Answers
by Leah

Harry Potter’s bedroom on number four Privet Drive was in what many mothers would’ve called "a right state." After Dumbledore’s death, compounded by the increased dementor population, Harry had been too miserable and exhausted to do much more than lie in bed all day. Hedwig kept trying to cheer him up by bringing him as many dead frogs, toads, and mice as she could.

He had come back here, told Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon he was sick with a wasting wizard disease that when passed to Muggles made them grow tentacles – to ensure they’d give him space – and he had holed up in his room and lain curled up in bed as much as he possibly could.

Whenever he did leave his room, which was as little as he could manage, Aunt Petunia followed him around carrying a rag and a bottle of disinfectant, with a handkerchief covering the lower half of her face, so he figured he was hallucinating when he heard a knock on his bedroom door and just ignored it.

It wasn’t until Professor McGonagall actually forced open the door (impressive, considering all the junk piled in front of it), and started to enter the room that Harry realized he wasn’t hallucinating at all.

Bolting straight up in bed, he made to tidy up the room as decently as he could in the ten seconds he had by tossing a shirt over Hedwig’s rodent-hill, and shoving all his dirty laundry into a corner under an old sheet.

“Good Lord, Potter!" She looked down at the trap of everything at her feet. Obviously, it hadn’t worked too well.

“Are you alright?" she inquired, making her way across to him, a hand outstretched. "Your relatives said you were sick..."

Harry saw the concern on her face and felt a stab of guilt.

“I just told them that," he muttered, looking away.

She didn’t look like she quite understood, and before he could get a lecture about lying to his guardians, he suddenly inquired, "What are you doing here? Professor," he added when he thought about how rude it sounded.

The moment he finished asking it, he wished she hadn’t. She must’ve aged ten years before his eyes – the lines in her face etched deeper by sadness, her usually severe expression gone. After a long pause, she finally stretched her arm out behind her and gestured to a wooden box sitting near the door. Harry hadn’t noticed her bring it in. He waited for her to explain.

“Dumbledore..." she began, her voice wavering, "Dumbledore’s will stipulated that this..." she gestured to the box again, "this be delivered to you. He requested," she went on, "that I deliver it personally. No doubt he feared interception."

Harry nodded understandingly, his eyes never moving from the box. He crossed the room and knelt beside it, "What’s in it, Professor?"

“You needn’t call me Professor anymore, Harry. From what I understand, you are no longer a student," she said, and Harry thought he heard of a note of offense in her voice. Before he could apologize, though, she was going on, "And I don’t know what’s in the box; I haven’t opened it."

She walked back across the room and made to leave, "I have delivered the box safely to you, and I..."

“Professor," he interrupted, rising to stop her, "I’m sorry, I... but I have to fight Vol-"

“I understand, Harry." she said, a hint of a reassuring smile on her face. "You don’t have to explain anything to me."

Harry sighed, and moved out of her way, relieved that she wasn’t upset with him, when suddenly a thought occurred to him, and he called out...

“Professor!"

She stopped at the stairs, her head turned slightly to face him.

“Professor, if I... well, I mean... If I survive... if I win... do you
think... do you think I could come back after and finish school?"

Her face seemed to become more unreadable than ever, and it felt like a lifetime before he saw her smile slightly and say, "What else would you do once you defeated You-Know-Who? Drive the Knight Bus?"

And as she went away, muttering about the fate of England if greatest hero in the world remained a dropout, Harry laughed a little in spite of himself. It was good to know she had so much faith in him.

He then rushed back to his room, locked the door, and knelt beside the box. There didn’t seem to be a place for it to open – no lock for him to point his wand at. He placed his hand on top of it, though, and it popped open at the touch. Dumbledore had really meant it to be for him then. He had enchanted it specifically to respond to him.

And he had left a note.

His fingers trembled as he opened it. It went on to explain that box had been prepared as a precaution in case of his death – evidently he had long worried that he might not live to see Harry defeat Voldemort. It was fairly cryptic, but Harry guessed the box contained information of some sort that Dumbledore hadn’t wanted to give him unless he died.

He peered inside – the box was full of boxes! Slim wooden ones with names across the top, each smaller box containing a composite of papers and memories – a file on that particular person. They contained all of Dumbledore’s most significant memories about that person – the memories he sifted through to make major decisions, he bet. There were so many names, names he recognized, that he wanted to explore – his mother’s, his father’s, Tom Riddle’s and Lucius Malfoy, Lupin’s and Sirius’ and ... deep in the left-hand corner was a box marked Severus Snape.

Harry froze. He could know why Dumbledore had trusted Snape.

by Lucy

As she emerged from the fireplace, bringing a cloud of soot out with her, the first thing that hit her was the darkness; it was so intense that it was almost smothering, and if she had held a hand in front of her eyes, she wouldn't have been able to see it. The air was thick with an unpleasant, musty odor that hit her nostrils immediately, and she fought to suppress the coughing fit that rose instantly in her throat.

Her right hand was clutching her wand, and she raised it now, absently rubbing her pale, slender thumb against the comfortingly familiar wood. But before she'd had a chance to murmur an incantation, a loud cough came from the other side of the room.

She started and quickly lowered her wand, pulling the Invisibility Cloak further over her head, her heart pounding. The thought of the punishments she would face if she were caught filled her with fear, and not only those that would be dealt by the enemy. She must not fail her master…

“Who's there?" spoke the unknown entity on the other side of the room.

She vaguely recognized the voice, but this was neither a surprise - for she knew most of the members of the Order, or at least those she was aware of - nor a reassurance. She stood perfectly still, breathing as shallowly as possible. She mustn't be caught, she mustn't be caught…

“I may be confined to hanging on a wall for the rest of my existence, but that doesn't make me any less threatening, I assure you," came the voice again, the sarcastic tones ringing more bells in the corners of her mind, though she couldn't quite put a finger on why. And what was that about hanging on walls? She frowned…

And then it came to her. She smirked, no longer afraid, and lifted her wand again, letting the Invisibility Cloak drop to the floor. "Lumos," she muttered, and the room was suddenly bathed in a dim yellow light, which she directed towards the far side of the room where the voice had come from. Sure enough, there on the wall hung a small, gold-framed portrait.

“A pleasure to see you again, cousin," she said softly, the derision in her voice delicate yet distinct.

“Can't really say I feel the same, Narcissa," spoke Sirius.

He brushed his unkempt black hair out of his eyes, a disdainful expression on his face. "Though I'll admit I'm relieved to finally see somebody. Unfortunately, there seems to be a charm on this room that restricts me to my own portrait. Kreacher's the only one who ever comes in here, and he's not exactly the greatest conversationalist to ever grace the - "

“Where is it?" Narcissa cut in.

“What, you mean Kreacher?" Sirius frowned. "How should I know? Besides, he hasn't been in here for - "

“Of course I don't mean Kreacher," Narcissa spat. "Although he was supposed to meet me here…" That thought made her slightly uneasy; where was the house-elf?

“No," she said, pushing the thought out of her mind. "I meant the locket. Where is the locket?" In actuality, she had no idea whether or not Sirius knew about the locket at all, never mind its location, but if he did it would certainly make her task a lot easier…

Sirius looked at her, contempt the only readable emotion on his face. Finally, he said, "You answer a few of my questions first. Then I'll tell you."

Narcissa narrowed her eyes. Did he really know where it was or was he tricking her? Were portraits even capable of retaining such knowledge?

“Listen Black, I'm not here to play games," she hissed, glancing at her wand. "I know some very effective severing charms. Tell me where the locket is, or the next time anyone does come in here, all they'll find left of you is a pile of shredded paper. Is that what you want?"

“I'd welcome it," snarled Sirius. "You think I enjoy this? Sitting around in a dark room twiddling my thumbs, with only a demented house-elf for company, knowing that the chances of anyone else ever coming in here are slim to none? It's a pitiful existence, even for a portrait. So go on, do your worst…"

They stared at each other in silence for a few seconds, each wearing an expression of pure loathing.

Suddenly, Narcissa became aware of the sound of pounding footsteps outside the room. She reacted instantly, extinguishing the light from her wand, grabbing the Cloak from around her feet and pulling it over her, reaching into her pocket for the small tin of Floo powder, stumbling towards the fireplace…

“In here!" the portrait of Sirius was yelling, and suddenly the room was filled with light again, though Narcissa was turned away from its source, her trembling fingers scrabbling frantically at the lid of the Floo powder.

“Kreacher is sorry, Mistress Malfoy!" she heard a familiar voice wail in distress, the words interspersed with loud, racking sobs, and then -

“Expelliarmus!" two other voices cried, and she grabbed frenziedly at the air as both the Floo powder and her wand soared out of her hands. Barely a second later, she felt all her limbs snap together and go rigid, and she toppled to the floor.

Now, out of the corner of her eye, she could see Kreacher crouching in the corner of the room, his face in his hands, crying hysterically. Remus Lupin was towering above her, his wand poised threateningly toward her throat, and Tonks was standing at the doorway, alongside another familiar figure…

"Sirius?" Harry exclaimed, his voice mixed with disbelief and joy.

Tonks and Lupin both looked round sharply, and then followed Harry's gaze, their eyes finally reaching the portrait, in which Sirius was sitting composedly, a broad grin on his face. "So, you finally found me?" he said, the grin widening. "Took you long enough…"

Harry Potter and the Serpent's Gift
Prelude: The Forgotten Street
by Annie

The end of July was drawing to a close, but the bitter winds that disturbed the normally quiet atmosphere of a small abandoned village in northern Britain refused to relent. If anything, they were, on this particular evening, even more violent and merciless than they’d been in the past few days.

Around the derelict shacks lining the streets of this village, a thick, stifling mist hung, the only natural phenomenon that refused to be scattered by the rough winds. The mist snaked around lamp posts and decaying heaps of dead leaves, reaching from the roots of the overgrown weeds rising from every remotely fertile surface to the tops of the tallest trees.

The only sign of life in the deserted village came in the form of the mewing of a bedraggled-looking cat seeking cover from the winds under the porch of a small house. Every few seconds, it would poke its head out to test the conditions, only to shrink back under its temporary shelter with a plaintive howl.

Unfortunately for the cat, its attempts to escape back onto the streets would bring it anything but relief from the unnaturally cold summer’s day: Even if the blustery weather died down, there would be no loving family for the cat to seek warmth and food from. Not a single human had set foot in Godric’s Hollow for sixteen years.

Or so it appeared.

It turned out, however, that as the increasingly strong squalls of winds finally forced the heavy blanket of mist to reluctantly part, three huddled teenagers could be discerned at the very end of the street on which the house attached to the cat’s porch had been built, slowly fighting their way onward.

As the trio stopped at an intersection, the one in the middle – a thin, bespectacled boy wearing a sweatshirt three sizes too large for him – held out an arm, signaling to his two friends to halt. Obediently, they stopped.

“Amer Extremitas…� the boy muttered, squinting down at a map he held in his hands. The cat down the street perked its ears, having picked up the sound of a human
voice.

“I think that’s what Lupin said,� came the girl’s voice. She leaned over and peered down at the map, one hand holding her copious, bushy brown hair away from her face. “Ron, check the sign again.�

The last of the trio waved a hand about as though to sweep enough of the fog away to get a clear view of the rusted guidepost next to him. Being the tallest of the three, he did not have to strain to read the sign, and quickly affirmed “Amer Extremitas� to be, indeed, the name of the street.

“Great,� the first boy said, tucking the map into his back pocket and resuming his steady pace. “We’re nearly there.�

The teenagers lapsed into silence as they struggled against the gusts of wind to keep moving forward. Though each was distracted by his or her own troubling thoughts, they nonetheless shared the same uneasy feelings about being in the deserted village.

The boy referred to as Ron was the first to voice this sentiment. As they neared the cat’s hideout, he said rather warily, “Harry, d’you think that maybe we shouldn’t—?�

Unfortunately, his sentence was cut off by a shriek from his female friend as the cat leapt out from its refuge, hissing angrily at the intruders. It darted past their feet, across the street, and disappeared into the vapor on the other side.

“It’s just a cat, Hermione,� soothed the boy named Harry, patting the girl on the back in a brotherly manner, “just a cat.�

“I’m sorry,� said Hermione, sounding embarrassed. She paused to whisper, “Lumos!“ A bright beam of light burst out from the wand she held in her hand,
illuminating her nervous smile. “I’m afraid my nerves are on end.�

Ron laid a hand on Hermione’s shoulder in a protective way that, unlike Harry’s pat, suggested traces of a more-than-friendly bond between the two of them. �Don’t worry,� he said gloomily, “I’d be surprised if they weren’t.�

Before Hermione could open her mouth to respond, Harry said sharply, “I think this is it.�

Whatever reply Hermione had been planning to utter was lost as she and Ron turned to gaze in awe and fear at the humble house before them. It was, like all the houses around it, old and in shambles; yet unlike the rest of them, it gave off a strong sense of mystery and, despite its appearance, dignity that undoubtedly owed to its remarkable history – the history the three friends were there to uncover.

Seemingly transfixed, Harry’s hand fell to his wand as he took a few trembling steps forward. He reached out as if expecting to find an invisible wall around the house, but there was none, and he continued on until he was standing on the recently abandoned front porch.

“H-Harry?� Hermione whispered tentatively.

Harry turned around as if just realizing his friends were still there. Exhaling loudly, he ordered, “Don’t do anything until I’m sure the house is safe,� and returned his gaze to the door before him without further commands.
Exhilaration and trepidation coursed through Harry as he stood still, his fingers hovering just above the doorknob. Did he dare enter the place of his birth and the place of his parents’ death? What would he find waiting for him in the dreadfully dark, dusty rooms lurking behind that door before him?

Involuntarily, Harry's hand inched forward…slowly, he stretched his fingers out, terrified and excited at the same time…and then he grabbed the cold metal of the doorknob, twisted it in one quick motion, and thrust the door open.

The house of James and Lily Potter creaked in welcome. Harry smiled grimly. Then, without second thought, he stepped into the shadows of the unoccupied house and silently greeted the home he had never known.