Book of Memories

Chapter 2: THE BOY WHO LIVED

After so long, Harry's eyes widened at the sight of the Hogwarts Express barreling down the track. He stood up, knocking Hedwig off his shoulder and ran over to the train, eyes watering, insurmountable joy running through every part of him. When the train finally stopped, out came the Grangers and the Weasleys. Even the train driver came out. Harry didn't know who to run up to first but Hermione solved that problem.

"Harry!" she screamed, running over and grabbing him tight. She then proceeded to go limp in his arms and she wasn't the only one.

"Mom's fainted again," said George. He proceeded to slap Mrs. Weasley on the face to wake her up as did Harry to Hermione.

"She did that once on the way, too," added Fred.

"Had us worried sick as soon as Hedwig arrived!" cried Mrs. Weasley, blowing her nose and carrying a large box of tissues. "What happened? How are you? Are you hurt?"

"I'm fine," he said, letting Hermione go. Both of them wiped away tears. "I woke up with my back killing me -"

"Don't use the 'K' word," said Mrs. Weasley, looking ready to faint again.

"Okay, hurting a lot." Harry proceeded to explain about the lonely week in the forest, how he managed to find an apple tree, the centaurs, the hut, Aragog and finally making it back to Hogwarts in one piece. Mrs. Weasley continued to cry through the whole story, screaming extra loud when he mentioned the centaurs leaving him and the balrog coming back for seconds.

"I'm just happy to be with someone," said Harry through a bunch more tears. "Can I get something to eat? I'm starving." Mrs. Weasley took her turn at grabbing Harry. With friends at last, he reminded himself. Harry's heart leapt with joy at the realization that he had survived Voldemort once again. The entire wizarding world considered him dead for two months and the Dursleys were probably overcome with joy when they got word.

Hogsmeade was alive and well when they stepped into town.

"Can we hurry up," said Harry looking around at all the people pointing at him. "This never stops embarrassing me." Embarrassed he might be, but the feeling was blown away by constantly getting reminded he was no longer alone in that dreaded forest.

Their pace picked up towards the Three Broomsticks. Mrs. Weasley made sure to find a quiet table in a far corner so they could talk in peace. Harry ordered butterbeer and a juicy steak then proceeded to the bathroom to wash his hands.

"Steak?" said Hermione, as Harry walked back looking at him like he just killed the balrog again. "For breakfast?" Harry ignored her for a moment as he ripped a big chunk off with his bare hands and stuffed it in his mouth.

"Hermione," he said, mouth full of food, "want to me stick you in that forest and let you survive?" Those words shut her up rather quickly. Fred and George sniggered.

"Here," said Mr. Weasley, shoving a copy of the Daily Prophet under Harry's nose. The headline explained everything. "Read it aloud."

HARRY POTTER DEAD

SPECIAL REPORT

A hearty shock ran through him at seeing his first obituary, taking quite a bit of time to run out (and it took a few minutes especially considering he ejected the food in his mouth right towards Mr. Granger).

"Sorry," he said, and then "Ablutum," with his wand pointed at the small stain on Mr. Granger's shirt.

"Understandable," said Mr. Granger, looking very much so as Mr. Weasley patted Harry on the back.

One dreadful afternoon at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, reports Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, a collection of Death Eaters and several dementors Apparated directly on school grounds in the middle of a Quidditch game. Details are sparse but Albus Dumbledore reports Mr. Potter was seen to disappear.

Harry would have asked if Dumbledore was alive again if he had not quickly caught himself. He could almost not believe himself that Dumbledore managed to kill that thing.

It has been one month since the disappearance of Mr. Potter. Highly unfortunate and saddening but the Ministry of Magic presumes him dead. As you recall, fourteen years ago Harry Potter was responsible for the downfall of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Only recently did he rise to power again. Thankfully, Mr. Potter left us with one last gift. Services will be held in Godric's Hollow on March 30th.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was shut down last week in light of recent events as well as due to a protest that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named might return.

"Rumors say it was exactly like fourteen years ago," said Mr. Weasley. "He has no body and is weak. Voldemort's whereabouts are unknown. Put it out of your mind, Harry," he added smiling. Harry smiled too, slightly relieved. It took Voldemort three years last time and now it should it take longer, if it happens at all, given Voldemort failed twice in a row...

"March thirtieth, is that this weekend?" he asked.

"Yes..."

"What do you say we go there?" asked Harry, wallowing in his own genius. It's not every day you get to crash your own funeral. You know, give them a bit of a surprise." Harry couldn't help but laugh along with everyone else.

Mr. Weasley arranged Harry to stay at a room in the Leaky Cauldron (they arrived by Floo Powder, Harry's least favorite form of transportation). Tom, the landlord, offered it to them free of charge, delighted just to see Harry once again ("Welcome back, Mr. Potter!"). Hogwarts was shut down but only for one week and was poised to reopen in the middle of next week as if it was never shut down.

But right now it was Tuesday and Harry stuffed his face like never before with any food he could get his hands on. Florean Fortescue, the owner of Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor, also very glad to see him, gave Harry a free sundae every time he passed by. The other hundreds of wizards and witches, who happened to get a glimpse of his forehead as the occasional breeze split his bangs in two, resulted in him being redfaced for the majority of his time exploring Diagon Alley.

Harry took the grandeur amounts of free time to finish up a few essays and make sure the homework that he never got around to doing was finished to perfection. Not for one second did he think Snape would consider him dying any excuse for not handing in homework. Too bad the balrog didn't finish Snape off, Harry thought to himself, as he put the final period down on "Spirit Potions: An Introduction." He grumbled to himself, as they had already finished Spirit Potions...

One fine morning, Harry strode into Ollivander's on Hermione's request. There was a new section devoted to an old, yet newly refined invention, both at the same time.

"Staves?" asked Hermione, staring at a rack full of three-foot-long boxes at the back of the shop. Ron was holding the exact same face. Harry, knowing nothing about wands, took his usual questioning stance.

"Wizards of old used them," said Mr. Ollivander. "Very powerful, they are, yet hard to use at the same time." He opened a box to reveal a glorious staff made of silver. It's bottom ended in a dragon's tail and at the top, a pinkish crystal ball was held tight in place by three claws." The ball glittered and sparkled as Mr. Ollivander twisted it around.

"Wingardium Leviosa!" he shouted, pointing the staff at the desk. To their wondrous amazement, the crystal ball lit up and the entire desk ripped right out of the floor, hovering a foot above it. He spun it once very fast, causing a few papers to fall off the top but the majority stayed on. "These just help you focus. The core serves to aid with the magic of the creature from which it was taken. One can do magic without a wand or staff... but you need strong ability. The mark of ancients gave that to Harry in immense helpings. Wands are child's play compared to a staff."

"How much do those things costs?" said Ron, gaping open-mouthed as Mr. Ollivander set the desk back down. Mr. Ollivander then strode around back to the rack of staves and placed the staff back in it's box, Ron's eyes following it back into it's resting place.

"These come special order from Mr. Fudge. Ministry wants anyone who can afford one to have one. Quite a bit more useful than wands, I dare say. Mr. Potter, try to curse me," he added, taking the staff out again. Harry removed the nonchalant stare on his face. Ron looked upset at Mr. Ollivander having dodged his question.

"Are - are you sure?" asked Harry.

"Go right ahead," said the wand seller as if he merely asked Harry to pass him a quill. Mr. Ollivander held the staff out in front of him horizontally, gripping it with both hands.

"Digitus verbero," said Harry, pointing the wand at Mr. Ollivander's mid section. Hermione clapped a hand to her mouth as Mr. Ollivander spun the staff, ball facing up, stopping Harry's curse and then sending it off towards the ceiling.

"Wicked," said Ron, thoroughly amazed. "Didn't need a spell!"

"He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named doesn't stand a chance against a group of five bearing a staff. Of course, I'm not allowed to sell these to underage wizards."

Ron frowned.

"Staves in the old days were several feet long," said Mr. Ollivander broodingly. "These are just elongated wands with the weak power of a crystal at their tip." He took a seat on a chair near the door and fixed Harry, Ron and Hermione with a pale stare.

"Legends tell of a seven foot long staff," he continued. "At it's tip, a skunk's mouth held a pure white crystal in place. The skunk mouth was attached to the body of a squirrel and this made up the staff's handle, all the way down with a squirrel tail at it's end. No proof was ever found of it's existence. My colleagues and I believe it exists but woe become us if we learn of it's whereabouts."

"Yeah," said Ron staring curiously at Mr. Ollivander's profile, "we're going now."

"Goodbye," said Harry and Hermione together. As they left the shop, Ron broke out in crazy talk.

"He's clearly gone insane," he spat. "My dad told me about that staff."

"What's it called?" asked Harry curiously.

"Don't know," said Ron flatly. "It's just a kid's tale to scare you when you go to bed. Never existed."

"I respect Mr. Ollivander," said Hermione thoughtfully, "but I disagree about that staff. It's just a legend."

Harry had a sudden feeling. As many times as he has been told something, it's usually the opposite. There was no reason to go seeking it, he reminded himself. The only thing on his mind right now was finishing the year up. Tickling the back of his mind was Sirius and his half-zombie state. Surely that would resolve itself before the year's up. Hopeless as it may seem, Harry assured himself Dumbledore would come up with some kind of miracle cure... right?

Saturday morning came and they were to head off to Godric's Hollow. It was when they were heading to the Leaky Cauldron's fireplace that Harry had the mind-blowing realization that he had never been there since he was one year old. The place was burned down, however, so how were they going to get in?

After Mr. Weasley, it was Harry's turn. They used floo powder.

"Godric's Hollow," he said as clearly as he could, stuffing his glasses in his pocket, tucking his elbows in.

Down the giant drain of fireplaces he went, spinning very fast. He tried to ignore the roaring of the fire but it was very hard, coupled with the whirl of green flames. The first time Harry tried floo powder he ended up in the hostile Knockturn Alley breaking his glasses, covered in soot.

Finally, he saw Mr. Weasley waving at him and stepped out of the fireplace. He stood in the house he had only been dreaming about. There was absolutely no damage to it, indicating it must have been restored to it's former glory. Harry could see people lined up all over and many people on a staircase. The entire house must be full with wizards and witches.

All around were hundreds of people he didn't recognize. He made sure to hide himself behind the Weasleys while thoroughly covering the scar with his bangs. At one end of the room, Harry could see the long white beard and hair of Albus Dumbledore talking to Cornelius Fudge and Minerva McGonagall.

Not caring anymore about the reaction, he walked out from behind Mrs. Weasley and shouted across the room.

"Professor Dumbledore!" The room went pin-drop quiet and Harry could feel the blood rushing to his face. Oops. Dumbledore whipped around immediately (along with the rest of the room) and behind the half-moon spectacles were eyes ready to rain tears, something very unusual for this wizard. Someone dropped their goblet near the stairs and a loud thump was notice someone had fainted.

"Harry!" said Dumbledore. For a moment, it looked like time had stopped as no one was moving a muscle. The look of great surprise on Dumbledore's face suddenly turned normal again, to Harry's great relief.

"So it happened again," said Dumbledore as he strode towards Harry.

"What happened?" asked Harry.

"It," he said softly. "The reason you got the scar." These words washed over Harry like a tidal wave. He had not even cared to think about how he survived and then he remembered the day fourteen years ago...

"I dare say," continued Dumbledore, "there is still no explanation. More puzzling is that the mark of ancients has been removed."

"Must we discuss this, Albus?" said McGonagall."The world's greatest wizards and witches questioned it for years and are no closer to discovering anything about the scar than we are to recreating the staves of old."

"I suppose," he replied, looking rather reluctant to stop the conversation. "A more pressing matter might be Harry's health."

Dumbledore eyes glowed behind the half-moon spectacles and a smile erupted on his aged face. Harry explained to him exactly as he explained to the Weasleys and Grangers a few days ago. Everyone else in the room was quiet and listening hard over Harry's every word.

"What condition was the forest in when you woke up?" asked Cornelius Fudge.

"Destroyed," said Harry grimly. "Trees burned, missing branches... The ground was scorched and the grass was all black."

"I need not say it's a great relief to find you alive, Harry. I could not believe my eyes when the Daily Prophet one month ago agreed with the Ministry that you had not survived. What kept you alive, twice now, must be very powerful magic indeed."

"Who cares," said Harry slightly annoyed. "Voldemort," he continued, to quiet chattering of the crowd, "has to get killed so my life can get back to normal."

"Come, Harry," said Dumbledore, the smile on his face staying put. "I think we'll have to celebrate the downfall of Lord Voldemort once again." Dumbledore's words always had a way of calming Harry down. Whether it was the radiant charisma or just what he had to say, it never failed and now was no different.

Harry had to force back tears the entire time. He never stepped foot inside this house, his house... the house his life changed forever in. Dumbledore took him on a tour of it, showing Harry his parent's bedrooms, his own room, the bathroom (which he conveniently stopped to use) as well as the rest of the house.

The celebration, which one wizard christened You-Don't-Know-Who's Day, lasted well into the next morning. The sun rising again didn't make Harry any more tired than the large amounts of butterbeer and food. It wasn't until Harry fell asleep a few hours later, which more than one person confused for a dead faint ("NO!" followed by lots of crying) that McGonagall suggested everyone go home.

Harry slept the greater part of the next day, to be woken up by Ron pulling the pillows out from under his head (and then falling out of bed).

"We have a few more days of freedom before Hogwarts reopens," said Ron as Harry scrambled to his feet. "There's going to be a mad rush on the train to get back."

"When do we go back?" asked Harry, now groping around for his glasses.

"Tuesday. All the teachers are there already." In two days, they would be boarding the Hogwarts Express again. Harry started to think he should ask Tom if he could spend the summer vacations in the Leaky Cauldron...

Ron threw Harry's covers and pillows back on the bed as Harry stuffed his wand in his pocket. He got very used to the idea of not going anywhere without it... A staff would be nice, maybe a gold one made up of a Gryffindor lion and a red crystal ball held in it's mouth. But, of course, underage wizards aren't allowed to have one.

"Hey," said Harry as he closed his trunk after pulling out a fresh pair of clothes, "where did they put Sirius?"

"St. Mungo's," said Ron, fidgeting with his owl, Pigwidgeon, who had just swooped in with a worm in his mouth. "He's been a zombie ever since you disappeared," he added grimly. Harry's smile was immediately exchanged for worry. He then said something about dementors that made Ron jump ("HARRY!")

"We should've left him in Azkaban," said Harry, overcome by guilt. "I'd rather him kill himself than live with half a soul." He slammed a fist on the trunk, as it wouldn't close, and heard something crack.

Harry dug a hand into it to find the Sneakoscope Ron had given him two years ago cracked in several pieces. He was now doubly angry with himself for having broken Ron's birthday present.

"Get all the pieces out," said Ron in a tone that was somehow supposed to calm Harry down. "Hermione can fix it." Harry collected the pieces and set them up on his bedside table. No doubt Hermione would stop by later in the day at Ron's request.

Tuesday came after a very happy two more days, feeling very much like summer vacation. Still slightly angry at himself about both Sirius and the Sneakoscope, which Hermione handily repaired but it then fell apart an hour later ("Shame..."), Harry didn't talk to anyone unless spoken to first. He followed Ron and Hermione onto the train and they sat in an empty compartment. He also managed to sneak on the train unnoticed by anyone. Ron and Hermione were going on about Mr. Ollivander and his crazy staff. Harry didn't bother taking part in the conversation, his mind was on Sirius.