectantly. "Go on... Put it on for me. Put it on!" She kissed him on the cheek with excitement.
Harry reached carefully into the little box and drew out a gold charm bracelet. He quickly secured it around Ginny's right wrist.
Ginny turned on Harry's knee and gleefully showed the bracelet to her mother. "It's a Quidditch, charm bracelet," she explained. "See, each charm is a bit of Quidditch gear." She flipped it around her wrist. "Here's the Snitch, and a broom, a Quaffle, and three tiny circles to represent the hoops, a Bludger, and a Beater's bat... Oh, and last a small Gryffindor coat of arms! And there is even room for more charms."
"It's very lovely, dear," Molly smiled at her giddy daughter.
Ginny leapt from Harry's knee and skipped across the room to show her prize to Hermione and Luna.
Molly leaned over to Harry and said, "Please tell me that is not real gold."
Harry adopted an innocent look, but said nothing.
"Really, Harry," Molly said a bit reprovingly, "After her owl, you shouldn't have spent so much, that cannot have been inexpensive."
Harry smiled at Mrs. Weasley and said, "I think that smile was worth every Knut."
The evening concluded with a huge birthday cake and ice cream, and later, much of the party sitting around a nice fire in the Weasley's garden, with casual conversation.
The next morning Neville had to return home so they all gathered at The Burrow for breakfast and afterward, saw him to the safe Apparation point.
The morning lessons with Alex had gone well, with most of the session focused on non-verbal spell casting. After lunch Luna had gone to talk with the portrait of Harry's Grandparents while the quartet had gone to Harry's study and reviewed plans for the next few days. They decided to focus on Harry's Grandfather's instructions and try to find whatever artifact had been collected and hidden at the Manor, and to review more of Harry's family memories as time permitted.
The remainder of the day had been an exploration of every cellar of the Manor, from the wine and spirits cellar, beneath the restaurant-worthy kitchen, to the elaborate potions laboratory underneath the Library. None of them had detected anywhere that there might be a passage to some further hidden treasure room.
In reviewing the parchments of instruction which had accompanied his Grandfather's final letter, there were multiple pages concerning the bloodstone, and the process of warding the Manor; including who could possibly be eligible to contribute. There was complete contact information for a portrait painter in Godric's Hallow, along with a receipt for the contracted portrait. However, there was nothing at all about how to find the treasure room mentioned in the letter, and not one word about what the object preserved in that treasure room might be.
After a disappointing day of searching the Manor, they determined that the next day they would redouble their efforts.
In the morning they met early for breakfast and enjoyed a wonderful lesson with Alex, again focusing on non-verbal spell casting. At the end of the session Alex, after praising them for their efforts, announced that the next couple morning lessons would be cancelled as she was leaving the Manor for an overnight stay elsewhere, regarding possible employment, and suspected she would not return until the weekend, if things went well.
Following lunch, and after re-consulting with Jarphred concerning the matter of a secret cellar, they again set out to search the entire Manor. The elf could not offer any further guidance so they retraced their steps from the previous day. They even set out to search the grounds for anything they might have missed. When they again came up empty handed, Harry wondered if they should expand their search to the surrounding forest.
That evening Harry let Hermione and Ron view the memories of Caractacus and Armes Potter. Afterward he and Ginny had delved into the next set of memories from Alden and Glennis Potter. Hermione, Ron and Luna, waited in the Library where Ron spent his time wandering and visually exploring the contents of various cases, Hermione read from several books and Luna engaged in dancing with the fairies.
In contrast to those left by Caractacus and Armes, this next set of memories did not focus on 'The Potter Curse' or offer anything more toward solving that problem. Instead, Alden Potter had left a series of memory snippets from his life. They began with an idyllic childhood spent in Potter castle in the near constant company of his parents, elves, and faeries. Caractacus had taught Alden how to fight, how to handle weaponry, and many lessons on how to respect people even when you needed to oppose or command them.
Of his mother, Alden seemed mostly to remember love and kindness and an infinite patience. There was a brief memory of living at Hogwarts, and a deep sense of connectedness to the castle. As Alden's memories continued to unfold there was an extreme sense of loss and confusion at the deaths of his parents and a lost period of his life for many years following.
Eventually Alden would meet his wife Glennis, and their bonding would truly bring Alden back into focus. Together the two would travel extensively, filling the castle with the largest collection of magical texts in existence and amassing knowledge from all of the known world.
The memories told of, not a perfect life, but one filled with adventure and joy, a thirst for academic knowledge and a passion for political influence of a benevolent and hopeful nature.
Alden and Glennis would together bring about a renaissance of sorts in Wizarding pursuit of knowledge and lend a guiding wisdom to the formation of Wizarding political and governmental organizations. Late in life they conceived Edsyl Potter and his entrance into their lives only served to increase their devotion to each other and to their life paths. Alden seemed to Harry to be a great and admirable man, one he was proud to have as a direct ancestor.
Near the end of the memory set there was, however, a tragedy that would bring the progressive influence of Castle Potter nearly to a standstill in the Wizarding world. While abroad in Albania, the Potters and their local guides were attacked by a werewolf. Alden's memory of the attack was brutal and frightening to witness as the creature literally tore through their guides and attacked Glennis. Alden's reaction, based on his father's training was fast, furious and fatal, but not fast enough to prevent Glennis being bitten.
Glennis' memories were also a series of snippets, beginning with her earliest recollections of growing up in Ireland in the company of her parents and their associates, a kind, gentle, and highly inquisitive people dedicated to preserving a separatist lifestyle to preserve Wizard knowledge and tradition.
During her adulthood her own curiosity and thirst for further knowledge lead her to question the separatist lifestyle and she eventually left the Irish enclave to seek out broader knowledge.
She came to Potter Castle driven by tales of its vast library. There she met Alden Potter and discovered much to their mutual surprise that they were a bonded pair. Acceptance of this unexpected revelation changed both of their lives in wondrously positive ways.
They were wed, and together they traveled extensively returning each summer to open the Castle and its Library to wizard educators, and seekers of knowledge. They gained recognition as two of the most learned living wizards, and enjoyed both social and political influence. As Lord and Lady Potter, they participated in the beginnings of the Wizard's Council and the International Confederation of Wizards.
Their years together, including the birth of their son, Edsyl, were idyllic in her memories, extensive travels, wealth and influence, a son to raise, all with a benevolent, optimistic and inquisitive focus.
Sending Edsyl to Hogwarts and seeing him excel there were some of her happiest memories.
It all seemed very much like a happily ever after until the werewolf attack.
After the attack both sets of memories were dominated by guilt and fear as the Potters came to blame themselves for bringing lycanthropy to England. They struggled with both containment and treatment as they learned about Glennis' condition. Early mishaps resulted in several escapes and the spread of lycanthropy into neighboring populations.
For a time, after they had developed an effective potion for controlling and preventing the monthly transformations, they even made some attempts to hunt the developing packs in an effort to quell the spread of the disease.
Ultimately they resigned themselves to a quiet secluded life of study and intellectual pursuit at the castle, during which their passion for travels and acquisitions was taken over by their son, Edsyl, after his graduation from Hogwarts.
Lycanthropy quickly took its toll on Glennis and she passed a mere twenty-one years later.
Though Alden lived for another ten years after his wife's passing, he never truly ventured out again preferring to remain in the castle.
In the last decade of his life he did re-open the castle library to particularly ardent knowledge seekers, and did resume holding social and political events at the castle, but it would never be the same as it had been.
The only significant event of his late life catalogued in his memory set was the chartering of the Royal Hart, a business venture he began with his son in 1336, which would form the centerpiece of the Potter business and financial holdings.
Exhausted from the day’s search and the emotional toll of reviewing two more sets of memories Harry suggested that they take the morning to sleep in and relax. He himself was looking forward to a long meditation session under Dumbledore's guidance. He explained to the others that he felt he had been neglecting these sessions and wished to make up for it by getting a good night's sleep and being fresh and ready in the morning to give Dumbledore his devoted attention.
Hermione and Ron said their good nights and headed up to their rooms. Luna preceded Ginny back to the Burrow and Harry and Ginny said goodnight at some length, on the couch in front of the fireplace.
Harry arrived at the sitting room, which had become the sort of unofficial gathering place of the house. He was a bit surprised to find it empty. He pulled out his watch to check the time ‒ it was already a quarter of eight. Usually everyone would be out on the lawn at this time waiting for Alex to begin a lesson. Still, he had been the one to suggest they all have a lie-in this morning so he guessed he shouldn't be surprised.
He plopped down on one of the couches near the fireplace and as he did Jarvy appeared to inquire if he needed anything or desired something particular for breakfast. "Just a quick fry up, whatever we have round the kitchen is fine," Harry said. "Have you seen anything of Ron or Hermione this morning?"
"No, Master Harry," Jarvy replied. "Would you like Dobby to check on them?"
"Yes, please. And send Winky to tell Molly Weasley that we are all awake at the Manor. That will let Ginny and Luna know it's alright to come through."
"Very good sir. Would you care for this morning's Prophet?" Jarvy held up the folded paper which had materialized in his hand.
"Yes, thank you," Harry said as he took the folded newspaper. "Jarvy," Harry paused with a slightly distracted sigh as he unfolded the newspaper to reveal a photo of Diagon Alley, and the headline reading 'Record Reconstruction Pace.' "If Ron and Hermione will be down soon, you'd better serve breakfast family style. And for Ron's sake, we'd best serve the full Monty."
Jarvy chuckled lightly. "Absolutely, Master Harry, breakfast will be on the table by the time they arrive."
Harry perused the Prophet for a few minutes, skimming the lead article about the reconstruction of Diagon Alley. The story highlighted some of the coming changes as a few shops were changing locations in the light of the recent destruction. Very few shops were actually closing as a result of the mayhem, but the most interesting thing to Harry was a listing of new shops which were taking advantage of the reconstruction to bring new ventures and new ideas to the Alley. He was pleased to see a number of new, modern, restaurants, and clothiers on the list.
Ron and Hermione arrived in what seemed a very short time and true to Jarvy's word, breakfast appeared on a nearby table, just as they entered the room. Harry stood up to greet them and they all went to the table to eat.
Only a short while later the door to the sitting room burst open and a very excited Ginny and Luna came bounding in waving a number of parchment envelopes.
"Hogwarts letters!" Ginny exclaimed as she ran to the table. She excitedly passed out the envelopes to each of them.
"How many books ya s'pose we have to buy this year?" Ron grumbled, as he tore into his envelope unceremoniously. Hermione on the other hand just held hers, looking at it as though her complete future was contained in that single envelope.
Perhaps it is, Harry thought as he raised his own envelope to look at it.
"Harry," Hermione spoke, "look at the address."
Harry pushed his glasses tighter on his face and looked closer at the envelope. It was very neatly addressed to; Mr. Harry J. Potter, Beyond the Pantry door, The Burrow, Ottery St Catchpole, Devon.
"Interesting," Harry said, "It would seem the Hogwarts' registry is right on top of things," he smiled.
"Should we be worried?" Hermione asked.
"I don't expect so," Harry smiled, and then he neatly tore the end off his envelope as if to emphasize his apparent conviction.
Hermione gave him a long steady look, before opening her letter as well.
"Well, nothing new here," Ron proclaimed, "Just another long list of books, oh, and I got my prefect badge back again." He held up the small badge. "D'you get Quidditch Captain again Harry?" he asked.
"Yes, yes I did," Harry responded distractedly as he was still reading his letter. "But, it says here I will have a Vice-captain this year. Headmistress McGonagall is adding them for every house. I suppose it will be a fifth or sixth year, whoever she thinks is most likely to replace me."
"Whoa, that'll be a tough call, Harry," Ron gave a side-long glance at Ginny, intended only for Harry's notice. Harry's almost smirk let Ron know he was on the same the page. "This'll be a rebuilding year for the team," Ron continued, "You've lost all your really good talent."
"Yeah, I know," Harry agreed, catching Ginny's obviously mounting frustration in the corner of his eye. "I guess it will have to be Demelza, unless McGonagall will let me wait until after tryouts before naming my Vice."
"Oh, I don't know," Ron chimed in, "I suppose it could be Sloper, assuming he even wants back on the team. I mean really who else is there?"
"It's me you dolts!" Ginny burst into the conversation, fumes of anger rising off her head like heat from a flame. "Sloper! Really, Ron!" She slapped him across the shoulder. "And, I like Demelza, but the girl hasn't got an organizational bone in her boy-chasing body. If you think for one minute that..." Ginny suddenly stopped short as both boys were curling up and turning purple with laughter. Ginny glanced back at Luna who was giggling too, though having the decency to try to hide it. "You're having me on." Ginny stated flatly.
Both Ron and Harry nodded through guffaws of laughter. "Yes, yes, we are," Harry choked out through his amusement. Just then Ron snorted loudly, which caused them all to reactively erupt with mirth. Even Ginny couldn't help but react to her brother with a genuine snicker.
Harry reached out and pulled Ginny closer by the belt loop of her jeans. Ginny resisted, but not much as she landed in Harry's lap. "Did anyone ever tell you, you are particularly beautiful when you are wound up?" Ginny slapped him lightly on the chest. "Show us the badge," Harry asked.
Smiling, Ginny produced the Vice-Captain badge from her opened Hogwarts letter and held it so Harry could see.
Admiring the small gold medal Harry gave Ginny a broad smile. "McGonagall's made a perfect choice, if you ask me." Harry said. "Do you think if we dropped this at Peninnah Promise, they could make a miniature copy for your bracelet?"
"Harry! Really?" All anger over the teasing was suddenly gone and Ginny hugged Harry giddily.
"Something the matter, Hermione?" Ron asked suddenly. All attention turned to the brown haired girl, who had been quiet and quite still since opening her letter. She was staring at a badge that had fallen from her envelope; it lay on the table next to her breakfast plate.
"What have you got there, Hermione?" Harry asked.
"It's..." Her voice was tight and strained with disbelief. "It's the head-girl badge," she said finally.
"Well, of course it is Hermione," Luna chimed in suddenly, to state what everyone was thinking. "Did you really think that Headmistress McGonagall would choose anyone else?" Luna giggled just a little. "And I thought you really were the smartest girl in school, but if you can't see what is that obvious," she paused. "Well, you are always allowed to refuse it, you know," Luna ended in an airy lilt, that Harry thought was laced with subtle sarcasm.
"Luna is right Hermione," Harry added. "You had to know it was coming."
Hermione turned her head to face them. "It is one thing to know a fact based on evidence. It's another thing entirely to see it as a reality with one's own eyes," Hermione blurted out in her familiar, sing-song, recitation voice.
They all began laughing.
After a minute of showing off one another's badges and comparing seventh to sixth year book lists Harry realized that Ginny and Luna were each holding a second envelope.
"So? What's in the other envelope?" he asked finally.
"Oh, this?" Ginny responded, holding up the second parchment pouch, and looking a bit alarmed.
"Are those your OWL results?" Hermione asked.
"They are," Luna answered for her. "Ginny is a bit nervous about looking at her results. I keep telling her there is no need to worry, but she's not listening to me."
Ginny didn't speak. She gulped hard and quickly tore open the envelope and pulled the parchment from inside. "I can't!" she said and handed the folded document to Harry as though it had suddenly become hot.
Harry unfolded the parchment calmly. There was an introductory letter, but Harry skipped over that to get to Ginny's results.
Ordinary Wizarding Level Results
Pass Grades:
Outstanding (O)
Exceeds Expectations (E)
Acceptable (A)
Fail Grades:
Poor (P)
Dreadful (D)
Troll (T)
Ginevra Molly Weasley has achieved:
Astronomy: A
Care of Magical Creatures: E
Charms: O
Defense Against the Dark Arts: E
Divination: A
Herbology: A
History of Magic: A
Potions: A
Transfiguration: A
After examining the results for a long moment and considering whether it would be wise to have her on about anything again so soon, Harry chose the straighter path. "Well, Ginny," he started, "I believe you have just achieved the best results in recent Weasley history," he smiled. "You've passed everything."
"Everything?" She tore the parchment from Harry's hand and examined it herself. "Even History of Magic," she said with slight edge of disbelief. "Six acceptables, two exceeds expectations, and one outstanding, in Charms." Her entire body seemed to sigh with relief.
"That's wonderful, Ginny," Hermione exclaimed, "Your mother will be so proud!" She elbowed Ron who was still eating and didn't seem to be paying much attention.
"That's great, Ginny," he managed around a mouthful of sausage and beans. "How about you Luna, how did you do?"
"Well, I didn't pass everything like Ginny," she said a bit sheepishly, but I did manage outstanding in Care of Magical Creatures, Divination, Herbology and Potions."
"Four outstandings, Luna that's brilliant," Harry exclaimed, "What didn't you pass?" He asked hesitantly.
"History of Magic, and transfiguration," Luna stated flatly, "Though I don't understand why I failed History, I wrote pages of essay, just like Daddy taught me."
"Still, four outstandings is someth'n you can brag about, in'it?" Ron said between bites of fried tomato and black pudding.
"Well, I'll just say that I am proud of you both," Harry said.
"Me too," Hermione chimed in.
A short while later, once Jarvy had cleared the breakfast dishes, they finally began discussing the plan for the day.
“If we take your Grandfather’s letter literally,” Hermione began, “We need to look “Deep beneath the lowest cellar of the Manor,’ so I looked up an elevation spell in a magical construction index last night. I thought at least that way we can determine which is, in fact, the lowest cellar.”
It had taken nearly an hour to cast Hermione’s elevation spell in all the various cellars of the Manor, and so far the wine cellar had proven to be the deepest point, but as they approached the Library, Harry developed a feeling that they were somehow getting closer to their goal.
Throughout the morning Harry had been trying to place his mind in a near meditative state and recapture the visual perceptions he had achieved during his session with Dumbledore. So far he had been able to detect a few random impressions of magic as it crept along the Manor hallways, but each time he had found himself beginning to see, he had been interrupted by someone asking if he was alright, or if he felt quite well.
The Library had become a favored place in the Manor due in great part to the presence of the book fairies who had become much friendlier and far bolder now that the Manor was once again occupied. They seemed to be particularly taken with Luna who apparently was completely able to communicate with them, even though no one had ever heard a fairy utter a word. Luna loved to gather with the fairies in the comfortable reading area and read fanciful fiction, or draw and paint, or sometimes simply dance. The fairies had also proven to be quite helpful to Hermione. She discovered, to her delight, that once the fairies had caught on to a particular research subject, they would sometimes pull books off the shelves that might seem indirectly related, but would ultimately prove to hold an answer, or a link. Hermione had begun to trust their input and eagerly reviewed any books they left out near the volumes she had reserved by leaving whole chestnuts on the open pages.
This visit to the library, however, was not for the purpose of relaxation or study, but merely passing through on their way to the potions laboratory. They came though the main doors and headed directly to the stairway leading down to the first level of cellar. The curved stairway was situated beyond the bookshelves against the exterior wall on the south quarter of the oval building. They hurried down the long stairs to the bottom which consisted of a small hallway and a single thick oaken door. There was plenty of room for all of them to stand comfortably, as Harry found the proper key on the ring of keys he had retrieved from his study earlier. He worked the heavy lock quickly so that the five of them didn't have to share the small hallway for any longer than necessary.
Harry opened the door and the familiar smell of a working potions lab struck them. It was a fragrant combination of spice house, green house, pet shop and blacksmith shop all rolled together into a single aroma. It was not an unpleasant smell, but it was definitely a powerful presence.
The room was an oval, like the library above it, though this was a much smaller room being perhaps twenty meters long and fifteen meters wide. The outside stone walls were lined with heavy ingredient shelves populated with a multitude of jars and containers of all shapes sizes and materials. There were also several live animal cages all gathered together in one section, though none seemed to be occupied at present. In the center of the room was a large stone fire pit running ten meters long. It was constructed so that caldrons of various sizes could be placed along its top grate and fires could be built beneath them along the length of the pit. There were heavy metal doors, similar to those on wood burning stoves, to provide access to the fires. Above the pit was a long polished copper vent hood that gathered all the smoke and directed it out of the room, to an unseen chimney somewhere. Between the ingredients shelves and the fire pit, were several prep tables; they alternated between wooden and stone tops for the best preparation of ingredients. Huge bunches of herbs and spices hung drying from the ceiling above the tables.
Lupin had taken to the laboratory immediately upon moving in and there were several caldrons set up along the fire grate. He was obviously brewing a number of different potions. Some Harry knew were meant to replenish the Manor's own potions stock, but others were being made at Moody's request, and Harry suspected that at least one caldron contained the Wolfsbane potion which helped to control Lupin's monthly transformations.
Opposite the entry door there was another, equally thick and sturdy door with an even more forbidding looking lock. This was the laboratory’s storage room for finished potions, particularly those that might be valuable, or dangerous. Harry headed for this door, fiddling with his ring of keys as he went.
Once the door was opened it swung into a rectangular storeroom some eight meters wide and twelve meters deep. There was a stone landing at the door height and seven stone steps down to the actual floor. Both walls were lined with shelves containing a dizzying array of colorful vials of potions. At both the back and the front of the room large oak barrels were stacked.
Without a word, Hermione hurried to the approximate center of the room and began her elevation spell. As she worked on the precise incantation, Luna and Ginny began casting standard magic detection spells around the room. It was unlikely that would turn up anything specific in a room already so full of magic; still, it was better than everyone standing around looking bored.
Harry just stood there on the landing looking about the room. After a minute Hermione declared with some glee that this room was in fact the lowest cellar in the Manor. Somehow, Harry felt he already knew that. He continued to stare at the walls with some concentration.
After a few more minutes the girls had completely blanketed the room with detection spells and they gathered at the center of the room to compare results, all of which were a resounding negative.
"Well, that's that, mate," Ron said, turning to Harry who had seated himself on the top stair. "This may be the lowest bloody cellar in the Manor, but there is nothing here except all these bottles of stored potions." He paused, a slight bit of frustration showing in his stance as Harry neither moved nor responded. "Are you all here, Harry? 'Cause you seem a bit..."
"Shhhh, Ron," Ginny interrupted abruptly. "Let him be. I think he is trying to meditate."
"What, here?" Ron questioned. "What for?" he asked as though Ginny might actually have an answer.
Harry stood up suddenly and descended the steps. "So that I can reach that place in my mind that actually allows me to see magic," Harry responded as he stepped past them examining the shelves as he moved slowly across the room.
The statement left Ron dumbfounded, with no rebuttal, and apparently lacking the ability to raise his lower jaw.
Hermione followed Harry closely. "Can you really see magic, Harry?" She asked. "I've read that only the most accomplished wizards can do that." She stated.
"I was able to do it this morning during my session with Dumbledore, and it seems with a bit of concentration I am able to do so now. But, really, Hermione, quiet please," Harry said, not angrily, but firmly.
Hermione, nodded and stepped back to the others to watch Harry, with a bit of wonder.
Harry moved slowly, by all appearances examining everything in his path, but looking at nothing in particular. For Harry himself, the view was both confusing and astounding. Residual magic seemed to float about the room like wisps of smoke. It swirled around the bottles and vials of potion like a thick mist, forming an effective and distracting impediment to his search for something extraordinary amongst the new and unfamiliar. A light wave of his wand would create eddies and attract tendrils of the floating manna. Harry soon realized that the ethereal stuff seemed to be attracted to sources of focus, as it slowly migrated back toward the potions, or swirled lightly around wands.
After several minutes of examination, forming these observations, Harry realized that there seemed to be a small congregation of the stuff forming a slight swirl around one particular barrel in the far corner of the room.
"Ron," he called, "Help me move this barrel, please?"
Together he and Ron rolled the full oak barrel out of the corner toward the center of the room. The activity was enough to cause Harry to slip out of his concentration and lose his sight of the insubstantial manna.
"I think there might be something about this barrel," Harry said, as the girls came nearer. "I could see it surrounded by magic."
They all stood there staring at the quite ordinary looking oak barrel. Finally, Ron raised his wand and tapped the wooden plug on the top of the barrel. It popped out releasing an acrid stench. Ron, caught the brunt of it, stepped back very quickly and nearly retched as he paled and coughed violently. "Bloody hell, that is absolutely foul!" he managed as he stumbled back toward the stairs.
Ginny quickly reached for the wooden stopper and flipped it back in to place, as Hermione went to Ron's aid, conjuring a cup and water.
"Perhaps, it's not the barrel at all," Luna said suddenly, as she twirled in the corner vacated by the heavy container. "Perhaps there is something about this corner that is the key." She stopped twirling and lifted her foot. Beneath the toe that she had been pivoting on was a small bit of metal imbedded in the floor, almost as though a small coin had been tamped into the stone.
Upon closer examination it didn't appear to be an actual coin, but a small disc of grayish metal with a symbol carved into it.
"Anyone recognize this symbol?" Harry asked.
They each in turn looked closely, but no one could tell what it was, until Hermione finally got in close enough. "Hmm," she murmured to herself, "Well, I do recognize it. I learned it in my first year of Ancient Runes. It is a pre-Welsh druidic symbol, it means, down."
"Just, down?" Ginny asked apprehensively.
"Yes," Hermione replied, "just, down."
"Well, at least it's something," Ron muttered.
"It is indeed something," Harry said curiously. "The question of course is, what?"
Harry reached out and pressed the disc with his thumb. He hoped it would move downward, but it didn't budge. He then stood up and tried to stomp on it with his foot, but that was equally unproductive.
For the next twenty minutes they tried everything they could think of to get some reaction out of the bit of metal, including trying to pry it up. Nothing seemed to have any effect. They then carefully examined every inch of the corner to see if there was anything they had missed in previous examinations.
Finally they found themselves congregated on the steps just staring at the corner in frustration.
"Well, this is fun and all," Ron said sarcastically, "but I say we all pop up to the sitting room and see what sort of a snack Jarvy has set for us today." As if to bolster his suggestion his stomach rumbled hungrily.
"Honestly, Ron," Hermione said, "I don't see how you can eat so much, it's not like we've been all that active this morning?"
Ron just shrugged and smiled in response.
"Okay, yeah, Ron's right," Harry said, "lets go for a while, and maybe the answer will come if we're doing something else."
"What we need is some help from Cornelius Merlin," Luna said, as they started moving up the stairs.
Ron and Ginny chuckled at the comment, but the name was meaningless to Harry. "Who is Cornelius Merlin?" His curiosity forced him to ask.
"I think he is a character from a Wizarding comic book," Hermione supplied an answer. "A bit like Tintin, or Dan Dare."
Harry remembered Dudley having comic books with those characters in them, but it was very rare that Harry had opportunity to look at them, and he had never been allowed to read them.
"Ron used to read Cornelius Merlin comics, before he started at Hogwarts," Ginny added.
"Cornelius was this young wizard adventurer who could do magic better than any adult," Ron started to explain. "He was always catching rogue wizards, or slipping through time, or having adventures in the Muggle world. It was all just childish fantasy."
"I still have my collection," Luna interjected. "I don't think it was all childish, I still like to read them." She paused as they left the store room and entered the potions lab. "The point is, Cornelius would be able to figure this out," she said.
To Harry it sounded almost as though Luna was a bit sad, so he decided to pursue the matter. He turned to face her and said, with as much enthusiasm as he could, "Luna, if this were a Cornelius Merlin comic, what do you think our little piece of metal in the floor would turn out to be?" The question brought an immediate smile back to Luna's expression.
"Oh," she said, "I suppose it would be a gateway to an alternate dimension, or a bit of Muggle gadgetry that lets people drop through solid rock, or something."
"Muggles don't have technology like that," Hermione interjected.
"In the comics they do," Ron offered, "That's what made the stories so cool," he said with a nostalgic smile. "But, with Cornelius there was always some practical angle. It would turn out to be an ancient marker for some sort of temporal nexus, or part of some kind of a system for guided Apparition."
Harry started moving back the way they had come. "It couldn't be that simple," he said, mostly to himself.
"Harry, what is it?" Ginny asked, as she followed him back in to the store room.
"I thought we were going to get something to eat" Ron complained lightly, as the others trailed after Harry and Ginny.
Harry went straight to the small metal disc and stood directly over it. Ginny seemed to catch on and jumped next to Harry, taking his arm and standing so close their sides were touching. "Oh, no, you don't, Harry," she said, "not without me." Harry smiled at her, and they vanished in a spin. Before anyone could formulate a response through their surprise, the couple reappeared spinning back in to being on the spot.
"Ron, as ever, you are brilliant," Harry said. "I just focused on the disc and Apparated. We appeared in what looked like a stone room. Torches came to life a moment after we arrived and sure enough there was a corresponding disc in the floor below us."
Excitedly they determined to go forward. Harry said he could Side-Along with Ginny, having already done it, and Hermione volunteered to take Luna. Very quickly they found themselves standing in a torch lit stone room.
Hermione examined the corresponding metal disc curiously. To no one’s surprise she confirmed that the marking on the second disc was the symbol for 'up.'
The room was round and several meters across with the disc in the approximate center. The walls were of a crude stone construction and the ceiling too high to be seen by torchlight. There was only one apparent exit, a stone archway and so, without discussion, they made their way toward it. As they approached, torches leapt to life revealing a stone hallway of similar construction. The hall appeared to be many meters long and lined with stone statues, most of which appeared to be large men in various types of armor, brandishing dangerous looking weapons.
As they stood at the archway, with the sound of stone grinding on stone, the statues turned their heads to face them.
"This doesn't look so good, Harry," Hermione said with a little fear in her voice.
Closer examination revealed a thin, nearly invisible ribbon of magical energy near the floor, crossing the archway.
After a moments hesitation Ron spoke up. "This is only a guess, but I'll bet that is an ancestry line, like the one surrounding the Blood stone."
"That makes perfect sense," Harry agreed. "And everyone here, except for Luna was able to cross that line." He paused, "and, as Luna is family, she could surely cross it also."
Luna smiled at the mention of family. "What Blood stone," she asked quietly. Hermione began to explain the Blood stone to Luna and their experience reinforcing the Manor wards.
Without hesitation, Harry crossed through the archway. There was a moment of uncertainty, then the statues all faced forward again. Harry waved them all forward and they made their way tentatively down the long corridor.
At the end was an identical archway which opened onto a stone platform at the edge of a great cavern. Harry drew his wand and cast a light out in to the darkness revealing what appeared to be a massive natural cave punctuated by large stalagmites and stalactites. There was the constant sound of slow dripping echoing through the space. From the edge of the platform stone steps formed a pathway which wound its way down toward the floor of the cave.
"This is a bit scary, isn't it?" Hermione asked in a small voice as she clung to Ron's side.
"Yes, it is," Ginny answered, clinging to Harry.
"Oh, I don't know," Luna said as she stepped forward and flicked her wand to illuminate its tip. "I think it is all rather exciting," she said. "Shall I lead the way?" She proceeded down the steps almost at a skip. The others hurried to keep up with her.
They followed the winding stone path as it made its way between towering stalagmites until it flattened out and after nearly ten minutes of walking began to ascend again. They climbed the stone steps until they reached another stone platform which seemed to end in nothing but the wall of the cave. Harry began examining the wall as the others looked around them.
"This lifeless place is giving me the creeps Harry," Ron said, "Do you think we are almost there?"
"I hope so," Harry said, still searching the wall for a hidden doorway.
"Lifeless?" Luna asked, no one in particular, "This place is hardly lifeless," she said. "You mean none of you have noticed?"
"Noticed what?" Ginny asked. They came nearer to Luna who was standing at the platform edge looking out across the cave.
"Harry," Luna said, "Would you recall your light for a moment?"
Curiously, Harry recalled his cast illumination which had been hovering above them the entire time. Luna's wand darkened and the others followed her lead. For a moment it seemed they were in total darkness.
Slowly as their eyes adjusted they began to see dimly illuminated forms in the darkness. Small luminescent shapes in red, pink, blue, green and yellow of various shades and hues. Soon it was a bit like looking at the night sky and they all stood staring in wonder. In the silence the shapes began to move about, and soon the chittering calls and throaty chirps of dark dwelling creatures began to echo amongst the drips and splashes of the void.
"All sorts of creatures live in caves," Luna said knowingly, "Lots of types of bugs, frogs, crabs and salamanders, many of which naturally give off light in the darkness." She continued, "I haven't seen any evidence of bats, which would mean that this cave system has no present openings to the outside and probably hasn't for decades. That makes it an ideal habitat for types of pixies, or gnomes, and other magical creatures. Given the presence of magical forces here, I would guess there are wondrous unidentified species that could take a lifetime to catalog." Luna was giddy with excitement.
"Wow," came a singular response from Ron.
"Luna," Hermione asked apprehensively, "You don't think there is anything dangerous down here?"
"Oh, I doubt it," she responded quickly. "I mean, frogs and salamanders can have poison venom, or skin excretions, but they would not consider anything as large as us as prey, and if there were pixies, or gnomes or other magical creatures they would have attacked us already if they were inclined to do so."
"Oh, that's comforting," Ginny said wryly.
"Luna..." Ron said slowly, "you said there were lots of bugs," he hesitated, "would that include spiders?"
"Absolutely," Luna responded with a huge smile.
"Harry," Ron said with a bit of urgency, "Maybe we can turn our attention to finding this treasure room... quickly."
They all turned to face the wall, and there, clearly visible now in the darkness, were two dimly illuminated hand prints. "I think we may have just done so," Harry said.
He stepped up to the wall and placed his hands against the prints. After a moment there came a loud cracking noise and the wall slowly moved apart revealing a large fissure beyond which was another stone corridor. Torches again crackled to life in the darkness.
At the far end of the short corridor was a tall iron double door. Seeing no latch or lock, Harry attempted Alohomora. With the loud protestation of dry rusty hinges, the iron doors swung open revealing what very much resembled a large Gringott's vault.
Piles of ancient irregular coins were strewn everywhere, overflowing large wooden chests and mixing with other piles of colorful gems and objects of silver and gold. Along the walls of the circular room were small carved alcoves housing suits of armor and weapons of every description. Everything seemed to be covered by layers of stone dust.
At the center of the room were two stone pedestals, carved like Roman columns. Standing next to each other, one was heavier and thicker with what appeared to be a glass globe set on top, while the other was covered with a bit of linen fabric.
They quickly scattered among the room the girls mostly admiring the numerous examples of jewelry, and fine objects, while Ron gravitated toward the suits of armor and weapons. Harry, however, went slowly, but directly toward the pedestals.
Hermione chirped out a terse warning. "Be careful what you touch. There could be lots of magical relics in here, and we cannot know what they may do."
"Most of these armor alcoves have nameplates attached," Ron called out. "This one here is labeled, Sir Duarte Ravensholm. There are maybe a hundred of these in here."
Harry approached the pedestals with a rising sense of anticipation, the words from his Grandfather's letter set in his mind. We have preserved the greatest object of the Wizarding world. An artifact so often sought after that it has passed into Wizard myth. An artifact I do not dare name in a letter.
He stopped before the smaller of the two stone bases. Slowly, he pulled away the linen drape to reveal a large book. He immediately recognized the Potter coat of arms impressed in the leather cover. His heart sank a little. How could an object such as an old book be the greatest object of the Wizarding world? "Hermione," he called, "I think this is within your forte. Why don't you come take a look?"
The girls all came in response to Harry's call. Ron continued examining the armor and weapons.
"What have you found Harry?" Hermione questioned as she got closer.
"A book," Harry replied. He had opened the cover revealing hand written pages but he didn't immediately recognize the writing. "The cover has my family coat of arms, but I am not sure I can read it? What do you think it is Hermione?"
Hermione waved him aside and delved into the open pages. "Oh, let's see," she said. "Well, it looks like it is in really old English, with some old Welsh mixed in. I am not sure I can read it either, at least not without taking some time." Her face fell into a familiar expression of concentration as she examined the text. "But, Harry," she paused, "I think this may be your family grimoire."
"Grimoire?" Harry asked, "I've heard that term before, isn't a grimoire supposed to be a book of magic?"
"Yes." Hermione answered. "Before schools like Hogwarts opened, wizard families commonly kept their knowledge of magic in hand written family diaries passed down from generation to generation. After schools began they started making books of magic as text books and grimoires fell out of fashion. After all, it was much easier to just get a collected book of spells."
"Oh, I remember about that from History of Magic," Ginny chimed in. "Once the Ministry was established they started collecting family grimoires from all over the country and developed the standard books of spells. Most families simply stopped the practice of keeping a grimoire and voluntarily sent their books into the Ministry. There was a huge row about it in the seventeen hundreds when Minister Rowle had the collection of grimoires destroyed so that the Ministry’s standard books would become the sole source of standardized magic. There was a huge uproar from families who wanted their books back, and he soon found himself out of office."
"There is a whole section of grimoires in the restricted section of the Hogwarts library," Hermione added. "Some families donated their books to the school, and those were never destroyed."
"I guess my family didn't want to give theirs away, then." Harry said.
"That's a good thing," Luna said. "A true grimoire contains much more than just spells, many had family histories and stories written in them, accounts of family achievements and unique feats of magic. My mother kept her family’s book and she continued to add to it right up until..." she paused and her eyes began to well a bit, "until she died."
"Oh, Luna," Ginny said empathetically, and moved to hug Luna.
"This is all wonderful, I suppose," Harry said, "But my family’s grimoire can hardly qualify as the greatest object of the Wizarding world." He quoted from his Grandfather's letter.
"Perhaps, Harry," Hermione said. "There is however, another book, one that has become legend, and myth to the Wizard world…" She had moved to the other pedestal and was actively brushing away the dust from the glass dome cover. "One that, if found, would be considered the greatest object of the Wizarding world." She reached up and grasped the glass dome, she pulled at it tipping it up. Harry stepped forward to help her and they hefted the heavy glass cover, lifting it away setting gently to the ground.
There atop the pedestal was an ancient-looking book. More like a huge collection of loose parchments stacked and collected into a heavy leather binder. It was worn and tattered, with leather ties literally worn to fibrous strings. Hermione approached it gently as though touching it might render the ancient pages to dust. Her fingers moved over the cover tracing runic markings there, but she didn't actually touch it.
"Harry!" Hermione gasped. "I think... I think, this may be..." she paused hardly able to put words to her thought. "The Book of Merlin," she whispered.
Ron came strolling up as they all stood in awe of Hermione's proclamation. "Hey, Harry, look here what I found." He was brandishing a large battle axe. "I think it is Caractacus' battle axe, the one from the memory. It was in an alcove over there." Ron pointed across the room. "That Muggle half breastplate thing is over there too." He paused taking in their odd expressions as they slowly turned toward him. "You know it was in the memory as well..." He paused again seeing no recognition of what he was talking about. "The Heart of the Hero."
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NEXT Chapter Twenty-Three Godric's Hollow
Chapter 24: Chapter 23 - Godric's Hollow
Author's Notes: I am very sorry it is taking so long between posts.
Godric's Hollow
Harry emerged from the Ministry council chambers feeling worn and tired. It wasn't that he really was tired, he was just not used to the long drawn out debates of the politicians and the Military. He had come expecting a one-on-one meeting with the Minister, but found himself in the council chambers meeting with the Minister, his council members, of which Harry apparently was now one, and the leaders of the newly formed Army. Luckily, Moody had also been there to represent the Order of the Phoenix, which was now formally recognized as a Ministry sanctioned resistance and intelligence organization.
As the Ministry for Magic had never before had a standing Army, there had been considerable debate over their structure. The Minister was of course the Commander-in-Chief, but he was obviously a bit out of his depth logistically in raising an Army from nothing. He had named several well reputed wizards as his commanding officers, and Harry could see that they would be able to create an organized force but they were trying to do so without sufficient resources.
Unfortunately, magic could only go so far as a substitute for money, and that seemed to be what the Army needed most at the moment. There were practical limits to what could be conjured, and though many objects could be permanently transfigured, like uniforms, there still had to be clothing to transfigure and most recruits were objecting to having to provide things for themselves. Of course the soldiers, even though they believed in the cause of defending Magical Britain from He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, still wanted to be paid.
The Ministry had proposed a new tax for funding the Army, but that had come under much protest and was still in debate within the Wizengamot. Even if it did pass, the estimates of funding that it would produce was far short of what the commanders were saying was needed to form a large enough Army to meet the projected forces of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.
By the end of the four hour session Harry had reached two conclusions. First, if these problems couldn't be solved, and fast, the idea of a standing Army would have to be scrapped, which would leave the defense of Magical Britain to the people. And second, that he really didn't ever want to hold a political office.
Why had fate put him at the center of all of this? It was all he could think as he slogged through the Ministry hallways toward the lifts. Moody caught him up as he reached the elevator and quickly closed them in waving away several of the meeting attendees who obviously wanted a chance to talk to Harry.
"Not much fun is it?" Moody said, as the lift rattled in to motion.
"No," Harry agreed. After several seconds of silence, Harry asked, "What do you think about it all? Is an Army really worth all of this, could it make that much difference?"
Moody turned to look at Harry. He cleared his throat; pulled his wand and cast a silencing charm. Then he spoke in his gruff tones. "The idea is a good one. Mounting an organized defense could make a great deal of difference, especially since Voldemort has gained so much ground in Eastern Europe. He is likely to come at us with a huge organized force. Last time he tried for power he tried from within using mostly espionage. Clearly he is still using that tactic as his Death Eaters are active throughout England, but his ambitions have grown and his goal is eventual world domination." He paused for a long breath. "You understand Harry, that the only reason his priorities have changed is because of his frustrations at not being able to eliminate you... If not for you, I believe he would have tried to take England first. Conquest of England is personal for him, and fear of the Prophecy is what drove him to choose this other path."
"Yeah," Harry said resignedly, "I really hate that it comes down to me."
"Harry," Moody continued, "the man is a megalomaniac of the first order, and so his motivations are about himself and his rule. The only thing he really believes in is magic and his belief that he is the supreme wielder of its power. You frustrate that belief, so I suspect that you are the only thing he really fears. Just remember two things about him. You scare him, and he cannot admit that to himself."
The lift rattled to a stop, and Moody reached for the door. He held it shut rather than pulling it open, he turned his head to express a last thought. "Oh, and there is maybe one more thing to remember about him. When all is said and done, he is, as far as we know, a man... powerful, but mortal and a mortal man can be defeated." He smiled his broken smile and pulled the doors open.
Harry couldn't help but wonder whether Moody's last comment meant that he knew something, or if it confirmed that he really did not. He flipped the hood of his cloak up and made his way out into the Ministry Atrium. He followed Moody to the fireplace corridor and stopped him short of stepping into the grate. "Moody," he said, loud enough to get him to turn around. "It is after noon already, can we maybe get a bite somewhere and talk some more? Somewhere, beyond prying eyes and ears?"
Moody, nodded and said, "follow me." He turned, stepped in to the grate and announced "Diagon Alley," in a loud clear voice.
From the Alley they made there way to the Leaky Caldron and from the back court yard Apparated to an empty room of Moody's choosing. The room was a second floor flat, which by Harry's estimation had not actually been lived in for a very long time. There were a few sparse bits of furniture, but the kitchen was obviously bare and unused.
"We're far out of London in a small Muggle village. I keep this place as a safe house. No one knows, and I expect it to stay that way." Moody growled.
Harry nodded.
Moody quickly cast several glamour spells on himself to conceal his magical eye and false limb. He actually appeared quite a normal Muggle when he was done. "Leave your cloak here," he said.
Harry removed his cloak leaving it on a chair and followed Moody out of the flat and down a couple of blocks of low brick buildings to a small pub.
"The food here is quite good, and the Muggles mind there own business," he said as they entered.
They took seats near the back of the pub and a waitress came over quickly to take their orders.
"What can I get you gentlemen?" She said in an amiable tone. "We've got beef or pork pies today, or we can do up a nice Bubble & Squeak if you prefer?"
"I'll have a pint, and a beef pie," Moody said.
"And you love?" she said, turning to Harry.
"I'll have a pork pie, and," he paused trying to think of one of Dudley's favorite soft drinks, "Do you have Tizer?"
"That we do love." She notated her pad and left the table.
Moody smiled. "Your Muggle knowledge is really quite good."
"Well, I was raised Muggle... sort of," Harry replied.
"Now what's on your mind?" Moody asked seriously.
"About the Army. What if I funded it?" Harry started cautiously. "Would that be something worth doing?"
Moody seemed a bit taken back. "Harry, I knew you were wealthy lad, but do you really have that sort of wealth to spare?"
"I might," Harry stated flatly.
Moody just stared at him as the waitress returned with the drinks. Moody grabbed his glass and downed nearly half his drink as Harry popped his can of Tizer and poured the red fizzy liquid in to a glass.
"I am not sure what to tell you Harry, we are talking about a really large amount of galleons," he said finally, still in obvious disbelief.
When the pies arrived and the waitress was gone, Harry began to explain to Moody about his inheritance. He explained that his grandmother was a seer and his grandparents had developed some basic foreknowledge of Voldemort's emergence. How they had concealed the family name and wealth and planned to leave certain resources to aid Harry in what he would have to do. Stopping short of any particular detail he concluded that yes, he commanded enough wealth that funding the Army would be within his grasp.
"Well, if you can, and you're willing, it would certainly be to your benefit, because when Voldemort comes, he will be coming primarily for you." Moody said.
Harry nodded. "I think I can also arrange for a proper place for the Army to train and live, on land outside of Hogsmeade Village," Harry added.
"That would put them close to Hogwarts, which would also work to your advantage." Moody agreed.
"But if I do this, I want to insist that Scrimgeour accepts you as a principal Military advisor, would you be okay with that?" Harry asked.
"That would probably solve communication problems, but it might be a bit of a hard sell." Moody replied.
Again, Harry nodded.
They ate in relative silence until they'd nearly finished their meals, when Moody spoke again. "Harry. About this mission you're doing for Dumbledore. Is there no way the Order can help with that?"
Harry finished his last bite of pork pie and wiped his mouth with his napkin. "No, unfortunately that has to remain entirely secret. I'm sorry, but I will not break Dumbledore's trust on that. But, I do need your help with these other matters, and I will provide the needed resources to give us a fighting chance."
It was Moody's turn to nod.
Harry's meeting at the Ministry and lunch with Mad-Eye Moody, had taken longer than he anticipated, but he was feeling pleased with his decisions.
Following lunch, he and Moody had found a Muggle pay phone and after some fiddling with Muggle coinage, managed to place an international call to Mr. Prcht. A meeting was set up to discuss Harry's proposals and afterward, Harry Apparated directly to The Burrow. There he was informed that Ginny and Luna had gone to the Manor shortly after Harry's departure in the morning and had been there all day.
Molly insisted that Harry sit for a cup of tea and enjoy some freshly baked tarts while she fussed about the kitchen and expressed her concerns about Harry's spending too much money on Ginny and alluding to her discomfort at Ron and Hermione having too much alone time at the Manor.
Harry, tried to express that Ron and Hermione were both responsible individuals and any concerns Molly might have were appreciated but likely unwarranted, and brushed off entirely the idea that he might be too generous with Ginny. He confided to Molly that he was certain of his feelings for her daughter and that Ginny's health and happiness were paramount among all his many concerns. Afterwards, Molly apologized and acknowledged that Harry certainly must have much on his mind and she didn't need to burden him with her motherly concerns. Molly gave Harry one of her fondest hugs and sent him back through the pantry door.
Back at the Manor, Harry gave his robe to Winky who met him dutifully at the door and made his way to the Library where Winky indicated the others had been most of the day.
When he arrived at the Library he discovered Hermione deeply engrossed in reading a large book and Luna lying on the carpet in the sitting area surrounded by colorful fairies, reading aloud from a boldly illustrated children's book, one of a huge stack of favorites no doubt selected by the fairies. Luna, looked up as he entered, smiled and waved, which caused a fluttering amongst the fairies who also looked and waved. She offered a happy, "Hi Harry," and promptly returned to her place in the book.
"Where are Ron and Ginny?" Harry asked as he pulled out a chair at Hermione's table.
"Oh," she looked up halfheartedly, obviously still reading, "they got bored hours ago and went down to the Quidditch pitch for some practice." She placed a bookmark in the page she was reading and looked up fully at Harry. "How did everything go at the Ministry?"
"Fine," he said; to which he received a quizzical brow. "It was all about the formation of the new Army, practical logistical considerations really," he said. "Mostly quite boring." Hermione seemed better satisfied at that so Harry quickly changed the subject. "What are you reading?"
"Oh, I'm reading up on book preservation, and transportation magic. So that we can safely move your family grimoire, and The Book of Merlin up here to the library," she said. "I don't want to have to go down to the treasure room to study, and right now I am afraid to try to even touch The Book of Merlin."
"Hmm," Harry muttered, "it just doesn't make a lot of sense that my grandparents would leave such volumes of information for me, without instructions, or a way to retrieve and make use of them."
"They didn't," came Luna's lilting voice from across the room.
"What Luna?" Hermione questioned.
Luna closed her book and got up from the floor moving toward the table with some thirty fairies fluttering in her wake. "Your grandparents, Harry," she said. "They didn't leave you those ancient books without a way to use them," she stated flatly.
"What do you mean, Luna?" Harry asked. "There is nothing in my grandfather's letter about how to retrieve those books from the treasure room, and so far Hermione has not read of a way to guarantee their safety and preservation." Harry looked to Hermione for confirmation of his statement and she nodded in agreement.
"Harry Potter!" Luna said in astonished disbelief. "I always thought that you were quite a clever boy, and your grandparents obviously thought you would be, as they left the answer right in front of you. All you have to do is look around you when you are standing, as you are now, in the place where books belong." Luna crossed her arms and stood expectantly, silently challenging Harry to reach the right conclusion.
Harry seemed stuck.
"Luna, this is an absolutely beautiful magical library, with the best Librarians in the world," she gestured to the fairies flitting about behind Luna. "But, what has that got to do with retrieving the books from the treasure room?"
Luna rolled her eyes, as though the answer should be as obvious to everyone as it apparently was to her. "Hermione," she changed tactics, "Some of the books in this library are nearly as old as the ones down in the treasure room are they not?"
"Well, I suppose so, yes," Hermione agreed.
"And have you removed even one book from these shelves that didn't look and feel like it was newly written, or just recently bound?" Luna asked.
"Well, Luna," Hermione retorted, "I have only looked at a fraction of the books here, and the Manor was closed for over sixty years, so many of these books have never been read."
"Actually, Hermione," Harry cut in, "that logically doesn't follow. Just because the Manor was closed doesn't mean the books have never been read. It just means, not recently." He turned to Luna. "So what are you trying to tell us, Luna?" He paused. "Is there something somehow preserving and restoring these books?"
Luna's hands had moved to her hips and she was now tapping her foot impatiently as the fairies continued to flit around her, some of them landing on her head and shoulders their expressions mirroring Luna’s.
"You mean the fairies?" Harry said.
"Of course the fairies!" Luna blurted out. "Did you really think they just live in the dome and put stray books away?"
"Well, yeah, I sort of did." Harry admitted.
"I thought you did really well in Care of Magical Creatures, Harry Potter." She paused taking a breath as though quite exasperated. "Didn't Professor Hagrid ever cover fairies?"
"Of course he did," Hermione jumped in. "At least he assigned some reading." she paused. "The common fairies of Britain are small winged creatures which otherwise appear to be human. They are mischievous and quarrelsome by nature and appear to be quite vain and desirous of attention."
Luna cleared her throat importantly. "Fairies, beyond your simple text recitation, which is, I am afraid, extremely lacking, are members of the larger classification known as Fae. This classification includes many creatures commonly known to Wizards. Pixies, Brownies, Doxies, Gnomes, Sprites, Forest elves, even House-elves, all of which are characterized by their approximate human appearance, bipedalism and hands with opposable thumbs. Some of the higher order Fae, elves for instance, wield their own form of magic and speak in human language. On the lower order are creatures like Doxies which have no known form of communication, and are considered nothing more than pests. The fairies are those creatures within the classification of Fae which most closely resemble humans, and are commonly considered quite beautiful." She paused for a breath. "There are many types of fairies all around the world as they are known to inhabit every continent. And, they have varying degrees of magical ability, habits and interest in Muggles and Wizards. These fairies..." She held out her hand and one of the fairies quickly landed in her open palm, bowing nicely to Harry and Hermione. "Are much larger than the common British fairy, are far more intelligent and self aware, possess a discernable language, are highly interactive, capable of a high level of magic, and only mildly fearful of humans, or in our case Wizards. They are a unique species that I am guessing specifically shaped themselves through magic to adapt, inhabit and thrive in the environment of this library."
Harry really wanted to ask how that was possible, but he had never seen Luna so passionate about anything before and he didn't want to set her off again, so instead he simply asked. "And, you think they can help us with the books?"
"Absolutely. Here, look." She reached in to her large shoulder bag and withdrew a book, which upon closer examination was her fifth year Divination text. She set it on the table and several of the fairies immediately landed on or around it and began inspecting it. "Yesterday, I accidently left this book over in the sitting area. When I found it again this morning it looked like this."
"There doesn't appear to be anything wrong with it Luna." Hermione observed aloud.
"Exactly," Luna said. "The thing is; Divination is one of my favorite subjects and I've read that book so often that the spine cracked before the first month of school ended last year. By the end of the year it was cracked in several places and many of the pages had come loose." She reached for the book and handed it to Harry. "Now it looks like the day Daddy bought it for me new at Flourish and Blotts."
Harry ran his fingers along the perfectly intact spine of Luna's book, and noted that even the edges of the printed, paper binding showed no signs of wear. "Are you certain the fairies didn't just find your used book and replace it with a new copy? They do seem to be particularly fond of you Luna," he said.
"Open it." Luna replied. Harry did so; letting it fall open to a random page in his hands. "See, it is still full of all my notes."
Sure enough the page edges were full of notes and scribbles. "Luna, I believe you," he said finally.
Hermione took the book from Harry and examined it. After a moment she set it back on the table where the fairies seemed to be watching it closely. She reached in to her own handbag and withdrew a Muggle paperback book. Harry recognized it from the night they opened his first lock box. It was Wuthering Heights by Emily Bront. Hermione held the book out. It was worn and dog-eared with a spine that had been cracked and curled through multiple readings. The fairies looked at it with the expression Harry would have expected from Hagrid faced with an injured kneazle kitten.
Hermione set the book on the table and the fairies began to gather around it, examining it. They seemed very concerned that it was badly worn and misshapen. As they watched the fairies began to run their small hands all over the book, massaging the cover, spine and page edges. To Harry and Hermione's astonishment the book slowly returned to it's like new form, with the spine straightening and months of handling magically wiped away from the page edges. Even the worn edges appeared to be gradually restored to pristine. After about ten minutes of attention from the Fairies, the book appeared just as Hermione had found it in the book store, as though it had never been read. Hermione picked it up and leafed through the pages.
"This is amazing!" She exclaimed finally. The fairies were watching her expectantly and she bent down toward the table saying. "Thank you ever so much. I had no idea how special you all are." She reached in to her bag and withdrew the cellophane bag of gum drops she now always kept on hand. She opened the bag and set it on the table close to the gathered fairies; they eagerly began to queue up in order to retrieve a gumdrop each.
"I have a theory Harry," Luna spoke again. "I think, that whichever of your relatives found and secured the Book of Merlin, they knew that it had become too fragile to be of practical use to anyone. It would need to be restored, and probably translated." she paused. "I am guessing that the need to keep the book safe and secret prevented them from soliciting help from others, and so they asked for help from the fairies. To the fairies the best way to help with such a problem would be to become natural magical keepers of books. In short they would create a whole new species of fairies in order to facilitate such a task. To do that isn't something that happens with one feat of magic. It requires time for adaptation, possibly several generations of fairies. It is possible that this whole library was created to encourage the fairies’ adaptation." She paused again and shook her head a little from side to side. "The only problem is, in order to convince fairies to do such a thing one would have to be on tremendous terms with the local Fae, and I have never met anyone who had cultivated such a relationship."
Hermione blushed a bit and giggled, she looked at Harry who was himself chuckling a little. "Luna," she said, “Harry has a few ancestral memories that, with his permission of course, I think you might find enlightening." Harry nodded confirmation. Luna looked at them with an odd expression of curiosity.
"The point is, of course," Luna continued, "that I believe that the fairies as they are here and now are up to the task of retrieval and restoration of the treasury books. That was probably the long term goal."
"I agree completely with your ideas Luna," Harry said proudly. Luna blushed. "In fact, how would you feel about taking them to retrieve the books yourself?"
"Oh, Harry," Hermione cut in. "Do you really want to send Luna down there by herself?"
"Well..." Harry started.
"You don't think I can do it, Hermione?" Luna asked. She seemed hurt by the apparent vote of no confidence.
"No, Luna, it's not that," Hermione said pleadingly, "I am only concerned about your safety."
"My safety?" Luna seemed genuinely confused. "There's nothing down there that..."
"If I may finish?" Harry cut her off. "First, as Luna is a member of my extended family I don't think the security statues or other security precautions should cause her any trouble. Second, when we were down there before, it seems to me that it was only Luna who was more excited to be there than frightened by the unknown. And lastly, she would not be alone if she has a whole troupe of fairies along with her. My only concern is..." He turned to face Luna, specifically. "The required Apparition? Last time you went Side-Along with Hermione."
"Oh, that," Luna smiled, "well, I don't actually have my license yet, but Daddy taught me to do that a few years ago. I am not allowed to do it in public of course."
"And the fairies?" Harry asked. "Do you think they can?"
"Hmm," Luna muttered as she looked to the side in thought. "Most Fae do seem to possess that ability either singularly, or in groups. I suspect they probably will have no problem."
"Wonderful," Harry said. "I guess all that remains is to ask if it is something you would like to do?"
Luna, smiled and nodded vigorously, as did the many, bulging cheeked, fairies on her shoulders, in her hair, and on the table next to her.
"I know it is not the safest way to travel," Harry argued, "but, since none of us has ever been there before we can't very well Apparate blindly; we could end up Splinched through a wall or fence or something."
"Well, we could use a photograph," Ron put in.
"Okay," Harry agreed sarcastically, "Have you got one?" Ron looked a little put out. "I'm sorry mate," Harry added. "It's a good idea."
"Harry is right," Hermione said. "Without knowing anything about where you are going, Apparation is far too risky." She paused turning to Ron, "And yes Ron, people use photographs all the time to Apparate places they have never been, but we haven't got any photos of Godric's Hollow."
Ginny came into the Burrow sitting room carrying a large floppy book. "Yes, there is a listing for a public Floo connection in Godric's Hollow," she said. "Mum had a copy of the current Floo Book, tucked up in the pantry. I knew we had it because Dad gets one free every year from work."
"Brilliant," Harry said, as Ginny came and sat next to him, holding the book so he could see the listing.
"Alright," Hermione said. "But you know if there is anyone watching for you, they are sure to have the public Floo under surveillance."
"Well, I think it is worth the risk," Harry retorted. "I want to visit the cottage where this all started and see my parents’ graves, and we have the portrait of my parents to retrieve as well."
"How about, we take the Floo over," Ron said, "and if everything looks alright, then Hermione and I can go after the portrait, while you two go to the cottage and to... to see your parents."
"Oh, I don't know that we should split up," Hermione objected.
"Only if it feels okay, Hermione," Ginny interjected. "If it feels the least bit off, or anything happens we can immediately Apparate back here, or better yet call one of the elves and have them Apparate us directly back to the Manor."
"Would that even work?" Hermione asked.
"Yeah, I think it would, actually," Harry responded. "Elves can Apparate through Wizard wards easily when it is in the action of their duties to their master."
"How do you know?" Hermione asked.
Harry thought for a moment. "The summer after my first year at Hogwarts, Dobby showed up in my bedroom at Privet Drive. Supposedly the Ministry had every ward imaginable on that place and yet Dobby got in, and he was still in service to the Malfoys at the time." Harry paused. "And, on my birthday, when I was at the Ministry for my inheritance meeting, I tried to call Jarvy to come retrieve all my paperwork, but Dobby showed up instead and apologized that Jarphred could not get past the Ministry's wards because he was technically still a free elf. But again Dobby came through without problem because I had claimed him that morning."
"Okay," Hermione conceded, "You've made your point, the elves can do it."
"But..." Ron seemed confused. "How could Dobby get to you at Privet Drive, mate, when he was in service to the Malfoys at the time?"
"I don't know for sure," Harry said. "But I would guess it had to do with – he was acting in secret, against what Lucius would have allowed, had he known. To do something that he genuinely felt was for my benefit."
"Yeah," Ron said. "Makes sense... Sorta."
After a few more minutes planning and checking that they had everything they needed, the foursome rose and stepped to the sitting room hearth.
"Before we go," Hermione said. "Are you sure we shouldn't leave a note or something for when your Mum gets back from market?"
"Naw," Ron responded. "She's most likely to think we are all at the Manor, and she won't worry about that, well... At least not about our safety anyway."
"And if she does get curious and summons Jarvy, he'll tell her where we went. But, we'll hope that we're finished and back before that happens," Harry added.
"Alright," Hermione responded not sounding at all appeased. "And, we are not worrying at all about Luna?"
"I bet Luna is having a far better time than we are," Ginny put in. "I volunteered to go with her, but she wanted to go, just her and the fairies. She was pretty clear about that."
"Yes, you're right, Ginny," Hermione said, "So, no, we are not worrying about Luna."
Ron had already stepped into the fireplace. He tossed his Floo powder and spoke. "Godric's Hollow." The green flames leaped up to engulf him and he was gone.
Hermione was next, followed by Ginny, and then Harry.
The other end of the journey let out at a public Floo, which was little more than a large fireplace set in the outside wall of a building adjoining a service alley. Obviously, there had been some attempt to make the area presentable as there was a nicely kept wooden fence blocking the working alley from the street entrance which was arched in brick.
As they stepped from the hearth a large sign appeared on the opposite wall. It was a beautifully carved wooden sign with painted letters. It read; Welcome to Godric's Hollow, birthplace of Harry Potter.
Harry, stepped toward the sign and breathed out a long sigh.
Beneath the words of welcome was a stylized map of the village with color coded twinkling stars showing the location of historical points of interest. The three largest stars illuminated the Potter cottage, the churchyard cemetery where the graves of James and Lily Potter were located, and the Potter memorial statue located in the main shopping square.
While Harry swallowed back a twinge of disappointment at the most flagrant evidence of his fame he had thus far encountered, he was slightly relieved that there were a number of other locations of historical interest on the map. These included the ruins of what was thought to be the original Gryffindor estate and the birthplace of Godric Gryffindor, the historic home of the Dumbledore family, now an academic history museum, the restored home of Bowman Wright, inventor of the Golden Snitch, and the current home of Bathilda Bagshot, author of A History of Magic. There were a number of additional stars indicating more historic locations, along with smaller stars marking Wizard run businesses and restaurants for Wizarding families to frequent during their visit. At the bottom of the large sign was an official statement from the Ministry declaring that the village was occupied by Muggles, as well as Wizards, so visitors must assume responsibility, at all times, for maintaining the secrecy of Wizarding activities.
As Harry stood before the sign trying to determine his exact emotions, he felt Ginny's hand slip into his and he was comforted that Ginny squeezed just a little. He returned the action confirming her presence and support.
Ron clapped him on the shoulder. "Sorry, mate, but you are famous after all," he said.
"Yeah, I know," Harry responded, "But, I guess I wasn't expecting this. Caught me a bit off guard, is all."
"Well, hopefully we are late enough in the day that there won't be many people," Ron said.
Just then the grate behind them flared green and a young adult couple came through the Floo with three children. Harry turned away from them and pulled up the hood of his jumper. The youngest, holding her mother's hand, was asking if they could stop at the gift store for lightning pops before going to the church yard. The other two children, both boys, were arguing Harry's Quidditch record and speculating which team he would play for after dispatching He-who-Must-Not-Be-Named. The earnestness of their juvenile conversation, made Harry's stomach tighten. The family didn't linger, or pay them any attention, nor did they seem to need to look at the map. They simply proceeded from the alley quickly and were gone.
"Maybe this wasn't such a good idea," Harry said.
"We are already here, we should at least try to get the portrait of your parents," Ginny said.
"Yeah, Ginny is right, mate," Ron added, "We are already here... Maybe we should have disguised you a bit, with a glamour like you said Moody used earlier."
"Oh, Ron, you're right," Hermione said. "I know a glamour that conceals blemishes, perhaps it would work on your scar?"
"And, I know one that can lighten your hair," Ginny said.
"Hermione, you've been practicing the invisibility spell," Ron started. "Maybe you could..."
"That's a difficult spell, Ron," Hermione interrupted. "I couldn't make Harry invisible."
"I should have brought my cloak," Harry said.
"What I was gonna say," Ron said, "Is maybe you could make his glasses invisible. With his hair colored and his scar covered, and no glasses, who would recognize him?"
"Yeah, that would probably be enough," Harry confirmed, "but, let's not split up. We stick together, okay?"
"Sure, mate, of course," Ron confirmed.
The girls cast the spells quickly and a minute later a dusty blonde-headed Harry, with no scar and no glasses stood before them.
"Brilliant," Ron said. "Think we should disguise ourselves as well?"
"Probably a good idea," Harry agreed.
Ginny straightened Hermione's hair and made her a blonde, while Hermione darkened Ron's hair from red to a deep brown, before turning to Ginny and changing her fiery mane to a solid raven. Harry noted that it was a striking change, but he preferred the original.
A few minutes later they were walking casually down the street like any normal couples on their way to see the famous little cottage where once a boy had survived an Unforgivable Curse.
There was a bit of a crowd as they arrived at the cottage, and an official looking guard was preventing people from getting any closer than the front gate.
There was a sign, much like the one in the alley. It read: On this spot, on the night of 31 October 1981, Lily and James Potter lost their lives. Their son, Harry, remains the only wizard ever to have survived the Killing Curse. This house, invisible to Muggles, has been left in its ruined state as a monument to the Potters and as a reminder of the violence that tore apart their family.
Harry was a bit disappointed. Without being allowed to go inside, there really was nothing much to see. The small cottage had been allowed to go to ruin with only a portion of the upper corner wall blown out. Harry wondered if there had always been a guard on hand, and if that meant that the house and the properties inside were still intact. Or if the house had been ransacked over the years. The outside seemed to be free of any graffiti, though the same could not be said for the outside of the garden wall that kept onlookers at bay.
They didn't linger long at the cottage, instead proceeding up the lane back toward the village square and the churchyard. Ginny could sense that the trip was not going as Harry had hoped. She took his hand as they walked.
They reached the village square and found it bustling with people. It was almost as if they had walked into some small town in the middle of an annual celebration. Every cafe' seemed to be crowding the sidewalks with tables, all of them full, with people waiting for vacancies. Children were running around waving Gryffindor banners or trailing balloons with various slogans printed on them.
As they strolled by, vendors called after them barking their various offerings, carts were selling Gryffindor banners and replicas of Harry's quidditch jersey, copies of the Daily Prophet with the "The Boy Who Lived" headline, cards with Harry's picture from the Triwizard Tournament, and a spectacle of crazy items from wand fobs to round lens less glasses with pop up lightning scars.
Ron insisted they stop for lightning pops, which turned out to be frozen lemon custard in the shape of a stylized lighting bolt, on a stick. It was actually quite tasty. Several food vendors were offering what they claimed to know were Harry's favorite foods.
At the churchyard a long queue of people were waiting to shuffle in and have a moment at his parent's headstones, and they were all buying flowers from a vendor conveniently set up near the queue entrance. In the center of the square stood a statue of three people: a man with untidy hair and glasses, a woman with long hair and a kind, pretty face, and a baby boy sitting happily in his mother’s arms. Harry stepped closer so he could better see the carved faces of his parents. He had never imagined that there would be a statue, but now he was here he expected nothing less.
It’s all a tourist trap, Harry thought to himself. Ginny nudged him and he reflexively put his arm around her. Having her close was a touchstone of warmth in an otherwise cold reality. His birthplace and early life, at least as seen from the perspective of the average British Wizard, was a tangle of rumor and half truth wrapped up in myth and expectation, and being sold as a carnival.
"I've seen, more than enough," Harry said rather coldly, "let's go get my parent's portrait and get out of here."
"Okay," Hermione said, consulting the sheaf of parchment from within her handbag. "We want to get to King Alfred road. It was on the map when we arrived," she pivoted in place facing east of the way they had come. "Should be this way," she said, and she started off, Ron in tow, looking as pleased as ever.
"Are you alright, Harry," Ginny finally whispered as they followed a few paces behind Ron and Hermione.
"Yeah," Harry responded, and he patted Ginny's hand on his arm. "I guess I will just never really be comfortable with the whole fame thing," he paused. "I mean, I get it. If I defeat Voldemort that will be something special... But, I didn't ask for any of this, I didn't seek it out, so yes, I am a bit bothered that I can't even get close to my own parents headstones for a moment to think of them in private."
"I am sorry, Harry," Ginny said, "I know this trip is not at all what you wanted, but, shortly, we will collect a portrait of your parents, and that will be better than a couple of upright slabs of white granite."
"You're right, Ginny..." Harry responded, "of course you're right, it will be much better." He patted her hand again and forced a wan smile to his face.
Ginny took his arm and put it around her shoulders, leaning in to him a bit, and they continued to walk along in silence.
With Hermione leading the way it was not long before they arrived at the specified address, on the outskirts of the developed village. There was no shop window, or sign to identify the place, just a simple wooden door, with the number displayed prominently.
Looking more closely, beneath the number there was a small, nearly worn away, logo of sorts, that consisted of an up-turned paintbrush and a small pulled semi-circular stroke. They pushed open the door to the pleasant sound of a spring bell.
Inside was a short narrow landing and a stairway leading up to the open second floor. Light from large first story windows flooded the space. The walls were filled with painted portraits of all sizes crammed in to the space so fully that it was difficult to discern that the walls were white beneath. They ascended the stairs feeling a slight, but not unpleasant tingling sensation as they passed the top of the stairway onto the large open gallery that was the front room of the first floor.
"Harry, the glamours have come off you," Ron said as he followed Harry into the open room.
"Yours have too Ron," Hermione said. "They all have."
The foursome stood looking at themselves in confirmation. "That tingling as we came up the stair must have been a countering ward," Harry said.
"Indeed you are correct," came a very pleasant voice from the portrait of a very attractive Victorian era woman, who was sitting on a flower decorated rope swing in a large painting directly across from the top of the stairs. "You will have to forgive the intrusive magic, it is only designed to counter any deceptive magic, and identify customers as Muggle or Wizard," she said. "After all, we need to know if we may speak, or if we must remain still and silent."
Harry nodded to the portrait in understanding.
"Welcome to the Georgiana Watts, Studio of Decorative Painting and Fine Portraiture," the painting continued. "Miss Ren has been alerted to your presence and will be with you in a moment."
The four spread out through the expansive gallery examining the many portraits and landscape paintings which filled the space nearly as completely as the stairwell had been. Many of the portraits greeting them pleasantly as they stopped to look.
"Watts, is not a common Wizard name," Hermione said out loud, to no one in particular. "Any relation to the famous British artist, George Frederick Watts?"
"Yes, yes, there is," the portrait of an elderly gentleman replied, "though the Wizard branch of the family is little known and completely disconnected from Muggle history."
"I see," Hermione responded.
"Understandable, I guess," Harry said as he stepped next to Hermione facing the speaking portrait. "I empathize completely."
Just then a door at the far corner of the room opened and a young woman only a couple of years their senior entered the room. "Hello, I am Ren Watts. How may I help you?" She was a slightly long faced and thin girl, with her long brown hair twisted in to a make-shift bun at the back of her head. Her sleeves were rolled up and she wore a dark apron that was smeared from top to bottom with a multitude of paint colors. She was rubbing her hands with a rag as she approached. She was proceeded by the distinct, but not unpleasant smell of linseed oil. She stopped a few paces before them in recognition. "You... you're Harry Potter," she stated matter-of-factly. There was a moment of silence. "I'm sorry," Ren offered hastily, "You must get that all the time, and I'll bet you don't like it, please forgive me."
Harry nodded a silent Thank you.
"How may I help you, Mr. Potter?" Ren said, standing up a bit straighter and adopting a much more business like demeanor.
Hermione had retrieved the receipt from her bag and handed it to Harry, who handed it directly to Ren. "We have come about this," he said.
Ren took the receipt and examined it closely. Her face scrunched up a bit in confusion. "This receipt is from well before my time here," she said. "I shall have to consult with my Grandmother. Please follow me."
She turned and headed back to the door through which she had entered. The foursome following behind. Beyond the doorway was a long narrow corridor, it was clean and well kept, but still showed the age of the building with it's cracking plaster and heavily polished wood panel wainscoting. The walls here in contrast to the front gallery were devoid of any paintings.
"Ren, if you don't mind my asking, you cannot possibly be much older than any of us, but I do not remember you from Hogwarts?"
"No, you wouldn't," she answered, as she continued down the corridor. "I never attended. I have been apprenticed to my Grandmother since I was ten."
"Really?" Ginny asked, "What about your education?"
"I have learned my trade from my Grandmother, I attended Muggle public schools, for my basic education, and had a private tutor for magical lessons."
"What about O.W.L.s, and N.E.W.T.s?" Ron asked. "Don't you need those?"
"Technically, you do not," Ren responded, "But, they are available through the Ministry for those who wish to take them. I passed my O.W.L.s when I was thirteen and my N.E.W.T.s when I was sixteen."
They reached the end of the corridor and entered a large studio. Massive windows dominated the entire back wall and filled the space with natural light. Along one wall was a large wooden rack filled with numerous canvases. The room was a clutter of work spaces for every aspect of painting from canvas assembly and stretching, to pigment grinding and paint preparation. There were numerous works in progress set up on easels, and the whole room was thick with the smell of oils and turpentine.
At the center of the room was a huge canvas, the back of which faced the group as they entered.
"Grandmother," Ren called loudly, "I have a special visitor to see you."
There was a light clanking of wood on glass, a whishing of liquid sound, and from the back side of the canvas several slight, but observable depressions as a brush touched the opposite side.
"A moment dear," came a response from beyond the canvas. A second later a woman emerged from around the large canvas. The family resemblance between grandmother and granddaughter was astounding, the woman was a bit shorter due to a distinct hunching of age, but was of the same thin build and long face. She was dressed in the same manner with rolled up sleeves and well used apron, even her hair, though silver and bushier, was twisted into the same make-shift bud at the back of her head and held in place with what appeared to be an old paint brush. She moved with the careful, more tentative steps of age, but there was the vitality of life in her eyes.
The old woman approached the group silently stepping first to Ron. She reached up and softly touched the side of his face with her thin boney hand, gently turning his head a little. He smiled a bit nervously, but remained silent. "Handsome boy," she said, continuing on past him. She held her hands up, framing Hermione's face and squinting at her. "Pretty girl. Much prettier than you think." Hermione blushed with embarrassment. She stepped on to Ginny where she reached forward gently pulling a hand full of Ginny's hair from beyond her shoulder so that it lay forward and caught the sunlight. "My dear," she said genuinely, "your hair is a blaze. You simply must sit for a portrait one day soon." Ginny smiled brightly and nodded. Finally, the woman stepped to Harry and stared quietly into his green eyes. She reached up silently and swept the lock of hair off his forehead revealing his scar. "Mr. Potter," she said kindly, "I have painted those eyes before, and that lovely black hair of yours too. I was wondering when you would come to see me," she stated. She offered her hand, which Harry shook, surprised at the firm grip of the elderly woman. "I am Georgiana Watts, Mr. Potter, and you have met my granddaughter, Ren," She gestured to the younger woman.
"Grandmother," Ren said, "Mr. Potter has come in regard to this rather old receipt." She held forward the slip of parchment for her Grandmother to take.
"Oh, I well know why Mr. Potter is here, Sweetheart," she said utterly ignoring the proffered receipt. "Come with me." She turned, waving them all to follow. She wound them slowly through the clutter of easels and canvases to a wooden door, and producing a ring of keys from beneath her apron carefully slid a key in to the lock which opened with a metallic clank. Numerous oils lamps burst to light with a pop as the door opened and she continued through a store room stuffed with barrels and tubs, rolls of raw canvas, new brushes and shelves of large glass jars filled with a rainbow of raw pigments. "I've kept it safe, as your grandfather requested, Harry," she said as she fiddled again with her keys. Across the room was a heavy oak door with a thick metal lock. She deftly unlocked this door as well and pushing it open with a squeaking of metal hinges, took up one of the oil lamps, and entered a room filled on either side with deep wooden slats filled with wrapped paintings. She proceeded beyond the slatted shelves to the back of the room were numerous crated paintings were leaning against the brick walls. "The one you want, is the furthest back."
Harry pulled his wand from his pocket and raising it toward the pile of crates asked, "May I?"
Georgiana gave him a glace and answered, "Yes, Harry. But carefully."
Harry nodded. He flicked his wand and the closest crate slowly and gently rose up from its place and moved to the side, landing gently against another pile. The next crate did the same, moving off in the opposite direction, as did the next three, until there remained a single large crate that had to be over two meters tall and easily a meter and half wide.
"It is so big," Hermione said questioningly.
"Life size," the old woman responded, "As requested."
"May I open it?" Harry asked.
"Of course, dear," Georgiana said. "But why don't we take it to the studio where the light is good. Can you manage that?"
"Yes, I believe so," Harry said. The crate lifted from the wall and rose up over their heads turning sideways as it approached the doorway. The two doors were a very close fit and Harry had to concentrate to prevent the crate from scrapping either floor or door frame, but he managed to levitate the crate into the studio and to an open area on the far side near the windows.
Ren quickly released the latches which held the front of the large crate in place and with Ron's help lifted the panel away.
Harry stood before the life sized portrait of his parents and fought hard to keep the welling in his eyes from turning to tears.
"It's beautiful," Hermione exclaimed.
"Oh, Harry," Ginny said as she took his arm and leaned into him. "Your mother, she was so lovely."
The painting clearly depicting them in their wedding finery, with James in smart formal dress robes, complete with cummerbund and silken bow tie, and Lily in her flowing white wedding dress.
"They're not moving? Why aren't they moving?" Harry asked his voice rising a little with concern.
"They will not animate until they are released," Ren said, pointing at a thin silver string tied around the painting and the frame. "You only need to cut the string and pull it away."
Harry began to step forward, but Georgiana's voice stopped him. "That is best left until the portrait is in its home. There will be some disorientation at first, like waking up from a very deep sleep."
"How will they be?" Harry asked. "I mean... some of the portraits at Hogwarts," he hesitated, "well honestly, some of them seem a bit off their nut."
"Oh, you needn't worry about that Mr. Potter, your parents should be just as your grandparent's portraits," Georgiana offered. "They were created in the same fashion, with the best method available."
"How is it done?" Hermione asked, unable to suppress her curiosity.
Ren, shot her Grandmother a look at the question, and Georgiana nodded in response. "Most of the charming of portraiture is very carefully protected secrets among those who do the painting. Just as our methods are family secrets. But, it is widely known that there are several methods." Ren said. "All of them involve the incorporation of something of the subject into the process, a few strains of hair, saliva, or even bits of favored clothing. Each method yields a differing result. There are methods which can be done post mortem, using a person’s ashes, or pieces of bone rendered to dust, or even memories of a person from a living relative."
"The best method," Georgiana continued, "Incorporates some of the subject’s blood into the paint itself, which is the method used here. Your grandfather supplied me with some of your parents’ blood to do this painting, he did not say how he obtained it. I am given to understand that the portrait was to be a surprise." Georgiana stepped closer to the painting and gazed on it with an expression of hope and wonder. After a long moment she turned away. "I dare say, it is some of my very best work."
"It is truly marvelous," Ron said, “but how are we going to transport it, we can't very well levitate it through the street. And, I don't think I could Apparate with something so large."
"Miss Watts," Harry said addressing Georgiana, "Ren," he turned to the granddaughter. "There is much about myself that I hold secret, you have held this painting for all these years, so I know my grandfather trusted you. Can I trust you now?"
"Of course," Georgiana insisted, "I promised your Grandfather years ago, and I will promise you now, no one will ever know of anything that has happened, or will happen here today. Ren did not know of the existence of this painting until this very day, and none shall ever hear of it, or your visit here from us. This I vow."
"We'll gladly make an Unbreakable Vow if you wish," Ren offered.
"I do not think that will be necessary," Harry said. "You have already proven yourselves to my satisfaction." Harry reached in to his pocket and squeezed the summoning coin. With a 'pop' Jarphred appeared in the room, next to Harry.
"Master Harry, you summoned?" Jarphred said with a slight bow.
"Yes, Jarvy, could you take this painting to my study, please. And send Dobby to retrieve Ron and Hermione, then either he or you can return for Ginny and me."
"Yes, sir." With a snap, and a 'pop' both Jarphred and the painting were gone, leaving the empty crate were it stood.
Ginny turned to Georgiana and took her hands. "We cannot thank you enough for what you have done for Harry. It means so much more to him than he will say."
Georgiana patted Ginny's hand, "And I cannot tell you what an honor it is to have done anything for Harry Potter," she replied. She smiled deeply at Ginny. "And I was serious about you sitting for me, young lady."
Dobby appeared and stepping between Ron and Hermione took their hands. "See you two in a minute," Ron said, and they were gone with a 'pop'.
"There is one more thing, Harry Potter, something I have come to treasure, but rightly belongs to you," Georgiana said. Sensing something important and private, Ginny turned away to bid goodbye to Ren.
"What is it?" Harry asked, stepping closer.
Georgiana reached around her neck and pulled a string up over her head. Attached to the string necklace was a very small sealed potions vial. Within it something glinted red. "When your grandfather arranged for the portrait, he asked me, if it was possible, to preserve a few drops of Lily's blood. He said that one day, he hoped her son, you, Harry, would come to retrieve the portrait, and on that day, if any of Lily's blood remained, I should deliver it to you. He did not explain himself, he only said that you would know what to do with it."
Harry was beyond surprised. "But, I don't..." he stammered. "I don't know what to do with it."
Georgiana pressed the small vial and string into his palm and wrapped his fingers around it. "Then I trust, Harry, that you will figure it out," she paused, there was a popping sound and Harry realized that Dobby had returned. "I kept it around my neck all these years, because I knew no better way to keep it safe," Georgiana continued, "it became a talisman of good luck for me, and I can feel that there is great power there. I hope that it will bring you great luck as well, Harry Potter."
A bit stunned, Harry pocketed the small vial and moved to join Ginny and Dobby. "Goodbye, and thank you," he said.
Ren waved them off as Dobby Apparated. Reality twisted tightly around them, and they disappeared.
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Chapter Twenty-Four
A Grim Old Place
Chapter 25: Chapter 24 - A Grim Old Place
Author's Notes: A few ideas that need to be shared before you read this chapter. As we return to Grimmauld Place in this story I, ironically I suppose, chose to lift text directly from DH in order to remain true to Rowling's descriptions. This is of course ironic, because at the beginning of writing this story I expressly said that DH, was not to be included as canon for this story, the point of divergence being the end of HBP. I want to fully acknowledge that I used some of Rowling's words here. Some are re-worked and woven in to my story for effect, others are included in whole, as they appeared in DH. This occurs most particularly during the scenes where our group explores the bedrooms of Regulus and Sirius Black. Many of you will no doubt recognize which words are Rowling's and what DH facts are woven in to this story. Case in point; In the scene, I kept the letter from Harry's mother that was present in Sirius' room in DH. However, I split up how it and the accompanying photo was found as I have more than Harry present in the scene. Also, in DH Rowling mentions that Sirius used a Permanent Sticking Charm to keep his parents from taking his posters and such from his walls. This is a fact that I have omitted from my story simply by never mentioning it in any of what I lifted. Consequently, Harry is able to simply remove a photo from Sirius' wall in my story. As an author, I enjoy these nods to the root material and believe that it helps the story feel authentic, even when it is divergent.
Also: As always I wish to thank Arnel, and Seeker'sDestiny, for their wonderful beta work and astonishingly quick turn around!
An FYI: FOr anyone who is curious I have posted my floor plan for Grimmauld Place on the Facebook page for this story. there is also a post of the Potter family tree used for this story, which can be found there. The page is named using the title of this story.
A Grim Old Place
Severus Snape, read the report slowly and deliberately, knowing that the proper delivery would increase Voldemort's irritation with the information coming to him from his operatives in England.
To Snape, the bad news about England was simple. The continued presence of Harry Potter, along with tall tales of the boy and his adventures, had become a part of the culture of Wizarding England. The effect was simply that the idea of Voldemort, was no longer so frightening. While it would take longer for things like the self-imposed prohibition of speaking his name to lose their cultural power. The fear of him was waning and this for a creature dependent on channeling the fear of his inferiors, was decidedly not good news.
Snape continued to read.
The boy has remained in seclusion through out the summer. He has left the safety of the Burrow only a few times. He has been spotted in Diagon Alley on more than one occasion, each time heavily guarded. There have been numerous reports of him being sighted in all parts of the United Kingdom, but most of these claims appear to be baseless. Attempts to draw him out on his birthday were unsuccessful. Security at the Weasley's son's wedding was too thorough for infiltration. All known members of the boy's Muggle family have been eliminated.
"Enough," Voldemort demanded, causing Severus to smile inwardly. "It is time I think, to remind the people of Britain that I will be their Lord and Master soon enough," he paused, pacing back and forth before a huge fireplace. Nagini slithered about his feet, a delicate dance of twisting snake and the Master's precise footfalls. "The boy is of no real concern to me, there will be a time and a place of my choosing, but his presence emboldens the populace. And, the people must be reminded to fear me."
"Of course, My Lord," Snape encouraged with a bow of his head.
"You must find me a statement, Severus," Voldemort's, eyes blazed. "Something that will tell the people that I can reach them even from across the channel, all of them, Muggles and Wizards alike."
"Yes, Lord," Snape replied.
The weekend had been relatively quiet. Harry had spent his time in his study with the portraits of his parents and grandparents. The rest of them had been invited in for introductions, and had been able to come and go from the conversation. But mostly is was just Harry, the Dumbledore card, and more often than anyone else, Ginny, sitting and visiting with the portraits.
Hermione and Ron had ventured out to help Fred and George with the shop while Luna spent most of her time in the Library with the Fairies. They had returned from the treasury with the Book of Merlin and what rightfully had to be called the Book of Potter. Presently the two tomes were wrapped in thick cocoons of fairy silk on a central table in the Library. The Fairies attended them regularly, but did not seem overly concerned with their progress. The cocoons seemed to be very quickly thickening into a sort of chrysalis.
Alex Burgestikoff had returned to the Manor late Sunday evening and announced that she had been offered a job and would be leaving the manor as soon as Mr. and Mrs. Lupin returned from their honeymoon. Hermione had asked a number of questions to try to get her to reveal the nature of the job she had been offered, but Alex was adamant that she was not at liberty to say. Harry felt confident that he knew where she would be going, but he remained silent.
Monday morning they resumed practice sessions with Alex. The hay bale targets had been set up again and they concentrated on target accuracy.
Harry was now consistently hitting the bales regardless of the direction his wand was pointed. The others were having a harder time of it. Ron and Ginny, who both seemed to place faith in Harry's example were doing much better, but showed a distinct tendency to want to aim. And, poor Hermione, just couldn't seem to believe that spells could be so directed by intent that aim was almost immaterial. She was stuck in all that she had learned from books about specific wand movements and verbal intonations. Despite the evidence in front of her she clung to what she felt she already knew. Harry, and the others could see that it was taking a toll on her, she had gone from the best of them at spell casting, to apparently, the least accomplished. To Harry's pleasure, Alex had taken it as a challenge and was adjusting her approach with Hermione, and giving her more attention. The biggest surprise had been Luna. Alex had explained the principle of intent to her once and realization shown in her bright eyes. From that moment on she had not uttered a word, nor missed a target. Though her effects were less powerful than the others, she seemed to have mastered the idea completely.
"Okay," Alex said, "wands down." They all lowered their wands immediately. Alex stepped out toward the targets a few paces and conjured a series of figure eight shaped tracks. Each of the bales suddenly grew wheeled carts beneath them and began to lumber slowly along the tracks turning on swivel bases so they always faced front. "Now ve vill apply vhat you have learned to moving targets." She stepped back to the established ready line. "Wands up," she paused as they all raised their wands and prepared their stance. "And, cast!"
Luna was first to fire and her bale blew apart completely. Harry was behind her by a split second and his bale too, cart and a bit of track included, exploded spectacularly. Ron and Ginny were a moment behind him each hitting their targets, but only partially. Hermione's spell, cast last, flew past her target entirely, sailed the length of the extensive lawn and impacted a tree at the edge of the woods beyond. Bits of bark flew in all directions and a bare spot showed on the tree's trunk.
"Wands down," Alex commanded. Dobby trotted out from the hedgerow and restored the targets. "Vhen you face an opponent they vill not stand still for you to hit them. Nor vill you stand still for them to hit you, you must be able to master your concentration," she said. She reached into her robe pocket and pulled out five battered looking wands. With a flick of her free wrist the wands flew from her hand and embedded themselves in the centers of the targets. "Now your targets vill fire back. Each vand vill repeatedly fire a mild stinging curse limited to its own practice lane. I say mild, but if it hits you, you vill feel it," she smiled mischievously. "Each time your target is hit and restored, it will move along its track vith greater speed, and also fire more quickly." The look on Hermione's face was complete trepidation. Ron too looked worried, though Harry could not decide if it was for himself or for Hermione as he tried to reassure her with a smile. Ginny grinned at Harry, looking altogether thrilled with the challenge. And Luna, well, she too smiled at Harry from her place at the end of the row opposite him, and while her stance appeared as casual as ever, her smile seemed to imply a challenge of its own to her cousin.
Alex smiled, taking in the silent communications going on between them. "One last thing before ve begin the exercise," she said. She flicked her wand again and white chalk lines defined a box around each of them on the ground, allowing them only a few square meters of space. "If you step from your defined space, the exercise vill stop, for you," she paused again. "Now... Ready... Begin!" She waved her wand, as though she were waving a starting flag.
Harry turned quickly to see a stream of yellow light headed right toward him. Instinctively, he raised a shield and the stinging spell dissipated against it harmlessly. Stepping to the side of the resultant glare he cast a Blasting Spell and his bale blew apart. He noted that Luna's bale too had blown apart.
In the pause afforded him before his target was restored, he glanced down the row. Ginny had ducked and rolled as the stinger passed over her and dissipated at the back edge of her bounding box. She cast a Blasting Spell as she was getting back to her feet and the upper corner of her bale blew off, though it was not enough and a second stinger came toward her.
Ron cast a Blasting Spell, but it went wild of the target and the stinger hit his shoulder. He swore loudly, but sent off a second blaster and this time caught the target clean center.
Hermione seemed panicked for a moment and failed to raise any defense as the stinger hit her wand hand and crying in surprise she dropped it. In alarm she bent to the ground to retrieve it and a second stinger caught her in the backside. Harry felt for her, but as his target was now restored he was forced to turn his attention back to the exercise.
As his target seemed to him to still be quite slow he deflected the stinger again with a shield and blasted the bale once more. This time, before he could turn to assess his friends his target was restored and moving more quickly. Planting his stance, he repeated his sequence of shield and blast, and again defeated the target. He noted only that Ginny's target too was blasted away before having to repeat the sequence once more. He could no longer afford to split his concentration as he defiantly remained in place repeatedly blocking and blasting his target, each time watching it restore and move more quickly along its track. Calm washed over him as he concentrated, repeatedly blasting his target into nothingness only to have it restored a moment later and attack him again.
In contrast to Harry's calm planted stance, at the other end of the row, Luna seemed engaged in a free flowing, expressive dance, wasting no time with defensive shields, instead avoiding each stinger with a leap or a twist and repeatedly blasting away her target.
Ron had taken a few more stingers defiantly and with sheer determination was now blasting more powerfully in his building anger. While this worked for him at first, as his target gained speed he was missing more often and began to use his own shield to keep from being stung.
Ginny was fairing well with her almost gymnastic approach, dodging and firing, but five minutes into the exercise she was losing her breath and making mistakes. The first stinger to catch her got her in the ankle as she attempted to roll out of its way and she yelped in surprise at what felt a bit like a bee sting. She sent a blaster, only partially hitting her target, and as she rolled onto her feet her stung ankle was numb and she fell off balance twisting it painfully. As she yelped again, this time in actual distress, Alex moved to intervene, but before she could end Ginny's exercise another stinger headed her way.
Hermione had lasted less than a minute in the exercise, getting off one errant spell and taking a third stinger before jumping out of her bounding box. She rationalized that watching the others would be, for her, more instructive than continuing. Alex said nothing, only nodded to her, which Hermione took as agreement with her own personal assessment.
As Ginny cradled her ankle with distress she was aware of two things; that Alex was moving behind her, and that a bolt of yellow light was headed directly at her face. She wanted to shut her eyes, anticipating the painful stinger, but they only widened with fear. Then the stinger dissipated harmlessly against a powerful shield. As Alex grabbed her beneath the arms and pulled her from the bounding box she realized that the shield had been Harry's. She caught his eyes and winced for him as he took a stinger in the thigh for his effort, but he did not lose his concentration, and casting a powerful blaster obliterated his bale, cart and a major portion of track, affording him a moment’s recovery before the whole was restored and the practice continued at a furious pace.
Hermione conjured a chair for Ginny and Alex quickly removed her shoe and sock, assessed her ankle and healed it on the spot.
Ron lasted eight minutes into the exercise before he jumped out of his bounding box, swearing loudly and rubbing at the stings he was riddled with. Thankfully, the pain of the stings dissipated almost immediately upon ending the exercise. He smiled as he saw Hermione and his sister already finished and watching the others. On some level he had known when they were done, but his focus was too intense to really acknowledge it. He joined Hermione and took her hand in his, watching Harry and Luna as they continued on.
At nearly twelve minutes into the exercise Luna was sweating from exertion and breathing heavily, but still avoiding the stingers and hitting her target.
For his part, Harry still had not moved except for his wand arm which waved back and forth renewing his shield and casting blasting curses, he had found a distinct rhythm. Cast, cast, breath, as the target was renewed. The pace had become frantic, but clearly he had found the pattern and was not thinking, just doing.
At fourteen minutes in, Luna took her first stinger and correspondingly missed the target for the first time. Consequently, there was no pause for target renewal and without the fraction of a second rest she took a second stinger. Exhausted, she jumped from her bounding box and bent immediately over, hands on her knees, to catch her breath.
At fifteen minutes, Alex raised her wand and ended the exercise. Harry was in such deep concentration that the sudden stop startled him more than taking a stinger had.
As Harry turned from his bounding box to join the others, Alex spoke; she was making eye contact with Hermione as she began. "I have seen grown men step back from this exercise almost immediately, so I vant you all to know that I am pleased vith all of your performances," she paused turning her attention away from any of them in particular. "You vill no doubt be comparing performances all afternoon. So, rather than comment further now, I will find each of you later throughout the day and ve will take a moment for a personal, one-on-one assessment. Tomorrow ve vill take a few minutes to discuss our performances openly as a class, and then move on to reviewing more spells and work on silent casting. Until then, I thank you all for your hard work and attention. Class is dismissed." She smiled at them as they each nodded a clearly silent "thank you," and began moving slowly toward the Manor talking animatedly about the lesson.
"Are you kidding, Harry? You were brilliant! Alex had to end the lesson and you were still going," Ron said, clapping his best mate on the back as they entered the sitting room. "Now, I hope the elves have laid out lunch already, I am dead starving!" Ron exclaimed.
While they ate lunch, they discussed the plans for the day. At one o'clock Mr. Prcht was scheduled to arrive at the Burrow for a meeting with Harry. Alastor Moody had been invited for this meeting as well. Harry was unsure how long this meeting would be, but suggested about an hour would be enough. Afterward the plan was to go to Grimmauld place.
According to Moody, the Order had changed headquarters not long after Harry's last visit, so Grimmauld place now stood vacant. Moody had said that choosing a new headquarters was both a strategic move, and one necessitated by anticipation that the Fidelius Charm would not last long after Dumbledore's death. That was before it had been revealed that Dumbledore's continued existence in the form of a Chocolate Frog Card had prevented the charm from collapsing. Harry revealed that he had directed the elves to go to Grimmauld place more than a week ago, before the weddings, and begin cleaning it thoroughly in preparation for their visit. Among his plans was to summon Kreacher while they were there and introduce him to the other elves.
Mr. Prcht arrived at the Burrow promptly at one o'clock where Harry and Alastor Moody met him and his associate, Heinrick. Harry introduced them to Mrs. Weasley and then quickly ushered them through the Burrow kitchen and on into the Manor. There they proceeded quickly to Harry's study were they could meet privately. They discussed at length Harry's proposal to fund the Ministry's efforts to build a proper army, including providing land for an army base on the outskirts of Hogsmeade village. Mr. Prcht listened politely to what Harry had to say and did not try to dissuade Harry from his course of action. However, he proposed the alternative of offering the Ministry the needed funds in the form of a no interest loan and the land as a free lease until such time that the present threat was no longer an issue. He further offered to request a meeting with the Minister himself to broach the subject and negotiate terms, thereby keeping Harry's involvement semi-private and away from the press. Moody quickly supported Mr. Prcht's alternative and Harry agreed. Thereafter, Harry politely asked Moody to leave the room so that he could discuss a few more personal matters with his legal counsel.
Once their discussions were done Harry asked Mr. Prcht and Heinrick if they would care to stay for tea. In typical fashion they politely declined, so Harry walked them back through to the Burrow and bid them thanks, and good day.
Harry found his friends gathered in the sitting room waiting for him. Ginny and Luna were playing a game of Exploding Snap. Hermione was deep into a book, and in typical fashion Ron was preparing himself a sandwich from the leftover lunch trays.
Ginny looked up as he entered. "All finished with your business?" She asked.
"Yes," Harry responded.
"So is the Ministry gonna get its army after all?" Ron asked, before taking a large bite of his sandwich.
"I believe so," Harry replied directly.
"Harry, I do wish there was an alternative to just giving away such a large portion of your inheritance," Hermione stated.
"As it turns out, there is," Harry said. "Mr. Prcht suggested that he approach the Minister with a proposal to loan the Ministry enough money to meet the army's needs, under favorable terms."
Hermione began to say something more, when Luna's discard suddenly exploded. Ginny promptly laid down her hand and declared, "Snap!"
When the chuckles subsided, Harry asked, "Are we ready to head to Grimmauld place?"
"Ready when you are," Ron declared.
"I think we should go, then," Harry said as he turned to leave the room. They all followed.
Harry led them down the hallway toward the linen closet where the Portis Omnibus led to the Burrow.
"What about Alex? Should we tell her where we are off to?" Hermione asked.
"No need," Harry answered. "She left with Moody, said she would not be home until late this evening. Something about shopping for supplies. For her new job I suspect."
"What is her new job, anyway?" Luna asked.
"We don't know," Ginny responded, "She hasn't said."
"With her experience as a dragon tamer, it's probably something exciting and dangerous," Ron speculated as he took Hermione's hand in his.
"Are we going to take the Floo from the Burrow?" Hermione asked as they paused at the closet door.
"Actually, for security reasons I asked Tonks to have the Floo disconnected when the Order moved out," Harry said. This caused several questioning looks. "But, as the elves have been there cleaning I had Jarphred pick an appropriate doorway and set up a Portis charm connection."
"Good thinking, mate," Ron said.
Harry pulled the Any-Door-Knob from his pocket and placed it in the cupboard door. He then did a number of quick back and forth turns and declared, "Number Twelve Grimmauld place."
The beautiful blue lattice filled the frame as he pushed the door open. Then, he simply stepped through. They emerged from a corresponding doorway on the second floor of Grimmauld Place.
As they stood in the dreary second floor landing they heard soft footfalls fast approaching. Winky appeared at the top of the stairs. "Good afternoon, Master Harry, Mistress Ginny," she said with a slight bow as she stepped toward them.
Harry knelt down to the elf's level, "Good afternoon, Winky. And how is the work coming along?"
"Very filthy this house is, Master," Winky replied, "but, we has finished the basement and first two floors as master requested. Winky hopes Master Harry will be pleased." She smiled a bit shyly.
"I am certain everything will be more than satisfactory," Harry replied with a smile. Which caused the little elf to blush slightly. "Please show us, Winky."
Winky led them down the stairs, and at the mid-landing the transformation of the house became immediately obvious, though the second floor on which they arrived was still dull and dreary with dark painted woodwork and indistinct tattered wall paper. The first floor had been stripped clean, there were no heavy curtains remaining and all the thread bare and dirty carpeting had been pulled up and removed. The painted woodwork had been stripped and newly finished with a Burma teak stain to bring out the beautiful grain of the English oak finishing. The wood floors too had been refinished in a slightly darker tone than the moldings and wainscoting. With the wallpaper gone and the plaster walls patched, scrubbed and primed white, it looked like a completely different house. Light streamed in through the cleaned windows in the stairwell and at the front and back of the house giving a completely different impression. On the whole the spaces felt happier somehow. The dank smell of the place was also completely gone from the lower floors, replaced by the newness of fresh floor wax and primer.
As they passed the first floor, Winky explained. "As master asked all the furnishings have been disassembled, scrubbed clean, and moved to the front parlor to await inspection. While all the china, utensils, bric-a-brac and decorative items, from the floors so far, have been cleaned and sorted in the dining room."
As they stepped onto the ground floor the clean bright entry way looked brand new, except for the area immediately around the curtained portrait of Walburga Black.
"Wow," Ron exclaimed loudly "This place looks..."
Before he could finish his statement the moth-eaten velvet curtains flew open and the portrait of Walburga Black screamed a blood curdling shriek that filled the bright space with a sudden chill. "Defilers, filth, what dirty little creatures dare transform the beautiful house of my fathers. Be gone you nasty little gremlins and degrade my house no further!" She screamed again and continued her tirade, spilling her bile at a deafening volume.
Both Jarvy and Dobby came running through the kitchen door at the sound of the woman's voice. They stopped before Harry, bowing hastily. "Master, we are very sorry, we have tried everything, but the vile portrait cannot be silenced," Jarvy said apologetically.
"It has taken our most powerful magic just to close the curtains every time this happens!" Dobby added. Both elves looked wearied as they glanced sidelong at the portrait.
Harry knelt down to address them as he spoke loud enough to be heard over the screams and cackles. "This is nothing to do with any of you," he said, "I am very proud of your efforts here. I expected to have to deal with this."
With that, he stood and strode over before the portrait, which immediately assaulted him with a string of vile invectives. He stood for a moment watching the mad woman brandishing her nails as though she might reach from the canvas and tear at him. Then suddenly he took a great breath and at a volume none of them had ever heard from him he yelled at the portrait, "Be silent you nasty old crone! I am the rightful inheritor of all that once belonged to the Family Black, I am the sole master of this house and I will have silence!" The mad woman stopped short, aghast, but apparently hearing what Harry was saying. "If you will not be silent I swear I will visit you with a bucket of turpentine, and we will see who has the last word then!" The portrait began to whimper and cry frightfully as Harry reached out and roughly yanked the nasty curtains closed.
"Harry, that was brilliant," Ron said.
Harry glanced at the curtains for a moment, but they did not move.
"Yeah, well, I am serious about the turpentine," Harry replied loudly.
The curtains remained still.
"Sorry about that unpleasantness. Shall we get on with our business?"
He moved purposefully down the hallway toward the kitchen stairway. The others following quietly.
The kitchen was gleaming, looking as new as the other spaces, the cupboards were all refinished and empty, the stone floor was polished brightly. The fireplace, which was once dingy and blackened, had been cleaned and polished to reveal a green glazed tile finish and the antiquated appliances had all been removed, leaving space for new to be installed in the future. Thankfully, the large table and chairs were still present, looking completely restored and refinished. All of the dishes, cookware and kitchen utensils were cleaned and sorted at the far end of the table. Harry sat heavily in the nearest chair and the others sat as well.
Despite the scrubbed space and the lack of appliances, Jarvy snapped his fingers causing a tea service and tray of cakes to appear on the table before them. Hermione began pouring tea for each of them.
Harry removed the pewter base from his back pants pocket and set it on the table. Then he pulled the card from his shirt pocket and set it in place.
"Greetings to you all," Dumbledore exclaimed. They all returned greetings. "Ah, I see, as we discussed, the elves have done a wonderful job on the house. This hardly looks like the same kitchen."
"Yes, they are turning it into a house someone could actually live in," Harry said, as he accepted a cup from Hermione.
"I see you have tea laid out, please don't let me interrupt," Dumbledore said as he leaned back on his office desk and reached in to the jar of lemon sherbets.
They enjoyed their tea quietly for a few minutes.
"So, this was your Godfather's house, Harry?" Luna asked casually, breaking the repast.
Harry nodded a response as he sipped his tea.
"Who is the horrible woman in the portrait?" Luna questioned.
Hermione responded as Harry's cup was still raised. "That was Walburga Black. She was Sirius' mother. The portrait is stuck to the wall with a Permanent Sticking Charm. So far no one has been able to break it."
"Oh," Luna responded, "Did she do that herself before she passed?"
"We think so," Ginny said, "but, I guess we don't know for certain."
"That is correct," Dumbledore interjected. "We do not know for certain, even when the portrait was first hung. It is possible it could have been before her husband, Orion, passed. But, we simply do not know."
"If she did, and she has now passed," Luna said, "then the charm is most likely anchored to something in the house, a rune stone, or something else that is still here, if we can find the anchor, it shouldn't be that hard to remove the portrait." she said. "You do want the portrait removed, don't you, Harry?"
"Are you kidding?" Ron blurted. "Of course Harry wants it removed."
"Yes, I do, Luna," Harry answered. "But that is not our purpose for coming here today."
"Luna, a commendable observation," Dumbledore said. "And, quite correct. If the charm is anchored, finding the anchor is the solution," he paused. "I thought that myself, but never felt I had the time to do a proper search."
There was silence for a minute as they all drank their tea and enjoyed the cakes.
"Did all of the house look like the floor we arrived on?" Luna broke the silence.
"Yes, it did, Luna," Ginny answered, "When we first came here a couple summers ago, we did a lot of cleaning, but it was all completely dreadful."
"Well," Luna said dreamily, "It feels like a good house. If it will all be re-made to look as the elves have done here and on the ground floor, it will be quite lovely." Luna looked about the kitchen wistfully. "What are you going to do with it, Harry?"
"Actually," Harry began, "I was thinking that I would give it to Lupin and Tonks as a wedding gift. Tonks is Sirius' cousin, and Lupin was one of his best friends, so it seems fitting to me that they should have it. I actually spoke to Mr. Prcht about it this morning. He is going to make the arrangements."
"Oh, Harry, that is a wonderful idea," Hermione said. The others nodded in agreement.
"But, none of that is why we are here today." Harry set down his empty cup. "So, what say we get on with our purpose?"
"Quite so," Ron said as he put down his own cup and snatched the last remaining cake.
They left the kitchen, returning to the ground floor, where the ratty velvet curtains remained still and closed over the portrait of Walburga Black. By habit they maintained near silence as they moved in to the dining room where the elves had assembled the various items they had come across during their cleaning. Unfortunately, the place had been previously scoured by Mundungus Fletcher, with a quite different intent than restoration. It took them only a few short minutes to realize that nothing remained of any particular value, and no magical items, cursed or otherwise, seemed to remain at all. Harry directed the elves to dispose of anything that did not bear a Black family crest, or wasn't made of some valuable material.
The parlor was another matter as Harry had no idea what to do with the cleaned and disassembled furniture, or any of the tapestries, rugs, or paintings. After a cursory look they moved up to the second floor and began examining the bedrooms there. With the help of the elves, they removed all the curtains and rugs; which Harry decided could be Banished directly to the rubbish heap in the back garden, doxies and all, and disassembled the beds in all three bedrooms in an effort to make a thorough search of the rooms. They did the same on the third floor as well. This process moved along quickly as these floors had been used extensively by members of the Order and they didn't really expect to find anything on these floors that had not previously been discovered.
The fourth floor landing was the smallest as there were only two bedrooms. The floors of the house each had progressively lower ceilings so this uppermost landing, though its ceiling was easily better than eight feet, felt positively claustrophobic as compared to the lower levels. There were only two doors, owing to the fact that the wash room door had been removed at some point. Harry vaguely remembered something about a ghoul having once lived there. He supposed that was why the door was missing. In any case, the plumbing to this floor was no longer working, and no repair work had yet been done so it made little difference that the wash room lacked a door.
There was, in fact, a fourth doorway on the fourth floor landing. It was the doorway that led to the attic, but it was cleverly constructed of the same bead-board that covered the landing walls and so was not easy to see until one knew it was there.
The door, which led toward the back of the house, had a hand scrawled paper sign posted. The sign read, "Do Not Enter Without the Express Permission of Regulus Arcturus Black."
It was, Harry thought, a bit irrational to hope that the locket would be in Regulus' bedroom, especially since they had seen it two years previous in the drawing room. But, it was still, in Harry's mind, important to search the room.
Harry pushed open the door and entered so that the rest could follow. The room was completely decked out in the Slytherin colors of emerald and silver; the draping over the bed, the walls, and the windows. The Black family crest was painstakingly painted over the bed, along with its motto, Toujours Pur. Beneath this was a collection of yellow newspaper cuttings, all stuck together to make a ragged collage. Hermione crossed the room to examine them. As they had done in rooms previous, the elves, cautiously, began to pull down all the fabrics and Banish them to the rubbish heap. Hermione began to take down all of the clippings for examination later. Ron Banished the mattress and linens so that he could begin to disassemble the bed itself. Ginny and Luna cautiously approached a large wardrobe to search its contents while Harry moved toward a small writing desk and dresser in order to do the same. Harry found an old photo of a Slytherin House Quidditch team. A dark haired boy sat prominently in the front row that had to be Regulus. He was slighter than Sirius, but bore an obvious resemblance. Harry handed the framed photo to Hermione who was of course in charge of collecting any found documentation for careful review.
After about twenty minutes of combing through the minutia of Regulus' scraps and books they declared the room searched and decided to move across the hall.
Sirius' room was toward the front of the house. The room was spacious and must once have been handsome. There was a large bed with a carved wooden headboard, velvet curtains, a small writing desk, and a large wooden wardrobe.
The teenage Sirius had plastered the walls with so many posters and pictures that little of the walls’ silvery-gray silk was visible. Sirius seemed to have gone out of his way to annoy his parents. There were several large Gryffindor banners, faded scarlet and gold, just to underline his difference from all the rest of the Slytherin family. There were many pictures of Muggle motorcycles, and also several posters of bikini-clad Muggle girls. This was in contrast to the only Wizarding photograph on the walls, which was a picture of four Hogwarts students standing arm in arm, laughing at the camera.
Harry was immediately drawn to the photo as the others began their search according to their chosen roles.
With a leap of pleasure, Harry recognized his father; his untidy black hair stuck up at the back like Harry’s, and he too wore glasses. Beside him was Sirius, carelessly handsome, his slightly arrogant face so much younger and happier than Harry had ever seen it alive. To Sirius’s right stood Pettigrew, more than a head shorter, plump and watery-eyed, flushed with pleasure at his inclusion in this coolest of gangs, with the much-admired rebels that James and Sirius had been. On James’s left was Lupin, even then a little shabby-looking, but he had the same air of delighted surprise at finding himself liked and included … or was it simply because Harry knew how it had been, that he saw these things in the picture?
Harry carefully removed the framed picture from the wall and handed it to Hermione for sorting and safe keeping. She was already examining and collecting papers from all over the room. Sirius’s bedroom appeared to have been searched, like all the other rooms of the house. Books had been shaken roughly enough to part company with their covers, and sundry pages littered the floor.
Dobby interrupted Harry, to ask what should be done with all the posters on the walls. Harry took a last look around the room, which captured the youthful rebellion of his god-father, but saw no reason the keep these things, so directed Dobby to send it all the rubbish heap.
"Harry," Ginny appeared excitedly at his side. "I have found something that might interest you," she said as she handed him a snap-shot sized photo. "I picked this up by the wardrobe," she finished.
In the photo, a black-haired baby was zooming in and out of the image on a tiny broom, roaring with laughter. A pair of legs appeared momentarily chasing after the child. Harry looked back at Ginny and shrugged.
"That's a picture of you, Harry," Ginny said with a grin. "Who else could it be, with that mess of black hair, and that cute laugh?"
Harry examined the photo more closely and arrived at the same conclusion.
"Is it a picture of a child on a broomstick?" Hermione asked.
"Yes, it is," Ginny responded. "How did you know?"
"Because I've found a page from a letter that I think went with it," Hermione said, crossing the room to hand the page to Harry. "I think it is written by your mother."
Harry took the page and immediately began to read it.
Dear Padfoot,
Thank you, thank you, for Harry’s birthday present! It was his favorite by far. One year old and already zooming along on a toy broomstick, he looked so pleased with himself, I’m enclosing a picture so you can see. You know it only rises about two feet off the ground, but he nearly killed the cat and he smashed a horrible vase Petunia sent me for Christmas (no complaints there). Of course, James thought it was so funny, says he’s going to be a great Quidditch player, but we’ve had to pack away all the ornaments and make sure we don’t take our eyes off him when he gets going.
We had a very quiet birthday tea, just us and old Bathilda, who has always been sweet to us and who dotes on Harry. We were so sorry you couldn’t come, but the Order’s got to come first, and Harry’s not old enough to know it’s his birthday anyway! James is getting a bit frustrated shut up here, he tries not to show it but I can tell – also, Dumbledore’s still got his Invisibility Cloak, so no chance of little excursions. If you could visit, it would cheer him up so much. Wormy was here last weekend, I thought he seemed down, but that was probably the news about the McKinnons; I cried all evening when I heard.
Bathilda drops in most days, she’s a fascinating old thing with the most amazing stories about Dumbledore, I’m not sure he’d be pleased if he knew! I don’t know how much to believe, actually, because it seems incredible that Dumbledore …
Harry stood quite still, holding the miraculous paper in a hand that no longer seemed to be responding to the rest of him. Inside him a kind of quiet eruption sent joy and grief thundering in equal measure through his veins.
"May I?" Ginny asked as she plucked the letter from his fingers and read it herself. "She has made her 'g's the same way you do, Harry." Ginny commented idly.
Harry's mind was elsewhere. The letter was an incredible treasure, proof that Lily Potter had lived, really lived, that her warm hand had once moved across this parchment, tracing ink into these letters, these words, words about him, Harry, her son. Still, this find, while wonderful, had little to do with the task at hand. Harry shook his head clear.
"I would like to keep this, obviously, but for now let's sort it with any other papers. And, we'll keep an eye out for the rest of it," Harry said.
Ginny shot Harry, a concerned glance, but handed the letter and photo to Hermione.
After a half hour search of the room there was nothing of magical interest to be found. Nor, sadly, was there any evidence of the remainder of the letter by Harry's mother. A few more photographs had been found that were of personal interest, but Harry felt there would be time to deal with such emotional content at a later date.
They moved on from Sirius' bedroom to do a short search of the attic. There they found mostly trunks of Black family memorabilia, old photographs, clothes and the like, but nothing of any obvious significance. After consulting his watch, Harry directed it all be kept for sorting later, and suggested they wrap up the search and adjourn for diner.
They decided to remain at Grimmauld Place, while the elves popped back and forth to serve dinner in the refurbished kitchen.
The group enjoyed a scrumptious meal together, but there was a damper on the mood. The afternoon had been so far, largely, unproductive with regard to the reason for their being there. Ginny could feel the weight of their efforts hanging off of Harry, and hoped that after dinner things would go better.
Once the dishes were cleared, they enjoyed pudding and the conversation picked up a little, but clearly there was still an agenda to be pursued.
Finally having had enough, Ginny asked Winky to clear the table and said, "Alright, enough of this casual banter, it is nice, but we still have a job to do here, and I for one am ready to get on with it."
They all turned to Harry and waited for him to say something.
"Well, it has come to this, then," Harry said. "I had hoped we would find something, a clue, or better, the locket, while scouring the house. But, as our search has yielded nothing, it is time I suppose, to move on to the next order of business."
"Which is?" Luna asked in here usual half-distracted tone.
Harry stood up from his chair, summoning the elves as he did.
"Our next order of business is to call Kreacher, and bring him into the fold, so to speak." Harry said. He explained to the elves, "I inherited Kreacher with this house. He served the Black family for many years, and was alone in this house for a long time," Harry gestured to the floor above, "with only that horrid portrait as company. Throughout his life he has been subject to a tremendous amount of abuse." Harry paused. "I sent him to work at Hogwarts just about a year ago, and have only summoned him once in all that time."
"Harry," Dumbledore interrupted. "On that occasion, you stated quite adamantly that you would never trust him. Has your position changed?"
Harry turned to the card, set out on the table. "I think so, Professor. Not that I have thought about it a lot," He moved to the boiler cupboard, where Kreacher had once created a sort of nest beneath the boiler. He opened the door and peered in to the dark space. It had been completely cleaned out and scrubbed by the other elves. "I spent years in a cupboard myself, so, as I think about it, I believe I have come to understand him a bit better." Harry shut the door and returned to the table. "Years of isolation, bad company, abuse, and who knows what else have driven him a bit mad, cementing unreasonable opinions. It will take patience and kindness to help him, and I see now that help is what he needs." Hermione beamed at Harry as he talked. "Still, he knows things. Things that could be very helpful to us. So, we must speak with him. I can order him to tell me what he knows, but I think that asking him would be the better approach."
"Quite so, Harry," Dumbledore agreed. "And, let me say that I am very proud of you for coming to this realization."
Harry acknowledged the complement with a nod. "I will summon him, but, I cannot say how he will react to the changes that have already been made to this house. Let me reiterate that we must all try to be kind."
Harry stood silently until everyone around the table, and the elves, had agreed with a nod.
"Kreacher," Harry called authoritatively.
With a quiet "pop" the decrepit little elf appeared. "The master calls and Kreacher must obey," came the deep raspy, and quite weary voice of the elderly elf.
Harry knelt down to Kreacher's level. The elf was looking down at the polished floor and did not appear to want to look up at Harry, but he looked better and cleaner than Harry had ever seen him. "It appears that your time at Hogwarts has done you some good, Kreacher." Harry stated.
"Kreacher serves the school of his master, as the master ordered," he intoned.
"I am pleased, Kreacher, that you have obeyed so faithfully," Harry said kindly. "You have honored the House of Potter."
Kreacher raised his head for the first time and met Harry's gaze with watery yellowed eyes. He sneered angrily, but did not speak.
"Kreacher," Harry said. "You may say anything you wish. I will not be angry with you."
Kreacher balled his fists at his sides apparently wanting to physically lash out, but unable to. "The master wants to know what Kreacher thinks?" he uttered with surprise and a hint of disdain.
"Perhaps, Master, we could be of help?" Jarphred gently interrupted. Kreacher turned in alarm at the presence of the other elves behind him. He had apparently not yet taken in his surroundings, and suddenly he did so with urgency.
"It is clear that Kreacher," Jarphred, nodded at Kreacher, acknowledging his presence, "has no real knowledge of his new master, or the House to which he is now bound. Such transitions can be difficult for elves, so long in service to a single family. If we might be allowed to impart our own experiences to him, that will help him to understand the opportunity now before him."
"This is possible?" Harry asked.
"Yes, Master, elves bound to the same service share a kinship. We may easily share with Kreacher our impressions and experiences. It will happen naturally over time, but we can also offer these impressions freely."
"Kreacher," Harry said. "I will not order you to do this. But if you will allow it, I believe your fellows are offering you a gift," he spoke kindly.
Kreacher eyed the other elves dubiously, then turned his head to look at Harry with what could only be called curiosity. "These are also in your service?" he asked. Harry nodded confirmation. Kreacher turned back to Jarphred, moving slowly closer, appraising the elf carefully. "Kreacher, has not met an elf older than himself in many years. You have served our master's house for your entire life?" Kreacher asked with a hint of disbelief.
"Yes, Kreacher, and my family before me for six generations. I can offer you an understanding of your new home that extends beyond what any other knows."
"It speaks the truth," Kreacher said turning back to Harry. "There can be no deception in what it proposes. Master is willing to include Kreacher in this way?"
"His name is Jarphred, Kreacher, and he is deserving of your respect. In fact, respect is one demand I will make of both my servants, and myself. Yes, I am willing to include you, Kreacher. The question is, are you willing to be included?"
Kreacher turned back to the other elves and nodded slightly. Dobby and Winky stepped closer forming a tight circle between them each reaching their hand to the next's shoulder, Kreacher included. They closed their eyes, their heads bowed almost reverently. A soft glow began to rise from each of them, brightening with each passing moment. Jarphred, Dobby and Winky shone with the golden hue that Harry had seen when he took them in to his service, but Kreacher's glow was a duller muddy green.
They all watched in amazement at the display before them. Ginny moved closer and took Harry's hand.
"Excellent," the Dumbledore card said with unveiled excitement. "Harry, my boy, I believe this is the absolute best course of action, given this situation."
"I agree professor," Harry said in an awed whisper.
They watched in silence as the elves' golden glow slowly encompassed Kreacher mixing and lightening his lesser hues. After a couple of minutes the glow receded, and the elves dropped their hands to their sides.
Kreacher seemed to stand a bit straighter as he turned back to Harry; he was wide eyed, as though seeing Harry for the first time, his hands clasped humbly before him. "Master, must forgive Kreacher. He simply did not understand," the little elf said almost pleadingly.
Harry released Ginny's hand and knelt back down to Kreacher's level, placing his hand gently on Kreacher's shoulder. "There is nothing to forgive, Kreacher," he said simply. Kreacher's eyes grew even wider. Harry stood back up and grasped Ginny's hand once more.
The other elves were grinning adoringly at Harry. Kreacher took a tentative step forward. "Please, Master Harry," he paused as though surprised by his own utterance of the common familiarity used by the other elves. "How may Kreacher be of service?"
Harry glanced to the Dumbledore card.
"Go ahead, Harry," Dumbledore said.
Harry reached in to his jeans pocket and pulled out the plain golden locket they had retrieved at great cost from the cave by the sea. He let it dangle by the chain in front of Kreacher.
The little elf took a step back and cowered before the shiny object in Harry's hand.
"Master, that is not possible!" Kreacher exclaimed with despair and began to weep. The other elves moved to comfort Kreacher.
"You know this locket, Kreacher?" Harry asked still keeping his tone measured and gentle.
Kreacher breathed a "Yes, Master" through his sniffles and fear.
"Kreacher, you need not fear it, or the fact that I now hold it in my possession. If I am correct, then it comes to me, rightfully, by inheritance. Within it is a note written by R.A.B. who I believe was Regulus Arcturus Black. But, you already know these facts I see," Harry stated.
Kreacher stood a little straighter. "Yes, Master," he said.
"Please, Kreacher, I need for you to tell me everything you know about this locket," Harry said.
With only a hint of hesitation Kreacher began to tell his tale. He spoke first of Regulus Black, whom he had obviously adored; of his admiration for the one who called himself the 'Dark Lord' and who was recruiting followers for his own evil purposes. He confirmed that Regulus had joined the Death Eaters and for a time believed fully in the goals set before them. Eventually, though, Regulus had suspected a much Darker purpose, and to his own detriment begun to put together pieces of a considerably murkier goal. In fear, Regulus had begun to look for a way out.
Then came a night when the Dark Lord had come to him to ask a favor. Voldemort needed an elf and he asked Regulus for Kreacher. Without a choice, Regulus did as his lord demanded and told Kreacher to go with Voldemort and do what he bid without hesitation. However, unknown to Voldemort, Regulus had ordered Kreacher to return to him once his task with the Dark Lord was done.
Under these instructions, Kreacher had journeyed with Voldemort to the cave by the sea to test the defenses the Dark Lord had contrived for the purpose of protecting a magical object. There they crossed the dark lake in the tiny boat and once on the barren rock island, Kreacher was ordered to drink the potion from a stone basin. As he drank his mind was filled with the most horrible thoughts, and he became weak. He felt a tremendous thirst and was certain he was dying. Voldemort laughed at him as he crawled slowly to the water’s edge, as though reaching the water might quench the vile inferno of horrors consuming him. The Dark Lord placed something in the basin and waited only long enough for it to refill with potion before stepping back in to the boat and departing. All the while he laughed, and laughed.
As Voldemort disappeared in to the gloom Kreacher reached the water’s edge and drank deeply of the foul water before suddenly being pull beneath the surface by horrid pale creatures. His breath failed him and the grip of the creatures was so cold. There was nothing but death remaining, and Kreacher knew he would die, in the greatest of shame, for he had failed his master, Regulus. But Kreacher did not die, instead, as his master had ordered, completely instinctively he Apparated back to Grimmauld Place.
Regulus had found him and over the course of several weeks nursed him back to a semblance of health. The potion would have a lasting effect on Kreacher's sanity, and he would now have to remain unseen so the Dark Lord would not learn the truth that he still lived, but he regained his strength.
After a time there came another night when master Regulus called upon Kreacher, and demanded that the elf take him to the very vile place that the Dark Lord had taken Kreacher before. Kreacher had pleaded with his master not to do this thing, but Regulus had insisted. Thus once more Kreacher found himself on the shore of the black lake, within the cave by the sea. They had summoned the boat and used it to journey to the island of rock. There Regulus gave Kreacher the old family locket and carefully instructed him on what he should do. Regulus intended to drink the potion himself and ordered Kreacher to make sure he consumed it all by whatever means was required. Thereafter, Kreacher was to switch the lockets and return them home. Most importantly, Regulus ordered Kreacher, that whatever fate befell him, Kreacher was to escape with the locket and see that it was destroyed, and never could he reveal to anyone where it had come from.
It was only now that Kreacher could tell his story, as he was not revealing where the locket had come form, Harry and the others already knew.
Harry was consumed with his own parallel memories as Kreacher described his master screaming and pleading as the elf pressed each cup of potion upon him. Kreacher didn't want to do it, but he had been ordered and so had no choice. When the task was complete Kreacher went to the basin one last time and switched the lockets according to his orders. As he did so, Regulus, in his potion induced madness launched himself into the lake and disappeared in a splash and swirl of churning water. As the Inferi lumbered from the surrounding waters, Kreacher called desperately for his master, but Regulus was gone. At the last moment as the dreadful clutching hands of the vile Inferi were almost upon him, he Apparated home.
With great sadness Kreacher revealed that the locket had remained at Grimmauld Place, where Kreacher had tried everything in his power to destroy it, to no avail. So, on top of his isolation, the effects of the Dark Lord's potion, and having only the company of a raving portrait, Kreacher had also lived these recent years with the idea that he had failed his master, Regulus.
"Kreacher," Harry said with gentle compassion. "You have not failed your former master, and I have faith that you will never fail your present. What you have done, is to display the greatest of courage and devotion. Your actions have done nothing put bring honor to the House of Black."
Kreacher smiled up at his master.
"Kreacher, we know that the locket was here in this house, because we saw it two summers ago after I came to stay here with the Order. We know that it was among the items that Sirius attempted to throw out." He paused, "We also know that a thief called Mundungus Fletcher ransacked the house and stole whatever he could get his hands on that he deemed might be of value." Kreacher nodded, acknowledging these facts.
"Do you, Kreacher, have any knowledge of what became of it," Harry asked adamantly.
Kreacher smiled knowingly at Harry. "Master," he said, "Kreacher knows. Kreacher is still bound by the order to see the thing destroyed, so it was not possible for him to allow it to leave his awareness."
"So, it is still here?" Harry asked, his excitement growing rapidly.
"Yes, Master," Kreacher acknowledged. "Kreacher will give it to Master, only with the promise that it will be destroyed."
"Of course, Kreacher, that is my objective. It must be destroyed, I promise," Harry said.
With the word of his master secured, Kreacher turned and trotted to his cupboard, threw open the door, and crawled beneath the boiler where his nest of old blankets and pilfered keepsakes had once been. He stood up behind the boiler in the space created by pushing the rounded boiler into the square corner. There was not enough space for a wizard to crawl back there. They heard the scraping of ceramic brick against masonry. Moments later, Kreacher returned with a rune stone about the size of his palm, and wrapped around it, almost as though it were iron clinging to a loadstone was the heavy gold locket with a serpentine S in glittering green stone inlay on the front. Slytherin's locket.
"Kreacher retrieved it from the rubbish bin and hid it away in his special hiding spot, before that foul thief ever set foot in this house," Kreacher said, now with a bit of pride, as he offered both to Harry.
Harry accepted the items. He attempted to pull the locket from the stone, but it and its chain seemed to cling desperately to the other item, and though he felt they could be separated it would require more than a casual tug. He smiled proudly at the little elf, who smiled happily in return.
"I am guessing you have a magical hiding place created back there, created by your former mistress, or at her command, originally to hide this rune stone?" Harry questioned.
"Yes, Master," Kreacher confirmed. "Mistress Walburga created a cloaked and disguised space behind a loose brick in the corner where only Kreacher could reach. It was a place to hide the stone, so that none would ever remove her portrait from the wall. It was the only place Kreacher could be sure that the locket would be safe from, master Sirius, and the many strangers that he allowed in to the house."
"Kreacher," Harry said proudly, "You have yet again brought honor to your master and your House. I release you now from any responsibility you feel for this horrid magical item, and promise you that you will soon see it destroyed. As a reward for your faithful service I want you to have the Black family locket as a personal keepsake." He handed Regulus' locket to the elf, who seemed awed into complete disbelief.
"Master wants me to have a personal possession?" Kreacher said through mounting tears.
"Yes, Kreacher, that locket is yours, and yours alone," Harry said.
The little elf held it to his heart as though it might jump away on its own, then he turned and excitedly showed the treasure to the other elves.
"Well, well," the voice of Dumbledore, from the card still on the table, broke the sustained moment of awe that held sway of the room. "This has turned out to be the most productive of evenings after all." Everyone turned to face the card, nodding their agreement. "Might I suggest that we return now to your safer home, secure that locket, and perhaps enjoy some quiet relaxation in the sitting room? Tomorrow, we can discuss exactly how to destroy that object once and for all.”
"I for one agree, Professor," Ron responded. "It will be time for evening tea by the time we get there anyway."
The very next day just after lunch, Harry led them all down to the potions storeroom and beyond, down to the round stone room beneath. He had asked Kreacher to join them, and Hermione had accepted the task of holding the pewter base, so that Dumbledore could attend.
As they Apparated in, the torches around the room illuminated, revealing a stone and anvil placed a few meters away from the center of the room. Upon the anvil was the rune stone and locket and leaning against the stone was a heavy battle axe.
Harry explained. "Dumbledore used the sword of Gryffindor to destroy Marvolo Gaunt's ring. He believed, rightly so, that the sword had absorbed the magical qualities of Basilisk venom when I used it to slay the Basilisk in the Chamber of Secrets. As I had destroyed the diary with a venomous fang, he reasoned correctly that the sword would be capable of the task." Harry paused, looking at the card held carefully in Hermione's hands. "Dumbledore thought that he might be able to teach me to summon the sword so that we could use it here today, but it occurred to me that we already had a weapon capable of doing the job. Ron found it in the treasure room. The battle axe of Caractacus Potter, my great-great-great-great-grandfather, is the very weapon that once defeated Salazar Slytherin himself. It bears power over anything born of Slytherin's legacy and by reason, that should include any object created by Tom Riddle, the Dark Lord. I am confident, and Dumbledore agrees, that it can accomplish the task."
"And so, in order that he might fulfill, once and for all, the command of his former master, Regulus Black, I would like Kreacher to come forward and have the honor of destroying this foul object." Harry gestured for Kreacher to come forward.
The little elf joined Harry by the anvil. Harry knelt to his level and addressed him directly. "This Battle Axe is as big as you are Kreacher, and it is heavy. But, all you need do is swing it overhead and let it come down upon the rune stone and the locket that clings to it. Hit it directly, and it should do the job." Kreacher nodded.
Harry stepped back to the others and took Ginny's hand in his. She gave it a little squeeze.
Kreacher took hold of the battle axe handle and dragged it behind him so that he was positioned to swing it. The task looked impossible given the size of the battle axe, compared to the elf who intended to swing it. Harry was confident that Kreacher was up to it.
"For, Master Regulus, the House of Black, and for Master Harry, and the House of Potter, Kreacher delightedly obeys!" Kreacher said loudly. He heaved the battle axe, which seemed to protest being lifted, but slowly its edge left the ground and journeyed upward over Kreacher's head speeding up as it went. At the apex of the swing it glinted in the torchlight almost, Harry thought, as though it was suddenly delighted to be in use after so many years. The axe blade came down cleanly upon its target, impacting the body of the locket.
There was a blinding flash of light and what sounded like a horribly anguished scream. Thick green smoke issued from the cleaved locket and it seemed as though it were fighting against an unseen force to reach out toward them, but in moments, it was as though it were pulled in to nothingness. Silence settled upon the room, and the third of the Dark Lord's Horcruxes was no more.
Remnants of the cleaved locket and shattered rune stone lay scattered about the space surrounding the anvil.
At that moment, neither seen, nor heard, by any witnesses; in the bright entry way of Grimmauld Place, there was another scream. One horribly blood curdling, but somewhat less soul-wrenching, than the scream of the dying Horcrux.
It was the portrait of Walburga Black. It screamed loud and long in the moment it realized that the portrait, frame, curtains, and all, was slipping from the wall. It fell the several inches to the floor with a loud thud. And then, slowly, fell forward, landing curtains to canvas, face down on the newly refinished foyer floor.
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Chapter Twenty-Five
Summer's End
Chapter 26: Chapter 25 - Summer's End
Author's Notes: Not much to say here, except a big thanks as always to my Beta readers, Arnel and SeekersDestiny. Unbelievable turn around time! Thank you so much!! Also, thanks to B. Hanzel for additional proof reading and further edits! You guys are the best!
Summer's End
Following the successful destruction of the locket Horcrux, the mood at the Manor had improved considerably. Everyone seemed to be in high spirits and optimism seemed to pervade their thoughts. There had been some talk about the remaining Horcruxes. Harry had talked about finding the cup of Hufflepuff, which was the only additional Horcrux they knew exactly. There were of course two more beyond the cup, but they could only make educated guesses about what they were.
Dumbledore insisted that they were most likely objects which once belonged to the founders, something of Rowena Ravenclaw's, and something of Godric Griffyndor's but beyond that was mere guesswork.
Luna, after some thought, suggested two possibilities for something of Rowena Ravenclaw's. First, there was a jeweled peacock brooch which was present in several images of the founders. The brooch was kept in a secure display case near the entrance to the Ravenclaw common room, and therefore was a likely possibility. Dumbledore admitted that he had forgotten all about the brooch and had not checked it. He expressed doubt that Tom would choose something quite so obvious. The second was Rowena's lost diadem, an object which had gone missing many years ago, and would prove much more difficult to locate. Though, as it had been missing since before Tom Riddle's time at Hogwarts it seemed a less likely candidate.
Dumbledore had a theory that, since he had, in his own mind, ruled out any remaining artifacts of Godric Griffyndor, one of the remaining Horcruxes could be something else. He favored the idea that it could well be Nagini, as the snake seemed never to be too far apart from its master.
Harry didn't entirely like this theory; mostly, because it meant that at least one of the Horcruxes would have had to be created after Voldemort obtained his present form. Harry favored the idea that all intended Horcruxes were in place before Voldemort would have come for him on the night that his parents had been killed.
Whatever the case, any debate was set aside a few days later when Lupin and Tonks returned from their honeymoon in Muggle London. They had a wonderful time and returned laden with boxes and bags of mostly clothing that Tonks had spent much of the gifted money on. She had been particularly taken with the theatre and they had gone to several plays during their ten days away. Neither of them had ever spent so much time exploring Muggle London and they had lots and lots to share.
Remus was particularly keen on the number of Muggle restaurants they had visited and suggested that they should all begin to expand their palates to explore what was available outside the largely traditional Wizarding world. He specifically mentioned the wide influence of Indian cuisine on the present day Muggle palate, something almost completely missed in the Wizarding world, and he was absolutely exuberant over something he called pizza, which Harry had some understanding of, as it had been a particular favorite of his cousin Dudley's. It was some sort of Italian dinner pie with tomato sauce, meat and cheese. His aunt always kept a few frozen for Dudley to have, but Harry thought the flat frozen, sparsely topped concoction usually looked completely unappetizing, so he didn't fully understand Remus' excitement. Lupin promised that he would be doing some research and would recreate the item for them soon.
True to her word, Alex Burgestikoff departed the Manor the morning after the Lupins returned. She left an envelope with Remus, of instructions on how to contact her, for Charlie and Helena upon their return. Her goodbye was short and to the point. She expressed her great joy at being given the opportunity to work with Harry and company, thanked Harry specifically for his generous hospitality, handed him her false galleon, and wished them all well into the future. Then she stepped from Manor to Burrow, and was gone.
Lupin offered to continue the morning practice sessions, but Harry said it was time to just enjoy the summer for what remained of it. In just ten days they would be getting on the Hogwarts Express and returning to another term at school. While this was something to look forward to they also needed to do a bit of prep as well. Chiefly, if Harry was to be the captain of this year’s Gryffindor Quidditch team, and Ginny his vice-captain, then they needed to get in some practice and start doing some planning.
Ron was completely excited about spending his remaining days of summer on the pitch, and Hermione made no objection as several crates of books had arrived as the first shipment of her library orders. She had an entire research agenda set forth and relished undisturbed library time. For her part, Luna merely smiled and volunteered to assist Hermione with the book sorting.
Harry, Ron and Ginny spent that afternoon, mostly in the locker rooms unpacking and sorting the remaining, new Quidditch equipment. They used the delivery crates to repack the old equipment so that Harry could eventually donate it to the Quidditch Museum. They did manage a lively game of tag that lasted until the sun had dropped low in the sky and Ron's stomach absolutely insisted that it was past dinner time.
The next day passed much the same, with Harry, Ron and Ginny at the pitch, Hermione in the library, and Luna wandering about the Manor and surrounding grounds. She had even begun to wander off into the woods a bit, as she often did at Hogwarts.
Sunday, Molly Weasley insisted that they should all gather at the Burrow for a Sunday afternoon barbeque. Owing to the fact that there were only two Sundays remaining before the start of school, she was desperate to reinstate the traditional practice of a Weasley Sunday gathering. The twins made it, as did Percy and Penelope, but with the two older boys still away on honeymoon, Molly didn't seem quite as pleased as she might have been. Molly occupied the girls in the kitchen with preparation of side dishes and puddings, while Arthur managed steaks, chicken and vegetables on the grill.
Lupin strained the twins’ and Arthur's ears with his continuous talk about his discovery of pizza and his promises to recreate it, which Arthur seemed quite intrigued with, given his intense curiosity about all things Muggle. It also seemed to capture the twins’ curiosity. They enjoyed a wonderful meal, good conversation and an all over feeling of family. Harry and Ginny had even managed a cautious visit to see Kyne and Hedwig.
After dinner they were surprised when Percy and Penelope interrupted the gathering to announce their engagement. Percy had finally summoned the courage the night before to ask, and Penelope had unsurprisingly accepted. They explained that it was their intention to hold off any formal wedding until the next spring, or summer, but they would be taking the untraditional route of pre-wedding co-habitation. This made the traditionalist in Molly Weasley scoff just a little, until they also mentioned that they had now experienced the 'bonding', which somehow made it okay, even for Molly. Overall the announcement was met by all as a joyous reason to celebrate. As if the twins had needed any excuse to pull out the bottles of Firewhisky concealed in their robes.
Before the twins could un-stopper the bottles however, Remus and Tonks interrupted for an announcement of their own. "Excuse me, my friends," Remus began, "It pleases me more than I can tell you that you so fully include Nymphadora and myself as friends." The use of Tonks' proper name earned him an elbow to the ribs, though only lightly. "We consider you all our friends as well and we cannot thank you enough for all your encouragement, help and support in making it possible for us to come together and finally properly wed."
George interrupted, "You're welcome, Remus, glad to do it," he said genuinely.
Fred continued, "You're sounding a bit like Percy with that preamble, just get on with it, what's news?"
"I'm pregnant!" Tonks blurted out.
"Aw ha!" George exclaimed. "Now we have two very good reasons to raise a glass!" He pulled the stopper on his bottle and started to pour. They enjoyed a couple of shots to commemorate the evening’s news, and thereafter the twins had to manufacture additional things to drink to; which, wasn't difficult as the twins would drink to absolutely anything once they had gotten started.
As the evening progressed Harry was in his own way pleased to learn that Remus and Tonks intended to begin a search for a place of their own to live. They favored a location in or near London, but feared they would not be able to afford it especially since more space would be required by the addition of a baby.
As the evening wore on a fire was started and as always the Weasley clan and their guests had a wonderful time together deep into the evening. Sometime after sunset Percy and Penelope excused themselves to return to their now mutual home, and after that Remus and Tonks were the next to depart. Harry didn't care to depart, mostly because he knew when he returned to the Manor to sleep, Ginny would not be coming with him, and he was finding that notion harder and harder to bear.
Eventually however, Mrs. Weasley called an end to the gathering and shooed them all off to there respective abodes. Arthur accompanied the twins home to make sure they arrived safely owing to the state they were in. Harry, Ron and Hermione bid goodbye to everyone and made their short trek through the pantry door.
The very next day in the early afternoon, the honeymooners returned. They were excited and full of stories and there was an impromptu dinner in the manor sitting room to welcome them all back. Mrs. Weasley was very excited to have her sons back, even though they had only been away a short while. Fleur and Helena were now her daughters, and regardless of anything she had ever thought prior to the weddings, she had completely accepted this fact and was just as eager to see them, greeting them with the very same hugs reserved for her children.
It hit Harry in that moment that both he and Hermione were recipients of those very same hugs. The notion made him feel warm inside.
Harry smiled at Ginny who was curled next to him on the sofa with her hand in his, as she listened to her siblings tell them all about the Canary Islands. She returned Harry's smile in a casual way that was, to Harry, complex, deep, and in short, anything but casual. Something stirred in Harry and he suddenly found himself indulging a train of thought he normally preferred to actively avoid. It was an idea. An idea of after. That there would be an after, and in that after, there would be a Harry and Ginny, and from them there would be life, and happiness, and family. He saw, in his mind, the two of them, with an infant, a black haired infant with bright hazel eyes, a perfect blending of his green, with Ginny's light brown. And though the train of thought derailed quickly under the weight of reality, Harry indulged it nonetheless, daring to believe that it could be a possibility.
On Wednesday several more crates arrived, filled with additional library books. Along with a sealed folder for Harry from Mr. Prcht, and a letter from Headmistress McGonagall, requesting that Harry and Hermione come to the school that noon. The letter explained that she would unlock the Floo connection between her office and the Burrow at the appropriate time.
During their morning practice, both Ron and Ginny seemed a little put out that they were not invited, but a good workout quieted them down considerably. Harry, was in a great mood and he put them through their paces, thoroughly proving that he could play Chaser any time as he darted and weaved and passed intentionally inaccurate Quaffles to force Ginny to adapt and push herself. Then he would wink and together they would rush the goal posts, keeping Ron on the edge of his broom. By eleven o'clock they were drenched and tired, and ready to hit the showers. Ron and Harry chose to shower in the locker room, but Ginny, by order of her mother, returned to the Burrow for her shower.
They all gathered at the Burrow for a quick lunch while waiting for Hermione and Harry's departure.
Promptly at noon, Harry and Hermione stepped to the Burrow fireplace and each gathering a pinch of Floo powder, one after the other called out, “Headmistress Office, Hogwarts.”
Headmistress McGonagall was there to greet them as they arrived, along with Deputy Headmistress Sprout and Stephen Cornfoot, the Ravenclaw seventh year who had been named Head Boy. Quick introductions were made, though that was merely formality, as they were all at least acquainted.
"Thank you both for coming on such short notice," the Headmistress began. "It has been a hectic summer. Far too much to accomplish and so little time."
"It has indeed," Harry agreed.
"Normally, the Head Boy and Girl would come for an entire day of orientation prior to the start of term," Pomona Sprout said. "But, if it is agreeable we will condense that into this afternoon."
Stephen and Hermione, both turned and nodded to the Professor.
"Very good," Sprout intoned, "Now if the two of you will kindly follow me." She turned, heading for the door. Hermione and Stephen both followed her. "We will begin with living quarters, as you may know the Head Boy and Girl each are afforded a private space..." She talked them out to the hallway and beyond. The office door swung closed behind them. Harry watched them as they left.
Harry turned back to Headmistress McGonagall, who had seated herself at the desk. The room had changed considerably, reflecting her new appointment. Many of the familiar devices had been replaced by new personal items, some of which Harry remembered from McGonagall's former office. Fawkes' perch was missing, and many of the portraits had been rearranged. A new portrait of Dumbledore was present on the wall behind the desk, but the figure within seemed to be sleeping soundly in its chair.
McGonagall took note of Harry's eyes scanning the room and landing finally on the former Headmaster's portrait. "Please sit, Mr. Potter," she said politely, gesturing to the chairs in front of the desk. Harry slipped quickly in to one of them. "Albus has been asleep as you see him ever since his portrait appeared. All attempts to wake him have been for naught," she gestured to the sleeping figure. "This concerned me greatly at first, as his council would be invaluable. Though, I have been informed, through my contacts in the Order, that there is a reason for this." She stated.
"Yes, Headmistress," Harry replied, "We anticipated your interest." Harry retrieved the Chocolate Frog Card Base from his jeans pocket and set it on the headmistress' desk. He then retrieved the card from his shirt pocket and handed it to the Headmistress.
McGonagall turned the card over in her hand examining it. One eyebrow raised in confusion.
"Place it in the base, Headmistress," Harry guided.
Understanding dawned as she spied the slot in the base and carefully dropped the card into it. The little image of Dumbledore on the card animated. "Minerva," Dumbledore said, "It is a distinct pleasure to see you once more."
"Likewise, Albus," McGonagall replied. "This is simply ingenious. However did you accomplish this magic?" She asked curiously.
"The how, can be saved for another time," Dumbledore said. "Suffice to say, I desired to continue to be present for young Harry's sake. Though, I hardly think 'young' is still an appropriate descriptive of our Mr. Potter."
Minerva cast an appraising look at Harry, and nodded to the card.
"I have asked Harry to leave me with you, at least until the new term begins in a few days," Dumbledore said. "I suspect there are many things you would like to discuss."
"Indeed," Minerva responded. "Now, however, I have school matters for Mr. Potter elsewhere in the castle. What is the protocol, do I leave this card in place when unattended, or remove it?" she asked.
"Best to remove it," Dumbledore answered.
"Very well," Minerva responded, "I look forward to speaking with you again very soon."
"I as well, Minerva," Dumbledore said congenially. She reached forward and plucked the card from the base, setting it gently on the desk.
She rose from her chair. "Now, Mr. Potter, you should join the others in the Great Hall." She stepped around the desk motioning for Harry to follow and stepped toward the door.
Once they were down the steps and heading toward the dining hall, Harry spoke up. "Others?" He questioned.
"Yes," the Headmistress replied as she continued walking briskly. "The other house Quidditch captains are waiting for us. As a group you have a number of matters to discuss and work out."
Harry shot her a questioning look as he increased his pace to keep up with the long legged Headmistress.
"As you are aware, during the summer, Beauxbatons Academy was destroyed." she cast him a sidelong glance which silently said, please keep up.
"Yes, Headmistress," Harry answered.
"As a consequence, Hogwarts has agreed to take on a large number of Beauxbatons' students this term," she said, "A new site has already been chosen for the Academy, and construction will begin shortly, but that is expected to take at least a couple of years. Under a special agreement, any Beauxbatons fifth thru seventh year students who attend Hogwarts will be accommodated by the temporary creation of a new Beauxbatons House, in an unused portion of the Eastern tower. Any younger students will be sorted into houses accordingly, by the Sorting Hat. Our staff will be joined by two Beauxbatons' instructors who will oversee educational concerns for these older students, and a number of Beauxbatons' house-elves have come to take care of the needs of the new house, and address the diet considerations of the French students," she paused. "I suspect meals will be a new adventure here at Hogwarts, Mr. Potter. I hope you enjoy French cuisine."
It was not really a question, but Harry answered anyway. "I do, actually," he said. "So, what has this got to do with me?" He probed carefully.
"Quidditch, Mr. Potter," she said as though it should have been obvious. "A fifth house, means a fifth Quidditch team, which means a new game schedule, as well as a new division of practice time. All of which I expect to be amicably worked out by the team captains."
They arrived at the Great Hall, and entered as the doors swung open for them. Awaiting them inside were the other four Quidditch captains, three of which, Harry was at least, acquainted with. Amanda Barrett, Hufflepuff; Aaron Cadwallader, Ravenclaw; and Maxwell Flint, Slytherin. Harry was not at all surprised by these choices. However, the French boy, was a complete unknown.
They were all huddled around a number of parchments laid out on a small round table set up at the far end of the hall. As Harry and McGonagall approached they all stood and faced them.
The Headmistress made quick introductions. "Mr. Potter, you know Miss Barrett, Mr. Cadwallader, and Mr. Flint. May I introduce you to Monsieur Jean-Pierre Lesauvage, Captain of the Beauxbatons Quidditch team," she gestured to the boy. "Monsieur Lesauvage, Mr. Harry James Potter."
The French boy stepped forward formally, and presented his hand. Harry shook the offered hand briskly, at the same time doing a visual appraisal. He was certain Lesauvage was doing the same.
Lesauvage was smaller than Harry, but he looked lean and wiry. He was half a head shorter, but, by his stance, clearly not lacking confidence. He wore his blonde hair cut short in back, but long in the front and swept to the side with the tips blackened. The angle of his hair accentuated his narrow, sharp face and his blue eyes made him look slightly unreal, like they too must have had color added. "So, I am given to understand yours is the team to beat," Lesauvage said evenly. He gave the clear impression he was unimpressed with his competition. His English was flawless with barely an accent.
Harry smiled slightly, tempted to say something snarky, but thought better of it. "Actually, this is a rebuilding year for each of the house teams, so which team will ultimately win is far from certain."
"Is it?" the French boy chided. He smirked as he stepped back from the handshake. "But, you like your chances?"
Harry saw arrogance in that smirk, and it was as though a clear challenge had been laid before him. "Yes," he said, responding with a barely noticeable edge to his voice, "I like our chances."
The boy locked eyes with Harry for just a moment. "I think I shall like you, Harry Potter."
Harry knew that was never going to happen.
The Headmistress interrupted. "Now that introductions have been made, I trust the five of you can work out a schedule." Harry recognized the tone. It was not a request, it was simple expectation. "The calendars on the table are marked with all available game dates and practice slots. As you know, I take Quidditch a bit more seriously than my predecessor, so this year I hope to achieve full regulation play. With a bit of luck I hope to secure a donor to provide all new brooms and equipment." She smiled a little in spite of herself. "So I will leave you five to agree on the details while I go and join the Head Boy and Girl in their orientation." She turned on her heel, not waiting for a response and strode to the door.
A couple of hours later they had hammered out a schedule and all seemed pleased with their slots. They each copied out the whole schedule for their own use and made one more to give to the Headmistress.
"Well, that wasn't too bad," Aaron Cadwallader said as he completed the last box of his schedule.
"And none too soon," Amanda Barrett, chimed in, "I really should be headed home." She was glancing at her Muggle style wrist watch.
Lesauvage, gathered up the extra set of schedules, "Shall we deliver these to the Headmistress together?" he asked, though it was directed at Harry.
"You all go ahead. I am going to wait for Hermione,” Harry said.
"Please yourself, Potter," Maxwell Flint said with typical Slytherin disdain. He was already headed for the doors. The others followed him. Only Amanda turned and gave a kindly wave. "Okay, good to see you, Harry, I'll look forward to seeing you again on Monday for start of term," she said brightly.
"Bye, Amanda," Harry said rather absently.
Realizing that Hermione could potentially be a few more hours, he pulled himself up from his chair and headed out of the Great Hall. He loitered in the Entrance Hall for a minute, deciding how he should fill his time as he waited for Hermione to finish.
A glint of light caught his eye and he turned toward the niches that contained the house point hour glasses. They all stood there polished and sparkling, ready for the beginning of term. Gryffindor, the upper bulb filled with glistening rubies, Ravenclaw with sapphires, Slytherin with emeralds and Huffelpuff with citrine. A fifth one had appeared, this one was filled with aquamarine, clearly to represent the powder blue of House Beauxbatons. Harry mused; having this fifth house at Hogwarts is certainly going to stir things up a bit, and well beyond the Quidditch pitch.
He turned after a moment and headed out the main doors into the sunlight. He thought at first he might head down to the pitch, but when he headed that direction he suddenly realized that he was coming very near the spot where Dumbledore's funeral had been held. Thoughts of that day flooded his mind. He had been so certain of his path at that time, certain he had to leave the school, certain he had to go it alone, and certain he had to give up his relationship with Ginny. So much had changed in just a few short months. How foolish he had been to not realize then how much stronger he could become by not giving up those very things. He smiled to himself.
He looked at the spot where the white tomb had manifested itself, and was not at all surprised that it was no longer present. Surely it had been moved to a more fitting location, perhaps one of the small islands just off the shore. Harry thought he would have to ask were it was. Then another thought occurred to him and he turned around, heading toward Hagrid's hut.
As he hurried his pace, he remembered that it had been burned to the ground and he began to jog with more urgency, needing suddenly to see that the structure had been rebuilt. As he approached over the slight rise his heart began to pound with anticipation until he reached the apex and could see down the slope that Hagrid's hut was indeed still present, rebuilt good as new with fresh timbers.
As he jogged across the field and found the path proper, he hailed the house. "Hagrid?" He called. "Hagrid?"
A large ugly boulder-like head appeared over the roof of the hut from the opposite side and blinked at him. Harry realized it was Grawp, and a moment later Hagrid appeared from behind the hut, a huge garden spade in hand, with Grawp stepping heavily behind him. "Harry? … Harry Potter? … Well, I'll be a short-haired Kneazel kit. Harry, it's so good ter see yer," Hagrid greeted him.
Harry ran up to him and embraced him in a light hug. Even at his full height of six feet Harry didn't come entirely up to his chest. "Good to see you too, Hagrid!" Harry exclaimed.
Harry stepped back and looked up at the scrunched face of the small giant, who was squinting at him and looked quite like his brain somehow hurt. Harry waved. "Hello, Grawp," Harry said.
Grawp blinked, several times. "Grawpy," Hagrid called loudly. "You remember Harry, don'cha? My good friend, Harry Potter?"
Recognition slowly showed in the giant's eyes. "Friend, 'Arry," Grawp said finally, his low booming voice vibrating through Harry.
"Tha's right Grawpy," Hagrid praised. "Harry is our friend."
There was a deep bark beyond the pumpkin patch and Harry turned in time to see Fang running at him. He braced himself as the great boarhound, tail wagging, leapt at him and nearly knocked him over in excited greeting. After several slobbery licks to the face Harry managed to get him to sit, and stroked his head calmingly. Hagrid produced a polka-dotted handkerchief from beneath his leather work apron and offered it to Harry to wipe his face and glasses. The poor dog showed a great number of burn spots in his coat, but it looked like the fur was beginning to grow back nicely.
"So, wha'cha doin' 'ere, Harry?" Hagrid asked, "Not that I ain't glad to see yer."
"Headmistress McGonagall asked me to come meet with the other Quidditch captains and set the game schedule," Harry explained. "Hermione is here as well. She is having Head Girl orientation, so I thought I would wait for her."
"Tha's grand. I always knew Hermione was Head Girl material, saw it right from the start," Hagrid said. "Le's get you something ter drink, ay? How 'bout a nice tankard of Butterbeer?" Hagrid moved toward the rear of the new hut where a pyramid of large oak barrels was neatly stacked. He scooped up a tin tankard, filled it from the tapped barrel and offered it to Harry. Then he filled a bucket sized tankard for himself. Finally he pulled the barrel down, pulled out the tap and picking up a mallet, tapped off the metal edge ring so he could remove the circular top. "Her yer go, Grawpy," he said. The giant reached for the barrel and raised the whole like a glass, swigging noisily. "Go easy with that, Grawpy," Hagrid cautioned. The giant belched loudly in reply and wiped at his enormous grin with his free arm. He stepped back and sat down against a tree, shaking the earth and causing the bough of the tree to groan against his weight.
They sat in the shade, sipping their Butterbeer and visiting.
After about an hour of rather aimless conversation, most of which centered around how improved Grawp's behavior had become, they did some lazy work in Hagrid's garden.
Just as Harry was beginning to think it might be time to leave, Hagrid came around to the topic of Quidditch and told Harry about the improvements to the pitch that the Headmistress had ordered in preparation for the new term.
Before Harry excused himself to return to the castle, he asked Hagrid if he might have a spare bit of parchment and a quill.
Hagrid retrieved the items from inside the hut and handed them to Harry.
Harry began to scrawl a quick note. Once he was satisfied with what he had written he rolled the note tightly.
"And, wha's this all this about?" Hagrid questioned.
"Just something the Headmistress said about needing some new Quidditch equipment," Harry replied. Hagrid smiled as though he didn't quite understand, but he didn't ask further.
Harry said his goodbyes and waving as he went, headed back toward the castle. He went back through the castle to the courtyard, crossed to the bridge, and headed off toward the Owlery.
Harry entered the Owlery from the narrow stairs and waved the parchment note. "Who wants to deliver a letter?" he asked. There was a small box with spare string and ribbons, and Harry chose a thin leather tie. There were only the Hogwarts owls present, and it seemed they were not particularly interested. "Hogwarts business," he said finally, and a large tawny owl leapt from its perch, swopping down to alight in the window. It offered its leg. Harry tied on the note and stroking the owl's breast feathers, whispered a destination to the bird.
With a great flapping of its wings the bird set off from the tower window.
Harry turned to leave and heard Hermione calling from the base of the steps.
He quickly descended the stairs and joined her.
"I saw you crossing the courtyard, Harry," Hermione said, "I tried to wave you down, but you didn't see me."
"Sorry, Hermione," Harry replied, "I guess I was intent on what I was doing."
"What were you doing?" Hermione asked curiously, "Who would you be sending a letter to from Hogwarts?"
"Oh, it was nothing, Hermione" Harry said, leading her back the way he had come. "Let's just say, I decided on a bit of anonymous generosity, and leave it at that."
Hermione shot him an odd look, but let the matter drop. Harry told Hermione about Hagrid's rebuilt hut and Grawp's new manners, as they returned to the Headmistress' office.
They said their goodbyes and were soon back at the Burrow.
Harry came to breakfast the next morning carrying the leather folder from Mr. Prcht. Ginny and Luna came from the Burrow, and Tonks and Lupin joined them as well. After they all had their fill they came around to the topic of what to do for the day.
"I have an idea," Harry said a bit excitedly. He stood up from his seat and picked up the leather folder.
"Okay, let's hear it," Tonks said. "And, what's with the folder, Harry?"
"Oh, you'll find out soon enough," he said with a grin. "But first I have something to show you. If you will all follow me." He headed for the door toward the main hallway and led them all toward the closet used to cross to the Burrow.
When they arrived, Jarphred was standing at the open doorway, the blue lattice of the Portis Omnibus already present in the frame. Harry gestured them all to the door.
"What's with all the mystery?" Remus asked as he stepped over the threshold.
On the other side they emerged in to a bright hallway.
"Oh, Harry, have the elves finished?" Luna exclaimed.
"Yes, the last just during the night," Harry replied.
Lupin and Tonks looked confused as they took in the fresh white walls and immaculately refinished woodwork. "Where on earth are we, Harry?" Tonks questioned as she poked her head into one of the now empty rooms.
"What are you up to, Harry?" Remus questioned suspiciously. Harry just grinned.
Tonks stepped to the stairwell and looking up and down, said. "This is a gorgeous house, Harry, and a big one at that."
"Feel free to take a look around," Harry said. Remus continued to look at him dubiously.
They poked around in the bedrooms of the first floor as they made their way down to the ground level. In the bright entryway, Tonks did an excited turn on the restored stone tiled floor. She still hadn't figured out where they were, but it was clear on her face that she loved the space. Remus, however had finally put two and two together. "Harry, this isn't … Is this Grimmauld place?" He asked.
Tonks stopped dead at the mention of the address and turned frightfully toward the spot where the portrait of Walburga Black should have been. "It can't be!" she exclaimed in disbelief.
"Yes it is," Harry said with a Cheshire grin.
"How did you mange to remove the portrait?" Remus asked.
"That was easy once we found the anchor for the Permanent Sticking Charm," Harry replied. "I had the elves move it to the attic along with all the other remaining Black possessions."
Tonks headed for the back hall door. "This looks like a completely different house, Harry!" She said.
They followed her down to the basement where they discovered Kreacher puttering about, laying out trays of cakes and tea. The new stainless steel appliances had been installed and connected making the whole room look more-or-less like a modern upscale Muggle kitchen.
"Good morning, Master Harry," Kreacher intoned happily.
Ginny went to examine the Muggle appliances. She turned one of the knobs on the four burner gas cook top, and the burner burst to a controlled flame. Then she poked her head in to the doors of the side-by-side refrigerator/freezer. “How did you get these Muggle units to work Harry?”
"They come that way from the Wizarding shop that sells them. The charms that control the pilot light on the stove, and the temperature and lights of the fridge have to be renewed periodically, but there are instructions," He explained.
"Fridge?" Ron asked curiously.
"That's a Muggle sort of cold cupboard," Hermione explained patiently. Ron nodded as he took a seat at the table and reached for cake from the tray.
The others sat down as well, each taking a cup of tea, but mostly they were all still full from breakfast.
"You've given the whole place a new life, Harry," Remus said, "But what are you going to do with it?"
"When my godfather left me this house and all of the possessions of the Black Family, I suspect he did so because he thought I might need it to get on in life," Harry started. "But that was before we knew any different, before we knew of the Manor and of my inheritance from my own blood family," he paused. "Sirius did it in an attempt to protect and provide for me." A tear began to form in Harry's eye. "He didn't know it wasn't necessary – Had he known, I believe he would have left all this to a member of his own family, or simply let them fight over it, as one last barb." Harry slid the leather folder across the table in front of Tonks. "But, I like to think he might have left it all to you. To a blood relative."
Tonks opened the folder and drew out a sheaf of parchment, and a brass Gringotts vault key.
"Call it another wedding present if you want, but I believe all of this, and the wealth of the Black family is yours by right," Harry said as he watched Tonks finger through the parchments. "All you need do is sign the paperwork."
"You don't have to do this, Harry," Remus said.
"You're right, of course, I don't have to – But, I want to – And it is the right thing to do," Harry said.
With tears in her eyes, Tonks ran across the room and pulled Harry into a crushing hug.
"Thank you, Harry," she said through grateful tears.
"This cannot possibly be correct!" Hermione exclaimed as she examined the balance in the little ledger book the Gringotts' goblin had just handed her. The goblin seemed momentarily offended by the very notion but remained composed.
"I assure you, Miss Granger, the amount is quite correct," The goblin said.
"How can that possibly be, I did not have nearly that much in Muggle funds, perhaps you could explain the difference?" Hermione questioned cautiously, not wanting to offend the goblin further.
The goblin reached for the master ledger book which corresponded to Hermione's account and opened the large tome searching for the appropriate entries. "Ah, that would explain it," he mumbled to himself.
"Explain what?" Hermione demanded in spite of herself.
"I am not certain it is my place to explain, Miss Granger," The goblin said politely. The look on Hermione's face told him that would not be acceptable.
"Though, I suppose, there's nothing actually preventing me from doing so," he said, finally.
"Well then?" Hermione insisted.
"Yes, Miss Granger," The goblin continued. “Your transferred Muggle funds came in at, two thousand seven hundred, fifty-four pounds, thirty-eight pence. Less a twenty Galleon exchange fee, that came to five hundred thirty-three Galleons, one Sickle and fourteen Knuts. A note here in my ledger says that two months ago you accepted the position of personal librarian to the House of Potter. The wage for that position is one hundred Galleons per month, which accounts for an additional two hundred Galleons. And finally a second note states that you have been awarded a full scholarship, under the corporate sponsorship of one 'Royal Hart, International.' This scholarship includes all school tuition and fees paid directly to Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry, as well as a fifty Galleon books and sundries award and an annual living expense award of four hundred fifty Galleons. That brings your current account total to one thousand two hundred thirty-three Galleons, one Sickle and fourteen Knuts."
Hermione was dumbfounded. She had received no notice of the award of any scholarship, nor had Harry mentioned anything about paying her for ordering books for the manor. She was both touched, and quite angry simultaneously.
Still, one of her greatest personal concerns was suddenly lifted and she left the bank some ten minutes later with a full money purse, completely reassessing her mental list of things she intended to buy in preparation for the new school year.
To her surprise, Mrs. Weasley was waiting for her on the steps of the bank. "Hermione dear," Mrs. Weasley began, "there is something that I forgot to give to you earlier." She opened her purse and retrieved a letter, which she handed to Hermione. "It arrived at the house a couple of days ago. Apparently, it was sent by Muggle post to your parents’ home, and your father was able to arrange to forward it via his local contact at the Muggle Relations Office. I am so sorry dear, but it does look important. It is not just anyone who receives a letter from the Royal Hart Corporation."
"Did you say, 'Royal Hart', Mrs. Weasley?" Hermione looked at the letter in her hand.
"Yes, dear," Mrs. Weasley confirmed.
The envelope was of a heavy linen paper. In the upper left corner was an embossed logo. It was an R.H. in a heavy modern san-serif font with the silhouetted head of a magnificent stag reversed out of the letters. It was followed by the abbreviation intl., and below that was a London return address. It was hand addressed to Hermione Jean Granger, at her parent's post address.
Hermione knew immediately that it was an award letter for the scholarship she had just been told about in the bank. She stared at it.
"Aren't you going to open it, Hermione?" Molly asked, obviously curious about its contents herself.
"Mrs. Weasley. What do you know about Royal Hart International?" Hermione asked.
"Oh, nothing more than anyone else I suppose," Molly began. "They are one of the oldest, if not the oldest, Wizarding corporation in existence. They do business both in the Wizard and Muggle world. Many years ago, I think sometime in the sixteen hundreds, they generously endowed Hogwarts. Beyond that, I am not at all sure what any international corporation does."
Hermione smiled vaguely at Mrs. Weasley as she opened the envelope and pulled out a type written formal letter on embossed letterhead.
14 August 1997
To: Miss. Hermione Jean Granger
Miss Granger,
It is my great honor to inform you that you have been nominated by Minerva McGonagall, Headmistress of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and chosen by special committee as the recipient of the Royal Hart Scholarship for Academic Excellence.
The RHSAE is awarded annually by the Royal Hart Foundation to the most accomplished, nominated, seventh year student at Hogwarts School. Nomination for this award must be forwarded to the committee by a Hogwarts professor, and the recipient is chosen by the committee based on academic standing, service to the school and acts of good citizenship.
Through arrangement with Gringott's Wizard Bank, funds for the scholarship shall be released immediately in the amounts described in the enclosed disbursement summation. Please contact Gringotts directly if you need to create or identify an appropriate account to receive the funds. All awards should be available for your use one week prior to start of the new term.
Once again, congratulations, and on behalf of the whole committee, thank you for giving us the rare, genuine opportunity to award this scholarship to a Gryffindor. For too long it seems the level of academic achievement, along with other qualifying characteristics has eluded all but the members of Ravenclaw House. Thank you for being an example of excellence.
Our congratulations as well for being named Head Girl.
Yours Sincerely,
Ambrose P. Kirkwood
Chairman, Scholarship committee
Royal Hart Foundation
London, England
Hermione examined the second page, which listed the award amounts and disbursement exactly as had been described to her in the bank. She quickly read the letter a second time.
"Well, Hermione?" Mrs. Weasley asked.
"It seems I have been awarded a scholarship for my final year at Hogwarts." She paused, distracted as if she were doing math in her head. "Isn't it a bit odd that I didn't receive this news earlier?"
"Well, it was lost in the post dear," Molly offered explanation. "Tricky stuff when Muggle post has to be intercepted and forwarded."
"I suppose," Hermione half heartedly agreed. "But I wonder if Harry, with his new found wealth and fancy barrister, didn't have something to do with this." She handed the letter and envelope to Mrs. Weasley. "Look at that corporate logo. A stag head. If that doesn't scream Potter, I don't know what does."
Molly was confused by Hermione's apparent anger at receiving such positive news and dumbfounded by the idea that Harry could be its source. She handed the letter back to Hermione. "Well, I am certain, Hermione, if by any chance Harry is somehow behind this, it is something he felt was needed and well deserved. But, personally I think it merely a coincidence."
Hermione did not seem at all convinced. She folded the letter and pushed it into her handbag.
"Well now, the others have gone ahead to Madam Malkin's for new robes. Why don't we hurry along and meet them there?" Molly urged.
Harry, Ginny, Ron and Luna had left the bank quickly as only Luna, Hermione and Mrs. Weasley had needed to withdraw funds, and only Hermione had been called into an office for a private conversation. Luna finished quickly at the teller's window and was ready to go, so Ron seized the opportunity to urge them all toward an unscheduled stop. Mrs. Weasley volunteered to wait for Hermione and meet them at Madam Malkin's.
Ron had led them quickly to Peninnah Promise and hurried them in to the shop. Harry and Ginny assumed this was about the charm for Ginny's bracelet, so they stepped up to the counter and Ginny pulled her vice-captain badge from her clutch.
“Welcome to Peninnah Promise, Fine Jewelry. How may I help you?” came the greeting from the handsome sales woman.
"We are here to place a custom order," Harry said.
"Very good, Mister Potter," the sales woman responded, "would you like to speak directly with one of our jewelers?"
"If that would be of no trouble," Harry responded.
"No trouble at all," she said as she stepped momentarily into a back room through an open archway. Ginny removed her bracelet and laid it carefully on a velvet pad in preparation, placing her badge next to it. "Someone will be with you momentarily, Mister Potter," she said as she returned. "Now, may I do anything for you, Mr. Weasley?"
A moment later a goblin appeared from the back room and came directly to Harry and Ginny. There was obviously some sort of ledge for him to stand on as he rose to their height as he approached. They became so engrossed in explaining what they wanted done that neither noticed Ron handing the sales woman a small pouch of coins, and later receiving a slip of paper in exchange.
The jeweler easily grasped Harry and Ginny's request and explained that he would be happy to do such a simple job directly. He said he would be able to have it for them within three hours, so they could pick it up before their day's shopping was complete. Satisfied that their business there was concluded they hurried off to Madam Malkin's.
Upon entering the robe shop they were excited to see a number of changes had been made to the premises in the wake of recent reconstruction in the Alley. Madam Malkin's had expanded, adding a section of Muggle-made and Muggle-styled clothing, as well as additional seamstresses and fitting stations. They had also added an Army section offering supplementary items and alterations for Army issue uniforms. The customers ahead of them, a couple of Army recruits, were just finishing their fittings so Ron, Ginny and Luna hopped up onto the fitting platforms, while the seamstresses pulled forward the wheeled racks of appropriate house robes.
The spring bell on the shop door sounded as Hermione and Mrs. Weasley entered the shop, whereupon Mrs. Weasley hurried back to the fitting stations to direct the seamstress that her children would be getting new robes this year and to push back the second hand racks of alterable hand-me-downs.
Hermione headed directly for Harry. She had been stewing the entire walk over, running possibilities in her head and she was about to burst. "Harry, how could you treat me like an employee? And how dare you go behind my back to arrange for all my financial problems to go away in one fell swoop. I have never asked for money and I don't want you thinking I need your charity. Oh, you are very smart, knowing I wouldn't take your money directly, so instead, Mr. Incredibly Wealthy, you make arrangements to cover my expenses through an elaborate ruse!" She thrust out her hand clutching the award letter.
The outburst attracted everyone's attention until Madam Malkin herself cast a Silencing Charm around Harry and Hermione, and with a, "Tut, tut, none of our business people," she quickly directed her seamstresses back to their measuring.
Taken back by Hermione's fervor, Harry responded in kind. "Hermione!" he exclaimed, "I haven't the least idea what you're talking about. What ruse? Just what're you accusing me of?" Hermione shook the letter at him and he took it, unfolding it calmly and reading it. Hermione stood there fuming.
Harry handed the letter back to Hermione. "Well, I would say congratulations Hermione, except you obviously feel something is amiss. I don't understand why you think I had anything to do with this."
Hermione thrust the letter's envelope into his face. "Royal Hart International?" Hermione said accusingly, "Look at that logo and tell me your family has nothing to do with it!"
Harry examined the logo and smiled. "Well, Hermione, you've got me," Harry conceded. "You've discovered my great secret." His tone changed quickly from conciliatory to angry. "There is indeed a connection between myself and Royal Hart International, I own it. A fact I myself have only been aware of since my birthday. With all that is going on right now, do you honestly think I would create such an elaborate ruse to give you money? I have plenty! More than I'll ever need in fact, and if you asked for some of it, I would give it to you in a heartbeat. But I know you Hermione, you wouldn't ask, and so I've never offered. Yes, I happen to own Royal Hart, but I've nothing to do with any operations of the company at this point. Perhaps some day in the future, but not now."
"Well, what about your private meetings with Mr. Prcht and all the quiet arrangements you've been making lately without telling us, like the refurbishing of Grimmauld place, whatever it is you know about Alex Burgestikoff's new job, or the secret letter you sent from Hogwarts! What did you call it? 'Anonymous generosity?'" Hermione accused further.
Harry was now matching her volume for volume. "Technically, I don't know anything about Alex's new job. Yes, I have a guess, but since she expressly said she was not at liberty to say, I felt it better to keep my opinions to myself. I'm sorry if that offends you! And, my 'anonymous generosity' at Hogwarts was to donate new Quidditch equipment to the school, which I didn't care to mention because … 'anonymous.'" Harry made quotes in the air for emphases as he said the word. "That, and every time I spend any money people seem to get mad at me! Just like you are now!"
"Okay, but what about paying me to be your librarian, something I thought I was doing as your friend." Harry was obviously surprised by this. "What am I, just another servant of the great House of Potter?" Hermione screamed at him.
Harry stood for a moment blank-faced, slowly turning purple with rage. He didn't know anything about this last accusation. For him, this argument had nothing to do with money, and everything to do with trust and friendship. He lashed out. "How could you think that, Hermione? How could you think any of it? I thought you were my friend!" he yelled back at her. "I guess I was mistaken!" He tossed the now crumpled envelope at her feet and stormed from the shop.
Hermione stood shaking and watched him leave.
Ginny, seeing the altercation unfold, had quickly freed herself of the robe that was being pinned in the back, and bolted after Harry. She stopped for a moment and locked eyes with Hermione. In that instant the raging fire in Ginny's eyes caused Hermione's anger to turn to fear. As the shop door slammed behind Ginny, Hermione bent down and retrieved the envelope at her feet. The others had all gathered around her. She could barely speak, but managed a worried, "What have I done?" Ron drew her into a hug.
Molly turned to the seamstresses and Madam Malkin, and asked if they might have a few minutes of privacy. Madam Malkin nodded and directed her employees to the back room. "Now, how about you explain yourself, Hermione," Mrs. Weasley said calmly.
Hermione handed the letter to Mrs. Weasley and quickly explained what had happened and her reasoning for coming to her conclusions. When she was done, Ron was first to speak. He took Hermione's hands in his and looked in to her eyes. "Hermione, I love you," the simple statement caught her completely off guard and her mind went blank. "But, I have to say I think you're wrong about this. There has to be another explanation."
Hermione pulled her hands away and stepped back. "Really, well, what about this sudden scholarship from Royal Hart. I have never heard of such a thing. Have you?" She asked angrily.
Luna, who had been last to receive the passed letter began to chuckle, which cut through the anger quite effectively. "Hermione," she said calmly, "there's another explanation, and you've heard of this scholarship. I'm surprised that you, the smartest girl I know, couldn't put this together properly," she said. "Congratulations, you're this year’s recipient of what the whole school has come to call the Ravenclaw Award."
"The Ravenclaw Award?" Hermione said confused, "Everyone knows that the Ravenclaw Award is granted to a seventh year from your House. That's something else entirely. There is a plaque outside the Ravenclaw common room with the names of all the recipients for at least fifty years."
"Yes there is, and if you'd ever really looked at it you'd have seen that it clearly says on that plaque, The Royal Hart Scholarship for Academic Excellence, not the Ravenclaw Award. The annual scholarship has been given out for well over a hundred years. It's only come to be called the Ravenclaw Award, because it's not been given to anyone from another house in over fifty years. If you've been awarded this honor it's a great accomplishment. One I'm sure is based upon your own academic record and your service to the school. Most of that service, I might add, having been accomplished through your association with the very person you've just accused of arranging it." There was no tone of accusation in Luna's words, just a clear declaration of truth.
Hermione suddenly felt deflated, and tears began to form in her eyes. "But, what about paying me to be his librarian?" she said weakly.
"I'm certain there's an explanation for that as well," Ron said as he stepped forward and pulled her again in to his embrace. "Now, why don't we finish our fittings, so both you and Harry have a chance to calm down? Then we'll find Harry and straighten this whole mess out." Hermione nodded weakly, and Ron led her to the fitting stand.
Harry burst out of Madam Malkin's and into a bustling Diagon Alley. He felt betrayed and that was making him angry. Immediately he could feel eyes on him and he felt the need to escape.
Ginny ran out from Madam Malkin's a second later. "Harry!" she called.
Harry turned at hearing her and the mere sight of Ginny was enough to calm him considerably.
Ginny took his arm and immediately set them in motion. They raced down the alley past its many other stores until they reached number ninety-three, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. The shop had been completely rebuilt and though it presently stood between two ruined buildings, the windows were filled with wondrous displays of colorful products. Above the windows several bright purple banners hung declaring the grand re-opening, in golden letters. Ginny had not let go of Harry’s hand the whole way, and she practically pulled him into the shop.
There was the familiar clatter of a spring bell as they entered, but their path was immediately blocked by the throngs a people inside. Fred and George were no doubt present, somewhere among the dizzying array of displays, but the chances of seeing them through the packed shop was unlikely. Terry Boot, however was present, just inside the door, wearing a shiny purple Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes robe.
"Hey you two," Terry said as they paused just inside the door.
"Hello, Terry," Harry greeted him extending his hand. "I thought you were working for Mrs. Scheffelgroober this summer?" Harry asked.
"Yeah, I was," Terry confirmed, "I finished that job about a week ago, so I would have a little time to myself, but Fred and George found me in the alley a few days ago and offered me a one day gig for their grand re-opening." He revealed that he had his wand in hand. "I'm to watch the door. Which is enchanted to give off an awful squeal if any unpaid goods cross the threshold. Then I just hit the crook with a Binding Charm, or a Stunning Spell if they bolt. We recover the goods and an Auror comes to deal with the criminal."
"Sounds fun, actually," Harry said. "Anyone tried it?"
"Yeah," Terry grinned, "We had a couple of attempts early in the day, but now word’s got out and I doubt we'll see anymore."
Just then a group attempted to come in behind them, so they quickly excused themselves from the conversation and pushed forward though the throng. Harry realized that Ginny not only had not let go of his hand, but was pulling him toward the back of the shop. They slipped through a curtain into a back hallway and from there snuck through a door into what Harry assumed was Fred and George’s new office, judging by the two desks and the general disarray.
Ginny released his hand finally, closed and locked the door behind her and turned to Harry. "Okay, Mr. Potter, please explain what just happened between you and Hermione," she said in a tone that Harry knew would brook no argument.
Harry explained, paraphrasing the letter and recounting Hermione's accusations leaving in as much detail as he could recall.
"And you know nothing about any of this," Ginny said.
Harry was overjoyed that it was a statement and not a question. Ginny didn't and wouldn't doubt him. He grabbed her up suddenly and kissed her hard. Ginny was momentarily surprised, but threw her arms around him nonetheless, not really caring what the kiss was for.
After a few minutes of sound snogging, Harry was totally over any lingering anger. They broke apart finally. "Had enough have you?" Ginny teased.
"Never," Harry proclaimed as he pulled her back into a toe curling kiss.
When they were finally done snogging, Ginny returned them to the topic at hand. "Well, as far as the scholarship goes, it is just like Hermione to think she hasn't done enough to earn it. That can be cleared up by asking Headmistress McGonagall, once we are back at school. And about being paid to be your librarian, we can just ask Jarphred, since he handles all the Manor’s day to day expenses, and he'll know what is going on there. I'm certain it is just a misunderstanding and can be cleared up quickly."
"I'm certain you're right, Ginny," Harry said. "But you know what? I haven't done anything wrong here and I don't feel it's my task to clear anything up. Hermione's betrayed our friendship by making accusations rather than seeking explanations, and it's her task to make things right," he smiled, though to Ginny, his pain was obvious. "Until then, we can just let her stew in her own broth for a bit."
"And you're not angry anymore?" Ginny questioned.
"No, not really," Harry admitted, "Just a bit disappointed."
"Well, Hermione really is a true friend, and I'm sure she'll come round soon enough," Ginny said, "In the meantime, let's not make too big a show of letting her think you're still angry. We don't want to keep her on her back foot."
There was a knock at the door and they could hear a key sliding into the lock. A second later George poked his head in. "Hey, you two are in here. Mum and they are out front asking after you. What gives?"
"Oh, Harry and Hermione are having a row. Hermione's all mucked up and holding the baby. Harry's already over it, but figures to send her to Coventry for a bit till she pulls the spanner from her own works," Ginny said in a single breath.
"Right you are, Harry, nods as good as a wink," George grinned. "How can I help?"
"Tell them you haven't seen us," Harry started, but George interrupted.
"Too late for that, Terry at the door already let slip you were here," George said.
"Okay, let us out the back and we'll head to Madam Malkin's to finish our fittings," Ginny said. "Give us a couple minutes, then go tell Mum that Harry was uncomfortable with the crowd so we slipped out the back. Tell her we're heading to Flourish & Blotts."
George opened the back door for them and let them out into the service alley. With a wave they were off.
The rest of the day, Harry and Ginny turned avoiding the others into a game. They methodically visited each necessary shop and managed to get everything on their Hogwarts lists and then some before stopping to pick up Ginny's new charm at Peninnah Promise. There had been a few close calls that required ducking into shops they didn't need to visit, and they even managed a nice visit with Mr. Eeylop at the Owl Emporium, before they returned to the Burrow using the public Floo.
Once they were back at the Manor, Harry asked Winky to find Mrs. Weasley and let her know that they were home and safe.
"You are certain she's here? The beloved one?" Voldemort questioned again, impatient with waiting, especially on Muggles.
"Yes, my Lord," Snape replied, "She should be leaving from the rear of the hotel at any moment."
They were standing together on the roof of the building opposite the hotel, across the Rue Cambon; Voldemort, Snape and a handful of Death Eaters, all with brooms in hand and all ready to go at a moment’s notice.
"You have done well, Severus," Voldemort said in a rare moment of acknowledgement. "I asked for a statement, and you have exceeded my expectations. Her death will echo through the Muggles of Britain and beyond. It may well shake the world."
"Thank you, my Lord," Snape cautiously replied. "The timing is right. Tomorrow the students of Hogwarts will be boarding the Hogwarts Express at Kings' Cross, and every wizard will know that you are a threat to them all, wizard and Muggle alike." Snape paused, pulling out his pocket watch to check the time. It was 12:19a.m. "Of course the French and British Ministries for Magic will cover up the true cause and Muggles will cry conspiracy for years, but the Wizarding world will know the truth."
From across the rooftops a small splash of red light lit the sky at the front of the hotel.
"That is the signal, my Lord," one of the Death Eaters said, "The decoy car has departed from the front."
They all watched as below a blond woman and a dark man were escorted from the rear entrance and hurried into a waiting car. The escort hurried into the passenger seat and the car rolled away quickly. Not surprisingly a couple of motorcycles and a few cars also sprang from nearby alleys and drives to follow.
High above, Voldemort and his Death Eaters mounted their brooms. Voldemort directed Death Eaters to deal with the following cars and they all swooped from the rooftop in pursuit of the Muggle vehicles.
The black Mercedes-Benz turned onto Rue de Rivoli and crossed the Place de la Concorde, to the Cours la Reine. The Death Eaters broke off and swooped over the following paparazzi casting Confundus Charms, which caused the cars and one of the motorcycles to make wrong turns at the Place de la Concorde.
Voldemort and Snape dropped close to the car along the Cours Albert 1er, to visually confirm that they had the correct prey. The horrified faces through the rear window were confirmation enough.
With a bright flash, Snape cast a spell to confuse and disorient the following motorcycle and other traffic on the connected causeway.
As they were about to enter the Place de l'Alma underpass, Voldemort cast the Killing Curse on the driver. With a corpse at the wheel, and a sickening squeal of tires the car swerved to the left and slammed head-on into the 13th support pillar, crushing the front of the car in an explosion of plastic, glass and wrenching metal, before spinning from the force of the impact to crash against the stone wall of the tunnel and finally coming to a stop.
Voldemort dismounted his broom and stepped toward the wreck to inspect his handiwork, debris still chittering and settling across the pavement. Seeing no movement within the smashed and shattered vehicle he let slip a maniacal laugh, raised his wand, and cast the Dark Mark, through the roof of the tunnel to appear in the sky above.
Certainly, there would be a cover-up for the sake of the statute of Wizarding Secrecy, but the Wizarding world would know that it was He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, who deprived the Muggles of their precious Princess Diana.
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NEXT
Chapter Twenty-Six
The Hallowed Halls of Hogwarts
Chapter 27: Chapter 26 - The Hallowed Halls of Hogwarts
Author's Notes: Once again I find myself apologizing for the length of time between postings. I really wish I had a constant and consistent time for writing, alas, that has just not been the case. I have every intention of sticking with this story to the end. I just hope I don't lose every reader along the way. Thank you to those of you who enjoy the story and keep coming back.
Thanks especially to my Beta readers, Arnel, and SeekersDestony who have shown extraordinary patience with my sporadic writing. I do hope you enjoy the chapter... and I wish you happy reading!
The Hallowed Halls of Hogwarts
The Ministry cars wound their way through London on the way to King’s Cross.
The whole of England, despite the relatively pleasant weather, was under the darkest of clouds. News of the death of Princess Diana was wide spread – the headline of every newspaper. Every Muggle Harry had seen along the drive looked like they were dazed, moving through their day aimlessly on autopilot.
Harry knew who Diana was, of course. He might have been kept from a normal Muggle life by the Dursley's, but they were after all British, and respect for the royals was ingrained in them. Adoration for Diana, well, Harry supposed she had earned it through her actions.
The truth, however, was that he had not paid much attention either before, or especially after finding out he was a wizard. The extent to which news of her death was effecting the entire country was a little surprising to him. Of course, it was far worse than the Muggles knew, as it had been Voldemort who killed her.
The cover up had been as complete as possible and no image of the Dark Mark would appear in any Muggle newspaper. As always happened with Muggle manipulations of this scale, there were cracks in the cover. Already, accounts of flying people, freak cloud formations and bright lights had appeared in publications of lesser reputation. The Muggle conspiracy theories had begun.
As they rumbled down the A501, Harry wished they could have just Apparated to the station. He wasn't at all sure why the tradition of making the journey to King’s Cross, in order to ride the Hogwarts Express, was so deeply ingrained in the Wizarding community, when faster, cheaper transportation was a wand flick away.
Perhaps it was just the journey itself, as a metaphor for transition, growth and learning, that was the point of it. After all, it was usually an adventure, a chance to meet new people, share stories of summer with friends and get caught up. This year, of course, there would be many new people to meet owing to the presence of so many additional students coming from Beauxbatons.
Bill and Fleur had brought Fleur's sister and cousins from Shell Cottage to the Burrow only this morning in order to join them on the traditional journey. Gabrielle, JeanBaptiste, Jacquelyne, Josephina and Jerard had all been happy to see them again, but the news of the previous day’s events was effecting them as well, as it had happened in their country.
The cars eventually pulled into the unloading zone at the entrance to King’s Cross and they all piled out. The ride in their vehicle had been mostly quiet owing to the unresolved conflict between Hermione and Harry. The French kids from the other car, however, were filled with reserved excitement and a bit of wonder, as they chattered away between themselves, pointing and commenting at the Muggle world around them.
The Ministry drivers opened the boots and pulled out each of their trunks. Harry felt odd, not having Hedwig in her cage with him, but he knew she would show up at Hogwarts once her and Kyne's owlets were old enough.
As they walked through the station, it was unusually quiet. Hermione insisted on stopping at a newsstand and bought several Muggle newspapers in order to read the varying accounts of Princess Diana's death. Having had a normal Muggle childhood for her first eleven years, Hermione was most effected by Diana’s death. Harry wondered if that, more than the conflict between them, accounted for her quiet mood.
Not slowing down, Harry, Ginny and Luna, along with Bill, Fleur, and the French children, kept straight on toward platform 9, which forced Mr. and Mrs. Weasley to split up as Mrs. Weasley remained with Ron and Hermione.
They crossed the barrier and pushed on toward the train through what seemed an unusually crowded platform. Upon observation, Harry realized that there appeared to be at least twice as many rail cars as usual, perhaps more, and that the back half of the train was being boarded by large numbers of Army recruits.
They continued through the crowd until they reached the half way mark where a make shift wooden barrier had been placed and a couple of uniformed men were checking identification. They were politely informed that no students were allowed beyond the front half of the train.
“Why don't we go ahead and grab compartments,” Harry said as he turned toward the train.
Fleur began hugging her sister and cousins.
“Wait,” Mr. Weasley said, “Don’t you want to wait for Ron, Hermione and Molly to catch up?”
“Actually, Dad,” Ginny said. “They’ll have to stay up in the first car, Prefect and Head Girl duties. So, maybe you should run up toward the front of the train to catch them.” She moved in for a goodbye hug.
Mr. Weasley hugged Ginny and Luna and gave Harry a firm handshake. “Alright then,” he said. “You all have a good term, and we'll see you at Christmas.”
They all made their way onto the last student car, and chose the last two compartments. Harry helped the French students into the second to last compartment, assisting Gabrielle with her things before helping JeanBaptiste, with his sibling’s trunks. He returned to the last compartment quickly and helped Ginny and Luna get their trucks up into the overheads before settling in for the trip.
“There is no reason to be so sullen,” Luna said, sitting across from Harry and Ginny. “Hermione will come ‘round you know.”
“Yeah, Luna. I know that,” Harry said offhandedly. “It just doesn’t feel right somehow having her thinking I’m not talking to her. Why doesn’t she just apologize and be done with it? It has already been three days.”
“Harry, you know her better than that; she will not apologize until she is certain she is wrong,” Ginny said.
“Something she is not at all used to being,” Luna added.
“You just have to be patient, and let her figure it out for herself,” Ginny concluded. “You simply cannot be the one to prove her wrong in this; she has to find the proof herself. You said so yourself on Friday when it all started.”
Luna was nodding her agreement, but Harry was, and must have looked confused, because Luna said. “It’s a female thing, Harry, just take our word for it. You want Hermione to solve this for herself.”
“I know,” Harry admitted. “It’s just that Hermione is one of my best friends and I don’t like her thinking I am mad at her.”
Ginny entwined her fingers with Harry’s and rubbed Harry’s arm comfortingly with her free hand.
Just then, the door slid open and Neville practically fell into the compartment. “Got room for one more in here?” he asked, flailing after Trevor’s wicker basket as it slid from his arms and landed on the seat next to Luna.
“Sure, Neville, come on in,” Harry said as he stood up to help put the additional trunk into the overheads, reluctantly releasing Ginny’s hand.
“Where are Ron and Hermione?” Neville asked.
“Hermione was named Head Girl, and Ron is still a Prefect, so they’re up in the first car on Prefect duties,” Ginny said.
“Oh, I didn’t know. Congratulations Hermione,” Neville said, making an affirmative gesture with his fist. “We’ll see them on rounds then.”
Neville settled in quickly and fell in to an easy conversation with Luna about events of the summer until the train began to move and they all stepped into the aisle to wave from the windows. Mrs. Weasley had found Arthur, Bill and Fleur, and they were waving excitedly, as they caught sight of Harry and company.
The train ride passed quickly with lively conversation and lots of new faces. The first years, as often happened, spent much of their time in the aisles introducing one another and speculating on house assignments. They also had a tendency to try to catch a glimpse of the famous Harry Potter, so it meant that there was always a crowd outside Harry’s compartment.
When the treat trolley came by Harry bought sandwiches and cakes for his compartment and for Fleur’s sister and cousins. They all crammed into one compartment to eat and visit for a while. After lunch, the French students returned to their own compartment.
Not long afterward, Ron came by without Hermione and sat long enough to devour a lunch and complain profusely.
“She’s driving me loopy,” Ron lamented. “She is dead convinced that you somehow set it all up, Harry. Now she is going on about how it is so nice of you to want to help her financially, but dreadful of you to do it on the sly.” Ron shoved the last bite of Harry’s extra sandwich into his mouth, and reached for Ginny’s. (They had been purchased intentionally for that reason.) “And she is right cross with me, because she says I am taking your side.” He glanced around the compartment. “Got anything to drink?” Harry produced a bottle of pumpkin juice and handed it to him. Ron pulled the cork and took a long swig of the juice. “I’ve not seen her this upset since I was dating Lavender last year – and let's please not be bringing that up!” He wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “Harry, you’ve gotta do something before I’m driven completely barmy.”
“I’m afraid this one’s completely on Hermione, mate,” Harry said. “I’m well advised that I can’t solve this for her, she has to do it herself.” Harry glanced appreciatively at Luna and Ginny. “I’m sure she’ll arrange to talk with Headmistress McGonagall, as quickly as possible, and if she hasn’t already thought of it, you could suggest that she summon Jarvy to ask about the Librarian pay.” He paused, “but I’d be careful about how you suggest it. And, remind her to be careful to maintain security.”
“Will that even work, now that we’ll be at Hogwarts?” Ron asked.
“It should do,” Harry said. “Hermione’s a resident of the manor, so any of the manor elves will respond when she calls. And the school’s wards won’t keep an elf out if it’s responding to a rightful authority. Dobby was able to get inside the grounds to see me, and he wasn’t even my elf at the time.”
“Right,” Ron said, recalling. “Does that mean, since I’m a resident of the manor too, that I can get them to bring me food?” He asked.
“I’m sure they would,” Ginny chimed in, “but, if you want extra food, you can sneak down to the kitchens like any other student and leave the manor elves alone. Besides, I’m certain both the Headmistress and your girlfriend, you know, the Head Girl, would frown on your using personal elves in that way while you’re at school.”
Ron frowned, knowing Ginny was right; the visions of late night snacks vanished from his imagination in a haze of disappointment.
“And,” Harry added. “Let’s all remember that we here, and Hermione, are the only students aware of the true nature of the manor. The Fidelius Charm will prevent any accidental disclosures of specific information, but we should still all be careful about our conversations.”
Everyone in the compartment nodded in agreement.
After Ron had returned to his duties, the compartment seemed to get quiet for a while as the train continued along its way methodically trundling against the tracks. Neville was soon lulled into sleep, snoring lightly as he leaned against the headrest, his toad, Trevor, dozing in his lap.
While Neville slept, Harry and Ginny were occupied in their own personal world, talking in confidence to one another as though the rest of reality simply did not exist. Luna wondered if they were even aware that they did this quite often. Their lips were moving and they were clearly speaking to one another, but even across the short distance of the compartment, she couldn’t hear a thing. She was totally cut off from their conversation. Luna suspected that it was simply a manifestation of the bond that clearly existed between them. It seemed very few but herself were aware of the bond, and probably would remain ignorant of it until sometime after Ginny turned seventeen and it manifested more prominently. Until then, Luna was content to keep her knowledge a secret between herself, the elves and the manor fairies. She was committed to supporting her friend and cousin to the best of her ability. She was ecstatically happy for them.
As the quiet left her quite alone amongst good company, Luna decided that a stroll outside the compartment would be in order. She was unsurprised that Harry and Ginny barely noticed her departure.
The aisles of the Hogwarts Express were busier than usual but Luna navigated them with relative ease. Walking these aisles attempting to distribute copies of the Quibbler had given her plenty of practice. Today however, she was actually quite happy that she had no Quibblers to hawk. Not that she minded the Quibbler; quite the contrary, she had always adored her father and his work. She recognized her father’s sometimes fanciful, always eccentric interpretation of the world. It was just that the last few years, and these last few weeks in particular, had seated in her a desire to be a bit more “normal.” Not wholly − Luna was determined to follow her own understandings and trust her own perception and interpretation of the world around her.
Undeniably, meeting her great aunt, Philomena, had been an influence and the way that Harry had unquestioningly accepted her, not only as a friend, but as family, added up to Luna wanting to be something more than she had been. She was no longer okay with being known as Looney Lovegood – she hoped to discover what blossoming into Luna could mean. To that end, she had abandoned her radish earrings and Butterbeer necklace in favor of sapphire earrings and a matching necklace provided by her great aunt, through Potter Manor. Beautiful, expensive jewelry was a luxury Luna had never known and possession of such property made her feel special, and quite grown up.
In the three weeks ending the summer Luna had experienced a profound, personal, quiet, makeover orchestrated by the loving kindness of her great aunt, Philomena, Harry’s grandmother, and the unflinching generosity of Harry himself. It had all been very quiet. People often talked about the wealth-less Weasley’s as an example of a poor, financially struggling, family. Ron, for example, was often teased about his hand-me-down school robes, but if the truth were known, the Lovegoods were poorer still. People simply attributed to her oddity what were outright examples of poverty, her hand sewn clothes, her homemade jewelry. It had all been the attempts of a poor girl to appear to have things of value. People assumed that the Quibbler made plenty of money and that Luna’s choices were merely the family eccentricity.
Philomena saw through the ruse immediately and took action. She quietly informed Harry that Luna needed a few things. Harry had of course said, “She’s family, whatever she needs.” He had told Ginny of his grandmother’s request and the generosity had flowed from there. An account and a regular allowance had been set up for Luna at Gringotts and Ginny had taken her on several morning shopping excursions to Ottery St. Catchpole, Diagon Alley, and even with her older twin brothers, to Muggle stores in greater London.
New clothes were one thing; they made Luna feel comfortable and attractive. The more valuable experience of the past few weeks was just being around women in a regular home setting – sharing a room with Ginny, interacting with Mrs. Weasley and talking to her great aunt every day. It was so different from being at home with her father, or largely avoided at school. Luna liked her new normalcy and she wanted more of it. In fact, she thought, she just might even like to have a boyfriend. Ginny sure seemed to recommend it, and it seemed to be doing Hermione a world of good as well.
Hermione hurried through the narrow aisles trying and failing to concentrate on her duties as Head Girl. She had already let slide a number of behavioral infractions and passed over objects she rightfully should have confiscated. She had resigned herself to the idea that perhaps her overlooking these things might in some way ingratiate her to the students. At the very least if Ron found out about it, and there would surely be talk, he would be proud of her for bending the rules.
The truth of the matter was that she was upset and angry – frustrated because she was no longer entirely sure at whom, or about what. She had followed a logical chain of events to a conclusion. Had it really been a false conclusion?
If she was correct, then Harry had taken it upon himself to solve her financial problems for her, through deception, without consulting her and she was therefore right to be cross with him. If she was wrong, then her good fortune was the result of her own efforts and she had wrongly accused her best friend. She felt dreadful.
Worse still, Ron had actually taken Harry’s side, which normally would have made her extremely mad at him, but in this instance made Hermione that much less certain of her own position. There was nothing for it but to uncover the truth, which first meant requesting an audience with Headmistress McGonagall. If she was indeed wrong she would just have to apologize, and she so hated to apologize… Or was it that she hated being wrong?
Oh why can’t I just be cross with Ron over some frivolous, inconsequential thing, she thought in exasperation. At least then everything would be normal, and I would be looking forward to the making up. The thought made her smile in spite of herself. One thing about finally having Ron as her boyfriend… He was very good at the making up.
When the sun began to set they had all pulled down their school robes in preparation for their arrival at Hogsmeade station.
Harry always enjoyed the last bit of the trip as they came through the high pass and the track began to descend toward the lake. If the timing was right, he would see the last rays of sunset ablaze across the lake surface and the lights of the castle coming to life against its shadowed silhouette in the far distance. The tracks would quickly drop them into the denser forested hills and it would be full darkness by the time the train pulled in to the station.
Following tradition, Hagrid would be there on the platform to gather the first years and lead them down to the boat docks where they would embark on the torch lit passage across the near end of the lake, while the rest would go by carriage, arriving more quickly.
Luna returned to the compartment, accepted her robe from Ginny who had retrieved it for her, and plopped down into her seat quietly. She didn’t utter a word and seemed to be staring at nothing for several minutes.
“Luna, is something the matter?” Ginny eventually asked.
“No, nothing,” Luna replied distractedly, though she remained perfectly unmoved.
Both Neville and Harry glanced at Luna from their seats near the window, but neither seemed to feel that anything was amiss. Neville resumed explaining to Harry about the common species of trees that populated the area and the magical fauna that could, with proper patience, be found in the forests above Hogsmeade.
After another couple of minutes, Luna suddenly spoke again. “Harry Potter,” she said loud enough to ensure his attention. “Am I pretty?”
The question caught Harry completely off guard. Before he could answer, Ginny was already speaking up.
“Of course you are pretty, Luna,” Ginny said insistently. “Did someone tell you otherwise?” Ginny seemed quite prepared to get her ire up.
“No, nothing like that. Actually, quite the contrary,” Luna responded.
“What makes you ask?” Harry questioned curiously.
“While I was walking throughout the train,” Luna began, “I chanced to overhear bits of a conversation. I think it may have been Romilda Vane, or at least it sounded like her. Whomever it was, she was talking with one of the new French boys. They were in the exit passage back of the last compartment of one of the forward cars. She was giggling rather incessantly and it was ages before I could get past them. The boy was asking a lot of questions about you, Harry. Things like, who do you spend most of your time with? What activities are you in besides Quidditch? And, do you have a girlfriend? The girl seemed all too keen to answer. She mentioned Ron and Hermione as your best friends and listed several members of the DA. She said you were often seen with Neville and I, who were with you at the Ministry and she told him that you and Ginny were an item at the end of last year, but she was not sure yet if the relationship had survived the summer.” Luna paused. “Then, the boy asked if you, being famous and all, tended to surround yourself with only the prettiest girls?”
“What did she say?” Ginny blurted out urgently.
Luna turned to Ginny conspiratorially and continued. “She said that Harry didn’t seem to care about being that sort of popular and probably didn’t choose friends based on appearance, because, well… Ron and Hermione… But, then she said, on second thought, that maybe Harry did care about looks, because apparently lots of boys say that you, Ginny, are one of the prettiest girls at the school. Then she said that I might actually be very pretty as well, if I were to change my clothes, take better care of myself and stop being so odd.”
“Oh, Luna,” Ginny said consolingly.
“And that is why you want to know if I think you’re pretty?” Harry questioned.
Luna looked at Harry, wide eyed, and nodded slowly.
“Yes Luna, I think you are very pretty,” Harry said deliberately. “But, as we are related, my opinion could be considered biased. Perhaps you should ask Neville.”
Neville gulped hard and made a sound that could have, just as likely come from Trevor. “I think… I think you are very pretty Luna,” he stammered. Both he and Luna were flushing pink.
They were saved from any further embarrassment by the train pulling into Hogsmeade Station and a flurry of activity as students flooded in to the aisles and crowded toward the exits.
They made their way off the train as quickly as possible, helping Gabriel and her cousins, before leaving the station and climbing into the first available carriage. The ride to the castle was brief and pleasant, and soon they found themselves in the Great Hall greeting friends and finding seats at the house tables.
The Great Hall had been magically expanded to accommodate a fifth house table. House banners hung equidistant along the sides and back of the hall. The new Beauxbatons’ table occupied the center between Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. As always, thousands of candles floated above their heads lending a steady, consistent illumination and, high above, the enchanted ceiling reproduced the night sky so completely that it was easy to imagine there was no ceiling there at all.
As they moved toward the front of the hall, Harry observed that the Slytherin table seemed rather sparsely populated. The students who had returned seemed content enough to be there, but the feeling of active conspiracy brewing that Harry usually felt when looking in that direction was all but gone. Harry suspected that had everything to do with the notable absence of Draco Malfoy and his cronies.
Harry had not released Ginny’s hand since they had stepped down from the carriage, and he was aware that this was causing a small stir, particularly among the female students. Apparently, the status of their relationship had been an object of speculation over the summer. Harry was perfectly content to keep hold of Ginny’s hand and thereby lay to rest any rumors of a summer, or pending, breakup. As Ginny had made no attempt to remove her hand from his, he assumed that she was perfectly in agreement with letting the students know that they were, in fact, a couple. As far as Harry was concerned, people didn’t need to know how close he had come to messing it all up after Dumbledore’s funeral that Spring.
Ron soon found them and they all took seats toward the front of the tables. Luna excused herself and headed off to find a seat with the Ravenclaws. Hermione remained at the back of the room where she could move about monitoring the tables. Ron kept the seat next to him so that she could join them once the feast actually began.
Ron nudged Harry, and directed his attention toward the Beauxbatons’ table. “Harry, is that blonde bloke there, fifth in, on the far side, the git you said is the Quidditch captain?” He asked.
“Yeah,” Harry answered, looking casually across the tables. “Jean-Pierre Lesauvage is his name. He seems a determined fellow, I’ll give him that.”
“Look at the way he seems to be center of his own group of dedicated cronies,” Ron pointed out. “Reminds me a bit of Malfoy.”
“Perhaps a little,” Harry conceded.
Just then, Jean-Pierre turned and made eye contact with Harry. He smiled and made a small wave of acknowledgement to which Harry responded in kind. It was quick and seemingly casual before Lesauvage was pulled away by questions from his table companions.
Even though the encounter seemed friendly, Harry had the distinct impression that there was the cynical edge of competition contained there. Why not, he supposed, they were, by virtue of position, Quidditch rivals. Perhaps Lesauvage was the sort that lived by such rivalries. Harry turned to Ginny, who had been busy fielding myriad questions since they had entered the hall. Ginny smiled back and lightly squeezed his hand, and Harry instantly determined to think about Lesauvage at another time.
The teachers began to file in from the side doors behind the top table. Harry grinned knowingly when Alex Burgestikoff appeared just after Headmistress McGonagall. A flurry of squawking questions erupted among the students as Alex, and a number of other unfamiliar faces appeared within the ranks of the Hogwarts staff. If Harry was gauging the reactions correctly the two most pronounced reactions were to the presence of Alex who appeared in stunningly red Eastern European Style robes, and Sean Fleming, who was wearing a loose, black, Muggle style, academic robe over his otherwise casual attire. They were not the only new faces up on the teachers’ platform, but they clearly prompted the most curiosity.
Once the staff settled into their seats and the room had begun to calm, the rear doors opened and Professor Sprout entered, leading the new class of first years. Half of them followed the Deputy Headmistress down the aisle between the Hufflepuff and Beauxbatons tables. Hermione stepped in to lead the other half up the corresponding aisle between Beauxbatons and Ravenclaw. They lined up the first years at the front of the hall facing the seated students and Professor Sprout retrieved the stool and Sorting Hat. Harry remembered well his experience as a first year standing there as nervous as the students before him now, wondering wildly if he would be asked to pull a rabbit from the hat.
Several seconds past before the Sorting Hat twitched on the stool. The tear along its brim opened wide and slow as a yawn. Then the Hat began to sing.
I’ve sorted ’ore a thousand years
According to Founder’s desire,
But now I’m old and tattered bare
And ready to retire.
I’ll sort this class, one last hurrah
Before I fray to threads,
So set me firm upon your ears
Let’s see what’s in your heads.
If you be bold and brave and true
You’ll go to Gryffindor.
The smartest and the wittiest
To Ravenclaw I’ll pour.
A Slytherin is ambitious
Always driven to be best.
While the Hufflepuffs are thoughtful
With true kindness they are blessed.
But remember these divisions
Are not meant to make us part.
They are groupings meant to help us
Based on truths within our heart.
So if character divides you
Based on blood or traits expressed,
Just remember, deep inside you,
You’re the same as all the rest.
Now we’ve guests from Beauxbatons this year
While their school is remade
And we pledge to treat them as our own
Propriety obeyed.
So for now we’ll have a fifth house
Which we’re glad we could arrange
As we feel there is great value
In this cultural exchange.
We look forward to the challenge
In our studies and our fun
And we hope that when you leave us
Lasting friendships will be won.
Just remember as we pass this year
A dreadful darkness looms.
There’s a battle yet before us
That the Wizard world dooms.
Now I do not mean to scare you
Or to put you off your rest,
But as always when the darkness comes
It’s really just a test.
Do we fall to evil’s tyranny?
Or rise above the fray?
If we can but come together
Light will always win the day.
Hogwarts needs to be a haven
Not divided from within.
True allegiance to each other
That is where we must begin.
So let’s place me now upon each head
And sort you to your rest
For whichever house you end up in
I assure you it’s the best!
There was a moments silence before the hall burst into applause.
Pomona Sprout stepped forward and ceremoniously unrolled the beginning of the parchment scroll, reading, “Argall, Vaughn, please step forward.”
A small, frightened-looking boy with wide grey eyes and mouse brown hair came forward hesitantly and climbed up onto the stool. Professor Sprout placed the Sorting Hat carefully upon his head so that it didn’t fall forward over his face. There were several seconds of silence during which the boy’s expression changed a number of times finally ending with a delighted grin as the Sorting Hat proclaimed aloud, “Hufflepuff!” The professor lifted the hat and the boy leapt from the stool running off to join his cheering housemates at the Hufflepuff table.
When the final first year had been called and the sorting was finished, Professor Sprout removed the hat and stool as Headmistress McGonagall stepped forward to the podium. She raised her hands to calm the room and once silence was achieved, she began to speak.
“Welcome, students, to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It is my great honor to greet you today as your newly appointed Headmistress. I will do my utmost to uphold the standards and traditions of the Founders, and of this noble institution.
“These past months we have witnessed several horrible tragedies. From the murder of Albus Dumbledore, former Headmaster of this school, and the wholesale destruction of Beauxbatons Academy of Magic, to the overthrow of several Eastern European magical governments and just yesterday, the Murder of the Muggle’s beloved Princess.
“All of these atrocities are attributable, in one way or another, to a single Dark wizard. A wizard who sadly, is an alumnus of this very school. While this may be considered a blemish on our reputation, it does not alter our goal and tradition of providing the best magical education possible. To that end there have been a number of staff changes for this term.” She turned momentarily to look back at the staff table behind her. “If our new and visiting professors would please stand?”
Six new professors stood. The Headmistress gestured first to a woman furthest to her right. The woman was nearly as tall as Minerva McGonagall herself and built much the same. She wore a deep blue set of robes with a black knit shall over her shoulders. Her hair was greying, but still showed that it had once been a vibrant blonde, it was neatly coiffured into a tight bun at the back of her head. She bowed lightly at the Headmistress’ gesture.
“First, is Professor Horatia Canon. Ms. Canon comes to us from the East England Museum of Wizarding History. She will be teaching History of Magic. Also, as an aluma and a member of Gryffindor House, she will be assuming my former position as Head of House. For any of you who may be concerned, our Professor Binns will continue to lecture as usual, though his lectures will no longer require any attendance. They will, however, remain available for any interested parties as extra credit and study review.”
Professor Canon took her seat. Next to her stood, by appearance, a young man, no older than his mid-thirties. He was slim and slightly shorter with brown hair, blue eyes and an exuberant smile. His robes where brad new, presumably in honor of his appointment to the school. He bowed somewhat nervously as The Headmistress made introduction.
“Professor Thomas Vicissi will be teaching Transfiguration. Professor Vicissi is late of the Ministry for Magic, Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, Accidental Magic Reversal Division. Mr. Vicissi is also a Hogwarts alumus.
“Next we have Professor Sean Fleming, who will be teaching Muggle Studies. In an unprecedented program of Muggle cooperation, Mr. Fleming comes to us directly at the recommendation of the Muggle Prime Minister of Britain. As many of you suspect, and to avoid continued speculation, Mr. Fleming is indeed a Muggle, and as such will bring a new, and welcome, authenticity and authority to the subject matter. We are assured that Mr. Fleming is very well qualified to instruct on the subject.”
Mr. Fleming, declined to bow, but did smile quite broadly, lifting his goblet a bit higher, as he surveyed the students before him. There was a sort of swagger in his stance that seemed to challenge anyone who might make assumptions about him based on the fact that he was a Muggle among wizards. There was certainly no lack of confidence about the man. He caught Harry’s gaze and they locked eyes, whereupon he gave a slight nod of recognition. McGonagall turned and gestured to her left side. At the far end of the row stood a female and male instructor in French style satin robes. The woman’s was a pale blue, like the Beauxbatons’ school colors, while the man’s robes were a dark navy blue with a pale blue lining. They were each of rather average height and weight. The woman had pleasant features and a softly attractive face, though she did seem to have exceedingly blonde, almost yellow, hair which made her quite noticeable amongst her peers. The man was equally average in all respects except that he sported a looped, clearly waxed, handlebar mustache. The woman was farthest down the row.
“Please let me introduce Madame Amlie Lvsque, Deputy Headmistress of Beauxbatons Academy, and Monsieur Aldric Villeneuve, Beauxbatons Professor.” The Headmistress paused for effect, before continuing. “As long as our quest students remain with us, Madame Lvsque, will be here to serve as Overseer of Visiting Students and Head of House Beauxbatons. Both she and Monsieur Villeneuve will be teaching additional curriculum specific the Beauxbatons Academy fifth through seventh years.”
The two waved together and then quickly took their seats.
“And finally,” McGonagall gestured to her direct left. “Alexandrina Burgestikoff, joins us all the way from Romania to serve as our Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor.” Alex bowed to the room from her place at the staff table.
“Professor Burgestikoff served several years as an Auror in Romania before transitioning to and ascending to the position of Chief Keeper Trainer, and Second Chief Keeper, of the world renowned Romanian Dragon Reservation. We are extremely fortunate to have her here.”
With a slight bow of her head, Alex took her seat.
“I trust you will all endeavor to make our new staff members feel most welcome.
“Finally, a few brief announcements before we begin the feast. First, Professor Hagrid would like to remind everyone that the forest remains off limits, except for established, properly marked paths along the lake shore, ravine, and near his residence. I would also add that under no circumstances are any students to be wandering the grounds or forest edge by themselves. Second, Mr. Filtch has posted a complete list of prohibited items in the Entrance Hall and in each of the common rooms. Please consult this list, as there will be an opportunity to turn in prohibited items anonymously. Anyone caught with prohibited items thereafter will be subject to appropriate punishment.
“Now, with no further ado…” She flung her arms out wide. “Let the feast begin!”
Immediately, the tables filled with a dizzying array of foods and before Harry could decide upon a first item, Ron had filled his plate to heaping.
Hermione joined them at the table for the feast, but as the conversation quickly turned to Quidditch tryouts, she didn’t have a lot to say and that seemed to ease the feeling of tension she was presently bringing to the relationships.
Harry had reserved the Quidditch pitch for early morning try-outs that coming Saturday and several people had already inquired about it. Clearly, Ginny was already assessing possible players and she carried most of the meal’s conversation with the subject.
Once the feast had wound down, Hermione and Ron left to escort the new first years to the common room. Neville headed up with Seamus Finnegan, and Harry and Ginny were left to make their way to the common room at a leisurely pace.
While they did seem to be the subject of long looks and possible gossip, Harry was glad that for the most part people were leaving them alone. There were lots of welcome back greetings, especially from students who had been in the DA. A few students stopped to shake hands, but no real conversations started. Harry was glad of it because he was rather enjoying strolling through the torch lit castle arm-in-arm with Ginny.
Eventually they made their way to the common room where they lingered for a long time by the fire. Nevertheless, they inevitably each had to adjourn to their dormitory and settle in for the first night back at Hogwarts.
Hermione was exhausted when she and Ron finally returned to the Gryffindor common room after the final curfew chimed and they had made one final patrol through the sixth floor corridor of alcoves. That was where most of the older students went for a secluded snog when they were dating someone from a different house. The first night back after summer holiday was always a busy night for the corridor. Many couples were re-uniting after the summer apart and there were always the awkward break-ups of those who had strayed, or simply drifted apart in each other’s absence. There was plenty of drama to be managed, plus there had been quite a number of Beauxbatons students to re-direct when they found themselves turned around in the new and unfamiliar castle.
By the time they entered through the entrance guarded by the Fat Lady, almost everyone had already headed up to the dormitories for the night. She noted that Harry and Ginny were snuggled together on their favorite sofa in front of the fire, but she didn’t feel particularly like speaking to Harry and she doubted very much that they were even aware that she and Ron had arrived.
As there was no reason to linger she made her way to the curtained alcove beneath the stairs to the dormitories, behind which was the doorway to her private Head Girl chambers. The doorway only appeared in years when the Head Girl or Boy was from Gryffindor House and as Hermione recalled, the last time these chambers had been used was during their third year when Ron’s brother Percy had been Head boy.
The chambers themselves were quite nice. There was a narrow hallway just under the stairs then it opened to a small lounge, which had a nice large window, a study table with four chairs, and a small sofa in front of a fireplace. To the left of the fireplace was another short hall from which a door opened to the left into a private bath and wash room. Beyond the hall was a cozy bed chamber, which also had its own fireplace. The bed was of the same four-poster variety of the dormitory beds, though this one was full sized.
Ron followed her into her rooms and made a quick exploration of the space. “This is very nice, Hermione,” he said as he plopped down next to her on the sofa. “Percy never let me in here when he was Head boy. Always said it would be improper.”
The fire crackled delightfully and Hermione edged closer, pulling his arm around her so she could snuggle against his shoulder. “Yes, it is nice,” she replied through a yawn. “But, I think I shall miss my suite at the Manor.”
“Of course,” Ron said, content to pull her close against himself. “Nice of the house-elves to keep this fire going for you,” he said offhandedly as he kicked off his shoes and stretched his toes toward the hearth, getting comfortable.
Suddenly Hermione pulled away sitting attentively upright. “House-elves!” she proclaimed abruptly. “Why didn’t I think of that immediately?” she asked aloud, really only addressing herself.
“What are you on about?” Ron questioned.
“House-elves, Ron,” she said, “I can ask the Manor elves – well, especially Jarphred, about the librarian pay.”
“Well, of course you can Hermione, everyone’s said so,” Ron blurted before he thought.
Hermione turned to him. “What do you mean, everyone’s said so?” Hermione questioned.
“I mean, it has already occurred to Harry, Ginny, Luna and myself that you should ask Jarphred about the Library pay,” he explained.
“And, exactly why haven’t you said anything if you’ve known this all this time?” she asked accusingly.
“I wanted to, really, I did – but, Ginny and Luna insisted that I had to let you figure it out for yourself.” Ron sounded a bit panicky. “Please tell me they were not wrong!” He pleaded.
There were a few moments of silence as Hermione processed this information, then she sighed rather heavily. “No – they were right,” she admitted. “I just feel a bit silly apparently being the last to figure that out.”
“Well, would you like to summon Jarphred straight away, then?” Ron asked.
Hermione stood up from the sofa turning to face Ron. “Actually, yes I would.” She was already fishing the false galleon from her jeans pocket. She squeezed it, and almost immediately there was a “pop” and Winky appeared in the room.
“What may Winky do for you, Miss Hermione?” the little elf questioned politely with a bow.
“Winky, I was hoping to speak with Jarphred about my responsibilities to the Library. Would you kindly send him to me?” Hermione requested.
“At once, Miss,” Winky replied with a quick bow.
Before Hermione could even begin to explain that there was no particular urgency, there was another “pop” and Winky was gone. Within a dozen seconds, there was another popping of air and Jarvy stood before them.
“How my I serve, Miss Granger?” He asked.
“Jarphred,” Hermione began, “You handle all the day-to-day operations of Potter Manor, do you not?”
“Of course, Miss Hermione,” he replied.
“Including financial considerations?” she pressed.
“Yes, Miss,” he answered calmly.
“So, you would know about my being paid as the Librarian?”
“Yes, Miss Granger,” he seemed suddenly concerned. “Is there some problem with your wages?”
“No, no… Well, only… I was surprised, as I didn’t expect to be paid at all. Harry didn’t tell me I would be compensated. When. May I ask did he tell you to pay me?”
Jarvy had never suffered the sort of mistreatment at the hands of a master that Winky, and especially Dobby had been used to. Consequently, he was not given to profuse apologies, or self-harming the way Dobby could be. However, this line of questioning was clearly putting him off his ease.
“The truth, Miss Granger, is that Master Harry never mentioned it.” Jarphred hesitated. “I am not certain that I understand the problem, do you wish to receive a greater compensation? I did not wish to burden the Master with such trivial matters, so I paid what the post had previously paid. It is my fault, Miss, I failed to compensate for time during which the Manor was closed, I do apologize, of course you will be demanding an increase.”
“No, no, I don’t want an increase; all I want to know is who told you to start paying me?” Hermione blurted out.
Jarvy looked quite uncomfortable at this point. “Please, Miss Granger, no one told me to pay you. You arranged the orders, you oversaw the sorting and shelving, and you spent hours in the library. In my time at the Manor, these have always been the duties of a paid librarian. You were performing these duties so, as house manager, I arranged for you to be paid. I did not seek out the Master’s permission to do this, but I feel certain he would see it as only proper. I am afraid I do not understand the problem. Have I done something wrong?”
Ron was sitting forward on the sofa at this point. “There is no problem, Jarphred, no problem at all. And you most certainly have done nothing wrong.”
Jarphred turned and acknowledged Ron with a slight bow.
Hermione was quite literally shaking in place. It would be easy, Ron thought, to interpret her body language as anger, but he knew it was more complex than that. There was anger there, to be sure, but it was focused inwardly. What was happening was Hermione was realizing that she truly might be wrong, and that was indeed an uncomfortable place for her.
“Jarphred,” Ron said, distracting the elf from his fixed, befuddled stare at Hermione. “I think we are done here. Perhaps it is best you return to the Manor.”
“Agreed, sir.” Jarphred confirmed, unable to completely shift his gaze from Hermione. “Will Miss Granger be alright, Mister Weasley?”
“Oh, she’ll be fine,” Ron smiled at Jarvy. “However, I know it is perhaps irregular, now we are returned to school, but would you be kind enough to send round a tea service?”
“Certainly, sir,” Jarvy replied crisply. “And might I include some of the lemon and raspberry tarts that are Miss Granger’s favorite?”
“Yes, please, and perhaps a few of those little sandwiches I like?”
“Yes, sir, and extra honey walnut clusters as well.”
Ron smiled and nodded, and Jarvy disappeared with a “pop.”
A few minutes later Winky and Dobby returned with a tea service and a tray laden with Ron and Hermione’s favorite treats. Ron had managed to get Hermione back onto the sofa. Winky quickly poured out, and then the elves excused themselves and were gone.
Two cups of tea and a couple of tarts later, Hermione seemed in much better spirits. She was finally coming to terms with the idea that she was most likely the one in error about the whole issue. The input from Jarphred had indeed frustrated her resolve, but it was the smaller of the financial considerations. She still needed to speak with Headmistress McGonagall about the scholarship before she would be completely able to let it go. She sighed heavily and ran her hand across Ron’s relaxed chest.
Ron’s breathing had become deep and steady and she was certain he was asleep. She looked at her watch. Morning would be arriving early and they had stayed up far later than they should have. She peeled herself away from Ron’s side and slipped off to the washroom, emerging several minutes later in one of Ron’s old Cannon’s T-shirts and knickers. She nudged Ron’s shoulder several times until he woke.
“Ron… Ron… Wake up, Ron,” she urged.
Ron opened his eyes groggily and smiled. “Alright, I get it… Time for me to head up to my own dorm.” He replied. “This is where I am really going to miss the Manor,” he said with a deep sigh.
Hermione climbed onto the sofa, straddling Ron’s lap and pulled him in to a deep kiss. “Well, you can’t spend the night,” she whispered breathily in to his ear. “But, perhaps you can stay a little bit longer.”
Harry woke up at the sound of Ron stubbing his toe in the dark. That, and the string of whispered expletives that accompanied the slight thump against the bedpost. He pulled back his bed curtains. “Ron, is that you?” He whispered in to the darkness.
“Yeah, Harry, it’s me,” Ron whispered back.
“You’re getting in kind of late,” Harry observed, not really knowing the time, only noting that the glow of the stove was quite dim.
“Yeah… Well…” Ron offered no further explanation.
“You could have stayed. I’d have covered for you in the morning,” Harry said knowingly.
“Hermione’s got responsibilities in the morning.” Ron offered. “And, we’re not in the Manor anymore. Lots of curious eyes in the castle.”
“Yeah,” Harry agreed. “Well, good night, Ron.”
“Good night, Harry,” Ron said, before stubbing his toe once more and issuing and second harshly whispered string of expletives.
Harry pulled his curtains closed and fluffed his pillows with his fist a few times before settling in comfortably. He was plenty happy to be back in his familiar bed, in his familiar dormitory. However, he was definitely going to miss his room at the Manor.
Just months before he had thought he would not be coming back and yet here he was. He wondered what additional surprises lay in store for him this year.
Whatever comes, he felt, with his friends at his side, he would be able to face it.
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Chapter Twenty-Seven
Defense Against the Dark… Lord
Chapter 28: Chapter 27 - Defense Against the Dark… Lord?
Author's Notes: Here we go again. I am aware of the length of time it has been without an update, and I wouldn’t blame anyone for skipping past the story for that reason. It has been five years since the last update and there is still quite a bit of the story left to go. I am writing again, that’s pretty much all I can say, and this story always summons me back. It really wants me to finish it! So, I hope some readers will come back to it, and maybe some new readers will discover it. Many thanks to my Beta readers, Arnel, and SeekersDestony who have shown extraordinary patience with me. I do hope you enjoy the chapter... and I wish you happy reading!
Defense Against the Dark... Lord?
Harry was first to wake in his dormitory. He took advantage of the empty washroom to take a long, hot shower and have a leisurely shave. He was dressed and ready to face the day before any of his bunk mates had even cracked their bed curtains.
He made a couple of attempts to wake Ron, which were met with vehement protest. Dean, Seamus, and Neville all rose and made their way blearily toward the showers, but Ron would not be moved.
Harry left Ron sleeping and proceeded to the common room where Ginny met him minutes later. They went down to breakfast together.
At the Great Hall, breakfast service was well under way, but still early for the majority of students. They were able to enjoy a leisurely, undisturbed meal together before Neville turned up and joined them at the table.
"Morning, Harry, Ginny," Neville said as he took his seat. A place setting appeared before him and several trays of breakfast selections re-appeared.
"Morning, Neville," Harry and Ginny intoned together.
"Have you got your time-tables yet?" Neville asked nodding toward the front of the hall, while loading his plate.
"Not yet," Ginny replied, "We've only just finished breakfast."
"I liked when Professor McGonagall came round and gave them to us. I am not sure about this having to go up front." Neville added apprehensively.
"It does feel a bit more formal, certainly," Harry replied. "But, that's Professor McGonagall, now, isn't it? She is Headmistress, I am sure this is not the least of the changes we'll see."
The five heads of house had set up tables just forward of the teacher's platform, each directly in front of the corresponding house table. Students were expected to see their head of house to receive their time-tables sometime during breakfast.
"Thinking of any electives?" Neville asked.
Members of the different houses had trickled in over the past several minutes and now every table had at least a few students sitting down to breakfast. Dean, Seamus, and a few other Gryffindors entered the hall and took seats at the table near them. Dean and Seamus slid down close to Neville.
"Anyone met our new head of house yet?" Dean asked.
"Not yet," Neville answered. "We were just coming 'round to electives."
"Sounds like everyone's hot on Muggle Studies," Seamus chimed in through his meal. "I never figured on it me-self, 'cause me-mum's a Muggle, I never saw any need. The class always seemed a load of codswallop. But, with this new Muggle professor, everyone's eager to give it a go."
"Ginny and I were thinking of taking Muggle Studies," Harry interjected. "Sounds like we best get on with it." He rose from his seat and strode toward the head's table.
Professor Canon had been casually watching her house table. Upon Harry's approach, she began pulling papers from a file box she had at arm's reach.
"Good morning professor," Harry said as he arrived at the table.
"Mr. Potter, good morning," Horatia Canon replied. She had a parchment ready in her hand. "The Headmistress herself, informs me that you wish to pursue a career as an Auror. So, I have taken the liberty of setting your time-table accordingly." She handed him the parchment.
Harry glanced at the time table. He had Charms first on Mondays and Wednesdays, followed by Potions. After lunch, he had Transfiguration. On Tuesdays and Thursdays his first period was free, so he started the day with Defense Against the Dark Arts, second period. After lunch was another free period followed by Herbology to round out the day. Fridays, on odd weeks, he had double Defense in the morning and double Herbology in the afternoon. On even weeks he had double Potions in the mornings with free afternoons.
It was a good schedule.
"I assumed you would continue with Herbology as an elective," Professor Canon stated.
Harry nodded. "Could I add Muggle Studies?" he asked.
"Muggle Studies is on the recommended elective list for an Auror career," she said, as she reached out her hand for Harry to return his time table. Simultaneously, she pulled a course list from her file box.
"I see no problem with that, Mr. Potter. There is a joint session of Muggle Studies for sixth and seventh years, meeting third period, Tuesday and Thursday," she said, as she filled in the section of Harry's time table. "It is my understanding Mr. Potter, that you were raised by Muggles, is it simple curiosity about the new professor that makes you interested?" Professor Canon asked.
"It's a bit more complicated than that, professor," Harry replied. "I was raised by Muggle relatives, but it was hardly a normal Muggle upbringing."
"I see," the professor said, with interest. "I should very much like to speak with you about your life sometime, Mr. Potter. After all, I am an historian, and your life certainly seems to be of some historical significance." She held out the schedule.
Harry took the modified time table. "I will give that some thought professor," he said. "Thank you."
Professor Canon smiled and nodded as Harry turned and walked away.
Ginny was next to get her time table, followed by Neville, Dean and Seamus. Very soon thereafter the hall was filled with students, eating, visiting, and queuing to retrieve their time tables.
At quarter of eight Hermione entered the hall along with most of the Prefects. Harry noticed that Ron was not among them. He thought Hermione looked tired, and he felt a twinge of guilt at not trying harder to make sure Ron was up. He whispered to Ginny that he was going to check on Ron and was on his way down the length of the table to the doors as Hermione proceeded up the opposite side. He felt a bit as though he was avoiding her, and he supposed in reality he was. That didn't really sit well, but until she sorted out her issues for herself, he wasn't sure what else to do. He just knew he didn't want to be blamed for Ron's tardiness as well.
In the dormitory Harry woke Ron. It took several attempts and Ron was not at all happy about it. Eventually, it registered with Ron that he had missed the morning Prefect meeting and that he only had about twenty minutes remaining in which to get breakfast and that was enough to finally get him moving.
As they hurried together down to the Great Hall, Ron realized that Hermione was likely to be furious with him and he expected to have to see Stephen Cornfoot, to receive a demerit for missing the morning meeting.
Ron plopped down next to Hermione and began assembling his breakfast. "Sorry, I overslept," he mumbled apologetically.
"I'm tired too, Ron," Hermione said, slightly shrilly as a blush bloomed on her cheeks. "We both have responsibilities, if you cannot live up to yours, I will just have to see that you have no further excuses to stay up too late."
Ron looked at her with a bit of astonishment. "Perhaps you should remember, Hermione, just who woke who up?" Ron whispered, "And for what. Those sorts of threats just might tend to work both ways."
Hermione's blush deepened.
Ginny, who was observing the exchange, but could not hear it, began to giggle. Harry, who had taken a seat next to her, leaned in to ask. "What's so funny?"
"Ron and Hermione," she whispered back. "It suddenly occurred to me just what it might be that made them both so tired this morning."
"Yeah," Harry said dismissively. "That occurred to me last night, but I don't want to jump to any conclusions."
"I'm ready to jump," Ginny said, batting her eyes at him.
Harry's tongue suddenly felt lifeless and heavy in his mouth and he could not formulate a response. The nearly forgotten creature in his belly did a somersault. "Well… Ah, perhaps we should…”
“Definitely," Ginny interrupted.
She got up from her seat and took Harry’s hand, leading him down the aisle toward the main doors.
“Where are you two off to?” Ron asked as they passed.
“Back to the common room, till first period,” Harry said hastily over his shoulder.
Just under an hour later, Ron slumped into the common room and took a seat opposite Harry, who was sitting at one of the tables reviewing his new Defense text book.
“Where’s Ginny?” Ron asked.
“She has Charms first period, so she had to leave a while ago,” Harry responded. “Did you get in to Muggle Studies?”
“Yeah,” Ron confirmed. “Hermione too; she has Runes this morning, but she’s in all the basic classes with us.”
“Great,” Harry said half-heartedly.
“Don’t worry, mate,” Ron assured him, “she’ll figure out this nonsense soon. She’ll apologize, you’ll accept and everything will return to normal.”
“I hope so,” Harry said. He had grown weary of the whole situation days ago. “Did you get in much trouble for oversleeping this morning?” Harry asked, changing the subject.
“Could’ve been worse. Stephen gave me a lecture about my relationship with Hermione putting us both in a spot light as far as our behavior goes. He gave me a personal demerit, a week’s worth of extra patrols, and took five points from the house,” Ron finished with a resigned sigh.
Harry nodded acknowledgement, and a few moments of silence passed between them.
“Oh, I saw you posted the Quidditch sign-up sheet as I came in, any thoughts on who’s interested?” Ron asked.
“Well, some of last year’s team is still here, I imagine they’ll try out again, but I really haven’t had much chance yet to look around,” Harry replied. “Ginny says there is some real promise in the fourth and fifth years. I’ve got the pitch reserved from eight Saturday morning for try-outs. Slytherin’s have it after lunch. So, we can go back and check out the competition if we feel like it. I think Hufflepuff is holding tryouts on Friday evening and Ravenclaw on Sunday. Apparently, Beauxbatons’ roster is already set, they are starting right in with practice on Monday evenings. We’ll have Tuesdays starting next week.” Ron nodded agreeably.
They passed the remainder of the free period speculating about the Quidditch tryouts and discussing training strategies. They headed back down to the Great Hall before first period classes let out but split up so that Ron could meet Hermione coming out of Runes, and Harry could be outside the Charms classroom when Ginny came out.
They all met in the Great Hall for morning break before heading off to their second period classes. For the seventh years, that meant Defense Against the Dark Arts.
The trio arrived a few minutes early to the Defense classroom and took their customary seats near the front.
The whole room was full of speculative chatter about the new professor. There were already wild stories floating about how she had come to be there, and how she had escaped from Romania. The trio, who actually could have answered most of the other student’s questions chose instead to quietly listen to Neville explain how his Mimbulus Mimbletonia plant had grown considerably in the green house where professor Sprout had allowed him to leave it during the summer holidays. Neville had spent his whole free period in the green houses doing a bit of tending, as he put it.
When the last chime sounded, the classroom settled and became nearly silent in anticipation of Professor Burgestikoff’s entrance.
She, did not disappoint.
There was a loud whirring sound from behind the door of the professor’s office and moments later the door slowly began to open accompanied by the sound of something gently banging against the back of it. The sounds had immediately captured everyone’s attention. Once the door had opened sufficiently a bright red child’s wooden top chittered its way out of the office and spun noisily out onto the teacher’s platform toward the center podium.
The top made several wide circles before settling in a single place, as it presumably found the lowest spot in the floor. It spun in place for what seemed a very long several seconds before it began to issue forth multi-colored sparks punctuated by small pops and bangs. Soon it was sending off, what appeared to Harry to be, several of the twin’s patented miniature fireworks, which flew out over the students’ heads and exploded in bright colorful flashes and loud bangs.
Students were oohing and ahhing at the spectacle and getting up from their seats to try to get closer to the front for a better look. Billows of soft white smoke began to issue from the base of the top, twirling upward to form a loose vortex.
While it was spectacular to watch as it all seemed to build larger and larger, there was something about it that set Harry’s neck hair on end, and he casually drew his wand, in anticipation.
There was a startlingly loud bang and a flash of sparks. The smoke billowing around the spinning top began to turn gray and steadily grew darker.
Harry’s wrist flicked reactively and a magical shield went up around him.
A figure appeared, twirling within the smoke and sparks. Ron noticed Harry’s shield flickering and he reached for his own wand. He tapped Hermione’s shoulder, drawing her attention to Harry, and threw up his own shield around them both.
There was a final bang and flash, an explosion which sent the smoke billowing outward from center, strong enough to set students’ hair and robes a flutter, causing them to momentarily shut their eyes and even forcing a few of the forward students to fall back into their seats. As the students took a moment to recover, the figure of Alex Burgestikoff appeared, standing amid the wisps of swirling smoke, her coat and skirts twirling and untwirling about her legs. The top rattled to a stop at her feet.
Professor Burgestikoff raised her wand and called out, “Petrificus Totalus,” as she swung her wand in an arc across the room. The students froze still and silent in place.
As she cast across the room from right to left, the professor quickly noticed Harry and Ron’s shields raised. Later, Ron would swear that she winked.
The instant the professor’s wand finished its arc, Harry’s shield dropped and raising his wand he called out, “Expelliarmus!”
Professor Burgestikoff’s wand flew from her hand back toward Harry where he caught it. She smiled a wicked smile, standing still as the last of the smoke swirled away to nothing. She stepped forward and began to applaud. Ron dropped his shield and he and Hermione joined in.
“Excellent, Mr. Potter,” Alex exclaimed. “Congratulations! You have just saved the lives of all of your Petrified classmates.”
She reached the edge of the platform and held out her hand. “Now, if I may have my wand back?”
“Certainly, professor,” Harry said holding forward her wand.
Professor Burgestikoff took the wand and with a swish, set the class free. The students immediately broke into further applause.
Harry could only nod a bit in response. He didn’t particularly like the attention, but he had learned to tolerate it.
Professor Burgestikoff gestured for the class to settle, and soon the students had found their seats. Everyone seemed especially quiet and attentive. She turned, stepping toward the podium.
The new professor cut quite a figure before the class. She was wearing a blood red, dragon hide coat that buttoned tight to her waist, then flared out over her skirt beneath. With it she wore matching gloves and tight leather boots.
With her raven hair, smooth complexion, dark smoldering eyes, crimson-adorned lips, and mischievous smile, Harry suddenly understood why most of the boys in the class seemed to him to be breathing a bit heavily. He supposed he owed it to Ginny that he had not fallen victim to a similar attraction himself. He had known from the first that she was a beautiful woman, it had just never before occurred to him that boys his own age would see her in quite that way.
Professor Burgestikoff removed her gloves and coat, tossing them on a chair behind the podium. Beneath the jacket she wore a peasant style blouse, and a long red skirt gathered on her left side to the knee. When she turned, her iridescent dragon scale earrings glittered brightly. She looked to Harry, every bit the Eastern European Gypsy, as portrayed in a Muggle movie he had once glimpsed from the hallway at the Dursleys’. Harry thought he heard a collective sigh as Professor Burgestikoff turned to face the class.
“Velcome students, to seventh year Defense Against the Dark Arts,” She announced. “This is a N.E.W.T. level course, required for advancement into certain Ministry careers, such as Magical Law Enforcement, curse-breaking, and Magical Reversal.
“I have spent the last several days reviewing your previous years’ curriculum, and I am sorry to inform you that I have found it, for the most part lacking. Your previous instructors seem to have ranged from the ignorant and incompetent, to the purposely misleading. Even those who have, themselves, possessed the level of knowledge and proficiency have not, in my opinion, treated the subject vith enough seriousness, or a high enough expectation for learning.
“Make no mistake, much of the Vizard vorld is presently in a state of war. A war vhich exists almost exclusively due to the actions of a single Dark Vizard. I myself vas forced to flee my homeland, so believe me, I take the idea and responsibility of Defense Against the Dark Arts very seriously. As your instructor, I vill expect you to do the same.
“Now, about my little introductory demonstration. If it had been a test, all but three of you vould have failed. For the three of you who had the presence of mind to protect yourselves behind shields and avoid being Petrified, I avord ten points each to Gryffindor house. For Harry Potter, who not only protected himself, but also took positive action against the aggressive party and disarmed his vould-be assailant, I avord an additional tventy points.
“Part of the lesson of this exercise is that Dark magic, vhich this technically vas not, is often accompanied by theatrics and spectacle. Such tactics therefore should alvays trigger you to be on guard. Allowing yourself to be distracted is the quickest vay to ensure your defeat. Had it been my intention to harm any of you this morning, sadly, all but three of you vould have fallen victim to my spectacle of distraction.
“Another part of the lesson is that a small amount of vigilance is all that it takes to maintain a reasonable level of reactive impulse.
“Throughout this course it is my hope that ve vill have opportunity to fill in some of the gaps left by your previous instruction, cover a broader range of information related to the Dark practices and on a practical level develop our defensive and dueling skills. To that end, our Friday morning double sessions will be meeting outside the castle on the North lawn.
“So, now we continue today’s class with some review. I vish to discuss with you the nature of Dark Magic. Vhat, for instance makes magic Dark? And, how do ve tell the difference? I vill begin by allowing questions.”
Almost every hand in the classroom shot up.
Harry leaned back in his chair and smiled. This is gonna be good, he thought to himself.
Over an hour later the end of class bell chimed and the questions were still rampant. Harry was amazed that Professor Burgestikoff had managed to deliver weeks’ worth of review and information in a single session of Q&A. He was very impressed, as was most everyone else if he was judging the behavior of his classmates properly.
“Okay class, I think ve may have to pick this up again in Thursday’s class. If you vould please read the introduction and first chapter of your new text before then. Class is dismissed,” the professor announced.
Everyone was getting up from their seats and gathering their things. Based on the chatter, discussions provoked by the class were going to carry on into the lunch period.
“If I may see the following students, before they leave, please?” Professor Burgestikoff called out. “Hermione Granger, Ronald Weasley, and Harry Potter.”
The wave of students was moving steadily toward the classroom door. Harry, Ron and Hermione turned to make their way to the front were Professor Burgestikoff was still standing. “You want to see us, Professor,” Harry said as they approached.
“Yes,” she said. “Firstly, Mr. Potter, I am given to understand that it vas upon your recommendation that I vas considered for this post. I vant to thank you for that.”
“You are quite welcome, Professor,” Harry replied.
Professor Burgestikoff nodded acknowledgment. “The three of you are familiar vith the double sessions of this course,” she stated. “I am aware that each of you already have additional duties and responsibilities, but I vondered if you vould be villing to serve as student instructors during our Friday sessions?” As there was not an immediate response, she continued. “Because of our recent time together I am aware of your capabilities. Also, Headmistress McGonagall informs me that you vere previously involved in organizing a student Defense studies group, called “Dumbledore’s Army,” so it seems you have some already established experience in the matter.”
Harry spoke up first. “I would be honored, Professor.” Both Ron and Hermione nodded in agreement. “However, I have something to ask of you in return.” Hermione looked a bit aghast at Harry’s direct approach, but Harry pushed on. He paused to glance about the room making sure that the rest of the students had departed. “If you have been told about the D.A., then you may also know that we were forced to create that group in secret.” Professor Burgestikoff nodded her understanding. “It is my intention,” Harry continued, “to re-form that group this year. I would prefer to do so as a legitimate student club. That, however, requires that I have a faculty sponsor. I hoped you might be willing?”
“Actually, I think that is a vonderful idea,” Professor Burgestikoff replied. “I vill gladly sponsor such a club. And, I may have a few suggestions to share with you about club activities as well.”
“That sounds great, Professor,” Harry said. With a glance, he silently confirmed agreement with Ron and Hermione. “Then we are agreed, we will serve as student instructors, and you will sponsor the D.A.”
Professor Burgestikoff held out her hand for Harry to shake. “Agreed,” she said.
“I will get the club paperwork started, today,” Hermione added.
During the walk to the Great Hall for lunch, Hermione was in complete planning mode talking the entire time about what would be required to turn the D.A. into an official student organization. There would need to be club officers. “Harry should be club President, of course,” she said. “And, Ron, you can be Vice, as I would make a better secretary… Unless Ginny wants to be an officer.”
“Ginny?” Ron interjected.
“Yes, Ron, Ginny,” Hermione said insistently. “There is no arguing, Ginny is a definite part of our circle of confidants, and, frankly, she gets better marks than you.”
Ron grumbled, but couldn’t argue with the truth. Harry hoped Ron would not try to solicit his defense in the matter. As much as Harry valued Ron’s steadfast friendship, the truth was, that Hermione was right.
Harry kept his words and thoughts to himself the whole way. He was enjoying the feeling of normalcy, and he didn’t want to do anything to remind Hermione that she was supposedly still mad at him.
Ginny and Luna met them outside the Great Hall so they could all go in together to lunch.
As they reached their customary seats at the Gryffindor table Luna began to excuse herself to go to her own house table, but Ginny interrupted her, saying she should stay and eat with them. When Luna looked a little hesitant, Hermione jumped in. “It’s fine, Luna. Sitting at one’s own house table is only required during the opening and closing feasts, and official school assemblies. During daily meals, there is no rule that students can’t sit wherever they please.” Hermione had been sure to speak loud enough that many of the other students in the Hall could hear her. She seemed quite pleased that, not only did Luna take a seat next to Ginny at the table, but several other students in the hall suddenly got up and joined friends from other houses at the various tables.
Harry, who had happened to be looking toward the Teacher’s table, noticed that of the teachers there at the moment, only Deputy Headmistress Sprout even looked up to take note of this exchange. Harry thought, that for a brief instant, he saw her smile, before her concentration returned to her meal.
Harry thought to himself that it had been a brilliant morning so far, and by every indication it would turn out a wholly wonderful day. With a smile on his face he turned to tuck into his meal. Once lunch was concluded it would be time to head for Muggle Studies.
The Muggle Studies lecture Hall was not a room that Harry was familiar with. He had never set foot in it, nor had he anticipated that during his years at Hogwarts he ever would. And yet, here he sat, amid one of the largest assemblages of students he’d seen, outside of the Great Hall, or a Quidditch match.
The hall itself rivaled the History of Magic classroom in sheer size with perhaps triple the seating capacity. Harry estimated the hall would seat close to four hundred. He wondered if the entirety of the sixth and seventh years of the school hadn’t all signed up for Muggle Studies at once. The room was auditorium style, bench seating, just like the Charms classroom where Professor Flitwick taught, only on a much larger scale, and Harry found himself wondering how the room had escaped his notice for so many years. Though, he imagined that due to interest, the room had probably been magically expanded. Unlike in Defense Against the Dark Arts, where he’d always chosen forward seating, in this case, he, and many of his fellow Gryffindors had taken seats near the back of the room. This placed them closer to the exits, but further away from the podium platform at the front center of the hall. The platform was much like a stage. It was about four feet high, so that the very front seats had to look up at the speaker. There were stairs on either end, and right in front against the platform was a low table that looked like it had stacks of white paper piled on it. So far, the very best thing about the class was the fact that he could sit with Ginny.
Because the hall was so full of students the din of conversation as they waited for the class to begin was akin to pre-game chatter on the Quidditch pitch. Hermione had spread the word quickly that the D.A. was to be reformed, this time as a legitimate student club. She was still in planning mode, already discussing plans for meetings, and filling out the paperwork that would have to be submitted to the Deputy Headmistress. Harry was fully enjoying the reprieve from the one-sided feud between them, and he knew now that it would not last for much longer. He squeezed Ginny’s hand, just slightly, and received a little squeeze back. By his own estimation, this was turning out to be the best first day of school he’d ever had.
The start of class chime sounded and immediately the conversations began to go silent. Students were turning to face the platform and it was almost as though the entire classroom was holding its breath. Curiosity about this new, Muggle, Muggle Studies Professor, was greater even than that regarding Professor Burgestikoff’s appearance from Romania. Harry’s own curiosity was borne of something a bit more. This was the man who had killed the Death Eater Yaxley at the Ministry… With a Muggle weapon, no less… And then he had winked at Harry so casually, like using that weapon had been a simple matter of course. This was a man about whom Harry was understandably curious. This was a man who needed to be understood, if only a little.
Professor Sean Fleming, stepped out from behind a curtain and approached the center of the podium stage. He was as Harry remembered him from that day at the Ministry. His black academic robe was left open down his front, revealing a casual shirt and tie beneath, and he had dispensed with cap, or hood. He was slender, and tall, but not overly so. A persistent touch of gray encroached at his temples. He had a handsome face with an evident vertical scar on his right cheek, a very pleasant, engaging smile, though his expression could seem a little cruel about the mouth when at rest. Except for his obvious confidence, which gave him a definite presence, he seemed quite average, like a man who could be easily lost in a crowd.
He came to center platform without a word and there he seemed to scan the room slowly, not searching, but spending upon each student their own instant of observation. He made the briefest of eye contact with Harry and Harry could feel the recognition. When he was done with his visual assessment, he took a single step forward and in a clear voice began.
“Good afternoon, welcome to Muggle Studies. My name is Fleming,” he hesitated only an instant, “Sean, Fleming.” He took a quick breath. “I am to be your professor for this course, and yes, I am a Muggle.” He paused for the collective reaction, which seemed to be genuine surprise, but short of a collective gasp. Drawing another, more deliberate breath, he continued. “As such, this entire world is new to me.” Again, he paused.
“I am here as your professor because of an agreement between the British Prime Minister, and the Minister for Magic. My presence, I understand, is unprecedented, and therefore I see it as a great opportunity for us to learn from one another.
“In the very short time I have been exposed to the Wizarding world, I have been given an extraordinary amount of access. I have learned a lot. In fact, I would hazard a guess that I now know more about the Wizarding world than many, if not most of you, know about the non-magical world. Even more than those of you born to non-magical parents, having largely removed yourselves from a non-magical education at age eleven.” He turned slightly to the right and began to take slow adventitious steps as he spoke..
“I have reviewed the standard text of this class and found it to be an exercise in willful ignorance, misinterpretation, and fanciful speculation. As such, I will not teach from it. I apologize that I came to this conclusion too late to have it removed from your school book list. I suggest you arrange to return it if you purchased a new copy. If you cannot return it, I suggest you chuck it in the nearest bin. I will provide any assigned reading as the course progresses.
“Since coming to Hogwarts, I have been told repeatedly, by many of your most highly regarded Professors, that most Muggles cannot recognize magic. Let us pursue that as an assertion. While I would accept that it’s true, most Muggles cannot normally see ghosts. If they cannot recognize magic, why then does the Wizarding Ministry have entire divisions devoted to Muggle-Worthy Excuses, or the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts? The fact seems to be that non-magical people, while tending to discount rumor and hearsay in matter of particular import, when faced with direct evidence of magic, such as observing a Witch or Wizard cast a spell with their wand, and seeing the results, readily accept that they have seen something. They may not be able to come up with an explanation, but they know they have witnessed something which they do not understand. This seems to happen with actual frequency, and your Ministry, in accordance with the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy of sixteen-ninety-two, sends out leagues of witches and wizards to erase and or alter non-magical memories.
“As I read in a little tome called ‘A History of Magic,’ another of your school texts, this International Statute, I am given to understand, was developed and enacted due, in large part, to anti-wizard prejudice on the part of non-magical people, which caused your entire society to withdraw into a separate, but parallel civilization.
“The problem from my point of view is, while you got the separate part, you completely missed the mark on parallel.” He had reached the far edge of the raised platform. He turned and started moving in the opposite direction toward the other end, gesturing narrowly with his hands as he moved at a slightly increased pace.
“Now, I do not doubt that in the sixteen-hundreds wizards and witches were shunned, and persecuted, or perhaps worse, exploited. It is a simple truth that it’s part of human nature to fear that which you do not understand and cannot control. I would never attempt to argue that prejudice and bigotry have passed out of the human condition. Muggles, or I should say, non-magical humans are extremely divided. We separate from one-another based on geography, nationality, ethnicity, culture, politics, religion, economics, education, gender and yes, even still, skin pigmentation. But we have come a long way in three hundred years. Certainly, we haven’t solved all our problems, but we have made strides.
“Together, before the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy, human kind, magical and non-magical alike, worked out language, both spoken and written, tamed animals, developed agriculture and architecture, built glorious cities, explored deep philosophies, and formulated religions. We were on an inevitable path toward the sciences and greater understanding of the natural world. And then the Wizarding world separated themselves.
“To read your history book, every great innovation has come from wizards. If that were true, and wizards were truly superior, then innovation would have stopped, or at the very least slowed down after the separation. But it didn’t. It wasn’t until sixteen eighty-seven that Sir Isaac Newton formulated his laws of motion, only a few years before the separation.”
He changed direction again, still pacing the raised platform and speaking loud enough that the entire class could hear every word. But it was almost as though he was speaking to himself, working out the words as he went.
“Great strides were made during the eighteenth century in the theoretical understanding of astronomy, and physics. And in practicality, huge innovation came in agricultural machinery, metallurgy, the steam engine, the internal combustion engine, the sextant for sea navigation.
“Early in the nineteenth century, we were experimenting with uses for electricity, we saw the invention of the arc lamp. We built the first steam locomotive. By the middle of the century, Charles Wheatstone, and William Cooke, in England, and Samuel Morse, in the United States, develop the electric telegraph which would lead eventually to the development of the telephone. About that same time, we saw the invention of photography by Muggles like, Joseph Niepce, the Frenchman, Louis Daguerre, and the Englishman, William Henry Fox Talbot, which incidentally does not show up in the Wizarding world till much later. Sure, it’s moving, but clearly the original technology was invented by Muggles.” As he moved and spoke his voice was growing gradually louder and his gesticulations broader.
“Eighteen sixty-one, Elisha Graves Otis, invents the lift, which means our architecture can advance upward. In the eighteen-seventies, Alexander Graham Bell patents the telephone, and Thomas Edison develops the phonograph. Not long after that, Edison introduces the incandescent light bulb for electrical lights, and develops the first power plants to generate electricity. Eighteen eighty-eight, Nikola Tesla patents the alternating current electric induction motor. In the eighteen-nineties, French brothers Joseph and Louis Lumiere invent movie projectors and open the first movie theater. German engineer Rudolf Diesel introduces his diesel engine. In eighteen ninety-four, physicist Sir Oliver Lodge sends the first ever message by radio wave in Oxford, England. Again, predating the invention of the Wizarding Wireless by some fifty years.” His movements had built to a steady quick pace and he had clearly transitioned into a complete intellectual rant.
“And then, we get to the twentieth Century. Nineteen oh one, Marconi, sends radio-wave signals across the Atlantic. Nineteen oh three, Wilbur and Orville Wright build the first engine-powered aeroplane. Nineteen oh seven the first synthetic plastic. Nineteen oh eight, the American Henry Ford launches the Ford Model T, the world's first affordable automobile. Nineteen twelve, Gilbert Lewis outlines the basic chemistry for lithium-ion rechargeable batteries. In the nineteen-twenties, Philo T. Farnsworth invents electronic television, of which there is still no Wizarding equivalent. And the progress goes on and on!
“The middle and late twentieth century have seen inventive progress on every front in the non-magical world. We have eliminated diseases, perfected surgical procedures, and come to understand human biology right down to the chemical building blocks of life, DNA. We split the atom, developed nuclear power generation, built bigger better everything, invented something to fill almost every human need. We cross the oceans in huge jet powered aeroplanes, move goods around the world by ocean vessels big as cities, send satellites into orbit, rocket ships in to space and in nineteen sixty-nine at the culmination of the space race, an American, Neil Armstrong walked on the moon!” He stopped, center platform and dramatically pointed through the large, high, side widows, at the moon lightly visible in the daytime sky. He returned his pointing hand to his side and after giving a moment for his words to sink in, continued.
“During the lifetimes of every student in this room the Muggle world has seen dramatic change through the development of personal computers, mobile phones, the invention of the internet, all of which will very likely bring about a revolution in human communication. It will connect the world in new ways and greatly effect economics, politics, and just about every other aspect of the human condition.”
He allowed a long pause, then adjusting his tone and volume back to the level of his calm beginning, continued. “What, I ask you, has happened in the Wizarding world in that same amount of time? I do not really know the answer, because, as I have said, the Wizarding world is new to me. I will tell you, that on cursory observation it has not been nearly as innovative, or made practical progress like the non-magical world. The Muggles have had the advantage of greater need.” He paused again.
“Wizards, solve most of their problems and provide for most of their needs by using magic in one form or another. This is, given the ability to wield magic, quite understandable, but it does severely lessen the need to solve problems through innovation. Therefore, it is not surprising to me that Wizarding culture presents itself through what I would call a Nineteenth Century sensibility. And lags behind Muggles in invention, only occasionally introducing new products and concepts developed derivatively from their non-magical counterparts.
“Now, lest you think my assessment too harsh, let me say that I have great admiration for the accomplishments of the Magical world. Unified by the very ability of wielding magic, you seem to have, despite maintaining national identities and cultures, largely done away with petty prejudices, based on things like gender, or skin pigmentation. You also seem largely to have avoided religious conflicts, all prejudices which still plague the non-magical world.” He paused then as though he was not entirely sure what to say next. He continued, hesitantly.
“Wizarding society, in my estimation, seems to have replaced these petty human prejudices with a very dangerous set of their own. Pure-blood, Half-blood, Muggle-born, Squib, Mud-blood, and the very term Muggle itself are all products of Wizarding prejudice. And to my mind more than a little offensive. How many of you know that the term you use to describe non-magical humans is derived from the middle English term ‘Mug’ which in its politest usage means, someone who is easily fooled?” The room was silent, and no one, not even Hermione, raised their hand. “The term itself denotes Wizarding society’s basic assumption that they are superior to Muggles. And from that starting point you have stratified your own society with ignorantly perceived distinctions of ‘blood’ purity. I am here to tell you, that such distinctions are meaningless.
“What you call ‘blood’ we call genetics, and as in so many other sciences, we have surpassed you in this understanding as well. You may recall I mentioned in passing the term DNA, which I described as the chemical building blocks of life. As all of you discontinued non-magical schools at age eleven, I would imagine that to most of you, non-magical science seems as odd and unbelievable as magic does to non-magical people.
“DNA, or deoxyribonucleic acid, is a self-replicating material which is present in nearly all living organisms. It is the carrier of genetic information. Think of it as the instructions from which life is created. We can compare the DNA from one creature to another, say, cats to dogs, and we will see more similarities than differences. All creatures of the Earth bare more similarities than differences in their DNA.
“Several DNA samples of known magical persons have thus far been analyzed, and from the perspective of science, there is no identifiable difference between magical and non-magical human beings. That means that the difference between you and I may come down to one small set of genetic markers that switches on the ability to conduct magic or not. Wherever those markers fit in our DNA has not yet been identified. While clearly the ability to use magic is something rather special, from a statistical standpoint it is no more, or less rare than say, having red hair. And certainly not a basis for classifying a separate species. In short, we are all one, single race of human beings.
“Further, if there is no practical genetic difference between a magical or non-magical human being, then the differences between Pure-blood, Half-blood, Muggle-born and Squib, are virtually nonexistent. Each of these verbal distinctions attempts to create differences where none exist. To base a distinction on parentage alone is absurd, as it is documented by your Ministry that even the supposedly purest of pure-blood families has produced both non-magic user children, and children who can see magic, magical creatures, and spirits, but cannot wield magic, what is commonly referred to as a Squib. Each of these persons, regardless of what you call them, must possess all or part of the specific genetic markers for magic use. Therefore, these distinctions are merely prejudices of the people who assert them. Power-hungry, and greedy people commonly use such prejudice to create a hierarchy of power and class. In all practical reality, such distinctions are complete nonsense.”
Hermione, and Harry, who had been listening intently, suddenly sprang to their feet and began to applaud. Several others across the room joined them and in mere moments all but a few Slytherins and a few of the French students were giving Professor Fleming a standing ovation. Professor Fleming motioned for everyone to take their seats, but it was a full three minutes before he could get the class to settle. Once the students had retaken their seats, he continued.
“I am extremely gratified at your reaction to my impromptu rant, because it is my intention to ban all such divisive terms from this classroom, including, after today, the use of the word Muggle. I intend to petition the Headmistress to re-name the class ‘Non-magical Cultural Studies.’ While the word ‘Muggle’ may roll off the tongue easily, and even be regarded as ‘cute’ it is too often used, in the Wizarding vernacular, in a highly prejudicial manner. Therefore, it’s general use, particularly in the context of this class should be regarded as inappropriate.
“All of that said, in this course I intend to cover a great many topics from the coins and notes that make up the British monetary system, to fashion, food, habits and hobbies, music, entertainment, industry, manufacturing, economics, politics, medicine, even possibly such topics as religions, philosophies, national security, defense and war, all covered as much as possible in the historical framework of the last three centuries. The course will be part History, and part Cultural Anthropology, with an emphasis on modern British practices.
“Remember, please, that the last topic I listed, war, or the threat thereof, within the Wizarding world is the very reason I am here with you in the first place. There is a threat present in the Wizarding world that states as its goal the complete dominance of non-magical people, a threat that in its arrogance, the Wizarding world only recently considered should be shared with its non-magical counterparts. Part of why I am here is to assess that threat. But my larger assignment is to attempt to dispel the woeful level of misunderstanding of the non-magical world that permeates Wizarding society.
“To that end, I promise you that I will tell the truth as I understand it at all times. I will do this for you of my own free will, even though I suspect your Ministry has placed enchantments upon my person that would prevent me from doing otherwise. In return, I expect the highest level of comportment from you as students. This course will be conducted, always, in an atmosphere of mutual respect. If any of you are incapable, or unwilling to function at that level, I suggest you drop the course immediately.” He fixed a steely determined look upon the class and said, “I am not blessed with the gift of magic use. However, I am a highly experienced and capable individual. I invite any of you to attempt to test my resolve on this matter. I assure you, I have the full backing of the Headmistress, and faculty, in setting this policy, and any behavior to the contrary, will not be tolerated.
“Now, how many of you, by raise of hands, have one or more non-magical parents?” Of the nearly three hundred students in the lecture hall there were perhaps fifty who tentatively raised their hands, and a few, like Hermione, Seamus, and Dean, whose hands shot up proudly. Professor Fleming seemed to take note of the first hands to raise. He motioned for them to stand. “Stand up, stand up, please,” he called. Hermione, practically jumped to her feet defiantly, followed by the rest of the qualifying Gryffindors. Slowly and a bit unsure, the rest of non- and half-magical born students stood, many of them obviously uncomfortable to be identified in this manner.
“I suggest everyone in the room take note,” Professor Fleming demanded. “These students, by virtue of their birth have a distinct advantage over the rest of you in understanding the material that will be presented in this class. And, very likely they have not been brought up with the same sort of destructive bias that will for some of you cloud your perception of the truths that will be discussed here. I suggest you seek these people out as friends and study companions, as they will be best equipped to help you understand that blood status is a meaningless measure, and non-magical people are not inherently lessor than yourselves. With people, magical or not, what you do and how you behave toward others is the real measure of your character.” He motioned for the standing students to sit, which they did quickly.
“Now, as I have dispensed with your text. I have an initial reading that needs to be distributed.” He motioned to the stacks of paper on the low table in front of the platform. “If I could have a few volunteers?” he asked.
Hermione stood up and drawing her wand cast a, one-a-piece, distribution charm, at the papers and they began floating quickly toward the students. The neatly stapled handouts distributed themselves in orderly fashion up the rows of students.
Professor Fleming looked a little surprised by the sudden display of magic, but it was only momentary and then a broad smile spread across his face. “Very good. Thank you, Miss?” He said searchingly.
“Granger,” Hermione responded. “Hermione Granger,” she smiled before catching the handout that came to her, and re-took her seat.
“Thank you, Miss Granger,” he said appreciatively, with a slight bow of his head.
“Now,” he turned slightly to address the whole of the class, “let us begin with some historical context of the late seventeenth century. I am a bit of a student of history myself and reading magical history has allowed me to draw some interesting conclusions…”
The remainder of Professor Fleming’s talk had been quite riveting; he had a way of making the material interesting, like there would be a new and exciting discovery around each turn of phrase.
In contrast to Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Non-Magical Cultural Studies, Herbology, was rather dull. Professor Sprout had obviously not yet adjusted to her increased responsibility as Deputy Headmistress and therefore had left a lot of work in the greenhouses undone. After a brief introduction and welcome, the class had been split up into groups and left to weed and prepare several table-beds for various plantings. The nice thing about it was, the work was quite easy, and allowed for lots of conversation. It seemed the entire seventh year class had plenty of opinion about the new professors. As far as Harry could tell the vast majority was quite favorable. He was also asked a lot of questions about the D.A. It seemed that most of the students were quite interested in that as well. Harry wondered if the Room of Requirement would be large enough to accommodate the size of the new club, or if perhaps they would have to find another space. Harry decided that he would have to think about that.
After Herbology most students were finished with classes for the day. Ron and Hermione had to go to a meeting of the prefects to discuss patrol assignments and other responsibilities. Harry found Ginny and they decided to take a walk down to the lake rather than stay indoors. As they walked, they discussed the upcoming Quidditch try-outs scheduled for Saturday morning. The lake was calm and the breeze was comfortably cool against the warmth of the sun. It was too nice to keep dwelling on Quidditch, so they found a soft patch of grass beneath a large tree overhanging the shore, sat in the shade, and switched to more inconsequential conversation. Such times with Ginny were Harry’s favorite as she was always ready to talk about anything, or nothing, and she always seemed to know when it was time for which.
After having their evening meal in the company of Luna and Neville, along with a handful of other Gryffindors - most of whom were seeking some information that might give them an edge at the upcoming Quidditch tryouts - they decided to retreat to the common room early and relax in their favorite spot near the fireplace.
With both Ron and Hermione having evening duties it gave Harry and Ginny nice amounts of time to spend together and fortunately the homework so far was very little for each of them. Even though the weather was warm for the beginning of September, there was always a fire in the grate.
At breakfast, while collecting her time-table from Professor Canon, Hermione had asked if it would be possible to set up a meeting with Headmistress McGonagall. She wanted to get to the root of her conflict with Harry, and whatever the outcome, she wanted it behind her as quickly as possible. The professor had agreed to make the request.
Hermione was scheduled to lead a prefect meeting during fifth period to review adjustments to schedules and duties. Because some of the student prefects had class during fifth period there was to be a second meeting at six which would be run by Head boy, Stephen Cornfoot, and those students would be under his supervision, as the earlier group would be under Hermione’s. Ron went along to Hermione’s meeting only to learn that understandably; he would be assigned to the latter group.
After her meeting, an uncomfortable looking first year was waiting for her in the corridor with a note from Headmistress McGonagall. The note was simple. Come to my office after fifth period. Use your Head-girl password. Headmistress, McGonagall. Hermione said a hurried “Good luck” to Ron, and hastily headed off toward the seventh-floor corridor. Her password had been given to her during her orientation with instructions that it was only to be used with permission, or in an emergency. She hadn’t expected to be using it so soon. Nevertheless, she arrived at the Gargoyle, spoke it, ascended the rising stairs to the Headmistress’ office and knocked on the heavy doors.
“Come in, please, Miss Granger,” she heard the Headmistress call from the other side of the doors.
Pushing the door open, Hermione stepped inside. Headmistress McGonagall’s office looked exactly as it had on the day of orientation. Professor McGonagall, was standing at her desk and motioned for Hermione to take a seat opposite her. Once both were seated Professor McGonagall spoke first. “It’s somewhat unusual, Miss Granger, for the Headmistress, to receive a visit from the Head Girl, or Head Boy, so quickly after the beginning of term. I must admit, I am somewhat curious what matter could demand my attention so quickly?”
“Oh, this is not about school, Headmistress,” Hermione began. “At least not in regard to my duties as Head Girl,” she stated.
“I see,” the Headmistress responded, steepling her fingers in much the same way Dumbledore used to.
Hermione continued. “It has to do with my Scholarship.”
McGonagall smiled. “Oh, yes, of course. I meant to congratulate you, quite an accomplishment, that, but you needn’t thank me…”
Hermione cut her off, “Whom, then, should I thank? Harry Potter?”
“Harry… What? Whatever are you on about, Miss Granger?” Professor McGonagall said in a tone that Hermione knew meant she had broken propriety. “What I was about to say was, it was my absolute pleasure to write your nomination letter.” McGonagall frowned. “Perhaps you had better explain yourself, young lady.”
Hermione began to cry, whereupon the Headmistress offered her a handkerchief and adopted a much gentler tone. Between sobs, Hermione explained the whole conflict to the Headmistress starting with telling Harry about her parents’ ultimatum and her worries about paying for school, up to discovering, at the bank, that she had been awarded the scholarship, and the money for serving as Librarian at Potter Manor. She explained how the letter had, supposedly, been lost in the mail and arrived late, and how Harry admitted to owning Royal Hart International, but swore he knew nothing about it. When she was done, she dried her eyes carefully with the handkerchief and said finally, “I fear, Headmistress, it is possible, I may have made a dreadful mistake.”
McGonagall, took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. “As always, Miss Granger, your logic is sound. It is your assumptions that bare closer examination. If Mister Potter says he had nothing to do with any of this, why would you persist in believing otherwise?”
Hermione started crying again. “I want to believe him, but I already made the accusation, so I need to find proof of the truth.”
“I see, so this has more to do with your need to be right, than Mister Potter’s alleged generosity?” The Headmistress paused to let the question penetrate Hermione’s thinking. She did not wait for an answer. “Well, if it’s clarification you seek, I can address a few items for you. First, it was indeed I who nominated you for The Royal Hart Scholarship. I did so at the end of the last school year prior to… Well, before the end of term. I was pleased to do so, as you were the first qualified candidate to come out of Gryffindor House in a very long time with a real chance of winning. I give you my word that Mister Potter had no role in my decision to do so, and that it happened long before he learned of his own connection to the Royal Hart International. Second, I had no way of knowing that you would find yourself in financial need, nor would that have played any role in my decision to nominate you, for this particular scholarship. Though, had I been apprised of your need, there are perhaps other things I could have suggested to assist you.”
Hermione nodded her understanding.
The Headmistress continued. “Third, you mentioned a matter of ‘anonymous generosity’ which you took to mean Mr. Potter, had arranged for you to win the scholarship. I have a different hypothesis. Today, Hogwarts took delivery of ten crates of brand new Quidditch equipment. On the day of your orientation, I happened to mention to Mr. Potter, and all the team captains, that I was seeking a donor to supply the school with new equipment. I have thus far been unsuccessful in that task. So, you can imagine that today’s shipment of ‘anonymous generosity’ was a bit of a surprise. If Mr. Potter’s letter of that day was to Quality Quidditch Supplies, the timing of today’s shipment would be - well, spot on.”
“That sounds like Harry,” Hermione conceded.
“Lastly,” McGonagall continued, “I will agree that the timing of the award letter is a bit awkward. Mr. Potter did not have knowledge of his connection to Royal Hart until his birthday. The award letter was dated fourteen August. Regardless of when it was delivered, if that date is accurate, Mr. Potter would have to have taken some action between his birthday and that date. Do you recall any such action?”
“I have thought about that a lot,” Hermione said. “Harry had a meeting with Mr. Prächt on the eighteenth of August, which is too late, I know. But how do I rule out the possibility that he didn’t send instructions by owl after his birthday, ahead of that meeting?”
“Miss Granger,” McGonagall’s tone became suddenly stern. “You must ask yourself if Mr. Potter is your friend or not. Some things, Hermione, you have to understand with your heart, rather than your head.” She paused for a long breath. “Do you trust Harry Potter?”
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Chapter Twenty-Eight
Hogsmeade Migration
Chapter 29: Chapter 28 - Hogsmeade Migration
Author's Notes: As always, a big thank you to beta readers Arnel and Seeker's Destiny.
Hogsmeade Migration
Hogsmeade, as the only exclusively Wizarding community in Britain, and neighbor of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, had long been a quiet little hamlet on the Northwest edge of Loch Meade, going along day-to-day, with little appearance of outward change.
Just to the Northeast lay a small part of the much larger loch that had many distant years before become a separate lake. The students of Hogwarts called it the great lake, or just the lake. Very few remembered that it had an older local name “Loch Dubus.” The truth of history was that the Hogwarts founders had been attracted to the smaller lake because of the village of Merpeople that lived there and the number of other magical species that flourished in the forests near the lake, particularly a large population of Centaurs. They had chosen to build their school there in part so that they could ensure the long-term protection of the lake and the forests. Today it represented the largest magical preserve and magically protected region in all of the United Kingdom.
The village of Hogsmeade had been founded some said, as early as the turn of the tenth century by a legendary Wizard called Hengist of Woodcroft. Stories of the founding of the village ranged widely depending on who was doing the telling. Some said Hengist was a lost and bumbling figure, who in his wanderings was attracted unknowingly by the magic of the region. He discovered the magical lake and forest, they would say, purely by accident, and established the village only after being driven from the nearby forest by Centaurs, and from the magical lake by the Merpeople.
Others depicted him as a benevolent figure that established the village expressly to provide a Wizarding presence as a protection for the black lake and its surrounding forests.
Regardless of which version of history was nearer the truth, it was agreed, at least, that Hengist of Woodcroft was the first Wizard to live there and that it was he who established the village and given it its name. He was also generally thought to be responsible for the treaty which agreed to confine Wizarding activities to the larger loch and leave the smaller loch and forests to the magical species that dwelled there ensuring that they would continue to do so peacefully.
The naming of Hogsmeade was the subject of equally colorful stories concerning Hengist. The most commonly told tale was that after being chased away from the black lake, or after establishing friendly relations with the Centaurs and the Merpeople, depending on the version, he came upon a relatively flat expanse of forest that was populated by wild hogs. He then discovered a beautiful open meadow - while running from the hogs in some versions - where he would establish his farm and declare it “Hogsmeade.” The larger loch would then come to be called Loch Meade by the Wizards who soon began to settle the area at Hengist’s invitation.
The Lord Provost of Hogsmeade, Abhainn Armitage, sat at his paper-crowded desk, in his small, plain, office, trying to determine what he should do first.
Armitage was a highly respected and well-regarded member of the Hogsmeade community. A man of entirely average height, weight, and the physical presence of an individual easily lost or overlooked.
He had been raised a farmer and a fisherman and had the weathered look of a man who’d worked in the outdoors for most of his life. As such, his clothing was simple and practical; trousers and a wool, turtle neck, pullover. Robes had never been conducive to life on the loch, so outside of ceremonial, formal, or official occasions, he generally chose not to wear them. His hair was cropped close at the sides, longer on top and now that he had passed his one-hundred twenty-fifth birthday it had gone grey, thick, and wiry. He wore a chin beard, preferring to shave his upper lip. His most distinctive feature was his pale green eyes, the color of sea moss, bleached in the sun.
The Armitages were one of the oldest established families in the Loch Meade area, generally believed to be descended from Hengist of Woodcroft, and Abhainn took considerable pride in his heritage. His family possessed an extensive holding of land along the Southcentral shore of the loch. For most of his life, it had been a working farm, but about fifty years ago, near the end of his father’s life the property had been converted to a hunting lodge and Abhainn had turned to fishing as a profession. He fancied himself a Wizard of the earth, he valued the work he could do with his hands, using magic merely to assist.
When he’d turned one-hundred ten, he decided it was time to slow down and lead a life of relative leisure. A friend had suggested he run for Lord Provost, and as the position was largely ceremonial, speeches on holidays, the odd civic award, and commencement once a year at Hogwarts, he thought it might be a good fit. After first winning the position, he had remained in it, unchallenged, for the past fifteen years. In that time, the Village had changed considerably, not only had it grown, but the populace had demanded modernizations that sometimes made him uncomfortable. Still, the job had remained slow and his duties mostly for show. It was unusual that he had to come into his town office more than once every couple of weeks. Now, however, it was a very different story.
Just over a year ago it had been revealed that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had returned, and suddenly there was a rush of Wizarding families who thought there might be safety in an all-Wizarding community. All the influx of population had caused his workload to increase exponentially.
All the available properties had been snatched up quickly and at a premium. Then the Macpherson’s had sold their farms South of the Ogilhinn River to a developer named Gideon Glebe, and within months the Village had tripled in size. Glebe was building, not only, some of the cutest single-family cottages on the South edge of the village, he had also started building some multi-story flats along the river. The population of Hogsmeade had easily quadrupled over the past year and that trend had only increased with the death of Dumbledore at the end of the last school year.
Other developers too had sought land acquisitions and planning permits and the Village Council had backed a plan for road construction clear into the Three-Falls area creating a need for parks and public areas to be defined, and well, frankly, it was all much more work than Abhainn had ever signed up for. The village had more than tripled in land area and the residents had begun to refer to the newer areas South of the river, as South Hogsmeade. It had been formally proposed that the area be named Hogsglen, which, while an apt description of the land area, to Abhainn’s ear, didn’t sound right.
The Village Council had first approved and constructed Muggle-style municipal water and sewer services before his tenure as Lord Provost. It seemed the modern Wizard had tired of having to refresh household spells to pump and purify water or banish waste. With the larger population, the existing systems in the main of the Village were in dire need of replacement. With the recent attack by Death Eaters, causing severe damage along the High Street, much of that recovery work had been expedited at the expense of other projects. There was also the construction of Camp Contego, just beyond the North limits of the village, as the home of The Ministry’s new Army, and the Ministry’s first-ever Branch office. If the Ministry didn’t step in and help out the village in providing basic services, there would surely be a revolt when the village announced the need for more taxes. Numerous other municipal concerns needed to be addressed. He had been promised by the council that an Assistant Provost and at least two Municipal Clerks would be hired to handle the increased village business and record-keeping, but none of that had yet happened.
Along with the increased population came all the increased business. He had easily over a hundred requests for business permits on his desk along with associated requests for various services, and that was just those who wanted to do business properly. He had never imagined that the village would ever grow as it had, and the only thing he knew was that he was done with the job of Lord Provost, as soon as the election came around in November. No one had yet seemed to notice that he had not registered as a candidate. Unfortunately, neither had anyone else. He was not exactly sure what would happen if no one stepped forward to take on the job. He just knew that the job was no longer fun. He was going to bring it up at the next council meeting.
He imagined himself for a moment in his little boat, out on the loch, a line in the water and the cool breeze on his face. He sighed heavily and reached for the first business application atop the thick stack on his desk. He glanced over it briefly. “A joke shop,” he said quietly to the empty office as he read the annotated document. Everything seemed to be in order, and the proper registration fee was accounted for. “Well,” he said aloud again to the empty office, “Unless Zonko’s reopens, they will not have any competition, so, who am I to say no?” He sighed again, stamped the application, set it aside lethargically, and reached for the next one in the stack.
“You’re sure, mate?” Harry said as he opened his locker and pulled out his Quidditch pads.
“I’m sure, Harry,” Ron replied, as he pulled his jumper over his shoulders and took his keeper pads from his temporary locker.
“So, if she’s figured out the truth, why hasn’t she said anything? Harry scoffed tiredly, “I, mean, I am not sure how much more of this I can take.”
“It’s been a very busy week,” Ron retorted. “Hermione’s just got to get it all straight in her mind, then she’ll come round.”
“Well, I will give you, it has been a busy week,” Harry agreed, but that didn’t make him feel any better.
The new locker room was abuzz with Gryffindors suiting up for Quidditch try-outs. As he finished dressing, Harry took a minute to appreciate the new facilities.
Head Mistress McGonagall had been good as her word about taking Quidditch more seriously. The pitch had been completely updated, and could now be called a proper stadium. Two locker rooms had been added, one on each side of the pitch, complete with showers and proper equipment rooms. Captains and Vice Captains had been assigned permanent lockers in individual House designated areas. Team members would be assigned lockers in due course, but for try-outs students were welcome to use any unoccupied space. Each house was now assigned a viewing box on the first tier of seating, and three additional tiers had been added to accommodate visitors. New to the facility was the addition of concession stands. The viewing towers had also been expanded to allow for more premium seating.
Rumor was that the school’s matches would be opened up to the Wizarding public through ticket sales. This would in turn support the new facilities. With the village of Hogsmeade growing so rapidly, and Camp Contego, the new Wizarding Army base, there seemed a convenient audience within walking distance. Truthfully, any wizard was just an Apparition away, so it was curious that the games had always been seemingly restricted to the school. Now families would be able to come see their students play without having to ask special permission. Sportswriters from magazines and the Daily Prophet would now be able to report on the games, and team recruiters from the professional leagues would be able to attend as well.
Harry had never seriously considered a professional career in Quidditch, but all this new hype was swaying his thinking a little. For now, though, he just needed to get through team try-outs.
He and Ron stepped out of the locker room into the covered team area. On a game day this space would be decked out in the colors of the team house, but now was simply a large bench tucked under the first tier of raised seating at ground level.
Ginny was waiting there ready to take the pitch and Harry could hear the many eager candidates gathering behind them. He stepped up next to Ginny and with a nod of acknowledgment they stepped out together onto the pitch.
From the ground the new pitch was impressive. The added seating made the play area feel more contained and a little smaller. The towers, now set further back, were larger and more imposing.
As they walked out onto the pitch Harry could see that there was a fairly large number of observers in each of the house boxes. This was typically the case as the other teams would want to check out the competition. He also noticed several groups of people spread throughout the seating areas. At first, he didn’t recognize anyone, but then he noticed a couple of blokes in a small group of what had to be army recruits, based on the uniforms. The two were pressed to the third-tier rail and seemed to be waving at him. Looking closer Harry realized that it was Kenneth Towler and Eddie Carmichael. Towler had been a victim of the twin’s product testing and Carmichael, as Harry recalled, had been a Ravenclaw, who had tried to sell He and Ron a brain elixir before their OWL exams. Harry waved back at them reflexively, but he wasn’t sure why either of them would be here at the try-outs.
Harry thought it curious that so many people had come to watch try-outs, but it didn’t bother him, and it would only help his team get used to playing in front of an audience. He and Ginny reached center pitch and turned to face the team area.
It appeared that nearly everyone in Gryffindor had come to try out, and that included a large number of the first years. Harry, cleared his throat, then in his best pitch voice, spoke. “Welcome, everyone, to try-outs for the Gryffindor House, nineteen ninety-seven, ninety-eight, Quidditch team. My name is Harry Potter, and I will be your team captain this year.” The students began to applaud, and Harry, gesturing, tried to quickly quiet them. “You all know there have been several changes to the program. Not the least of which is this wonderful new pitch.” Harry waved his arms one at a time in each direction drawing their gaze to the new facilities. “Vice-captains have been added to each team and I would like to introduce to you, your vice-captain, Ginny Weasley.” The applause erupted again. Ginny stepped forward and gave a little bow. Harry continued, “Today it is our task to select eight of you to represent Gryffindor house, along with Ginny and myself. This is a rebuilding year for the team, so we will be looking hard for the best new talent. School rules allow for seven starters per team and three reserve players for a total of ten, and as it appears the house has come out in force to try out, we will have a busy morning. Those of you who survive the process long enough will be allowed to try out for up to three positions. To begin we will run you through some warm-up drills. For that, I turn you over to our vice-captain.”
Ginny stepped forward and with no hesitation, took command of the group. “All right, you lot. We’ve got a bunch to do today and in order to get through everything, the first thing I am going to need from you is good listening. Anyone not listening, or caught fooling around, not taking try-outs seriously will be asked to leave, is that clear?” The group looked around at each other sheepishly and nodded silently in response. Ginny’s volume raised sharply, “When I ask you a question, I want a response! Now is that clear?”
“Yes, vice-captain!” came the unpracticed, group response.
Ginny continued, “All right, then. On this team you will be judged by talent and potential, there will be no separation by year. Each of you will compete equally. As you may have heard the school has acquired new brooms this year and the rumors that those brooms are all Firebolts is true.” The group broke into applause again. “Each member of each school team will be assigned a new broom for the duration of the Quidditch season. However, for tryouts, you must provide your own broom. This presumes that you are practiced with your own broom and will therefore display your best skills. As your team captain said, we’re going to begin with warm-up drills. Let’s start with some good stretches and some pitch sprints. Then we’ll line up for a quick session of Quaffle toss.”
After warm-ups, several of the least experienced students had already dropped out. Ginny had everyone remaining demonstrate a running broom mount and that eliminated several more. They then formed smaller groups to begin timed laps around the pitch. As Ginny and Harry watched closely, assessing speed and stability, the eliminations continued. After time trials, they split into groups by desired position, and with little time to rest between exercises, the field of competitors began to narrow quickly.
Two hours in and they had carved the competition down to about twenty potentials. Then began a series of knowledge demonstrations by position. Keepers had to demonstrate various named saves while under assault by eager Chasers demonstrating flight speed, pass accuracy, and general broom prowess. Beaters had to demonstrate bat handling, strike force, and accuracy. And Seekers had to chase an actual Snitch for five minutes each.
Harry and Ginny were relentless, pushing hard for the best performances from everyone, neither taking a break other than to drink a few gulps of water for hydration. By the time they finished, just before lunch, everyone in the group was exhausted, some laboring to catch their breaths. They had narrowed the field to just fourteen competitors. Harry addressed them. “Great work today everyone. You should all feel proud of your performances. Ginny and I have some very difficult decisions to make. Before we dismiss you, I just want to thank you for coming out and showing such great interest in the team. I have no doubt whoever we pick, we will have an outstanding Quidditch team this year. We will post the final team roster in the common room by noon tomorrow. Thanks again everyone, now go and get cleaned up and I will see you all at lunch.”
The tired, but excited group quickly moved toward the locker rooms. Ron, who was still a little winded, clapped Harry on the back. “Blimey, Harry, I knew you were gonna take the team seriously, but that was quite the workout just now.”
Ginny approached from Harry’s other side. “We’ve got good reason, Ron. There is an extra team this year. That means five games instead of four, and the Beauxbatons’ team is not only an unknown quantity at this point - they also have their roster set and have already begun practicing.”
“Yeah, I suppose it would be a big thing for them to sweep in and take the School Cup,” Ron said.
“I am certain that is their intention,” Harry said, as they followed the rest in the direction of the locker rooms. “It will be our job to defend the school. I mean - I haven’t seen how the other House teams will shape up, but we’ve all got to rebuild, and frankly, Slytherin has always been our main competition. This year, with the number of students who didn’t return, I don’t know how they are going to have much of a team.”
Ron and Ginny both nodded in agreement.
“So, Harry and I agree,” Ginny said. “We are going to put together the foremost talent the House has to offer and we are going to work them hard to become the best that they can be.”
Ron nodded again, and Harry took Ginny’s hand, squeezing it gently.
“Well, if that’s the plan, this morning was a good start,” Ron said. “You know I’ll do my part for the team.”
“That’s assuming you make the final cut,” Ginny interjected teasingly as she peeled away toward the woman’s changing room. “Good thing McLaggen graduated last year.” Ginny grinned as she disappeared down the open hall.
“What was that about, Harry?” Ron asked, sounding a bit unsure.
“Ginny’s just having you on, Ron,” Harry reassured as they continued into the locker room. “You’ve been practicing, and you had a good try-out. The only one who came close to your number of saves was Orin Doxmuth, and clearly, he’d rather play Beater based on his try-outs. Ginny and I will get this all sorted later today. Right now, I just want to shower, change, and get to lunch.”
About twenty minutes later Ron and Harry exited the pitch, where they found Ginny talking with Kenneth Towler and Eddie Carmichael. The two were dressed in olive drab Military uniforms, with a heavy cloak that could be worn back, or pulled forward like a robe.
Harry shot Ron a raised eyebrow, and they stepped over, nodding in greeting. “Nice to see you, Eddie, Kenneth,” Harry said politely. “Saw you up in the stands.”
“Blimey, Harry, good to see you mate,” Eddie began. He extended his hand to shake, and Harry obliged, Ron following suit thereafter. “We jumped at the chance to come watch your try-outs. Looks like you have some nice talent this year.”
“Yeah, we’ll make do,” Harry replied, “Wish we didn’t have to choose so many new players this year, but we’ll get the team in to shape soon enough.”
Towler, who had kept his hands firmly in his pockets up until this point, spoke up. “Eddie here petitioned the Camp Commander to let us form an Army Quidditch team. We thought it might be fun to play against the Hogwarts’ house teams, but they aren’t going to build a pitch at the camp, and they said the age differences of the players wouldn’t be fair.”
“Well, that is an interesting notion,” Ron responded. “I am sorry to hear it’s not going to be allowed. It might have been fun to play those games, even unofficially.”
Ginny nodded her head in agreement.
“Well, even if we can’t form our own team, it will be lots of fun to be able to come see your games in this new stadium,” said Eddie.
“You two are at the new camp, then?” Harry asked.
“Yeah, Camp Contego, we came in with the first recruits about two weeks ago,” Kenneth answered.
“Contego?” Ron interjected. “Funny sort of name for an Army camp, in’ it? Sounds Spanish.”
“It does kinda, doesn’t it,” Eddie offered. “They told us it’s Latin for ‘Shield,’ so like the shield spell ‘Protego’ which really means protection. But we’ve all been say’n pretty much the same thing.”
“What made you want to join the Army?” Ginny asked.
“Honestly, it’s about the best paying opportunity around just now,” Kenneth said. He looked over at Eddie who nodded slightly, and he continued. “Plus, with He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named rearing his ugly head, a lot of regular job opportunities have dried up.”
“I figure, if there is a fight coming, that we are going to have to deal with it anyway, I would rather be prepared for it, and the Army is giving us extensive Magical combat training, three meals a day, and paying us as well,” Eddie added.
“So far it has been a lot like being at Hogwarts if you only ever took Madam Hooch’s first year flying class and anything taught by Snape,” Kenneth said through a restrained chuckle. The others all laughed as well. “Oh, and we run a lot.”
“It’s not so bad though,” Eddie said. “We get to go into Hogsmeade lots of evenings and pretty much every weekend. Maybe we’ll see you there on your weekends?”
“Anything is possible,” Ginny said. She had managed to step close to Harry and take his hand.
“So, did you just come for try-outs today? How’d you even know we were holding them?” Harry asked.
“Well, about that. It’s the first weekend of the new term, so it just makes sense that you would be holding them. But we were actually asked to come, so we could make a delivery,” Kenneth said. “Familiar faces, as it were.” He pulled a small folded parchment envelope out of his chest pocket and handed it to Harry.
“The Camp Commander, asked us to deliver this message to you, in person,” Eddie said.
“Do you know what it says?” Harry asked.
“Haven’t a clue,” Kenneth responded.
“Do you need a response?”
“Wasn’t asked to wait for one.”
“In that case, I’ll look at this later.” Harry shoved the envelope into his jumper pocket. “We better be off to lunch before we miss it.”
“Yeah, I expect we should be going ourselves,” Kenneth said. “I enjoyed watching the try-outs. We’ll be looking forward to coming back for the games.”
They exchanged last departing pleasantries before turning back to the path up to the castle and the awaiting lunch.
Ron’s stomach growled.
Severus Snape descended the stone steps going round and round a wide spiral toward the ground level of the Castle. Upon reaching ground he pushed open a broad wooden door that revealed beyond, a cobblestone courtyard surrounded by sheer stone walls. At ground level around the periphery were a series of wooden structures; what once would have been stables and work stalls for all of the guild artisans and tradesmen required to keep the castle functioning. An old blacksmithing forge was evident, surrounded by now silent tools.
At its height, around the mid-eighteenth century, this would have been the heart of the castle community. Here, protected in the courtyard by strong defensible walls and a heavy back gate, was where deliveries of all sorts would be made. The various stalls would have been filled with smiths and farmers, wood wrights, leather workers, candle makers, weavers, masons, and more, all employed in the business of supporting life in the castle. None of this work took place on-site anymore, or if it did it was done by house-elves and they preferred not to work where they could be observed.
Snape crossed the courtyard quickly, arriving at a stone structure tucked into a corner against the castle wall at the back of the courtyard. There was a heavy oak door and high barred windows, making the building look formidable. It would have once been an armory and therefore secured against forced entry. Now, however, it was being used to keep one particular prisoner within. One potentially formidable prisoner, considering the work he was doing and the resources required to accomplish that task.
The door itself was not locked, but Snape could feel the physical weight of the personalized wards as he passed through them, toward it, like passing through layers of a shallow, slow motion, waterfall. Upon opening the door and entering the room he was assailed by the scents of freshly cut wood, boiling Linseed oil, sweet and pungent aromas like those familiar to a potion laboratory, and there was something more. The earthy, subtle scents of decay.
Light streamed in the high windows, obscured by the smoke of several small fires, filling the room with a sort of dull daylight. It required a moment's adjustment when entering from outside.
There were piles of various types of wood, mostly local, but it was all sectioned branches one to three inches in diameter. It looked more like random gatherings of firewood from the forest floor than a deliberate collection and indeed Snape would not have known which piles were for feeding the fires and which were not. Further into the room, there were large pots set over the fires, giving off a variety of the curious scents. Toward the center of the room there were several work tables strewn with what looked to be woodworking tools.
In a back corner near a fireplace was a cot, a chair, a small wardrobe, and a table to prepare and eat meals.
“Ollivander,” Snape called as he stepped further into the room.
“Yes, yes, yes, I am here,” came the strained, tired, response from Garrick Ollivander, as he shuffled slowly from the personal area toward the center of the room. “Of course, I am here. Where else would I be?” He looked old and quite worn, his clothes were dirtied with soot from the many fires and he clearly had not been afforded the time or the accessories required to properly bathe and keep up his appearance. He moved tentatively and with a slight limp. Snape suspected that at some point recently he had been shackled about the ankles. “Severus, is that you?” Ollivander questioned as he came closer.
“Yes,” Snape responded indifferently.
“Thank goodness,” Ollivander exclaimed, sounding relieved. “You at least know how to be civil. Some of the ruffians that come in here demanding new, more powerful wands, think that just because I am here against my will, that gives them leave to mistreat me.”
Snape chuckled darkly. “Some men cannot help but flex what little power they possess. Unfortunately, being a prisoner does make you a rather easy target. I am sorry about that; I will speak to them again. As long as you continue to cooperate, there is no reason your stay should not be as pleasant as possible.”
Ollivander had reached the center of the room. “Thank you, Severus. Now, what is your Master’s desire today?”
“Tread lightly, Garrick,” Snape warned. “He is quite literally your Master as well, at the moment. Best to show a little deference at the very least.” For a long moment both men were silent and still. “He desires a report on your progress.”
Ollivander nodded, knowingly, and motioned for Snape to come closer as he turned toward a cabinet at the back wall. “I believe all is ready; I simply await instruction. I need only choose and prepare the wood.”
They reached the cabinet together and Ollivander placed his hand on the door handle. “I have chosen, what I believe are the most powerful core candidates. I can proceed at any time.” He pulled open the cabinet door.
The cabinet itself sat upon a base of drawers. When Ollivander opened the door, it revealed the right half of the inner cabinet. There was a single shelf at just about chest height. Above the shelf, suspended from a peg was a tuft of thick silvery hairs, obviously, from the mane or tail of a unicorn. It was bound by a maiden’s linen ribbon, and the whole bunch appeared to shine slightly. Separated from the bunch, just a few inches forward, there was a single strand, suspended from a wooden armature that ended in a small clamp, much like a clothes peg. This single hair was noticeably thicker, hung perfectly straight, and appeared to be so highly polished that it was mirror. It was so reflective that it seemed almost to glow.
“Best Unicorn hair, I have ever found,” Ollivander whispered. Snape suddenly realized he was leaning in slightly.
Ollivander opened the other side of the cabinet, revealing on the left half of the shelf what appeared to be a tall, narrow, aquarium. In the bottom of the aquarium was what appeared to be a large, pocked, chunk of black, volcanic rock. It was shaped roughly like… Snape realized suddenly that this was the Romanian Longhorn heart.
Ollivander had drawn his wand and brought it near the front of the aquarium. He spoke clearly, “Igni Lumen.” A small ball of flickering flame appeared about an inch from the wand tip. “It takes a flame. Other sorts of light won’t work,” he whispered.
As they watched a number of strings began to immerge from within the petrified heart. They looked like thin eels, most of them fifteen to twenty centimeters long. Each glowed like a pulsating flame as they undulated through the water. They seemed to cooperatively navigate the aquarium, taking a quick turn around the perimeter before coming to rest in swirling, looping, patterns on the glass facing the flame. More appeared from within the heart, successively longer and thicker, glowing brilliantly in reds, oranges, and yellows. As larger strings came to the glass the smaller ones made way, adjusting their patterns so that each new string could fit on the glass never directly touching another. Finally, a string began to emerge from the heart that was larger and brighter than the others. It was thick as an earthworm and once fully visible at least forty-five centimeters in length. It moved a bit more slowly than the smaller ones, but it glowed in fiery hues like a lone tendril of flame. It plastered itself in a tight spiral on the glass opposite the flame, the others all giving way, and it flashed and flickered so brightly that Snape had a momentary fear that it might melt the glass.
“That is the one,” Ollivander whispered. “That is the one the Master will want.” He shook the end of his wand and the flame disappeared. Within, moments the heartstrings began retreating just as they had emerged the largest first, returning slowly to their place within the petrified heart.
“Is it your first time, seeing dragon heartstrings?” Ollivander questioned.
“Yes, actually,” Snape responded. “I understand that harvesting is a particularly delicate procedure, and to be honest there is no presently known application for them in potion-making.”
“Impressive, aren’t they?” Ollivander asked. He did not wait for an answer but continued. “Beautiful, and powerful, and difficult, very difficult, but about the most powerful core there is. Only the phoenix feather can be potentially more powerful, and that is only potentially.” He paused for a moment and slowly began closing the cabinet doors. “Under normal circumstances, I only work with the three supreme wand cores. Phoenix tail feathers, dragon heartstrings, and unicorn hair. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named has provided now, an ample supply of two of my preferred three. Phoenix feathers are rather more difficult to come by unless you know someone who has a relationship with a phoenix. In the last fifty years, I have made only two phoenix feather wands, and as we know, the Dark Lord already possesses one of them.”
“Indeed,” Snape conceded.
“There are one or two reputable dealers in China from who I have purchased phoenix feathers in the past,” Ollivander continued. “Such acquisitions require making the trip of course. Years ago, there were a couple more phoenixes, one in Ireland and another in Germany. My father was lucky enough to secure feathers from these birds before their companion Wizards passed, but that was during my apprenticeship. There has only been one source that I know of in Europe and the U.K. for over one hundred years, and sadly that source is now gone as well.”
“I am aware of the phoenix of which you speak,” Snape said coldly. “Why do you prattle on about phoenix feathers when you now have an ample supply of unicorn hairs and dragon heartstrings?”
“Because, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named does not need me, kidnapped and confined, making wands for his henchmen,” Ollivander said, his voice strained slightly with frustration. “If that was all he wanted he would have stolen, rather than destroyed my inventory. That would have given him more wands than I have made during this imprisonment. He wants me to make him a new wand, a special wand. One more powerful than Harry Potter’s wand. I am not certain that it can be done.”
Snape raised a single eyebrow. It was not much of a reaction, but it communicated enough to keep Ollivander talking. “I knew that the wands were related, of course I did, I made them both. And, I knew that ‘Priori Incantatem’ was a strong possibility should the two wands ever face one another. But, when I made the wands, I had no idea of their destiny. I did not know when the first wand chose the young Tom Riddle, that he would grow to become He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Nor could I know beforehand that the second wand would choose Harry Potter. I had no idea at the time that the Dark Lord would return. These were events clearly beyond my control. When I was first taken and brought before the Master, I was questioned quite pointedly on these matters.” Ollivander rubbed reflexively at his arms as though recalling his painful interrogation.
“The Dark Lord seemed quite fixated that one wand should be greater than the other, but in truth they are equals. Because the wands are in a word sibling, they simply refuse to truly fight one another, hence the ‘Priori Incantatem.’ It does not matter which is the more powerful wielder. A simple fact that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named understandably finds quite frustrating. Therefore, the Master wants a new wand, one more powerful than he presently has. The problem of course is, the one he presently has is one of the two most extraordinary wands it has ever been my honor to create. And, I fear neither the near-perfect unicorn hair nor the extraordinary dragon heartstring he has provided are quite enough to do it.
“Short of finding the mythic Elder wand, one of the fabled ‘Deathly Hallows’ from the children’s tale of ‘The Three Brothers,’ the wand he already has is perhaps one of the most powerful wands yet made.”
“Do you believe that the Elder wand is real?” Snape asked calmly.
“I have never, in all my years as a wandmaker, heard anything but hearsay to support its existence,” Ollivander said quietly. “I would have to say that I do not believe the Elder wand is anything more than a story. Further, if it does, or ever did exist, I wouldn’t have a clue as to how to find it.”
“I admit that I agree with you, as does the Master,” Snape confirmed. “That leaves us with a bit of a problem. Have you any possible solutions?”
Ollivander was quiet for a long moment. “Many years ago, my father taught me a method to weave together two complementary wand cores and put them in a single wand to increase the effectiveness of lessor wand core material. Like Kneazle whiskers, bound with Mandrake root. Neither of these materials produces, in my assessment, a satisfactory wand core. However, bound together they can produce a wand that is reasonably responsive. Once, dual-core wands were quite common, though, it has been my impression that as a practice, dual-core wands have fallen out of use in the last hundred years or so.” He paused for a long moment as though collecting his thoughts. “I have never tried to bind any of the supreme core materials together, but speculatively a dual-core wand of supreme core materials would yield a wand more powerful than either of the respective cores. I am just not certain it could be done given the nature of the cores. While unicorn hair is generally quite cooperative, in life, unicorns and dragons are mortal enemies. The dragon heartstring, I am certain would only willingly bond with a core it could dominate, and if I had any phoenix feather, I fear, its nature is too independent to bond with any other core material.”
“I understand your concerns, but how do you know a thing cannot be done before you try to do it?” Snape questioned. “You have a good quantity of supplies here, could you attempt to bond a few of the lessor unicorn hairs, with a few of the smaller dragon heartstrings, just to see what results you get?” Now it was Snape who paused. “In potion-making, when dealing with two ingredients that normally do not mix well or when combined yield an unsavory result, it is quite common to introduce a third ingredient, an herb or oil, maybe an animal element, and this third ingredient will often act as a catalyst for the other two allowing them to come together cooperatively, with often surprising results. Perhaps something of the sort would be needed here?”
Ollivander looked as though he was suddenly lost in his own thoughts.
“I realize that we are talking experimentally,” Snape said pointedly. “The Dark Lord is going to eventually demand a new wand, and it is in both our vested interest to make sure that he is satisfied. I would be willing to work with you, bringing my knowledge of Potions, and perhaps we could find a solution?”
Garrick Ollivander looked hard in to Severus Snape’s eyes. Slowly, he nodded in agreement.
Harry and Ginny had spent most of Saturday evening going over the results of tryouts and coming up with a Quidditch roster that would give them the best prospects for a winning team. Harry was very optimistic they had picked a group that would come together well and would be willing to work hard. Ginny was satisfied they had picked young enough players that there would be good team continuity going into the next year when presumably, she would be the team captain.
The message that Kenneth Towler and Eddie Carmichael delivered had turned out to be an invitation to visit Camp Contego and meet with the Camp Commander. The visit was to take place Sunday afternoon, and it included permission from the Headmistress to leave the school grounds as well as instructions to use the secret passage from the Hogwarts’ grounds as a security precaution.
They allowed themselves to sleep in later than usual Sunday morning and didn’t show up for breakfast until nearly half eight. Harry had always been an early riser, but he had enjoyed the bit of a lie-in after all the decision-making the night before.
Breakfast was quiet as most of the team candidates, knowing that Harry typically took an early breakfast, had already eaten. He was quite pleased to enjoy his breakfast in relative calm with Ginny.
They had not been there long when Luna entered the Great Hall. She looked as though she had been up most of the night and obviously had come straight from bed so as not to miss breakfast. She was wearing flannel pajama bottoms in a light blue tartan print with orange fluffy slippers and an olive green knit pullover. Her hair was a bit wild but mostly held back by a neon green hair bobble. She plopped down at the table next to Ginny, and mumbled a barely audible “Good morning.”
Ginny did not hold back, “Luna, you look a fright this morning, whatever have you been up to?”
Luna looked up from filling her plate. She seemed to be having trouble focusing. “Oh, I was up most of the night helping Hagrid with the weanling Thestrals. We had several very unhappy foals chasing after their mothers. We couldn’t get them to eat, they had us quite worried.”
The idea of Luna and Hagrid, together worrying over the young Thestrals struck Harry as quite a curiosity. “Did you finally get them to eat?” he asked.
“Oh yes,” Luna responded, she seemed to be coming slowly more awake. “We tried all sorts of things, ferrets, squirrels, Hagrid even slaughtered a goat. Finally, Hagrid, soaked strips of goat meat in a bucket of Whiskey, and that finally did the trick.”
“I’ll bet Hagrid had his share of the whiskey,” Harry said with a laugh.
“From the look of you, I am guessing you had a little yourself?” Ginny said to Luna teasingly.
Luna looked up from her plate again, still a bit blurry-eyed, and grinned broadly, “But we can’t tell anyone, I’ll be fine before noon and I do not want to get Hagrid into trouble. After all, we were just looking after the Thestral herd.”
They all laughed a little and Harry pushed the coffee decanter closer to Luna. “I don’t know if you drink this stuff as Ginny does, but I am guessing you need it this morning.”
With only twenty or so minutes of breakfast service remaining, they concentrated on finishing their meals as Luna shared more about the Thestrals and her previous night’s adventure.
After breakfast, Luna left them to go back to her dormitory for a shower and Harry and Ginny took the long way returning to the Gryffindor common room, by way of the castle courtyard.
When they did arrive at the common room there was an unusual number of students lounging about for a Sunday morning. It seemed that everyone was waiting for the Quidditch roster to be posted. Harry could feel the weight of all eyes watching as he and Ginny moved toward the dormitory stairs. As they climbed the stairs Harry whispered, “Should we post the list and get it over with, or, should we make them wait until noon?”
“It’s ready so let’s just post it,” Ginny replied.
Minutes later, Ginny entered the common room lounge, strode up to the notice board, and posted the roster. She had to duck and back away to avoid the crowd gathering to read it. She quickly made her way back to Harry on the stairs.
Not everyone could be chosen. There were a few disappointments of course. Mostly though, the room erupted with celebration as the new members of the team were cheered.
The posted roster read:
Gryffindor Quidditch Team Roster 97/98
1. Potter, Harry Team Captain, Seeker
2. Weasley, Ginny Vice-Captain, Chaser, Reserve Seeker
3. Robins, Demelza Chaser
4. Torrgess, Anthony Chaser
5. Thomas, Dean Beater
6. Peakes, Jimmy Beater
7. Weasley, Ron Keeper
8. Stanton, Sabina Reserve Chaser/Beater
9. Doxmuth, Orin Reserve Beater/Keeper
10. Tamburlton, Kerry Reserve Seeker/Chaser
Once all the new team members had been acknowledged, Harry said a quick word of congratulations welcoming them all to the new season and expressing his commitment to working hard and winning the house cup. He ended with a reminder to show up for practice on time, ready to sweat. Ginny reminded them to see her before the first practice to get their seasonal locker assignments, and broom numbers.
Later that afternoon Ginny decided to walk Harry as far as the Whomping Willow so that he could leave for his meeting with the commander of the new army camp. As they stepped out into the courtyard Ron and Hermione were there waiting on a bench. As soon as Hermione saw them, she stood up, pulling Ron with her.
“Harry,” she said, perhaps a bit more loudly than intended. “When you told Ron about going to visit the new army camp, he figured you would be coming this way.”
“And how exactly did you figure that, Ron?” Harry said defensively.
“Well, they are building that camp right in the area where the Shrieking Shack used to be,” Ron answered. “When they tore down the shack, they must have discovered the passageway. So, I figured they kept it for security, and you would be using it.”
“Yeah, well, you figured that brilliantly,” Harry retorted sarcastically, still on the defense in Hermione’s presence.
“Well, it makes sense, really,” Ron said. “If you know about the passageway already, and well, we do. I know I’ll never forget.”
Harry chuckled a little allowing the tension to break just a bit. “Me neither, mate.”
“Harry,” Hermione chimed in, having found her voice. “Harry, it is hard for me to admit, but I - well, over the last week - I’ve made some terrible assumptions and thought some things of you that I knew just had to be wrong. I was mad, because I thought you had used your newfound wealth to swoop in and solve a bunch of problems for me, without discussing it with me first, and it felt like a betrayal of our friendship.”
“You made that very clear ten days ago, standing in Madam Malkin’s.” The defensiveness had returned to Harry’s voice. “And you’ve hardly said a word to me all week.”
“I know, Harry, and I am sorry,” Hermione said a bit pleadingly. “I had to get all the facts straight in my mind so I could understand the truth, and well, I am extremely sorry I doubted you.” Hermione’s voice broke a little and tears started to form in her eyes. “I understand now, Harry, that the betrayal of friendship was mine, not yours. I had to piece together what happened and figure out how it all converged as it did, to make me overreact so terribly. I am so, so sorry I doubted you, Harry. I promise, I will never break the trust between us again, and I just need to know that you forgive me and we can put this in the past?”
Harry squeezed Ginny’s hand just a little and for a moment she wasn’t sure what it meant. The expression on Harry's face softened, and she could feel him relax next to her. “Done,” Harry said. “Forgiven and forgotten, now can we please get back to something resembling normal?” He chuckled again. “I know for me normal is a bit of a stretch, but that’s why I need us all to be agreeable.”
Hermione flung herself at Harry and hugged him.
They all walked Harry out to the Whomping Willow to see him off for his meeting. Along the way, Hermione talked about the upcoming Student Defense Club organization meeting. Clearly, she had much she felt needed to be said.
Harry was simply happy that the matter between them was settled.
“I am not sure what they want with me at the camp, but I will make this visit as short as possible,” Harry said as he stepped down into the secret passage. “I plan to be back for dinner this evening.”
“We’ll watch for you, mate,” Ron responded. He, Hermione, and Ginny were standing back out of range of the Willow’s limbs, for when it shook off the temporary stillness caused by opening the passage.
Harry waved as he disappeared in to the dark.
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NEXT
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Chamber Chasing
Chapter 30: Chapter 29 - Chamber Chasing
Author's Notes: Special thanks to my Beta's.
Chamber Chasing
Harry stepped from the Owlery, descending the stairs, and trying to dust some bits of cobweb from one shoulder while managing a package under one arm. He bounded down the last few steps narrowly avoiding a small group of wandering first years who squeaked and easily jumped aside.
After dinner Harry had made an excuse, saying he’d been asked to stop by Professor Fleming’s office. This was not entirely untrue, Professor Fleming had asked him to stop by to pick up a signed permission slip regarding the instruction of non-magical combat for the D.A., but Harry had been able to slip away during Double Herbology and had already retrieved the paper.
He told Ron, Hermione, and Ginny that he would catch them up in the library where they had agreed to spend at least an hour revising. No one had argued about the revising on a Friday evening as it was Hermione’s birthday and no one doubted that it was an activity she would indeed choose. Harry had needed to get to the Owlery to retrieve an expected package. He had specifically requested it not be delivered during the breakfast post and instead sent to the Owlery for pick-up, as the package contained Hermione’s birthday present.
Harry made his way to the Gryffindor common room circuitously avoiding the library. As quickly as he could he went up to his dorm room, where he opened the package and set about wrapping the gift in colorful paper, prepared ahead of time for that purpose. He finished it off with a ribbon and bow, added a tag, and headed back down to the common room.
The main table in the common lounge had been draped in house colors and was already laid out with dishes ready for the food that had been arranged with the house-elves. Another table had been designated for gifts and Harry quickly headed toward it with his newly wrapped package.
Vicky Frobisher, one of the house prefects was there and seemed to be coordinating students, reminding them to be in place for the surprise party kick-off at eight-thirty. She was a rather plain-looking fifth year; thin, with a long face, dirty blonde hair, and what seemed overly large glasses. “Harry?” she asked, surprised. “I expected you would be with Hermione?”
“Oh,” Harry responded. “Yeah, I had to sneak away to take care of this gift,” he explained holding out the wrapped package as evidence. “I am just on my way back to the library.”
Vicky took the gift from Harry. “I can take care of this for you.” She smiled brightly. “We are still a go for eight-thirty?”
“Yes,” Harry confirmed. “We’ll get Hermione here. Will you make sure the other house prefects and friends can get past the Fat-lady?”
“Don’t you worry,” Vicky confirmed, “I’ll have everything ready.”
“Thank you for all your help, Vicky,” Harry said appreciatively.
“You are very welcome, Harry. Anything for Hermione,” Vicky said waving him on his way.
Harry rushed out of the common room door and hurried toward the library.
The brief encounter with Vicky impressed upon him just how much Hermione was appreciated for all the things she did for the school. Most of the time Hermione made being Head Girl look easy and, the first week of school notwithstanding, she hadn’t missed a beat finding time for their friendship. She planned everything from their study schedules to the school’s student organizations and kept it all on task. What’s more, she did everything kindly and with clear concern for the students of Hogwarts. People liked her and Harry believed every bit of admiration was well deserved. She was so much more than just his best friend - a fact that he tended to forget sometimes. It made him think of just how much he admired Hermione himself, and how proud he was of her. Her ascendance to Head Girl had not been in any way due to his fame. She had earned it, and the popularity that came with it, all on her own.
Harry had never been completely sure how people felt about him. He was famous. He had always been famous and it made it very difficult to gauge the why behind people’s apparent admiration. He hoped at least some of it was earned. He tried to be a friendly sort with the Gryffindors and most Hogwarts students in general. He was out in front of students all the time, but there was no denying, just how narrow he kept his social circle. He didn’t spend his free time, it seemed, with anyone but Ginny, Ron, Hermione, the occasional dorm-mate like Neville, and whenever it happened, Luna.
Having been raised largely in a cupboard under the stairs at Privet Drive he felt he had no idea what “normal” was. He knew that he was never lonely, and despite the cloud that was Voldemort looming over his future, right now, he was quite happy. He figured that was enough. And, that brought him back around to more troubling thoughts that had been playing in his head.
Tonight, though, was about celebrating Hermione’s happiness. He hurried on toward the library, his mind moving faster than his body was able, reviewing the beginning of term.
The first three weeks of school, in Harry’s view, had been both hectic and exciting. Regular Tuesday evening Quidditch practices had been established and with two practices complete Harry was feeling good about the new team. He and Ginny agreed that they would need to add some weekend sessions, days as well, but that was just normal even for an experienced team.
He found himself feeling rather grateful that what he’d always heard about the seventh year at Hogwarts, as an underclassman, was turning out to be true. So far, there had been very little assigned, out-of-class homework. The focus seemed to be on in-class exceptionalism, and out of class, freedom to concentrate on areas of interest through clubs, Quidditch, and other activities. The idea was to build confidence and skill in what you excelled in so that you could pursue various positions, internships, or apprenticeships after graduation. Some seventh-year students developed a sort of Independent Study during their final year so that they could focus rather intently on a particular area of interest. Though, that seemed to require an outside sponsor from a potential employer.
On the third Wednesday of school, the first meeting of the proposed Student Defense Club was held. The turnout for the evening meeting had been much larger than anticipated and the prepared charter scroll for signatures had to be magically extended. The meeting was moved from the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom to the Non-Magical Cultural Studies classroom just to accommodate the number of students. It had been a procedurally formal affair with Hermione opening the proceedings with a little bit of explanation and then calling for nominations for the position of club President. She nominated Harry herself and Ron seconded. A Ravenclaw girl nominated Stephen Cornfoot, and that was seconded, then each of the remaining houses nominated a representative, including Beauxbatons. Hermione called for a vote by raising of hands and despite the multiple candidates, Harry won easily.
At that point, Harry took over the meeting and followed Hermione’s notes and guidance to get through the remaining elections. Both Ron and Ginny were nominated for Vice-President, but Ginny declined the nomination, saying she intended to focus fully on her Quidditch responsibilities as Harry’s Vice-Captain. Ultimately, Ron was elected Vice-President, and Hermione was elected Secretary/Treasurer.
The first order of business after officer elections was to address the club’s name. Formally, the club was the Student Defense Club, but Harry proposed the club also be known as “Dumbledore’s Army,” and without other suggestions, the nickname was adopted unanimously. Everyone agreed to keep Wednesdays as the meeting days, and there was some discussion about where the club would be able to meet. It was decided that the club could meet outdoors for the first few meetings, but someplace appropriate would have to be found for once the weather got colder. They also discussed breaking the group into smaller sub-groups by school year and ability.
Professor Alexandrina Burgestikoff was introduced as the club sponsor and agreed that she would also be willing to offer some instruction with the younger students and serve as a consultant to the club leadership.
Professor Fleming, wandered into the meeting, curious about what would draw such a large group. Intrigued, he asked if there would be any interest in learning non-magical hand-to-hand combat techniques. When there was a rousing positive response, he offered his services to the club.
Harry finally closed the first formal meeting as it got close to eight-thirty, so that the newly elected officers could meet with Professor Burgestikoff, and as it turned out, Professor Fleming, before late evening tea, at nine o’clock.
The whole event had gone off without a hitch and Harry felt good that it was now a sanctioned school activity. Harry’s mind was full of possibilities for practice exercises and lessons based on his summer training sessions with Professor Burgestikoff, and earlier experiences of the original D.A. It had become a large undertaking and he wanted to sit down with Ron, Hermione, and the Professor to discuss how to give the club an overall structure. The main thing was, it needed to be fun. He wanted to suggest that they introduce dueling as a club activity. He assumed that would have to be approved by the Headmistress.
Between classes, Ginny, Quidditch, Dumbledore’s Army, student instructing for Double Defense every other Friday, and being an occasional counselor to the Minister, and the Army, Harry’s schedule and mind were both quite full. He knew though, that he must make time for the very important matter of completing the Horcrux search. The matter had been at the forefront of his thoughts since Thursday morning. Mostly because he had dreamed about the Horcrux search sometime during that night.
It had not been a particularly helpful dream, mostly it had been a review of what he already knew, filled with shadowy visions of the destruction of each consecutive item. He had been present for the destruction of each except for Marvolo Gaunt’s ring. He had, however, seen the effect of the ring’s curse as it gradually took Dumbledore’s hand. He had also seen Helga Hufflepuff’s golden cup through Dumbledore’s memory collection, and in his dream, he had seen the cup surrounded by Goblins. If it was a sign, it was not particularly helpful. The dream had ended with him deep in the Hogwarts Castle dungeons in unfamiliar corridors he had never seen before. He felt thoroughly lost. And just as panic had begun to set in, he’d awoken.
Then, last night the dream had returned, the same sequences repeating in the same order, only this time as he ran along both familiar and unfamiliar dungeon corridors, as the panic set in, in the dream, he tripped, and falling, went right through a wall. He emerged in a free fall; it was dark except for guttering lights far below him that appeared to be torches. As he fell, time, in the dream, seemed to extend. It felt as though rather than falling, a distant stone floor was rising quickly to meet him. Before impact two things happened, Harry suddenly felt this place was familiar, and, he woke up.
Harry arrived at the library and slipped quietly into his seat at the table next to Ginny. Ginny appeared to be reading one of her textbooks intently, but her hand slid into his beneath the table and gave it a little squeeze. Ron looked up from his book. “Did you get the note from Professor Fleming?” Ron whispered.
“Yeah, Mate,” Harry responded quietly. “Stashed it up in the dorm quickly.”
Ron nodded acknowledgment, and then returned to his book.
Harry reached for the books piled in the center of the table. He managed to pull one over in front of himself, opened it randomly, and started reading. The book was about Medieval Castles, their construction, and fortification for siege battles. It was reasonably interesting so Harry kept reading. There were occasional brief conversations at the table concerning classwork, but mostly the time was spent reading.
At about twenty past eight, Ginny nudged Harry. He hadn’t realized just how engrossed he had become in the book. He looked over at the library clock to check the time. He was just about to say something when Ron stretched and yawned a little too loudly.
“I’ve had just about enough revision for a Friday evening,” Ron said. “What say we all pop up to the common room and leave our school things before we go down to evening tea?”
Hermione was still writing something on a scroll of parchment. She was right next to Ron, but by her demeanor, it was unclear if she had even heard him.
“I’m ready,” Harry agreed. He grabbed his school satchel and pulled the shoulder strap over his head. “What say you, Hermione?”
Hermione set her quill down. “Alright. I guess it is about that time. Let’s go.” She rolled up her parchment and assembled her loose writing utensils before placing them carefully in her bag. Together they gathered all the library books from their table and moved them to the sorting cart to be shelved.
Minutes later they were strolling down one of the corridors toward the Gryffindor common room. Ron was saying something about changing out of his uniform, and speculating about what sandwiches and treats would be available for tea this evening. They had just about reached the corridor with the portrait of the fat lady when Hermione let out an exasperated laugh.
“Ron, you do know I am on to you, right?” Hermione said. “You can stop talking about going to evening tea. I know very well that you’ve all planned a birthday party for me. You’ve done something to celebrate, without fail, since second year.”
“Well, sure Hermione,” Ron sounded genuinely disappointed, “But this year was supposed to be a surprise.”
Now it was Harry and Ginny’s turn to chuckle. “To really be a surprise, you’d just about have to change the date,” Ginny added.
Harry launched into his very best Hagrid impression. “Still, it’s not every day that our Head Girl turns eighteen, now, is it?”
Ron laughed. “Okay, I get it, I am trying too hard.” He reached out and took Hermione’s hand in his. “You will at least act surprised, won’t you?”
“Of course, I will,” She reassured him.
Moments later they entered the common room to find it filled with all of Gryffindor house and quite a few students from the other houses as well. There was a flash and bang and a large banner unfurled. Everyone yelled, “Happy Birthday, Hermione!” as though they were reading the banner. The table filled with food and treats and a large birthday cake appeared. It was in the shape of a stack of thick old books and decorated with gold leaf letters that read “Happy Eighteenth Birthday, Hermione!” consecutively along the spines.
After a short thankyou speech, and accompanying applause, Hermione cut the cake and began serving pieces. The party had begun in earnest. One section of the lounge had been emptied of tables and chairs and turned into a make-shift dance floor. A DJ station had been set up and various students were taking turns selecting records, blasting the music of the Weird Sisters, Drake Steel, and Toadstool, among other popular Wizarding bands.
After having some food and cake, Hermione began unwrapping her gifts. About nine-fifteen Headmistress McGonagall, and Professors Pomona Sprout, Septima Vector, Babbling Bathsheba, Alex Burgestikoff, Gryffindor Head of House, Horatia Canon, along with Librarian, Irma Pince, and Nurse, Poppy Pomfrey, all stopped by to wish Hermione happy birthday. They stayed only long enough to make a quick toast in Hermione’s honor and wish everyone a pleasant, and safe, evening.
Once the instructors had departed the first years were sent to their dormitories, and the music became just a little louder.
At ten o’clock the second years were sent to bed, the punch bowl somehow became spiked, and it was becoming clear that this was not just a little birthday celebration. Most of the seventh years from all of the houses seemed to have sensed the party and turned up. The atmosphere had gotten quite raucous, and spilled out into the corridor where someone had propped open the doorway, much to the ire of the Fat Lady who had given up her frame and gone off to visit Violet, her friend from downstairs, where it was surely quieter.
In stark contrast to the Yule Ball years before, Hermione had pulled Ron out onto the dance floor and they were clearly having a wonderful time.
Harry and Ginny had danced along with Ron and Hermione for a long time. Finally, Harry said he wanted to get some air so he and Ginny stepped out, making their way to the seventh-floor balconies.
Harry leaned out over the stone railing and breathed the cool night air. He didn’t have a headache exactly, more like he just had too many things in his head all at once, too many concerns, and no focus. The cool air felt good.
“You need to get back to the Horcrux search, don’t you?” Ginny said softly at Harry’s side.
That wasn’t exactly what Harry was thinking, but it was the heart of it. “Yes,” Harry replied calmly “Yes, I think I do.” Harry breathed a long sigh.
“How do I do that?” Harry asked. “Hermione seems to have hit a research dead-end; the manor books are not yet ready and we are all stuck here at school.”
Ginny hugged Harry from his side as he gazed out at the night forest. “I don’t know, Harry; I wish I had an answer for you. I just know that I have faith that you will find a way. You’ve said many times that Voldemort was obsessed with the Founders, and Dumbledore suspected that the remaining Horcruxes would very likely be made from Founders’ artifacts. It seems to me that there should be no better place to begin to uncover the Founders’ secrets, than here at Hogwarts.”
“What did you say, Ginny?” Harry asked with sudden urgency.
“I said I have faith in you…” Ginny began.
“No, not that part.” Harry interrupted. “The end, what did you say at the end?”
“That there should be no better place to uncover the Founders’ secrets, than here at Hogwarts?” Ginny paraphrased herself, questioningly.
“Yes, secrets. Secrets at Hogwarts. That’s it!” Harry exclaimed. He scooped Ginny up in his arms and kissed her soundly, lifting her from the floor. After a long moment, he lowered her back down.
Ginny certainly didn’t mind the snogging, and she could tell that what she had said had been like a missing puzzle piece to Harry, allowing him to suddenly form a whole picture. So, when he set her back on her feet, she was quick to demand an explanation. “Okay, Harry,” she said catching her breath. “I am up for a good snog most any time you are, but what was that just now?”
Harry proceeded to explain his dreams of the past two nights, especially how he had awoken after the second one. “For an instant, as the fire-lit stone floor rose up at me. Or rather as I fell dangerously toward it, I felt the place was familiar, but all day I could not put my finger on why.”
“And now you have?” Ginny asked.
“Yes, what you said about Founder’s secrets did it!” he was talking rather fast in his excitement. “It was from the memory you and I saw together Caractacus’ memory. It was the Chamber of Secrets!”
“The Chamber of Secrets?” Ginny repeated, a slight chill running up her spine at the memory of that awful place.
“I think we…,” Harry started, but he paused sensing Ginny’s discomfort. “I think I, need to return to the Chamber of Secrets.” He said.
They stood silent for a few moments. Harry took Ginny’s hands in his, again aware of what the mention of the place could make her feel. “You don’t have to come with me, Ginny,” he said. “I know you nearly died there during your first year. Seeing it in Caractacus’ memory had to be bad enough, you do not need to go down there again for real.”
Ginny looked up into Harry’s eyes and all her trepidation melted instantly away. “Nonsense, what happened there before, is in the past. We have moved so far beyond it. You saved me then, Harry. Of course, I will go to the Chamber with you,” she said. “Any time you like. The real question though, is how exactly are we going to get there?”
Harry leaned in and kissed Ginny on her forehead. “Headmistress McGonagall told us at the beginning of my third year that the Chamber door had been magically sealed, and that the caves outside the chamber had been collapsed.”
“Yes,” Ginny responded, “She pulled me aside and told me the same thing. She said Dumbledore led her and a few other Professors down to the serpentine door and he sealed the entrance himself. Then they all helped to collapse the caves from the entrance all the way back to the tunnel from Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom.”
“Yes,” Harry said. “We are not going to get there that way.”
“Are we going to have to get in the way Caractacus did?” Ginny asked. “I don’t relish the idea of having to make that swim.” She shivered a little at the thought.
Harry reached out and rubbed her arms like she was chilled. “I don’t think I could find that path without looking at that memory again, probably several times. And, I wouldn’t relish that swim either. No, I think there has got to be an easier way.” He paused looking out over the forest again as he gathered his thoughts.
“Ginny,” He started again. “I think my dream is telling me something. I think there must be another entrance that has not yet been found.” He paused again, turning to look at her. “Let’s think about this for a minute. The entrance to the chamber that Tom Riddle guided you to five years ago, the one I found which was later sealed shut by Dumbledore, was an elaborate, large entrance connected to the cave system and also provided access to the castle’s sewer and plumbing systems. There was nothing about that entrance that would have been in any way practical for Salazar Slytherin himself.”
“I don’t think the castle had much plumbing originally,” Ginny said. “At least I am pretty sure it didn’t have modern bathrooms; they were added later.”
“That’s true, Ginny,” Harry responded. “But, the sewer system for flushing waste down to the lake is original, and that is what the Basilisk used to move around the Castle. I think that the access to the chamber, that Riddle directed us to, was mostly for the Basilisk. Even if Myrtle’s bathroom didn’t exist during Slytherin’s time it is far too centrally located to be a practical entrance for Slytherin himself.”
Ginny was nodding in agreement. “So, you think maybe your dream is showing that there is another way in?”
“Yes, I do,” he said. “I think there is a way in somewhere down in the dungeons. Probably not too far from Salazar Slytherin’s original living chambers.”
“That would certainly make sense,” Ginny agreed. “But, do you know where Slytherin lived when he actually lived in the castle?
“No, I don’t,” Harry admitted. “But I’ll bet Hermione does. She’s read ‘Hogwarts: A History’ a few more times than once I suspect.”
It didn’t take long for them to locate Ron and Hermione.
Back in the Gryffindor common room, the lights had been dimmed and the raucous music replaced by slow romantic ballads. Fortunately, Ron was tall and easy to spot on the dance floor amongst the many tightly embracing couples rocking back and forth in close meandering circles under the gently glimmering, enchanted lights.
Harry took Ginny in his arms and danced her into the crush, making their way slowly toward Ron and Hermione.
When they reached Ron and Hermione they were greeted with contented smiles.
“Enjoying your birthday, Hermione?” Ginny asked.
“Yes, I am,” Hermione responded as she pressed her cheek back into Ron’s shoulder.
Ginny was not tall enough to rest her head on Harry’s shoulder, but she was content to rest an ear against his chest. She rather enjoyed the steady beating of his heart.
“Hermione?” Harry asked. “I’ve got a question for you.”
Hermione raised her head again and looked at Harry. “What is it, Harry?”
“I was wondering if you know where in the castle the Founders quartered when they lived here?”
“None of the Founder’s chambers exist anymore, Harry,” Hermione said. “They each originally had rooms adjacent to their student houses. But those spaces have long ago been incorporated into the dormitory and common rooms of each respective house.” Hermione continued. “I thought about searching those spaces too, Harry. The truth is there’s nowhere left to search. Any magical artifacts associated with the Founders have been found and cataloged long ago. They truly didn’t leave much in the way of personal possessions behind.”
Harry nodded acknowledgment. He wondered momentarily if he should address her assumption about his intent but, quickly decided to let it be.
After dancing through several more songs Harry and Ginny slipped away again. It was about half eleven when Harry made his way to the dormitory and retrieved his invisibility cloak. Knowing the party would have to officially end at midnight, he wanted to get down to the dungeons before the last movement of students to beat the midnight curfew.
Moving with Ginny beneath the cloak was quite easy compared to times he had used the cloak with Ron, or Hermione, or both. Together they made their way to the entrance of the Slytherin common room. From there they began to walk the corridors of the dungeon level.
They were surprised more than once when they came upon Slytherin couples in curtained alcoves along the dungeon corridors. It seemed that every House had its preferred places in the castle to go for a little coupling time. The curtained corridor seemed to be Slytherin House’s.
The first time it happened Ginny gasped in startled surprise. As the couple was so actively engaged in such a way that they were gasping themselves, beneath the cloak, Harry and Ginny remained unnoticed. Harry thought it good that he and Ginny could not see each other’s faces because he was sure that his was bright red with embarrassment. Thereafter, they listened more intently before searching any alcoves.
A little before the curfew chimed, a Slytherin prefect came down the curtained corridor shooing the couples back to the common room. Once the dungeon corridors were empty, they were much easier to search, but that also meant that Harry and Ginny were breaking curfew and would soon be missed in their own dormitories. They completed a quick round of what they thought were the most exterior corridors of the dungeon. They looked for false doors, pulled on torch hangers, tried to spot unusual stones, checked for unusual air movement, and tried the “Revelio” charm over and over. Finding nothing obvious they were a little unsure of where to focus any further search.
As it was getting close to one o’clock, they decided they had better head back to the common room.
As they approached the Gryffindor common room, they realized that despite it being past curfew, Hermione’s birthday party was still going on. The music had gotten lively again and the room was thick with students still dancing and socializing. Looking around, Ginny realized that many of the students were from Beauxbatons.
Harry stashed his cloak behind a bust of Sir William Marshal, in a small display niche near the dormitory stairway. It took a few minutes to find Ron and Hermione. They were sitting in one of the more comfortable alcoves listening to Jean Perrier Lesauvage, telling stories about Quidditch. Most of Harry’s new team were crowded onto a couple of couches and they all appeared to be listening, as intently as they were capable in their present condition, as Jean Perrier went on about his experience practicing with the French National Quidditch team.
“What’s all this then?” Harry said as he and Ginny approached.
Ron perked right up at the sound of Harry’s voice. Slurring just slightly Ron said, “Jean Perrier is tell-ing about is Uncle Andre Vo-oland. He’s the Cap'n of the French National Quid-ditch team.” Ron’s head dropped a bit and he had to steady himself on the arm of the sofa.
“Yes, I recognize the name, Voland,” Harry said soberly.
“You do realize it is after curfew already,” Ginny said to the rest of the team who were all in various states.
Jean Perrier stood up quickly, “I did not realize. I am so sorry.” He stepped directly to Ginny and reached to take her hand in his. “You must be Ginny Weasley, Vice-Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team?” He motioned toward Ron. “Your brother tells me you are a force to be reckoned with on the pitch.”
Harry immediately noticed that Jean Perrier was utilizing a lot of accent as he spoke to Ginny. Harry knew very well that he could speak quite naturally with almost none. Harry smiled inwardly knowing that whatever this smarmy French git thought he was trying, would get him nowhere with Ginny.
“But, Ron, failed to mention how beautiful you are.” Jean Perrier raised Ginny’s hand in his and gently kissed the back of it. “I will look forward to seeing you fly.” Ginny giggled slightly, “Bonsoir, mademoiselle.”
Ginny pulled her hand away, “Good night,” she said a bit sternly.
With a broad smile, Jean Perrier slipped between Ginny and the couch and headed toward the door. The two, quite cute, French girls that were with him seemed to be sizing up Harry as they slinked past to catch up with Lesauvage. The music stopped and it seemed that every Beauxbatons student that was present suddenly took their cue to leave.
Ginny had set the Quidditch team in motion with a look. They were all up from the couches and hurrying toward their dormitories, the most inebriated among them assisted by their teammates.
Harry turned around to face the large common area. He said loudly, “Party is over, thank you all for coming to wish Hermione a happy birthday. If you are a Gryffindor, time to head to your dormitories, if not, time to head to your own common room. Good night everyone and thanks for coming.”
When Harry turned back around. Ron had stood up from the couch and Hermione along with him. They both seemed more than a little wobbly, Hermione was leaning heavily on Ron’s shoulder.
“Sumbody spike da punch,” Ron slurred rather emphatically. He lurched backward a little but was saved by Hermione’s weight leaning against him. Ginny reached out to stabilize her brother.
“Were we really gone that long?” Ginny asked Harry.
“Obviously, long enough,” Harry replied.
“Harry Potter!” Hermione declared. She launched herself from Ron’s shoulder toward Harry and wrapped her arms around him in a big hug. “You’re my bery best frien in all da world, Harry, I lub you sooo much!”
Harry hugged her back, mostly to stabilize her. “I love you too, Hermione. I hope you had a wonderful birthday,” Harry said with genuine affection.
Ron had leaned heavily into Ginny who was now mostly holding him up. She shrugged a little at Harry.
“Shall we help you to your room, Hermione?” Harry asked. He glanced around the room and it seemed that it was clearing out fast. It appeared that anyone that needed assistance was getting it from their fellow Gryffindors.
Harry and Ginny headed toward the curtained alcove beneath the stairs, their respective loads in tow.
“Tank you, Gin-Gin,” Ron mumbled. “Yoob always been my faborite sister.”
“I am your only sister, you git,” Ginny responded. “Now come on, legless.” She pulled him forward.
“Hey, I’m only a li’l tipsy,” Ron protested.
“Brother, you are off your trolly,” Ginny laughed.
“Are you tak’n me to my bed, Harry?” Hermione whispered into his ear.
“I’ll have Ginny tuck you in if need be,” Harry whispered back.
“I lub Ginny,” Hermione whispered, “and so do you Harry. An’ you know what. She lubz you back.”
“Noticed that have you?” Harry replied as he guided her, following Ginny and Ron across the open dance area and through the gauntlet of tables.
“She’s da one you shhh be tuckin’ in’na bed, Harry.”
“Hermione!” Harry said, surprised.
Hermione giggled. “Well, it’za truth, Harry, and you know it,” she tried to poke Harry in the chest with her finger for emphasis, but she didn’t seem to be able to control her arm well enough.
Ginny had made it to the door and seemed to be losing control of an increasingly unsteady Ron.
Harry caught them up and got Hermione to speak her password. Then he switched with Ginny and pulled Ron into the sitting room and planted him unceremoniously on the couch.
Ginny was a bit more careful with Hermione, guiding her to her bedroom and disappearing beyond the door.
“G’night, Harry,” Ron mumbled as he shifted his weight into the couch, burying his head in the little decorative pillow, and promptly began to snore lightly.
Harry shook his head and smiled. “Dobby,” he called quietly.
There was a pop and the little elf appeared. “Yes, Master Harry,” Dobby squeaked, as he rubbed his eyes.
“Dobby, I am so sorry, did I wake you?”
“Do not worry yourself, Master, how may Dobby be of service?”
Harry pointed to Ron on the couch. “I don’t like to bother you while I am at school, but I wondered if you would arrange for there to be a small bottle of ‘Sozzel Stop,’ anti-hangover potion, here on the coffee table, for when Ron wakes up. And one on Hermione’s bedside table as well.?”
The little elf smiled as though embarrassed for Ron. “Dobby will be happy to take care of Master’s friend Weasy, and his Mione.”
Ginny stepped back into the room and seemed unsurprised to see Doby standing in front of Harry. “Good evening, Dobby,” she said cheerfully.
“Good evening, Mistress Ginny,” Doby said bowing lightly. “It is wonderful to see you. May I do anything for either of you before I go?”
Harry smiled over at Ginny. “No, thank you, Dobby. I think we are fine here.” She smiled brightly at the faithful elf.
“Very good, then,” Dobby turned back to Harry. “I will do it now, Master.” With a pop, Dobby was gone.
Ginny came over to her brother on the couch and pulled his shoes off. She grabbed the throw from the back of the couch and spread it over him. “Did you ask Dobby to bring ‘Sozzel Stop’?” she asked as she dropped the throw over Ron.
“Yup,” Harry confirmed as he extended his hand for Ginny to take.
“I had that very same thought as I was helping Hermione into bed,” she said.
They stepped from Hermione’s rooms back into the common room. Unsurprisingly the Hogwarts house-elves had already set the room to rights and stoked the fire.
Harry turned toward the stairs, but Ginny stopped him. “The room is in order and the fire looks so nice, what say we sit for a bit before we head up?” She smiled and flashed her lashes at Harry.
Harry did not need further encouragement. He led her straight to their favorite couch and laid down rather than sat. Ginny snuggled against him facing the fire. She hugged his arm closer as Harry snaked it around her waist.
“Harry?” she said quietly.
“Yes, Ginny,” he replied as he began to nibble at her ear.
“Do you feel like we have been having enough alone time since we have returned to school?” She released his arm at her waist and turned to face him, loving to look into his eyes as they reflected the fire.
“Honestly, Ginny,” Harry said through a heavy breath, “I could lay here with you for an eternity, and that would still never be enough alone time between us.”
Ginny grinned a broad grin and pulled Harry forward into a deeply passionate kiss. She felt the hand at her waist snake beneath the hem of her blouse. She breathed reflexively, adoring the feel of his warm hand against the soft flesh of her waist. She arched her back slightly to encourage his progress and pushed her arms around Harry’s neck holding his lips to hers.
“I love you, Harry,” she breathed between kisses.
“I love you, too, Ginny,” he could barely speak the words for the press of her lips. “So very much.”
Harry watched himself walking through the dungeon corridor with his eyes closed, trailing his right hand along the outer wall. He could feel the cool, rough stone against his fingertips. The corridor he was in had what once must have been doorways about every seven or eight meters. They had all been filled with the same gray stone as the wall itself but were obvious because the doorways had been framed and arched in a different stone which was much smoother and brick red in color.
He recognized the corridor as one he’d been in with Ginny. It was close to the entrance of the Slytherin common room, but in a seldom traveled direction, running parallel to the curtained corridor. Harry approached its far end and swiftly turned to the right facing a dead-end. To the left of the blank wall was a door he had never noticed before.
It was a plain wooden door set back slightly with no adornment either to the stone surround or the door itself. He pushed it and it opened easily. Inside the small room was a stone stairway spiraling upward. Harry couldn’t reconcile this with what he knew about the floors above this so he decided he would climb the stairs and see where they emerged. He took a few quick steps upward.
He woke in a sweat.
Harry found his glasses and checked his watch. It was five in the morning. There was no evidence that any of his dorm-mates had yet stirred and based on the barely detectable rhythmic breathing, they were all still sleeping soundly. He crawled from his bed to his trunk and quietly searched for the Marauder’s Map. He took it to the window sill where the dawn light was brightest. He retrieved his wand and tapped the parchment. “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,” Harry whispered.
As the map began to populate its pages, Harry manipulated the complicated folds and flip pages to reveal the dungeon section he was interested in. It appeared that none of the Slytherins were yet awake. He quickly located the corridor he thought he had just dreamed of. He traced it with a fingertip until the corridor turned. On the map, it turned only to the left. There was no dead end to the right and no room with a stairway.
Harry turned to the page that depicted the next level above, which to his surprise was the cellar level of the North Wing. It did appear to extend a bit further, but there was no indication of downward stairs on this level. Harry quickly began checking the subsequent floors until he realized that there was an alcove space on the third floor, outside the classrooms in the North wing, above where the stairway should logically be. This made little sense because to Harry’s reasoning there would be several meters of stone between the North wing cellar and the dungeons. He was not entirely sure of how accurate the map truly was, but Remus had told him once that the runes used to draw the walls of the castle on the map should have accounted for accuracy in alignment from floor to floor. Remus had also told Harry that he was quite confident there was much more to Hogwarts Castle than he and the Marauders had uncovered.
Harry tried to remember the actual space. It seemed to him that the alcove in question contained a large imposing statue of a Sphinx. There were no notes on the map indicating any hidden passages.
Harry turned back to the dungeon level on the map. It appeared that at this time of the morning, more than an hour before Saturday breakfast service would even begin, that the castle was mostly silent. Harry dressed quickly, grabbed the map, retrieved his cloak, and headed toward the dungeon.
Several minutes later Harry was standing at the end of the corridor from his dream. In his dream, he had come to this point and turned right. However, as clearly indicated on the map there was no right access from here, only to the left behind him. There was a torch in the wall, so Harry tugged at the hanger, but it didn’t budge. He cast “Revelio” on the wall, but there was no indication of hidden magic. The wall, it seemed, was real. Harry put his hand against it and indeed it felt like the same stone as the rest of the corridor. Harry stepped a few paces back and just stared at the wall. As he visually traced the mortar lines around the stone, he realized that at the edge of what would have been the corner, if the corridor did in fact turn, the stones formed a more-or-less straight vertical line. It appeared that perhaps this wall had been added after the corridor’s original construction.
If that were the case, Harry just needed a ‘Pass through’ spell and he would be able to walk through the wall into the space he suspected would be behind it. He tried to remember. It had been discussed in transfiguration when the matter of how students could get onto platform nine and three-quarters at King’s Cross had come up. It was a simple one-word spell he recalled. He raised his wand at the wall and said, “Vacivus.” There was the faintest of effect from his wand like a ripple in the air that moved forward until it contacted the wall. Harry stepped forward, and as he usually did at King’s Cross, he closed his eyes just as he would have made contact. It felt just the same, and he pushed through the solid stone until he felt the pressure return to normal. He inhaled and stale, cool air fill his lungs. He opened his eyes to pitch black. He spoke “Lumos” and flicked his wand as the tip illuminated.
The space was just as he had seen it in his dream, without the corridor wall. The abandoned space appeared to have remained unused since it had been closed off, Harry guessed, many years before even the Marauders had explored the castle. He flicked his wand and said “Scourgify” to clear the many years of cobwebs.
The plain wooden door was there just as he had dreamed it. He stepped over and pushed it open. The old hinges protested a little and squeaked slightly, but the door opened fairly easily. Inside the small room were the stairs, exactly as in his dream. Harry decided to climb the stairs, but this time he was not going to wake in a sweat.
There were many more stairs than Harry would have imagined. He thought several times that he should have encountered a door or a landing, but the stairs just kept going, so he kept climbing upward, cleaning away webs as he went. There were torch hangers on the wall, he noticed as he ascended, but they didn’t seem to have any torches in them.
Finally, the stairs ended at a small landing. There had been no windows or other light sources the entire climb. Harry had no idea exactly where he would emerge, it felt to him like he had climbed high into one of the towers. There was an indication of a doorway here, but like the dungeon wall, this appeared to have been filled up with stone as well. He tried the ‘Pass through’ spell again and walked through the blocked doorway. As he felt himself emerge, he opened his eyes just in time to stop himself from walking into the back of the Sphinx statue.
“Careful there, Harry,” Ginny said. She was leaning casually against the hindquarters of the stone statue.
“Ginny!” Harry exclaimed in surprise. “What are you doing here, in this place, at this hour?”
“I was about to ask you the very same thing,” Ginny replied. “All I know is that I woke up about twenty minutes ago, from a sound sleep mind you, with the clear impression that I should come immediately to this very spot, to meet you here.”
“Curious,” Harry said, bemused.
“Yes,” Ginny insisted, “Especially when you consider that I don’t think I have ever had a class on this floor. I have maybe come through this corridor twice in all my time here at Hogwarts. But this morning, I woke up and knew exactly where to go. Somehow, Harry, I knew you would be here.” She stepped forward and embraced him. “So, I came running. I wasn’t sure if I should be worried or if it was just an adventure. I’ll admit though, I didn’t expect you to appear through a wall.” She released him from her firm hug. “So, what are we doing here?”
“Oh yeah,” Harry said. “I had another dream about the dungeon, this time with a little more detail. When I woke up, I tried to find where I had been on the Marauder’s Map. That led me back to the dungeon where I found a wall had been built closing off the end of a corridor, which led to a hidden stairway. I’ll show you, but first I need some torches.”
Harry moved around the statue into the corridor and looked up the hallway until he saw what he thought was a supply closet. He went there quickly, Ginny following tentatively. He opened the door to find, just as suspected, an assortment of supplies, including a large crate of “Ready-Light Self-Regulating Torches.” He gathered a dozen of the thick wooden things and handed them to Ginny without a word. Then he loaded his own arms with just as many.
“Okay, follow me,” he said.
He returned directly to the alcove behind the sphinx statue and stopped to retrieve his wand from his pocket.
“Let me try, Harry,” Ginny said, she had already managed to retrieve her wand. “What spell did you use earlier?”
“Vacivus,” Harry said. He slipped his wand back away and pulled a small bit of brown wrapping paper from the business end of one of the torches. “Okay,” he said.
Ginny pointed her wand at the curtained back of the alcove and spoke the spell. There was a small visual effect from her wand tip.
Harry stepped into the wall and disappeared. Ginny followed without hesitation. As she emerged on the small landing, she found Harry placing his unwrapped torch in a wall-mounted holder. It had lit itself in response to the darkness of the room and their proximity.
Across the landing on the opposite wall was another holder so Harry pulled the wrapper from another torch and stretched to put it in place. Like its companion, this torch also sprang to flame.
“This way,” Harry said as he started down the stone steps. He was already unwrapping his next torch. At the torch holder, Harry realized he was not quite tall enough to place the torch, even stretching. Ginny giggled at him and using a simple household levitation spell, like her mother used all the time in The Burrow kitchen, she began placing the torches as they descended the stairs. By the time they reached the bottom, there were four torches left. Harry pushed open the wooden door and led Ginny into the enclosed space. Here Ginny placed two more torches.
Harry stood in the middle of the small room facing Ginny who remained just inside the room near the door. Harry pointed behind himself, “I came through that wall earlier the same way we entered from the third floor. It leads to the dungeon corridors.” He pointed to his left at the wall with the door. “This way is the stairwell, and I can confirm with the map that opposite it through this wall,” he pointed to his right, “are Slytherin dormitory spaces.” He pointed finally at the last wall. “We are meant to think that this is an exterior wall.”
“How far underground do you think we are Harry?” Ginny asked.
“Hard to tell really,” Harry said. “Judging by the climb of those stairs I would say we could be as deep as thirty meters.”
“It did seem like a long staircase,” Ginny said. “I know that the dungeon levels are not constructed directly beneath the ground level of the castle. But when you go down from the Entrance Hall, it doesn’t seem like you are going more than five or six meters?”
“I think it is built to be intentionally confusing,” Harry said. “Hogwarts is built on a large stone hill, and each wing is at a very different elevation than the others. We started in the north wing which is built on the highest point of land. Until today I had never imagined there was a way to get from the north wing directly down into the dungeons. If you suppose that the dungeons are some five or six meters beneath the main section of the castle, beneath the North wing they could easily gain another twenty to twenty-five meters of stone above them.”
“I suppose, but none of it makes much sense to me,” Ginny confessed.
“Me either,” Harry agreed. “Yesterday, when we were in the library before Hermione’s party. The book I was reading was about castles and castle construction. What I realized right away is that Hogwarts castle is unlike any other, and it breaks every architectural rule there is.
“For instance, we’ve always been told that the Slytherin common room is partially beneath the lake and that it has huge windows under the water,” Harry continued. “However, a quick examination of the exterior elevation would make that quite impossible. I have always assumed those windows were simply enchantments, like the ceiling of the Great Hall.”
“That certainly makes sense,” Ginny agreed, “But, it has nothing to do with why we find ourselves here so early on a Saturday morning, having had only a few hours’ sleep.” She was obviously tired and leaning heavily against the wall Harry had indicated should be exterior.
Harry pointed his wand at the wall and spoke, “Vacivus.” He approached the wall confidently and bounced off of it hard when he walked into the solid stone. He stepped back rubbing his nose and forehead. “Well, maybe that really is an exterior wall. If there was a space behind it that spell should have worked.”
“That would be way too easy, Harry,” Ginny said. “Slytherin would have done something easy, but only easy for him.”
“Right you are, Ginny,” Harry said enthusiastically. He pointed his wand at the wall and tried the spell again. This time, however, he focused and spoke the spell in Parseltongue.
To Ginny is sounded like a short series of hisses and clicks, and suddenly the wall she was leaning against seemed to disappear and she was falling backward into the dark.
She could feel Harry there, helping her upright and guiding her farther into the darkness. Then, suddenly there was air and she could breathe freely.
Harry lit the tip of his wand, revealing that they were now in another stone room. It appeared to be about three meters square with only a floor, ceiling, and three walls. Before them appeared to be a dark void. Ginny located a torch holder and placed one of the remaining torches there. It lit as soon as she removed its wrapper.
Harry stepped to the edge of the room; the stone simply stopped uniformly. Upon approach, Harry discovered that beyond the constructed stone he could step down onto a solid natural stone ledge that extended for about two meters and opened up to nothingness. Ginny lit her wand as well and they soon discovered that they had entered a massive cave. Above them, they could see stalactites, some of which reached down nearly to their height. They appeared to be very near the ceiling height of the cave. Casting light out into the void revealed that the space was not entirely empty: spaced at even increments where massive stone columns extending down farther than the eye could see.
“Ginny,” Harry exclaimed, “I think we have found it,” he pointed down into the void. “I think, somewhere down there is the Chamber of Secrets.”
“I agree, Harry,” Ginny said, not wanting to step quite so close to the edge. “But, how do you suppose we get down there?”
“There must be a set of stairs or something,” Harry said. He was already moving, first peering over the edge into the nothingness. He directed his wand light downward but its bright beam could not penetrate the darkness, or reveal an end to its depths. He followed the rounded edge of the stone ledge first to the left to where it contacted a sheer cliff wall of jagged stone. Then he followed to the right where he discovered that there was a small ledge that continued off into the distance. It was narrow, perhaps sixty centimeters at its widest point. Harry traced the apparent path with his wand light and it traveled horizontally around the slow inward curve of the otherwise sheer wall. It was difficult to discern as it blended so completely into the cliff wall. About fifteen meters out it appeared to become a steep narrow stairway that twisted and turned on itself moving quickly downward until it disappeared from the light.
“That’s a perilous climb, but I think we can do it.” Harry tentatively stepped out along the path, but Ginny quickly tugged him back.
“Harry, I am not going out there,” Ginny protested, “Not without some sort of a safety rope or my broom, or something.”
Harry flashed his wand light along the path and stairs quickly. “Yeah, you are right, Ginny.”
“I do not want to make that climb,” Ginny said, “least of all going down, but especially not coming back up. I bet you Sally Slytherpuss, didn’t use that path either. We must be missing something.”
“I don’t know,” Harry said calmly. He had moved back over to the edge and was attempting to look down into the darkness again. “Getting this far has been complicated enough. Maybe old Slytherpuss just Apparated from here.”
“I suppose he could have, as long as he knew where he was going,” Ginny said.
“No. He would have needed an exception to the Anti-Apparition wards here at the school,” Harry replied.
“We don’t know that such wards were in place during the Founder’s time,” Ginny said. “But it is a pretty basic protection ward, and most likely they were utilizing a whole host of wards, even then.”
Harry suddenly turned and came to the center of the ledge. He pointed his wand at his feet and spoke a variation of the “Warm Air Spell.” A strong blast of air immediately caused the years of dust and dirt to billow up and blow away out into the void.
Waving her hands vigorously to avoid the dust Ginny questioned, “Harry, what are you on about?”
As the dust slowly cleared, still drifting out into the nothingness, Harry explained himself. “The Manor is warded against Apparation. When we discovered how to get to the chamber beneath it, it was through a magical marker that allowed us to Apparate point-to-point. I just thought, since my ancestor was involved in constructing the Chamber for Slytherin, perhaps Caractacus knew such magic, passed it down through the family, and it showed up later in the Manor.”
They scoured the rock ledge and almost immediately found what they were looking for. About forty-five centimeters from the constructed stone edge and at the approximate center of the opening inset in the rock ledge was a small bit of metal, about the size of a penny. Unlike the marker at the Manor, this one was a yellow metal, gold, or brass, it was difficult to tell. Rather than a rune symbol, incised in this marker was the unmistakable Slytherin “S.”
Harry, crouching down to take a closer look, reached out toward the marker but Ginny pulled his arm back. “Harry, don’t touch it. What if it’s cursed?” she sounded genuinely fearful.
Harry stood up and embraced her trying to be reassuring. “It’s okay Ginny, I don’t think it is.”
“You can’t know that, Harry,” Ginny said.
“Actually, I think we can,” Harry said, and stepping back he drew his wand. He pointed it at the small marker and spoke “Specialis Revelio.” A steady cone of soft white light emanated from the tip of Harry’s wand and enveloped the marker in the stone. As they watched carefully a small tendril of yellow illumination seemed to reach up from the marker, only a few centimeters, almost like a small flame, and then slowly retreated back into it.
“Wow, Harry, that’s some pretty advanced magic,” Ginny said once Harry had released the spell.
“It’s not so advanced. Hermione used it on my copy of Advance Potion-Making last year when you all thought the book was charmed, or jinxed, or something. Later, I saw Snape use it, with some effect, on the necklace that had cursed Katie Bell. It seemed like a useful spell so I asked my parents about it once we had their painting back at the Manor. My mum knew it and told me what to look for. A cursed object will give off a sick green or grey even purplish light. More magic gives off a greater effect, and the closer to white light the more benevolent the magic,” Harry explained easily. “There doesn’t seem to be all that much magic here, and the color suggests that it does something rather simple.”
“So, you think it is just as it looks, an Apparation marker like the one at the Manor,” Ginny finished his thought.
Harry nodded, “Yes.”
“Okay, Harry,” Ginny said with a grin. “You’ve convinced me, so we may as well test the theory.” She grabbed him by the arm and pulled him over the marker.
There was an audible, implosive pop, and Harry and Ginny were gone.
Please review - Thanks!
NEXT
Chapter Thirty
Potter’s Keep
Chapter 31: Chapter 30 - Potter's Keep
Author's Notes: Sorry for the delay, I should have posted this two weeks ago, but I was on a short vacation to visit grandkids. Thanks to Beta reader Seeker's Destiny for honest comments on this chapter! I hope you enjoy it. (UPDATED!! - Thanks to beta reader Arnel for more input. A newly edited version of the chapter is now in place.)
Potter’s Keep
Minerva McGonagall stood in her office, leaning in concentration, at an oversized book pedestal, upon which was a large map book. The pages of the book displayed the various wings and levels of Hogwarts castle and grounds. The magical map book was charmed in such a way that when you had it open to a primary spread of pages, you could simply tap the corner of a page with your wand and speak the page number or a description of what you wanted to see, and it would be presented on the open spread.
Every occupant of the castle was presented on the map by a small, color-coded, dot, labeled with their name. Student’s labels included their house designation, while Professor’s included their subject. As an individual moved throughout the castle, their dot would move as well. It was possible to tap the corner and ask the map to simply track single, or even small groups of individuals as they moved about. The pages would then re-draw themselves automatically according to the tracked individual’s movements.
“This is tremendous, Albus,” Headmistress McGonagall said, acknowledging the Chocolate Frog Card on its base a few steps away at her desk.
“Oh, you’d have found it eventually Minerva. It is a very nice tool to have when you suspect a student or a group of students might be up to something,” The Dumbledore card responded. “I tended to use it quite sparingly because it can become a great time-waster, to stand about looking at the maps,” There was a pause before the card continued. “It was created by Phineas Nigellus Black, during his tenure as Headmaster.” He paused again.
“I am glad, Minerva, that we have been able to have this time together. A change of headmaster can be a difficult time for any school and particularly when it occurs, as this change has, with the previous headmaster’s death. Without a true orientation, it might have been months before you discovered all the many benefits of the position. Such as this map.” The card image paused, wishing the Headmistress had been given the older Frog Card that included the jar of sherbet lemons. The Little Dumbledore sighed almost imperceptibly.
“Incidentally, there is one other map of Hogwarts you should know about if you do not already,” the card said casually. “That is the Marauder’s Map, which performs a very similar function to this one.”
“I have heard of it, Albus, but I have never seen it, myself,” Minerva responded. “As I understand it, the map in question was created by Harry Potter’s father, James, and his friends Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, and Peter Pettigrew.”
The little card chuckled. “That is correct. Your information, as always, is quite accurate. I believe it was the Weasley twins who gave the map to Harry during his third year. I do not think they knew that Harry was the rightful inheritor of the map when they gifted it to him.”
“But,” Minerva McGonagall interjected, “you, Albus, given your sense of order in these matters, allowed the map to remain with Mr. Potter?”
“I did,” Albus concluded, “And he possesses it still today.”
“Our Mr. Potter seems to possess a number of useful tools and, I take it, should be granted a great deal of leniency concerning the school rules,” Minerva surmised. “He has already been granted exception once to visit the new Army camp, at the request of the Camp Commander. You, however, would have me look the other way when he comes and goes from the school grounds at his pleasure?”
“That is my request and my recommendation, Minerva,” Dumbledore said. “You, however, are the one in charge of the school. I have explained, as fully as I dare, that I, as the head of the Order of the Phoenix, set Harry a task, which he must complete before there can be any hope of ultimately defeating Voldemort. To accomplish that task, he will need the freedom to come and go from the school. If he believes he is doing this in defiance of the rules, he will make every effort to maintain secrecy. There will, therefore, be much less chance of his actions coming into public knowledge.”
“This is all a bitter pill, coming at the beginning of my appointment as Headmistress,” McGonagall lamented. “However, I trust you Albus, and I have come to trust Mr. Potter. As a member of the Order, I understand the unique circumstances that have been thrust upon us, and I will do everything that I can to support and protect Mr. Potter as he undertakes your assigned mission. After all, I am correct, am I not, in assuming that the fate of the Wizarding world hangs in the balance?”
“Indeed,” The Albus card confirmed.
The Headmistress turned back around to the map book. The primary spread was open to the Great Hall, and as it was still before breakfast service on a Saturday morning, there was no activity to be seen anywhere in or around that part of the castle. “I suppose I should verify my modifications,” she said. She tapped the corner of the spread and said, “Beauxbatons.” After satisfying herself that the new school house was properly identified and that there was nothing there of concern, she tapped the page corner again and said, “Gryffindor.” The pages re-drew themselves. She did not dwell on or look for any individuals, just formed an impression that all was in basic order. She then scrolled through the Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff spaces with the same result and finally on to the Slytherin areas in the dungeon level. Here she paused and made a verbal expression consistent with the discovery of something curious. “Hmm.”
“Is there something amiss?” Dumbledore asked.
“Indeed, there is,” McGonagall said. “Whatever business would Mr. Potter and Miss Weasley have in the dungeons at this hour?” she asked, not expecting the little card to have an answer. “And this is very odd, but they appear to be outside the bounds of the castle corridors. This cannot be right, Albus.”
“That does sound curious. Might I be allowed to see?” the card said.
“Certainly,” the Headmistress said as she turned and strode the few steps to her desk to retrieve the base and card. She returned directly to the map book, holding the base steady so that the card could see.
“I do not see them,” The little Dumbledore said.
Headmistress McGonagall leaned in a bit closer, and indeed the two dots were gone. “That cannot be, they were just there, Albus.” She placed her fingertip on the spot. “Right here!”
“I believe you, Minerva,” Dumbledore replied.
The Headmistress quickly tapped her wand on the corner of the page and said “Harry James Potter.”
The map ink disappeared and after a slightly longer pause, words formed. There is no one named ‘Harry James Potter’ in the castle or on the grounds of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
“Well,” McGonagall said, somewhat exasperated. “I suppose I could ask about Ginny Weasley next, but I feel certain that the result would be the same.”
The Dumbledore card chuckled. “Well, it appears that Harry has found himself a way to slip the bonds of the school undetected. Bravo. I will admit I am a bit curious about his methodology. Had we not been discussing the map book this morning; we might have had no idea for a good while yet.”
“Indeed, Albus,” The Headmistress replied. “And you are truly fine with this turn of events?”
“I have anticipated it greatly,” The card said. “Though I do think, now that we have this information, it is perhaps time that I am returned to Mr. Potter at the soonest.” There was a pause, as McGonagall returned to her desk and set the base and card down facing her as she sat. “I can offer much better guidance, from the inside, as it were.”
“Agreed,” Minerva McGonagall said, shaking her head in slight disapproval of the overall situation.
Hermione woke slowly, painfully. Her head felt as though someone had hit her very hard in the forehead with a plank of oak. Her mouth was dry, her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth, and she didn’t dare move for fear of what horrible pain that would cause.
As her eyes slowly focused, she spied a little blue bottle on her night table. She didn’t remember putting it there herself, but fortunately, the label was facing her enough that she could read it. ‘Sozzel Stop, anti-hangover elixir,’
Thank you, Harry, and Ginny! She thought. She steeled herself for what she knew she had to do. In one quick motion, she forced her body to action, threw open her duvet, sat up, and grasped for the blue bottle. Her stomach lurched in protest to the quick movement. She uncorked the bottle and gulped quickly at its contents. It tasted like cold chicken broth laced with cayenne pepper. Despite the taste, she emptied the bottle and sat perfectly still. She experienced a fleeting moment of panic as she thought she would retch, but then, a calming warmth built inside her emanating from her stomach that had quickly settled. The warmth moved steadily into her limbs and up into her head. After a couple of minutes of sitting still, she realized that she felt quite nice, even rested. Then suddenly her stomach ached, felt full and she belched, loudly and long, an orange vapor escaping her mouth, turning a sickly maroon before dissipating quickly. Afterward, she felt marvelous, except for the building need to empty her bladder. She was very glad she had been alone for what, she felt, would have been quite embarrassing.
She picked up the bottle and examined it more closely. The label read: Sozzel Stop in large letters, beneath that in a smaller font it read anti-hangover elixir. Lastly, in an even smaller text read; A guaranteed remedy for the overindulgence of alcohol.
She flipped the bottle over to read the back. For best results consume the entire contents of the bottle. Once you burp, you’ll feel better. She chuckled, at least they had been honest, she thought. Beneath the directions in the smallest letters anywhere on the bottle read: For medicinal use only. A proudly presented product of Weasley & Weasley, Diagon Alley, London.
She set the bottle on her bedside table and got up to visit the water closet and begin her day. Somehow, she was comforted by the fact that the elixir was a Weasley & Weasley product, after all, who else but the twins would be so motivated to get a hangover cure right.
Twenty minutes later she emerged from her room refreshed and ready for the day. She was not at all surprised to find Ron asleep on the sofa. She noticed that a bottle of Sozzel Stop had been left for him as well.
She roused Ron enough to get him to drink the Sozzel Stop and waited for his inevitable belch. Once he was feeling better, she sent him to his dormitory to get cleaned up and changed with the promise that she would wait and they could go down to breakfast together.
It was nearly eight o’clock already and on a normal Saturday morning, the common room would be filled with activity. Most of the Gryffindors would have already been off to breakfast and well into planning their day. However, she was aware that her birthday party the previous evening had gotten a little out of hand, and clearly, someone had managed to slip something into the punch that really crept up on them. As Head Girl, Hermione was both appalled and embarrassed by the level of inebriation that had been reached by her and her guests. However, as the best friend of Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, she also on some level considered it a rite of passage into adulthood that she could now say she had needed her very first bottle of Sozzel Stop. She did wish that her memory of the entire night was a bit clearer. For now, she would proceed on the assumption that nothing dreadful could have occurred, as the circumstances of her waking up had been rather controlled. She vaguely recalled that Ginny had helped her to bed, so she thought perhaps that Ginny would be able to help fill any gaps.
Hermione was not surprised that the common room was nearly empty. She assumed that most anyone that had come to the party was having a lie-in and might not be going to breakfast. There was a table of first years that appeared to be trading Chocolate Frog Cards, and a few second years lounging on the couches in front of the fireplace. Both groups were probably enjoying the respite from the older students.
While waiting for Ron, she returned to her room to check her Head Girl Duties list and make sure she was not missing anything. She also made a few tweaks to the prefect schedules and reviewed her activities notes. Finally, Ron tapped at the door lightly and she went with him down to breakfast.
Along the way, Ron reported that Harry was not in his bed. Together they speculated that he and Ginny would be in the Great Hall when they got there.
Harry and Ginny spun into place on solid stone ground. It was pitch blackness and eerily still. Ginny’s left hand was firmly in Harry’s right and in her right, she held the last remaining torch, still wrapped and so they remained in darkness. She waited for Harry to light his wand. When he did not do so immediately, she wanted to whisper to him, tell him that she did not like the dark, but then he squeezed her hand gently and she felt that he was aware.
She got the distinct impression that he was listening, and so she concentrated on doing so herself. For what felt like a long time she heard nothing except the pounding of her own heart, and her breath coming in and out. She tried to control her breathing until finally, she began to hear beyond herself. She could hear nothing, but she sensed that Harry was on guard next to her. Finally, she whispered, “What do you hear, Harry?”
“Beyond you, very little,” he said. “I hear the occasional, very faint, lapping of water and what sounds like some small creatures making a clicking sound as they move across stone.”
“What do you think it could be?” Ginny said. She released his hand and pulled the wrapper from the torch. It burst to light and they had to take a moment for their eyes to adjust.
They were standing in what was quite narrow confines. Directly before them was a sheer wall of highly polished stone. Behind, a rougher wall was constructed of cut and stacked stone blocks. To their left, the polished stone appeared to rapidly approach the back wall narrowing quickly, to the right it seemed to curve away from them with equal rapidity widening the gap.
“I haven’t the foggiest,” Harry said. “But it does mean that something living has gained access here.”
“Well, let’s just hope it is nothing that we might have to fight,” Ginny said uneasily. She waved the torch to the left. “This way seems a dead end,” she said.
Harry lit his wand. The floor of the chamber felt perfectly flat and level. He brushed the surface with his foot displacing a thin layer of dried dirt and revealing the corresponding Apparition marker. Slowly he led the way toward their right. Following the outward curve of the polished wall.
They had only come a few steps when they heard the characteristic, low guttering sound of torches coming to flame.
Harry could hear the sudden, light, clicking of multiple living somethings moving across the stone floor and splashing into water. He placed his hand on the smooth polished surface next to him, and with sudden clarity, he knew exactly where he was.
“Harry, what is that?” Ginny asked.
He could hear a hint of fear in her voice. He removed his hand from the stone and extended it to Ginny who took it quickly.
“I think it is all right, Ginny,” he said calmly. “Whatever it was, I think it was frightened by the light.” He moved tentatively forward until he rounded the edge of the smooth stone. There before him was the Chamber of Secrets, just as he remembered it, though now he was standing exactly where he had seen Salazar Slytherin standing in his ancestor’s memory. At the opposite end from where he had entered the Chamber those many years before.
The towering stone pillars entwined with carved serpents were exactly as he remembered them casting long, black shadows through the odd, greenish gloom. He stood still, taking it all in. It was quiet again so he moved forward, pulling Ginny with him into the space a bit further.
“Here is where I found you,” he said. “Between the feet of the statue,” he paused. “Ginny?”
Before he could utter the words, Ginny knew the question. It was a topic they had never spoken about, at least not at any length. It had been as though it were a secret shared memory between them. But, now that they were here, Standing in the very spot.
“What do you remember about that night in the Chamber of Secrets?” he asked.
She was certain that Harry could feel her apprehension - no, more than that, her fear. He turned to her and took her into his arms. Almost immediately she could feel herself calming in his embrace.
She looked up into his face. He was smiling that disarming smile that she loved so much. She could feel that he was not afraid and that feeling washed her fear away in waves of soothing calm. “Not very much actually,” she said. “Everything is a blur. I know that none of it was my fault. I know that I was possessed by the will of Tom Riddle through the diary, which we later learned was a Horcrux. I have made peace with any guilt about what happened.”
“But it is the process, the possession, that still holds you in fear?” Harry asked gently.
“Yes, exactly,” She confessed.
“You have nothing to fear in this place any longer,” Harry said. “I am quite certain of it.”
“How can you be so sure, Harry?” she asked. “That night, here in the Chamber was like a dream, a nightmare for me. I was disoriented and afraid and when I did wake up, I saw that great scaly beast, lying dead across the floor and you covered in blood. You were all action. You led me away from here quickly. I was filled with all the fears that I would be held responsible that I would be expelled and worse that my family would disown me for shame.” She was recalling that night, and as much as she hated it, tears had begun to fall from her eyes.
Harry brushed away the tears from her cheeks and swept a stray lock of her beautiful hair back behind her ear. “But, none of that happened Ginny, because you were surrounded by the love of family, and by people wise enough to understand what was really happening. I didn’t even understand it all then, but I knew enough to know you were innocent of every action.”
Ginny hugged him tight again. “But, what of you, Harry, what you experienced here that night, must have been terrifying. Facing Tom Riddle, and fighting that dreadful basilisk?”
“I am fine, Ginny, truly,” Harry said. “Fawkes came to protect me, brought me the Sword of Gryffindor, and healed me when I was struck by the basilisk’s fang. He was magnificent.” Harry paused. “And frankly, what I experienced here simply steeled me for what I would face later as I encountered Voldemort again. What I remember now, when I think back on what happened here, is my overwhelming concern for you - my need to find you and keep you safe. I didn’t understand that motivation at the time, you were my best friend’s little sister, and I was unaware of the connection between us.”
“Connection?” Ginny whispered.
“Yes, connection, Ginny,” Harry whispered back. “Sometimes I swear you are reading my mind, and the touch of your hand can give me calm, or strength, or determination, or whatever it is I need in the moment.”
“Just as your touch can do for me,” Ginny interrupted. All trace of fear had left her and all she knew at that moment was how much she loved Harry Potter. “Do you think we are bonded, Harry?” she asked coyly.
“Yes,” Harry said. “I have thought so ever since your mother told her story at my birthday. Not in the way a couple is bonded, not like I witnessed between Bill and Fleur that night at the Manor, in a glow of golden light, though I do not doubt that too will come, but in a very basic way that I simply cannot explain. I know that I need you.”
For several moments they were lost in one another’s eyes. The world simply ceased to exist or to matter. It was as if for a moment they were a single being in the face of the universe. Then, slowly, in defiance of actual time, the moment passed and their surroundings encroached once more on their awareness.
“Harry,” Ginny’s cheeks flushed. “Is that why we haven’t - because we haven’t experienced that golden glow?” She was embarrassed by her question, but she did not dare to look away.
“Perhaps, in part,” Harry said. “But there is also a promise I made to your father, and more a promise I made to myself, and you, that everything between us will be perfect, and unerringly right.”
“Okay, Harry,” Ginny whispered. “That I understand,” She paused to take a couple of deep breaths. “Now, what about this Chamber of Secrets?”
“Yes,” Harry said. “Perhaps we should try to determine just what is in here with us?”
Hermione and Ron arrived at the Great Hall shortly after eight o’clock. Hermione was surprised by the number of students that were having a late breakfast. She was unsure if this was because of her party, or if it was normal for a Saturday morning. It was her habit to take breakfast early like Harry, and so the timing today was the only thing she could correctly say was different.
“I don’t see Harry or Ginny,” Ron said as they made their way along the Gryffindor table and found their usual seats.
“They probably got up hours ago, Ron,” Hermione said. “I don’t think either of them drank much punch last night, so they were probably up at their usual time. Knowing them, they are probably taking a walk down by the lake.”
Ron nodded in agreement as his concentration focused on assembling his breakfast.
Luna came up the aisle smiling at them. She was dressed casually in Muggle jeans and a white hooded jumper. She was wearing the hood up with all her hair tucked inside. “Wonderful party last night, Hermione. May I join you?” She asked.
“Certainly, Luna, please do” Hermione replied. “I’m sorry, Luna, I do not recall seeing you at the party last night, did I somehow miss you?”
“Oh, no, I was there,” Luna replied. “But I came a bit late, and the two of you had already had quite a bit of punch. You did seem to be enjoying your birthday though.”
“I am sorry, Luna, I think I did rather overdo it last night,” Hermione said blushing.
Luna began filling a plate and eating with hurried robustness. Hermione thought she looked a bit like Ron, eating so quickly. Hermione scooped a few pieces of fruit to her plate.
“Say, Luna,” Ron spoke up between forkfuls of beans and sausage. “You haven’t seen Harry and Ginny this morning, have you?”
“No, I haven’t,” Luna said. “But I haven’t been up for all that long either.” She seemed to be eating in quite a hurry.
“Luna, is there something wrong?” Hermione asked.
“No, it’s nothing.” She said between bites, “There is just someone I would rather not run into this morning. I had a bit of the punch last night as well.”
Ron stopped eating. “Luna, nothing bad happened, did it?” he whispered earnestly. “I mean ‘cause you are Harry’s family and that makes you, our family. If there is anything we need to take care of, - well, we will.”
“Ron, don’t jump to conclusions,” Hermione said. She looked at Luna who appeared to be a bit confused.
“He means, like a boy trying something inappropriate,” Hermione said.
“Oh, no,” Luna said, her fork finally remaining still. “I mean, there was a boy, and that is who I don’t wish to see. And he did kiss me. But I didn’t think it was inappropriate.”
“Then why’d you not want to see him?” Ron asked.
Luna had resumed eating and took a big swig of her pumpkin juice to wash down a bit of fried bread. “Well,” she blushed a little, “you see it is one of the French boys, and well, I like him, but my French is not the best and I did have some of the punch, so I was trying to speak with him and I may have given him the impression that I would like to be his girlfriend.”
“Do you, Luna?” Ron asked. “Do you want to be this boy’s girlfriend?”
“Well, I don’t know him that well,” Luna said. “I might like to get to know him, but I get the impression that he’s a bit more eager to get to know me if you take my meaning.”
“Luna,” Hermione said sternly. “Regardless of what you may have said to this boy, it does not give him the right to make unwanted physical advances.”
“You just point the git out and I’ll pop him in the nose anytime you say, Luna,” Ron said, trying to sound brotherly.
“Ron, that is not going to help the situation,” Hermione said. “Luna, you need to talk to this boy and set boundaries, then you can get to know him, or not with a clear understanding of what is and is not acceptable.”
“Or, I can just have Ron pop him in the nose, apparently,” Luna said. She had finished her eggs and begun gnawing on her last sausage. Ron smiled and nodded, still shoveling his own food. Luna began to giggle. Hermione didn’t find the moment at all funny.
“I’m sorry, Hermione. I know you’re right,” Luna said. “And, I will talk to him, I just don’t want to do that yet this morning.”
“I understand,” Hermione said.
Luna finished the last of her pumpkin juice and set the glass down, whereupon her empty dishes vanished. “Well, I guess I’d better keep moving. I think I can make it back to my common room, I know a few shortcuts along the way.” She stood up.
“Wait, Luna,” Hermione said. “Does this French boy have a name?”
“Oh, his name is Ulrich Favager. He’s a Beater on the Beauxbatons Quidditch team,” Luna said, “I think they have practice this afternoon. Maybe I will go and try to talk to him after,” Luna turned with a wave and practically skipped away.
“What is it with girls and Quidditch players?” Ron asked rhetorically.
“Ron,” Hermione said.
“Yeah?” Ron replied.
“You are a Quidditch player,” Hermione stated.
“Oh, yeah, I am.” Ron smiled broadly as he tucked back into his meal.
A minute later the Great Hall entrance doors flew open and Harry and Ginny burst into the room. They were obviously excited about something and in very good spirits. Hermione waved to them and they rushed down to join her and Ron. They sat down opposite and waited a moment for plates to appear.
“Good morning you two,” Harry said. He grabbed the pitcher of pumpkin juice and filled two glasses, placing one in front of Ginny as she scooped beans out onto their plates.
“Did you have a nice lie-in?” Ginny asked as she pulled platters closer.
“Good enough, thanks,” Ron said as he passed the service of fried bread, snagging another for himself.
“Thank you for the Sozzel Stop this morning,” Hermione said.
“Oh, you’re welcome,” Ginny said. “Hope you enjoyed your birthday?”
“I didn’t realize how hungry I was,” Harry said as he bit the end off of a Cumberland Sausage. He dropped the rest of the sausage on his plate and started adding bangers to both. Ginny had already added bacon and was now adding mushrooms and tomatoes. Harry finished off both plates with fried eggs, a nice slice of black sausage, and a couple of slices each of the fried bread. He scooted Ginny’s plate over in front of her and simultaneously passed her the coffee decanter, which she traded for the teapot. They each filled their respective cups. They each cut a piece of sausage, smeared it in beans, and took their bite.
“Wow, you two are completely in sync this morning,” Ron said. “What gives?”
They both looked up from their plates and shrugged their shoulders in unison.
“So, if you are just coming to breakfast now,” Hermione said. “What have you been up to all morning?”
Harry emptied the contents of his fork into his mouth and with the empty fork, he made a clear wand movement. Recognizing it immediately, Hermione drew her wand and performed Muffliato around them. Once she was certain the charm was in place she said, “Okay, Harry, we can talk.”
“We’ve found a new way. . .” Harry began, but Ginny interrupted.
“Harry, no!” Ginny said. “You can’t just tell it straight out like that. You know they’ll overreact, and we’ll argue before we get to anywhere productive.”
“Can’t tell us what?” Ron asked.
“Well, how am I supposed to tell them?” Harry asked Ginny. “I suppose I could start with my dreams?”
“We won’t overreact, I promise,” Hermione said.
“Well, you don’t have to go that far back,” Ginny said. “How about you start with the third-floor corridor of the North wing?”
“What dreams?” asked Ron.
“I don’t know, maybe I should tell them about our conversation on the balcony during the party last night,” Harry said. “That’s really where we started figuring it out.”
“Third floor North is all classrooms,” Hermione said.
“Or start with the extra dungeon wall,” Ginny said.
“Yeah,” said Harry, “That was an important part of the puzzle, too.”
“Now, stop it you two.” Ron interrupted raising his voice just a little. “Just tell us, where have you been for the last couple of hours?”
Ginny and Harry smiled at one another, turned to face Ron and Hermione, and as one said, “The Chamber of Secrets.”
“What!?” Hermione exclaimed.
“That’s not possible,” Ron said, “Dumbledore sealed the Chamber entrance and they collapsed the tunnels. Headmistress McGonagall told us so herself.”
“We found another way,” Harry said. “We think it is the way Salazar Slytherin himself accessed the Chamber.”
“Harry thought there would be much more to the Chamber than we ever knew,” Ginny said excitedly. “And wait until you see how right he was.”
“Well, spill, then,” Ron said. “Tell us what you found. Did you find the dead basilisk?”
“Yeah, we did,” Harry said. “It has been stripped clean right down to the bones.”
“You mean, something ate it!?” Hermione said.
“Yeah, several thousand little crabs,” Ginny said. “We could hear them, but we didn’t see them right away.”
Harry took up the tale. “We could see the skeleton of the beast, collapsed along the Chamber floor. Pretty unimpressive as nothing more than a pile of bones. Until you get to the skull, with its great gaping jaw, and long sharp fangs.
“At some point, the chamber must have flooded, not much, maybe no more than a few centimeters, but it formed a layer of mud all across the floor, which eventually must have dried. When we got to the side of the skeleton facing the secret water entrance of my ancestor Caractacus, then we could see the marks of their movement between the basilisk bones and the water. They must have been feasting off the carcass for years because it is stripped to the bare bone.”
“We wondered what could have been living off the carcass,” Ginny continued. “Like I said we didn’t see right away. When the torches all lit the light seemed to scare them away, we heard them scurry back to the water, but we were still on the far side of the statue of Slytherin. Once we located the skeleton we wanted to see if there were fangs left to potentially collect so we approached the skull and once we were there, Harry tried to pull on one of the fangs. When he rocked the skull a bunch of these small crabs came out of it and scurried off to the water. They startled us, but only for a second. They were really cute little things. They looked a bit like a common shore crab, but the biggest one we saw couldn’t have been more than seven of eight centimeters wide, and most were smaller. They were all sorts of bright colors with complementary colored jagged stripes along their backs and rings on their legs and pincers.”
“I didn’t think there were any native freshwater crabs in Scotland,” Hermione said. “I suppose though, anything goes in the lake. They must be some kind of magical variety. You didn’t see them do anything magical did you?”
“Nothing at all,” Harry said. “Mostly they just stayed in the water and occasionally came to the surface to see what we were doing.”
“Just showing curiosity could suggest increased intelligence,” Hermione said. “That could be a magical feature in itself. And if they were only mildly magical, a whole population, on a prolonged diet of a magical basilisk carcass, who knows how they might have magically evolved. We may have to be careful of them,” Hermione concluded.
“I don’t think the crabs will be any problem, Hermione,” Harry said. “And they are far from the most interesting thing in the Chamber.”
“You really have to come see it for yourself,” Ginny said.
“Well, I’m game,” Ron said. “Wanna go right after we finish breakfast?” he was stabbing a couple more sausages and moving them to his plate.
“Well, Harry and I were going to go check out the Ravenclaw Quidditch trials this morning,” Ginny said. “They must have already started. Unless too many of their prospects were at your party last night. Then they might be starting late.”
“Oh, that would work in our favor, wouldn’t it?” Harry said. “The point is, we should be doing normal things at normal times as much as possible. We don’t want to attract any unwanted attention.”
“That’s right,” Ron agreed.
Hermione looked at her wristwatch. “I have a meeting with Stephen Cornfoot in a half-hour, anyway,” she said. “After that, I have to meet with a few of my Prefects, and then I have to set patrol schedules.”
“So, maybe we can go after lunch,” Ron suggested. “We usually study or just hang around in the common room on a Saturday, if it’s not a Hogsmeade weekend, or there isn’t practice or a game going on.”
“That will work for us,” Harry said. “How about you, Hermione?”
“Oh, yes,” Hermione responded. “After lunch will work.” She seemed a little distracted like she was reviewing a to-do list in her head.
“Okay, after lunch, we’ll go to the common room first,” Ginny said. “Then we’ll slip away and we’ll take you to the Chamber. You will both be amazed.”
“Well, tell us more,” Ron said.
“Not right now,” Harry responded. “Hermione, I think you should drop the Muffliato. The way it affects people, can be easily detected. We do not want to be seen having too many secret conversations.”
“Agreed,” Hermione flicked her wand and dropped the spell. “Did the two of you run into Luna earlier?” she said, changing the subject.
“Oh, yes, we did,” Ginny said. “She was on her way back to her common room as we were coming back from the North wing. We said hi, but she was in a bit of a hurry it seems. Do you know something?”
“Only that Harry and I might need to deliver a smackdown to one of those French gits on her behalf,” Ron said.
“Did something happen?” Harry asked.
“Nothing that dramatic,” Hermione interjected. “And the two of you are not going to cause that kind of conflict with any of the French boys.”
“Right,” Ginny said earnestly, “I’ll teach her the Bat-Bogey Hex, then.”
The imagery that evoked made them all laugh.
Directly after lunch, they all returned to the Gryffindor common room as planned. “Harry, Harry Potter!” they heard as they entered the room. It was Vicky Frobisher hailing them from the opposite side of the lounge. Vicky made her way over to them quickly. Under her arm was a polished wooden box. And, in her hand a parchment envelope. She handed both items to Harry.
“The Headmistress asked me to delivered these to you, Harry, as I left the Great Hall a bit ago,” Vicky said. “She said I should bring them up here and not deliver them as publicly as in the Great Hall.”
“Well, thank you, Vicky,” Harry said graciously.
“You are quite welcome,” she nodded to Harry, then turned to Hermione. “Anything I can do for you, Hermione?” she asked.
“No, nothing right now, thank you,” Hermione said.
Vicky smiled and nodded again, then turned and walked briskly away back to where she had been.
“She’s a bit of an odd one,” Ron commented off-handedly.
“She’s not odd, Ron, Ginny scolded. “She’s just a little socially awkward.”
“She takes her Prefect duties quite seriously,” said Hermione. “It may seem a little like she is trying to curry favor at times, but I do not think she is, I believe she is genuinely a caring and concerned person.”
“I think she’s nice,” said Harry.
Ron shrugged. “Okay, she’s just serious is all.” He knew enough to recognize that he was outnumbered.
The box Vicky had given to Harry was about the same size as Harry’s second lockbox, the one containing his family’s memories. The parchment envelope had something hard in it and Harry suspected he knew what that was. They took the box up to the boy’s dormitory where they could have some privacy as long as none of the other roommates were about.
Harry put the box on the end of his bed and opened up the envelope carefully. In the envelope, as Harry suspected was the pewter Chocolate Card Collector’s Base, and the Dumbledore card that he’d given Headmistress McGonagall. There was also a small thank you card signed by Headmistress McGonagall, and a small brass key, which Harry suspected would fit the lock on the wooden box.
Harry quickly took the Dumbledore Card and put it in his trunk, carefully retrieving the more valuable older edition card. He set the base on top of the box and dropped in the card.
“Harry,” The Dumbledore card said. “Very good to see you again. And I see your companions here with you. Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley, Miss Weasley.”
“Good to have you back, Professor,” said Harry. The others echoed Harry with greetings. “I trust you enjoyed your time with Headmistress McGonagall?”
“Indeed,” said the card. “I was grateful to have the opportunity to provide Headmistress McGonagall with an appropriate orientation to the position and its many quirks and perks.”
“Well, we are all glad to have you back, Professor,” said Ginny.
After that Dumbledore asked about classes, how they were adjusting to their individual responsibilities, and offered Hermione late birthday wishes.
“Professor,” Harry asked after the small talk. “Did you have this wooden box sent along with you?” He gestured to the box upon which the card base stood.
“Yes, I did,” said the card. “It seems that my last will and testament has been challenged by my brother Aberforth. So, this box, which should have come to you, Harry, weeks ago, has been languishing in a storage closet off of Headmistress McGonagall’s office along with several other boxes of my Hogwarts things.”
“You’ve never mentioned that you have a brother, sir,” said Harry.
“I am afraid, Harry, that there is a great deal about myself and my life that I have failed to mention during the course of our association,” said Dumbledore. “Some from thoughtlessness, some from the propriety dictated by my position as headmaster, and some by design. I do hope you’ll forgive me for simply never discussing that which has never been pertinent.”
Harry nodded. “Of course, Professor,” he said.
“I asked Minerva, as a personal favor to see that you got the box, as it is very important to me that it not fall into the wrong hands,” said the card. “Perhaps it could be secured at Potter Manor, as it contains all of the collected memories pertaining to my investigations regarding Tom Riddle and his transformation into Voldemort.”
“Would I be permitted to review the memories, sir?” asked Harry.
“Of course, you may Harry,” said the card. “If you wish, share them between you four. They are yours now, Harry, because you need the information contained there. I can think of no one else who shares that need, but many who would exploit the information if they had it.”
“I understand,” said Harry. “Perhaps though, I will take them with me to where we are planning to go this afternoon. I do think that they will be quite safe there as well.”
“And where is that, if I dare ask?” said the little Dumbledore.
“Harry’s found another way in to the Chamber of Secrets,” Ginny said proudly.
“Really? Extraordinary,” the Dumbledore card said in obvious surprise. “Well, this is an unforeseen turn of events. But then so has been the entire summer.”
Everyone nodded in agreement.
A short time later the four of them quietly departed the Gryffindor common room and headed for the North Wing, third floor. Harry had Dumbledore’s wooden box under his arm. They moved quickly through the corridors, as the rooms were mostly silent on a Saturday.
They did come upon one of the classroom doors which was slightly ajar, and there was loud boisterous conversation coming from inside. Hermione peeked at the door. “I think that is the RPG club,” she reported. “They seem quite occupied.”
They hurried to the Sphinx statue and passed through the back wall to the hidden stairway. As they descended the stairs, Harry told them about his dreams and how they had led him to discover the stairs. When they reached the dungeon level, he explained how he had detected the room first from the other side of the wall, and how the pass-through charm only worked if spoken in Parseltongue.
“Harry, do you have to be a Parselmouth to speak Parseltongue?” Ron asked. “Or could you teach us the sounds?”
“That is a very good question,” Harry responded, “and I don’t know the answer, but why don’t we give it a try?”
“It would be very good if we could get into the Chamber without you, Harry,” Hermione agreed.
“Especially if you were already in there and got hurt or something,” said Ginny.
“Okay,” Harry said, “I agree, so let’s find out if it is possible. The Pass-Through Spell is a single word Vacivus so to cast it you have to focus the same intent; you just have to speak the equivalent in Parseltongue.” Harry spoke the phrase it sounded like a prolonged ‘S’ sound made against the back of one’s teeth followed by two sharp clicks of the tongue against the upper teeth followed by a short ‘TH’ sound. It took them a bit to master it, but they all seemed to get it. One at a time they tried to cast the spell and walk through the wall. To their delight, it worked for each of them.
Once they were all in the secondary room Harry stepped down onto the rock ledge and pointed at the marker. “It works just like the one at the Manor. Focus on the marker itself and Apparate.” He took Ginny’s hand and she stepped down next to him. With a ‘pop,’ they Disapparated.
They spun into place at the marker, tucked behind the Statue of Slytherin, inside the Chamber. They stepped quickly off the marker. A moment later Hermione appeared. She joined them a few steps away, and Ron appeared just after her.
Ginny had earlier found a spot near the marker to place their last remaining torch from their previous visit, so they had not arrived in darkness as before.
Harry led them toward the open chamber where they could see the basilisk bones spread across the chamber floor. He pointed to the far wall where the entrance to the chamber used years before stood silently dormant. “That end of the chamber appears to have a sort of a moat on each side. To the left is where the opening used by my ancestor Caractacus is located. That is also where the crabs appear to come and go from.”
Ron had moved near to the basilisk skull. “Harry,” said Ron. “This thing is massive; I cannot imagine how you faced it when you were twelve!”
“Be careful, Ron,” said Hermione, a hint of fear evident in her voice.
Ron moved back to join her.
“The chamber is impressive,” Ginny said. “But, Slytherin didn’t call it his Chamber of Secrets because of this great space. What Harry found this morning, that is where the real secrets lie.”
“What did you find, Harry?” asked Hermione.
“Ginny and I searched the chamber this morning,” Harry began. “For a couple of hours at least we walked around this chamber, inspecting the walls and pillars, casting Revelio and looking for anything. It seemed fruitless as there is so much residual magic in this place.”
“Finally,” said Ginny, “I reminded Harry to meditate and put himself in that state that helped him find the marker at the Manor.”
“Once I achieved that state of mind,” said Harry. “I could see that the majority of the magic here is centered around the massive statue, so we concentrated on it and very soon found something very interesting.”
Harry led them back to where they had arrived. He pointed to the darkness where the carved folds of Slytherin’s robe seemed to merge with the back chamber wall. “Notice how the torchlight does not seem to penetrate the shadow?”
“Yes,” said Hermione, “There is nothing naturally obstructing the light, it should show exactly where the wall and statue meet, but I can’t make it out. It is like a veil of darkness.”
“What happens if you cast Revelio there?” Ron asked.
“Be my guest,” Harry said motioning Ron forward.
Ron took a short step closer and drew his wand. He looked over his shoulder at Harry, who nodded at him. “Revelio,” said Ron firmly. Slowly the edge of the darkness seemed to illuminate with a pale pearlescence and undulate like a bit of gossamer in a very slight breeze. The effect lasted just a few seconds and then faded away.
“We checked for traps in every way we could think,” said Ginny. “Finally, we had to just try to step through.” Ginny stepped forward boldly and disappeared into the darkness.
Hermione gasped.
Harry stepped forward. “It’s okay,” he said. “We’ve already done it once.”
“Come on,” came Ginny’s voice from the darkness. “It’s perfectly fine.”
Harry stepped through and was engulfed by the darkness as well.
Ron held out his hand to Hermione and she took it. “Let’s go,” he told her, and he led her into the darkness with him.
There was a very slight chill the moment they passed through, but once on the other side to the right there was a short hallway, where Harry and Ginny were standing, and from the inside looking back it was as if the veil wasn’t there.
The hallway was about two meters long, illuminated by a wall-mounted torch, and ended in a polished stone surround in which was mounted a simple wooden door. The silver door handle was in the shape of a standing Cobra. Harry grasped the handle, pressed on the head of the cobra, and pushed. The door swung easily into a large room beyond.
They estimated that the room was about six meters wide, and based on the vaulting of the ceiling, square. The entire room appeared to be lined in shelves built between green, polished stone pilasters. Each pilaster featured an elaborate silver torch holder cast as a coiled serpent. The shelves were filled with boxes, bottles, empty cages, caldrons, and various potion-making equipment. There was a long fire pit which, while not exactly resembling the one at the Manor, clearly served the same purpose. There were four work tables piled with various utensils, most of which looked sharp and dangerous. Each of the tables had a wooden bench, but there was only one proper chair, a comfortable-looking wingback chair upholstered in green leather, with silver finishes, that looked like it had no actual spot in the room. The back quarter of the room was filled with two or three rows of tall, library-style shelves filled with books and scrolls.
The wall with the entrance door and the wall to their left seemed to be only shelves, while the wall to the right had three doors.
Harry retrieved the Chocolate Frog Card Base from his pocket, set it on a shelf about eye level, and dropped in the Dumbledore card.
“This is the Chamber of Secrets?” the Dumbledore card asked.
“Well, no, Professor,” said Harry. “This is another room, within the chamber. It is a functional workroom and library.”
“The Library of Slytherin,” Dumbledore said matter-of-factly.
“Have you heard of it, Professor?” asked Hermione.
“Yes,” the card replied. “There has always been more to the rumors of the Chamber than any students have been told. It was suspected that before he left Hogwarts Castle those many, many, years ago, Salazar Slytherin removed several books from the library that contained what he would have considered advantageous magics. Some thought he took such books with him, others, myself included, thought that the books were simply kept someplace secret, like within the chamber. Before I sealed the chamber over four years ago now, I briefly entered it to see it and evaluate what two of my students had been through. A cursory examination revealed only the main chamber and though it was a disappointing result, I did not dally to investigate further.”
“Perhaps, you felt that one day the chamber would be investigated more fully,” said Hermione.
“I can honestly tell you,” said the card. “That was not the case. I did not anticipate the events of Miss Weasley’s first year then. Nor did I consider the chamber might have any possible role to play in the future. Had I suspected you would someday, willingly return to it, I would not have sealed it as I did.”
“I see,” said Hermione.
“I am, however, quite pleased that you’ve returned, Harry,” said Dumbledore. “Clearly, you have uncovered that there was more purpose to the chamber than hiding a monster. What else have you discovered?”
“It took us a while to find this room this morning,” said Harry. “So, we have not properly investigated all the shelves and their contents or wandered into the bookshelves. But I would imagine, Hermione, that you will find every book here, that you have proclaimed missing from the library over the past six years. Especially those missing from the restricted section.”
Hermione’s eyes widened as she glanced at the bookshelves.
“We did have a look behind all three of these doors,” said Ginny, as she motioned to the wall with the three doors. “The far one is a shower and water closet. The middle door leads to a small practical bedroom. Not fancy, just functional, we guess that Slytherin did not live here, he had rooms in the castle dungeon, but occasionally he might stay down here if he had experiments to monitor. Just our best guess. This last door is the fascinating one. It opens on a short hallway that leads to a sort of carved tube. One direction leads toward the center of the statue of Slytherin and must go all the way up to the statue’s mouth. Harry said the basilisk emerged from the mouth of the statue when he fought it years ago. The other direction leads down to a cave that has a sort of rock island surrounded by a moat. We suspect that was the basilisk nest. There is a second basilisk skeleton down there, or parts of one anyway.”
“You went down in there!” Hermione exclaimed. “That could have been very dangerous, what if there was another basilisk?”
“It seemed quiet and safe, Hermione,” said Harry, “So we went down to see. We were careful. The second skeleton seems to be much older. I suspect that it was Slytherin’s original.”
“So, you think that Tom Riddle somehow got a hold of a second basilisk?” asked Ron.
“I think maybe he figured out how to have one born here in the chamber, yes,” Harry answered.
“That’s not so far-fetched,” said Hermione. “I remember reading about them during our second year when I was researching about the chamber and trying to find the right sort of monster that could be down here. The basilisk fit all the clues perfectly. A basilisk is a magical creature and they don’t just occur naturally through a mated pair. If I recall correctly there is something about a fresh hen’s egg stolen from a nesting hen and getting a particular type of magical toad to gestate it. I can look it up in the library later.”
“That is correct,” the card confirmed. “It requires a Briar Toad specifically. The toad is not a magical creature in and of itself, but to prepare it to brood the chicken egg you have to perform several spells on it.”
“Briar Toads are poisonous,” said Ron. “I found one when I was a kid. It was red like a tomato, and when I picked it up it snapped on my finger. Mum and Dad had to take me to St. Mungos.”
“Poisonous toad logically contributes to the venomous basilisk,” the card said.
“Well, that does explain the stone toad,” said Ginny. “We thought it might have been carved as a talisman or something. But Riddle probably turned it to stone once its job was done.”
“Can we go down and see it?” asked Ron.
“I don’t see why not,” said Harry. “Would you like to come Professor?” he asked before he turned to the appropriate door, leading the way.
“No, I am fine here,” said the card. “I don’t want to put anyone in danger having to balance me along. But, before you go, it seems to me that this place will be significant to your activities throughout the remainder of the school year. There appears to be a considerable resource here and it can easily be held secret with the secure manner of entrance.”
“Agreed,” said Harry.
“If you are going to be referring to a place in casual conversation, you should perhaps come up with a different term to call the chamber as The Chamber of Secrets could tend to draw unwanted attention.”
There were a few moments of silence.
“How about we call it ‘the keep,’” said Harry.
“That would seem quite appropriate, as Hogwarts being a rather unconventional castle does not have a designated ‘keep,’” the Dumbledore card said.
“Let’s call it ‘Potter’s Keep,’ then,” said Ron.
Ginny giggled, “Potter’s Keep it is,” she said.
Before Harry could object, Hermione spoke. “Okay, you three go on, I think I will stay up here and look at what sort of books are on these shelves. I will be perfectly fine and that way Professor Dumbledore can get a look about as well. I won’t touch anything that isn’t a book until you return.”
With that, Harry, Ginny, and Ron disappeared behind the third door.
“Would you like me to carry you to the shelves, Professor?” asked Hermione, once the door had closed.
“Oh, no, thank you, Hermione,” said the card. “I will be fine here. “You just call out any interesting titles and if you have any questions, I shall endeavor to have answers.”
For a short time, the room was quiet as Hermione explored the first row of shelves. She called out a few titles as she passed them.
“Arthurian Legend and the True Role of Merlin,” Hermione called.
“An interesting title if one is looking for the Book of Merlin,” Dumbledore said. “I can see why Slytherin might have taken it. However, very doubtful that it was of interest to Tom Riddle.”
“Fifty Acts of Darkest Magics,” Hermione called.
“Promising, if it is a truthful account, rather than a work of fiction,” The card replied.
For some five minutes this went on, Hermione calling out titles and Dumbledore responding.
Then quite suddenly Hermione came out from the stacks to approach the card base. “Professor,” Hermione called, “There is something you simply must see.” She picked up the base and card and returned to the shelves. Beyond the last row of shelves at the back of the room, there was an alcove deep enough to house a large library table with room for four chairs on each side. On the back wall of the alcove, there was a heavy shield which was the Hogwarts Coat of Arms. And on the side walls were four sets of curtains each in the house colors of the four founders.
Hermione set the card and base at the end of the table so that it could see the entire space and then went up to the nearest set of curtains and threw them open. Beneath the blue curtains was a life-sized portrait of Rowena Ravenclaw. Hermione moved to the next set of red curtains and revealed a portrait of Godric Gryffindor. On the opposite wall was a portrait of Salazar Slytherin and one of Helga Hufflepuff. Each of the portraits had a white ribbon around the frame and image, tied at the center. Only the portrait of Salazar Slytherin looked as though the ribbon had been disturbed. It was tied in a much tighter and hurried bow knot.
“I did not think any magical portraits of the founders existed,” said Hermione.
“Nor did I,” The Dumbledor card confirmed.
Hermione reached out toward the ribbon on the Gryffindor portrait.
“I think perhaps you should wait for the others, Miss Granger,” said Dumbledor.
Hermione withdrew her hand. “Perhaps you are right, Professor,” she said.
A moment later Hermione heard the door open and the others coming back into the room.
“Hermione?” Ron called.
“Back here,” she called.
A moment later Ron, Harry, and Ginny emerged around the shelves and entered the alcove.
“What have you discovered, Hermione?” asked Harry, his eyes growing wide at the sight of the Founder’s portraits.
“You can see, very clearly, what I have found, Harry,” Hermione said. “The question is, which ribbon do we untie first?”
“Gryffindor,” said Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, nearly in unison.
“Slytherin,” said Harry at the same time.
They all looked at Harry in astonished disbelief.
Ginny stepped to Harry’s side and took his arm. “You heard him,” she said.
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NEXT
Chapter Thirty-One
Spirit Quest
Chapter 32: Chapter 31 - Spirit Quest
Author's Notes: As always, I am sorry about the time between postings.
Spirit Quest
The morning rain had ended. Bright beams of sunlight streamed through the leaves causing the wet forest to shine and sparkle as dripping rain worked its way from the high canopy to the forest floor.
Draco stepped out onto a thick tree limb from his place tight against the trunk several meters off the ground. He threw back his leather poncho, gathering it over his right shoulder revealing the quiver of arrows slung to his back. One of the boys, a few trees away was making a hand signal toward the forest floor.
It was the language of hunting, silent signals used to convey simple instructions. It was far less complicated than the spoken language and Draco had mastered it easily. The spoken language was coming along very nicely as well, but Draco had come to enjoy the hunting excursions for the very fact that most of the communication occurred in this simple, straightforward manner.
Hunting was considered an essential skill and the boys used this skill to feed themselves, leaving the village’s herd animals intact for that use. Hunting kept one in tune with the forest and its creatures, both flora, and fauna, it provided endless opportunities for learning and teaching as well as exercise for both body and mind.
Groups of boys were regularly sent out with instructions to pursue specific animals. Sometimes it was as simple as the group's desire for a certain type of meat, but mostly it was a reason to teach specific skills. The hunting parties would go out for a few days at a time to specific areas of the jungle to encounter and teach different plants, or animals. Draco had come to love these trips, and he had learned so much each time.
It had been nearly seven weeks since Chunt’ea had brought him into the main barracks. The first weeks were the most challenging. Once the communication charm wore off, he’d struggled with the language, though Chunt’ea had proven to be a patient and kind instructor. After the first week, he’d learned the basics; up, down, right, left, please, thank you, hello, goodbye, etc. During the second week, he became a language sponge listening to everything and constantly asking Chunt’ea the meanings of words. The boys seemed to delight in instructing him in all the things that were just part of their natural knowledge base. Names of plants and animals, tools. Any object he was handed was accompanied by its name, and every activity was carefully described by whichever boy was at hand.
They spent hours tending the herds, but the boys never stopped his instruction. He had learned all of their names and regarded each of them with fond respect, an idea that once would have been appalling to him. They were willing to share whatever they had, and whatever they knew. As his knowledge and skills grew, they all seemed to take equal pride in his progress. His success was their success and he aspired to obtain some measure of the generosity of spirit, that defined these wonderful people.
After three weeks with the youngest boys, Draco was moved unceremoniously to the next section. One of the men simply came and told him it was time. He said a quick goodbye and thank you to the younger boys, gathered his things, and walked to the area with the fourteen-year-olds. Here he had to start over with a whole new set of boys. He found this new group to be every bit as eager to assist him as the younger boys.
While with the younger boys he had been taught to gather wild foods from the jungle, harvesting fruits, vegetables, tubers, nuts, as well as mushrooms, and other edibles. He had learned to set snares for small animals and prepare animals for use as food. With the fourteen-year-olds he was afforded his first real hunting trips, venturing farther out into the jungle.
Altogether, he stayed in this section for less than two weeks, he’d managed to get to know most of these boys by name. They introduced him to a whole new level of experience as they taught him about medicinal and magical plants, what plants were used to make curare, to paralyze animals by adding their saps or resins to arrowheads or blow-gun dart tips, as well as what plants could make teas or salves to treat aches and pains. He demonstrated a natural affinity for the bow, rapidly becoming one of the best archers of the group, but he never seemed to quite get the hang of the blow-gun.
When he was moved again the fourteen-year-old boys seemed to relish and celebrate his success, just as the younger ones had and he thanked them just as much for their help.
The last section of the barracks was populated by all the boys fifteen and older, who had not yet taken, or opted out of, the Manhood rites. Most of the boys here were fifteen or sixteen years old. As near as Draco could understand it was very rare that a boy would reach the age of seventeen without facing the rites. There were those boys who failed the rites the first time, and it was they who were most likely to be the oldest. Draco could not, however, detect any particular stigma attached to multiple attempts. Once the trials were successfully completed all actions of the past were considered the act of the boy, not the man. The man emerged from the trials as a new person, a fully recognized adult male member of the tribe. This brought the right to speak at council fires, to build their own hut and choose a mate, and the right to start a family if that was their desire. For some, most importantly they obtained the right to practice magic, if it was within them, and to study magic with the Shaman if they wanted to know more.
The boys came and went from the encampment so each month there were new faces in the barracks. Chunt’ea had elected to remain at the camp for two months so that he could assist Draco, but when Draco had been moved to the next section Chunt’ea returned to the village on the next celebration day.
Draco had asked about the whole system once he felt he had enough command of the language to understand. It was explained to him that during their eleventh year all the boys of the village made their first trip to the boy’s encampment. Everyone’s first trip lasted for one month and they could return to the village for the next celebration day. After their first trip, the youngest boys were free to come as often and for as long as they wished. During the ages of thirteen and fourteen, it was customary for boys to come to the encampment at least four months a year. There were no restrictions, however, and most boys elected to come every other month all year long, while still others preferred the encampment to the village and only returned home on celebration days, when their families, usually their mothers, implored them to return.
The men at the encampment also seemed to rotate every month, with the village men taking turns overseeing the camp and the activities. There seemed to be a core of highly adept magic users who spent much of their time instructing other interested men, but there was no formal class structure. Instruction seemed to come from whoever happened to have the skills in question. Learning simply took place during the performance of normal daily activities.
Boys were assigned responsibilities on a rotating basis. Some were assigned to shepherd the animals, while others were assigned to milk the cows and goats and remain at the camp barracks to prepare meals and undertake routine chores and maintenance. Still others were divided into hunting parties. Whatever needed to be done was equitably assigned. The point seemed to be that everyone learned to do every task, and everyone contributed to the best of their ability to the success of the group. There was a good amount of leisure time for playing sports or swimming at the falls in the lagoon. Mutual instruction assured that the Spirit People possessed the same functional knowledge base.
Evenings at the camp were always enjoyable as the men and boys would gather around a central fire and sing, dance, and tell stories.
Draco had never been camping as a child or had the experience of sitting around a campfire, singing songs. It had taken him a while to get comfortable with this behavior that was so alien to him. Eventually, as he gained greater command of the language, he had come to appreciate this time of relaxation, learning, and communal bonding. The men would tell stories of the people’s history or fables of specific hunts. Sometimes it would be encounters with magical creatures or made-up adventures of great heroes. Whatever was shared it was always a time of fun and tremendous laughter.
Around the fifth week, Draco realized that he was sleeping wonderfully and waking every morning with joyful anticipation of the day. No matter what activity he was assigned he had come to understand that everything was done for the good of the whole group and therefore there were no menial tasks. Nor was there anyone who would suggest that there could be. He realized a kind of freedom that he had never even imagined. He understood that he was truly happy, perhaps for the first time in his entire life, and dumbfounded to think that this happiness was so easily achieved.
Among the entirety of the village, there were those who seemed to possess greater knowledge, like the Shaman, or Mistress Puntáne. While these individuals appeared to be afforded high positions and respect within the tribe, observation had shown Draco that they acted out of deeply ingrained respect and concern for their greater community and they were passing on their knowledge to others. He had seen that the Shaman was not constantly present at the encampment, he seemed to come and go as he pleased, but when present he was engaged with the core of the men that seemed to offer the bulk of instruction to others in his absence.
Further questions led Draco to understand that his position as an outsider had been very carefully considered and that the Shaman had insisted that he be brought to the encampment to remove his presence from the daily life of the village. He learned that he would not be allowed to return even for a celebration day until his final position within the tribe had been determined, and that meant passing the manhood rites.
The night of his mother’s passing and funeral pyre, the Shaman had asked him what he intended to do. In his grief and confusion, Draco had asked, “May I remain here?” The Shaman had responded, “If you remain, you must become a part of the people. That will not be easy.” Draco now understood that his path had been set with that simple exchange and that the Shaman had accepted him, giving him an opportunity that had never in any tribe member's memory been extended to as complete an outsider as himself. With this awareness, had come an even greater determination, and Draco was devoting every moment he could to becoming truly worthy of the acceptance of the boys and men of the camp.
Draco shook the string of thoughts out of his head and focused on the forest floor where the other boy was pointing.
This hunting party had been sent with specific instructions to bring back peccaries for a manhood feast. Three candidates had been taken for the trials nearly a week ago and it was anticipated that these three would be celebrated as new men within the next two days. This would be Draco’s first time witnessing these ceremonies and he was understandably curious. The hunting party had been two days out already without any luck, so no one wanted to miss the present opportunity.
Draco watched as the small herd of peccary emerged from the underbrush in the area indicated by the other boy. He had learned of two types of this jungle animal which most closely resembled a pig. There was a Collared-Peccary, and a White-Lipped Peccary, the first had white markings around their neck and the latter just along their lower jaws. This group appeared to be the latter variety. He estimated the largest animal could be easily forty-five kilograms. Three or four of these animals would be plenty for the coming feast. He signed back that he would take the largest animal. The boy acknowledged him and began coordinating with the others. Draco silently retrieved an arrow from his quiver. He watched as the others prepared their arrow tips with curare, and he too took out his wooden tube of the dark poison. He daubed the slightest bit of his arrow tip in the sticky resin knowing that it was less than needed to be effective, but he felt he could make the shot and get the kill without it. If he did, he would be saved from having to chase the poisoned animal through the forest for the roughly twenty minutes it would take for the animal to succumb.
Each of the boys settled their aim as the peccary rooted beneath them. The largest animal was moving toward the tree where Draco stood. He notched his arrow, drew his bow, and aimed carefully for the space just between the animal’s shoulder and neck. In his peripheral vision, the lead boy was counting down with his fingers. At the designated moment he released his arrow. Five boys had released arrows and all had struck their animals. The stricken animals squealed and along with the rest of the herd, bolted in random directions into the brush. Only Draco’s animal stood for a startled moment and then collapsed to the forest floor, dead.
Draco slung his bow over his shoulder and reached for a vine he could use to climb down out of the tree. One of the younger boys was the first to reach the animal, and he was congratulating Draco on his accurate shot. Most of the hunting party had sprinted off after their wounded animals. It would be some time before they returned.
The shot, just as Draco planned, had entered between the shoulder blade and neck, and gone straight through the peccary’s lung and into its heart. It died very quickly with no time even to move from its spot.
The boy who had remained with Draco was a fourteen-year-old named Tuk’trake; he was serving as Draco’s hunting assistant. On these hunting excursions, the boys were always partnered together during the actual hunt with a primary and an assistant, usually a younger boy. This was Draco’s third hunt as a primary, and he was quickly gaining a reputation as an excellent shot. Each of the younger boys was eager to be his hunting assistant.
The admiration that Draco was experiencing was something new to him, it was not based on empty sentiment or flattery but was an appreciation of a demonstrated skill. It felt very different from what he had experienced growing up. His father had always expected and demanded a sort of sycophantic allegiance from people who he treated as lesser than himself. This was different, primarily because it was genuine. His skills with a bow had made him a successful hunter, which earned him admiration and respect. But his assistant could take equal pride in their hunt because they provided the skills he still lacked at tracking and individual animal identification. Sharing accomplishments was a new concept to him, but he was finding that doing so didn’t seem to diminish what had been achieved.
Tuk’trake retrieved a length of braided rope from his pack and was binding the peccary’s hind legs together. He allowed a bit of slack between and did the same to the animal’s forelimbs.
Draco took a machete from Tuk’trake’s pack, chose a small sturdy straight tree, and began to cut a long pole for them to string between the animal’s limbs so together they could carry it back to their base camp. Tuk’trake was an enthusiastic helper and possessed a lot of knowledge that he could yet convey to Draco, but he was also what Draco would have once called a Squibb, so the transfer of the peccary carcass would have to be accomplished manually. Draco thought that if he had a wand a simple levitation spell would make this much easier, but sharing the load would also make short work of the task. He hefted his end up onto his shoulder and let Tuk’trake lead the way. They would be the first to return with their prize to the base camp.
Severus Snape stirred the cauldron with a large silver-plated spoon. He did three dozen clockwise rotations and was intent on doing the same number counterclockwise. The operable theory was that silver, as a precious metal known to be viewed favorably by both the Dragon and the Unicorn, might facilitate a harmonious bonding of the two core elements.
He and Ollivander had been pursuing the concept of a dual-core wand for over a month now, and while both men understood that such endeavors could take years to achieve, it was very doubtful that the Dark Lord would be that patient. Fortunately, both men were experts in their chosen areas of practice and so they hoped this would shorten the research and experimentation necessary to achieve their goal.
The Dark Lord was moving forward quickly with his local plans. He had been emboldened by the destruction of Beauxbatons Palace, in the town of Beaujardin, in Southern France.
While the French Ministry for Magic had declared the Dark Wizard, known as Lord Voldemort, and anyone associated with him, to be a criminal, and issued a reward for the capture of the same, there had so far been no more direct hostilities anywhere in France and no proclamation of war had ever been issued.
For the last several months Voldemort had frequently moved from place to place throughout Eastern Europe as he secured the Magical seats of power. For the last month and a half, he had settled at his Castle location in Albania, and he seemed to feel very comfortable and secure here. His influence was spreading rapidly into Greece and Turkey as far North as Estonia and his Death Eaters were active in every country in Europe. Only the Wizarding Ministries of Spain, France, Germany, Italy, and the Scandinavian countries, were trying to push back against him. The concern to maintain the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy was consuming more and more of these countries' magical resources. This created an advantage for the Dark Lord, who was completely unconcerned with keeping secrecy from the Muggles. Most incidences of open conflict were covered up within the Muggle world as terrorist attacks and political or racially motivated unrest. A lot of blame seemed to be falling on immigrants causing friction within refugee and displaced communities within the various countries of Europe. The Dark Lord seemed to find the Muggles and the Muggle world to be a source of good humor, he would talk with great mirth about how fragile their communities and political systems were. He seemed to regard it a foregone conclusion that once he obtained dominance of the Wizard World, the Muggle world would fall to his will almost effortlessly.
Snape was not so sure that the Muggles would fall so easily; the difference in population numbers alone was staggering. This was a concern he had expressed to the Dark Lord, but Voldemort had simply called his ideas puerile.
Something was changing rapidly now; Snape could see that Voldemort was gathering his forces. His arrogance and confidence were growing as well, which meant that his patience and tolerance were waning. Finding a solution to his wand problem was becoming increasingly urgent, and Snape had placed himself right at its center. He did not relish the idea of having to report on today’s experiment if it was another failure.
He finished stirring the cauldron and was pleased to note that much of the silver plating from the spoon had seemed to dissolve into the potion. He reached for his wand and put out the cauldron fire. Levitating the cauldron, Snape walked toward a work table where Ollivander was standing. Ollivander had a glass tank in front of him, the tank was about half full of clear water. As Snape stepped closer, he could see that in the tank was a lone dragon heartstring. It was about twenty-five centimeters long and it was moving around the periphery of the tank almost as though it was looking for something. Snape approached the table and tipped the still hot contents of the cauldron into the tank. As he did this Ollivander dropped a wooden wand blank into the tank, this one was a straight piece of Hawthorn carefully shaped into a rounded length of about thirty centimeters with one of its ends smoothly tapered to a nice narrowly rounded tip.
They watched as the warm liquid seemed to calm the movements of the heartstring. The concoction was the color of strong tea, but as they watched, it slowly began to lighten and the deep woody color transformed to a blood red. Gradually it became clearer and lightened into a pink and then started to become purple. As it became a soft lavender Ollivander dropped in a unicorn hair. It sank to the bottom of the tank and appeared to remain motionless becoming difficult to see. The color of the liquid transitioned through a pale blue and eventually returned to crystal clear.
Ollivander raised his wand and directed it at the tank, he did not speak any incantation but waved his wand in tight controlled movements. The water itself began to shimmer as though external light had been directed into the tank. Slowly the three elements in the tank floated toward the center and aligned themselves one above the other. The unicorn hair remained in the lowest position, floating about five centimeters off the bottom. Above it, perhaps another seven or eight centimeters, was the dragon heartstring, and above that the wooden wand blank aligned and submerged several centimeters beneath the liquid surface.
Snape watched the older man with admiration as he performed this bit of magic he had spent his life perfecting. Slowly, the unicorn hair moved upward and began to coil itself around the dragon heartstring eventually matching its length end to end. A thin haze of silver began to coat the hair and heartstring and saturate the wood. The core materials floated upward toward the wooden blank and as Snape watched the wood began to appear translucent and insubstantial. The core materials began to glow with a silvery-blue light. The Wand Melding charm was performed silently and was a trade secret of the Ollivander family. Snape wondered if Garrick had ever taught this magic to anyone, or if it would be lost with the family at his passing. The core entered the wood and positioned itself straight along the center axis. The whole conglomerate seemed to pulsate and squirm as the light brightened to a singular flash like the bulb of a Wizarding camera.
Ollivander relaxed, lowering his wand. He reached into the pocket of his work apron and held forth a dark stained and polished wand handle, offering it to Snape and nodding toward the tank.
Snape accepted the small piece of wood and moving toward the tank levitated the finished wand body from the surface of the tank and slowly pushed the handle onto the thick end of the wand. He released it allowing the wand and handle to float there above the tank.
Ollivander raised his wand again performing a much simpler Melding charm on the handle. Once the faint glow of the spell subsided, Snape reached up and took the finished wand in his hand.
He thought it quite an attractive wand with its dark polished handle and a shaft that was infused with silver right into the wood grain. It fit nicely in his hand. It seemed to pulse with a power he could feel, like a light wave of warmth moving gently up his arm every few seconds. He wondered for a moment if the infusion of silver might make the wand especially effective at treating werewolf-inflicted wounds.
“How does it feel?” asked Ollivander.
“It feels powerful,” Snape responded.
“Well, give it a flick,” Ollivander encouraged.
Snape held the wand at arm’s length and gave a quick, short flick of his wrist.
The wand began to shudder and shake and began to glow. A thick plume of dragon fire erupted from the tip, it shot across the room and left a dark burn upon the far wall. The wand grew hot, forcing Snape to release it. It dropped to the stone floor where it flipped and bucked violently like a desperate horse. After some fifteen seconds the shaft cracked and split wide with a loud snap, and the wand lay motionless on the floor, a thin wisp of light smoke rising from its splayed center.
Ollivander approached cautiously and nudged the thing with the toe of his boot. Seeing no reaction, he bent down and picked it up delicately by its split handle between his thumb and forefinger. He moved with some haste toward a bin and tossed it in where there lay the remains of a half dozen previous experiments. “It was a good idea,” he said.
Snape sighed.
The feast was spectacular. The peccary had been stuffed full of potatoes ranging from sweet to starchy, herbs, spices, and fruits along with some of the sweetmeats. The cavities had then been sewn shut with twine woven from plant fibers and the five carcasses were then placed on a magically turning spit to slow roast for hours over a carefully tended fire.
The variety and bounty of the jungle had never ceased to astound Draco, and this feast was a fabulous example. He couldn’t remember, even a time at Hogwarts, when he had eaten so much and felt so full.
As the celebratory feast went on, the three manhood candidates were each given time to talk about their spirit quest. The particulars of the trials were kept secret, but the spirit quest portion of the rites was well known to everyone.
Each candidate, after completing the other trials was taken by magic to some part of the jungle where they had never been. They were left wearing only a loincloth and carrying nothing but a small steel knife. Each of the boys was given such a knife upon reaching age fifteen. Draco had seen that the knives were forged at the encampment but he had not asked where the steel came from or how it was acquired. He had been given one himself when he was moved to the final section of boys.
The candidates’ task was simple; they were to return to the camp in time for the feast. Those candidates who were without magic were generally delivered to a part of the jungle that was inhabited by other human tribes. This could make return travel tricky, as navigating an unfamiliar jungle can be quite treacherous. Not knowing the territories and habits of the local animals is dangerous enough, but in this case, there is also the fact that not all indigenous tribes were friendly.
Candidates were expected to make their way back to the camp, and bring a souvenir of their quest. A weapon from another tribe, an animal pelt of a particularly dangerous animal, anything. The more danger involved in obtaining the souvenir the better and the greater the respect and admiration of the other men. What you returned with and how you obtained it seemed to bring some measure of standing among the men of the tribe.
Those candidates who possessed the ability to perform magic were generally sent to some part of the jungle where magical encounters were possible. There was a huge tract of jungle bordering the Spirit Peoples’ territory that was, as nearly as Draco had come to understand, a designated magical preserve. The boys of the camp were admonished not to venture into this designated area as it was regarded as exceedingly dangerous. Draco imagined that the magic-capable candidates were sent somewhere within the preserve for their spirit quest. They too needed to immerge with some sort of a souvenir. It was not unheard of for a manhood candidate to never return from their Spirit Quest. It had not happened for several years, Draco had been told, but it did happen.
This concerned Draco greatly because as a magic user, he would no doubt be sent into the preserve when his time came. Without his wand, he had been unable to perform any magic since his arrival except for some dramatic spontaneous magic born of his confused and erratic emotions during the height of his recent journey into his inner self.
Over the past ten weeks, he had sought out and questioned many of the boys who had obvious magical characteristics, especially those who had animal familiars, those who displayed odd physical traits, such as unusual eye color, or the few who seemed to be able to do small acts of wandless magic, such as igniting a fire at the snap of their fingers.
Magic among the Spirit People appeared to be something very different than he had been taught at Hogwarts. It lacked any formal structure, such as specific wand movements, or spoken Latin phrases. It was more about intent than precision. Magic users here stated what they expected in plain common language and that was what they seemed to get. The one true commonality was the need for some sort of catalyst, what in the rest of the Wizarding world would be called a wand. The idea here was not specifically to have a traditional-style wand, but the elements were essentially the same. What was required was some sort of magical component to act as a focus for channeling magic and something to house that component, whatever it was.
Titchi’s shard of Amber was a perfect example. Draco had asked to see it once and she had willingly shown it to him. It was a piece of solid amber that had been painstakingly chipped away to shape it into an easy-to-handle long, narrow oval; it looked a bit like ancient stone tools attributed to primitive man in the Muggle museums of London. Titchi had told him it had been in her family longer than anyone could remember and was passed down through the matriarchy. It had been a gift from her maternal Grandmother when she had reached her womanhood. The secret of the shard could be easily seen, suspended within the stone was an insectoid-looking wing like that of a dragonfly, though this had come from an ancient magical creature, perhaps some sort of fae. The wing functioned as the core, and the amber was merely its carrier. Effectively, it was a stone wand.
Draco had seen many other combinations of materials that all seemed to serve the same purpose. There were the ones that looked like small branches, that were a bit of magical material wrapped in a tight coil of tree bark, glued with a plant resin. And there were even small leather bags that were filled with magical items, and often worn around the neck. The concerning point for Draco was simply that to obtain some sort of catalyst to help perform magic, you had to receive it through your family or find it for yourself.
Draco missed his wand. He imagined that it’d been snapped unceremoniously by some random Death Eater, after he’d been thrown into the dungeon by Voldemort. It was as likely a scenario as any. Whatever the case, he felt certain he would never see it again.
In the weeks that he had been in the camp, he had begun to fashion a new wand. At least, the wooden part of one. He had no idea how to add a magical core, even if he found one. Still, it had been relaxing to shape and polish the wood, creating a comfortable fit for his hand. He had used the branch that the Shaman had transformed into a shovel. The same one that he had used to dig holes and clear fields. He felt somehow that this history was important. Once he had removed all the bark the wood beneath was a brilliant orange color, quite unlike any wand he had ever seen. He had whittled it down and shaped it into a straight shaft with a slow taper to a rounded tip.
He had been taught to make a bow from wood provided by the jungle, and he had applied the knowledge and skills for that endeavor to his wand project. He had learned to use different stones to smooth and sand the wood and certain leaves to polish and preserve it. Other plants could give wood different shades and colors. He had taken his time with the wand as it was a project he used to relax. He had carved a separate handle from the same branch and soaked it in a brew he had made from different dark leaves. The handle had become very dark with the purple hue of an aubergine. This new wand was a bit longer than his old wand, but it was also slightly lighter and better balanced with a grip meticulously fitted to his right hand. He was very happy with it. None of the boys had seemed to find the endeavor odd at all. They had all been quite encouraging and helpful, suggesting what plants would be best to stain the wood, and what plant oils would be best to preserve it.
When it was finished, it was polished to a brilliant shine. Draco hung it on the post above his hammock, and there it waited for the day that he might find a wand core and learn how to meld the two objects together. Some of the boys had suggested that Mistress Puntáne, or the Shaman, could and would do that for him if he secured the right sort of core object, though none could elaborate on just what that core should be. He had noticed that the Shaman had followed this endeavor with interest, giving him a slight smile whenever he had seen him working on the wand. When it was done, the Shaman had asked to see it. He had examined it with interest and nodded approvingly when he handed it back, but he did not comment.
With the knowledge that his time was coming, Draco listened carefully as the three candidates told their stories.
The first boy had been Apparated to a mountainous area to the West where he had to take refuge in a cave. In the cave, he had found stone with which he fashioned a spearhead. After the first night of solid rain, he ventured out to determine his location and began his descent. Once in the forest, he had finished his spear, lashing the stone tip to a straight shaft of wood. He had to cross the territory of a hostile tribe to return and he had done so quietly, using his hunting and tracking skills to move silently and unseen through the jungle. Along his route, he had been able to track an adult Jaguar. He had made a trap for the animal which should have caught it by the neck and killed it cleanly and quickly. But the big cat had not died quickly; instead, he had to get close enough to kill it with his spear and in doing so he had paid a terrible price as the animal had swiped him across the right chest and shoulder, leaving deep jagged claw marks behind. He had to work very quickly to skin the large cat as he felt its roars could have alerted local hunters who might come to investigate, he hoped they might consider the meat a gift and not pursue him. In the end, he had returned to the encampment successfully and his wounds had been attended to before deadly infection could take hold. He presented his scars and his pelt as his souvenirs.
The second boy had been Apparated to the North where he would also have to cross the territories of potentially unfriendly neighbors. He had been captured by a hunting party and brought to their village where he was recognized as a member of the Spirit People, and immediately accused of a series of unexplained events that had the people frightened. He attempted to explain that while he was of the Spirit People, he was not able to perform magic and could not have caused the things of which he was accused. He was held captive for a day as the tribe determined his fate. He was certain that the tribe would kill him out of fear.
In the dark hours before dawn, he had been freed by a young boy who claimed to be capable of magic and the cause of the mysterious events. He was led quietly to the hut of the boy’s mother. The young potential’s mother, who was aware of her son’s manifesting abilities and afraid for his life, had told him to flee to the Spirit People’s territory where she hoped his abilities would be recognized and he would be accepted.
Because the young boy was only seven rains, the mother explained that she had prayed to the jungle spirits to provide a guide to lead her son to safety. She felt the candidate’s presence was the answer to her prayers. They had gathered weapons and supplies, and the candidate and the young boy fled the village. It had taken almost two days and all of the candidate’s knowledge and skill to avoid their pursuers and make their way to the edge of the Spirit People’s lands where the boy was able to recognize the magical barrier that would cause his tribesmen to feel fear and break off their chase. From there it had taken another full day to arrive back at the encampment. The young boy had been in isolation with the Shaman for several hours but had now joined the encampment to be welcomed by all the older boys. The weapons were presented as the candidate’s souvenirs. The candidate vowed that he would take responsibility for the young boy and that he would return to the Spirit People’s village where he would build a new home for both of them.
Draco wondered if the Shaman had not had some unseen hand in these events, as the timing struck him as convenient. Regardless, the young boy would be safe and cared for and could grow into his potential without fear as a member of the Spirit People.
The third boy had been Apparated somewhere in the magical jungle. He spent his first night alone in a tree. He claimed that he heard a wandering El Tunche in the darkness, its shrill call made it difficult to sleep. But he knew enough not to make a sound in response and risk the creature's angry curse. When he awoke the next morning, he was grateful to have gone undetected. He described the deep cool of the place under the thick canopy of trees. The place made him uncomfortable because he could not see enough sunlight by which to judge his direction. He wandered for some time until he found a path which he followed to the edge of a narrow river. Here he could see the sun and judge his position. As the river was flowing north in the direction he felt he needed to go, he decided to follow it. After walking for most of a day, the river became a fall, crashing into a deep lagoon about ten meters below. He thought a moment about jumping, but the falls seemed to crash onto a stone shelf filled with jagged rocks, and the deep water was farther out than he thought he could safely jump.
Making his way slowly down to the lagoon through the jungle, the boy described hearing a female voice singing. He stopped immediately and listened for a moment. He was still far enough away that the voice sounded beautiful and indistinct, compelling, but not yet enthralling. He suspected it could be an Iara inhabiting the lagoon and he did not want to fall victim to its spell.
Recalling many stories of such encounters, he began looking around for a growth of jungle clover. Among the lavender-colored blossoms, he looked carefully for those having a deeper blue color. These, he knew, would have magical properties. Finding them at the edge of the growth nearest the body of water confirmed his suspicions. He carefully plucked a single blue petal and split it in two with his knife. He rolled each petal piece into a small tube and inserted the tubes into his ears. Immediately he could hear the creature's true voice, which sounded like the gurgling screech of a drowning monkey. He carefully crept closer to the lagoon hoping to see the creature before it saw him.
The Iara was lounging on a stone ledge just feet from the surface of the water. She appeared for the most part as a beautiful young woman, though her hair was green as river algae and her skin appeared wet and slick, with a copper luster. She did not appear to have legs like a human girl, instead, they looked amphibious, like a frog, with multiple layers of flowing, wide, eel-like fins running from hips to ankles. He knew that if he were enthralled by her song, he would have been seeing her as the image of his fondest desire. He approached boldly to make the creature believe that he was under her spell. He came from the trees out onto the stone, approaching her with apparent confidence.
“What are you doing here?” he asked as he stepped nearer.
“I am waiting for you, my love,” the Iara said in its gurgling voice. It moved in what was to be perceived as a seductive way. It raised a taloned hand toward him as if asking to be helped up.
He knew if he took her hand and allowed her to grip him with her talons, she would roll them into the water and he would be drowned.
He approached her slowly reaching his hand out to her, causing her to extend her reach. Smiling to maintain the ruse that he was caught in her spell.
In a quick movement, he grabbed, not her whole hand, but the single longest talon of her middle digit and with his knife cut the finger clean from her webbed hand. There was a spectacular spurt of blood and a startled screech as the Iara realized it had been wounded. He jumped back as the creature rolled away into the water, retreating from the unexpected attack. As he moved quickly away from the water, he could hear the Iara wailing in pain and anger, screaming its impotent wrath upon him.
That evening as he set up his camp, he removed the flower petals from his ears and used the talon to light his fire and to cast protections over himself. The next morning, he woke confidently refreshed and was able to make his way back into the known territory of the Spirit People. By nightfall of his third day, he arrived back at the encampment.
After his story, he held up the Iara talon as triumphant proof of his tale, and the boys cheered him proudly.
The celebration went on late into the night, with food, dancing, singing, and storytelling. Slowly, the boys began to head to their hammocks as the moon rose high into the night sky. Draco was one of the first of the older boys to head to sleep. It had been a long, busy, and exciting day, and he had been having a feeling that something more was coming.
In the early hours of the morning, at the first light of dawn, Draco was awoken by a drum beat. He sat up to realize that men had surrounded his hammock. As no one else in the building seemed to be disturbed, Draco concluded that the men must be contained by a spell of silence. The men were shuffling around his hammock in time with the drumbeat and chanting in rhythm, “The boy must die, so the man may live.” They carried brightly burning torches and were wearing full ceremonial regalia. Some were wearing masks meant to evoke creatures of the jungle. After initially being startled, Draco calmed himself in the realization that the time had come for him to begin the trials. One of the men tossed a handful of some powder into the air over his hammock and it ignited with a brilliant flash. At that moment Draco felt the twist of Apparation grip his belly, and though it was familiar, it had been a long time since he had last felt it and it was quite unpleasant.
When his eyesight adjusted, he could see that the whole group now appeared to be in a large cave. He lay on the ground in an oval of soft white sand. He pushed quickly to his feet facing the man who had cast the flash powder over them. He said nothing.
The men were still chanting with the drums as the beat grew quicker and louder. They moved to form into a single line as they circled him several times. Finally, they moved away and Draco could see that he was not the only candidate. Another boy was across the cave a few meters standing in a similar oval of white sand accompanied by a similar group of men. Draco recognized the boy as Kúmmeté, a sixteen-year-old he had been getting to know over the past weeks. Both groups of men moved slowly together until they combined into a single line then suddenly, the drum stopped, and the cave fell silent.
Where the two groups of men had come together the line parted again, separating the two groups of men and the Shaman, in full colorfully feathered regalia, stepped forward to address the boys.
He turned first to Kúmmeté. “Kúmmeté, you have been watched over time. This quorum of men,” he gestured toward the line of men on that side of the cave, “all feel that you are ready to face the Manhood trials. Are you ready Kúmmeté, to shed the ways of a child and claim your place as a man of the Spirit People?”
Kúmmeté puffed his chest out. “I am ready,” he answered boldly.
“You are so certain?” the Shaman questioned.
Kúmmeté did not waiver, “Yes. I am certain,” he said.
There was a loud affirmative response by the men.
The Shaman turned to face Draco. “Dracho, your life journey has led you to this place. When you came to the Spirit People, there was much question about what should be done with you. You desired to change your life, and so you have. You have been watched closely. This quorum of men,” he gestured toward the line of men on this side of the cave, “all feel that you are ready to face the Manhood trials. Are you ready Dracho, to shed the ways of a child and claim your place as a man of the Spirit People?”
Draco looked at the men standing next to the Shaman, and then at the Shaman himself. “Yes, I am ready,” he said.
“Are you certain,” the Shaman asked forcefully.
Draco squared his shoulders. “Yes, I am certain,” he said with conviction.
The Shaman raised his staff as high as his arm would stretch, “Then on this day, the trails shall begin!” The men began to whoop and shout as the Shaman slammed his staff down on the stone cave floor.
There was a brilliant flash that momentarily blinded him, and Draco could feel the hands of the men pulling at him. They lifted him above their heads and carried him out of the cave a distance into the still dark jungle. It took them about five minutes, by Draco’s estimation, to reach where they were going. In the shadows of dawn and by the flashing torchlight, he could see several tree trunks that looked as though the bark had been rubbed smooth over time. He was unceremoniously lowered, back against one of these trees, and immediately lashed in place against it, his hands bound behind him around the truck. He could see that the same thing was happening to Kúmmeté, and he saw the boy start to struggle against the men. Draco kicked his leg in protest as the men attempted to bind his ankles at the base of the tree, but one of the men leaned in near his ear and whispered. “Do not struggle Dracho, the harder you fight the tighter your bonds will become. Be calm and breathe deeply.”
Draco was not sure which man had spoken, but he immediately stopped struggling and followed the man’s advice. It seemed to make logical sense, and Draco had always preferred logical things.
The men completed securing him to the tree and then stepped back to admire their work. One of the men stepped forward. He was holding a large wooden bowl over his head. By his movement, the bowl seemed heavy in his hands. He stepped right up to Draco and began pouring the bowl’s liquid contents slowly over Draco’s head. The liquid seemed thicker than water and had a sweet, earthy, pungent odor. The taste of it on his lips was like the smell of copper and the decay of the forest. The viscous stuff seemed to cling to his flesh, dripping slowly down his limbs. It was not sticky, exactly, more, slimy. In defiance of gravity, it seemed to creep behind his ears, beneath his arms, and along the back of his legs, coating him persistently.
Once the bowl had been emptied the man stepped back. Nothing further was said, no instruction or guidance, the men just turned and strode away leaving Draco and Kúmmeté, bound to the trees and covered in whatever-it-was.
Once the men had completely disappeared Kúmmeté spoke. “Dracho, can you hear me?” he asked.
Kúmmeté was situated at a tree behind and to the left of Draco’s position, so while he was not in Draco’s view he could be heard clearly. “Yes, I hear you,” Draco replied.
“Do you think that you can free yourself?” Kúmmeté asked.
Draco could hear Kúmmeté straining against his bounds. “I would not struggle Kúmmeté,” Draco cautioned him. “One of the men told me that struggling will just make the bonds tighter. I do not think this trial is about escape. I think it is about self-control.”
“This sap all over us is going to attract lots of insects,” Kúmmeté responded, he sounded near panic.
“I think, that is the point,” Draco said. “You must relax and breath if you hope to control your mind and body once it is covered in insects.” He couldn’t tell whether he had reassured Kúmmeté, or sent him further into a panic. Draco had become somewhat used to insects while digging pits when he had first arrived at the encampment, but he certainly didn’t relish the idea of having perhaps hundreds crawling upon him all at once.
Some hours later that was exactly how Draco found himself, covered head to toe by many hundreds of what seemed mostly to be ants. The tickle of them all over his body made him want to squirm and shake them off, but he knew that would get him stung. Thankfully these were not the large black bullet ants with venom that was incredibly painful and lasted twenty-four hours. Nonetheless, these smaller red-brown ants still had a nasty sting, and if stung by a sufficient number could be completely incapacitating, if not fatal. He had spent most of the morning coaching Kúmmeté to focus on breathing. Not that Draco himself was an expert, but he remembered Professor Snape, coaching him to breathe and concentrate to learn to cast more difficult spells, he also recalled that he had heard the Shaman once say, “Breathing is key to controlling anything.” So, he had extrapolated from those memories a strategy to attempt to control his mind and body through breath. The breathing seemed to be working for both of them as Kúmmeté had not made any sound that indicated that he had been stung. Thankfully, Draco had realized that between the ants collecting the stuff and his profuse sweating in the hot dank of this dark part of the jungle, much of the slimy stuff had seemed to slough slowly off of him, making the concentration of ants mostly below his chest level.
By his estimation, they had been left at the mercy of the ants for around six hours before the men returned. They came with large containers of cool fresh water which they poured over their heads to gently rinse the ants away, this took some time, but finally, they released Draco and Kúmmeté, and, praising them for enduring the ants, escorted them to a river where they were able to completely clean away any remaining slime.
Afterward, they were returned to the cave where they were given a meal of yams mixed with meat and vegetables presumably from the feast the night before. They were able to ask questions of the men and learned that they had performed much better than expected in the first trial, known as the trial of Body. The men had expected each of them to be stung at least a dozen times, yet neither of them had flinched under the onslaught of the ants, and the men seemed to be very impressed, one of them even confessed that at his trial he had been stung so many times that he had lost the use of his arms under the paralysis of the venom, and it had needed to be magically extracted for him to continue the trials. They said it was common for boys to be stung to the point that they passed out from the venom, and if they could not achieve consciousness upon retrieval, they would be magically healed, all memory of the trial erased, and returned to the encampment having failed their first attempt.
They had also learned that there were three trials total, The trial of Body, the trial of Mind, and the Spirit Quest. As they had just completed the trial of Body, and the Spirit Quest portion of the trials was the only one widely known through story, they asked mostly about the next trial, the trial of Mind. The men would not tell them any details but did say that it was a journey into oneself.
After they had eaten, they all left the cave to gather firewood. Further on in the cave system, it opened into a large dome-like chamber and some areas of light could be seen in the high stone ceiling. The walls here were adorned with carvings and paintings which Draco was told depicted the story of the Spirit People from their birth in the jungle to the creation of their protected space within it, and their treaty with the rest of the Magical world to remain hidden and protected. This was the first indication Draco had seen that there was, or had ever been contact between the Spirit People, and other Wizards.
Off to the side of the chamber was a stone table and on top of it had been laid numerous bunches of dried herbs, mosses, and mushrooms, all laid out next to what Draco could only describe as a carved stone, cauldron stand. Upon it was a clay pot, which resembled many such vessels in Mistress Puntáne’s hut. A fire was set beneath the stand and the contents of the pot seemed to be simmering neatly, giving off a pleasant smell of something very like English tea.
The men had prepared a large stack of wood in the fire pit and much more wood was stacked nearby so that the fire could be kept burning for what Draco assumed would be several hours based on the amount. Just as the men lit the fire there was a distinct “pop” of Apparition and Draco saw that the Shaman had returned. He was no longer adorned in celebratory regalia and he moved directly to the stone table where he busied himself preparing whatever potion lay within.
As the fire began to blaze high, one of the men began to beat a small drum and sing. The other men began to dance around the fire and joined the chant-like singing. The tune was pounding and rhythmic, making it easy to dance around the fire in the foot-shuffling style of the Spirit People.
Draco and Kúmmeté remained opposite one another across the fire with the men dancing around the flames between them. The Shaman approached Kúmmeté and handed him a small wooden cup. He then came directly to Draco and handed him a similar cup. The liquid within was dark and oil thick. The Shaman made a motion for them to drink. Draco raised the cup which had a peppery smell and as he downed the relatively small amount of liquid it tasted unpleasantly of radish and mildew. He handed the cup back to the Shaman who took it with a smile and immediately went to retrieve Kúmmeté’s as well.
For the next few minutes, Draco listened and watched as the men danced around the fire. He soon came to realize that his vision was beginning to blur and his hearing was getting fuzzy. It was almost as though he was drifting quickly off to sleep, though a bit more unsettling. He was uncertain just how long it took for everything to fade to black, but once it did, he was aware that he felt quite awake and alert. The cave was gone, as were the men and the fire, and he seemed to be standing on a perfectly level plane, in pitch blackness.
Slowly at first, the light returned and Draco found himself standing in front of a mirror in his room at Malfoy Manor. It all felt very real. The smell of the place was just as he remembered and he could feel the soft woven rug beneath his bare feet. In the mirror, his reflection was Draco as he had been when he had last stood in this space. He was taken aback by his appearance. He was skinny and pale, his shoulders drooped slightly and he looked, on the surface, sickly and unsure. His expression, however, communicated a different message.
Draco simultaneously recognized and remembered the pompous, devious, and cruel arrogance that he had worn as a mask. At that moment he could only think how much he looked like his father. He found himself wondering how anyone could have tolerated his presence. As a memory, he now realized that tolerance was very much all he’d ever received from anyone that counted themselves his equal or better. The only people who had ever given him anything resembling respect were those whose positions or families owed some sort of debt or allegiance to his father’s business or political standing. It was a thin veneer to hang so much imagined importance upon. Draco himself had, of course, believed it, as his father had raised him to, but now it was so easy for him to see, and admit the truth. He cringed, recalling what he had been and how he had treated those around him. He could see now why the nickname of ferret had stuck among the other Hogwarts houses.
The Draco in the mirror was not his true self and facing him now was becoming increasingly uncomfortable. As he watched, his reflection began to fade, replacing itself with an accurate reflection of Draco, as he was, standing there. Likewise, the surroundings also faded leaving only a tall mirror hanging from nothing, amidst a void of darkness, and Draco standing before it. The reflection now in the mirror was much more satisfactory. This Draco stood taller with confidently squared shoulders and a much more developed, some might say athletic, physique. His altered complexion made him look healthy and vibrant, and his facial hair, older. “This is a much better me,” he said to himself.
Just as he spoke aloud, almost as if in reaction, two figures began to form behind him. He turned in response and found that the figures appeared only in the mirror. The first of them to come into focus was Voldemort. The pale, white, snake-like face appeared, stark against the dark background.
“Draco,” The Dark Lord, hissed. “Cowardly son of my incarcerated servant.” The reflected face came so close Draco could feel the warm breath on his neck. The sensation felt very real, even though Draco could sense that only the reflection had any presence. The mere suggestion of the Dark Lord’s memory made Draco’s muscles cramp as he recalled his treatment during their last encounter. Instead of cowering at the sensation, Draco bristled with anger, his whole being resolved that this creature of evil must meet an end. “You have changed since your banishment, boy,” Voldemort observed. “You are uncharacteristically bold in your anger. I can feel hatred dripping off of you, and a strong desire for vengeance. Do you consider yourself wronged at my command?” There was no pause, or expectation of an answer as The Dark Lord continued. “You were fairly punished for your failure in my judgment. And, after all is completed, it is only my judgment that matters. You were meant to die upon your banishment, and even if you have hung onto life, none has ever returned. So, you remain an impotent failure in my judgment. A coward forever.” With a sickening, cackling laugh the image of the Dark Lord retreated into the darkness. Draco simply said nothing, his fear of this evil creature was greatly diminished by his new knowledge of self.
The second figure stepped forward from the darkness and Draco knew immediately that this was his father, Lucius. He appeared just as the last time Draco had seen him, on the day of his sentencing to life at Azkaban, in the Ministry for Magic. He still wore the black Death Eater’s cloak he had worn during the battle at the Ministry, the night of his capture. That night when Harry Potter and his friends had gone for the prophecy.
Draco recalled how he had looked with admiration at his father on the day of his sentencing. His father who, stood defiantly in the courtroom and declared his loyalty to the Dark Lord. Who boldly displayed his Dark Mark and screamed at the members of the Wizengamot that there would soon be a day of reckoning when Voldemort claimed his rightful place as the true ruler of the Wizarding world. At the time Draco had seen it as an act of bravery; a declaration of loyalty and faith in the rightful claim to power of the Dark Lord.
As he remembered it now, he could only see it as the desperate act of a frightened, but calculating man, clinging adamantly to the idea, that if it came to be true, this declaration might win him his freedom, and Voldemort’s good graces.
In the mirror, Lucius stepped closer. His father’s smug expression was so familiar and his arrogant stance was designed to express superiority. He carried the walking stick that concealed his wand, he’d had it made intentionally to be interpreted as a sign of nobility. Draco could see past all pretense now.
The reflection’s expression changed to disgust. “What is the meaning of this?” his father demanded. “You are a Malfoy, boy. How dare you lower yourself to the level of these animals.”
This was a familiar scene. Draco standing there while his father ranted and berated him for what often came to feel like his own pleasure.
“Look at you, have you no self-respect, Draco? Presenting yourself, more than half naked, as a savage. What if your mother were to see you? And, what is that stupid thing around your neck? Bits of stone and bone? I insist you remove it this very instant.” The voice of the reflection was growing louder and angry, just as his father had done on very many occasions. “And go and put some proper clothes on, you dimwitted boy, you are an embarrassment as a son and far too imbecilic to ever become a man worthy to walk in my footsteps.”
Draco slowly shut his eyes against the familiar verbal onslaught. He did not need to watch the reflection to know that his father would be sneering and eyeing him like an owl watching a mouse. Or to see that he would be pacing frantically like a caged predator as his brain produced one invective after another to hurl at his only son.
“Will you never grow up,” his father’s voice continued insistently, “or do you intend to always be a stain on the tapestry of the Malfoy family? Such a stupid, stupid child you are Draco, if you do not show some aptitude soon, I shall have to disown you. You will never be worthy. You will never become a man!”
“Shut up!” Draco declared loudly. He had never said such a thing to his father, he could never have imagined it, even at the moment he expected to feel the sting of his father’s cane across his back. It didn’t come.
Draco took a steady breath and opened his eyes. The reflection was gone, the mirror, and the darkness with it. He was standing now in bright sunlight, the sound of falling water breaking into his consciousness. It took him a moment to recognize his surroundings. It was the falls near the village, the place where he had first met Titchi. He turned toward the bank of large stones where they had stood and there, not far away appeared to be Titchi kneeling at the very spot. Draco called her name and ran toward her, she turned, stood up, and smiled at him in recognition. He came directly to her; he felt a strong urge to embrace her but felt that it would be inappropriate. She looked at him curiously, “I have wished for your return, Dracho, your return as a man,” she said. Her presence made him feel warm, full inside, with an odd sort of joy, he wanted to know what that meant. “You have changed, Dracho.” She said as she traced her fingers across her chin almost as he might rub at his neatly trimmed goatee. “I like it. You look older, but are you yet a man?”
Before Draco could consider a response there was a deafening screech from the direction of the village, and the sound of snapping, breaking wood. He turned his head toward the disturbance. The screech seemed to turn almost immediately into a snake-like hiss. As the hiss died away, Draco could hear the distant screams of the villagers. He turned back to Titchi but she was no longer there.
Beyond the trees, the village seemed to be erupting in fire and he could hear pops and concussive bangs that sounded distinctly like offensive spell-work. He dearly wished he had a wand, but even without it, nothing was going to keep him away from the village. He rushed up the path, bursting out into the central village gathering place where the large stone fire pit formed the center place of the greater village. Most of the surrounding huts were on fire and panicked villagers seemed to be hurrying to try to put them out, some with buckets and some with magical streams of water. The village had clearly been attacked, huts torn into and set ablaze. Whatever had done this was either large or many. There were fallen villagers all splayed out in a circular pattern around the fire pit as though something large and heavy had been swung around to knock them all down. On the ground were what looked like deep heavy claw marks of some sort, they seemed to move away from the fire pit right toward one of the main pathways through the larger village, He followed the marks quickly thinking they somehow seemed familiar. Somewhere he had seen something similar. The marks seemed to get shallower and farther apart as he followed them and suddenly recognition hit him. These looked very much like deep prints he had seen during his fourth year at Hogwarts during the first task of the Triwizard tournament. These marks looked like dragon prints. The thought made him stop and look at the sky. In the distance, he could see it silhouetted in the sky. It appeared to be carrying at least two villagers, one in each talon.
In a panic, Draco began looking at the village around him, and at the many wounded. He needed to know that Titchi was all right. Further up the path, he saw what appeared to be a small child kneeling next to a fallen villager. He recognized the child, even from the back he could tell it was Nuncha, and that meant that the fallen villager was probably someone she knew. He ran forward calling the little girl's name, but she did not seem to hear him. He could see as he drew closer that the wounded person was indeed Titchi and his heart dropped. As he reached her, he could see that she had been hit in the head just over her left eye. He fell to his knees at her side and tried to take her hand, but his own passed through hers as though it had no substance. He was confused, angry, and afraid all at once and his world began to spin. He could feel himself losing consciousness, he collapsed to the ground and looked up into the blue sky above. It simply faded away to darkness.
Then, Draco woke up.
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Chapter Thirty-Two
Wizard World War
Chapter 33: Chapter 32 - Wizard World War
Author's Notes: Happy Holidays everyone, I wish you all the best! Here is another chapter. I know my postings an be a bit unpredictable, but I am determined to see this story through. A huge thank you to my Beta reader Arnel. I cannot thank you enough for what you do.
Wizard World War
The portraits of the Founders were each life-sized, full-figure paintings on canvases big as doorways, set in extravagant gilded frames. Each of them was dressed in their traditionally preferred color, in the elaborate robe style of the end of the tenth century.
Rowena Ravenclaw was in the first frame to the left of the alcove table. She was a tall, quite attractive woman with narrow angular features that gave her a somewhat stern appearance. Her robes were layered in shades of deep blue and trimmed in bronze. A matching dark blue cloak was gathered at her right shoulder and clasped in place by a jeweled Peacock brooch. Her pale skin was offset by her black hair which framed her face and was gathered into a singular thick braid from the back, that was pulled forward over her right shoulder, and fell to below her waist. Her dark eyes were alert and seemed to sparkle, as did the jewels of the diadem set atop her head. She held in her arms a heavy leather-bound book and appeared to be standing in the Hogwarts Library surrounded by shelves of neatly bound tomes.
To the right of Rowena, was the portrait of Godric Gryffindor. He was dressed in the very same burgundy and gold traveling cloak they had seen in Caractacus’ memory. Set against a Castle rampart with a background of deep blue sky, rolling white clouds, and distant ocean, he was a tall, powerfully broad man with a thick mane of dark red hair, streaked with hints of gray. He wore a full, chest-length, beard and had penetrating green eyes. He was an imposing figure, clearly not a man to be trifled with, though his expression was smiling and kind. In the portrait his left hand rested on the hilt of his famous sword and in his right was an unsheathed dagger, the hilt shown with a ruby, a miniature of the sword, and the tapered silver tip pointed back and toward the ground. He appeared every bit the commanding knight he had been in life before the founding of the school.
On the opposite wall was Helga Hufflepuff. Her robe was layered in several shades of yellow and gold, with black lace finishes and trim. She had a black leather bag on her side astride her left hip with a broad strap over her right shoulder. The unclasped bag seemed to be overfilled with ingredient pouches and vials. She was the shortest of the Founders being only chest height to Godric Gryffindor. She was a sturdy woman with a round face and broad smile beneath shining blue eyes that gave her an air of generous curiosity, there was just a hint of mischief in her expression. She appeared to be standing in the Hogwarts Kitchens, as there were bunches of dried herbs hanging from the low ceiling above her and there appeared to be a heavy prep table behind her laden with autumn vegetables and various cuts of meats.
Last, opposite Rowena Ravenclaw, and closest to where Harry, Ginny, and Ron were now standing was the portrait of Salazar Slytherin. He was depicted against a darkly forested background. He was wearing deep green-gray robes with silver finishes, and he appeared very much as Harry had seen him in Caractacus’ memory; tall and thin, bald, but with thick bushy eyebrows and a narrow graying beard nearly reaching the ground. Though the accents of his dress were all in silver, in stark contrast, was the heavy gold locket that hung from a thick gold chain around his neck and featured a large letter S set in small irregularly cut emeralds that resembled scales upon close examination. Harry knew this locket all too well, and he knew that it had already been destroyed, cleaved asunder by Kreacher, using Caractacus’ very same axe.
“Why Slytherin, Harry?” Hermione asked.
Harry took a long breath before responding. “We are all members of Gryffindor house here. Even you, Professor, were a Gryffindor when you were a student, so I understand the impulse to want to talk to Gryffindor right away. But this is the Chamber of Secrets, and it does not contain Gryffindor’s secrets. Slytherin is who can tell us the most about this place and most likely about Tom Riddle. Plus,” Harry pointed at the white ribbons on the four portraits, “it looks to me like Slytherin, is the only one that has been previously untied.”
“Okay, we get it, mate,” Ron said before Hermione, or the card could respond. “And your reasoning is sound. How do you reckon old Slither-in is going to respond to us waking him up? Especially once he learns you’re a Potter.”
“Well, I can see how that might get complicated,” Harry responded slowly. “But why should Slytherin be aware of me as a Potter? When Tom Riddle was here in the Chamber, he did not know the Potters existed.” Harry tugged his ear in thought. “Unless for some reason Slytherin asked about my family. But why would he, as far as he knows, he ended the Potter family a millennium ago.”
“That is true, but beside the point.” The Dumbledore card cut in. “The portrait will no doubt ascertain our purpose and intent, quickly enough; the question is, why would it give us any information at all?”
“We won’t know that answer until one of us tries to talk to it,” Hermione said. “Time may work in our favor.”
“What do you mean Miss Granger?” The card asked.
“I mean. If the Slytherin portrait believed that his heir had come to start his war for pure-blood supremacy; as the real Slytherin predicted in the memory of Harry’s ancestor. And, if it further, believed that such a war would be quickly won. It will no doubt be surprised to be awakened by someone other than that heir,” Hermione said.
“Yes, and when would have been the last possible time Tom could have spoken to the portrait?” Harry asked. “Professor, when was Tom’s seventh year at Hogwarts?”
“His last year would have been nineteen-forty-four, nineteen-forty-five. The same year as my final battle with Grindelwald,” the Dumbledore card responded.
“That’s fifty-two years ago,” Ginny interjected.
“Professor, in one of your memories Tom, having fully become Voldemort, returned years later to ask for a job,” Harry stated. “Is there any chance that he might have visited the Chamber then?”
The little Dumbledore considered the question for a few moments. “I don’t think so,” it said. “As Headmaster I had access to many tools to use for the school’s security. When Voldemort requested an audience with me, he would have suspected that I could carefully track his movements, and in fact, I did. As I recall, he arrived at the gate in the company of several companions, who were denied entry. Once inside the gates, he came directly to my office where we had our talk. I suspected he had some other purpose beyond the request of employment, and I was not about to let him foul the school with his dark agenda. Once he left my office, I again, tracked his movements through the school. He went directly to the Defense classroom where he lingered long enough to jinx the teaching position. Of course, I did not know why he paused at all until later. He then exited the school, returning to his waiting companions. If Voldemort had done anything else during that visit, I am confident I would have learned what it was long ago.”
“So, it has been fifty-two years then,” Harry said.
“Harry, what about first year?” Hermione interjected; her voice riddled with concern.
“What do you mean?” Harry replied, “What about first year?”
Ron chimed in, “She means, Professor Quirrell. Voldemort possessed him all during our first year, could he have come down here then?”
“That is an excellent question.” The Dumbledore Card spoke up from its place on the edge of the table. “I, however, think it doubtful. Voldemort was still very weak that entire year, and so his focus was on stealing the Philosopher’s Stone which he believed could have restored him,” the card paused. “Coming down here would have presented the question of exercising control over the Basilisk, which I would guess requires exacting command of Parseltongue. If Professor Quirrell was resisting at all, then such control would have been uncertain. I hardly think Voldemort would have wanted to risk being Petrified in such a state as he was at that time.” There was a small pause then the card added, “I think the mere fact that there were no Basilisk attacks during your first year may be taken as evidence enough that Voldemort did not venture into the Chamber at that time.”
“So, we agree,” said Harry, “it is extremely unlikely that Tom or Voldemort attempted to visit this chamber since leaving school in nineteen-forty-five?” He looked at Hermione who nodded tentatively in return.
“Well, go on then Harry,” Ginny said, “we aren’t going to learn anything more standing here talking about it, and it is just a portrait, no matter how it reacts it is not going to be capable of doing much worse than yelling at us.”
Harry nodded and turned to face the Slytherin portrait. He stepped up to the canvas and reached out taking one end of the bowknot between his fingers. With a slow exhale of breath, he tugged at it.
The knot unraveled, and the two strands of ribbon fell open to either side. Harry stepped back.
There was a long moment before any discernable movement and then Slytherin brought his right hand to his head and closed his eyes, like one stricken with a sudden headache. He took several steps backward and sat in a rough wooden chair that had not initially been visible behind him. Next to the chair on a flat tree stump was a thrown ceramic cup and pitcher. Slytherin poured a bit of whatever was in the pitcher into the cup and hastily took a drink. When he’d set the cup back down, he finally looked up beyond the frame, he seemed a bit groggy, like he had been awakened in the middle of a dream. Recognition seemed to flash across his face, and he said, “Tom? Is that you, boy?”
Harry responded reactively, “No, Sir. I am not Tom Riddle.”
Slytherin got up from his chair and moved toward the frame. He seemed to be taking in everything he could see quite carefully. “No, I can see that now. You are not Tom Riddle, Tom never brought others into the Chamber with him.” Slytherin was observing each of them in turn, before addressing Harry directly, again. “I must say, you do bear a bit of a resemblance to Tom, and I am guessing that if you can enter my Chamber, you must be a Parselmouth. So, a relative, perhaps.” It was more a statement than a question, so Harry did not attempt to answer. “Let me ask this; just how long have I been asleep this time?”
“May I assume that Tom, re-tied your ribbon at the end of the school year in nineteen forty-five?” Harry asked.
“Yes, it was just after school ended, he had asked the headmaster if he could remain and become a teacher, but the imbecile refused, so Tom came to tell me he must leave for a time and close up the Chamber. But he promised he would return when he’d completed his task.” Slytherin replied.
“Then Sir, you have been asleep for an additional fifty-two years,” Harry said. Before Slytherin could consider that information and formulate additional questions, Harry pressed forward with his own. “The portraits of your fellow founders. Have they ever been awakened?”
“What?” Slytherin was still thinking. “Oh, no, Godric, Helga, and Rowena have never been awakened, not since the portraits were originally painted. Why do you ask?”
“Curiosity, I guess,” Harry said. “It has been over a thousand years, that is a long time to slumber.”
“It is indeed, though these portraits were created by the finest Wizard artist of the time and enchanted by the surest known method, so I suspect they would wake just fine, but I have no present desire to wake them,” Slytherin said, his voice developing a tone of arrogance. “Right now, I am concerned with what has happened in the past fifty-two years. And just exactly who you are, that is here in my Chamber to wake me now?” his voice rose from arrogant to demanding. “Where is Tom Riddle, what has become of him, he cannot be dead?”
“The story of Tom Riddle, or Lord Voldemort, as he prefers to be known is long and complicated, but if you wish it, I will tell you what I know,” Harry replied.
In a near whisper, Hermione asked, “Are you sure that’s a good idea, Harry?”
Harry didn’t reply to her question remaining focused on the portrait. Ron stepped closer and put his arm around her, hugging her to his side, he could feel her apprehension and fear.
“Tell me what you know, Harry.” Slytherin encouraged, speaking the name he had just heard, as though he had just discovered a secret.
“Answer some of my questions first.” Harry said, “and I will tell you all of the truth as I know it.”
Slytherin seemed to be considering Harry carefully for a long moment and then he nodded his agreement.
“You just said that he cannot be dead. So, you know about his Horcruxes?” Harry asked forcefully.
Hermione gasped at the question.
Slytherin smiled slyly. “You know a great deal about him. Yes, I know about Tom’s, or Lord Voldemort’s Horcruxes.” He said almost proudly. “I helped him formulate his plan before he left school.”
“He planned to create six total Horcruxes so that counting himself, there would be seven parts of his soul, is that correct?” Harry pressed.
“Oh, you do have some knowledge, don’t you, Harry?” Slytherin responded seeming to show enjoyment at the exchange. “Yes, the plan was to create seven total pieces. Seven being a magically potent number. Historically, there is no evidence that any Wizard ever attempted to make more than one, and Tom liked, both the challenge and the seeming guarantee of immortality.”
“Do you know what objects Voldemort chose to make his six Horcruxes?” Harry asked frankly.
“Of course, I know,” Slytherin said with the focus of one moving a chess piece to a prominent position on the board. “The question is, do you?”
“Ah, a test?” said Harry, sounding almost delighted, causing the others to react with dismay. “Presented like the Professor you once were. You want to know what I know? Okay.” Harry proceeded with a hint of aggression creeping into his tone. “Tom Riddle, a half-born Wizard, orphaned by prejudice and circumstance turns out to be the heir of Slytherin. Discovering this he feels destined to fulfill the goal of cleansing the Wizard world in pursuit of pure-blood Wizards and Wizard supremacy over Muggles.” He paused, raising a finger to point at the canvas, “Your goals, Sir, your misplaced ambition. But that is not enough for Tom Riddle, his ambition is loftier still, He is not content to rid the world of Mud-bloods and Squibs, and subjugate the Muggles, he seeks dominance over everyone and everything, with himself as absolute ruler. And part of this plan includes his immortality.”
Slytherin’s expression changed as Harry persisted. He looked unsure as he considered Harry’s words. “Sometime, earlier I think than anyone suspected, Tom, discovered The Chamber of Secrets, and your portrait. He was a charismatic, intelligent, capable young man and you were delighted to learn he was your descendant and ready to take up your cause. So, delighted, in fact, that you either overlooked or shared and supported his darker ambitions. You taught him, and mentored him, even encouraging him to hatch a new Basilisk. Then in the summer of his sixteenth year, he found and murdered his Muggle relatives and framed his Uncle Morfin, gladly sending the only other of your true living descendants to Azkaban Prison for the rest of his natural life. He showed up back here with a ring that you recognized, a ring of the Peverell family which must have been handed down to you at one point. He made this ring his first Horcrux, and once he had successfully created one, he quickly developed the idea that more would be better. Seven, in fact, a modest number that feels achievable and is magically significant. Perhaps you suggested the number to him, if not, you most likely supported his ideas and encouraged action. Somewhere along the line, he chose to use his diary to make another Horcrux, so he had himself, something of his creation ̶ the diary, and something of his basest ancestry going back to the Peverells. With these three parts in place, he needed four more, and what better symmetry than to pick something from each of the four Founders of Hogwarts? And here we discover that Tom had these portraits for inspiration. The Cup of Hufflepuff, which he found and stole years after he left school,” Harry pointed dramatically at the cup in the portrait in the next frame. “Along with your very own locket, the one you have there, painted around your neck,” Harry pointed at the locket and Slytherin stepped back clasping his hand over the painted locket as though it were equally precious.
“These objects we know were made Horcruxes. The final two remain a bit more mysterious, something of Rowena Ravenclaw’s either her diadem, or her Peacock brooch, both of which appear in her portrait, and something of Godric Gryffindor’s.” Harry glanced over at the portrait and realized suddenly that Gryffindor was pictured holding a dagger in his right hand. “The dagger,” he proclaimed. “It is an object forgotten to our time, but its presence in the portrait would have been enough to entice Tom to find it. So, there are the seven Horcruxes; Himself, the ring, the diary, the locket, the cup, the dagger, and the brooch or diadem.” Harry counted them off with his fingers as he named them. “So, tell me, Professor, how did I do?”
Slytherin looked at Harry with suspicion. “How can you know all of this about Voldemort? What knowledge you have coincides exactly with mine, though differing in slight detail. Of course, he had to find some of the objects which could not have happened until after he closed my Chamber.” The portrait looked lost in thought for a moment, before speaking again. “Your very presence suggests that he succeeded.”
“I believe that he did, sir,” Harry said, calmer now. “And thank you for confirming all of my guesses.”
Slytherin gave Harry a look of disdain and frustration. “But if Voldemort succeeded with his Horcruxes, he must also have succeeded in the war. He would be immortal and unstoppable. So why is it that you are here and not he?”
“Because, sir, Voldemort may have made his seven Horcruxes, but he has not yet succeeded at conquering the Wizard world and dominating magical species. Nor is he yet even close to enslaving all of Muggle kind.”
Slytherin had grown visibly angry, he was pacing in his frame, frantically trying to work out what had gone wrong. “Impossible!” he proclaimed. “Tell me,” he demanded, “what could have prevented Voldemort from achieving his goals for so long?”
Harry smiled. “Me,” he said.
“You!” Slytherin declared in disbelief. “But you are just a boy. What makes you so special as to stand in Voldemort’s way?” It was clear that he was asking the question as part of his thought process. He stepped back from the frame and sank back into the chair. “Impossible, I cleared the way a thousand years ago.” He seemed to be talking to himself now. He mumbled some things that Harry couldn’t make out. Then he looked up again and stared hard at Harry. “Harry?” he said. “Who are you, really?”
“I am Harry… Harry James… Potter.” Harry said with pride.
“Potter?” Slytherin spat. “That is impossible.”
“Why? Because of a curse?” Harry asked, now it was he who was angry. “A curse you cast upon Caractacus Potter after he had defeated you in fair combat?”
“How can you know that?” Slytherin asked, anger turning to suspicion and accusation. “No one knows about that.”
“Caractacus did,” Harry proclaimed. “And he left his memory for me, his great-great-great-great-great grandson.”
Slytherin looked confused and angry. “How is that possible? My curse should have prevented Caractacus from ever fathering children.”
“Ah, for that explanation, we had better wake up Helga and Rowena,” Harry said.
With the dumfounded Slytherin portrait looking on, Hermione moved toward the painting of Rowena Ravenclaw, as Ginny moved toward that of Helga Hufflepuff. Together they gripped the tied ribbons and simultaneously loosened the knots. No one seemed even to breathe as they waited for the portraits to slowly come to life.
The stone floor was cold and hard against the knees of the kneeling figure before Lord Voldemort.
Severus had been here several times before and every time, it brought forth the memory of the night of Dumbledore’s death. The cruelty with which he had been treated on that night was not something he ever wished to see repeated and so it was with great trepidation that he knelt now before the Dark Lord. He looked up briefly to try to gauge Voldemort’s reaction to the disappointing news he had just delivered. He was loath to report yet another failure in the experiments he was conducting with Ollivander to create a wand of great power.
Voldemort appeared to be quite calm and was oddly contemplative regarding the news. Severus had at his master’s request, carefully explained each of the attempts that had been made, right up until the most recent, using silver as a catalyst to get the two disparate core materials to cooperate.
“Rise, Severus,” the Dark Lord directed. Severus got quickly to his feet, glad to be up off the hard stone floor. He wanted to rub his knees but knew that must wait until he was out of the Dark Lord’s presence.
“I have been intrigued by your experiments,” Voldemort continued in his slithering voice. “And though you have so far failed, I believe that your failures have yielded valuable insight. So far you have attempted several inorganic elements as a binder between the Dragon Heartstring, and the Unicorn Hair. Various precious metals and crystalline structures from gemstones?”
“Yes, Lord,” Snape confirmed.
“And your reasoning has been to appeal to the greed of the Dragon through the value of these substances, and their sheer beauty as an appeal to the Unicorn?”
“That is correct Lord,” Snape confirmed again.
Voldemort steepled his fingers, leaning slightly forward on his throne. “Clearly this line of thinking is yielding less than satisfactory results.” Snape nodded but made no audible reply.
“I have an idea,” Voldemort stated. “Each of these inorganic catalysts you have so far tried has some value to the host creatures, but the value is for very different reasons. I believe what you need is something acceptable to or sharing some commonality with both creatures equally. I think I know exactly what that is,” Voldemort sat back on his throne, a look of smug satisfaction taking over his face. “Tell Ollivander that a heavier, thicker wand body will be required, so let us design it instead as a scepter. I will provide gems for decoration. Tell him I want at least four designs to look at tomorrow. I will secure what I need within a fortnight, and all must be prepared beforehand.”
Snape nodded, acknowledging the Dark Lord, but he remained planted in his spot, awaiting his dismissal.
“While your time will no longer be needed for wand core experimentation, I have another task in mind for you.” He paused as though expecting some sort of reaction from Snape. After a moment he continued. “In four days, I have directed a simultaneous offensive on the Ministries for Magic, in Italy, Austria, and Poland. I would like you to lead the attack on Rome. Little resistance is expected from any of these Ministries; however, the presence of the Vatican can lead to unexpected influences, and they do possess their own magical sub-community which makes the offensive there much less predictable. Alphonso Ferro is waiting for you in the main anti-chamber to accompany you as your second. He is a proven Italian Death Eater, and a capable, if somewhat over-eager Wizard. You will leave this evening and join the Death Eaters gathering in secret at Castel Porizialno South of the city to take command. Ferro will brief you on all the details and intelligence needed to carry out my directive. I have made it very clear to him that you will be in charge, and he is to enact your commands without fail.
After the Ministries are taken, I want you to set up a local leadership that will take its commands from me and implement my dictums. Once the policy is in place, we can begin recruiting new Italian Death Eaters to grow our ranks for the next offensives in France and Germany. Then, we will set our sights on England once more.
Until then, I have directed the loyal Death Eaters who remain there to step up their harassment of Wizardkind across the whole of the United Kingdom. I am told that The Ministry for Magic in England has decided to raise a Wizarding Army to fight against us, so I have dispatched spies to Hogsmeade Village to assess its numbers and capabilities. If you have no questions, then you may go and explain to Ollivander, before you prepare to depart with Ferror. This is a crucial assignment for you Severus, and I am trusting that you will not disappoint me.”
“I will not let you down, my Lord,” Snape spoke with seeming confidence.
“Good,” Voldemort seemed to linger on the word as though drawing it out would emphasize just how critical success would be. “Very good. You are dismissed.” Snape nodded and quickly turned on his heel, striding toward the door.
In the anti-chamber was a large, sort-of, dull-looking man in black clothes and charcoal gray robes. His face was square-ish and drawn out as though it had been elongated giving him an unusually thick upper lip and long deep philtrum. His nose was rather narrow between high cheekbones and his gray eyes, which Snape believed were quite normal in size, appeared to be small and beady beneath his prominent brow and enormous forehead. His hair was dark and lank like Snape’s own, and he was not more than an inch or two taller. The largeness of his impression, Snape concluded, was not from any over-indulgence in food, but from a natural, thick and muscular build.
The man turned to approach as the heavily decorated door swung closed behind Snape. He stepped toward the middle of the room holding his hand forward to shake. “Severus Snape, my name is Alphonso Ferro, I am here to accompany you to Italy on our Master’s orders,” his accent was thick and though his word usage was accurate, it was clear his command of English was far from complete fluency.
Snape took the man’s hand in a firm handshake and responded in spotless Italian. “It is good to meet you, Alphonso, you are to be my second in command. The Dark Lord tells me you are among his most faithful servants, and I will have great need of your expertise and familiarity with the area if we are to accomplish our Master’s goals together.”
Ferro seemed immediately relieved at Snape’s command of Italian. “Thank you, yes, thank you, I am pleased that you will not be dependent on my translation abilities, or the use of a translation spell, this will make things much easier.” He shook Snape’s hand perhaps a little too eagerly causing Snape to pull it away with some force. “I have so much to brief you on, how soon can you be ready to depart?”
“I have only a few things to gather and a message to convey. I can be ready in twenty minutes,” Snape responded.
“Excellent,” Ferro said. “I have a Portkey ready and waiting in the front courtyard. I will wait for you there.”
“Very good,” Snape gave the man a quick nod and departed into the depths of the castle toward Ollivander and to gather himself for his new assignment.
“How did you know Harry?” Ron asked.
They were finishing their showers and getting dressed in the Quidditch locker room. The practice had run a bit long and the rest of the team had all been anxious to get back up to the castle for what remained of late evening tea. They were the only two left in the locker room.
“How did I know what?” Harry responded.
“I have been thinking about that day in the Keep when you woke up Slytherin’s portrait. How did you know he would be cooperative?” Ron asked.
“Was he, cooperative? It didn’t feel that way to me,” Harry said with a chuckle.
“Well, he was a bit cagey at first,” Ron observed, “but he gave you every bit of information you asked for. And after we woke up the other portraits, he even became helpful.”
“The truth is, I didn’t know,” Harry said. “Not until Ginny reminded me that it was just a portrait. Then I remembered some things my parent’s and grandparent’s portraits said.”
Harry stuffed the last of his Quidditch pads into his locker and shut it tight. He raised his wand at the hasp and silently performed both the locking charm and a security ward. There was nothing of any particular personal value left in the locker, but Harry had learned to be careful as his first set of new pads had already gone missing and he wasn’t keen on playing any matches wearing pads he had not already broken in. He zipped shut his Quidditch duffle and turned to Ron. “Ready?”
Ron pulled his own duffle strap over his shoulder and followed Harry toward the locker room door. “So, what was it they said?”
“Who?” Harry asked, not fully engaged in the conversation.
“Your parent’s and grandparent’s portraits,” Ron said a slight bit of exasperation creeping into his tone.
Harry pushed the door open and stepped out. Ginny was there waiting just a few paces away. “What takes you two so long in the locker room?” she asked.
“Ron likes to stand in the hot shower,” Harry replied, he made his way directly to Ginny and greeted her with a quick kiss.
“Hey, it’s not just me that’s enjoying this new stadium,” Ron complained, “Harry likes the hot water too.”
“That’s fair,” Harry smiled.
Harry quickly swapped his bag from his right to his left shoulder so that he could walk hand-in-hand with Ginny. They started up the path toward the castle.
“Do you want to stop by the Great Hall to see if we can catch the end of evening tea?” Ginny asked.
“If we hurry, we can grab snacks, and take them up to Hermione’s room,” Ron said as he quickened his pace next to them.
“Hermione did ask us to come to her dorm after practice, but we could grab something to take with us,” Harry agreed.
Ron turned around and started walking backward so he could face Harry and Ginny. He glanced around to make sure that they were alone still. “You still haven’t answered my question, Harry.”
“What’s he on about now?” Ginny asked.
“He asked me how I knew the Slytherin portrait would be cooperative. I was about to tell him what my parent’s and grandparent’s portraits told me.”
“Oh, that’s simple,” Ginny began answering for Harry. “No matter how good the portrait, it is still just a portrait.” Ginny paused to breathe against the inclined walk to the castle. “A portrait may have memories and information from the person’s life. Really good ones, like most of them at Harry’s home, and like the ones we just found, copy the personality and mannerisms, but they are only a representation of the person’s life. They are not living, and so as a product of magic they support those who are.”
“So?” Ron questioned blankly.
“So, a portrait cannot reach out and touch the world. Their purpose is to share their knowledge. Any goals that the living person had in life, can shape how they share information, but there is no goal behind it. They simply respond to whoever they are talking to,” Harry said.
“So, they are magically meant to share what they know? Regardless of what they might have wanted in life?” Ron queried, understanding dawning upon him slowly. “But, how is it that portraits can gain new knowledge, or keep secrets then?”
“That’s a simple matter of enchantment,” Ginny continued. “The better the enchantment the more capacity a portrait has to remember new information, and secret keeping is just an extra charm that works best if the personality was so inclined, to begin with.”
“So, the fat lady makes a good door guard, because she loved keeping secrets in life?” Ron asked, still tentative.
“Very likely,” Harry answered. “I figured Tom believed that no one else could get into the Chamber so Slytherin’s portrait probably had never been asked to keep secret anything they talked about. So, I only needed to be careful about Slytherin’s personality. Saying something that would make him uncooperative was possible but, his natural curiosity, and his lack of actual life, makes him more interested in sharing what he knows because he is no longer concerned about the outcome. Make sense?”
“Yeah, I guess,” Ron did not sound fully convinced. “At least it explains why some of the portraits around here can only repeat one or two phrases, while others can carry on pretty normal conversations.”
“Portraits are made to support the living, by representing people of the past, or those who we knew and cared about,” Ginny said. “Most are magically intended to be helpful if possible, in support of the living.”
“There are exceptions, like the portrait of Walburga Black,” Harry said. “It has a lot to do with how they are made. Walburga was intentionally made to be horrid and hateful toward anyone who was not a Black family member, or a believer in pure-blood supremacy. Its concerns were very specific. I only ever saw Kreacher talk to it without it screaming.”
They had nearly reached the castle and as more students were around the closer they got it was time to change the subject.
“Let’s make a quick appearance at evening tea, and we can talk more about it if you like once we get to Hermione’s room,” Harry said.
The Great Hall was bustling with Gryffindors who had waited in support of their Quidditch team before getting an evening snack. There were only about ten minutes left of evening tea, when Ron, Harry, and Ginny arrived. They slowly made the rounds of the various tables exchanging greetings and answering questions about the team and the practice. Ron managed to fill a plate and stay at their usual table but Harry kept moving, shaking hands, and exchanging pleasantries.
Ginny marveled at just how good Harry had become at this sort of public relations, he had reckoned with his fame within the Wizarding world, his standing at Hogwarts, as Quidditch team Captain, and whatever role people thought he would play against You-Know-Who. He was now actively managing his social interactions to make himself seem accessible and approachable. She couldn’t help but be proud of him.
They left the Great Hall immediately once the end of the evening tea bell chimed. That signaled fifteen minutes remaining for everyone to get to their common rooms. They went straight to the common room dropped off their Quidditch bags and headed directly to the alcove beneath the stairs that was the entrance to Hermione’s Head Girl dorm.
It had become a bit of a habit that they would gather in Hermione’s space in the evenings. Harry worried at first that it wouldn’t seem proper, but everyone was just happy to have less competition for the prime spaces in the common rooms.
As soon as they knocked on Hermione’s door she opened it and ushered them into the room, closing the door securely behind them. Several books were strewn across the cocktail table in front of the fireplace and a small box was there in the middle. Crookshanks looked up disinterestedly from his place on a chair near the fireplace.
“I’ve done something,” Hermione announced. “I hope you will not think it too bold of me, but I wanted to challenge myself magically.” She moved in front of the cocktail table and reached for the box. “I wasn’t sure I would be able to at first, the enchantments were rather difficult, to say the least, and I had to decipher them from multiple texts. But then I remembered that I knew someone who could already do at least part of the spell-work, so I was able to manage it after a brief consultation.”
“What Hermione? What is it you’ve done?” Ron asked.
Hermione handed him the little box and he lifted the cardboard lid looking inside.
Ron seemed excited by what he saw. “Is this? He asked Hermione, who was already nodding her head vigorously. “Hermione, that’s brilliant!” he exclaimed. He handed the box over to Harry who held it so that both he and Ginny could see, and he opened the lid.
In the box was a brass and crystal door knob. The crystal knob itself seemed to glow very slightly with a pale blue luminescence.
“Is this an Any-Door-Knob?” Ginny asked. Hermione nodded again. “And you were able to make it?”
“Yes,” Hermione responded.
“This is brilliant, does it work, have you tested it yet?” Harry asked.
“Not yet, I wanted you here,” Hermione said. “Because the only enchanted doors I know are at The Burrow and the Manor. I wouldn’t want to go to the Manor without your knowledge and permission, and I didn’t think Arthur and Molly would approve of me suddenly showing up there when we are not supposed to leave school.”
“Probably a good idea,” Harry confirmed. “Well, let’s pop off to the Manor then shall we?” He handed the box back to Hermione who tipped the knob from its box into her hand. “Do you remember the combination?”
Hermione nodded affirmatively as she moved past Ron toward the door to the water closet.
She crossed to the toilet door and opened it. She carefully twisted the inner and outer knobs until she was able to remove the knob from the outside. She tossed the freed wooden doorknob to Ron who set it down on the cocktail table. She carefully fitted the new knob in the former’s place. A ribbon of soft, blue light emerged from the catch and stretched itself along the edge of the door in both directions.
“This all looks very promising,” Ron said.
Hermione turned the knob the required turns and then said “Potter Manor” in a crisp tone. She pulled the door open to reveal the whole doorway filled with a sheer fabric of soft blue threads of light.
Hermione removed the knob from the door and they all stepped through into the familiar dark Hallway of the Manor. The wall lamps came to life illuminating the space and there were a series of quick ‘pops’ as all four of the Manor Elves arrived.
“Master Harry,” the Elves said in unison. Harry knelt to greet the Elves.
“Is there something wrong at Hogwarts, Master?” Jarphred asked. “We were not expecting you to return until the end of term.”
“No, no, nothing is wrong at all, we were just testing Hermione’s new Portis Omnibus. Hermione held out her hand showing the crystal and brass knob.
Winky edged closer looking at the knob with wonder. “Miss Hermione, makes this new knob?” she asked.
“Yes, Winky,” Hermione answered, “I did.” She held the know lower so Winky could get a closer look.
“Miss Hermione is very, very clever,” Winky said in an awed tone.
“Well, we know it works now,” Ron said. “Is that it, do we head back, or shall we stay a bit? I wouldn’t mind having a bit of a snack myself.”
Ginny pulled Harry back to his feet. “Maybe we should head straight back. What if someone comes to Hermione’s door?”
“Master, Mistress, you and your friends should stay; we’ll bring you tea. Kreacher will watch Miss Hermione’s door and fetch you if anyone knocks,” the elderly Elf offered.
“Master, there is something you should look at in the library,” Jarphred said. “I was going to notify you about it, but now you are here,”
Harry momentarily felt a well of gratitude toward the Elves. For their clear devotion and all that they did for him, even in his absence. “Well, please lead the way then.” He felt Ginny’s hand slip into his and squeeze it. He knew that she was fully aware of his state of emotion and that his gratitude extended to his friends, and especially her as well.
They followed Jarphred, Dobby, and Winky, down the corridor wending their way to the library.
Jarphred talked the whole way, explaining how preparations were already underway for the group's return for the Christmas recess. He spoke about Mr. Hobbs, who Harry understood to be the proprietor of the farm which supplied the Manor with all its meat and produce, having raised a particularly fine flock of geese this year. Jarphred asked if Goose is what the Master would like for Christmas dinner, and Harry said yes, but then realized that Mrs. Weasley had already asked. “I think Goose would be wonderful, Jarphred, but we’ve agreed to have Christmas Dinner at The Burrow,” Harry said.
Jarphred did not seem phased. “Ah, I shall call upon Mrs. Weasley and offer our assistance and the resources of the Manor. For NewYears', Mr. Hobbs can provide anything you like, he has suggested roasting venison, as the deer population is heavy and healthy. He of course has beef, lamb, and pork or any other meat, should you prefer.”
“Venison sounds lovely,” Harry said, though in truth he could not recall ever having had it.
“Harry, how can you consider eating venison when your Patronus is a stag?” Hermione asked, sounding slightly affronted.
“I didn’t think of that Hermione,” Harry responded. “I understand that there is some connection between the red deer and my family. It was my father’s Animagus form when he knew very little about the family, and it’s the symbol used in the logo of Royal Hart, International, which we know is a Potter family company, and as you’ve pointed out it is my Patronus form. But I would think of my relationship with any living deer as one of stewardship and responsibility. I cannot imagine wasting the resource if the deer population needs to be managed.”
“Very well said Master Harry,” Jarphred commented. “Miss Hermione, I can assure you that the Potters have overseen the management of a large native herd, and regularly consumed venison at the Manor since its construction,” he continued. “I dare say that some of the Manor’s Venison recipes originate from times even before that.”
“You’ve made your point,” Hermione conceded. “I like venison. My father goes on an annual hunting trip with some of his friends so I’ve had it many times.”
“All this talk of food is making me hungry,” Ron interjected. Which made everyone chuckle a little.
They arrived at the library and entered unceremoniously. In the middle of the expansive room on the centermost table were two masses of cloud white fully, rectangular shaped, woven cocoons. Jarphred simply pointed at the two objects.
“It’s the books,” Hermione exclaimed. “The Potter Grimoire, and the Book of Merlin!” She rushed forward toward the table and the others hurriedly followed.
As they approached the table, a flutter began above them and what seemed to be the entire troupe of fairies descended quickly, lighting all around the two cocooned books. While there was not much frightening about the colorful fairies their posture was clearly defensive, until they saw who it was before them.
What seemed to be the lead fairie was a bright pink-skinned female with a lavender poof of soft downy feathers adorning her head. She wore an overturned yellow flower as a hat and a sheer, short dress that seemed to be woven of the same silk that cocooned the books, though it had been dyed a soft yellow to match her hat. She was holding what looked like a carved ivory button hook, that in her hands looked like a large staff. All the fairies seemed to be looking about expectantly and seemed disappointed after having looked carefully at each of them.
“I think they are looking for Luna,” Ginny said quietly. She stepped a bit closer and bent down to address the fairie that was holding what Ginny thought was a tool, rather than a weapon. “Hello there,” Ginny said politely. “Were you hoping to see Luna?” The little fairie’s eyes widened at the mention of Luna’s name and she nodded in affirmation. “Are you Pini?” Ginny asked. The little fairie responded with a series of trills and clicks. “I have heard Luna use that name. You are the same fairie that came to us when Hermione and I first visited the library, aren’t you?” The little fairie nodded even more broadly. “I am sorry, but Luna is not with us today.” The fairies seemed to smile with understanding, trilling, clicking, and cooing randomly.
Ginny turned from the table and motioned for Winky, who came close. Ginny whispered something in the little Elf’s ear and with a broad grin, she turned and trotted away toward the exit.
“So, are the books ready?” Ron said from the back of the pack with Dobby and Jarphred.
All the cooing and trilling came to a sudden stop, the fairie’s attention all focused on the little pink one with the odd hook tool. She bowed ceremoniously toward Harry and the others and then turning fluttered up onto the smaller of the two books. She marched up to the upper left corner of what was presumably the cover of the book and swung the hook end of her tool into the web of the cocoon. She then quickly pulled the tool at an angle down toward the opposite corner of the cover leaving a straight clean cut in the fabric of the cocoon. She then flutter-jumped to the larger of the books and made the same sort of cut in the second cocoon. All the rest of the fairies swarmed the books and starting from the cut, rolled and tore away the silk of the cocoon in neat harvested rolls which they immediately began to fly up to their living space above. It took them less than a minute to completely unwrap both books and return.
“Harry,” Hermione whispered. “I have no gumdrops to give to them, they surely deserve a reward.”
Harry turned his head and made eye contact with Dobby who had been listening. Dobby snapped his fingers and a large punch bowl of what smelled like eggnog, without brandy, appeared on the table, next to it on a plate was a stack of thimble-sized cups. Next to that was a platter of frosted butter cookies, a huge bowl of honey-roasted mixed nuts, and for good measure, a platter of multi-colored sugar gum drops.
The fairies quickly congregated around the treats and were joined by numerous others both older and younger who fluttered down from above. They began feasting on the calorie-rich treats. Pini, gave one last bow as Harry came closer and quickly fluttered away to join her troupe.
Harry stepped close and placed his hands on the cover of his family grimoire. The leather was soft and smooth like new, with the family crest inlaid in beautiful gold and silver leaf. He felt the edge of the binding which felt tight and secure, while the page edges were uniform and exactingly aligned. He opened the tome randomly and it fell open within the first quarter of the pages. The paper felt supple and strong with no tears, stains, or dryness. He began reading and found that the book had opened to Alden and Glennis Potter’s recipe for a Wolfsbane Potion. He began reading aloud.
This potion, when carefully brewed using fresh ingredients, and given to a Witch or Wizard, inflicted with lycanthropy within twenty-four hours of the first night of the three-night full moon cycle, has proven to prevent the transformation of the lycanthrope into her Werewolf state. The Witch or Wizard may experience the side effects of hunger for very rare meat and may exhibit a volatile temper if provoked. In general, the potion is very well-countenanced and proven to be effective without a build-up of tolerance, and subsequent loss of efficacy for as much as fifty years.
Beneath the descriptive paragraph was a list of ingredients and brewing instructions.
“Hermione, do you have a bookmark? I want to mark this page for Mooney.” Harry asked.
Hermione stepped up and tapped the page with her wand uttering the word “Notam,” a beautifully decorated ribbon of paper appeared upon the page slipping downward to settle near the seam.
“Thank you,” Harry uttered as he turned the page, leafing through several additional sections in silence.
Hermione turned to the second book. This was a much larger tome, but very unlike the collection of loosely bound papers she had originally seen in the treasure vault, this was a perfect bound book with straight pages and a beautifully and elaborately worked leather cover. The cover depicted Merlin, with his long flowing beard and traditional pointed hat, wand in one hand and staff in another, an owl perched upon his shoulder. He stood before a large tree that wound upward, the branches of which created and encircled a large capital letter “M,” set in shaped crystals of various colored gemstones. Surrounding the man on both ground and within the tree branches were all manner of animals of the ancient British forests, including, when carefully examined many magical creatures. They all seemed to be giving an audience to the Wizard Merlin.
Hermione spent over a minute just looking at the cover. Ron came to her side and began examining it as well.
Hermione closed her eyes and held her breath as she opened the book randomly. She was afraid that she would not be able to translate whatever druidic rune language the book was surely written in. The book fell open near its center, the pages were supple as if brand new. She exhaled her held breath and inhaling took in the smell of the materials and the ink. The whole thing felt and smelled like it had just come from a print shop. She opened her eyes. She could not believe what she saw.
“Harry, Ron, Ginny! They’ve done it, the fairies have done it!” Hermione exclaimed.
“What. What have they done?” Ron asked, the significance of what he was looking at, totally lost on him.
Hermione’s excited outburst had gotten everyone’s attention, including the fairies’ who had been busily feasting, so no one heard the “pop” near the library entrance, or had yet seen Winky’s return with a new arrival.
“It’s in English!” Hermione practically screamed. “What’s more it looks like mostly modern English.”
“Well, wasn’t that what you wanted?” asked a sweetly soft, lilting voice from behind them.
“Yes, of course, but I didn’t imagine it possible,” Hermione said, turning to face the speaker.
The fairies were the first to see Luna from their place on the table. Their reaction was immediate. The whole troupe took flight and swooshed toward Luna faster than eyes could follow. Winky ducked out of the way as the fairies began surrounding Luna in a whirlwind of greeting. When they settled Luna was covered in fairies sitting upon her shoulders and atop her head, the pockets and hood of her nit poncho-style jumper were overflowing with squirming, chittering fairies. “I have missed you too,” she said as many of them seemed to be attempting to hug her.
Once the bulk of the fairies headed back to their feast, Luna moved closer to the table and books.
“However did they manage it, Luna?” Hermione asked, one hand still on the open pages of the book, as though it might disappear at any moment.
“Magic, of course,” came Luna’s response, delivered with a tone that suggested the answer was completely obvious.
“I know that, but they translated it.” Hermione’s excitement was still peaking. “How?”
“They simply did what it is their nature to do, Hermione.” Luna was calm. “They translated it because they knew we would not be able to read it otherwise.”
Most of the fairies had left Luna and returned to their feasting, but Pini, was still on Luna’s shoulder leaning in, making small quiet noises in Luna’s ear.
“Pini, would like to know if you are happy with their work?” Luna said after a long pause.
Harry, Ginny, and Ron all nodded in the affirmative. “Completely,” Harry said.
“Happy?” Hermione asked. “I am ecstatic! I couldn’t be happier. I just never thought it was possible. I just didn’t know.”
“You knew, Hermione,” Luna said stepping forward. “You knew because I told you. That day right here in the library, I told you.” Luna’s normally quiet soft voice took on an edge of disappointment. “You just didn’t believe.”
“I’m, sorry,” Hermione said. “You are right, I didn’t. And I still don’t fully understand. How did that loose collection of mismatched parchments and vellums in a worn leather portfolio, turn into this lovely bound book?”
“Oh? It didn’t.” She was half listening to the quiet trills of Pini in her ear.
“What?” Hermione’s expression turned to confusion and exasperation.
“Alright, enough of this.” Harry stepped toward Luna and Hermione and placed his hand on Hermione’s shoulder. “How about you let the rest of us in on this conversation? Perhaps, Luna, you would care to give a complete explanation of what has happened here?”
Luna paused a moment still listening to Pini, in her ear. “Ah, well, you see that day when you all went to Godric’s Hallow and I went to the Treasure Cave to get the books,” Luna began.
“Well, once we got into the underground cavern and started to cross it, well, it turns out that there is more life in that cavern than any of you may have imagined. Some of it is predatory, and while there is nothing down there that wants to eat anything the size of you or me. As it happens there is plenty that thinks the fairies would make a delightful meal. We ran into a bit of trouble along the way and had to be rescued by the wild fairies that live there.”
“Oh Luna,” Ginny exclaimed, moving closer. “Why did you never say anything?”
“The cocoons were in the library, and no one ever asked,” Luna said without elaboration.
“Luna, you are so calm, all the time, none of us knew there was anything to ask about,” Harry said. “Sounds to me as if there is a story there worth hearing.”
“Indeed,” said Ron, as Hermione nodded.
“So, these wild fairies, in the cavern, are they the decedents of the same tribe that the Library Fairies came from?” Ginny asked.
“Yes, Ginny,” Luna said. “They are. Some of them seem to have memories of common ancestors, and they could identify actual cousins, like Harry and me.” Luna smiled, and after a moment she continued her tale.
“So, the Luminous Wasps were the first to come, attracted to the bright colors of the Library Fairies. They are larger than the Fairies so they were fairly easy to fend off. But, the sounds of fairies in distress brought the wild fairies, and when they arrived that stirred up the Night Flies and the Carnivorous Crickets which attracted the Fire Lizards and Albino Bats, but they were more interested in the wasps, flies, and crickets. All that commotion attracted the attention of the Spitter Crabs, Neon Scorpions, and several of the larger lizards and Salamanders. I think I even saw a Gnarlbacked Trumpeter Toad or two,” she was speaking rather quickly and hadn’t taken a breath. “And then. Well, by the time the Gnome King and his army arrived on what looked like flying Cuttlefish it had all descended into right chaos.” Luna stopped to breathe.
“Flying Cuttlefish?” Ron questioned. “Luna, you are going to have to tell us the full story sometime.”
“Albino Bats?” Hermione asked.
“Gnarlbacked Trumpeter Toads?” Ginny queried.
“Gnome King?” Harry prompted.
“Um hum.” Luna replied with a nod, “Well, King of the Cavern Gnomes anyway. And Harry, she was not happy to hear that your grandparents have passed, or especially that a whole generation was skipped. She wishes the family well all the same and would very much like it if you would visit them.” Luna paused again obviously listening to Pini.
“Luna, as much as I would dearly love to hear the entire tale of Luna Lovegood and the Cavern of Magical Wonders,” Harry encouraged. “Perhaps, for now, you should skip ahead to the books.”
“Yes, Pini, agrees.” Luna said, “Once we got to the treasure vault getting in was no problem just as you said,” Luna nodded to Harry. “The fairies very quickly identified your family grimoire under its cover of linen on the first pillar. They examined it for several minutes and then began wrapping it in fairie silk.
Pini, says that the grimoire had been edited and compiled by previous family authors on multiple occasions and that the book itself was in good order, with a table of contents and index and that it is extensively footnoted and cross-referenced. It just needed to be wholly translated into modern English for Harry’s benefit. So, she asked me to conjure a plain blank book of the approximate size and shape. Luckily that is an incantation my mother taught me. She liked to keep a journal her whole life and she encouraged me to write stories as a child. Once I conjured the blank book, they wrapped it in silk as well and set it beneath the original.
They then turned to the glass dome and uncovered the Merlin manuscripts. They examined these for a long time, restoring individual pieces in the way we saw them restore Hermione’s book.
Finally, Pini came to me and asked if I wanted them to take all that was there and make it like Harry’s family grimoire. So, I said yes.
It took them a couple of hours shuffling and reshuffling the contents of the stack but eventually they had it in an order they liked and they cocooned the whole stack, asking me to produce another blank book. I made an even larger blank book and after examining it they cocooned it as well and placed it beneath the stack.
Then, they started flying all around the vault gathering things. They found an iron cauldron and took it outside where, with the help of the gnomes and wild fairies, they were able to create a circle of stones and gather several juvenile Fire Lizards inside of it. When they placed the cauldron on top of the stones the Fire Lizards seemed to go to sleep and burst into flame.
They filled the cauldron with water from the streams and pools below and began brewing a potion. They dropped in a few gold and silver coins from the vault, along with several colored gemstones. They gathered ingredients from the vault, from the cavern, and from small pouches they brought with them. Once they had what they wanted, and had let the cauldron boil for a bit, they flew the cauldron back into the vault and poured the contents over the two cocooned stacks.
It poured from the cauldron thick, like Black Currant Jelly, and piled onto the tops of the cocoons. Quickly, it began to soak into the cocoon fibers changing colors as it passed down and through. After about five minutes it had soaked through the top cocoons and passed into the ones with the blank books inside. As soon as the upper cocoons returned to pure white, we secured the vault, cleaned up after ourselves, and returned these two cocoons to the library.”
“So, the original materials, my family grimoire, and the Merlin Papers remain in this moment secured and cocooned in the treasure vault?” Harry asked.
Luna and Pini, both nodded affirmatively.
“And these two books,” Harry gestured to the tomes on the table, “are magically created reproductions, accurately translated into modern English, and magically edited with indexing cross-referencing and tables of contents?”
Luna looked unsure, but Pini smiled as big a smile as her little face would allow and nodded enthusiastically.
Harry stepped forward toward Luna and held out his hand invitingly. Pini cooed softly into Luna’s ear and then leaped into flight closing the short distance and alighting softly into Harry's open hand. She continued to smile proudly.
“Pini,” Harry began. “If I didn’t know it was magic, I would call it a miracle, and I would like you to know that you have my gratitude and that of my family. Surely you desire something more for your service than these few treats,” He gestured toward the table where the troupe of fairies was still gorging themselves on the provided treats.
“Harry,” Luna interrupted. “I have a few thoughts on that matter.”
Pini, turned to look at Luna, smiling shyly.
The next Sunday morning Harry and Ginny came down to breakfast as usual with Ron and Hermione and took their typical seats. As had become routine, as soon as they were seated one of them would cast a privacy spell so that they could talk without being overheard. As they filled their plates, Hermione reported that working with Jarphred, they had successfully enchanted one of the doorways in the Slytherin Library, so that now using a Portis Omnibus, it was possible to move directly from the water closet door in Hermione’s dorm, to the corresponding doorway in the Keep, and therefore, from either of these enchanted doorways, it would be possible to get to Potter Manor.
“Good work, Hermione,” Harry said. Ron beamed, smiling despite a mouthful of eggs and sausage.
“Harry’s got some news as well,” Ginny said. Ron and Hermione looked at him expectantly.
“Yes,” Harry began. “Last night, rather later than I would have expected, I received a summons to visit Headmistress McGonagall’s office.”
“And?” Ron interjected between fork-fulls.
“And, she has requested some time to think about Luna’s proposal,” Harry said. “She is particularly inclined to agree, given what little I have explained to her, but she wants to take some time to make proper preparations.”
“Oh, that is wonderful,” Hermione said. “Luna will be so pleased. Does she know yet?”
“We are going to tell her when she gets here,” Ginny said.
Just then a flood of owls burst into the hall from above and began dropping copies of the daily Profit. There were a handful of students who had subscriptions, both Harry and Hermione among them, but this was many more owls than that and the papers were being dropped randomly at every table.
Ron caught one as it dropped toward them and quickly pulled its tie, rolling it flat onto the table where the others were clearing space.
The headline was unmistakable. It read: WAR!
“Well, I guess it’s official,” Harry said, “Wizard World War, has been declared.”
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Chapter Thirty-Three
Winged Serpent
Chapter 34: Chapter 33 - Winged Serpent
Author's Notes: Posting another chapter.
As always big thank you to my Beta Reader, Arnel, for exceptional diligence.
Also, I thought it might be helpful if I added some information on how to pronounce some of the names of the Spirt People
Pronunciation guide:
Chiquett-ká-Tahãken = Chee-ket-ka ‘ta-ha-kin
Chunt’ea = chew-nt yay
Kêsol = Kay-sal
Kut’chem = Coot-chem
Kúmmeté = Coo-met-ay
Jat?zuiã = Hats-zoo-ya
Tenoch?otit?lla = Ten-auch-ko ‘te-choo-la
Titchi = Teet-chee
Zuiã = Zoo-ya
Winged Serpent
Draco woke slowly, he felt confused and disoriented. The anxiety of his dream vision slowly waned as the cave and the familiar faces of the men came into his view. He couldn’t move at first, an aftereffect, the men explained of the potion he had been given.
Once he had recovered enough to sit up, the Shaman approached and asked if he might share in Draco’s induced experience. Draco agreed. The Shaman reached out and holding Draco’s chin raised his head until they made eye contact. The feeling of the allowed Legilimency was warm and calming, Draco could feel the Shaman’s presence and willingly reviewed the experiences of the past few days. He flashed on the hunting, the fact that he had not used an appropriate amount of curare on his arrowhead seemed to cause the Shaman some curiosity. In a flash the feast passed before him and the experience of beginning the trials, the Shaman seemed to be impressed with Draco’s performance and this caused Draco to feel a tickle of pride. There was a period of disorientation after drinking the potion that Draco did not directly recall. Scattered memories of the men dancing and the fire flaming high, bursts of unexplained color and impossible movements, as though he had taken flight through a summer sky full of soundless fireworks. And then it faded to black and the experience of seeing The Dark Lord, and his father, as reflections in the mirror passed as if sped up in time. The Shaman seemed to find humor at first in the vision of his daughter greeting Draco at the lagoon where they had first met. It felt to Draco as though there was a secret the Shaman, and the whole community for that matter knew about Titchi, which he hadn’t quite figured out.
As the vision turned to the dragon attack, the Shaman seemed concerned, but also pleased. Draco felt his presence receding. When the Legilimency was done Draco’s expression of fear told the Shaman that Draco suspected his vision to be real.
“Do not fear, Dracho,” the Shaman said. “Spirit Visions are induced so, though it is possible, they seldom represent a prophecy of something yet to happen.” Draco’s fears immediately began to subside.
“I am pleased that you not only face deeply seated fears in your vision but also express tremendous concern for the Spirit People.You are ready for the third trial.” The Shaman turned and quickly disappeared into the shadows of the cave.
Draco realized, looking at the ceiling of the cave where there had earlier been places daylight had shone through, that the sun was set and it was sometime in the evening. He couldn’t guess how much time the second trial had lasted.
The men of his sponsoring quorum seemed excited for him. They quickly offered him food and drink and told him he should take the opportunity to rest and relax, as his third trial, the Spirit Quest would begin the next morning. He spoke with the men for a while, sharing stories of their Spirit Quests, and soon enough Draco found himself drifting comfortably to sleep.
“Are you sure you want to do this Harry?” Ginny asked.
“I absolutely do not want to do it, Ginny,” Harry said grimly. “But we have come to an impasse on our hunt, and something must be done.”
“I agree, Harry,” Hermione interjected. “Something must be done, but this. This scares me!”
They were all in Slytherin’s Library, it was a quarter of midnight, and they were gathered in the portrait alcove. Hermione turned to the Dumbledore Card which was on a bookshelf facing the alcove. “And you condone this plan, Professor?”
“I believe it is worth attempting, yes,” Dumbledore responded. “I believe Harry is quite capable and the exercise will, I hope, bring us answers to several questions, beyond just information concerning the Horcruxes.”
“No progress without risk,” Godric Gryffindor’s portrait declared. “You will do spectacularly my boy.”
“I have been working with Harry on meditation and Occlumency for months, he certainly possesses the prerequisite knowledge and raw ability to do as the founders suggest,” Dumbledore concluded.
“It is quite logical,” Rowena Ravenclaw’s portrait said. “If, as you have told us, there is some direct connection between Harry and this Voldemort person, as evidenced by Harry’s scar, his ability to speak Parseltongue, and previous incidence of Voldemort reaching his mind, then it stands to reason that any such connection would operate in both directions. We are proposing that you use such a connection to gain information.”
“Astral projection will allow Harry to see magical flows and points of concentration, which are not readily identifiable on this plane,” Helga Hufflepuff’s portrait said. “We need to identify and understand the nature of the connection between him and Voldemort so that we can deal with it appropriately.”
“There is no learning, without doing,” the Gryffindor portrait declared.
“Patience, Godric,” the Hufflepuff portrait said reprovingly.
“Okay,” Harry said, “Enough talk, let’s give this a try.”
As instructed by the Founders, Harry sat cross-legged on the table opposite Ginny, who was to act as his physical anchor. They were each holding the handle of their wand in their right hand with the wand pointing upward and each holding the other's right hand in their left. There was a candle alight between them. They sat within a circle of heather and protection herbs inside a chalk-drawn circle inscribed with protection rune symbols and points of the compass. At North lay a square cut diamond, at South an emerald, East a Ruby, and West a Sapphire. The rest of the table was filled with candles and bunches of herbs.
Hermione edged closer to Ron, who put his arm around her, neither of them enjoying their present sense of helplessness.
“Okay, Ginny,” Rowena instructed from her frame. “Close your eyes and focus on Harry. I want you to concentrate only on Harry and maintain the physical and ethereal connection between you. Keep your eyes closed and focus on his presence. Focus on holding his presence near to you.”
“Yes, Professor,” Ginny said. Her grip on Harry’s hand tightened slightly.
“Now Harry,” said Dumbledore, “start with your meditation exercise. Find the protected place you have created inside yourself, the white sphere. Find yourself inside it, safe and protected with all your thoughts and memories. Focus only on that space. Tell me when you are there.” There was a long pause during which there was silence and both Ron and Hermione had to remind themselves to breathe.
“Okay, Professor,” Harry said in a quiet calm voice.
“Wonderful, Harry,” Godric praised. “I have never seen a student achieve this state so readily.”
“Harry,” Dumbledore continued. “Now, slowly contract the sphere leaving your thoughts and memories protected inside. Imagine your consciousness outside the sphere.
“I don’t see how this can work, Harry doesn’t know Legilimency,” Hermione whispered to Ron.
“Well, the Founders and Dumbledore believe that because of whatever their connection is, Harry doesn’t need to use it,” Ron whispered back. “They think he may be able to slip right in, hopefully undetected. We just need to believe in Harry.”
“I do,” Hermione whispered apprehensively, “I do.”
Ron took her hand and held it tight. “Me too, I will always believe in Harry.”
“Can you tell us what you see, Harry?” Helga asked tentatively.
“I see, an open expanse, as though I am floating in white nothingness, next to the small white sphere, that contains my mind,” Harry said.
“Good. Very good,” Helga encouraged.
“Albus, you did not say he was this advanced,” Godric said quietly. “This is extremely advanced, even for a seventh-year.”
“Now Harry,” Rowena began. “This next part is the tricky bit if you’ve never attempted it before. I want you to imagine the whole white space is your plain of consciousness. Only you exist there, and it is still contained within your physical self. I want you to picture yourself outside of your own body. Imagine the room, how it is configured, its shapes and colors, and where you are physically within it. Then once you have that image, place yourself in that picture, but apart from it, looking at yourself.”
There was quiet for about a minute. Hermione felt that the whole room must hear her heart pounding in her chest. Ron rubbed her hand gently and that helped, but she was still frightened by what she couldn’t control and was struggling to understand.
“Oh. I’ve got it,” Harry said suddenly, his voice sounding like he was quite pleased with himself. “I see you all. Portraits in your frames, Card on the shelf, and Ron and Hermione. Hermione, it’s okay; I am fine. You can calm down.”
Hermione looked closely at Harry, sitting on the table. His eyes were shut. “But Harry, your eyes are closed, don’t you mean you imagine me?”
“Not at all, I can see you quite clearly. Ron has moved closer to you since I began, and you are holding hands now,” Harry said. They reflexively released each other’s hands. “Don’t worry that you don’t understand it. I don’t understand it either.”
“Excellent, Harry,” Dumbledore said. “You are doing spectacularly. But now we will need you to take a look at yourself.”
“Everything is a whirl with magic, Professor,” Harry said excitedly. “It is in the walls and all through the books, the portraits, everywhere.”
“Yes, of course,” Godric said. “But is it in you, Harry? Look at your body, Harry.”
“Oh,” Harry exclaimed. “I’m glowing. So’s Ginny.”
“What about your scar, Harry?” Dumbledore said. “Focus on your scar.”
“Oh,” Harry sounded surprised. “It looks… it looks fresh. Jagged and festering. And dark, it’s as if there are wisps of dark vapor coming from it. I didn’t realize I was carrying such evil.”
“Tom left something of himself behind those many years ago,” Slytherin said. “It is the only explanation. There is far more to this scar than a curse.”
“Harry,” Ravenclaw said. “Focus on these dark emanations, do they form a vortex? Can you make them swirl?”
Fear had left Harry. Now he was far more curious. He had borne this scar for most of his life and never understood its significance. This was something of the Dark Lord himself. A missing piece. He forgot himself for a moment and attempted to reach for his forehead. His body in front of him remained still, but in his displaced state he realized that here upon his separated astral essence, no scar existed.
He could hear the others around him, but their presence and significance seemed to be fading. Ravenclaw was telling him to swirl the darkness from the scar. How? He had no physical form, no arms to reach out with. He looked with renewed concentration at the jagged mark on his forehead before him. It seemed to be growing, opening and more darkness was coming from it. It was coming toward him, and yes, it was swirling. He tried to speak but he could no longer make his physical mouth work. He could feel the darkness pulling at him, drawing him toward it, wanting to encompass him. This was the point of the exercise. To seek this connection.
Harry ceased resisting, and the darkness enveloped him. Pulling him down into its gaping maw.
Draco woke slowly. He was quite comfortable and except for the brightness of the day would have loved to sleep a little longer. He realized suddenly that he was in a hammock. He did not recall falling to sleep in a hammock.
The bright sun, the density of the foliage, and the gentle swaying, all told him that he was outside, and somehow, high up in the canopy of the trees. A glance over the edge of the hammock confirmed his conclusion. He was at least thirty meters up. He chuckled a bit. There was a time when he would have considered this predicament an example of the basest of pranks and considered it a personal affront. The irony, of course, was that this had surely been done to assure his safety, at least until he could wake up and be in control of his actions.
He climbed out of the hammock and went higher in the branches so that he could gain his bearings from above the canopy. From the position of the distant mountains, he put himself far South and West of the encampment. As he scanned the treetops, he made note of a stand of Kapok trees towering over the jungle to the North, and an area due East where the treetops appeared white as though covered in spider silk. As he was not keen on walking into the nest of any large magical spiders, he decided that he would head toward the tall Kapok trees.
It took him less than ten minutes to untie the hammock and climb down out of the tree. He wasn’t sure if he was meant to bring the hammock with him, as it was not usually amongst the equipment boys were given for the Spirit Quests, but it was a resource all the same and constructed from a sturdy cord that could easily be repurposed, so he wasn’t about to leave it behind. He was able to harvest a ripe Pacay pod and plenty of açaí berries which he enjoyed as a sweet breakfast.
He scanned the forest floor for game trails and soon found a clear path moving North so he began walking. The jungle was full of life all around him, there were birds of every description high above in the trees and he passed beneath several troops of various monkeys whose calls let him know that he was trespassing in their territory. At ground level, he saw lots of movement and several times felt that animals had gotten off the path until he passed. Draco wished he’d had his bow and arrows as many potential hunts had presented themselves and then moved away. He found a sturdy, straight sapling tree and carved a wooden spear, as he went. He followed the trail for several hours attempting to identify the types of animal tracks he saw until he could hear flowing water.
Marking the place where he left the path, he moved toward the sound using his knife to mark the trees so that he would be able to return to the path later. He found the edge of a stream, burbling its way along the jungle floor, creating deep pools among heavy split stones and gnarled tree roots. This was not a lagoon, that would be likely to contain anything like an Iara, but if Draco were lucky, it may have a few pools that would contain fish.
He followed the water flow for a while until it opened to a wider shaded area. He approached cautiously and once he was confident that the area was safe, he observed the water looking for fish in the shallows. He identified a shaded rock shelf that some of the larger fish were using as cover. Using the hammock as a net he spread it across the bottom of the shallow and once in place he used his spear to disrupt the water by the shelf driving several fish out over the net. It was easy enough then to pull the net in and capture more fish than he would possibly be able to eat. He quickly sorted the fish and returned most of them to the water, keeping a couple of good-sized Pacu for eating.
Keeping tradition, he called out to the forest, thanking the river and the spirits of the place for allowing him to harvest the fish for food. In this magical part of the forest, he did not want to anger any Curupiras or passing Caipora. On a nice flat rock, he quickly gutted and cleaned his fish, returning any scraps to the river, and wrapped the meat in nice leaf bundles. He found a flat dry area where he could build a fire. It took him nearly an hour to gather materials build a fire and cook the fish. As he waited, he harvested plant fibers to weave a simple shoulder bag to carry provisions.
After his meal, he carefully returned the area as near as possible to the way he found it, and made his way back as he had come. He found his marked trees and was able to find the path he had been on. Back on the path he continued to make his way North. Late in the day, he began to see that he was entering the area where he had seen the Kapok trees. The roots of the trees were cause for the path to meander, wending through the large tree trunks.
It had rained during the afternoon, but Draco had simply kept walking unhindered. Once the rain stopped he rested for a bit as the humidity burned away. He located a Coccoloba tree and cut down several giant leaves to use as rain protection during the night. As the sun started to set and the forest began growing darker Draco chose a tree to climb and set his hammock high off the ground. He built a small fire at ground level and ate what remained of his fish.
Gathering some green branches, he constructed an oblong frame to which he secured the Coccoloba leaves. Peeling the green bark from the branches provided good strong lashings which he used to secure the structure close over his hammock so that he would be protected from the dawn rain.
As the last rays of sun disappeared in the West, Draco pried open a cocoa pod that he had gathered from a nearby tree and enjoyed the tangy sweet pulpy membrane around the beans as a sweet treat.
He lay, as the sky darkened so that he could keep an ear to the ground. Just as he was drifting off to sleep he thought he heard movement below. When he looked, he could not detect anything. A few minutes later he heard the shrill call of a bird. It sounded searching and insistent, as though waiting for a response. He suspected that he had been located by an El Tunche, so he staunchly resisted the urge to imitate the call as a response. This went on for at least a full hour, but eventually, the calling stopped. As he drifted away to sleep again, he thought he detected some movement on the ground far below him, but as it seemed to be staying on the ground he finally succumbed to sleep.
Harry felt as though he was falling through darkness, or perhaps, more as though he were being pulled. The sensations were odd and confusing; he felt no physical interaction, but the emotion was rampant and he sensed anger and rage, huge doubt of self, locked in a battle with notions of superiority and idealized thoughts of perfection.
He emerged suddenly into an open space that he could describe only as a traditional description of hell. Atop an island of bones and skulls, upon a throne of slithering snakes, sat Tom Riddle. All around him, as far as could be seen, were the writhing, dying creatures of the Magical world. Wizards and witches, goblins, giants, centaurs, trolls, werewolves, and all manner of creatures, mired in brackish tar and engulfed in cold magical flame, becoming Inferi. Above them sat the young vibrant, handsome figure of Tom Riddle, laughing as though he had just understood the meaning of some long-remembered joke that was meant for him alone.
The pleading, terrified and painful calls of the creatures became an assault of sound, one deafening scream that seemed to be causing Tom Riddle immense pleasure.
Harry shut out all perception of sound and drifted around the figure of Tom Riddle. This Tom, appearing as the boy Harry had met in the Chamber of Secrets many years before, displayed none of the ravages of the life of Lord Voldemort, but still encompassed the essence of the man.
Fortunately, Voldemort did not seem to be at all aware of Harry’s presence. Harry wondered if, as the Founders had hoped, the late hour had found the Mad Wizard sleeping and what Harry was seeing was the deranged dream of a megalomaniac. Emotions of omnipotence and grandeur were painted on the boy’s face.
As Harry watched, the boy’s handsome face seemed to melt away, replaced slowly by the pale snake-like visage that Harry found far more familiar, though this horrid face still appeared to be encompassed in pleasure, as if the horror around him was instead a scene and act of worship with Lord Voldemort as its sole focus.
Harry was not sure exactly how to proceed, but he knew he needed to get deeper into his enemy’s mind. He concentrated on Voldemort’s eyes and almost immediately found himself following the same compulsive pull that had dragged him so far. This time through the glassy red/yellow eyes of the only entity he truly felt hatred for.
He found himself in a large room of an unfamiliar home. Voldemort was there in an elaborate dining room before a long oak table, backlit by a roaring fire in a broad fireplace. This was a different Voldemort than he had seen before, not the handsome sixteen-year-old Tom Riddle and not the recreated snake-like face and lean skeletal body of the present-day Voldemort, but most like the younger Voldemort that appeared in Dumbledore’s memory, with additional years weighing heavily upon his pale, scared and lined face. This was a man whose quest for immortality had left him looking far older than he was.
Across the table were four men. Harry recognized only one of the four. The first two were tall, broad shouldered, leanly muscled men with light blue eyes and dusty blonde hair. They appeared to be identical, except that one seemed slightly taller and had a jagged scar along his left cheek. The next was slight and wiry with dark eyes, dark lank hair, and a pronounced pointed nose. The last man was Lucius Malfoy, whose forced posture was straight and attempting to appear dignified, though he was younger and more obviously filled with impulsive anger he had not yet learned to disguise. Each of the men was dressed in black Death Eater robes, without the accompanying masks.
On the table lay a few of the very objects Harry was interested in, the Dagger of Gryffindor, the Cup of Hufflepuff, and Tom Riddle’s Diary. The whole experience felt very much like being in a Pensieve memory, but it was also less cohesive, with a disjointed perception of time. What might be unimportant details seemed to be sped up.
The four men were standing at attention. Voldemort was saying something, but Harry could not quite make out all the words. Voldemort referred to the men as, what sounded like “Knights of Walpurgis,” and Harry could make out only singular words. “Loyalty, devotion, dedication, honor, reward,” seemed to be among the words Harry could clearly understand, words, Harry would never have used in reference to these men. Voldemort repeatedly gestured to the items on the table and seemed to be giving elaborate instructions, but Harry could not make out the details.
Finally, Voldemort spoke names that Harry strained to hear clearly. Two names which he thought were Taren and Toben and the surname Wilkes. The man with the scar stepped forward and picked up Gryffindor’s Dagger. He, along with the other similar man both bowed low and then quickly turned away and disappeared into shadow. The next name spoken sounded like Benjamin Burn. This slight man stepped forward and picked up the Cup of Hufflepuff, bowed, and disappeared just as quickly.
Harry was elated, these were clues as to the whereabouts of two of Voldemort’s Horcruxes that they had so far been unable to locate. He was not concerned with the Diary, as he already knew its disposition, so he did not even try to listen to the exchange between Voldemort and the younger Lucius Malfoy, instead, he focused on the Dark Lord’s eyes and once again found himself pulled in and through, and landing now in a room he did recognize. It was the Defense classroom at Hogwarts, and coming into the room was the very same Voldemort that had come to see Dumbledore to ask for the Defense Professor Post.
It was exactly as though a continuation of Dumbledore’s memory. Voldemort entered the room and quickly proceeded to the stone wall just to the right of the Professor’s office door. Harry moved close to see him pull a loose stone from the wall revealing a small space behind it. Voldemort carefully pulled something from his pocket that was covered in a loose leather wrapping. With a flick of his wand, the leather opened revealing the jeweled Peacock Brooch of Rowena Ravenclaw, which levitated into the small space. He replaced the stone tapping it several times with his wand. All evidence that the stone was in any way loose from the mortar disappeared completely. The whole placement took less than a minute and Voldemort moved quickly to the center of the raised wooden dais, where he performed the lengthy and elaborate curse upon the Defense Against the Dark Arts Professorship.
And that was it, solid clues to what Voldemort had done with each of the Horcruxes Harry had yet to find. And it had been easy. All the knowledge he sought just came to him as if Voldemort’s mind contained no barriers as if his being there was simply natural.
Harry, emboldened by his success approached the figure of Voldemort and was again pulled into his eyes, moving steadily deeper into the man’s mind. Snippets of memory began to appear, rushing past Harry’s consciousness and disappearing. There were flashes of the orphanage, incidents of being bullied, and exacting terrible revenge. Capturing and torturing small animals until he happened upon a snake and learned he could understand and communicate with the creature. Lonely moments spent holding a small photograph of his mother, an unattractive image that must have been taken from an orphanage file. He saw what looked like the cave by the sea, but there were two other children there, children who were frightened of the dark place, and Harry could tell this was causing Tom great joy. There were memories of Hogwarts, flashing images of his arrival and his placement by the Sorting Hat. Obsessive research about his family, and the ease with which his coursework came. Hearing his first tales of the Chamber and deciding he needed to find it.
It was as if the whole of Voldemort’s life was playing before him and Harry could only open his eyes wide to try to capture as much detail as possible. Harry did not recognize most of the people or the incidents, but occasionally things would make sense. Professors and classrooms. Being summoned to Headmaster Dippet’s Office where Harry saw a more scarcely appointed office that was never-the-less familiar to him. Harry was amazed to learn that Tom Riddle had not been able to return to the Orphanage after his second year due to the Muggle World War II. That he had stayed with an elderly couple named Galbraith in Hogsmeade. He experienced memories of exploration in Diagon and Nocturne alleys. Harry wondered briefly why Dumbledore had never mentioned any of this.
Harry witnessed trips to the Ministry to learn about the Gaunt family, and the deceptions used to uncover information and recover a parcel that contained a legal pouch. He saw the Gaunt’s home outside little Hangelton and witnessed the murder of the Riddles. There was the purchase of Tom Riddle’s Diary and the acquisition of Marvolo Gaunt’s ring, the discovery of the Chamber, and Slytherin’s Library.
The memories increased in intensity and frequency and seemed to be jumbled, not coming in chronological order. He witnessed the hatching of a basilisk, saw a young Hagrid and Aragog, the Slytherin portrait, a scheme to kill Mrs. Galbraith, the framing of Morfin, the return to the orphanage, becoming a prefect, the discovery of Horcruxes, searching for appropriate objects, creating the first, from his ancestral ring.
Harry felt a sense of loss at the deaths, the Riddles, the Gaunts, the Galbraiths, and others he didn’t recognize. The memories began to lose sense as they bombard him, coming faster than he could process them. He saw the Horcrux items, Grindelwald and Dumbledore, the gang of school followers, the Grey lady - Ghost of Ravenclaw House, Hepzibah Smith, Borgin and Burkes shop, and multiple places he couldn’t recognize. Sound began to build once more, becoming a cacophony of bits of spells, quotes from books in languages he did not understand, flashes of spellwork, faces of strangers and their voices, some talking most screaming.
Harry was suddenly gripped by fear. He saw numerous people being hit with a spell by Voldemort, a violet-colored spell that looked like rushing thunderclouds and striking lightning. The first time it appeared it was cast upon the man with the scar, Taren Wilkes, and next upon his twin brother, but Harry did not recognize any of the many others until suddenly it was Draco and his mother, under the spell, followed, lastly, by a small group in what looked like a shattered and burning tavern from some old television movie, the like of which Dudley had often been allowed to watch.
Harry became disoriented, lost, trapped, and suddenly he was in his room in the small cottage in Godric’s Hollow. No, more than that, he was an infant in his cot, and his mother was there, she was crying and saying something, and then again, all sound disappeared and everything appeared to be in slow motion.
His mother was standing, back toward his cot, shielding him from the angry, ugly man who had entered after her. The man had his wand raised, Harry could only partially see because his mother was there in the way. A great burst of green light appeared and for a moment Harry thought his mother’s back flashed a brilliant gold. She collapsed and then Harry could fully see the man. Voldemort, with his hideous grin of triumph, came walking slowly toward him, wand hand raised and pointed directly at Harry. Harry felt calm, whimpering slightly from confusion rather than fear. The tip of the man’s wand glowed green again, the light spreading and approaching, but still slowed by his perception of each detail. The light was coming directly at Harry, but still, he felt no fear. As the light reached the confines of Harry’s cot there was a burst of golden light that spread out above Harry like the arc of a sphere. It was present for only a moment. Long enough to reflect the light sending it repressively, back at the grinning man.
When the light struck Voldemort he contorted in pain and surprise. And then was rendered stiff and unmoving as the color of life rapidly faded from him. His whole body began to break to pieces, shattering, falling away like shards of glass from a large vase struck by a small projectile. As Voldemort’s body ceased to be, there was a sudden explosive force that moved outward in all directions.
Harry recalled now, his memory of his infant mind trying to understand these events, seeing the tiniest point of blackness coming at him, propelled by this explosion. He suddenly felt it strike. Then, there was nothing but pain, so much pain that there was no remaining conscious. There was black.
Draco woke to the sound of rain pelting his cover of Coccoloba leaves. It was a steady hard downpour typical of early morning in the jungle, and he was very happy he had thought to create some protection. He tried to allow himself to drift back to sleep, but the rain was just too loud for that. As he lay there he realized suddenly that his lower legs and feet felt unusually warm. He raised his head to look and saw that his calves and feet appeared to be covered in grey-golden fluffy fur. He couldn’t think of an actual magical creature that could account for this, so he tested his legs to see if he could move them, and sure enough, he could. The fur seemed to break apart into smaller clumps and Draco thought it looked like a large, huddled troop of Pygmy Marmoset. Coming so close to a human was uncharacteristic behavior for these diminutive, little monkeys.
At once Draco’s thought was confirmed as the individual marmosets woke and immediately began screaming at him in their shrill throaty voices. Some leaped away from his legs to the main hanger ropes of the hammock and even up into the structure of his rain canopy. One monkey stood on its back legs and made a higher-pitched screech, at which the others fell still and silent.
Draco thought this very curious. The monkey in question appeared to be a young albino female with pure white fur, characteristically red eyes, and a beautiful pink face. She seemed to have no fear whatsoever and she boldly climbed along Draco’s leg and up onto his chest right up to his chin. There, she made a soft questioning chitter and touched his goatee. He realized that his hair was nearly as white as this monkey’s fur, but certainly, that could not be a reason for the whole troop to climb into his hammock. The monkey seemed to be examining Draco closely gently nudging his chin so he would turn his head from side to side, as it was chirping at him expressively. The rest of the troop seemed quite curious and were slowly coming closer, beginning to make quiet chirps and questioning chitters.
“Nice to meet you too,” Draco said, chuckling a bit under his breath. The tiny creature bobbed up and down on its hind legs in response to Draco’s voice. “What brings you here?” he asked, expecting no response. The monkey, however, bobbed and chittered more. Though Draco could discern no actual language he did have thoughts come forward in his mind that he felt were coming from the tiny creature. If he had to translate them into words, it would be, white head, magic human, good, warm, no wet, safety, and nice. This caught Draco a bit by surprise. “You are something special, aren’t you?” he asked. The monkey cocked its head as if the question was confusing. Clearly, there was more to this little monkey than the albinism that set it apart from its troop.
Draco pushed himself back in the hammock so that he could adopt a more upright position. The tiny female didn’t jump away as he moved, but instead ventured to the top of his head and started engaging in grooming behavior. He could feel the monkey’s small hands searching through his hair. The rest of the troop were coming closer, but none were making contact. He counted twelve in all. There was a breeding pair with two very tiny newborns clinging to them tightly, Draco could not image these two babies being any older than a week or two old. There were two other mature females, two immature females, and three males all immature. Draco thought the albino female was somewhere in the middle of the others, figuring she was very nearly breeding age. He recalled one of the boys explaining that marmoset troops are generally a single family from a dominant breeding pair. The Spirit People didn’t typically hunt marmoset, especially the pygmy type, but it was important to know that if you needed for some reason to take one, it should not be from the breeding pair. He recalled the same boy saying that a marmoset was a very good choice for a familiar animal and that if one were to freely approach a human, it was because it was very likely feeling the pull of a Familiar bond.
Draco had never really given much thought to having a familiar, he had spoken to Titchi about Kut’chem, her Scarlet Macaw, and to Chunt’ea about his Squirrel Monkey, Kêsol. He never imagined he might find one himself, but the thought impressions he had received from the young female marmoset, were just as Chunt’ea described communicating with Kêsol.
Thinking about all of that, Draco reached his hand up next to the side of his head, palm open. The little monkey quickly jumped into his hand and he carefully brought her around in front of himself. Draco estimated she was about fourteen centimeters head to foot with her tail adding at least another eighteen centimeters of overall length. She weighed almost nothing in Draco’s hand, maybe one hundred and twenty grams. He thought her quite pretty, but it also occurred to him that her white color, in contrast to her siblings, was probably a danger to the troop. As he had the thought she began to bob and chitter again, and he got a distinct impression that she was agreeing, along with a fleeting image of an identical monkey disappearing into the distance in the talons of a hawk.
“Do you want to stay with me now, be my Familiar?” he asked earnestly. He couldn’t think of anything else but to ask. The little white monkey bobbed its head chittering excitedly. The impression of agreement grew even stronger in Draco’s mind. “Okay,” he said. “I suppose then, you will be needing a name, so I will have something to call you?”
The pretty little monkey scratched at its head as if to say it had no idea.
“How about I call you, Jatśzuiã? Or just Zuiã, for short?” Draco asked. “In English that translates roughly to pretty one, or pretty girl. Or shortened to just pretty.”
She jumped to Draco’s shoulder and moved right against his neck wrapping her long tail around the back to his opposite shoulder.
“Okay, I guess Zuiã, it is,” he said.
At that, the rest of the marmoset troop seemed to stop and clap their hands together as though they were applauding. Then, as it had stopped raining and the clouds were now clearing, the troop all seemed to line up to say an orderly goodbye to Zuiã, with hugs and sweet chitters. This filled Draco with the sad impression of saying goodbye to family. But as the troop quickly made their way along the Hammock ropes and disappeared down into the lower canopy which would typically be their habitat, Draco began to feel an adventurous excitement from Zuiã, along with another impression that he would find to be almost constant; hunger or the ever-present desire to look for food.
It took him just a few minutes to untie his hammock and descend to ground level. Draco located and dug a couple of yams with his spear and then built a fire so he could put them to roast. While the yams cooked, he spent the time collecting fruit to add to his breakfast. Zuiã seemed to be very pleased with these activities and often jumped from his shoulder to capture insects he displaced as he picked fruit, but he noticed she never ventured very far and if he stepped away as she was off his shoulder, she seemed to get distressed.
Once the yams were fully cooked Draco sat to enjoy his breakfast. Zuiã wanted to sample everything and was pleased to enjoy fruits that were usually difficult for her to acquire. Draco got a sense of accomplishment from Zuiã’s feelings of contentment with her breakfast. She had found the gathering session quite productive as Draco displaced more insects much more easily than her entire troop, so she satiated her hunger more thoroughly than usual.
Draco contemplated this new development and wondered about his new responsibility to Zuiã. He needed to give her protection. As a lone marmoset, especially one with the white color of her albinism, she could come under more potential danger. He thought that if he had a wand there were protection spells and wards, he could place upon her that would protect her from natural predators and allow her a bit more freedom of movement and security.
As he was having these thoughts Zuiã leaped from his knee to his shoulder and touched his cheek. He immediately had the picture of a wand in his mind. It was a rather plain, straight wand that seemed to be lost in the undergrowth of the jungle, but a wand, nonetheless. “Is this your memory Zuiã?” Draco asked. “Are you trying to tell me you know where this wand is?”
Zuiã patted his cheek affirmatively. “Can you show me?” Draco asked.
The little monkey climbed up on top of Draco’s head so that she could lean forward and touch her forehead to his. Draco was not sure what to do so he tried to clear his mind. It hardly seemed necessary as Zuiã’s thoughts and emotions seemed to transfer very easily between them. He got an impression of a place, not terribly far away, it seemed that Zuiã’s troop changed where it lived about every two months, moving from one area to another, but their range was quite small so each move was as best Draco could figure no more than about two kilometers distance. This memory however was over a year and a half old, so it was hard to judge how far away the place was located. The memory itself was quite fascinating. Zuiã was still very young at the time and just at the age when she no longer clung to a parent and was entering the often-dangerous curious age of adolescence.
The troop had recently settled in a new tree, venturing Southward from a place her father had regarded as a place of great danger. One day Zuiã saw what looked like a violet-colored bolt of lightning hit the ground in the distance, and heard the accompanying clap of thunder. It caused a scattering of the jungle animals, but it did not recur, so things quickly went back to normal.
Some minutes later there was a disturbance at ground level and Zuiã watched from her high perch, what looked like an oddly clothed human running along the ground waving a little stick that looked like the thing Draco had thought about earlier. The person was pursued quite directly by a great spotted Jaguar, and even though flashes of color came from the fleeing human’s stick, it was not enough to save the human from the great cat.
The human’s stick had come from their hand and landed near the bow of a large tree, where it remained, presumably still today.
Draco thought about the memories Zuiã had shown him and made sure she could tell he was pleased. But there were conclusions to be drawn here that Zuiã could never perceive. First, was that the man he had seen in the memory was a Death Eater named Warrenton. Draco had met him several times during the summer between his fourth and fifth years at Hogwarts. He had simply disappeared and was never spoken about again. Secondly, that meant that the spot where anyone Voldemort had banished, arrived, was here, and relatively close, if everyone banished went to the same place. Thirdly, these banished people were very likely ill-prepared to face the jungle itself, which explained why none had ever returned. And lastly, therefore, return from Voldemort’s banishment was entirely possible, if one could survive the jungle.
While this was on some level an exhilarating conclusion, Draco, had to admit that he had abandoned the idea of ever returning to England and resolved that the rest of his life would be lived as a member of the Spirit People. He wasn’t sure what to think or how to feel about it, so he turned his thoughts to the simple knowledge that out there somewhere relatively close was a perfectly serviceable wand, and he had been wishing he had a wand for some time now. He decided that the best course of action would be to find it.
Hermione could barely contain herself. Once Harry had gone completely silent her anxiety had increased considerably. Everyone both feared and anticipated what might happen next. It was a very risky task the Founders had set before him and Harry, being Harry, had accepted the challenge as though there was no choice. There had been a tense silence now for several minutes.
She watched Harry and Ginny for any movement and could only detect the steady rise and fall of their synchronized breathing. She knew that they had become somehow connected and she suspected there was a bonding to come between them, but she had never noticed their breathing before. She wondered if it was an effect of this present exercise or if it was deeper. She told herself she would observe them later in other contexts.
Harry’s face had begun to look strained and uncomfortable. “Something is happening,” Ron said. “Look at Harry’s scar!”
The flesh over Harry’s infamous scar had begun to darken and bulge, quickly growing as though a massive blister were forming, looking bruised as the skin stretched. Before either Ron or Hermione could do or say any more Harry’s eyes snapped open, but his pupils had turned upward into his head, so his eyes showed white. He threw his head back violently pulling his grip from Ginny’s and falling backward on the table. He landed flat on the herbs and candles, his head just beyond the edge of the table and outside the circle of protection. As his head flopped lifelessly the bulge beneath his scar burst open. There was a horrid wrenching scream like some wounded animal was crying out in anger and fear, but it came from the scar and not Harry himself. A thick black goo oozed from the scar as it tore open further rending a gash across Harry’s face from along his nose to his lips and up beyond his hairline. The goop hit the floor with a heavy thud accompanied by splashes of Harry’s blood. The goo seemed to slither, elongating like a snake toward the northwest corner.
Hermione screamed. Ron pulled his wand and Ginny scrambled to try to reach Harry’s hands and pull him back upward. She managed to grab his hands and with a massive tug, she pulled him back up into a sitting position, from which he immediately slumped forward, his face and hair covered in gushing blood.
The gathering mass of black goop was forming itself into a serpent, though it was sprouting some appendages that looked a bit like wings. Ron hit it with “Reducto,” the flash of the spell striking the mass, but it seemed to absorb it without the usually concussive blast and continued to grow exponentially. Hermione, having somewhat recovered herself, drew her wand and began leveling every offensive spell she knew at it, without any meaningful effect.
The tar-like goop had formed into a snake-like creature, the wing-like growths becoming long thin arms tipped with sharp talons. It was already as tall as the table and increasing in size with every moment. Its eyes opened luminous red. The thing slashed at the air angrily, as it frantically took in what was happening around it.
“Ginny, the protection spell, quickly!” Helga’s Portrait called loudly.
Ginny was covered in blood frantically trying to hold Harry’s forehead closed against the freely flowing blood, but she heard the portrait and looked up momentarily to see the creature take a broad swipe at Harry’s back. Reflexively she pulled Harry closer and if a talon made contact it was so clean a cut that she couldn’t tell. She grabbed her wand and called out the spell the Founders had taught her “Perpetuum Praesidium” at once bright golden light burst from her wand leaping to the four gems which seemed to amplify the light and instantly formed a golden orb around her and Harry. She pulled Harry close and kept reciting the enchantment.
The creature fell upon the orb angrily frantically slamming the points of its talons upon it as though it desperately needed to reach Harry, ignoring everything and everyone else.
Ron stopped casting spells next to Hermione and turned away running back beyond the shelves. He was looking frantically for a weapon. He thought he had left one of the Basilisk fangs on the front tables, but as he scanned the tables, he didn’t see it. He swore loudly, grabbed the nearest large knife, and racking his brain for a different spell he turned back to return to his friends. As he turned there was a bright flash at the green leather chair and the Sword of Gryffindor appeared there. “Now that’s more like it!” he said. He grabbed the sword and ran around the other side of the shelves.
Hermione had given up trying spells and was wishing for a miracle. The Founder’s Portraits were each yelling and calling at the creature trying to get its attention, but the creature clearly wanted to reach Harry, it had managed to hack away at every exposed bit of the table that was outside the orb of protection, but it couldn’t penetrate the golden light. It had even managed to sprout several more taloned appendages to no avail.
Ron came running around the edge of the shelves, now on the side of the room where the creature was attacking from. Hermione could see that Ron’s arms were raised over his head and he had some sort of weapon he meant to bring down upon the thing. She screamed his name at the realization that Ron meant to physically attack what Hermione could only describe as a demon. At the last moment, the creature turned toward Ron’s approach swinging wildly at its attacker, but the Sword of Gryffindor came down upon its head cleaving the snaky head cleanly in half between the eyes. Instantly the whole of the creature burst into black smoke and quickly disappeared into nothing. Ron was left panting, still swinging the sword through the dissipating wisps of blackness.
The Portraits of the Founders cheered and applauded.
Ginny, seeing the creature disappear, stopped chanting her spell and screamed loudly for “Dobby!”
The little elf appeared almost immediately and taking in the view before him took on a look of horror. “The Hogwarts, hospital wing, NOW!” Ginny commanded. Harry, Ginny, and a fair amount of the heather, herbs, and candles as well, all disappeared at the snap of Dobby’s fingers.
The room was suddenly silent.
While clearing up after cooking his breakfast, Draco discovered some very human-looking footprints around his campsite. He wondered if he hadn’t been visited by a Curupira during the night. It may have purposely left the footprints hoping that Draco would follow them thinking they might lead him to safety. Of course, following Curupira footprints would be foolish as they would lead him in exactly the wrong direction. The fact that it was only footprints was good, Draco thought, as it meant he had done nothing to offend the creature, or the jungle, other than simply being out of place. Still, he was happy to be going in a different direction and away from a place where something or someone was aware of his presence.
With Zuiã as his guide, he moved along much faster, wasting no time deciding about which paths to take. She would have been happier to move off the ground and travel in the trees, but Draco impressed upon her that he was not equipped to travel that way. She became very content remaining on his shoulder and helping him to perceive the jungle through her much more highly attuned senses. Draco had gotten as good as most of the other boys at listening to the jungle and smelling for scents on the air, but experiencing these sensations through Zuiã, was on a whole other level.
They had not stopped for a meal during the day but Draco had gathered fruits, root vegetables, and mushrooms they encountered along the way. Zuiã, being an opportunistic feeder, had eaten insects and fruit at each of these stops, and seemed genuinely confused that Draco was waiting to eat later.
It had taken the better part of the day to reach the area of the jungle from Zuiã’s memory. The jungle itself had grown denser and darker as they proceeded, and Draco was feeling less and less at ease. He had noticed that the jungle had grown quieter, which in his limited experience could mean the den of an alpha-level predator.
He initially felt that if they could find the wand, they should move on immediately, but there was another thought. The thought that if they could locate where the banished appeared, there might be much more to find, which would be in line with the purpose of his Spirit Quest. As he struggled with this train of thought Zuiã scampered down from his shoulder and bounded toward a nearby tree. She began searching through the vegetation at the base of the tree. Draco could tell she was very excited. As he approached, he saw movement near the ground coming around the bow of the tree behind her. His noticing alerted Zuiã and she quickly leaped away as a large snake reared its head back to strike at her. Acting just as quickly Draco drew his steel knife and threw it at the snake, catching it in the neck just behind its head and pinning it to the tree bow with a heavy thud. The snake writhed against the knife for a couple of minutes before falling still. Zuiã was exhilarated by the encounter, so pleased with Draco’s warning that had saved her life. Draco too was exhilarated, feeling Zuiã’s intense reaction and, seeing the snake’s markings, realizing that it was a Bushmaster, perhaps the most poisonous snake in the jungle.
He paused to recognize his actions and thank the jungle for its sacrifice, in the tradition of the Spirit People. The snake would make a wonderful meal. He went forward to retrieve the snake and Zuiã again jumped from his shoulder to inspect the growth around the base of the tree.
The snake was quite large as Draco pulled it away from the tree. He estimated nearly two meters and it was far heavier than he would care to carry.
Moments later Zuiã chittered loudly and pulled up the wand from the grasp of the undergrowth. She very proudly presented the valued object to Draco.
Draco took the wand from Zuiã. It looked a little dinged and dented from hard use by its previous owner, and weathered from its long stay out in the elements, but it still seemed straight and was a nice weight in his hand.
He brushed off a bit of earth from where it had laid on the ground for so long and gave the wand a quick flick with his wrist. Yellow sparks flew from the wand tip very responsively, and he felt pleased that the wand would work well for him. He found himself mentally reviewing his repertoire of spells. He had always, despite his reputation of resting on his family influence, earned quite good marks at Hogwarts. It also helped that each summer he’d had tutoring sessions, arranged by his father that taught him spells mostly discouraged within the Hogwarts curriculum.
Emboldened by a working wand, Draco decided to remain in place for the night. The sun was getting low in the sky, casting long shadows through the darkening jungle. He utilized a gardening spell to clear vegetation from a circle of ground about three meters in diameter and then set up several different wards and protection spells. Then he gathered wood to build a fire and finished cleaning the snake. He hung the snake from a low limb and skinned it neatly, keeping the hide as a “souvenir” of the manhood trials. He transfigured a bunch of firewood into a wooden bucket and filled it with clear water, which delighted Zuiã, who immediately took several large drinks. He magically orchestrated the construction of a shelter against any night and early morning rain and hung his hammock within it. Once his campsite was settled to his satisfaction, he transfigured a stone into a cast iron skillet and began cooking several pieces of the snake. He conjured some butter and spices to cook in and added pieces of manioc and mushroom from his collected provisions. He conjured a cloth sack to keep the remaining trimmed pieces of snake meat and cast a food preservation spell on it.
Zuiã meanwhile feasted on bits of fruit from the provisions bag and a large collection of insects she had captured during the campsite construction.
As Draco drifted to sleep that night with Zuiã tucked close at his neck, he found himself wondering if he should just head back to the boy’s camp in the morning. He had been out for two days and two nights, and though he had done nothing as exciting as encounter an Iara, he had found a Familiar, killed a deadly snake, and found himself a wand. That would be enough to ensure his passing of the trials and secure his place amongst the people. After all, who was he to believe he might be destined for anything more?
Once Ginny, Dobby, and Harry had disappeared, Ron and Hermione were left in silence.
The Sword of Gryffindor disappeared from Ron’s grasp, presumably returning to its place in the Headmistress’ office.
Hermione cast a Reparo charm on the remains of the table and it quickly reformed into its previous solid state. She then cast Tergeo, cleaning away Harry’s blood, the candles, herbs, and heather that was saturated.
“Shall we head to the hospital wing?” the Dumbledore card asked.
Ron looked up, he hadn’t yet moved and still seemed a bit taken aback, “Yes, Professor,” he said. “Definitely.”
Ron gathered the card and base while Hermione assured the Portraits that they would return with news as quickly as possible and they slipped away through the lattice doorway into Hermione’s dorm room. They burst through the door into the common room and headed off at a run through the portrait hole and off toward the hospital wing.
As they turned the corner to the hospital wing corridor, Headmistress McGonagall was there waiting for them.
“How is he?” Ron asked before coming to a stop.
“We got here as quickly as we could,” Hermione added.
“Mr. Potter is physically fine. He is unconscious, however, in what a Muggle doc…” She caught herself and rephrased. “In what a non-magical doctor would call a coma.” She looked at them quite sternly. “I do not suppose the two of you would care to explain why Mr. Potter should appear at this hour in the hospital wing with his face torn open and bleeding horribly?”
Hermione looked like she was about to try to dodge the Headmistress to get to Harry. Ron shoved his hand down into his pocket and pulled out the pewter base, and a now bent, Albus Dumbledore Chocolate Frog Card, and thrust them into the Headmistress’ hands. Then both he and Hermione dashed around her and into the ward entrance.
McGonagall righted the base in her palm and dropped in the card.
“Oh dear,” Albus Dumbledore said, noting the folded corner. “Mr. Weasley was in an understandable hurry.”
“Indeed,” came Minerva’s curt response.
“I suppose some explanation is in order?” Albus asked.
“It would be appreciated,” Minerva responded.
The hospital ward was neat and orderly. Harry was fully tucked into a bed toward the end of the office side row, in fresh hospital pajamas, and appeared to be sleeping. Ginny was seated on the edge of the bed next to him, all traces of blood had been removed, and she was holding her knees rocking back and forth.
“What happened?” Hermione asked as she came to Harry’s bedside.
“He’s in a coma!” Ginny choked through tears. Ron crossed to his sister sat on the bed next to her and hugged her close.
“He looks okay,” Hermione said, “But it looked like his whole face was torn open?”
“Madam Pomfrey, fixed him,” Ginny choked out. “She said it was quite easy to repair torn flesh, that the damage didn’t even appear to be caused by magic, and that he will not even have a scar. But both she and Professor McGonagall would like to know what happened because… look at Harry’s forehead.”
Hermione reached out and gently swept Harry’s dark hair back off his forehead. “Where is it? What happened to his scar?” Hermione gasped.
“That thing, it must have been an actual part of Voldemort, and it’s been attached to Harry all this time,” Ron said in disbelief.
“You killed it, Ron,” Hermione said. “With a weapon that would be required to kill a Horcrux.”
“Was it a sliver of Voldemort’s soul all this time?” Ginny sniffled.
“Well, I think we can assume that this was not something Voldemort did on purpose,” Hermione said. “And thank goodness we learned this now and killed the damn thing.”
“Now we just need Harry to wake up, so we can find out what, if anything, it took with it,” Ron said a bit more callously than he intended. Ginny sobbed into Ron’s shoulder.
Madam Pomfrey emerged from the office and approached them. She was quite earnest. “What can you tell me about what happened tonight to cause this,” she gestured to Harry in his bed.
Ron spoke up. “You are a member of the Order, so you understand that there is only so much we can tell you but, I will say that Harry attempted to spy on Voldemort tonight through their mysterious connection. During that attempt, his scar burst open and something emerged.”
Madam Pomfrey gasped despite herself. “Some sort of creature?”
“Well, it did take on a monstrous form, but the Sword of Gryffindor appeared to Ron, and with it, he was able to kill whatever it was and stop it from returning to Harry.” Hermione blurted out.
“Extraordinary,” Madam Pomfrey said. “I have never seen or heard of a curse so powerful that it could lay dormant for so long and still manifest in physical form. It is a wonder more damage wasn’t done.”
Just then the ward doors opened and Headmistress McGonagall stepped in. “Yes, it is a wonder,” she said. “Now, however, it is over, it is very late and you must all get to your dormitory and your beds,” her tone was quite final, “Mr. Potter is quite safe here under Madam Pomfrey’s care. However, Dumbledore has made an unusual request. He has asked that Madam Pomfrey extract Harry’s memory of tonight’s event.”
“Oh, no, Minerva,” Madam Pomfrey, spoke up. “Harry is unable to give consent for such a procedure, and he has no next of kin. And even if he did have, such a procedure is overly invasive of personal privacy when one is in an unconscious state.”
“I understand, Poppy, and I have already raised these concerns. However, Albus assures me that, Ginny Weasley is quite capable of giving consent on Harry’s behalf, and once extracted the memory is to be given into her charge.”
Ginny looked up at the two women in surprise. Madam Pomfrey stepped toward her. “Please stand for a moment, my dear.” Ginny did as she was asked. Madam Pomfrey raised her wand and moved it in a counterclockwise circle over the top of Ginny’s head. A thin halo of golden light emanated from the Hospital Matron’s wand and fell like glitter down over Ginny’s head. She stepped aside examining the side of her wand closely. She then moved over to Harry and performed the same incantation. “Hmm,” was all she said when she examined Harry’s apparent results. She turned back to the Headmistress. “Very well, if Miss Weasley wishes it, I’ll do the extraction in the morning, until then, I suggest everyone go to their sleep.”
“Very good,” said Headmistress McGonagall. “That is quite enough for one evening. Off to bed with you all.” She motioned Ron, Hermione, and Ginny toward the door.
Ron and Hermione, looking a bit confused, but very tired, started toward the door. Ginny, however, didn’t move. Her voice came very resolutely. “Thank you, but I will not be leaving Harry’s side tonight. And nothing you can say will make me.”
The two older women looked at one another, then the Headmistress turned to leave. “Come you two,” she said to Ron and Hermione, who followed her out of the ward.
“Well,” Madam Pomfrey said. “You should at least change into pajamas if you plan on sleeping here.” She pointed her wand at a supply cabinet near the entrance to her office and a set of pajamas floated out, crossing the room to Ginny, who had expected them to fight her on wanting to stay. Poppy turned toward her office speaking as she went. “Well, goodnight, Miss Weasley, I suggest you get some sleep. I told Dobby that Harry’s elves could come to visit at seven. I would not expect them to be a second late.”
“Good night,” Ginny managed to squeak, still a bit flabbergasted. She changed quickly, laying her clothes out on the bed next to Harry’s then slipped in next to Harry and nuzzled in close. “You had better wake up, Harry,” she said. She rested her head where she could hear his steady heartbeat, and surprisingly she fell almost immediately to sleep.
Draco woke to the last vestiges of the morning rains. His shelter had worked very nicely and he woke both dry and warm, which was always preferred, but not guaranteed in the jungle. He didn’t feel like he was in a particular hurry, so he took his time and rekindled the fire to cook some more of the snake for breakfast. Zuiã contentedly rooted out some of the remaining fruit from the provisions bag and after getting Draco to break it open, enjoyed a breakfast of maracuja and a couple of stray acai berries.
By the time he’d completed his breakfast, the sun was bright and most of the morning rain had given way to bright blue skies above. Draco enjoyed the jungle in the early morning sun, it was still cool enough for hard activity, but things had dried and the daytime animals were usually calling out the morning status. But in this part of the jungle things seemed far more quiet than normal and the heavy foliage and thick layers of the canopy above made it feel shadowed and mysterious.
As he magically dismantled his shelter and cleaned up the last of his campsite a thought occurred to him about artifacts potentially left behind by others who had been banished. He wondered if he could simply use the Summoning Spell to discover lost or abandoned objects.
Accio was a basic summoning spell. He had been taught that it worked according to a sort of hierarchy. It was best used to summon objects that were both magical, by nature or enchantment and the recognized possession of the spell caster. It could also be used to summon objects of a non-magical nature, as long as they were the possessions of the caster, and lastly, it could be used to summon magical items with no designated owner. Its basic advantage over other summoning spells was the fact that it did not require line-of-sight between object and spell caster.
Draco stepped to the edge of his defined camping circle and raising his wand shouted, “Accio Lost Wands,” waving his arm in a quick broad circle. He tried to listen to the jungle, but he heard nothing unusual. He waited a minute standing there but nothing seemed to happen. Then, just as he turned and bent to pick up his provisions bag, he heard what sounded like something tossed into the trees and hitting branches as it fell to the ground, but it didn’t sound like it was moving toward the ground. Rather, it sounded like it was approaching. He quickly cast a bubble of Arresto Momentum in the approximate place he had designated with the summoning spell.
A wand hit it a moment later and suddenly stopped mid-air. Draco reached into the bubble to retrieve it. It was a twisted branch-like thing with a thick oblong handle. He wondered if it was a Gregorovitch, as it did not conform to Ollivander’s styling, but he had to admit that he did not know any way of detecting a wand’s maker, and those were the only two he knew of by name.
A few moments later two more wands shot from the jungle and stuck in the bubble. He reached to retrieve them. Both were straight and more conforming to the typical styling of an Ollivander. Before he could remove them both, three more appeared.
As he pulled the last wand from the bubble he heard a screeching roar in the distance, it was difficult to judge how far through the thick jungle, but it was closer than he was comfortable with. It sounded familiar somehow, but mostly it was frightening. The screeching repeated, sounding angry. And after another minute Draco heard heavy flapping wings approaching, and he knew immediately that it was the dragon from his Spirit Dream. Moments later another four wands stuck themselves in the bubble followed almost immediately by something large passing overhead. He could not get a good look at it through the leaves, but judging from its direction it was headed toward the northeast, away from where he first heard it.
As no more wands seemed to be arriving, he hastily pulled the last from the bubble and bundled them together putting them in his provisions bag which he had magically modified with a featherweight charm so that even with the snake meat included the bag was light and easy to carry.
He was feeling a bit of panic as he finished taking down his wards and protections and he realized that much of this was coming from Zuiã who was rightly frightened by the notion of such a large predator. Draco held her in his hand and soothed her a bit, helping her to calm down, then he cast some protections and wards on her, which bolstered her courage considerably, though she was still a bit frightened when she realized that Draco wanted to go in the direction toward where the large creature had come from.
It hadn’t been his initial plan, but once he’d been able to calm Zuiã, he realized that he was feeling some sort of draw to find the dragon's lair. He felt somehow that it was important for him to get there before the dragon returned.
With Zuiã on his shoulder adding her perceptions of the jungle to his own, Draco took off at a run in the direction from which he had heard the first screeching roar, vaulting over fallen trees and navigating the jungle with the agility added by the link with his Familiar.
He had run for perhaps five-hundred meters when the jungle opened up and seemed almost orderly, the massive trees seemed to be, for the most part, in rows and the ground was sloping gently downward. He could hear water ahead of him. He came quickly to the edge of a narrow river and as he approached the bank, he could see that directly across from him were the overgrown ruins of an ancient settlement surrounding what looked like a stepped stone pyramid. There seemed to be a large entrance at its base and dark smoke was billowing from it.
To his right, some ten meters were the remnants of an ancient stone road and a vine-laden bridge over the river. He quickly made his way across the bridge and with an eye to the skies he approached the large opening. Cautiously he moved into the structure. The stone floor was angled slightly downward descending steadily toward the center of the pyramid. He was soon out of range of the light and illuminated his wand with Lumos to see his way. He stepped on something that snapped like a dried twig, only to discover the floor was littered with bones. Not just any bones, these appeared to be the bones of large animals including cattle, possibly llamas, and even what looked to Draco like a bear skull. This suggested that the dragon’s typical hunting range was west nearer the mountains, but among these bones were also several human skulls.
Draco proceeded deeper with redoubled caution. He had no desire to encounter a dragon, yet he was feeling a compulsion pulling him deeper. Zuiã was registering her displeasure in small, quiet, frightened sounded screeches. Draco could not explain it, but something was compelling him forward. He could see firelight coming from a chamber ahead. He emerged into a large room where the walls were covered with soot and scorch marks. There was a nest of sorts here built upon piles of wood, vegetation, and bones. It looked to Draco as though the dragon had very recently breathed fire at several points within the chamber leaving multiple fires still burning in piles of refuse and excess nest materials.
Looking around more carefully there seemed to be two openings in each of the other three walls. It was difficult to notice them at first because of the blackness of the walls. Draco moved counter-clockwise around the central nest structure shining his wand light into the passages. The first two seemed to be narrow passages that descended deeper into the pyramid structure, he could not make out great detail. The next two passages opposite the entrance seemed to be an adjoined room and this was the dragon’s hoard as it was filled with piles of gold and silver, artifacts, idols, statues, armor, weapons, and piles of coins that seemed to be mostly Spanish doubloons. There was no organization, everything seemed to have been swept into the space, most likely by the dragon’s tail. From the look of it, Draco thought that this had probably been a dragon’s home for several generations. The thought occurred to him that this was a treasure far exceeding his family’s fortune, but he dismissed the thought as quickly as it came, as the new life he envisioned for himself involved no need for riches.
He started to turn toward the remaining passages, but a glint of some metal caught his eye. He shone his wand light in the direction of the reflection and there he saw a dagger atop a random collection of coins and artifacts. He stepped closer thinking this looked somehow familiar. It was a silver hilt set with rubies and a blade of perhaps thirty-five centimeters in a metal and leather-wrapped sheath. He found himself reaching for the thing, but Zuiã screeched caution into his ear and he pulled back. He drew his wand and cast Revelio on the dagger to no apparent effect. He performed a curse-checking spell, which also revealed no result, and yet he could feel a compulsion to grab the thing, as though it somehow wanted him to take it with him. Such a compulsion was almost always the effect of a curse, and yet he could not detect anything.
He levitated it and brought it close. He was sure he had seen this or something of very similar design, but he could not quite work it out. He gave up and grabbed the dagger floating in front of him, bracing for some curse effect, but nothing happened. He drew it from its sheath revealing a name inscribed on the blade. Godric Gryffindor was etched along the fuller in vertical letters.
Draco’s mind was suddenly filled with more questions than he could formulate. He sheathed the blade and strapped the sheath to his waist next to the sheath of his steel knife. The dagger must have come here with someone banished by Voldemort. But why a dagger of Gryffindor’s? And, if this dagger were the mate to the famous Sword of Gryffindor, which is why it’d seemed so familiar, why was it in the possession of someone Voldemort would have banished? The possibilities were too many to spin in his mind. It would have to remain a question unanswered. At least it explained the compulsion, Draco thought. This was a magical artifact and he, being a former Hogwarts student, knew at least where it came from. The compulsion was a magical object wanting to be returned to where it belonged. He’d heard of such things, he thought.
Zuiã was anxious to get out of this place. She seemed satisfied that the dagger was the answer to why Draco needed to come here, but now that he had it, they needed to leave before the dragon returned. She tugged at his hair and chittered anxiously.
Draco continued counterclockwise around the nest, but he was no longer concerned about the remaining passages. The stone floor here was still warm from dragon fire. He paused only to shine his wand light down the first passage, before moving to the next. When he shined his light down the last passage, he saw what looked like a body on the ground, mostly around the corner, it startled him which caused Zuiã to screech in fright.
“Who’s there?” Draco called.
“Dracho, is that you?” came the pleading response. “Please help me.”
Draco recognized the voice of Kúmmeté, his fellow candidate. He rushed into the passage and turned the corner finding the boy lying chest to the ground. Kúmmeté, had been burned quite badly over nearly half his body. It appeared that he had also been slashed across his back, but the deep gashes had been cauterized by fire and so he was not bleeding terribly. Draco had never been the best with healing charms but he attempted to use Vulnera Sanentur on Kúmmeté’s back to some effect. He also cast a pain-numbing charm to give him some relief.
“How did you come here, Dracho?” Kúmmeté asked. “And where did you find a magic stick?”
“It is a long story to tell,” Draco said. “Let’s get out of here first and get you better help. Can you stand?” Draco used the bandaging charm to wrap the burns on Kúmmeté’s left leg, back, and much of his left arm. Then, supporting him from his right side, got him to his feet and started out of the pyramid.
As they moved, he asked Kúmmeté to tell how he had come to this place, to keep him talking and distracted.
“This is Tenochćotitũlla, the original city of the Spirit People. We were driven from it many generations ago by the great winged serpent god called Chiquett-ká-Tahãken. She stole a great magical stone that protected the city from our enemies. When I realized that I was near the ruins, I decided to come to see them and try to find the stone.” Kúmmeté explained as they slowly walked out of the pyramid, Draco supporting him all the way. “It would be the greatest honor to take back our history.”
“You went into a winged serpent’s lair without even a wand?” Draco asked, very impressed. If there was a word for dragon in the Spirit People’s language, he didn’t yet know it.
“I hoped I would find a magic stick in there. It is known that people, like you, have mysteriously shown up here, most with “wands” as you say, like the one you have now. Most of those people ended up in the belly of Chiquett-ká-Tahãken. Others were consumed by the jungle itself. You are the first to ever come to us and survive, Dracho. You were found during a Spirit Quest. Other boys have come to this place and found magic sticks; it is considered extremely dangerous.”
“How did you survive?” Draco asked.
When I entered the temple, I could hear Chiquett-ká-Tahãken sleeping. I was very quiet and I hoped that would be enough. In the near darkness, I could see the stone gently glowing somewhere beneath Chiquett-ká-Tahãken’s nest, but there was no way to reach it without moving the nest. Chiquett-ká-Tahãken woke and breathed fire which I was able to dodge at first. I tried to escape down the passageway when the fire caught me as I turned the corner. I thought I would die, but there were some sudden loud noises like something banging against the walls, and that distracted Chiquett-ká-Tahãken. Whatever made the noise must have left the temple because Chiquett-ká-Tahãken followed screeching angrily. I was certain I would die. I do not know how long it was, but when I saw your light and heard your voice, I knew I was saved.”
“We’ll be safe once we reach the cover of the jungle,” Draco said. As they reached the mouth of the passageway and emerged into the bright sunlight, he scanned the sky but could see no sign of anything flying.
“No, Dracho, the jungle will not give us safety,” Kúmmeté said. “When Chiquett-ká-Tahãken returns she will get our scent from her nesting chamber and she will hunt us, even now I may have brought her vengeance upon the village. The winged serpent god goes to the mountains to hunt, but when others have come to her nest, she has visited the village in retribution.”
“That is what I saw in my Spirit dream,” Draco gasped. “Chiquett-ká-Tahãken, attacking the village!” The thought of his vision being true, and further, the thought of being hunted by a dragon caused Draco to experience the first genuine fear he had felt in months. He swallowed hard and resolved that there was nothing to be done, but to face whatever fate was coming.
He walked Kúmmeté to a large stone and helped him sit. “What do you know about fighting winged serpents, Kúmmeté?”
“Only that, legend says Chiquett-ká-Tahãken can be killed by the magic of the temple stone she stole. None have ever recovered the stone, and none have ever defeated her.” Kúmmeté responded slowly. “I am sorry, Dracho, I have killed us both by bringing the wrath of a god down upon us.”
“Nonsense!” Draco said reactively. “I will not accept that, Chiquett-ká-Tahãken is a ‘dragon,’ not a god, and I have seen ‘dragons’ defeated firsthand, they are just magical creatures and it requires magic to defeat them.”
“You are much braver than I, Dracho,” Kúmmeté said, “but I am afraid our time is nearly done.” He pointed to the sky behind Draco.
Draco turned and there in the distance was something, in flight, approaching. “You cannot fight in your condition,” Draco said helping him up. “You must hide.” There was a gap where a large stone slab had fallen against another. “Crawl in here, I will face the dragon.” He practically pushed Kúmmeté into the space and shoved his provisions bag and hammock in after him. He pulled Zuiã off his shoulder and set her down on the ground in front of the triangular gap. “You too. Zuiã, you stay here with Kúmmeté, and if I am defeated, escape to the jungle.” She protested loudly, but she did as she was told, backing fearfully into the opening.
Draco turned and bolted away from their hiding space toward the open area, which must have once been a market outside the temple. He took a deep breath and forced his hands to quit shaking. He raised his wand hand and mentally prepared his first spell.
This dragon was smaller in the body than any he had seen before but head to tail he suspected it was longer. Both the neck and tail were longer and more flexible than other species. He suddenly wished he had paid more attention in Hagrid’s Care of Magical Creatures class.
This dragon glinted several colors as it seemed to slither its way through the sky the sun shining off its metallic copper scales. Based on what he did remember this had to be a Peruvian Vipertooth, which meant a few things. It would be a nostril fire-breather like the Chinese Fireball, so its fire would be in quick bursts, not in long streams like the Hungarian Horntail or the Norwegian Ridgeback, and its preferred killing method would be its venomous bite. Like the Vipers, it borrowed its name from. One thing Draco did remember was that the Vipertooth was the only dragon species that preferred eating humans.
As it grew nearer Draco was horrified to realize that it was still clutching two villagers in its talons.
He set his stance and held his ground as the dragon came ever closer. It swept down at him releasing its victim’s bodies like projectiles, just as it sent a series of staccato fireballs at Draco.
Watching carefully Draco cast an ice shield, a thick spherical wall of ice manifesting, upon which the dragon’s fireballs burst one after the other. The splashing dragon-fire melted the shield almost as fast as Draco could maintain it and he was surrounded by a bright blast of flame, steam, and water, but he was unharmed. He had barely registered the sickening sound of the villager’s corpses slamming into the ground near him and rolling like cast-away ragdolls into impediments of stone ruin.
The dragon arced upwards, turning sharply to make another pass, coiling its body in complex aerodynamics. Draco cast Bombarda Maxima as the dragon reached its apex but the resulting explosions seemed to have little to no effect on the creature, as it swept toward him. He used another ice shield to withstand a second assault of fireballs but was knocked off his feet as the dragon landed hard, causing the ground to shake. He managed to get back to his feet and dodge behind stone ruins as the dragon whipped its tail around crushing more of the stones out of place.
Draco staggered from behind large stones with a bleeding gash across his forehead where the shattered stone had struck him. He fell to his knees and clutching around in a panic found a small bit of dried wood. He wiped the blood from his face with his wand forearm and turned to see the dragon baring down on him ready to strike with a deadly venomous bite. He flung up the small piece of wood and screamed “Engorgio” as the wood moved toward the approaching fangs. The bit of wood suddenly became a large log as the dragon’s jaws clamped down upon it. The weight caused the thrust of the dragon’s head to fall short and Draco felt the impact of the log breaking ribs on his left side as it hurled him away. He struggled to breathe as the dragon shook its head wildly, trying to dislodge its fangs from the heavy log.
Draco struggled to think, knowing that at any moment the dragon would fling the log from its jaws and bring its deadly fangs down upon him. The pain in his head and side were enormously distracting, but Voldemort himself had taught him to endure pain. He needed to think; a dragon could only be felled by a magic weapon, that much he knew, but where was he to get such a weapon? Then it struck him like a bolt. He had the Dagger of Gryffindor strapped to his hip. How could he have been so stupid, he thought. He dropped his wand and drew the dagger, forcing himself to his feet. He turned to see the dragon once again baring down upon him, and he knew he was too late.
Suddenly a huge block of stone from the ruins impacted the side of the dragon’s head right in front of him, so close he could feel the air it pushed. A second block followed causing the dragon to recoil, drawing itself back and rearing up on its hind legs, beating its wings to regain stability.
Draco looked to his side and there was Kúmmeté, he had found the extra wands and crawled from his hiding place to help. He was casting large bits of stone ruin at the dragon one after the other.
Draco found his balance and tested the weight of the dagger in his hand. He fixed his eye on the dragon’s exposed chest beneath its wings and with all his might threw the dagger.
The thump of impact as the dagger blade penetrated the dragon's thinner under-scales and buried itself to the hilt was nothing compared to the sudden roar of the stricken dragon. Reflexively, un-aimed, huge fireballs shot from its up-raised nostrils in loud explosive bursts. The strength seemed to leave its lower body as its back feet collapsed under its weight. The neck and head fell to the ground with a heavy thud and a gurgling death rattle.
Draco didn’t move. Kúmmeté was suddenly at his side. “You did it Dracho, you defeated Chiquett-ká-Tahãken, I did not believe it possible,” the boy was saying excitedly.
Draco bent down to pick up his wand. He stepped closer to the now seemingly lifeless head of the dragon and pushed the side of its head with his foot. The only reaction was the head falling back in its place.
Kúmmeté moved carefully toward the dragon’s exposed chest and pointed at the hilt of the dagger jutting from the scales, “Where did you get this weapon Dracho?”
Draco moved to the Dragon’s chest and took hold of the hilt of the dagger. “It was in Chiquett-ká-Tahãken’s lair, but it is a weapon from my home.” Kúmmeté’s eyes grew wide with wonder.
Draco pulled the dagger downward with all his force. Surprisingly, it sliced cleanly through the dragon’s scales with relative ease. Clearly, it was a more powerful magical weapon than he had thought. He pulled it free and noticed that the blood remaining on the blade seemed to be absorbed into the weapon itself. He sheathed it at his side.
They both took a moment to thank the jungle for their victory and its generosity, in the tradition of the people.
Zuiã appeared around the head of the slain beast, she chittered loudly, announcing her presence. She was dragging the featherweight charmed provisions bag along with her. Draco collected her and the bag.
“Can we go back now?” Draco asked wearily.
“Yes,” Kúmmeté responded. “It is a long walk, and we are both wounded, but we might make it in two days.”
Draco chuckled, “Kúmmeté, have you ever heard of Apparition?”
The younger boy smiled his ignorance.
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Chapter Thirty-Four
Breaking and Entering
Chapter 35: Chapter 34 - Breaking and Entering
Author's Notes: As always I must that my Beta reader Arnel for her extraordinary patience.
Breaking and Entering
Ginny sat at the breakfast table picking at her food. She hadn’t eaten a proper meal for almost two weeks. She just hadn’t been able to think completely straight with Harry in the hospital wing in a coma.
“Harry’ll be wakin’ up any time now. You’ll see,” Ron said while chewing at his eggs and sausage.
“Madam Pomfrey said we shouldn’t worry too much about Harry,” Hermione said trying to sound consoling. “His physical wounds are all but gone and she says he remains calm, so he just needs a bit of time.”
Ginny smiled wanly. “Thank you, Hermione, but I know you are nearly as worried as I am.” She pushed at her eggs again with her fork.
Hermione’s faux smile cracked and she shook her head affirmatively. She could only pat Ginny’s hand across the table in solidarity.
Just then Luna plopped down next to Ginny and greeted her with a half hug. “Good morning,” she said brightly. She began filling a plate from the breakfast platters. “Any change with Harry?” she asked. “I really must get back up to visit him very soon.”
“No change since yesterday,” Ginny muttered.
“How about you, Luna,” Hermione said trying to change the subject. “Any progress with that French boy?”
“Ulrich?” Luna asked. Hermione nodded. “Oh, that is officially over as of last night.”
Ron stopped eating long enough to ask, “What did the git do?”
“Well, he didn’t seem to be able to carry on a conversation about anything but Quidditch,” Luna said. “At least not in English.”
“Is that why you broke off with him?” Ron asked, looking a little confused.
“Well, no,” Luna responded. “I discovered that he has no interest in magical creatures at all, and he kept trying to back me into the fifth-floor supply cupboard, even after I asked him not to.”
“Well, I am sorry about that,” Hermione said politely.
“Oh, I am quite happy it’s over,” Luna said. “He was taking all my time and I wasn’t having any fun,” she said matter-of-factly. “And I missed you, I got used to seeing you all the time during the summer. Besides, I woke up this morning with the feeling that something wonderful is going to happen today.”
Just then there was a screech high in the ceiling and the morning post owls began to sweep into the room.
A barn owl landed next to Hermione with her Daily Prophet, while Pigwidgeon came to Ron with a small envelope.
Hermione quickly tore into the paper looking for any evidence that news of Harry’s condition had leaked out. She heaved a sigh of relief when a scan of the day’s headlines showed nothing of the kind.
Ron was scanning his letter, as Pigwidgeon helped himself to eggs off Ron’s plate. “Ginny, Mum is worried about you, she is asking me to make sure you eat.” Ron looked up at his sister.
Across the table, Ginny shoved a forkful of cold eggs into her mouth and sneered at him.
“Neither Mum nor I am the enemy, Gin,” Ron said. “She is just concerned.”
At that moment a Snowy Owl landed next to Ginny’s plate and hooted loudly.
“Kyne!” Ginny exclaimed suddenly, a genuine smile coming to her face where none had been for weeks. She hugged the bird close, and he tolerated the attention, nipping gently at her check. She released him and he adjusted himself on the table, then began eating Ginny’s cold eggs. “But where is Hedwig, and your owlets?”
The doors to the great hall opened and Hagrid came striding in. Hedwig was riding on his left shoulder and two pure white adolescent owlets were on his right. He came up the aisle till he could address Ginny. “Hello, Ginny, Luna, Ron, Hermione. Madam Pomfrey alerted me that there was a flock a owls tryin’ a get int’a hospital wing this morning. I found this lot pecking at the windows, It’s a good thing Hedwig here remembers me, made it easy ta get ‘em ta come away.”
“Three owls can hardly be called a flock, Hagrid,” Hermione said.
Just then a thin young man stepped from behind Hagrid. He was tall and a bit skinny with deep auburn hair and brilliant blue eyes behind oval glasses. He had three more owlets, one on each shoulder, that were lightly speckled, and a third on his right forearm that was heavily speckled with darkly dappled feathers.
“Oh, let me introduce my new assistant, come from London, to do a turn as me apprentice.” Hagrid began proudly. “This here’s Rolf Scamander, grandson of Newt Scamander, famous author of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find ‘Em.”
“Hello,” Rolf said. “I don’t expect you’ll remember me, I graduated from Hogwarts two years ago. The year of the Triwizard Tournament. I was a Hufflepuff.”
Ron and Ginny were politely clueless, but Hermione stood up to address him. “I remember you, Rolf. Are you here for some sort of formal internship?”
“Well, I completed an eighteen-month course of study in Nepal under Azfaar Ruiti on Magical Creatures of the Himalayas, and with all that is going on right now in the world, I thought Hagrid might be able to use an assistant and I could do some cataloging of species in the Forbidden Forest for the Ministry. Until things get settled with You-Know-Who, it feels like this might be the right place to be.”
“That’s wonderful, this may not be the Himalayas, but I am sure Professor Hagrid can contribute to your studies,” Hermione responded. She gestured to Ron and Ginny. “You know the Weasleys, but have you met Luna Lovegood?” Luna stood up, turning to face him.
“Oh, yes, Luna, very pleased to meet you, Professor Hagrid tells me you’ve been a great help to him.” He took her hand shaking it gently, but then simply holding it as he spoke. The owlet leaped from his arm to the table and started looking at everyone. “You were part of the Battle at the Ministry, weren’t you? I’ll bet that was exciting?”
Luna met his eyes and felt almost as though she couldn’t breathe. “I am very pleased to meet you as well,” she managed to speak softly. “I would very much enjoy hearing about your adventures in Nepal.”
There was a long silent pause as the two just stood there looking into each other’s eyes. Until Hagrid broke the silence.
“I am gonna get up ta the hospital so Hedwig can see Harry,” he stroked her breast feathers and she hooted appreciatively. “She’s quite beside herself about Harry, ya see.”
The little darkly speckled owlet hopped across the table toward Hermione and was tilting its head at her. It began to hoot inquisitively. “Hagrid, I don’t think Madam Pomfrey will allow all these owls into the hospital,” she had slipped fully into Head Girl mode.
“Yer right,” Hagrid said. “I’m jus gonna take Hedwig. Rolf is gonna take the family and get them settled in the Owlery.”
“Oh, may I help with that?” Luna asked excitedly.
“That would be wonderful,” Rolf replied dreamily; they were still locked in each other’s gaze.
Luna thrust out her right arm and snapped her fingers twice, gently, and the two owlets leaped from Hagrid’s shoulder down to her arm as though following a command.
“Hagrid?” Ginny asked. “Why are there only five owlets? there were seven eggs in the clutch?” She was still gently petting Kyne who had eaten all of the eggs off her plate and was now preening.
“Well, ya see…” Hagrid began, but Rolf interrupted, his eyes never leaving Luna as he answered.
“It is not uncommon for the chicks of a mated pair of Post owls to reject any residual enchantment. If they choose to go wild, they can be captured and enchanted individually, but it often results in a very independently minded owl, which many people dislike,” Rolf recited.
“They was all born proper,” Hagrid added. “Me and Molly, your mother, kept a close eye on the nest, and all seven was healthy. But when Hedwig and Kyne, decided it was time to leave the nest only the five here followed.”
“Luna, would you take Kyne with you to the Owlery,” Ginny asked as she got up from her seat, “I would like to go with Hagrid.”
Luna replied simply, “Yes, of course.” She held out her other arm and with a slight nudge from Ginny, Kyne went to her.
“What about this little one here?” Ron asked referring to the owlet that was now doing a little hopping dance in front of Hermione.
They all looked. There was a moment of silent observation and Luna was the first to talk. “Oh, he is just making an offer to Hermione. It seems he would like to choose you, Hermione. He is asking you to choose him.”
“Really?” Hermione asked, leaning down to look more closely at the little owl. “Do you think Harry would mind?”
“No, Hermione,” Ginny said. “In fact, given that performance, I am certain Harry would insist.”
The little owl was bobbing up and down edging closer.
“What do I do?” Hermione asked.
“First, offer him your arm, then bring him along to the Owlery with us, and secure him a place. Once you name him that will set the bond,” Rolf said.
Hermione reached out her forearm and the little owl immediately hopped up, cooing affectionately. “He looks like someone has dappled his head and back with black charcoal. In fact, that is what I’ll name him, Cole.”
Rolf led the way toward the Owlery, as Hagrid and Ginny headed for the hospital wing.
Ron had been asked to attend an impromptu Quidditch practice as the team was feeling impacted by the present lack of their leadership. He was doing his best to fill that gap and keep the team motivated while Harry was in hospital and Ginny was as a result, emotionally disconnected. Hermione had told him it would clear his mind to get some broom time, and she knew it would allow her some personal time as well to catch up on Head Girl duties and everything else.
Harry had been in a coma for sixteen days and while she was worried, a small part of her was also cherishing the respite from Harry’s mission. She had almost felt normal in the last few days. She knew, though, that it couldn’t last. Harry would wake up. She was not certain of when or how, but she was one hundred percent certain that he would.
The portrait passage flew open and with a few choice words for the Fat Lady, Ginny came stomping angrily into the room. She saw Hermione at the table and came straight to her. Hermione held down some of her papers against the flurry of Ginny’s arrival.
“What’s wrong?” Hermione asked.
“Madame Pomfrey and Professor McGonagall said I cannot stay in the hospital wing any longer, and I can only visit Harry for an hour in the mornings and two hours in the evenings,” Ginny said on the verge of tears. “They said until his condition changes, there is no point in my being there so much and they want me to focus on school work and other activities.”
Hermione smiled sympathetically. “I am sorry, Ginny, but I agree with them. I know you are worried about Harry, we all are, but you have been neglecting everything else since Harry’s accident.”
“It was not an accident,” Ginny protested, as she sat heavily in a chair.
“I know that,” Hermione said, “I just don’t know what else to call it.” She exhaled a long pause. “The thing is, Harry is being very well watched over by Madame Pomfrey, and if anything changes you will be the first to hear about it. You have been neglecting everything else, and I think Harry would be counting on all of us to make sure, exactly that, doesn’t happen.
“Professors Burgestikoff and Fleming have all but taken over the DA for us and right now Ron is at an unscheduled Quidditch practice trying to assure your teammates that the team can get through this. I know you want to just worry about Harry, but we need you back, Ginny, we need you to take the lead in Harry’s absence.”
Ginny looked stricken. She had been pushing everything away and concentrating solely on Harry when Hermione was right, and Harry would be depending on her to keep things moving forward. She was acting like she’d lost Harry, but that was not the case. Harry was right there in the hospital wing, and he just needed some time to recover. She’d been acting like a selfish little girl, the very sort of behavior she abhorred. There was a mission and she needed to be pushing that forward on Harry’s behalf.
She could feel Hermione’s eyes upon her. She sniffled and reached into her robe pocket for a tissue and her fingers contacted the phial of Harry’s extracted memories. She had completely forgotten in her grief, about Dumbledore requesting that the memories of that night be extracted. Madame Pomfrey had done as requested early the next morning before the elves visited and handed the phial to her. It had been neglected in her pocket ever since. She pulled out the tissues and wiped her nose, then shoved them back in her pocket and withdrew the phial. She handed it across the table to Hermione.
“You are right,” Ginny said. “I have not been behaving as Harry would want, and that needs to stop now. I am going to go down to the pitch and show the Quidditch team that they are not leaderless, and then later this evening, we’re going to the Keep and we are going to view Harry’s memories and see if they give us any clues to help him, or to forward his mission.”
Ginny stood up and marched out of the portrait hole with purpose.
Hermione smiled. She had known that Ginny would come around, she just needed to wait for the right moment to give her the right nudge. She put the phial of Harry’s memories carefully away in her knapsack.
Cole hooted at her as if asking what she was thinking. Hermione looked at Cole and said, “I feel sorry for the Quidditch team.”
Cole suddenly launched himself from the table and swooped at the wood pile, there was a momentary squeak and he flew up to the window sill across the room with a fat mouse in his talons.
Hermione watched for a moment as he tore into his prize. “Exactly,” she said and turned back to her revising.
When Ron, Hermione, and Ginny arrived that evening they could hardly recognize it. Instead of the cold grey feel it now felt warm and inviting. All of the wood had been refreshed and polished and the books shined in the torchlight with bright gilded bindings of colored leather. The brick of the potions fire pit had been cleaned and repaired, and its accompanying smoke hood had been scoured of its green tarnish and now shone a brilliant polished copper.
They went to the Founder’s alcove where they greeted the Portraits, who wanted to know if there had been any change in Harry’s condition. Hermione explained that Harry had still not awoken, but was safe and physically healed in the Hogwarts hospital wing. She further explained that they had come to use the Library’s Pensieve to look at Harry’s memories.
Ron retrieved the Pensieve they had discovered in the drawers beneath the bookshelves and brought it to the alcove table, along with the accompanying jar of sealed liquid.
They broke the seal and poured the liquid into the Pensieve. Hermione handed Ginny the phial of Harry’s memory which she promptly uncorked. “Any questions?” she asked. “Okay, we look at the memories once and see if there is any useful information. If so, we discuss what to do about it together.”
Ron and Hermione nodded and Ginny tipped the contents of the phial into the Pensive. They each reached forward placing their fingertips in the Pensieve liquid and promptly fell into the memories.
The room was still and silent with anticipation as the Founder’s Portraits watched.
After several minutes Hermione and Ron emerged from the Pensieve pulling their hands from the liquid and gasping loudly.
“Blimey!” Ron exclaimed, “That was very intense.”
Hermione immediately turned to her school bag to retrieve a pen and notepad. She began scribbling notes wildly.
“Hermione?” Ron asked. “Why didn’t Ginny come out of the Pensieve with us?”
“Don’t be silly Ron, she did. Ginny is right…” Hermione looked up from her notation, pointing the end of her pen, “… there.”
Ron had stepped up to Ginny and was slowly waving his hand in front of her face. “Please do not attempt to disturb her,” The Ravenclaw portrait said. “She will emerge on her own when the memory is done.”
“But, if the memory isn’t over,” Ron asked, “why were Hermione and I ejected?”
“Pensieves are quite straightforward, but there are a couple of possibilities,” The Gryffindor Portrait said.
“You may have simply interpreted a transition as the end and self-ejected,” The Ravenclaw Portrait added, “This can often happen when the Pensieve user feels they have gotten all of the information they were looking for.”
“That sounds right,” Ron said. “I mean we saw what happened to the Horcruxes, right?”
Suddenly Ginny gasped and withdrew her hand from the Pensieve. She grabbed her brother’s arm to steady herself as she eased down into one of the library chairs. “Oh, poor Harry,” she said.
“Ginny. We came out of the memories just as Harry was experiencing a whirlwind review of Voldemort’s life. There was just so much information there, it felt overwhelming and confusing, and then everything went black,” Hermione said. “Ron and I came out then, I guess we assumed we had seen everything. What more did you see?”
Ginny was trying to control her crying. Thick tears were welling in her eyes and flowing down her cheeks. She was visibly shaking. “I… I experienced Voldemort killing my… I mean Harry’s parents, and then the moment he tried to kill Harry, and instead killed himself, and I saw the piece of his soul hit Harry. But I saw it all from Harry’s perspective as an infant, and I had no idea what was happening. I couldn’t think from my present perspective.”
“Oh my,” said the Hufflepuff Portrait. “What you’ve described my dear, is a very frightening, and at the same time, extremely intimate memory. Not just anyone would be able to see it, it is something that has shaped Harry, at the very core of his being.”
“So, after we discussed and compared everything we saw in Harry’s memories, we decided to concentrate on any information that specifically pertained to the Horcruxes.” She paused consulting the notepad she was holding. “In the memories, we saw Voldemort give Horcruxes to, presumably, trusted Death Eaters. The Dagger of Gryffindor, which thanks to the Portrait of Slytherin, we know was stolen during the Founder’s time and hidden here in this Library as a souvenir, was given to twin brothers, Tarin and Tobin Wilkes. We saw later in the memories that Tarin Wilkes displeased Voldemort and was banished in a fit of anger.” Again, Hermione consulted her notes. “I’ve done some research into banishment. The spell is ancient and seems to have been developed by accident as an emotional reaction to anger.
“Because of the nature of the spell historians cannot agree on its origin. What they can agree on is that it appears in virtually every known Wizarding society throughout history. One historian describes it as an adult example of spontaneous, emotional magic akin to what very young wizards and witches do under emotional stress. It is theorized that the spell taps into magical ley lines between significant magical sights. But the castor of the spell does not seem to have control of where they send those they banish.
“There is an account of a Mr. Abner Breckinridge, of Lanarkshire, who in nineteen hundred sixty-five was banished several times by his wife for coming home drunk. In those instances, Mr. Breckinridge woke each time in the exact same clearing in the woods outside of Salem Massachusetts. He was able to walk himself into Salem and arrange to Portkey home. But it is noted historically that those who are banished very seldom ever return.”
“So, we may not be able to ever find that Horcrux?” Ron questioned. “What if we could somehow get Voldemort to banish someone we know?”
“Extremely risky at best,” Ginny said, “But, we only know that Tarin and then his brother Tobin were banished. We do not know for certain, based on these memories that the Dagger was with either one of them.”
“Agreed,” Hermione added. “So, I will continue research into the Wilkes family to see if any more clues surface.”
“Once Harry wakes up, perhaps he will have greater insight,” Ron suggested.
“Perhaps,” Hermione agreed. “Until then, however, we can concentrate on the others. The Cup of Hufflepuff we learned was given to a Death Eater whose name sounded like Benjamin Burn. In my initial research, I could not find a wizard of that name during the right time period to be associated with Voldemort. I did, however, discover that there was a Benjamin Burke, a nephew of Caractacus Burke of Borgin & Burkes. Given Voldemort’s ties to that business, it makes sense that this may be the Death Eater in question. Benjamin Burke was killed in battle with Aurors about a month after Voldemort’s disappearance. I will continue to see what I can uncover. The last unaccounted-for Horcrux we saw is the Peacock Brooch of Rowena Ravenclaw, which we saw Voldemort hide in the Defense classroom.
“We managed to get into the classroom alone yesterday, but neither Ron nor I could detect any magic or obvious enchantments in the area we saw in the memory. We were discovered by Professor Burgetsikoff, but Ron was able to make it look as though we were looking for her to discuss DA business. Neither of us thinks she suspected anything and we will continue to investigate the classroom as we are able.”
“So, where does that leave us, then?” Ginny asked
“There is little else we can do, but keep up appearances by behaving as normally as possible, and we will continue to research what we know until we come up with something to act on,” Ron said, he sounded a little defeated.
“Take heart, my friends, you have already done extraordinary things,” The Portrait of Gryffindor said. “Now is but a temporary lull in the greater battle, a time for thought and reflection rather than action. I have faith in you all. Harry will wake soon and when he does you will have solved some of this mystery.”
“Thank you, sir,” Ginny said, looking up at the Portrait.
“It is not just Godric who believes in you,” the Portrait of Slytherin said. “All of the founders do, including me. Death gives one a particular perspective, and you have all shown me what my actions in life have yielded. When it was just Tom here in the Chamber I continued to be wrapped up in his ambitions and desires, but I failed to see how far they were twisted from my own. I am convinced now, by my friend’s…” he gestured to the other portraits, “…just how misplaced my beliefs in things like blood purity were in life, and I deeply regret what my life’s actions have wrought.” He hung his head in sorrow. “I vow, that I will do all I can to assist your cause if you will allow it.”
“We’ve been able to identify the exact stone in the Defense classroom behind which Voldemort hid the Peacock Brooch, but nothing I’ve tried gives any result,” Ginny began. “I suspect, as we have seen before, that the enchantments involve Parseltongue, so we will likely have to wait for Harry.”
Ron and Hermione nodded their agreement. “I have been looking into the Wilkes family,” Ron said. “The Wilkes family was, for the most part, considered pure blood. The twin’s parents died of Dragon Pox when they were quite young and the two boys were raised by servants at the Wilkes estate. After leaving from Hogwarts, Tarin Wilkes was married and had two children, two boys a year apart, Rupert and Roland. Tobin was never married. Mrs. Wilkes stood a Ministry Inquiry after the first war and was cleared of any wrongdoing. She remarried a few years later to a wizard named Barton Diggory, who incidentally was Amos Diggory’s older brother. The boys choose to adopt their stepfather's surname.
“There was a third Wilkes, Death Eater, an Annie Wilkes, cousin to the twins, who was killed by Aurors in a skirmish following the first war. The twins’ estate, along with that of their cousin, was confiscated and inventoried by Ministry officials immediately following the war. Mrs. Wilkes, following her acquittal, elected to liquidate the estate in its entirety, taking only its value as assessed by the Ministry. So far, I have not come up with any references at all to a dagger of any sort associated with the Wilkes family. At this point, a request would have to be made at the Ministry to see the official records of the estate inventory.”
“Brilliant, Ron,” Ginny said, “An impressively thorough report. Did Hermione help?”
“Some,” Ron muttered, Hermione blushed a bit red next to him.
“Either way, I am genuinely impressed,” Ginny said sincerely.
“I have been looking into Benjamin Burke,” Hermione stated. “Mr. Burke was never married. After leaving Hogwarts he worked for his uncle for some time. While there, he was an associate of Voldemort, who was also employed there. Logically, during that time he could have built the required association to make him a favored Death Eater. He continued to work for his uncle after Voldemort’s departure but eventually opened his own business specializing in estate division and liquidation.
“After he was killed in the same battle as Annie Wilkes, his estate and business were confiscated. Because there was no descendant heir the Ministry liquidated the estate and business by public auction. Because it was a public auction the inventory was published and no mention of the Cup of Hufflepuff, or any gold cup at all was included in the items to be auctioned. Upon review of the inventory, it struck me that for a man who did the sort of work he was involved in, there was nothing of any particular value included in his possessions. No antiques or items of artifact value. I dug a bit deeper into the Daily Prophets of the time and discovered that Caractacus Burke attempted to contest the Ministry's finding and claim his nephew’s estate. This action was denied by the Ministry, and it went forward with the inventory and auction.
“We know that Burke was given the Cup of Hufflepuff, so it was either hidden or amongst his possessions. My theory is that his Uncle Caractacus, either before or immediately after his death, gained access to Benjamin Burke’s home and business and removed items of particular value, he may have even swapped in lesser items from his inventory to cover his actions.
“If Caractacus Burke found the cup at his nephew’s estate he would have recognized it immediately as a coveted historical object of great value. Being a shrewd man, Caractacus Burke might have been able to deduce how it came into his nephew’s possession and he would have attempted to hide it, given that his home and business are routinely inspected by the Ministry.” Hermione turned the page of her notebook.
“In a discussion of these findings, Ron suggested that if he were Burke, he would have acquired a space in the non-magic world where he could warehouse magical objects and antiques without the worry of Ministry interference, which I think is a brilliant idea, and one I would like to pursue,” Hermione concluded.
“And have you come up with a plan?” Ginny asked.
Hermione nodded. “This will be a Hogsmeade weekend,” she began. “I propose that we all depart for Hogsmeade in the morning along with the other students. Once there we will stop in to see the twins for their grand opening of the new Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes, Hogsmeade location. The place is bound to be crowded with students so we’ll slip into the upstairs apartment where Ron and I will take the Floo to Diagon Alley. From there we will go to non-magical London where we can do some investigation at the British Museum Library and possibly, Land Registry Offices. We’ll use glamours as we did in Godric’s Hollow while we are in Diagon Alley to avoid being identified as students.”
“I am sure Fred and George will be delighted to help you break school rules,” Ginny said. “I’ll either spend time with Fred and George or maybe tag along with Luna, though I suspect she’ll be with Rolf. I’ll want to come back early to visit Harry anyway,” Ginny finished.
The twins’ new store was as spectacular as the original had been, and both Fred and George insisted the rebuilt Diagon Alley location was even better than before. “Our landlord, old Alphineus Lot, came to see us after the attack on the Alley and said the landowner didn’t want to oversee every rebuild in the Alley,” Fred said.
George continued. “He was offering to sell us the land, that way we could rebuild to our own needs. Even offered us incredible refinancing terms.”
“So does that mean you two are now landlords yourselves?” Ron asked with caution in his voice.
“Yup!” The twins answered in unison. “We bought our plot and the land for the two connecting buildings,” Fred finished.
“Besides the shop, we now have two more storefronts and eighteen flats as we added on a third storey, three flats per floor on one and two above each business,” George added.
“And that’s not even mentioning this building in Hogsmeade, with the new second location and the flat above,” Fred went on. “We’ve decided to live in both places so we can easily commute as needed.”
“How are you going to do that?” Ginny questioned, “Commuting by Floo is fast, but I can’t imagine you two being comfortable covered in Floo ash all the time.”
“Au contraire, little sister,” George said. “Let us take you upstairs and show you the place.”
The twins let their employees know that they were stepping upstairs and then proceeded to guide the way into the back and up the private stairway to the first-floor flat. Fred narrated the journey.
“The staircase is in the back and has a private, street entrance on the side of the building near the shipping entrance. We added this doorway from our back office to the private foyer.” He patted the doorframe as he moved through it. “Once up the stairs there is a short hallway, and as you can see there is a second door. The front door is to the flat and the other is presently a large storage room, though it could be converted into a rentable space in the future.” He waved his wand at the door releasing its magical lock and entered the flat.
It was a modest flat with a small, tiled entrance area and coat cupboard. To the right, there was a good-sized sitting room set at the front of the building with large windows overlooking the street. To the left was a large kitchen with space for a dining table. Directly across from the entrance was a small hallway with three doors. The door to the right entered a large street-facing bedroom. The door to the left revealed a small guest room and the final door entered the bathroom.
“Wait a moment,” Hermione said. “This flat has no fireplace, so there is no Floo?”
“Very keen of you to notice, Hermione,” George complimented.
“So, without a Floo, how can you commute between locations?” Ron asked, “I didn’t see a fireplace in the store either.”
“Simple,” Fred said as he stepped to the back of the kitchen where there was another door. “We followed the example of our friend Harry.” He opened the door revealing a small pantry beyond. “Now you see it,” He closed the door and made some quick movements with the knob, before pulling it open again. The doorway was filled with a familiar shining blue lattice. “And now you don’t.”
“You made an Any-door-knob!” Ginny exclaimed.
“Well, not exactly,” George said. “The knob on this door is permanent, as is the corresponding knob on the pantry in the flat on Diagon Alley. But the enchantment to make the connection between them is the same.” He paused, allowing Fred to take over.
“This is just a portal between two places,” he said. “Turns out that making a true Portis Omnibus is a bit trickier, and we haven’t gotten it down yet. Pity really, because it would make an excellent high-end sellable product for the stores.”
Ron chuckled. “I think maybe you should talk to Hermione; she’s already worked it out.” He stepped through the lattice. The twins looked wide-eyed at Hermione.
“Brilliant! Have you really made your own Portis Omnibus, Hermione?” They asked in unison.
Hermione was blushing a bit. “I did,” she stated matter-of-factly.
Ron emerged from the pantry. “Works just fine,” he said. “The new flat looks nice.”
“Well, this all works out perfectly,” Hermione said. “Ron and I need to do some things in London today, if you let us use the portal both to go and return, and you say nothing to anyone about where we went, I would be glad to help you make a proper Portis Omnibus. You might even bring them back into style.”
“Be our guests,” George said with a little bow. “As leaving Hogsmeade is a violation of school rules, we’d have helped anyway, no need to bribe us, though it’s appreciated.”
“Let’s get you a set of keys to the flat’s private entrances on both ends and I’ll teach you the coded locking enchantments,” Fred said.
“You are not going with them?” George asked, turning to Ginny.
“Not this trip,” Ginny replied. “I am going to meet Luna and Rolf later. They are going to come here to see the shop. I am going to go get elevenses with them at the Three Broomsticks, and maybe knock about for a bit, before heading back to Hogwarts to look in on Harry.”
“Well, you are welcome to knock about the shop for as long as you like,” George said genuinely. “Fred and I hoped Harry would be up for the shop opening.”
“He’ll come round once he wakes up, of course,” Ginny said. She turned to the others changing the subject. “Well, you two best be off if you are to be back to the castle in time for supper.”
“We’re going now,” Hermione said. “See you back at the castle later.” She gave a small wave as Ron stepped ahead of her through the lattice doorway, and pulled her through behind him.
Mr. Filch had attempted to give them a dressing down for tardiness, but Hermione insisted they were technically on time and so his vexation was his own and any attempt to impose punishment would be taken up with the Headmistress. Filch then backpedaled his indignation, but they did have to endure Peeves following them back to the Great Hall making a racket and praising them too loudly for setting “Filthy Filchy” in his place. Fortunately, Headmistress McGonagall had banished the Poltergeist from the Great Hall, so that students could dine in peace.
During their meal, under the cover of Muffliato, Ron, and Hermione told Ginny and Luna about their adventures of the day.
“Once we came out of the Leaky Cauldron Hermione hailed one of those big black Muggle-mobiles and we rode in it to the biggest Muggle library I have ever seen,” Ron started enthusiastically.
“Non-Magical, Ron,” Hermione reminded. “We are not using Muggle anymore, remember?”
“Oh, yeah,” Ron replied, “sorry. We spent a couple of hours there while Hermione worked something called a computer trying to figure out how we could get what we were looking for. Then we got fish and chips off of a lorry. It was a mobile kitchen with service windows right in the side, and the food was brilliant.”
“I also let him get churros, but the food was not the purpose of the trip,” Hermione added.
“So, after food, we went to a place called the Land Registry?” he said, looking to Hermione for confirmation.
“We went to the Land Registry, Government office in London, where I asked how we could search for holdings in the name of Caractacus Burke or Theodore Borgin,” Hermione chimed in. “The clerk explained that I would have to fill out a form to request something called a property deed search. And the search could take as long as sixteen weeks depending on how far back I intended to request.” Hermione paused. “When I said I wanted to search records from nineteen-seventy-five through nineteen-eighty-one. The Clerk said if it was a London area property, they probably had those records on sight and the search would take two to three weeks.”
“Well, you can imagine we didn’t feel like we had that kind of time,” Ron said, taking up the narrative. “So, brilliant as ever, Hermione asks for the forms and the clerk gives her a clipboard to fill them out. We turn to the empty waiting room. And the clerk points at a counter bell and says,” he launched into his best Delores Umbridge impression for effect. “Ring this when you are ready and I’ll come collect your form.”
Hermione cut back in. “So the clerk steps away, the waiting room is empty, there are rows and rows of files behind the counter, I am weary and frustrated, and Ron looks understandably bored. So, I think to myself, I’m an adult witch and I need what I came for. So, I set down the clipboard, with the forms still blank, pulled out my wand, and performed a highly specific summoning charm looking for files where the names Borgin or Burke appear.”
“What happened next was absolute pandemonium,” Ron jumped back in. “Somewhere at the back of the file shelves, there was a sound like a file slipped from the shelves and hit the floor. Then another, and another. The clerk and two others came over to investigate, but we were just sitting in the waiting area nowhere close to where the noises were coming from. They started to go down the individual aisles but suddenly were running back and dropping for cover as files started to burst from the shelves and the shelves themselves began to wobble, finally falling like dominos!” Ron took an excited breath. “Papers were flying everywhere and the clerks were screaming and from the midst of it all a stack of files assembled itself on the counter in front of us. There were fifty-seven in all, as we would find out later. Amidst all the chaos one of the clerks must have hit some kind of alarm, ‘cause a claxon started going off.”
“We needed to get out of there fast,” Hermione said. “So, I cast Reducio, on the stack of files and Ron swept the lot into his open knapsack, and out the door we went.”
“So, what took you so long to get back, if you got everything after lunch?” Ginny asked.
“Oh, we went right back to the twins’ flat in Diagon Alley and started to look through all the files,” Ron said.
“That took some time, but eventually we did find one property that exactly fits the bill,” Hermione explained. “It is a building in a dodgy area of East London. The building was purchased by Benjamin Burke in nineteen-seventy-seven, and transferred to Caractacus Burke in nineteen-eighty, sometime prior to Benjamin’s death.”
Ron was smiling proudly, “So, Hermione’s theory holds up. At a location in East London is a non-magical building that is being used to presumably house antiques and magical artifacts that Borgin & Burkes doesn’t want anyone in the Ministry to be aware of.”
“Okay, so what is the plan now?” Luna asked.
“Well,” Hermione started. “We talked the twins into giving us the Portis Omnibus door codes for their flats in both Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley, and we asked if they would help us. Sometime after evening tea, once everyone is back in their common rooms for the night, Ron and I will use my Portis Omnibus to go directly to the twins’ Diagon Alley flat where they will meet us. Under cover of darkness, we’ll slip out into greater London and make our way to this building location. We haven’t told Fred and George any particulars, just that we are looking for something we think Borgin & Burke acquired illegally.”
“To get them interested we told them it’s a weapon that we want to keep out of the hands of the Death Eaters,” Ron added. “They can be of great help as they know a lot about Muggle… Oops, non-magical people and places.”
“We presented it as a Mission for the Order, so they are completely on board,” Hermione said.
“You lied?” Ginny said questioningly.
“I exaggerated!” Hermione objected, aghast. “After all it is technically part of a larger mission, that was ordered by Albus Dumbledore, while he was still the leader of the Order of the Phoenix.”
“I was only going to say, I’m proud of you,” Ginny said giggling.
“We figure we’ll go check this out with the twins, and if it turns out as we hope we’ll have one more object, and if not, we’ll know to look elsewhere,” Ron said glancing about as if he didn’t trust the Muffliato. “Either way, we figure we’ll send Dad an anonymous tip in the morning, and he can have the Ministry raid the place.”
“That is a good idea,” Luna said. “Maybe we could send my father a tip as well, and he can get the scoop for The Quibbler? No reason not to help our families where we can.”
“Sounds good to me,” Ginny said.
Ginny agreed to remain in Hermione’s dorm until they returned and had a flask of prepared Polyjuice Potion, just in case there were some sort of an emergency that required the Head Girl’s presence.
At just past eleven Ron and Hermione emerged from the pantry door in the Diagon Alley flat above Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. Fred and George were there eagerly awaiting them. The twins were dressed in all black clothes and had assembled four brooms. Hermione quickly performed a spell to make her and Ron’s clothing turn black.
They had a map of London spread out on the dining table and had marked the location with a Knut. Ron and Hermione joined them to look at the map.
“We figured flying would be the best way to get there as taking a Muggle taxi could mean someone might notice us arriving,” George said, as he motioned to the brooms leaning against the wall.
Despite her dislike of flying, Hermione nodded her agreement.
“And that way we can leave and return directly from the roof here,” Fred added, pointing upward.
They took a minute to examine the map and plan a simple route.
As they headed to the roof George noted that they had not yet rented any of the flats so there were no prying eyes about.
Once on the roof they could see that even at the late hour, Diagon Alley was alive with people out for the evening. There appeared to be several restaurants and pubs still open and doing brisk business. And beyond the alley they could see greater London with its many bright lights and tall buildings just to the East and South.
They quickly mounted their brooms and kicked off, rising straight upward.
Hermione had elected to ride her own broom which she was gripping tightly. She was grateful that the twins had chosen modern Quidditch brooms with stirrup attachments, as she pressed her feet hard against them for stability. While the brothers were clearly enjoying themselves, performing loops and aerial acrobatics along the way, she did her best to fly as straight and level as possible as she followed. After several minutes of flight, they came over an area where there seemed to be fewer and fewer street lamps below. And even fewer lights in any of the windows.
They came to a stop, and Fred said he was going to fly lower to check for building numbers. He quickly nosed his broom into a steep dive and made a low pass along the dark road below. Many of the buildings beneath them seemed quite large and Hermione assumed they were in an area dominated by factories and warehouses. Still there were a good number of buildings that had a smaller scale. And it was to one of these that Fred directed them upon his return.
They landed on the dark street before a simple squarish building that Hermione thought might have once been used for light manufacturing, or had simply always been used as storage. There was a lighter space above the ground floor, centered on the building face, beneath horizontal windows, that looked like there might once have been a sign. Something that might have given identity to the small, dingy, grey brick warehouse, sandwiched between two larger structures.
There was a single steel door to the right front of the building next to a small glass block window. There had once been four large windows across the front of the structure at ground level, but these had been filled in with a lighter sand-colored brick.
“Well, this is the building,” George said as they stood there “Should we give it the ole’ Alohomora?” He began stepping toward the door.
“George, stop,” Ron said. “Something tells me even though this is a non-magical building, it is not going to be quite that easy.” Ron nodded to Hermione who handed him her broom and stepped forward drawing her wand.
She waved her wand in front her, her arms held up above her head and spoke her spells too quietly to be heard. A barely visible mist began to appear. It seemed to stretch upward from the ground reaching up the front and over the top of the building. It began to glow and undulate lightly in multiple colors, several of the brightest colors showed around the steel door. After a few minutes Hermione stopped and the mist quickly dissipated.
Hermione turned to the boys. “Well, Borgin & Burke, really do not want anyone getting in here,” She began. “There are multiple wards covering the building including several types of alarm wards, anti-Muggle enchantments and locking charms. I am not certain that there is a way to get in or counter these wards without setting off some kind of magical alarm,” She stepped back toward Ron and took her broom back.
Fred and George were both rubbing their chins trying to puzzle out the problem, when Ron asked. “Do you reckon they are more concerned about magical or non-magical intruders?”
“Well, given this location and the fact that this building has essentially been kept a secret from the Ministry,” Hermione answered. “And, the prominence of anti-Muggle wards used here. I would say that they are mostly concerned about non-magical thieves. These ward charms would mostly cause any non-magical folks to simply overlook the building entirely, never giving it a second thought.”
“And what were the shape of the wards, were they blanket wards, or dome wards?” Ron asked.
“Blanket, across the front over the top and down the back,” Hermione replied.
“So, no sides then.” Ron said to himself out loud.
“Little brother, you have a great mind for this sort of thing,” Fred said as he hopped back onto his broom, and raised away from the ground.
“Brilliant,” George added. “Brother, maybe you should join our business after you leave Hogwarts, we could use someone with strategic skills.”
Both Ron and George mounted their brooms and raised away from the ground up and out of sight over the next door building to the right.
A moment later Ron swooped back down and hovering, said. “Sorry, Hermione, you coming?”
Hermione mounted her broom and flew up to meet Ron and together they flew to where the twins were circling a large bank of roof windows on top of the adjacent building. Several of the large windows had been left open.
“Clearly this business is not too worried about thieves,” George said.
“Well, at least not from up here on the roof,” Fred added. “It may be a squeeze, but I think we can fly right through these big windows.” By way of demonstration, he leaned close against his broom handle and slipped through the open window.
George followed him and then Ron motioned for Hermione to go next.
The building was an open warehouse space from ceiling to ground. At both the street side and the back there appeared to be large garage style doors, and the space was mostly full of large lorries. At the far end there appeared to be four separate floors with a long, connecting stairway.
The twins quickly descended to the ground and walked to the corner opposite the entrance to the other building. “Through this wall will be the entrance space to the next-door building,” George said.
“Can someone please explain to me what we’re doing,” Hermione asked.
“Sure,” Fred said, smiling with delight at the thought that Hermione didn’t understand. “Ron asked you if the wards on Borgin & Burkes building were blanket or dome wards. You said Blanket.”
Hermione agreed with a nod.
George continued. “Blanket wards would only cover the exposed exterior of the building. And do not extend to the sides, where no thief is likely to try to come through the shared wall.”
Ron chimed in. “And this spot, opposite the other building’s entrance is the place we can assume there is not likely to be any shelving obstructing the wall.”
“So, a couple of quick Bombarda ought to do it,” Fred and George raised their wands at the brick wall.
Hermione stepped in front of them, arms outstretched. “Stop!” she exclaimed. “Give me a moment to catch-up,” she dropped her arms. “What you are saying is if we go through this adjoining wall we can slip in under the magical wards, and very likely by-pass any non-magical security as well.”
All three brothers nodded vigorously, relishing in the concept that Hermione needed a moment to keep up with them. Their delight was all over their faces.
Hermione had drawn her wand and casually tapped her own cheek as she was thinking. “The real question is, why waste all this potential for stealth by using something as loud and messy as Bombarda?” She stepped forward and tapped the brick wall in several places, forming a simple rectangle. “When you can use the Bricks to Passageway Spell?” The bricks began to pop out of place turning and repositioning themselves to reconfigure into a perfectly normal sized brick archway with a heavy brickwork face, revealing the bricks of the adjoining wall behind them.
The boys’ expressions fell from their faces.
Hermione tapped the now exposed adjoining wall in the same way and soon there was a perfectly formed passageway between to the two structures.
The twins on either side of Ron both turned and whispered, “Marry her.” Ron grew a stupid grin and they all followed after Hermione who had disappeared into the other building.
The place was crammed full. It had industrial steel shelves from floor to ceiling and the whole was covered by a thick layer of dust showing that no one had been there in a long time. There seemed to be little or no organization, as bits of furniture and endless portraiture, rugs, tapestries and limitless bric-a-brac filled the shelves. There were also walls of numbered cupboards and drawers. As the twins disappeared into the aisles of shelving, Hermione turned to a counter space near the entrance. She stepped through a set of swinging doors to its other side. Here she found a small desk littered with paper files. She looked for a moment for an oil lamp to light, then chuckled to herself as she realized she was in a Muggle building, and leaned forward to turn the knob of a heavy brass desk lamp.
Ron squinted at the bright electric light, while Hermione rifled through the loose papers on the desk. Most of it appeared to be left over from a time that the building belonged to Muggles. She began looking in the desk drawers. Most of the drawers seemed to contain leftover Muggle objects from the desk’s previous occupant, pens and pencils, pads of paper, a stapler and various other office supplies, but in the center drawer amidst the non-magical artifacts were a small bottle of ink and a several quills; indication that a wizard had been here and used the desk.
On the floor next to the desk, she discovered a heavy Muggle safe, which after a few exploratory spells succumbed easily to Alohomora. In it were several thick volumes, clearly labeled Inventory. “Jackpot,” she said as she pulled forth the heavy books and laid them across the desk.
With Ron looking on eagerly and half on the watch for his wandering brothers, Hermione began tapping the books in sequence with her wand as she repeated “Golden Cup of Hufflepuff.” After several repeated passes the books began to quiver and twitch until finally three of them flopped open. Hermione examined the open pages and found in each an entry referring to a Golden cup adorned with a badger possibly the cup of Hufflepuff. She grabbed a scrap slip of paper and quickly jotted down the inventory locations. With a flick of her wand the books jumped back into the safe, the heavy door closed itself with a clank and the lock dial spun.
The first entry was located in aisle six, cupboard twenty-three. It took them only a minute to find the noted location. The cupboard in question had a glass front and was filled with all manner of goblets and cups and glasses of all description made of glass and various metals. Ron quickly opened the front of the cupboard but was warned not to touch anything by Hermione. She waved her wand before the open cupboard and said, without surprise. “It looks to me like most of the objects in there are cursed in one way or another. Don’t touch anything, but do you see what we’re after?”
Ron carefully examined the numerous vessels on the glass shelves until in the back of a middle shelf he spied what looked like the cup from Harry’s memory. He raised his wand and in a stunning display of Wingardium Leviosa carefully removed the cup in question. Hanging in air before him they could finally get a good look at it, and while it was a gold cup very similar in size and shape with two handles and an engraved badger, it lacked any jewels around the rim and was clearly not the original they were looking for. There was a tag attached to one of the handles and on the tag, in handwriting like that in the inventory it said, Counterfeit - Golden cup of Hufflepuff, cursed.
Hermione pulled a knit sock from her bag and proceeded to slide it up over the floating cup. She then stashed the counterfeit cup in her bag.
“Was that… One of your house-elf socks?” Ron asked chuckling.
“Well, the elves would never take them, so I have too many.” Hermione said shyly.
Ron just smiled at her.
“Let’s just find the next one, please,” she said. “And stop smiling at me.
“I can’t, I’m sorry,” Ron said apologetically.
He followed her down the rows and across the aisles, until they found the next location at aisle fourteen shelf “G”, box two. Ron pulled the box down from the shelf and set it upon the floor. There was a thick layer of dust upon it indicating that it had not been touched in a while. Hermione pulled the lid off the box and peered in. There were several leather and lacquered boxes within. Hermione selected a leather box that looked just like the one they’d seen Hepzibah Smith show in Hokey the house-elf’s memory.
“This looks right,” she whispered.
“There is a tag,” Ron pointed out.
Hermione found the tag and read it. “Golden cup of Hufflepuff, replica.” She peeked into the box and sure enough there was a golden cup that looked just as they remembered from the memories. Hermione tucked it in to her bag as well.
The twins had discovered a stash of old weapons in a dusty cupboard near the back of the warehouse and were having a mock battle with a pair of cutlasses. They seemed thoroughly distracted. Ron and Hermione pushed on to the final location.
The final entry was for aisle twenty, shelf twenty-four, top, crate sixteen. They had to use their brooms to fly up to the top shelf and after a couple of minutes found a wooden crate about the size of steamer trunk that was labeled sixteen. Ominously, there was a hand scrawled note pasted to the top of the crate that read. Dangerously cursed objects, DO NOT TOUCH, handle with cation.
The crate was completely nailed shut but did not seem to resist the magic used to remove the nails and pull off the top. Inside was a puzzle of oddly shaped boxes of all manner and making, wood metal, leather, and fabric. Hermione began levitating them out of the crate one at a time examining them in the air and setting them aside on nearby crates. Once she had cleared the crate there were six smaller boxes that were large enough to contain the cup. Of these she could open four magically and determine that they did not contain the cup. The final two were resistant to such magic and so they decided to take both boxes with them. Hermione secured them in her bag.
Feeling fairly confident that they had got what they came for they went to find the twins.
Fred and George had put away the cutlasses and where now engaged in examining a box of old mechanical Muggle toys. They were winding up the toys and letting them chitter and dance across a long elaborate dining table. They began putting the small toys back in the box when they saw Ron and Hermione coming.
“Did you find what you came for?” George asked.
“We think so, but we cannot be certain until we have a chance to examine it more closely,” Hermione responded.
“So, are we going, then?” Fred asked.
“Yeah, we suspect we’d better,” Ron responded.
“Okay, then,” the twins said in unison as their brooms flew into their hands. They mounted their brooms and George tucked the box of toys up under his arm so that he’d have a secure hold of it.
“What do you think you’re doing with that?” Hermione asked.
“Well, we thought we would pinch this box of toys, as we see lots of potential for the shop,” Fred said.
“I cannot condone you stealing,” Hermione objected.
“And just what do you think you’re doing here,” George said pointing at Hermione’s bag which clearly contained more than she had arrived with.
“That’s different,” Hermione said aghast.
“Not so sure it is, Hermione,” the twins argued. “Whatever you’ve got in your bag there,” he pointed at Hermione’s bag, “you are definitely pinching.”
George continued. “Sure, most everything here may be moody gear, but that still doesn’t make it any more yours.”
“What I have removed here,” Hermione clutched her bag, “is in direct alignment with the mission at hand, while that box of gadgets simply appeals to your childish desires. Besides if you want gizmos like that for your shop you will have to find a supplier. I can help you find a non-magical toy supplier.”
“We know how to do that ourselves, thank you very much,” Fred said. “But we’ll put the box back if you are going to be all hoity-toity about it.” The twins took off down the aisle and around its end to another part of the warehouse, presumably to return the box to its proper place. As they departed, they both said to Ron. “We take it back.”
Once they had rounded the end of the shelves Hermione spoke. “What was that about?”
“Nothing,” Ron said. “They were rather impressed with you earlier, is all.”
“And now they’re not?” she asked.
“Guess not,” Ron responded. “They are not wrong, though. We are just using a good reason to justify a wrong act.” He paused. “It does feel a wee bit hypocritical. Whatever you do, promise me you won’t ask them to turn out their pockets before we leave.”
They made their way out of the warehouse, easily reversing the magic they had used to enter. Once Hermione was satisfied that they had left no traces, they made their way back to Fred and George’s flat in Diagon Alley and from there, directly through the pantry door to Hermione’s quarters in Hogwarts.
It was half three by the time they returned, so Ron woke Ginny where she was sleeping on the couch and they both went to their own dormitories with a promise to reconvene in the morning.
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Chapter Thirty-Five
Life Mate