Disclaimer: The fine tapestry of plot and characters belongs to J.K. Rowling. I am merely pulling threads at will and weaving my own design in counterpoint to hers.
Chapter 1
The Secret Life of Hippogriffs
The dingy street was just as he remembered it from two summers ago: row upon row of fading facades in a portion of London that had fallen out of fashion with the last century. What had once been stately townhouses had somehow managed to avoid the demolition ball, and most importantly, the recent trend of renovating structures to their previous Victorian splendor.
Harry Potter stepped out from under the broken street lamp that still stood as a solitary sentry at the corner of Grimmauld Place. Having just obtained his Apparition License, he was not too keen to just pop into Muggle neighborhoods where he could be easily spotted without taking extra precautions. The stars were just beginning to fade from the predawn sky when he had set out this morning. An extra early start just in case the street lamp had been repaired, he thought.
A quick glance at his wristwatch showed that it was just shy of six o’clock. Shrugging his left arm just so, he covered it up with his shirtsleeve lest the cool alabaster face betray his location. He was inexplicably proud of his new watch, an early seventeenth birthday present from his Aunt Petunia. It represented the only true gift he had received from his mother’s sister since he had been deposited on her doorstep as an infant.
Probably an early going-away-and-good-riddance present, he ventured. Had she been a witch, she would have infused it with a specialized confundus charm that would have kept him from being able to find his way back home.
His wry smile remained unfinished as he recalled the hushed tones and furtive glances that had accompanied her presentation of the gift. She had made him promise “ no, swear “ that he would not let Uncle Vernon nor his cousin, Dudley, set eyes on the watch. Perhaps he was being too uncharitable, he concluded.
With a sharp crack that resonated in the early morning stillness, Harry’s best mate for the past six years, Ron Weasley, Apparated just meters away. This was shortly followed by a more restrained pop that indicated that Hermione Granger, their co-conspirator, had also arrived.
Raising a finger to his lips for silence, Harry caught each of their eyes meaningfully and motioned to proceed as a group down the silent sidewalk. The evening’s rainfall had left the pavement damp and glistening and their footsteps squished as they walked. With the first streaks of the approaching dawn in the sky, the lingering moisture in the air had turned into a damp mist that was bound to soak through their garments if they lingered too long.
There, on the left side of the street, were number eleven and number thirteen. Proceeding with a feigned confidence he did not feel, Harry led them up the walk purposefully as had been previously demonstrated. Please let this work, he intoned inwardly, I don’t have a key. With relief, he saw the two houses inexplicably shoved aside as the doorstep and serpent-festooned door of number twelve appeared before them through the mist.
“Cool trick, Harry, never ceases to amaze…” whispered Ron, before Hermione’s sharp elbow cut him off.
Before Harry’s trainer had fully settled onto the topmost step of the entrance stoop, the systematic clicking of the magical locks disengaging could be heard over the sleepy stillness that still gripped the neighborhood. The house itself seemed to sigh as the ponderous door yawned open, beckoning them into the darkness beyond.
I am truly the master of my godfather’s estate, Harry mused inwardly, as if he had never comes to terms with the fact before this moment. With a collective deep breath, the trio stepped into the dark entrance of number twelve, Grimmauld Place, former residence of the late Sirius Black.
Hermione turned and gingerly closed the massive door behind them. Immediately, they were plunged into the total darkness of an underground cavern.
“Lumos!” concentrated Harry as he remembered at that last minute to use non-verbal spells. His lack of practice was apparent in the weak light that perched delicately at the tip of his upturned wand.
The dark walls seemed to absorb the anemic light that left most of the hall in deep shadow. As before, Harry was assaulted by the predominant use of black in the color scheme. What could have been a playful pun on the family name in the hands of a gifted decorator was more likely a subtle declaration of the former owners’ magical alliances. Heavily flocked wallpaper from a different era, now stained an indifferent shade of brown, still clung in patches to the walls. Thick, velvet curtains of a red so deep it might as well have been black still covered the majority of the windows throughout. Despite the best housecleaning efforts of Ron’s mother two summers ago, a substantial patina of dust had once again settled over the contents of the house.
That his godfather, Sirius, had chosen his own path among the forces of light had never ceased to impress Harry. It had not endeared Sirius to the remainder of his family, however. The portrait of Sirius’ late mother that resolutely hung in the entrance hall had been particularly vocal concerning her son’s shortcomings during Harry’s last visit “ not to mention those of any subsequent house guests.
Bearing her previous tirades in mind, Harry cautiously peered around an ancient brass hat stand that had tarnished to an iridescent shade of black. The drapes that had previously shielded the portrait hung in streaming tatters, like funeral strands of crepe paper. The muffled sound emanating from the painting beneath drew them irresistibly forward.
“Her portrait’s been slashed, too,” whispered Hermione, obviously alarmed.
Sure enough, many of the crepe paper strips turned out to be aged canvas that looked like it had been slashed by a sharp object or simply separated by age and mildew. It was impossible to determine which. Hermione’s relieved expression confirmed that she had come to a similar conclusion.
“If I’d only known that cutting the canvas would have silenced the old bag, I would have done it myself,” remarked Ron sardonically.
“Don’t be silly,” rejoined Hermione, “Kreacher would never have allowed it. Not to mention that there may have been other protective charms. Don’t you remember all of your mother’s failed attempts to remove the portrait to a less central location?”
“Have to give her credit for that one, mate,” agreed Harry. “If there had been any way to silence her, I’m sure Sirius would have discovered it during the many months that he spent shut up in this place.”
“Speaking of Kreacher, I assume he is still working in the kitchens at Hogwarts where you assigned him, Harry,” Hermione continued, “but it sure does seem unnaturally quiet around here with him scurrying “ I mean, attending -- to the household matters.”
Harry glanced up to where the row of the Black family’s previous house-elves had been immortalized by Sirius’ Aunt Elladora. At least the ghastly placard that had borne their decapitated heads had been removed by Mrs. Weasley to a more suitable location. Harry fervently hoped that suitable location was the nearest dustbin. The sole reminder of its former presence was a slightly less brown oval on the wallpaper.
At least I saved him from that fate, Harry mused. Glancing at Hermione’s upturned face, he replied, “I sure hope so or we are not going to have any luck locating his hidden stash of family heirlooms, now are we?”
Being reminded of the expedition’s goal allowed them to shake off some of the gloominess of their immediate surroundings. Harry led the way to a small alcove under the grand staircase where they would feel less exposed. Two more wand tips added light and the shadows seemed to recede noticeably.
“First order of business,” Harry stated, assuming the expedition’s lead, “protection from intruders.” He pulled a dusty looking Foe-Glass from his jacket pocket. “Courtesy of Mad-Eye Moody himself.”
Hermione stared doubtfully at the faded Foe-Glass that looked like it had certainly seen better days. “Didn’t help Mad-Eye much when he was ambushed and kidnapped by Barty Junior, did it? Although, I suppose that if you keep an eye on it “ er, no pun intended “ it does seem to work better.”
Hermione reached deep into her jacket pocket and withdrew two large electric torches. She shrugged ruefully, “My parents are Muggles… What did you bring, Ron?”
As the materiels specialist of the operation, Ron had a rucksack of supplies. With obvious pride, he brought forth a curious object that looked like a cross between a snow globe and a traffic beacon.
“What is it?” whispered Hermione as her eyes widened with awe.
“Evil Eye Detector,” explained Ron. “Picks up motions and words of an intruder from within a specified distance.”
“You mean like a Muggle car alarm?” intoned Hermione.
“Yeah,” nodded Ron, “that’s where Fred and George got their inspiration. They’ve added some extra features of their own, though. You know, to make it more appealing to wizarding folk.”
The entrepreneurial talent of Ron’s twin brothers was virtually unmatched as demonstrated by the success of their first retail venture at nineteen years of age.
Sure hope they have improved upon the faulty trigger of many car alarms, Harry winced, but decided to keep that comment to himself.
Ron placed the detector on a rather rickety little table and knelt before it, fiddling with the complicated knobs on the base. “There, I think I have it set for a perimeter of about 15 to 20 feet “ it’s rather difficult to tell with his model. Here, attach these patches to your clothing so that it recognizes you as a friend.”
Harry stared down at the strange patch in his hand. Fingering it, he could not determine the exact material, but was momentarily taken aback as the huge eye in the center suddenly blinked. Following Ron’s lead, he attached it to his shirtfront where it stuck automatically just as if it had been backed with Velcro.
Pointing his wand at the detector’s dome, Ron whispered, “Protego horus.” A gigantic eye appeared in the center of the dome and blinked languidly. “Now that it’s activated, let’s take a look ‘round.”
“Is it drafty in here?” asked Hermione.
“Yeah, now that you mention it,” agreed Harry, “Seems to be coming from up there.” He pointed his wand up the staircase that led to the bedrooms above. He concentrated on keeping the hand steady so that, hopefully, the others would not notice his growing apprehension. The upper landing beckoned menacingly.
The strong electric beam of Hermione’s torch seemed to cut a path up the stairs. Grabbing the second torch, Harry added another beam to light their way into the unknown.
The mysterious cold draft that had lured them upstairs felt much stronger on the second floor. Cautiously, they continued down the hallway, the electric torches casting a wavering path before them. The threadbare carpet felt rough through the soles of their shoes and they had to take care to not trip on the upturned patches.
Taking the lead, Hermione beckoned them past a number of closed doors to the end of the hall. Harry passed the doorway to the room he and Ron had shared two summers ago; the door seemed like it could collapse from wood rot at the slightest touch. The double doors leading to the master suite were slightly ajar. It was clear that the draft was emanating from that direction.
Pointing her wand at the door hinges, Hermione silently moved her lips. From her lip contours, Harry concluded she had mouthed, “Silencio,” to forestall any protesting squeals. Very deliberately, she opened just one side of the double doors and squeezed herself through.
The main room of the master suite looked just as derelict as the remainder of the house. Shining their lights to the right, they revealed a giant marble fireplace that was festooned with spider webs. The ornate mirror above the mantle hung askew as large chunks of plaster were missing from the walls on either side, revealing a skeleton of old brick. To the left of the fireplace, a single door led into the next set of rooms.
Quickly extinguishing his torch, Harry approached the closed door and bent low to the sill. There was weak light coming from the other room.
Leaning close, Hermione whispered, “Isn’t that the room where Sirius kept…”
“Buckbeak, yeah,” Harry finished for her.
Following Hermione’s ritual with the hinges, Harry carefully swung the door inward to reveal a room that looked like it had been a victim of the London blitz. Weak daylight and morning mist were curling through a gaping hole in the ceiling. The fireplace on this side was completely demolished and portions of the kitchen below were visible where the avalanche of falling bricks had left a sizeable hole in the floorboards.
Not daring to venture any further, the trio leaned in for a better look from the relative safety of the doorframe. What remained of the other walls showed mildewed wallpaper peeling off in large strips, often aided by deep grooves that seemed to have been raked through the underlying plaster. Amid the numerous puddles on the floor, damp leaves and other yard waste had accumulated in various piles on the sodden carpet. The entire floor looked like it could collapse into the lower story at the slightest provocation.
“Oh, Harry,” sighed Hermione, as she sunk down into a sitting position next to the interior wall, “I should have realized… It must have happened when Sirius was “ well, you know “ when he fell through the veil.”
Leaving the door to Buckbeak’s chamber open to provide some natural light, the two boys sank down on the carpet to wait for the revelation that was sure to come.
Looking to each of them in turn, Hermione cleared her throat and continued, “You see, hippogriffs have a unique response to grief. It’s as if they can sense the death of their human companions even from great distances.”
“I don’t remember that from the magical creatures text that Hagrid assigned,” Ron interjected.
“Since when do you ever read the texts, mate?” observed Harry, attempting to poke Ron playfully in the ribs with his elbow.
“Well, it wasn’t in the textbook,” Hermione admitted. Harry could feel Ron begin to roll his eyes in categorical fashion. “Remember when I helped Hagrid with Buckbeak’s legal appeal? There are all sorts of interesting information about hippogriffs if one takes the time to do a little research.”
Harry was convinced that Ron’s eyes were going to get stuck in that position if he insisted on rolling them every time Hermione admitted to doing a little further research.
“It seems that back in the sixteenth century, Sir Barnabas of Barnsdale came up with the novel idea of using hippogriffs with mounted warriors in combat,” continued Hermione without missing a beat.
“Surely, you don’t mean Barnabas the Barmy?” interjected Ron, “That git that tried to turn trolls into ballerinas?”
Harry couldn’t suppress a smile at the mention of the tapestry that hung across from the Room of Requirement in Hogwarts castle. Those trolls in tutus had always been a favorite of his “ kind of like the wizard’s equivalent of the dogs playing poker that seemed so popular among Muggles.
“The very same,” she admitted, “Although that was hardly one of his better ideas. Believe it or not, he was considered a very progressive thinker for his time… Anyway, the hippogriffs proved to be fierce and fearless in battle, but only as long as the wizard who rode them remained alive. If the wizard died in battle, however, they became so distraught with grief that they would lash out at anything and anyone in their immediate path, friend or foe. They were also next to impossible to train to accept another rider as they remained loyal to their fallen companion. It was even rumored that they could tell when their rider died, even years later and separated by great distances.”
“So you mean that room has been open to the elements since last year?” Harry asked incredulously.
“I’m afraid so,” Hermione admitted.
“But why wouldn’t Hagrid have said something? Surely, he was an expert on hippogriff behavior…” Harry trailed off as his thoughts turned to Hagrid’s less than successful experiences with taming baby dragons, blast-ended skrewts, and lastly, his own half brother.
“Perhaps he never considered it. After all, hippogriffs haven’t been used in battle for four hundred plus years and there aren’t many records that have survived since then. Besides,” Hermione continued in a more gentle tone, “he may have thought that you had enough on your plate already.”
“Look, chum, since when have they given us all the facts?” commiserated Ron.
Harry nodded to admit he had a point. It seemed that adults in the wizarding world often thought that pertinent facts were to be disseminated on a ‘need to know’ basis only. In Harry’s experience, though, ‘need to know’ often translated to ‘after he’d had at least one nasty close call.’
“I just can’t believe I didn’t put all the pieces together until now,” moaned Hermione. “I guess Buckbeak always seemed so tame, so domesticated, so--”
“And since when have any of Hagrid’s creatures been domesticated?” argued Ron. “This is a man who thinks that when creatures are labeled as dangerous and vicious in the text, it only means that they are misunderstood.”
“We’d best examine the damage below,” suggested Harry, as he rose up and stretched the dampness from his limbs. He noticed that the sunlight actually warmed his hand as he closed the door to Buckbeak’s room. It would be a fine summer morning outside, he thought.
“I still can’t believe I forgot all about the hippogriff’s behavior,” muttered Hermione as they worked their way back down the hallway. “I used it to such great effect on my essay for the History of Magic O.W.L., too…”
Harry smiled to himself as he considered how much mileage Hermione could get out of the smallest bit of seemingly useless information.
* * *
The swinging door to the kitchen was stuck. It opened about three inches and then refused to move further. Peering through the small opening, Harry saw that a mound of broken brick and mortar had become lodged between the door and the wall. Try as he might, he was unable to get his wand hand through the small crack.
“Allow me,” offered Hermione. Deftly, she snaked her petite hand and wrist past the opening. “Evanesco!” she commanded. It took a few tries before she got the angle right, but soon enough debris had been cleared to swing the door wide enough for each of them. A final glance at the Evil Eye Detector still perched on the spindly table on the floor above showed the same lazy eye blink as before.
Glistening puddles with a few floating leaves dotted the kitchen flagstones, the large trestle table where they had once shared a lively dinner with the members of the Order of the Phoenix still dominated most of the open area. About half of the chimney had crumbled away, leaving rubble over most of the kitchen work area; but it was not impassable if one plotted a course around the larger obstacles.
“Not much left in here,” commented Ron as he picked up the large cooking cauldron that had once hung merrily in the fireplace. He righted it and placed it to catch drips from the largest hole in the ceiling. “Best check out the dining room through there.”
At the top of a short staircase, the door to the dining room swung open easily but they were instantly assaulted by the heavy pall of dust that floated in the air. The thick velvet drapes still hung over the double windows across the front of the house and effectively blocked out all manner of sunlight. Once again, wand tips and electric torches flared.
Despite the overwhelming use of black that Harry remembered in this room, the view that greeted him showed that everything had now faded to a uniform shade of grey. It took a minute for him to realize that he was staring at a thick blanket of dust on every imaginable surface. Shining his light around the walls showed that everything seemed to be in its place, yet not quite right. It was Ron who noticed that the sideboard to their immediate right did not match up exactly with its lighter imprint on the ancient wallpaper.
“Probably from when Mum did her spring cleaning routine here two summers ago,” he suggested. “Looks like nobody’s been in here for ages.”
“I don’t remember her moving any of the large furniture pieces, Ron,” countered Hermione. “The pests were much more of a priority at the time.”
Strange that the pests would not have returned with this level of abandonment, thought Harry. Hadn’t the Order continued to meet here during the last year of his godfather’s life? Surely, such a large gathering could not have been wedged into the narrow basement kitchen.
“Let me try something,” Harry volunteered as he boldly walked up to a nearby tea cart, leaving deep crimson tracks in the dusty carpet. Pulling his jacket sleeve down to cover his hand, he swept the dust from the oval surface to reveal rich oak tones beneath.
Completing a rather complicated fanfare with his wand, he pointed it at the center of the cart and commanded, “Gravitas particulus!”
As if pulled from the air itself, dust motes swirled over the tea cart and floated down to cover it evenly in a light layer.
“Blimey,” Ron said admiringly, “where’d you learn that one, Harry?”
“Not the Half-Blood Prince, again,” cautioned Hermione.
“Nope,” replied Harry, “this one’s from Hagrid. He used it to add a romantic sparkle to the snow in the garden for the Yule Ball. Said it was so easy, even he could do it with his makeshift wand.”
“But how does it work on dust motes?” inquired Hermione.
“Well, the original spell just captured particles of moonbeam and projected them down onto another surface. It took me a while to work out that it would work on any tiny air-borne particles with only a small modification of the wand movements.” With a definite twinkle in his eye, Harry added, “I’ve used the dust mote variation to great effect when Aunt Petunia assigned both Dudley and me to help out with the housework at Privet Drive.”
“Wicked!” intoned Ron admiringly. “So you did finally find a way to pay back that Muggle prat for upending the cigarette ashtrays on the carpet you had just vacuumed!”
Harry nodded his assent as his smile widened. His wand worked furiously for a few more moments and he had restored the tabletop to its previous level of dust.
“Too bad you can’t get the spell to work backwards, huh, Harry? To pick the dust up instead?” suggested Ron. “Evanesco only seems to work on larger objects.”
“Sorry, not yet anyway.”
“Of course not,” mused Ron, “my Mum would surely have known about it then.”
Harry had to admit that such a spell could have even endeared the wizarding world to the likes of his Aunt Petunia “ and that was truly a tall order.
Like the smallest puff of smoke, a sparkling of lavender particles drifted from the direction of the great dining room fireplace.
“Harry, how….” whispered Hermione in an awed tone.
“I didn’t…” began Harry, and then caught sight of Ron’s expression. Ron’s eyes had grown huge as he stared fixedly at the fireplace. “What is it, Ron?”
“Someone’s coming!” Ron hissed fearfully. “That was the Floo Warning System. All the grand houses have them”or so I heard, we never had more than one chimney at the Burrow. Keeps wizards from colliding in mid-floo.”
“Someone must be arriving through one of the other chimneys that are still in working order,” surmised Harry in a tone of alarm.
“We need to hide now!” Hermione cried, grabbing each of their sleeves and attempting to drag both boys in the direction of the kitchen. “I think I saw a pantry closet in here…”
Ron followed her quickly down the steps into the next room while Harry demurred in order to quickly re-dust his carpet tracks. Once through the kitchen door, he saw his two friends peeking out from the pantry. Silently, he slipped inside to join them.
A remnant from days when stores of food were put up for the winter, the pantry was more like a walk-in closet. Part of the ceiling had been torn away by the collapse of the adjoining kitchen chimney, allowing a bit of dim light to penetrate from the demolished room above. It did not take Harry’s eyes long to adjust. Looking around, he could see that most of the old wooden shelves lining three sides of the room were still sound. A few had sagged in the path of the chimney bricks that now lay in a tumbled heap in the corner.
Reaching for the Foe-Glass in his pocket, he was surprised that the metal base had become strangely warm to the touch. Placing it carefully on one of the shelves, he could see that the mists inside were beginning to swirl purposefully into ghostlike shapes.
He also noticed that the strange patches from the Evil Eye Detector had changed. The huge eye was blinking furiously from this shirtfront. Turning around to face his friends, he noted that Ron’s patch was acting even more agitated as it frantically kept switching from the blinking eye to an ear and back again!
Ron looked at his shirtfront in alarm. “I got audio coming in!”
Snatching the patch from his chest, he quickly stroked the edge. The image on the patch resolved into that of a large ear. He motioned the rest of them closer as faint shuffling sounds could be heard.
“Wot’s ‘appended ‘ere?” an unfamiliar voice intoned brusquely.
Another voice seemed to answer him, but it was too garbled to understand.
“Let me ‘elp you back to your feet,” Voice One continued.
“It’s just an old house,” Voice Two beseeched him. “Just down the hall a bit--” The rest was lost in static.
“I bet you they came in through the master suite,” suggested Hermione. “I don’t remember there being a fireplace in the room where I stayed.”
“Not in ours, either,” rejoined Harry in a whisper.
“Man, we were just in that room a few moments ago,” Ron’ eyes widened once more.
“Careful with this torn bit of carpet here,” Voice Two crackled. “The wooden banister’s not too sound, either.”
I know I’ve heard that voice before, intoned Harry inwardly. The fawning tone…it sent shivers up his spine.
The visual on Hermione’s patch was straining to focus. Harry grabbed the disk from her jacket and brought it in closer so they could all see. He could just distinguish the oversized wooden end post of the grand staircase. As the focus adjusted, they could see two distinct figures: the tall one trailing after the much shorter one who seemed to be picking his way carefully from step to step.
As the shorter intruder reached the end of the first landing, the viewing angle changed abruptly to focus on him exclusively. They could no longer discern the taller figure behind except for an occasional swish of dark fabric. As the smaller intruder neared, the magical viewer began to distinguish the colors of his garments so that he seemed to colorize before their eyes.
Harry blinked twice at the garishly garbed figure. A carnival clown would have thought twice before donning such an ensemble! The intruder’s right foot came into closer focus as it felt around for purchase on the next step, trying to avoid a huge tear in the worn carpet. Harry could see that the foot was bandaged and that the entire figure seemed to flinch every time weight was shifted onto it. A white, claw-like hand attempted to grip the banister, but he could not quite get his fingers around the wood.
Suddenly, Harry knew! The small stature, the obsequious voice, the bandaged foot… “It’s Kreacher!” he hissed.
“And he seems to be hurt--” sympathized Hermione.
“Don’t start with that S.P.E.W. line--” began Ron.
“It’s worse than that,” interrupted Harry. “He’s punished himself for going against his master’s wishes “ and I’m his current master.”
“Harry…” Ron was tugging anxiously at this sleeve. “What’s Kreacher doing wearing clothing? You didn’t free him, did you?”
“All I did was order him to work in the Hogwarts’ kitchens as Dumbledore suggested,” Harry returned as the full impact of Ron’s worried frown began to sink in.
“Could someone else have given him clothing to free him?” Hermione whispered urgently.
“Only his current master,” Harry reiterated, biting his lower lip in concentration. “Dumbledore seemed so absolutely certain that Kreacher had been compelled to follow my orders and used that as proof of the validity of Sirius’ last will and testament.”
“If the events of last term taught us anything, it’s that Dumbledore is not infallible,” Hermione suggested stoically.
“I think that things might just turn out be more convoluted that we ever suspected, mate,” Ron commiserated.
With a curt nod, Harry acknowledged that their assessments were likely correct. “Then we certainly don’t want to hang around to find out what Kreacher has up his little red sleeve,” he announced with conviction, “I already know I’m not going to like it.”
Harry Potter and the Hero's Lament by L A Moody
Chapter Notes: The story begins during the height of the summer after Harry’s sixth year at Hogwarts. The trio embarks on a daring reconnaissance mission with startling results.
Chapter Endnotes: This story was begun before the publication of Deathly Hollows; consequently, I attempted to incorporate as many of the teaser elements that J. K. Rowling had announced to the press would be forthcoming in her seventh installment. In this chapter, we see that one of the Dursleys (Petunia) surprises readers with her actions.