Harry Potter and the Keys of Light

Chapter Two: "Trunk in the Attic"

Harry followed Dumbledore to a portrait at the end of the hall; to Harry's surprise, he recognized the wizard as one from Dumbledore's own office--Gwendolyn Cygnatius, the witch that proposed the registration system for Animagi, famously known for her years outside the wizarding world, attempting to create peaceful magic and non-magic relations. And, if Harry remembered all that Hermione had shared with him and Ron after her research on Rita Skeeter at the end of their fourth year, she was the one that inspired the story of Swan Lake.

"Good afternoon Albus," she said warmly.

"Good afternoon madam. Butterbeer." She nodded and the portrait swung forward, revealing another set of stairs, narrower than the ones that led to the second floor of the Leaky Cauldron. Harry followed in amazement--he had never known the Leaky Cauldron had a third floor, let alone that it was inhabited by the headmaster; he had always imagined Dumbledore at the school or far in the country, in a heavily guarded manor.

At the top of the stairs were a landing and a large wooden door. The door had no handle, or visible way to open it. Harry looked curiously at Dumbledore, who was intently focused on the door. Harry followed his gaze, almost jumping back in surprise; the door was gone, revealing a large room--behind him, the landing and stairs had been replaced with the entrance to a hall.

It was a living room, filled with an odd combination of furniture; the wall to Harry's left was comprised of a grand bookcase, lined with volumes and strange objects, like those in the Headmaster's office; the opposite wall was made entirely of windows, looking down on Diagon Alley. Facing Harry was a large fireplace, and another archway in the left corner, leading to a dining room. Portraits and framed objects adorned the walls, including the silver Gryffindor sword Harry had pulled from the sorting hat in his second year. Contained in the room were several chairs, a sofa, tables and a large desk, in the corner next to the windows; next to the desk was a large stand, presumably for Fawkes.

Dumbledore walked to it, and sat down. After a moment, he said, "If you follow that hall behind you, Harry, you will find a door next to very end of it. Once you've made it satisfactory, if you could please return here. There is still business we must attend to this afternoon of which there is some haste needed in attending it." He then began shifting through the papers on his desk, and Harry, understanding that he was done speaking, turned around and walked down the hall.

The room was exactly the last in the hall, and surprisingly large. A four-poster stood next to a window, the view exactly the same as the one in the living room--Harry could see directly into the display window of Quality Quidditch Supplies. There was also a writing desk, as well as a closet. A door across from the bed led to an equally large bathroom. The odd thing about it was that everything, from the bed to the walls, was bare; there were no sheets or pictures or decoration of any kind.

"What an odd room," Harry said.

"It isn't that odd," said a voice behind him, "you just haven't furnished it yet." Turning about, Harry realized there was a single painting in the room, taking up much of the wall; it showed an attractive brunette, dressed old looking navy robes, sitting in a stone-walled room, a large raven on a stand behind her.

"Good heavens!" she exclaimed, having looked Harry over. "You're Harry Potter!"

"Yeah," Harry mumbled, irritated. "It's not a big deal, you know."

"Of course it is." Her tone reminded Harry sharply of Hermione when she was correcting something someone had said--condescending and authoritative. "And, if you are going to stay in here, I may as well introduce myself. You may have heard of me, if they are doing things properly at Hogwarts--my name is Rowena Ravenclaw."

"One of the Founders?"

"Ah, so they are teaching you history. Excellent." She beamed down at him, and Harry hesitated before saying,

"So, um...how do I furnish the room, exactly?"

"Why, simply say what you want in it."

"Oh." Harry turned back to the bed. "Well...sheets, for starters." When nothing happened, he turned back to the picture of Ravenclaw.

"Well, what color?" she asked, as though this were the obvious thing to have thought of.

"White, with red blankets, like the dormitory beds." In a moment, the bed was done, made up exactly as his four-poster in Gryffindor Tower. Feeling more confident, Harry turned to the wall to his right, and said,

"Pennants--Gryffindor Lions, and Quidditch. And shelves for my books and broom." Instantly, scarlet and gold covered the wall, surrounding a line of shelves, the topmost of which had four pegs for his Firebolt to rest on. Five minutes later, the room was finished, and Harry sat on the bed, resting his eyes.

"You have good taste," the portrait was saying, " a little masculine, I suppose, but overall nice. Oh! Don't fall asleep, Dumbledore is waiting for you." With reluctance, Harry stood up and left the room, feeling tired from the day. He didn't want to attend to anything with Dumbledore; why couldn't he just sleep, and deal with everything tomorrow? He also felt guilt nagging at him, for not feeling worse about the Dursleys. At least you didn't like them, Ron's voice sounded in his mind.

Dumbledore was still at his desk, but looked up as Harry entered the room.

"Are we ready then?" Harry nodded. " Excellent. If you will please start the fire, Harry." As he did so, the Headmaster continued, " There are only three ways here, Harry. First, through the portrait, which shall be the way for you to use. Only you and myself know the password, and I would appreciate it if you would not tell anyone else."

"Of course not, Professor."

"Good. Now, the second way here is to Apparate. However, much like when visiting Grimmauld Place, one can only enter if they know it is here. Otherwise, I am afraid, they will end up in the center changing room of Madame Malkins'. The third way, which really is only a way out, is through the fireplace. You cannot Floo here, so I would not advise attempting it."

"Yes, Professor." Dumbledore crossed the room and took a small jar from the bookshelves. He handed it to Harry, who asked,

"Where are we going, sir?"

"Well, we are going to Privet Drive. However, we must travel to Mrs. Figg's home, and from there walk." Harry stepped into the grate, and threw down the handful of powder.

"Magnolia Crescent," he called, and for the third time that day, was being pulled past the endless stream of fireplaces, catching glimpses of the rooms beyond. Finally, he stopped at the familiar kitchen with paisley wallpaper. Mrs. Figg was sitting at the table, apparently expecting them.

"Harry, dear, are you all right? Where's Albus?"

"He's coming. What's going on here?"

"Oh, it's been ghastly. The police shewed up a few minutes after you left, and began asking questions. Then, everyone was looking for you, but couldn't find you. And then, to make it worse, Aurors begin appearing all over the lawn of Number Four, and an entire squad from the ministry arrived and began altering the memories of everyone and their dog--"

"Which Aurors are still here, Arabella?" Dumbledore asked, stepping out of the grate.

"Well, Tonks and Shacklebolt, they both slipped away to ask me what happened, and where Harry was. Most of them left an hour ago except for those two--I suspect they were waiting to see if you returned. I think Alastor is on his way as well."

"Excellent. Come with us, Arabella, to wait for Alastor while Harry collects his things."

Harry found it strange walking back onto Privet Drive; it was just as it always was, quiet and tidy, without any sign of the morning's events--the wreckage had been cleared, only blackened patches of the road left. Privet Drive had yellow tape around it, cautioning others to stay away, which he, Dumbledore and Mrs. Figg stepped under, and the door was still open. Harry approached slowly; he saw himself standing there, looking at the driveway as he had that morning. The image was replaced as a woman with long bottle green hair stepped into the doorway.

"There you are!" Tonks said, smiling. Harry found he had to restrain himself from running to her. Perhaps this affected me more than I thought, he said silently to himself.

"Has Alastor arrived yet?" Dumbledore asked.

"No, we're still waiting. He wanted to come first off, but...well, the last thing we needed was it appear in the Prophet that a certain ex-Auror was investigating this--there'll be enough rumoring to deal with as it is."

"Quite right," Mrs. Figg said. They stepped inside Number Four. Nothing had been changed from that morning, Harry noted, as he stepped over the broken glass from one of Dudley's fallen pictures.

"I'll just...um, go upstairs then," Harry said quietly. He slipped out of the hall and up to his room without drawing attention from any of them. He took all his clothes from the wardrobe--a total of eight shirts and three pairs of jeans--a piled them onto his bed. Then, he removed all the cards and things he had smuggled from his trunk downstairs from the loose floorboard, including the album and his Potions homework. He was emptying his writing desk as Dumbledore appeared in the doorframe, casting a curious look about the room.

"Almost done," Harry said, grabbing Hedwig's cage.

"Harry," Dumbledore said, "has your room always been like this?"

"What? Oh, no--this year I've been able to sneak a lot more up here, like my Lions banners." Having been reminded of these, Harry stood on his metal-frame bed and un-tacked them from the wall.

"And those, those are all of your clothes?" He gestured toward the pile on the bed.

"Yeah--so?"

"Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry." Harry looked at the Headmaster.

"For what?"

"I did not know, when I sent you to live here--"

"It's no big deal," Harry said, catching on. "Really--this is much better than the cupboard ever was." He felt increasingly self-conscious under Dumbledore's gaze, as he always did, and he flushed in embarrassment. "I need to get my trunk from downstairs." He gathered the pile from the bed and brushed past the Headmaster. Once downstairs, however, Harry had to turn to Tonks to open the cupboard under the stairs.

"It's locked, you see."

"Sure, Harry," She said cheerfully. "Alohomora." He placed his clothes into the trunk, and then joined Mrs. Figg, Tonks, and Professor Dumbledore in the sitting room. The man Harry recognized as Kingsley Shacklebolt was resting on the loveseat with Alastor Moody.

"Harry," Moody said, his blue glass eye swiveling toward Harry as he entered the room, "How are you? I see they haven't been feeding you...good thing for that oaf of an uncle of yours he met a Death Eater before me."

"Alastor!" Mrs. Figg cried in alarm, casting a nervous glance at Harry. "Please be respectful!"

"The sooner you face a fact, the sooner you can overcome it," he growled.

"This is, perhaps, not the most appropriate time for this," Dumbledore said firmly. "Harry, are you ready?"

"Yes...no, wait," Harry paused a moment; there was something he was supposed to do...No, Harry, listen to me--there is a trunk, in the attic. Make sure you get it. "There is one more thing I need to get Professor." With that, he ran back upstairs, to the door at the right end of the hall--the stairwell to the attic.

It was dusty and crowded in the little room; remnants of Dudley's old toys remained, as well as boxes of cherished Dudley mementoes (Dudley's first X-Mas...Dudley's first Bike...) and the Christmas decorations. Harry looked around for a moment, and then, behind the remains of Dudley's first computer, Harry discovered a medium sized leather trunk. It was black, with gold clasps, with white flowers painted on the side. Embossed on the front were the initials L.E.

Harry swallowed nervously; this was it, surely, he thought. L.E--his mother's trunk. He reached to open it, trembling with a mix of emotions; his nightmares of his third year resurfaced in his mind--that green light, his mother's screaming--the image of her in the Mirror of Erised, emerging from the end of Voldemort's wand...

"Need help, mate?" Harry saw Tonks standing on the stair, and nodded. "Well, that's good then. I think Dumbledore's in a hurry, and--hey, what's that?"

"Just another trunk. Can you help me carry it downstairs?'

"Sure. Locomotor Trunk. Ya know," she said as they moved back to the second floor, "I'll bet you'll be glad when you can use magic all the time. I know I was, anyway. Ugh! Having to do everything without my wand! I'd never get anything done!"

"Yeah, right..."

"I mean, I got on well enough growing up, what with mum insisting on it, but I've gotten so used to, ya know, swish ! and it happens. Well, here we are. He's ready Professor." Dumbledore was waiting for them in the hall, Mrs. Figg, Moody and Shacklebolt talking in the sitting room. They grew quiet, however, as Harry entered the room.

"Harry will be leaving now, Kingsley. I believe you can inform the Ministry that there is no longer a need for the wards, and that they may conduct full investigation. Nymphadora, if you will please say goodbye to Harry; it may be a while before he will see you again." He smiled at her, and then moved to a private corner with Moody, whose glass eye was fixed constantly on Harry.

"Well mate, I suppose this is goodbye for now then, at least, until I sneak away from my Auror duties." She reached out and hugged Harry. Laughing as she stepped back, she said, "You've grown this summer; you're almost a whole head taller than I am. Pretty soon I'll have to stand on my toes to hug you!" Harry smiled.

"Tonks," he said then, "will you write me if there is any news about...about this? Just in case no else will tell me?"

"I don't know Harry..." She cast an uneasy look at Dumbledore. "I mean, if Dumbledore--"

"Please, Tonks--you know that sometimes Dumbledore doesn't tell me things even though he needs to. I'm not asking you to lie to him or anything, just write to me."

"Alright."

"Thanks." He hugged her again, and then grabbed hold of his trunk and Hedwig's cage. Dumbledore walked to him, and they returned to Mrs. Figg's house, this time accompanied by Moody. He thumped behind them at a steady pace, keeping a look out, as Harry saw when glancing back--the glass eye was swiveling in its socket, turning rapidly to every corner of the street.

Mrs. Figg bade them goodbye, promising to report later that evening to Dumbledore, "incase," she said, "the Ministry does the proper thing and sends Aurors out again to pull the wards down." As it happened, Moody went with them to Dumbledore's flat; by the time Harry had put away the contents of his trunk in his room, however, Moody had gone.

"He has other matters to attend to Harry," Dumbledore said. He sat down on a sofa in front of the fireplace, and motioned for Harry to sit as well. "It has been an eventful day for you, Harry." Harry withheld from commenting on the obvious, and simply nodded. "Is there anything you would like to talk to me about?" Immediately things came into Harry's mind: the loss of his family, the Death Eater he saw in Privet Drive, the trunk of his mother's that he hadn't yet opened, his guilt at not feeling more upset than he was and feeling at the same time he was at his worst, his confusion and anger...

"No, sir," he said, as he had many times before, "nothing."

"Well, I suppose I must talk to you about some serious, and possibly boring matters, but I ask that you do pay attention. Firstly, Harry, you are living here only temporarily until a more suitable home may be found. I think you should know that Professor Lupin is currently applying for your guardianship, but that is, unfortunately, in the hands of the ministry and may take some time. While you are here, I will ask that you be respectful and not allow curiosity to get the better of you, for, I must warn you, many of the objects of interest in this house are unfriendly to strangers. Secondly, we shall be in this flat for only a week before returning to the school."

"Why, sir?"

"Hogwarts itself has magic, within its very walls. It is quite possibly the safest place in all of England for you to be, as well as the best place for members of the Order to meet. You see, Harry, the Ministry, try as it might, has no real control over Hogwarts, and is usually unaware of what goes on within its walls. You shall be able to practice some magic, for example, which has become very necessary." Dumbledore looked at Harry thoughtfully, then continued, "Mr. Weasley has informed me of what you did to his dinner plates."

"That was an accident--I didn't mean to do anything Professor," Harry began.

"I know, Harry. It is simply that he confirmed what I have long suspected myself, namely, that you possess empathic powers."

"What is that exactly?" Harry said. "Mr. Weasley told me that it meant I could do wandless magic, but I don't really understand why that is so special. I mean, don't all wizards perform magic of some kind while they're kids?"

"Yes, Harry. What makes someone like you different is the fact that the power doesn't leave you when you hit puberty. In most wizards, the little instances of magic they showed in childhood occurred because they were not in practice of magic--they're magical ability had to be used, if infrequently, in order for them to maintain it. Then, once they get a wand, that magic is transferred to the wand."

"So, you're saying that most wizards' power is inside their wands?"

"Exactly, Harry, exactly."

"Then, what about me? Where is my power if it isn't inside my wand?"

"Still within you. For you, the wand acts only as a conductor for magic. With training, however, you will be able to perform magic at will without the use of the wand. I am sure you have experienced this a few times before, though." Harry thought a moment, remembering the night last summer when Dementors had fallen upon him and Dudley; he had cast the Lumos spell without his wand. He nodded. "This training you shall receive this summer, for it will be highly useful to you. Also, I expect you to continue your Occlumency lessons. You still maintain the connection with Voldemort, and so you are still vulnerable to as mental attack--"

"I will try Professor, but I will not do it with Snape anymore."

"Professor Snape, Harry. And you will continue with him--"

"No, I won't." Harry said firmly, staring the headmaster directly in the eye. "He doesn't teach me anything. I think he just enjoys attacking me."

"Harry--"

"I won't do it. I don't want to be anywhere near him, let alone open my mind to him. How do we know he isn't still working for Voldemort? How do we know he isn't just weakening my mind to make it easier for Voldemort to get inside my head?"

"That is enough," Dumbledore snapped. "I trust Professor Snape, Harry, and I feel no obligation to tell you why. But please put aside this attitude--whether you like each other or not, you will work with him because we must be united if we want Voldemort defeated."

"I will continue Occlumency Professor, but I want as little contact as possible with Professor Snape. I won't go trying to start anything with him, but I can't make any promises if he attacks me."

"I see we are of different views on the matter," Dumbledore said coldly. "I will leave it at that, but remember, Harry, that you will need as many allies and teachers as possible. There will be very hard times ahead, for all of us, and it will only make us vulnerable to be divided." He moved from the chair to his desk and began looking through the parchment piled on it. "I suggest you go and write any letters you may feel necessary. Later, we are going into Diagon Alley to purchase some items and proper robes for you," he said, without looking up.

Harry went to his room. Ravenclaw was napping in her frame, and, to Harry's surprise, Hedwig was sitting on her cage. She hooted softly at Harry as he entered the room and allowed him to stroke her feathers.

"I'll have more work for you to do in a minute," he said, pulling parchment from the drawer of his desk. It took him a few minutes to finish his letters, one each to Hermione, Ron and Neville (to whom he had been writing since to night at the ministry. As with his other two friends, being nearly killed had made Harry closer to Neville than they had been in the five years they had been at school together.) He told them he was with Dumbledore, and, to Neville, what had happened to the Dursleys. To Hermione, he asked her to look into Occlumency--if Hermione could understand how to do it, then she could teach Harry. He also told them about his empathic powers, though not in detail. Harry was unsure how Ron would take the news that Harry had yet another thing that singled him apart from the rest of the wizarding world, and after all that had happened last June, he didn't want to fight with Ron over something stupid like that. Satisfied with his letters, he gave them to Hedwig. He looked at the trunk sitting at the end of his bed, but decided against opening it. It was his mother's, and he didn't know what he would find in it; he didn't want anyone to walk in and see. No, he decided, this is something to do on my own.

Harry fell back onto his bed, closing his eyes. He was still warm with anger; he had agreed with Hermione that he had to be more cooperative, but he wasn't going to do anything simply because Dumbledore said so. Snape was part of the reason Sirius was dead, even if he was just slow in walking to nearest fireplace and calling for help. Sirius was dead, it was a fact, and Harry didn't have any evidence that Snape was trustworthy save Dumbledore's word, and, as shown last year, even the great Headmaster could make mistakes.

A clock chimed in the hall. Was it only one o'clock? Harry wondered. He sat up.

"Were you sleeping?" asked Ravenclaw.

"No, just resting a minute."

"Oh. Perhaps you should lay down a bit longer," she said. "You really do not look very well."

"It's been a long day."

"So I heard." She smiled at him in a kind way. "You are stronger than most, Mister Potter, but you are still only sixteen. No one expects you to hold all this in."

"But, I have to. I can't waste time being a child. There is too much I am responsible for."

"We all have our responsibilities, you know. Even Dumbledore has to rest some time."

"I don't really care about Dumbledore at this moment."

"Now that, is a foolish thing to say," she said sternly. "Dumbledore is possibly your only reliable ally at the moment, or, at least, the only one with power enough to be useful. The best thing for you to do, Mister Potter, would be to find an outlet for your frustrations, because they will only distract you. In this room, you are free to do so, and I will not tell anyone."

"Thanks," Harry said, closing his eyes again. He really was tired, and the last thing he needed was for the pictures to be lecturing him as well. "I think I will take a nap."