Harry Potter and the Keys of Light

Chapter Twelve: "Case Closed"

Harry had expected they would turn toward the dungeons, but Snape led him up the staircase to the griffin that guarded the entrance to Dumbledore's office. They were silent the entire way there, and this continued during the wait outside the Headmaster's office. Harry found the tension nerve-wracking, but he didn't dare show it; the last time he had been in contact with the Potions master, he had used a Body-Bind curse on him, and he had to check his temper if he had any hopes of getting Snape to stop despising him, and take him seriously. Finally, the door opened, and they went inside.

Dumbledore's office was just as it always was, filled with whistling gold objects; Fawkes perched quietly on his stand, and portraits of former headmasters and headmistresses snoozed in their frames. Harry's eyes flicked up to the portrait of Phineas Nigellus, who quickly pretended to be sleeping.

"Harry, Severus, it is good of you to come so quickly," Dumbledore said, entering the main room. "Please, have a seat. Would anyone care for some tea?" Harry declined, as did Snape, but the Headmaster took his time pouring a cup, as though it was a mere social visit. Harry wished to be done with whatever he had been called for, and was glad when Dumbledore put the cup down and looked at him.

"As you know Harry, it is important for you to continue developing your powers. I watched your work this summer, and I must say I was very pleased." Harry nodded his head. "But there is still the matter of your Occlumency. Now that Voldemort is aware of his connection to you, it is imperative that you master it. I wanted to teach you myself, but I am afraid I must maintain the same distance I did last year. Before you ask," he said, for Harry had, in fact, opened his mouth to speak, "I have my reasons, and I will share them with you at a later point." Harry tried not to let the hurt show in his eyes; he had been prepared to argue with the Headmaster, to be mad at him, but to be so ignored again was something almost unbearable. He knew Dumbledore had his limits, knew that it was unwise to trust everything to his judgment alone, but the fact was that the headmaster had always been in his life, and spending last year without guidance had been terrible.

"I hope you understand, Harry." The Headmaster's voice recalled Harry from his thoughts, and he nodded. Of course he understood; if he appeared too close to Dumbledore, he could be used like Sirius had been...

"I am glad. As such is the matter of things, I have asked--" Snape gave a derisive snort at the word; "--asked Professor Snape to continue assisting you and he has agreed. I am aware that you two have...had some difficulties in the past, but I hope you understand why it is imperative that we are all in cooperation." Snape was looking away, and Harry decided it was time to speak.

"Professor Dumbledore, I'm happy to continue my training, and I did work on it over the summer. In fact, I'm not sure if I'll need to take up very much of Professor Snape's time." The Headmaster looked at him, the familiar twinkle in his blue eyes.

"Oh really?"

"Yes sir."

"Please, Dumbledore," Snape said, apparently having had enough. "How can you expect me to work with him? Look at his arrogance--no child can master Occlumency on their own, and certainly not Harry Potter. He has absolutely no discipline--"

"That is enough Severus," Dumbledore interrupted, his voice gentle but firm. "Harry, I will ask that you meet at least once with Professor Snape. If he tells me that you have indeed advanced, you may see him less frequently than you did last year."

"Yes sir." It would only take one Occlumency session, he knew, to prove he didn't need any more help. The Professor had been strict, after all, and he had learned a lot over the summer under his instruction. The thought still unsettled him some, though--wasn't the Potion's master his teacher because of his skill as a Legilimens? No, Harry thought, I'll be fine. If anything, he would only have to endure a few lessons with the greasy haired professor.

Snape was still eyeing him with the usual enmity, but he didn't return it, looking instead at the Headmaster.

"Thank you, Severus, that is all." The Potions master left the room in a dramatic sweep of his black robes. When the door closed, and Snape's footsteps were heard on the stair, Dumbledore spoke again.

"Thank you, Harry, for not protesting in front of Professor Snape. I know your feelings on the subject, and I appreciate your maturity." Harry smiled, trying not to seem too pleased with the praise, though it flared inside him. "We never did have that talk this summer, Harry, did we?"

"And I would still like to, Professor," Harry said. "But could we do it some other night? The others are waiting for me, and I don't want them to worry."

"Of course you may go now, Harry. I suppose our meeting can wait?" Harry nodded. "Very well, off you go."

"Good afternoon, Professor," he said, rising from his chair and going to the door.

"Harry." He turned back; Dumbledore was now stroking Fawkes's crimson feathers, and the phoenix was issuing a sweet note of gratitude. "Even if I must estrange myself from you in public, the door to my office is always open."

"I know, Professor," Harry replied and left the office.

Harry, Ron and Hermione left the Great Hall after dinner and went directly to the Room of Requirement to wait for the rest of the D.A. Hermione had been somewhat put out when Harry told her about his conversation with the Professor earlier that day, and she again voiced her doubts about him. Ron supported Harry's opinion that the man was harmless, which got him and Hermione sniping at each other. Harry cut the conversation off, however, as the others would soon be arriving. Eight o'clock finally arrived, and the members assembled themselves. The first order of business had been for Hermione to collect the parchment sheets from Terry Boot and Zacharias Smith, who had been asked to write down a list of students interested in joining from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff house. Hermione herself had compiled the list of Gryffindors with the help of Alicia and Ginny.

"Thank you everyone," Hermione said, placing the lists in her bag. "I'll go over these tonight with Harry and we'll make a final list for tomorrow night's meeting. In the meantime, I've written out a list of what we'll be doing exactly in Defense." As she passed these out, Harry stood up with his copy, reading it out.

"We'll meet Friday, which seemed to have worked the best for everyone last year. At first, I'll just catch you up the things I learned over the summer, like some healing magic and better dueling spells." There was a murmur of excitement at this, and Harry smiled. "When we get more members, we'll have to put some of you as teachers to help new people. We'll get that list later on." He looked at Hermione, who nodded to the group. "Then, every morning, we'll be doing exercise with Ron."

"Exercise?" Lavendar said. "What do you mean?"

"He means that you lot are going to get in shape," Ron said, standing up. "You're going to run, you're going to stretch, and you're going to work until you can't move." Harry let Ron have the floor, taking a seat next to Katie.

"I hope he isn't like this at Quidditch," she whispered, as Ron went on about waking up at six o'clock on Saturdays and racing around the lake. "We'll be too tired to play."

"You'll get used to it," Harry replied. "It's only hard the first week."

"What? Have you been working out, Harry?"

"There wasn't anything to do here over the summer," he said, shrugging nonchalantly. Katie smiled and looked back to Ron.

"So, on Sunday, I expect all of you in the gym on the fourth floor by six thirty, or you'll work an extra hour." Ron cast a threatening look at them all, before sitting down.

"On that happy note," Lee said, "Who's up to a little dueling?" Everyone laughed, and Harry stood up again.

"That's exactly what I wanted to do. Let's see how much you've forgotten over the summer." They divided up into groups of two, and Hermione moved the cushions to the walls. Only two partners went at one time, standing in the center of room, Harry circling them, while the others sat against the walls watching. Ernie McMillan and Hannah Abbott went first. Hannah was first to move, trying a Jelly-Legs curse, but Ernie blocked it and tried to disarm her. She managed to move out of the way and put him in a Body Bind. Ernie fell to the ground with a thump, and there was some cheering.

"Not too bad," Harry said, ending the spell and helping the Hufflepuff up. "Terry, Anthony, you're up." On and on it went until everyone had had a turn. Hermione, by far, was the best, but it had more to do with the fact that she knew more spells than anyone else. Harry was fairly proud that they had all remembered the things he'd taught them last year, but he realized that the D.A. had a long way to go; after all, how much good was the Tickling Curse in a real duel? He told them as much, receiving a few complaints of unfairness, but this stopped as soon as he promised to help them learn new curses.

"There are some really good blocking spells I learned from Professor Lupin that I want us to try soon," he said. "But for now, let's all get some sleep so it's not too terrible when Ron wakes us up in the morning." This reminder of the morning run got everyone hurrying out of the Room of Requirement.

"Ron," Harry asked, "are you really going to get us up at six?"

"Of course. It's all on the schedule," Ron said. Harry would have laughed except that he knew Ron was being serious. He thought it was good for Ron to be in charge of training, and he was definitely the best for the job, but Harry couldn't help but feel a little nervous at what he had created.

"Harry? Do you want to look at these lists here or in the Common Room?"

"Here probably, so we can talk about the people without worrying about who's listening." Hermione nodded and drew three of the cushions from the stack at the far end of the room. She took out her quill and a sheet of parchment, handing Harry the first list of Ravenclaws.

"Rodger Davies?" Ron said, reading over Harry's shoulder. "That's a no."

"Ron, just because he went to the Yule Ball with Fleur Delacour--"

"That has nothing to do with it," Ron said, interrupting Hermione, his ears glowing red with embarrassment.

"I'm glad, Ronald, because if you still held a grudge over a fourth year dance, I wouldn't know what to think of you," Hermione said, giving him an innocent smile. Ron's ears, if possible, became even redder, and he began studying his hands with interest.

"What do you think of him, 'Mione?" Harry said.

"He's in my Arithmancy class, but I think he's somewhat of an idiot. Still, he's a seventh year, and that could help us." Ron looked back up when she insulted the Ravenclaw boy, grinning. "I mean," she said, "You're not exactly popular in Ravenclaw, Harry." Harry nodded; of course, after what had happened to Marietta Hedgecombe and his argument with Cho, Harry couldn't imagine that the seventh year Ravenclaw girls were spreading support for him throughout their house.

"We'll need the support of the fifth years and above," Hermione said, looking over another of the lists. "They'll know enough magic to start. Anyone younger than that would take too long to train. What about Joseph Summerby? He usually makes good marks in Defense."

"Hufflepuff? Seeker? No."

"How about Abigail Thornberry?" Harry said, looking at the Ravenclaws. "Do either of you know her?"

"She's with me in Ancient Runes. She's nice enough, and I think she doesn't like Cho Chang very much," Hermione said.

"Chaser," Ron said. "No."

"Ron," Hermione sighed, "you can't eliminate everyone we say just because they're on their house Quidditch team. I mean, Zacharias is on the Hufflepuff team, and Padma's on the Ravenclaw team, and they're all right. Really, Quidditch does nothing but spread enmity throughout the school, which is exactly what we're trying to avoid."

"I don't care," Ron said haughtily, "Thornberry got five goals past me last year."

"Then she's got excellent coordination," Hermione replied. "She's in."

"Charlie Crawford?" Harry interrupted.

"He's fine," Ron said.

"Is he on the Ravenclaw team?" Hermione asked. Ron mumbled something, looking down. "What was that?"

"No," Ron said. Hermione sighed and went back to calling out names, ignoring any comments from Ron. They'd gone through the entire list before going back to Gryffindor Tower for bed, coming up with twenty names by the end of it. Ron was still muttering angrily at what he termed "Hermione's unjust insinuations" about his biased opinion of the candidates when he and Harry had changed out of their robes and gotten into bed.

"Good night, Ron," Harry said, still shaking with amusement. His friend growled in reply, and Harry fell back against the bed, blankets wrapped comfortably around him.

He was running through the halls. The stone floor stretched endlessly before him, the walls reaching skyward...why was everything so tall? He came to a stair. He ran down it, leaping from step to step with unbelievable speed. He was enjoying the descent, somewhat disappointed to find himself at the base of the stair.

He was in the entrance hall--the doors to the Great Hall were open, but there was no light or sound coming from within. He could tell from the smell that it was at least four hours since dinner. He ran across the hall in swift strides, in the direction of the dungeons. The stone steps were less fun to race down, and though the musky smell was definitely enough reason to turn back, he continued on. On and on he went, down and down, to the very darkest corridors of the dungeons, where the smell of the moist earth held by the moss covered stone made the air seem thick. Finally, however, he saw what he was looking for; he was nearing a dead end, or what would have appeared so to anyone else. At the base of the wall was a hole, too small for anyone larger than himself to fit through. He passed through the hole and emerged into a bright white light...

Harry sat up, breathing heavily. For a moment he didn't realize where he was, but the gentle snores to his right brought his mind back to the dormitory. The dream had been so real...his legs were aching slightly, as though he had really run through the halls of the castle. His scar, however, wasn't tingling, and even if he wasn't a proficient Occlumens, he knew the dream hadn't come from Voldemort. What did it mean? Was it just another dream? What was that light?

Too fatigued to think about it, Harry lay back down, and drifted off into a peaceful, dreamless sleep.

Ron was true to his word. At six o'clock the next morning, the Gryffindor sixth year boys were awoken the sound of a loud whistle. Ron was standing in the center of the room, fully dressed in a pair of gray sweats that reminded Harry of the uniform worn by gym teachers in primary school.

"Wake up men, we've got a long morning ahead of us," he said. Sighing, Harry got out of bed and put on his glasses. The other boys were having difficulty rousing themselves, however; by the time Harry had gotten back from the bathroom, Ron was wrestling the comforter away from Seamus, Dean had put his shirt on inside out and backwards in his half conscious state, and Neville was sitting on the end of his bed, eyes closed, snoring gently.

"Enervate," Harry whispered, sending the spell toward Neville. The mousy haired boy jumped up, looking surprised.

"Morning everyone!" Neville said brightly. Ron and Seamus stopped what they were doing to look over at him.

"What are you lot still doing in bed?" Ginny had just stepped into the room. She looked irritated, hand resting at her hips in a way that strongly reminded Harry of Mrs. Weasley. "It's six-fifteen, and we're waiting." Tossing her hair huffily, Ginny left the room, banging the door shut behind her.

"You heard the woman," said Dean, having finally righted his shirt, "Let's get going."

The girls were waiting for them in the common room. They looked as alert as the boys, though, with the exception of Ginny and Hermione.

"What happened to your faces?" Seamus said blearily, eyeing Lavendar and Parvati on the sofa. Indeed, there was a noticeable difference in the fashion conscious girls they saw daily and the bedraggled teens before them now.

"It's six in the bloody morning Finnigan," Lavendar snapped. "You didn't expect us to put make up on, did you?"

"None of us look our best," Hermione said, preventing Ron, who had just looked the girls over, from commenting.

"Did we get up for nothing, or are we going to run?" Ginny demanded, sounding just as authoritative as her mother. Ron immediately snapped to attention, and herded them out of the portrait hole.

Breakfast had never tasted so good. As Ron had threatened, they worked from six-thirty until eight-thirty. It had been two hours of laps with few breaks for water. The disgusting part had been that Ron ran the entire way with them, barking orders and insults the entire time. Off the gym were two large dressing and shower rooms--one each for the boys and girls. It had been very tempting to just fall asleep in the comfortable warm water of the pool-sized bathtub, but Ron had only allowed them fifteen minutes to get dressed. Together, the entire party walked down the Great Hall.

"Well, that wasn't so bad, was it?" Ron received furious glares from his fellow Gryffindors, and someone threw a bit of toast at him. "That was uncalled for, Bell," he yelled down the table. That did it--they all started laughing, breaking the heavy silence that had blanketed their end of the table.

"Mail's here," someone said. The birds swooped into the hall, owls of all sorts laden with envelopes, parcels, and papers. A barn owl landed next to the orange juice jug in front of Harry, holding out its leg. Harry took the letter, and the bird took off.

Harry-

Nothing new in the case. In fact, there's no news at all-it has been closed, marked under one of the Undeterminable files. It'll be in the papers, but I thought I'd warn you first. I'm not sure what happened-we were on the right track, I'm just sure. I'll try to keep working on it, but it may take a while.

Enjoy you term, and I'll write when I can.

Tonks

"...can't believe it." Harry looked up.

"Sorry?"

"I can't believe it," Hermione said again, passing the Daily Prophet across the table. It was open to the second to last page. Beneath an advert for Scouring Solution, in a small box, Harry saw an article entitled,

Muggle Murder May Never Be Solved:

Earlier this summer, as reported in the Daily Prophet, Muggles Vernon and Petunia Dursley, along with son Dudley, were the victims of a tragic accident. As the guardians of Harry Potter, the Ministry investigated the Dursleys' deaths closely. It had been rumored that the Muggles had been purposefully murdered by enemies of The-Boy-Who-Lived, but the truth of the case may never be known.

It has been suggested that the car the Dursleys had been driving had a faulty engine (a device used to supply power to the car) that overheated and combusted. The Ministry seems to accept this as the most plausible reason behind the tragedy that occurred earlier this summer.

In a statement issued by the Ministry early Saturday morning, it was noted that, "we [the Ministry] are very sorry for Mister Potter's loss." Thanks were also issued to Muggle authorities, "without whose cooperation, [the Ministry] might not have solved the case so quickly."

When questioned, Aurors working on the case, who asked to remain nameless, expressed concern that there was more to the case than there seemed, but that no evidence had been found to work on.

For now, it seems that the Ministry is satisfied with the theory proposed by Muggle officials, and the public can only guess as to whether or not the case is truly closed.

"So this is what Tonks was talking about," Harry said.

"Is that who the letter was from?" Hermione asked. Harry nodded and handed it over for her inspection.

"It made sense to me," Ron said, looking the article over again. "Maybe that's really what happened."

"No, Ron. I was there, I saw it and it was no accident. Tonks told me that they knew it had been an attack, too--they knew which Death Eater did it."

"So why make that other stuff up?"

"I don't know," Harry sighed.

"Sounds fishy to me," his friend replied, taking a contemplative bite of toast.

"The Order will figure it out," Hermione said.

"Yeah," Harry said. Suddenly, he wasn't hungry. He said as much, and then left the Great Hall.

Thankfully, the library was empty when Harry arrived in it. He sat at one of the tables near the back, behind the rows of shelves. The article had upset him, to be sure; How dared they make out the Dursley's deaths as an accident? It was just like the article written after Hagrid died--no, Voldemort had nothing to do with it...it was all an accident...a terrible mistake...

His family was gone forever, that was no accident, nothing that could be fixed with a simply apology. He had wanted justice. He had wanted Tonks and Kingsley to bring in Malcolm Avery and Lucius Malfoy in chains, wanted them to face a court, to confess what they had done to him, he wanted...what? What could be done to them? The Dementors were no longer a fate, and Azkaban was useless without its guard.

"It's probably just as well," he sighed.

"What is?" Startled, Harry looked up; Luna Lovegood was standing before him, a vile of bubbling liquid in her hand. Cursing himself for not having realized someone was coming, Harry tried to wipe the tears that had leaked from his eyes.

"It's nothing."

"And I'm the Minister of Magic," Luna replied, sitting next to him. She handed the vile to him. "It's a Pepper Up potion. Everyone is taking it after our little morning excursion with Ronald the slave driver."

"Thanks," Harry said. He downed it in one swallow, and instantly felt better.

"Now," Luna said, taking the now empty vile and putting it in her pocket. "Do you want to tell me what you were doing here? I saw you leave the Hall--you seemed like you were upset about something."

"I just lost my appetite is all. It's nothing, really."

"Harry, don't lie to me," Luna said seriously. "Everyone always lies to me. If it's none of my business, just say so, but don't lie." Harry looked at her. Her eyes were a very pretty blue, and they were looking at him with concern. Harry felt a sudden openness--he knew he could tell her. And so he did.

Luna, it turned out, was a good listener--she waited until Harry was done telling her about the Dursleys and Hagrid and Sirius, about his anger and his pain, his guilt and the responsibility he felt for all that had happened. Then, after he had finished telling her about the Daily Prophet article, she pat him reassuringly on the back and said,

"I understand." She gave him a small smile, and for the first time in months, the weight that had been heavy on Harry's shoulders seemed to lighten just a little.