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Summer Story | ||||||
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Category: Post-OotP, Buried Gems Characters:None Genres: Action/Adventure, Fluff, General Warnings: None Story is Complete Rating: PG-13 Reviews: 392 Summary: Summer at the Dursleys’ is typical for Harry Potter who hopes his stay with his relatives will only last two weeks at most. In this sequel to You’re Still You and New Year, New Hope Harry learns that his role as “savior” of the Wizarding world is more complicated than he thought and that he needs his friends and mentors more than he ever imagined. Hitcount: Story Total: 135407; Chapter Total: 4401 |
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Chapter 13: A Day with Dumbledore The rest of the week following Professor Dumbledore’s collapse and subsequent recovery flew by in an orderly fashion. Harry met with the professor several times at his bedside in addition to his established lessons with Mrs Chang and Tonks. Kingsley Shacklebolt came one evening to work with Harry and Neville on what Harry laughingly called “sneakology tactics,” which involved learning to cast spells and move extremely quietly in a variety of situations. However, the appearance of Remus Lupin at lunch on Wednesday made Harry’s week. The two spent several hours that afternoon not only working on Harry’s Occlumency, but catching up on each other’s lives and strolling through Hogsmeade, where they ended up at The Three Broomsticks. Over pints of butterbeer and a stack of Madam Rosmerta’s delicious fried jalapenos, Remus regaled Harry with stories of his days as a Marauder; the two filled the half-empty pub with laughter that had the proprietor adding her own stories that made Harry’s former professor go red in the ears. As they were about to go their separate ways, Remus pulled a small package wrapped in red tissue paper out of his pocket and handed it, almost shyly, to Harry. “I’m giving this to you early because I won’t be at your birthday celebration at the Weasleys next Saturday,” he said quietly. “I’m very sorry, Harry, but I must go down to London on business and won’t be back until Monday night. I wanted you to have this.” “Thank you, Remus,” Harry said, squeezing the package and trying to guess what was inside. It was stiff and rather lumpy. “I’ll see you again sometime next week, then?” “Yes, Harry. I’ll send an owl to set up our next appointment.” Remus paused, then asked, “Well, aren’t you going to open it?” Grinning, Harry tore at the wrapping. Inside was a worn leather, wallet-like case with a snap closure. At Remus’ urging, Harry undid the catch and watched in fascination as it unfolded into a sewing kit three times its original size. Inside was a variety of thread spools, needles, pins, a tape measure, a thimble and two pairs of scissors. Bewildered, Harry said, “This is nice, Remus, but I don’t know how to use this stuff.” “Neither did I until your mother showed me what I needed to know about mending,” Remus said. “You see, Harry, this was your mother’s.” Harry reverently touched a few of the items in the kit. “My mother’s?” “Yes, Harry. She had loaned it to me, as she often did, the day before that last Halloween.” “Why?” There was pride in Remus’ voice as he said, “I have always done my own mending, but I could never afford a sewing kit such as this. Your mother was always willing to lend hers to me and I used it many times.” Remus looked away over Harry’s shoulder for a few moments. His voice, when he resumed his story, was thick with emotion. “She never ridiculed me for the poor condition of my clothes; in fact, she seemed proud that she could help me keep them nice.” He stopped again, twisting his empty butterbeer glass between his hands. “I was going to return the kit when Sirius and I went to visit you that Halloween afternoon, but I forgot to bring it with me and never got the chance to return it to its rightful owner.” He glanced at Harry. Harry remained silent, needing to hear more. “Whatever you mend with the supplies in this kit will be as good as or better than it was before the mending. You never need to buy thread or new needles because there is always enough for your projects and even if you drop them, the needles and pins will always find their way back to their proper places.” Remus smiled at Harry. “It is time you have something that belonged to Lily,” he said. Harry blinked a few times. “Will you show me what my mum taught you?” he finally asked. Remus grinned. “No, Harry, I think there are three very competent witches in your life who will be more than happy to help you learn to use Lily’s sewing kit.” “Then I’ll ask them,” Harry said, thinking of Ginny. The two parted shortly after that at the Hogwarts gates and Harry walked back to the castle deep in thought. * The morning of his seventeenth birthday, Harry awoke early. He had another meeting with Professor Dumbledore and dressed carefully for it. He made sure he had his wand and that his Invisibility Cloak was in the same small rucksack he’d taken with him into the Chamber of Secrets. After a quick breakfast, Harry grabbed his Firebolt and hastened to the headmaster’s office, taking the spiral stairs two at a time in his eagerness to see the headmaster. “Happy Birthday, Harry!” Dumbledore greeted him as he walked through the open door. “Thanks, sir,” Harry said, grinning. He was happy to see the professor looking much better than he had a week ago. “Are we going somewhere?” he asked, taking in Dumbledore’s travelling attire. “You asked me to bring my broom.” “As a matter of fact, yes,” Professor Dumbledore said, smiling. “We’re going somewhere that is of interest to both of us.” He paused, pulling a cardboard box from under his desk and opening the flaps. He pulled out a large, leather-bound book entitled Magical History: Myth, Lie or Fact? and handed it to Harry. Dumbledore smiled at Harry. “This book is from my personal collection and I want you to have it.” Hermione would love the title, Harry thought with a smile as he took the ancient tome. He opened the front cover and he jumped as the pages turned themselves to a place marked with a wide red ribbon. He sucked in his breath as he read the chapter heading: “Godric’s Hollow.” “This is where we are going today, Harry. Godric’s Hollow holds a special significance to me that I want to share with you: my birthplace and yours,” Dumbledore said. Harry stared at Professor Dumbledore. “Are you sure you want to give it to me?” he asked, finally understanding that Professor Dumbledore wanted to part with such a valuable book. “Absolutely. I have memorized what is important to me and it is time that I pass it on. I know you will treat this book well.” And before Harry could say anything more, he reached into the box again and pulled out another, much smaller, book. Harry opened this one to find it blank. Momentarily, he was transported back to second year and his first encounter with Tom Riddle’s diary. He looked questioningly at Dumbledore. “Yes, Harry, this is a journal,” Dumbledore said, giving Harry a Muggle ballpoint pen. “I thought you might like to have something in which to record the memories of your seventeenth birthday trip today.” He gave Harry a few moments to examine the journal and then reached into the box for another item. “You also might like to use this.” Harry took the stiff leather case Dumbledore handed him. It was rather heavy and reminded Harry of the case which held Colin Creevey’s camera and extra film. He opened it carefully and pulled out the camera within. Holding it reverently in front of him, he said, “I’ll be very careful with this today, sir.” “I am sure you will, Harry, today and in the future. You see, I no longer need something as extravagant as this camera, for I have done all the travelling I expect to do.” He smiled at Harry’s raised eyebrow. “The camera was my brother Aberforth’s gift to me on my seventeenth birthday–and now it is my gift to you. He knew I would be going on my grand tour after I left Hogwarts and wanted to give me a special gift for my trip. Sadly, I never went on that journey; life was not kind to me that year...” Professor Dumbledore trailed off, a far-away look in his blue eyes. Finally, he cleared his throat and said, “I am hopeful your seventeenth year will be much better than mine. You have your whole lifetime ahead of you and a wizarding camera is an essential part of capturing the important days of your life. Let us spend a few minutes going over the camera so that you can use it today,” Dumbledore said, coming to stand next to Harry. “I’d like that,” Harry said quietly. There will be time to contemplate the reason for these wonderful gifts later, he decided and turned his complete attention to Dumbledore’s explanation of the camera’s functions. When they were done and Harry felt confident that he could operate the camera properly, Professor Dumbledore said, “There is one more thing you need to learn for our trip today. You have used a Disillusionment Spell before, correct?” “Yes, sir.” “The one I’m about to teach you can be used not only on your person, but on anything you wish to carry. May I have your broom, please?” Harry handed his Firebolt to Professor Dumbledore who cast the spell. The broom immediately looked as if it were part of the chair it was sitting on. Dumbledore cancelled the spell and turned to Harry. “Now your turn,” he said. The spell was difficult, but Harry soon mastered it. Dobby popped into the office carrying two brown paper sacks just as Harry melted successfully into his surroundings. “Don’t do that, Harry Potter!” squeaked the elf. He quickly recovered himself enough to say, “Your lunches, sirs.” Harry cancelled the spell. “Thank you, Dobby. I’m sorry to scare you like that.” “Dobby is all right, sir. Dobby wishes Harry Potter a very happy birthday,” the elf said, bowing so low his nose touched the floor. Before Harry could respond, Dobby Disapparated, leaving the two wizards alone in the office. Harry put the books and camera into his rucksack. Professor Dumbledore smiled his approval. “Shall we go, then?” Dumbledore asked, leading the way though a doorway concealed by one of the room’s many bookcases. “What’s this, sir?” Harry enquired as they walked down a hallway to the door at the end. Professor Dumbledore opened the door. It led onto a balcony high above the school. “My private quarters, Harry. You access this hallway through the back wall of my wardrobe in the room we met in earlier this week.” Harry sighed. “This castle never ceases to amaze me,” he muttered as he joined Dumbledore on the balcony. The ancient Moontrimmer was already leaning against parapet They Disillusioned themselves and their brooms as Dumbledore laid out their travel plans: they would fly to Glasgow, and then Side-Along-Apparate to Godric’s Hollow. When Harry asked the reason for the broom flight, Dumbledore replied with a boyish smile, “This is too beautiful a day not to fly, but going any further south on the brooms would be an invitation to be seen.” He mounted his broom, indicating that Harry should do the same. At Dumbledore’s word, they pushed off into the clear, blue morning. The flight to Glasgow was completely different from the frantic flight to Grimmauld Place Harry remembered from two years before. Even though he was Disillusioned as he had been that night, there was none of the palpable fear; he sensed caution and alertness in Professor Dumbledore, whose eyes and head were continually observing their surroundings, but Mad-eye Moody’s paranoia was absent and Harry believed that Dumbledore was enjoying the flight as much as he was. They landed in a secluded glen on the outskirts of Glasgow and Professor Dumbledore asked him to put on the Invisibility Cloak, just as a precaution. Then, Harry took hold of Professor Dumbledore’s arm and the two turned on the spot and disappeared almost as quietly as they had arrived. Harry’s feet met solid ground. He and Dumbledore were standing in a wood. To his left he could just make out the white paint and brown beams of a Tudor-style bungalow. To his right the woods ended in a high brick wall, much like the wall that surrounded Hogwarts. “Welcome to my family home. My family calls it ‘Gwenyn’ for beehive,” Dumbledore said, unlocking the door and standing aside for Harry to enter. “This is my retreat, the place I find nearest and dearest to my heart.” Harry couldn’t stop staring as he followed Dumbledore out of the small foyer, down a short hall past doors to the kitchen, sitting room and dining room to what turned out to be the library. The room was large and square; bookshelves crammed with books lined three of the four walls. A large fireplace was directly across from the door and caught Harry’s eye as soon as he walked in. To the right of the door, a massive wooden desk stood in front of large picture window that was covered by heavy dark red drapes. Directly across from the desk was a library table surrounded by ornately carved chairs. Professor Dumbledore left the door open and flicked his wand at the drapes which opened with a swish and a cloud of dust. Harry fought back a sneeze. “My apologies, Harry. I don’t get here very often and no matter what I do, the dust accumulates between visits,” Professor Dumbledore said with a shake of his head. He walked to the desk and pulled a large scroll from one of the drawers. “Let us take a look at this.” He unfurled the scroll and stuck it to the library table with a charm. Harry peered down at the map of Western England and found what he was looking for. His smile faltered though, when he discovered there were two villages with the same name. Puzzled, he asked, “How come there are two Godric’s Hollows?” “Do you remember your wizarding history, Harry? Or did poor Professor Binns drone on so much that the history of this place became lost in a dreary list of dry facts?” Harry looked at the floor as he mumbled, “I think I slept through the lecture, sir.” “No matter. Do you wish a more interesting answer to your question?” “Yes, please, sir,” Harry said eagerly, gazing at the map again. Professor Dumbledore pointed to the first of the dots labelled “Godric’s Hollow.” “There are two separate villages for one reason; Lord Voldemort. The first, and most historic, village was founded circa 832 A.D. It was a mixed village of wizards and Muggles, with the families intermingling for most activities. Then, with the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy of 1692, the wizarding families were forced to segregate themselves and move to their own side of the village. All was peaceful until October of 1981 and the night of Voldemort’s attack on your family.” Dumbledore paused and looked searchingly into Harry’s eyes. “I’m sorry to say, Harry, that the Muggles were scared so much that night by the explosion and the masked, hooded figures combing the area after that Halloween that they voted to move the village five miles upstream from the old church and graveyard.” “What happened to the wizarding community?” Harry asked. “They stayed put. The feeling around here was that there needed to be protections put on the house and grounds and that they should never be left unguarded. To this day, there is always someone watching your family home. The position of Potter Memorial Guard is one of great honour in this village and pays a handsome salary to those who work in the guard house and maintain the memorials.” “Memorials?” “Absolute ly, Harry. Would you like to visit them today after you’ve had a chance to read more about your hometown and what has happened to it since 1981?” Harry nodded, unable to answer aloud. Professor Dumbledore smiled at him. “Good. I have a few things I need to attend to in another part of the house. If you will excuse me...” Harry opened his rucksack and pulled out Magical History: Myth, Lie or Fact? as Professor Dumbledore closed the door on his way out. He sat in one of the ornate chairs, facing the map, and began to read. It was just as Dumbledore had related and finally Harry began to understand that history could be something other than a list of dry facts that needed to be memorized and regurgitated for an exam; what he was learning here was suddenly very personal. The door opened and Dumbledore stuck his head around it. “Ready to go, Harry?” he asked. “We can leave the map and book here for the time being. I suggest we go to the village graveyard first. It is on the way to the Potter Memorial.” “Do you want me to wear my Invisibility Cloak?” Harry asked, getting up. “Yes, please. The villagers are used to my occasional appearances, but I think you striding down the street with me might cause unwanted attention.” Harry agreed and soon they were strolling down the cobbled lane leading to the village square. As they neared the square, the lane widened and became more crowded with houses and eventually shops. Turning a final corner, they found themselves facing the tiny central park with its quaint, white washed bandstand and the village war memorial. As quaint as the scene was, something was very wrong with the atmosphere of the place. Harry stood behind Dumbledore, listening and observing the witches and wizards who went about their daily business, and puzzling out what was bothering him. Then, he knew: for all the people populating the square, no one spoke above a whisper and everyone seemed to be scurrying about instead of strolling along. It was last summer in Diagon Alley all over again. “Professor, why is everyone so quiet?” Harry whispered, walking as close as he dared. “Death Eater attack last night,” Dumbledore answered shortly. “Two families, one Muggle, one wizard, were found dead in their beds under the Dark Mark. All six children were slated to enter Hogwarts. The Muggle family’s twin boys would have received their letters tomorrow.” “Is there anything we can do?” Harry asked bleakly. “Yes, Harry. Help me find and destroy all of the Horcruxes as fast as possible.” On this note, Dumbledore crossed the square and led the way towards the village church whose spire Harry could just make out amongst the trees in the distance. The old stone church stood at the bottom of a hill and was surrounded by an enormous graveyard enclosed by a cast iron fence. To one side, a gate stood partially open as though someone had been too lazy to shut it. No one was around, so Harry pulled off the Invisibility Cloak, stuffed it in his bag and took out his camera. “Take a good look at this place, Harry,” Dumbledore said, nodding in approval at the camera. “Do you see where the wizarding families have placed their dead?” Harry snapped a picture. “Most likely in the places devoid of grave markers,” he commented, not taking the camera away from his face. He turned a little, adjusted the focus and took a second photo. He lowered the camera. “Are my parents’ graves located here?” “Yes, Harry. Your family crypt is located at the top of the hill,” Dumbledore told him, pointing to a hill in the back corner of the cemetery. “It’s in the protected area. The Muggles have never been able to put their graves in that particular corner of the cemetery. “May I go in?” “Explore all you like. When you want to view the graves, pull out your wand. I’ll wait for you by the gate.” Harry opened the gate and began walking along the path leading to the back of the cemetery. He reached the top of the hill and looked around. There weren’t many graves up here, at least at first glance. The entire area appeared to be empty except for a marble bench surrounding the trunk of a massive oak tree. It was rather beautiful and quite peaceful up here. Harry pulled out his wand. As he did so, the air on the hilltop shimmered a little, revealing the graves that populated the area and prevented the Muggles from digging under the tree. The urge to search the graves stole over him and he wove amongst the markers peering closely at the names etched in the rocks. He recognized many of them: Abbott, Kirk, Chambers, Flint, Clearwater, Davies... He stopped in front of a row of plain granite headstones and stared at them for a long time. He'd found Dumbledore’s family and was overcome with sadness because he now understood that very soon the name “Albus Dumbledore” would be added to those resting on this hill; the curse that had caused Dumbledore’s illness last weekend would eventually kill him. With a sigh, Harry wrenched his eyes from the nearest headstone and wiped his face with the sleeve of his shirt. I’m here to find my parents, he reminded himself, and resumed his search. He found what he was looking for amongst a group of family crypts near the tree and stood gaping at the huge Potter Family vault. He had been expecting small stone markers like the ones he’d seen so far and to find this mammoth building was somewhat shocking. He stepped in front of the doorway and pushed his lit wand through the bars of the gate obstructing his entrance. Name after Potter name filled the walls with dates going back to the thirteenth century in an amazing litany of ancestors he had never known to exist. He found it wonderful to discover, but frustrating because they were not what he sought. He extinguished his wand, stepped back, and aiming the wand tip at the iron gate, commanded, “Alohomora!” The gate swung inward, allowing him passage into the crypt where, on the floor in the farthest back corner under the window, he read, LILY EVANS POTTER 26 November1959 to 31 October 1981 Harry stood transfixed, a lump the size of a Quaffle clogging his throat. This was the reason he’d always wanted to come to Godric’s Hollow. This made all the stories he’d heard real. If he’d known he was coming here today he would have come prepared with something to lay on their graves. Then, he laughed. “Are you a wizard or what?” he asked himself out loud. With a flick of his wand, he conjured a bouquet of flowers which he placed upon the cold stone slab. He stood back and surveyed the names of his ancestors, committing to memory as many as he could. Finally, after running a finger over his parents’ names one last time, Harry closed and locked the gate, then stumbled to the bench beneath the oak tree. He stayed on the hilltop a while longer trying to imagine how different his life would be if his parents had lived. He hadn’t indulged in this particular pastime for several years and somehow he felt it was all right to pursue these thoughts while sitting by their resting place. Finally, with a small sigh, he gathered up his things and pulled out his wand. As he began his walk back to where Professor Dumbledore was waiting, he murmured, “Finite Incantatem,” and the magically concealed graves shimmered out of existence once more. Dumbledore met him by the cemetery gate. “Are you all right?” he asked kindly. “Yeah, I am,” Harry sighed. “Thank you for bringing me here.” Dumbledore laid a gentle hand on Harry’s shoulder. “I imagine you have many questions. Do you wish to talk now or wait until later?” “Later will be fine,” Harry said, shaking off his pensive mood. “Can we go see the Memorial now?” Dumbledore smiled. “Yes, indeed. It is only a short distance away.” Harry pulled on his Invisibility Cloak and followed Dumbledore out of the cemetery and down the street leading out of the village. Again, the further away from the square they went, the more widely spaced the dwellings became. Finally, at the very end of the lane, they came upon a brick wall with an ornate iron gate at the entrance. Professor Dumbledore walked up to it and requested admittance. “Welcome, Professor! What brings you here this fine day?” the gatekeeper enquired as he stepped from the gatehouse. “My semi-annual inspection, Mr Campbell,” Dumbledore said. “I’m sure you’ll find all is in order, sir,” Mr Campbell said, opening the gate. Professor Dumbledore hesitated just long enough for Harry to slip past before entering the Memorial himself. When the gate was locked again, Harry pulled off the Cloak, causing Mr Campbell to gasp in surprise. “Heavens, you gave me a scare, Mr Potter!” he exclaimed. He grabbed Harry’s hand and pumped it up and down vigorously. “I’m so happy to finally meet you. I hope you will find your family home a fitting place to honour you and your parents.” Harry felt his cheeks burn with embarrassment at the gatekeeper’s ardour. “I’m sure I will, sir. Thank you for looking after it,” he said, and turned his gaze on the house he should have called home for the last sixteen years. In the middle of an immaculately manicured lawn stood a two-story Tudor house similar to the others on the street. The ground floor at the front was intact and covered in vines, as was a good portion of the second. However, the middle portion of the roof had been blasted away, exposing the interior to the elements. “Is that...” Harry asked tentatively. “Yes, Harry, it is. Do you want to go in and have a look?” Dumbledore asked. Harry shook his head. “Not right now. Did my mum have a garden?” Mr Campbell answered first. “Lily Potter’s garden is round back. It has been maintained according to her gardening notes. You’ll find several benches there to sit upon. Stay as long as you’d like, sir.” Harry smiled gratefully at the gatekeeper. “Thank you,” he murmured, and began walking slowly towards the back of the house. As he passed the front door, his eyes slid upwards to the hole in the roof. It was going to take all his Gryffindor courage to walk up there and he wasn’t sure if he was ready. His mother’s garden turned out to be as beautiful as she was in Harry’s photos of her. The flower beds were a riot of colour and held both magical and Muggle plants alike. The bed closest to the house was bisected by a gravel path and was dedicated to rosebushes. Harry strolled down the path to find himself staring at a circular medicinal garden edged with foot-high privet hedges. He recognized sage, Echinacea, lemon balm, several types of mint, dittany, lovage, and aconite. It touched Harry to think that his mother had specifically grown aconite for Remus and he wondered, as he passed the plant, if it still sustained his parents’ old friend. In the middle of the next garden room, Harry found a bench and sat down. Here was his mother’s kitchen garden, filled with such edible treasures as tomatoes, carrots, onions, runner beans and squashes. Harry closed his eyes and let the peace of the garden wash over him. It calmed his raw nerves and helped him ponder all he had learned about his family today. The bench shifted as someone sat beside him and Dumbledore’s voice asked, “What are you thinking, Harry?” Harry opened his eyes and stared at the house. “That I was cheated out of a wonderful childhood... I could have had friends before I went to Hogwarts... that I might have had siblings to argue and play with... that my parents would have taken time to show me how to fly or work in a garden like this...” “And your emotions?” Harry tried to sort through the myriad feelings that still tumbled about his brain. “Mostly I’m... sad... and angry,” he began. “But the more I think about it, the more I’m in awe of this place and... and the people like Mr Campbell who have preserved the Memorial.” He ran a hand through his hair, causing it to stand on end. “Writing in your journal might help you organize conflicting thoughts and emotions, Harry. Remember, too, to take some pictures for your photo album,” counselled Dumbledore. He stood with difficulty and took several stiff steps before adding, “Come find me at the Quidditch Pitch when you are done.” Before Harry could ask about the pitch, Dumbledore was walking towards the woods at the back of the garden. Harry smiled to himself and dug in his bag for his journal and pen. He opened the cover and inscribed on the flyleaf, “Property of Harry James Potter/31 July 1997.” After entering the date a second time on the first page, he paused with the pen poised above the first line. Finally, he wrote, “Of all the ways I’ve ever imagined celebrating my seventeenth birthday, today’s journey has never been one of them...” The words came flooding out as Harry wrote. He covered page after page with his thoughts, trying to capture every little detail of the things he wanted to remember. Finally, when his hand was so cramped it refused to open, he capped his pen and slipped it and the journal back in his bag. Then, he took the camera from its case and began taking pictures; he stopped only when he ran out of film. It was time to find Dumbledore. After a short walk through the cool wood behind the garden, the trees thinned and finally ended at an open field surrounded by more woods. Professor Dumbledore was seated in the grass when Harry found him and quietly settled down next to him. The two sat in silence as a feeling of peace stole over Harry as he took in the pastoral scene. He smiled as a hawk flew by overhead, chased by a mob of ravens, and in the distance a cow was lowing. “Your father planned to build you a Quidditch pitch here,” said Dumbledore after a while. “Sirius had given you a toy broom when you were born and he and James spent hours pouring over their plans for the pitch. Lily loved to tell the story of coming home from work one evening to find James, Remus and Sirius chasing you and your broom all over this meadow. You couldn’t have been more than ten months old!” “How could I fly at ten months?” Harry asked in disbelief. Dumbledore chuckled. “Sirius had stuck you to the broom with a Sticking Charm.” “He did? How did they get me off the broom?” Harry asked in amazement. “Apparently, your mum Summoned you and cancelled the charm, but not before you began caterwauling about wanting to continue flying. The only way she could calm you down was to promise to let you back on the broom the next day. From then on, unless the weather was terrible, you flew here every day.” “I did? Brilliant!” For the second time in his life, Harry felt the thrill of discovering his natural talent on a broom. “Did my father ever fly with me?” “I cannot answer that, Harry. Maybe Remus Lupin can. You should ask him sometime.” “I will, the next time we meet,” Harry said. His stomach growled and he looked away. “Shall we go back to Gwenyn for lunch or eat here? Dobby packed us a veritable feast, if I’m not mistaken.” “Can we go back to my mum’s garden, please? I’d like to eat there if Mr Campbell doesn’t mind.” “I do not think he would, Harry,” said Dumbledore. He grabbed Harry’s elbow for support as he stood. “Are you getting tired, sir?” asked Harry, concerned. “A little, but I am with you and I trust you will watch over me if I need to rest.” A knot formed in Harry’s throat and he could only nod as they followed the path back to Lily’s garden where they found a spot in the shade in which to eat. Afterwards, they bade Mr Campbell good-bye and strolled up the lane to a safe Apparition place. Within moments they were back at Gwenyn. “I want a short rest before we leave, Harry,” said Dumbledore as they entered the house. “Your broom, book and the map are still in the library. Feel free to explore if you’d like. I will be in the bedroom under the stairs if you need me.” He indicated a door to the left of the staircase that led to the second floor. “Please wake me in an hour’s time.” They parted and Harry went to the library where he became immersed in his new book. At the end of the hour, Harry knocked on the door to wake Dumbledore and the two were soon on the way back to Hogwarts. A/N: Dumbledore’s family home is named Gwenyn, which is Welsh for “beehive”. You may recall that the headmaster’s surname is an 18th Century English word meaning “bumblebee” and I imagine that the family would have been rather creative when trying name their estate. Also, many thanks to Athar for all the help with choosing bar food for Harry and Remus Lupin to share at the beginning of this chapter. She’s always willing to set this American straight so my social slip ups and culinary mistakes don’t stand out too much. In addition, I send my sincere thanks to GhostWriter for the wonderful pre-beta editing he did while he was swamped with real life issues. He took the time from his busy schedule to write some helpful comments, the results of which have made this better than the original. Finally, to Aggiebell, my beta, I thank you for your comments about canon, my sentence construction–in a couple of places–and the eternal question about Professor Binns... “Why didn't Dumbledore get rid of Binns and get a real History teacher???” I hope someday JKR will give us the answer to that question. |
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