"They sicken of the calm, who knew the storm."

~Dorothy Parker

CHAPTE R SEVENTEEN: The Calm Before The Storm

It was very difficult, after everything that had happened in the chambers (had they been actual chambers, or simply alternative spaces, times even?) below Snape’s office to sit quietly in, say, Transfiguration and take copious notes on complex conjuring charms. Even Defense classes, interesting as they were, didn’t seem to take his mind off of what had happened — or what was yet to come.

What was worse was to try to pretend that he had the slightest interest in learning to cast glamour charms that would make him appear (at least to casual observation) to be a tree or a fencepost, when what he really wanted was to be working on dismantling the time-bomb that was sitting quietly on a shelf in the same cabinet that had once housed Dumbledore’s Pensieve.

Professor McGonagall had been duly impressed that they had found another Horcrux, but had seemed even more impressed by the harp itself. She’d held it in her hands for the longest time, gazing at the carvings as if entranced.

"Ravenclaw’s harp, my dear boy, you must know how ancient this is!"

"About the same as the locket?" Harry had suggested, gesturing at the twisted lump of metal that lay on the shelf of the cabinet. He’d brought it here at McGonagall’s recommendation just a few weeks earlier. She had given him express permission to use the cabinet that had once housed Dumbledore’s Pensieve, letting him protect it with whatever spells he thought necessary.

"Heaven’s no!" McGonagall had breathed, sounding genuinely astonished that he could even suggest such a thing. "The locket may be a thousand years old, more even, but the harp goes back for millennia! There are stories . . ." her voice trailed away, sounding awed and overwhelmed. "And you say that He used it as a Horcrux?"

"Yes, that is what the guardian said,"

"Guardian?"

Harry — with frequent interjections by Ginny — had then told her the whole story of following the music and finding the harpist, and what the woman who had called herself Rowena had been able to tell them about how she had come to be where she was and the uses to which her charge had been put.

And now the harp was safely locked up with the locket and Harry couldn’t help but wonder how long it would be before he’d be able to add the cup and the mirror to the items in the cabinet.

Other questions kept plaguing him too, until he felt certain that his brain was going to burst. For one, what had the guardian Rowena meant when she had called him Gryffindor’s heir? Why had Snape used Dumbledore’s password for the door to the final chamber? Better yet, why had he rigged the portal so that only Harry and those he brought with him would be able to pass through? Even more pressing was his need to find and if not destroy, at least to isolate the other two Horcruxes. He had the most pressing feeling that time was running out.’

* * *

Time was running out until the first Quidditch game of the season too, and Ron was quickly running out of patience. To his mind, three practice days before the game were not nearly enough to ensure them a win over Ravenclaw.

"They’re good!" he’d growled furiously when Ginny had brushed off his warning about the new Ravenclaw Chaser, Allison Parker, with a comment about ‘twittering chits.’ "They’re all good, but especially their new Seeker."

Harry had looked around at that. He’d been playing against Cho Chang for so long he had come to take her playing style for granted.

"Who’s the new Seeker?"

"Orla Quirke."

"Orla-"

"Quirke, yeah," said Ron with a grimace. "She’s a third year and she’s good. Best I’ve seen mate, next to you of course. And she’s flying a Cleansweep Eleven, which has nothing on the Firebolt of course, but she’s lighter than you, so you’ll have to keep an eye out."

Slightly taken aback by this warning, Harry had kept on the lookout for the new Ravenclaw Seeker, but didn’t get a good look at her until the morning of the game.

Ron was right, she was good. Just her pre-game warm-up proved her to be an excellent flyer and Harry was hard-pressed to keep ahead of her. In fact, if it hadn’t been for the superior speed of his broom, he might not have beat her to the Snitch. But he managed to snag it just seconds ahead of her grasping hand.

"Experience," Harry said grimly, shaking his head as they changed out of their Quidditch robes in the changing room. "That’s the only thing that I had on her, she is good Ron, better than good, she’s excellent!"

"And she’d never flown at all until she came to Hogwarts," said Ron with a sigh. "Pity she’s in Ravenclaw though. You realize of course that they’re going to have to replace both of us next year."

"Replace us? Why?" Harry wondered, then stopped, chagrined. Of course they’d have to replace them. It was their last year, wasn’t it? He gave Ron a rather sheepish grin. "Sorry, I forgot."

"Thought as much," said Ron, grinning back. "You know what you want to do yet?"

"Do?"

"You know, are you going to follow the career advice you got from McGonagall in fifth year?"

"I don’t know how much advice it was and how much of it was retribution for Umbridge’s interference," said Harry darkly.

"You still want to be an Auror though, yeah?"

Harry shrugged. He’d always thought he wanted to be an Auror. It had always seemed like the kind of thing he’d be good at — the kind of thing he’d be expected to do. But did he really want to be a Dark Wizard catcher? Provided that he was able to survive this upcoming encounter with Voldemort, would he really want to spend the rest of his life chasing after others of the ilk? But what else was there to do?

He supposed he could teach, they’d been using him as a Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher in everything but name all of this year and a good part of his fifth year as well. But if Professor Dippet had seen fit to refuse Voldemort a position due to his youth, what made him think that McGonagall would want to hire him on as a full-time teacher? Besides, somehow he couldn’t see himself living at Hogwarts; taking up the solitary bachelor quarters that had belonged to the long list of Defense teachers.

Whenever he thought of the future that rambling stone cottage by the river, Ginny’s face and the laughter of children always seemed to take preeminence in his mind. More than anything else he wanted to make a life with her. He wanted to hear the laughter of children — his and Ginny’s children. He wanted to finish that tree house. But more than anything else he just wanted to be. Not the boy-who-lived, not The Once and Future King or the Heir of Gryffindor. For once in his life he wanted to be Harry; just Harry.

* * *

To the casual observer passing by the table tucked away in the back of the library it would have appeared that Harry Potter was studying for his Potions final. He had stacks of Potions notes on the table beside him, a number of large, heavy textbooks piled in front of him, spare rolls of parchment, two extra quills and a look of determined concentration on his face. But he wasn’t studying.

Harry should have been reviewing his Potions notes. He needed to review his Potions notes. The term final was coming up and Slughorn had informed them — delicately of course — that no books or notes would be allowed during the test.

"You won’t be allowed any for your N.E.W.T. exams at the end of the year," he’d informed the class just the previous day. "So I think that a bit of practice is in order."

To make matters worse, he wouldn’t even tell them which Potion they’d be expected to complete for the test. Slughorn had instead given them five possibles, telling them that he expected that one of these would be the one he would test on, and that the entire class should make certain they were proficient in the methods for all five.

Harry, however, wasn’t studying for Potions. He wasn’t studying for any of the finals (which were only two weeks away now). He was, instead, trying to work out the whereabouts of the last two Horcruxes. Even more urgently, at least in Harry’s mind, was to figure out once and for all what the Guardian Rowena had meant when she’d called him "Gryffindor’s Heir."

Known to the Muggles as The Once and Future King and in the wizarding world as He Who Will Heal Our Land, the individual spoken of in every account uses the objects, which he has finally reunited at great personal cost, to drive an ancient evil from the world and reunites the warring factions of humanity under a banner of peace and prosperity.

Harry read the words he had translated (what seemed like ages ago now) from the original text he had found among Peter’s things for what seemed like the thousandth time.

That sounded familiar. Hadn’t there been a legend about the Once and Future King? It’d had something to do with the stories of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table, of that he was quite certain. Something about King Arthur, when he’d been mortally wounded. Someone had taken him away in a boat to a magical island where he was supposed to be resting even now, waiting until the time was right to come back and reunite Britain. Yes. That sounded something like.

But the parchment had made The Once and Future King and He Who Will Heal Our Land out to be the same individual and what was it the guardian Rowena had said?

She had also said that, ". . .I was to remind he who came to collect my charge, that its power, while great on its own, is nothing next to that wielded by all four of the objects on which we founded the Halls of Hogwarts, especially when united by the hand of He Who Will Heal Our Land."

If he was indeed the Heir of Gryffindor (which seemed likely given the fact that he had been able to step through the portal and the door) was it possible that he was also the one who was supposed to heal the land by brining the four objects together in order to drive an ancient evil from the land?

He didn’t know about ancient, but Voldemort was certainly evil enough. But didn’t that imply that whoever defeated Voldemort would need the four objects at his command in order to destroy him? But the Prophecy had said that he would have powers that the Dark Lord ‘knew not’ and which Dumbledore had informed him was nothing more or less than his ability to love.

Perhaps the objects enhanced that power in some way. If it was possible that they could help him in his final confrontation with Lord Voldemort, Harry had even more reason to find the last two Horcruxes.

Harry sighed and bent over a sheet of parchment, scribbling incoherently as Madam Pince squeaked by, her pale eyes swiveling in their sockets, intent on the safety of her precious charges.

The Cup was easy enough. Voldemort had stolen it from Hephzibah Smith when he’d reacquired the locket. It was a safe assumption to say that the Cup (which reportedly had healing powers) had acted a major part in bringing Lord Voldemort back to a real body. Harry’s first instinct was that the Cup had been left at the Riddle estate, or perhaps the Little Hangleton graveyard.

He’d gone back to Little Hangleton with the explicit purpose of finding the cup. He’d found Wormtail, but while Wormtail had eventually pointed him in the direction of the ancient texts that had explained a bit more about the four objects of power, he had not appeared to have any knowledge of the Cup’s whereabouts.

The Mirror now, that was different. He didn’t have a clue where to look. Even Dumbledore . . .well, Dumbledore had said that the only known object belonging to Godric Gryffindor — and he’d been referring to the Sword — was safe. But, come to think of it, that hadn’t been entirely true.

Harry distinctly remembered his first year when the Sorting Hat had sung about the four founders and how Gryffindor had whipped the hat off his head; the four founders had put brains in it and let it sort out the students for them. Technically that would mean that the Hat itself was still an object that had once belonged to Godric Gryffindor; although the Hat too was safe enough in McGonagall’s office.

Perhaps Dumbledore hadn’t known about the mirror? The Four objects of Power were, after all, not much more than a myth. If Harry hadn’t found the old text referring to the objects themselves, he would have thought them no more thought than Lupin had — as words in a children’s skip-rope game; London Bridge is falling down — my fair lady.

What if the cup — like the Locket or the Harp, had been passed down from generation to generation? Father to son; or mother to daughter. Then Dumbledore wouldn’t have known about it. After all, he hadn’t known about the Locket or the Cup until he had seen the memory in which Voldemort had stolen them from Hephzibah. What was to have kept the Mirror from being a family heirloom as well?

Harry frowned what had, when he’d sat down, been a blank piece of parchment. It was covered with scribbles now. Words, pictures; a rough sketch of a harp, a snake with a forked tongue, a lightning bolt, a mirror. Some words were gibberish, but some were legible; locket, cup, harp, mirror. Heirloom? Heir — loom. Something that belonged to the heir of Gryffindor? A mirror that belongs to the heir of Gryffindor. Me = Heir of Gryffindor? Symbolic heir of actual? How can I know?

Harry stared at the last four words, a grin slowly spreading across his face. He might not know, but he would bet his Firebolt that if Hermione didn’t know, she’d be able to find out. The hardest bit would be to convince her that this was important enough to interrupt her studying to finals. He’d just have to convince her is all. Harry shivered inadvertently. He wasn’t entirely certain what would be worse at this point; interrupting Hermione when she was studying for an exam or making any further moves before he knew what exactly he was dealing with. Ah well. No time like the present.

* * *

Hermione refused point blank to help him until after their end-of term exams.

"It’s important, Hermione! I need to find this out, as soon as possible."

"Important or not Harry, it can wait until after exams," said Hermione bluntly as she bent over a large stack of Potions notes with an almost obscene enthusiasm. "And it wouldn’t hurt you to do a bit of studying yourself you know."

"Yeah, well, I’m a bit more concerned with finding the Horcruxes at the moment!" Harry tempered. "This has got to be done, Hermione!"

"Look, Harry, I realize this is important — especially to you, and I will help you, I promise, but I have to study!" She gestured hopelessly at the piles of notes stacked in tottering piles all around her.

Harry shrugged and turned to go, feeling disappointed, only to have Hermione’s voice bring him up short.

"Harry, exams are next week. We’ll be done with everything by Thursday. Can you wait that long? Harry, look, I’m staying here for Christmas to be with — I mean, to keep you, Ron and Ginny company," said Hermione, going rather pink. "We can look for it once the holidays start."

"Christmas?" Harry blinked at her. He hadn’t spent a Christmas at Hogwarts since his fourth year but he supposed it made sense. After all both the Burrow and Number Twelve Grimmauld Place were nothing more than piles of rubble at the moment.

"What about Ron’s mom and Dad, and Lupin?" Harry wondered. "Will they be coming here for Christmas?"

"I wouldn’t put it past McGonagall to have half the Order to Hogwarts for Christmas," said Hermione with a small shrug.

"You know, Hermione, I feel stupid for not asking before, but do they have a place to stay? Ron’s mum and dad? I mean, if they need help, their house being gone and all . . ."

"They’ve been staying with members of the Order, that’s all McGonagall will say — for safety’s sake of course. But yes, they’re coming for Christmas."

"Well, at least they have a place to stay," said Harry heavily. Somehow, the thought of facing Mrs. Weasley, of knowing that her beautiful house was gone, all their things, all their years worth of memories; made his insides roil with guilt."

"It’s not your fault, Harry," said Hermione, putting a hand on his arm.

"Hermione, if it wasn’t for me-"

"Oh don’t start that, Harry!" snapped Hermione, rounding on him angrily. "Wallowing in guilt isn’t going to help anyone! You of all people should know that! Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were targets long before they met you, and now they’re members of the Order. Voldemort would have gone after them sooner or later. Just be glad that they got enough warning to get out before the place was leveled!"

Harry shrugged. What was he supposed to say? She was right, as usual. But he couldn’t shake a creeping feeling of dread. As bad as the destruction of Grimmauld Place and the Burrow had been, there was worse coming, much worse. He could feel it.

* * *

Harry threw himself into reviewing for the end-of-term exams with a fervor that took everyone by surprise. In truth, his sudden and intense interest in academics had absolutely nothing to do with a desire to get a good score and everything to do with keeping his mind off of the last two Horcruxes.

Well, maybe not everything. Like Hermione, Ginny was also immersed in studying for her end-of-term exams and Harry, knowing how important they were to her, didn’t want to distract her — too much.

"Come on Harry! Do you realize just how many notes I still have to go through?" Ginny moaned as Harry cornered her in the library on Sunday afternoon.

"Do you realize just how blind you’ll be if you try to get through all of those tonight?" Harry countered, thumbing through a stack of parchment notes stacked on the library table.

"Too late," said Ginny fretfully, rubbing at her forehead. "My eyes are already crossing."

"Then take a break. Come on, Gin, let’s take this stuff back up to the common room. We’ll take a walk around the castle before you tackle the rest of this."

"I’m too weak to walk," said Ginny with a mock pout.

"That’s because you skipped supper. Come on. We’ll stop at the common room first. I’ll get my cloak and then go down to the kitchens."

After they’d eaten plates of beef stew and steaming hot biscuits slathered in butter while sitting by the roaring kitchen fire and had drunk tankards full of hot Butterbeer presented to them by a beaming Dobby, Harry and Ginny took a leisurely stroll around some of the least used corridors, taking full advantage of some of the quieter corners to get some serious snogging in but was as good as his word and had her back in the common room before ten.

From his squash armchair by the fire, Harry watched her surreptitiously over the rim of his copy of Advanced Potion Making as she, Colin and several other sixth years drilled each other on Charms notes.

Just being in the same room with her made him feel calm, content even. The way her hair gleamed in the firelight, the quick sure movement of her hands as she flipped through pages or made notes with her quill mesmerized him. He wasn’t aware that he had dozed off until he felt her arms around his neck and the warm weight of her on his lap.

"You didn’t have to wait up for me," she said reprovingly, but there was a smile in her voice that said she was glad that he had.

"I’d wait forever for you," Harry whispered, pulling her closer. It was a sappy thing to say, he knew it the moment the words left his lips, but he meant it, god how he meant it! And, from the way Ginny’s eyes glistened darkly in the firelight, she felt it too.

"Harry," she whispered, leaning closer so that he could feel the softness of her breasts pressing against his arm and the brush of her long, silken hair against his neck, "you don’t have to wait."

And she kissed him, her lips soft and warm against his mouth, his throat, his chest. Her hands were like silk against his skin and the flowery scent of her hair rose like a nimbus around them; filling his head; driving out all rational thought. It no longer mattered that he could be killed tomorrow, or that he had no clue where to start looking for the next Horcrux. It didn’t even matter that they were in the middle of the Gryffindor common room in plain view of the stairways to both the boys and girls dormitories, all that mattered was the girl in his arms.