The Mystery in the Attic by Forge2
Summary: Harry is spending the summer at the Burrow after the tragic events at the Ministry in OotP. His late-night foray into the kitchen for a snack is interrupted by a sound from the attic. Is it the ghoul or is there something more mysterious at work? Written for the SIYE "Summer at the Burrow" challenge.
Rating: PG-13
Categories: SIYE Challenges new
Characters: None
Genres: None
Warnings: None
Challenges: None
Series: None
Published: 2024.02.29
Updated: 2024.02.29
The Mystery in the Attic by Forge2
Chapter 1: Chapter 1
Author's Notes: Harry Potter lay awake, even though it was well after two in the morning. His body bore the soreness of a long day’s effort, working alongside Ron to remove the gnomes from the Weasley back garden and hurling a quaffle at his best mate with Ginny. They’d flown for much longer than his bruised legs and strained shoulders now thought reasonable, though it had been an excellent chance to forget some of his woes, if only for a little while.
A long, pained sigh escaped him as he considered his recent months. Fighting against the tyrannical rule of Umbridge and the insufferable toadies of her Inquisitorial Squad. The horrible vision of Sirius being tortured within the Department of Mysteries. The ill-fated rescue mission which had endangered his dearest and most loyal friends. The unfathomable despair of watching Sirius fall through the veil, never to be seen again. Convulsing under the possession of Voldemort, desperately hoping for Dumbledore to end them both to ease his suffering. The dawning realization that he was meant to kill or be killed by the most dangerous wizard alive.
He found that he was gritting his teeth so tightly that his jaw had become sore. Harry shook his head from side to side before sitting up on the camp bed. The snores from his friend indicated that his sleepless musings had not disturbed Ron’s slumber. Harry affixed his glasses on his face quietly before slipping out of the room.
His descent down the stairs wasn’t as quiet as he’d hoped, as a creaky board just past the first landing snuck up on him again. He froze in place, listening intently for any sign that the noise had wakened Mr. or Mrs. Weasley. When he could hear nothing except the muffled thumping in the attic from the Burrow’s ghoul, he continued down the stairs to the kitchen.
Unlike the Dursley’s home, there was no rule against popping down for a late-night snack in the Weasley home. In fact, Harry had been encouraged to do so regularly during his stays at the Burrow. When he’d finally grown bold enough to take his hosts up on the offer, he had been pleased to find that others were also partaking almost more often than not. He’d stumbled upon Ron pilfering biscuits on more than a few occasions and both George and Fred making short work of some of their mother’s leftovers. He’d nearly bumped into Percy one night, looking rather silly with a milk mustache after drinking directly from the bottle. Even Mr. Weasley had met him in the kitchen one night, shushing him before smuggling him a bribe of half the dessert he’d squirreled away from his children’s prying eyes.
He had never seen Mrs. Weasley during a late-night foray into the kitchen, nor had he found Ginny there. Considering how adept Ginny had been at getting into and out of trouble, Harry thought that it seemed unlikely that the youngest Weasley avoided the kitchen at night completely. He probably just had not caught her there yet.
When he stepped off the stairs, however, nobody was awaiting him in the soft moonlight that streamed in through the kitchen window. It was just as well, he thought to himself. It wasn’t as though he wanted to talk with anyone very much. With his head swimming with thoughts of war and prophecy and loss, he considered a quiet kitchen with leftover treacle tart just about the best situation he could hope for.
Several floors above him, the ghoul thumped again. Usually, it was relatively calm in the night, so its movements seemed somewhat out of place to Harry. Then again, the twins had been tasked with quieting it down in years past. Now that they were both living in a flat above their joke shop, perhaps the ghoul had decided movement was less likely to result in punishment from those who lived below. This was especially true since it took an awful lot to roust Ron from his sleep, even though he had inherited the job of keeping the ghoul quiet at night ever since the twins had left.
Once Harry was satisfied that the ghoul had not woken any of the Weasleys, he made his way to grab a small plate and a fork. He was careful only to take half the remaining piece of treacle tart, not wanting to be an overly greedy guest. He hopped up to sit on the kitchen counter, willing himself not to eat the entire thing in a single bite. Mrs. Weasley’s desserts were well worth savoring.
He sat there on the counter, legs dangling above the kitchen floor, as the uncommon quiet of the Weasley home enveloped him. The window overlooking the back garden had been left open to let in the cool summer night breeze, and Harry thought he could barely hear the sound of Hedwig in the distance. Harry knew that Errol sometimes attempted to cozy up to the beautiful snowy owl, but nothing he had seen from Hedwig made him believe she was interested in giving the tired old bird a second thought.
A whirring sound from within the kitchen startled Harry, almost causing him to drop the last of his dessert. His eyes fell upon the Weasley family clock and its various arms that almost all pointed toward “Home.” One arm was spinning around and around until it finally rested on “Work,” and Harry could barely make out in the moonlight that it belonged to Charlie.
Living far to the east in Romania, Harry supposed it made sense for him to be at work this early in the morning. He wondered whether dragon keepers often worked odd hours, and resolved to ask Ron or Ginny about their brother’s job sometime soon.
He finished the last bites of the tart before quietly washing his dish and returning it to where it belonged. Though Harry did try to be a courteous houseguest, if he thought about his actions they might have been done more out of habit after years of sneaking food at the Dursley’s house.
With his midnight snack finished, he turned to climb the stairs back to Ron’s room. This time, he managed to avoid the creakiest stair on the way up. He slipped quietly into the loo for a minute before heading down the hallway to where his friend’s snores emanated.
Before he reached the door, the ghoul in the attic made another noise. A thumping sound Harry was accustomed to, but also something that was almost a hiss. He hesitated with his hand already reaching for the doorknob. Even with the tart in his stomach, Harry still wasn’t confident that he would be able to fall asleep, and the ghoul was unlikely to quiet down unless someone went to shut it up. The only way Ron would wake up to take care of it was if his mother yelled at him, which was liable to roust the whole Weasley clan.
Harry crept up the stairs to the attic much more slowly, since he wasn’t as familiar with which of the steps were safe and which might creak and give him away. The ghoul wasn’t thumping anymore, but he could hear its soft footfalls on the floorboards as he approached the doorway. It was open just a crack with a light on inside, so he peered inside before entering.
Through the opening, he saw a large pewter cauldron precariously positioned upon a few wooden crates. It was filled nearly to the brim with a silvery liquid that bubbled occasionally. A light blue mist swirled upward from the cauldron toward the roof, where it seeped through the shingles and out into the night sky.
The sight of the cauldron confused Harry. Mrs. Weasley had been brewing potions for the Order regularly, but everything he knew her to be cooking up was stored in either the pantry or Bill and Charlie’s old room. With as much dust as could be found in an attic, it wasn’t exactly an ideal place to brew sensitive potions, especially with the ghoul tromping about in there.
He wanted to go in for a closer look but stopped himself short when a figure stepped between the potion and his view. Standing with her back to the door, Ginny peered down into the depths of the cauldron.
She held a thin book in one hand and something Harry couldn’t quite see in the other. She muttered to herself in frustration as she read something from the book before setting it down. She positioned her other hand over the edge of the cauldron while leaning the rest of her body as far from it as her short arm could manage. Ginny released whatever was in her hand and pulled her arm away from the potion as fast as she could, ducking down behind a box of Christmas decorations.
FWTHOOOM!
The room was bathed in flickering purple light that cast odd shadows around the attic. The explosive reaction blew away all of the blue mist, replaced by a heavy, sickly green smoke that cascaded out of the cauldron and onto the floor.
Harry’s instinct to help nearly caused him to abandon his stealthy position outside the door out of fear that Ginny had been injured by the blast, but his ears picked up a quiet laugh and a reverent swear from the youngest Weasley before his hand reached the door. Instead of entering, he listened closely for any clue as to what he should do next.
“Don’t worry,” came Ginny’s quiet voice from beyond the cracked door. Harry froze, certain that he’d been discovered. “You’ll have your attic back soon. This has to simmer overnight before I can add the final ingredients.”
A loud, agitated moan was the only reply Ginny received.
“Now don’t get shirty with me! If you can’t keep quiet, I won’t sneak Mum’s leftovers up here before Ron gets to them.”
The quieter grunt from beyond the doorway still seemed frustrated to Harry, but it had the lilt of acceptance in tone.
“That’s what I thought. I’m going to head to bed, but I’ll see you tomorrow night, yeah?”
A panic seized Harry as he realized that Ginny would be coming down the stairs momentarily. He snuck back down the stairway as quickly as he dared. His footsteps were achingly loud as he accidentally stepped on every creaking stair possible in his hurry. It was a small wonder that he didn’t rouse the entire household while slipping into Ron’s room when the traitorous hinges squeaked into the night.
He flopped onto his camp bed without bothering to set aside his glasses as he lay completely still. He perked up his ears for any sign that Ginny was stealthily creeping past the door, but the hallway remained silent. Either she was much more adept at quietly navigating the Weasley home than Harry or the irregular snores of her brother were providing her auditory cover. With a small smile, Harry guessed that it was probably a combination of both.
It took him a long while before his mind calmed down enough to drift into a fitful sleep. Two thoughts flit through his mind before he succumbed to the weight of his eyelids: he wondered what kind of potion Ginny was hiding in the attic, and smiled at the memory of her swearing.
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