Harry looked around. There was a large four-poster bed directly before him. To his right, there was an oak desk that was piled messily with papers. Was he still in Grimmauld Place? It felt as though he was indeed, as this room had the same gloomy feeling of the entire house. There were no windows, and, apart from nails and wires dangling haphazardly, the walls were bare, leading Harry to believe that they’d been stripped of their hangings. In a corner of the room, someone had compiled a collection of portraits, their faces against the wall.
Harry shuffled through the large black frames. There were a lot of people whom Harry didn’t recognize. Names such as Belvina Ursula Black and Pollox Cygnus Black were printed in beautiful gold lettering beneath the occupants. Another frame read Regulus Arcturus Black beneath a portrait of a handsome young man, whom Harry knew as Sirius’s younger brother. But there was also one blank canvas. Harry’s eyes moved to the bottom of the frame, where the gold lettering read: Sirius Orion Black.
With a gasp, he dropped the heavy frame onto his toe. Harry took a sharp breath and ignored the pain. This was Sirius’s portrait! But where was Sirius? And why was this portrait even here? Wouldn’t Mrs. Black have gotten rid of it?
An irresistible hope came over Harry. He stared into the blank canvas and breathed, “Sirius?”
He received no response from Sirius’s portrait, but Belvina said nastily, “Do you mind?”
Harry glanced into her frame. She was frowning up at him.
“Sorry,” said Harry. “But do you know why Sirius isn’t in his portrait?”
She raised her eyebrows at him. “Of which Sirius do you speak?”
“What do you mean “ which?”
Belvina gave him an exasperated look. “This is a very large family, boy. I’m sure he’ll return shortly. Now, if you would, please.”
Harry sighed and turned her portrait back to face the wall.
Then he went over to the oak desk and began sorting through the mess. It was mostly clippings from the Daily Prophet, dating all the way back to Harry’s third year at Hogwarts.
Harry pulled on the handle of the solitary desk drawer. It resisted at first, but he was able to wrench it open. Inside, he found still more newspaper clippings. There, also, were a quill, an inkpot, and a few envelopes.
Harry pushed his hand to the back of the drawer. He withdrew… a small, square mirror. It was filthy and appeared to be very old. The mirror Sirius had given him two years ago! Was this his godfather’s room? Had he been thinking about Sirius when he’d Apparated? What was his mirror doing here? He was sure it was in the trunk in his room, and it was still shattered, whereas, this one was intact.
He turned the mirror over, expecting to find the note that Sirius had scribbled onto the back. Instead, the flipside was blank. This wasn’t Harry’s mirror at all! This was the mate that Sirius had kept, hoping that Harry would contact him, and never receiving word. Harry felt a jolt of remorse. If he’d only opened the parcel sooner, Sirius might still be alive.
Harry tried to push this thought from his head. He pocketed the mirror, looking around guiltily, and then laughed aloud at himself, as he was quite alone. He continued to search the desk, but found nothing more of interest. He wondered how long he’d been up here.
He went to the door, opened it, and found that he was, indeed, on the third landing at Grimmauld Place.
When he returned downstairs, Harry discovered that everyone had been frantic over his strange disappearance. He explained to them that he’d ended up in a field somewhere and finally managed to Apparate back, but had just barely missed his destination and found himself on the third landing. He received a few doubtful glances, but they all seemed to be so relieved that they didn’t question him any further.
He had to sit for his license again that afternoon, as did Malfoy, since they’d all abandoned the examination when Harry hadn’t shown up in his ring. They both passed easily and Twycross informed them that all three licenses would be sent home with Mr. Weasley as soon as they were processed.
That night, Harry told Ron and Hermione where he actually had Apparated and that he’d found the mirror’s mate upstairs in Sirius’s desk. He then realized that he hadn’t yet informed either of them about the first mirror, which he had shattered, so he also recounted that story.
He retrieved his original mirror from the bottom of his truck and handed it to Hermione, who was sitting next to Ron upon his bed. After mumbling, “Reparo,” she stated, “Looks like a match.” She held it up for Harry to see, and he noticed that the glass was still cracked and there were missing slivers, which were most likely somewhere in Harry’s trunk.
“So if I can just get one of these through that veil to Sirius, maybe I can talk to him!” Harry explained excitedly.
Ron nodded with enthusiasm, but Hermione looked doubtful.
“I don’t know, Harry…” she hesitated.
Harry snatched the pair of mirrors back from her and shoved them into his trunk. “Well, I’m going to try.”
Hermione gave him an unconvinced nod, but Harry told himself that he had to hold fast to the hope that he would be able to speak to Sirius again.
The remainder of the summer passed surprisingly quickly, and Harry was not at all ready to start his search by the time that August was coming to an end. He was having a wonderful time lounging around Grimmauld Place with Ron, Hermione, and Ginny, though Hermione kept suggesting that they revise for their N.E.W.T.s. They had, so far, however, managed to avoid doing this.
They’d used their long summer days to play Exploding Snap and to continue practicing their defensive spells on one another. Harry had spent evenings talking to Ron and Hermione about the Horcruxes and strategizing over what he might do when he finally had to face Lord Voldemort. More than once, he’d noticed that the pair of them had disappeared and he’d wait with Ginny, trying to reduce the tension between them in whatever ways he could think up. It was getting better, but there still seemed to be an unspoken discomfort.
Malfoy and his mother had mostly stayed out of everyone’s way. Harry only saw them for meals in the basement kitchen. This suited him just fine, except that it meant that it was also the only time that he saw Luci. Harry figured that he could probably see her more often, if he’d liked, but he had been much too focused on enjoying the time he had left with Ron and Hermione.
On one of the last evenings in August, Mr. Weasley brought home the Apparition licenses and the book lists, along with badges for Ron and Hermione, as they’d been named Head Boy and Head Girl. Mrs. Weasley was thrilled with this and told Ron that she would pick up something special for him when she went into Hogsmeade next day to get their things.
“Another Head Boy in the family!” Mrs. Weasley was chiming merrily. “And Hermione! How proud your parents will be!”
Hermione’s parents couldn’t possibly be any prouder than Hermione, herself. She spent the rest of the evening gliding smugly around Grimmauld Place, her badge pinned to her sweater and her bushy hair billowing behind her.
The ceiling was in bad shape. Harry studied the cracks as he lay in bed on the second to last night of August, unable to sleep. Across the room, Ron was snoring loudly.
Giving up on trying to rest, he pushed his glasses onto his nose and quietly climbed out of bed, careful not to rouse Ron. The floorboards creaked as his feet met them. He stood motionless. Ron snorted and rolled over, but did not wake. Stepping lightly, Harry silently made his way out of the room and down the stairs. He planned to do some research in the drawing room. He would be leaving the next evening for Godric’s Hollow, and this would be his last chance.
Stepping through the intended doorway, he noticed Luci sitting on one of the couches, with her back to him. Suddenly uncomfortable and extremely aware of being in his nightclothes, he turned to start back up to his room. However, in his haste, he forgot about the floorboards, which immediately gave him away.
“Harry?”
He closed his eyes and shook his head. He couldn’t escape now.
“Sorry,” he muttered, flustered.
“No, it’s OK,” Luci said, waving him towards her. “Come on in.”
Harry exhaled in defeat. He turned and continued into the room, at last sitting stiffly upon the couch that was facing Luci.
“Can’t sleep either?” she asked.
He shook his head self-consciously, keeping his eyes on his bare feet.
“Do you want me to make you some tea or something?”
Surprised at her offer, he looked up into her pale green eyes. “No, thank you,” he replied, awkwardly.
He noticed the book in her hands. “What are you reading?”
“Oh, I’m just refreshing my memory on some things,” she replied, vaguely.
Harry nodded.
“But it’s also a dreadfully boring book and should help me to fall asleep.”
He played with his hands, clumsily, and kept his eyes on the floor.
“You are a man of few words, Harry Potter,” she laughed.
The sound of her laughter (or was it her use of his name?) made Harry’s stomach feel as if it was trying to crawl out of him.
“Can I ask you something?” he requested, pushing back the tension that he felt.
“Of course,” responded Luci, focusing on him as she closed the book and laid it in her lap.
“How well do you know Draco Malfoy?”
She looked at him intently, considering the question. Finally, she answered, “He’s really not that bad, Harry. He’s made mistakes just like the rest of us.”
Harry felt irritated by her response. “Everyone seems to want to defend that slime.”
Luci winced at Harry’s comment, and he wondered why.
“Sorry. I hate him,” he apologized, half-heartedly.
She shook her head. “He isn’t too fond of you either. He’s combative; you have a temper. It’s no wonder the two of you can’t get along.”
“You think I have a temper?” Harry asked, defensively.
She gave him a knowing look.
“Yeah, OK,” he admitted. “But he provokes me.”
“I have no doubt.”
“So you expect me to just put up with him and let him stay in my house?” questioned Harry.
She looked uncertain of how to respond.
“Do you have any idea the things I’ve taken from him?” Harry said, when she hadn’t answered.
“Yes, I do, actually,” she replied. “And I know the things you’ve done right back to him. You’re not innocent.”
Harry was stunned by this retort, but Luci didn’t look angry, and she didn’t sound reprehending.
She sighed. “Listen, I understand that you’re upset about him being here, and I want you to know that I’m keeping close watch on him. He isn’t a threat to anyone. He’s scared and alone and you’re doing a good thing by letting him and his mother stay here.”
“No one really asked me,” Harry replied.
“I know,” said Luci. “But you didn’t kick them out, and that says something wonderful about you.”
“It’s what Dumbledore would have wanted,” he shrugged. “If that weren’t the case, I would kick them out.”
“Somehow, I doubt that.” She paused. “He would be very proud of you, you know. Dumbledore, I mean. For this, and for many other things.”
Harry looked down at his hands. “I miss him,” he said, in the most nonchalant tone he could muster.
“I know you do,” she sighed. “We all do.”
“You knew him too?” Harry asked.
Luci nodded thoughtfully. “Certainly not as well as you did, but he was good to me.”
A wave of grief washed over Harry. “He was good to everyone.” He took a breath. “Even people who didn’t deserve it.”
“Perhaps he knew something about those people that you didn’t know,” she countered.
Harry found himself desperately wanting to change the subject. He cleared his throat. “So what brought you all the way here from your Ministry?”
“Oh…” she started, and then spoke quickly, “Well, what’s going on here affects all of us, and they basically wanted someone to report back to them and keep them informed.”
“But you’re an Auror, right? Wouldn’t they give you a little more responsibility?”
Grinning, she replied, “I’m here to help, as well. We Aurors are great at multi-tasking.”
Harry felt a surge of admiration towards her.
“I think I’d like to be an Auror,” he said.
“You’d be terrific at it.”
“If I live to see the end of this year, that is.”
“You will live to see it,” Luci encouraged.
“How do you know?” He hadn’t meant to sound so unsure.
“I have a feeling,” she smiled. “You didn’t survive in the first place to die in the end.”
He considered this. “Well, one of us did “ me or Voldemort.”
Luci didn’t flinch at the name, as Harry was accustomed to seeing, but continued to watch him intently.
“The prophecy?”
Harry nodded, solemnly. The news of the prophecy had been everywhere; she was sure to have heard about it.
Luci took a deep breath and shook her head, as if she thought that the prophecy was a terrible tragedy.
“His name doesn’t bother you?” he asked her.
“Who? Voldemort?”
“Yeah.”
She shrugged. “No, his name doesn’t really have the same stigma in my country. I guess it’s just not as close to home. It’s really only a word anyway, isn’t it?”
Harry appreciated that she shared his attitude. “Yes, it’s only a word,” he smiled.
Reverting back to the subject, Luci said, “Voldemort will be looking for you, especially now that no one stands in his way, as far as he’s concerned. That’s why you’re safest here and at Hogwarts.”
Harry looked down at the floor. “I’m leaving tomorrow,” he said quietly, and then silently scolded himself. He hadn’t planned to tell that to anyone but Ron and Hermione.
Luci eyed him, curiously, but she didn’t seem surprised. “May I ask why?”
Hermione would be furious if she knew that Harry was being so open with Luci, but he didn’t care. Somehow, he felt like he could trust her. Then again, Dumbledore had told him that he should only confide in Ron and Hermione… But he needed someone else, someone who could give him a different perspective. But would Luci tell other members of the Order, or worse, Malfoy?
Harry continued to argue with himself, and he must have been quiet in thought for too long, because Luci said, “It’s none of my business. I shouldn’t have asked.”
Harry looked up at her. “No, it’s just that…”
“It’s OK,” she interrupted. “No one will hear from me that you’re leaving, but you don’t have to tell me your reasons. We hardly know each other.”
Harry wanted to know her, and he wanted her to know him… But maybe not just yet.
“You’re going by yourself?” Luci asked.
He nodded.
“No Ron? No Hermione? Not even Ginny?”
How did she know about Ginny? Was it obvious? Or had someone told her?
Harry shook his head.
“All right,” said Luci. “I can see you don’t want me asking questions.”
“It’s just so much pressure,” he sighed, suddenly, in frustration.
Luci raised an eyebrow. “Whatever it is, you don’t have to do it alone…”
“Yes, I do,” stated Harry, resolutely.
“Why?” she inquired, as if she genuinely didn’t understand.
“When I care about people, terrible things happen to them. If everyone stays away from me, they’ll be safe.”
Harry stood, abruptly, and stepped hurriedly towards the door.
Luci stood, as well. “Harry.”
He turned back, but kept one hand on the doorframe, partly to signify that he didn’t want to discuss it any further, and partly because his name on her lips had unsteadied him, once again.
“This is war,” she said. “There are casualties, and they’ve happened to be people that you loved, but, in no way is any of it your fault. You need to know that. You can’t walk around with that kind of guilt inside of you.”
Harry gaped at her. She sounded as if she knew everything, and it was exactly the right thing to say; though it didn’t change his belief that it was, indeed, entirely his fault.
“Thanks,” he muttered, as he started back down the landing towards the stairs.
“If there’s anything that I can do for you, you’ll let me know?” she called after him.
He nodded, but kept walking.
“Oh, and Harry?”
He turned and met her gaze.
She was now standing in the doorway of the drawing room, watching him.
“Please be careful.”
The conversation with Luci had calmed the waters raging in the rivers of Harry’s mind. He felt more focused than he had since the end of term last year. Still with no desire to sleep, he decided that there was no reason to wait until tomorrow to leave.
He returned to his room to quietly change and collect a few necessary items. At one point, Ron seemed to wake up and look at Harry, but instead of saying anything, he just rolled over. When Harry felt that he had what he needed, he started for the door. Then he realized that he might require a quick return, and he took a galleon from his pocket.
“Portus,” he mumbled, almost inaudibly. The galleon quivered, emitting a soft blue light, and then came to rest in his palm. He pocketed it again. Then he threw the Invisibility Cloak over his head.
When he returned downstairs, he was relieved to see that the drawing room was dark and that Luci must have gone to bed. He crept silently down the corridor inhabiting Mrs. Black’s portrait and slipped through the front door, locking it behind him with his wand.
Outside Grimmauld Place, the moon was low and the night fading as Harry mounted his broom and kicked off into the sky. He felt the wind hit his hair. This was still his favorite method of travel.
Hermione had given him very accurate directions. It didn’t take him long to find the cottage, located exactly where Hermione had said it would be, in a small, seemingly deserted, Muggle village.
He touched down softly in the moist grass, which made a squishing sound beneath the weight of his trainers. Harry froze there, motionless, paralyzed by the epic reality of where he stood.
This had been his parents’ front yard. But that was a long time ago. It was obvious that no one had been here since that fateful Halloween night almost sixteen years ago. What was left of the small house was dilapidated, the roof caving in at places, not a single window intact. There was no front door, just a gaping hole where it once had been. It looked as if Voldemort had almost destroyed the place completely, and then time had taken its toll on what remained.
Harry realized that he was panting. A grouping of exhilaration, dread, and astonishment stirred within him. He felt the breeze of a new day’s dawn on his hot face and noticed the faint morning sun beginning to play upon the dewdrops in the grass. He must have traveled longer, and farther, than he’d realized. But it was still dim, shadows haunting the shell of the structure before him. It gave Harry the creeps.
“Lumos,” he said, and the end of his wand lit up. Hesitantly, he took a shaky step into the house, looking around vigilantly as he went. He propped his Firebolt against the inner wall to his left. Then he removed the Invisibility Cloak and stuffed it into his pocket.
He could scarcely move due to the vast amount of debris. The wind had blown in a multitude of rubbish, including leaves, tin cans, and so much dirt that Harry couldn’t tell what color the floors had been. He stepped out of the way as a mouse scurried past him.
“Ugh!” he croaked, as he noticed a dead rabbit lying within the rubble. It hadn’t been there long.
Seeing his parents’ home this way engulfed Harry in a myriad of gloomy feelings. This might have been a temporary hiding place for them, but it had certainly been filled with love at some point. Harry might have played in that yard or had family dinners in this room. He could only figure that he was standing in a combination living and dining area, because he had noticed a small dining table toppled over in the corner.
He moved through what was once a doorway and into the kitchen. It was small, and most of the appliances were still in one piece. He didn’t think he’d ever seen so many bugs, however. He shuddered.
Harry stepped backwards out of the kitchen and tripped over one of the many boards lying chaotically on the floor. He fell with a thud, scraping his arm on a rusty nail that protruded from somewhere in the ruins. He yelped with pain and put his sleeve to the cut, which immediately became soaked through with blood. He cursed angrily at the nail.
Getting to his feet, he made his way up the small staircase. There were two rooms awaiting him. He stepped to his right and entered the first.
He felt his breath cease. This had been his parents’ bedroom. The ceiling had fallen in upon the small bed to Harry’s left. To his right, in a crumpled pile on the floor, was what had once been his cot. It was in pieces, and he had no idea how he’d survived its demolition. He touched his finger to the scar on his forehead.
A flash of green light obliterated Harry’s field of vision. A high voice cackled with laughter, and his scar seared with explosive pain. He put his hands to his head as his knees hit the floor, forcefully.
Harry was on the lawn of the cottage again, but it was the dead of night, and the house was entirely undamaged, small, cozy, and welcoming. He looked down to find that he was wearing black robes. He was suddenly much taller.
He was striding towards the house, but he wasn’t moving his legs. What was happening?
Harry lifted his wand, except that it wasn’t his wand, and the front door flew off of its hinges. He made his way into the house, throwing things around in the process. He was blowing holes into the ceiling and walls with his wand, and he couldn’t make himself stop.
Stop! he was screaming, inside of his head.
Behind him, someone else was also creating destruction all around them, but Harry couldn’t see the person.
Then, he heard his father’s voice from the top of the stairs. “Lily, take Harry and go! It’s him! Go! Run! I’ll hold him off!”
“No, James, please!” came his mother’s voice.
Harry felt horror surging up inside of him, but the body in which he traveled was functioning just fine, with no reaction to these pleas.
Then he saw his father standing before him, at the foot of the stairs, looking fierce and protective.
“Take me,” he said from between his teeth. “But leave them alone.”
His father’s eyes then went to the person behind Harry, who sniggered. Harry recognized the disgusting sound, but he couldn’t place the person’s identity. He had just noticed his mother peeking guardedly down the stairs and into the room.
Harry laughed shrilly, and then said in a cold voice, “You think I have come here for you?”
But it wasn’t his voice. In fact, he knew exactly to whom this voice belonged, and the realization rocked him.
James had brandished his wand and seemed prepared to fight for his family.
“Go now, and no one has to get hurt,” said James, but his voice was shaking.
Harry jeered at him. “You dare to command the Dark Lord?”
James held his brazen stare and then shouted, “Expelliarmus!”
Harry had blocked the spell.
“Give me the boy.”
James clenched his jaw. “Never,” he hissed.
Then, nonchalantly, Harry said, “Have it your way.”
He raised his wand and flippantly chanted, “Avada Kedavra!”
But James had flung himself out of the way and the spell instead blew a massive hole into the wall behind him.
Harry heard his mother scream, and she disappeared from the top of the stairs.
“You are only making this harder on yourself,” said Harry casually.
“You thought I’d just surrender?” James spat, getting to his feet amidst the rubble.
A cold smile spread over Harry’s face, but, of course, it wasn’t his face.
“So courageous, so proud…” he drawled coolly. “Such a pity that you’re no match for me.”
Then, lifting the wand again, Harry felt the words leave his lips once more. “Avada Kedavra!”
“NOOOO!” the voice inside of Harry’s head was shrieking. But it was in vain.
In a blast of green light, his father had fallen to the floor in a crumpled heap.
The body, which Harry could not control, desperately though he tried, started up the stairs, continuing to destroy the house as it went. Another set of footsteps followed closely behind.
Finally, he found Lily standing over the cot.
“Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry,” she babbled through her tears.
“Stand aside, you silly girl, stand aside now.”
“Not Harry! Please no! Take me! Kill me instead!”
“I said “ STAND ASIDE!” Harry growled.
“Not Harry! Please! Have mercy!”
Lily flung herself over baby Harry, her long auburn hair falling into the cot and covering him.
Harry felt himself sigh heavily. “Very well.”
The green glow flooded the room, accompanied by shrill, harsh laughter. His mother was lying on the floor and he was now peering down at himself, hardly more than a year old, his black hair tousled and his face pink and round.
Suddenly, staring into his own sparkling green eyes, he felt himself grow dizzy.
“You will not live to defeat me!” he yelled at his child self.
But he became feebler still. Those eyes, his own eyes, were weakening him.
He aimed his wand into the cot. “Avada Kedavra!”
Then everything went black.