Harry Potter and the Essence of Pure Magic

Waking up the next morning was an easy, gradual experience for Harry. A note he'd received a few days ago from Professor Dumbledore had said he would be picked up today, and taken to an un-named location for the rest of the holidays, so Aunt Petunia hadn't come in to wake him up to get to work on the garden. He stretched out lazily, rubbing his neck from the slight twinge that it had developed from the awkward way he'd fell asleep reading the book Sirius had given him.

He looked down at the book. It was, he decided again, an extremely cool gift. Again, the only downside to it was the fact that Sirius was dead, and he wouldn't be able to talk to him about it. Harry quickly banished away the thoughts of It was your fault almost before they could appear, and turned his head to look at his alarm clock.

Jumping up in shock, Harry almost burnt himself on the little light that was attached to the head of the bed, which had been on all night now. He quickly flicked it off, and began to shove stuff into his trunk. It was almost twelve, almost time for him to be picked up! He'd been asleep nearly a full twelve hours. He hadn't slept that long, without any 'assistance', that is, in years.

The letter had arrived two days ago, just saying that Order members would be coming at twelve to take him. Harry had felt his spirits raise a bit, only to fall at the thought of being back at Grimmauld Place for the rest of the holidays. The old house would be full with memories of last summer, and of Christmas, of the time he had spent with Sirius. Even though he knew he'd come far, he wasn't quite sure if he could deal with it.

Sweeping all the books into his trunk, he quickly threw in all his clothes, and then went through the scrolls of parchment that littered the desk. Most were lists of spells, hexes, jinxes, curses, shields- all DADA stuff. All things he would learn by the end of the year. He couldn't wait to go through the books he'd gotten for his birthday and add more to the list. Once Harry had learnt them himself, he would pass them onto the D.A., which he had vague plans of reforming no matter who ended up teach DADA. As much as he hated it, he needed the help. Harry himself might be the only one who could kill Voldemort, but he still had to get through his Death Eaters first. And the more people who could defend themselves, the more trouble they would have making attacks. Not everyone would be a helpless victim. Not if he could help it.

The scrolls were all piled into the trunk, the individual ones quickly following them. He picked up his gifts, put them inside, and then reached under his bed, prying up the loose floorboard. Quickly he pulled a few more of his more precious items from their customary hiding places. His father's invisibility cloak. His photo album. A few of the more precious gifts and such. Like the ruined knife Sirius had given him in his fourth year. Ruined in the attempt to get into the Department of Mystery...

Harry's head lowered. Again, he'd managed to go some time without thinking of that gaping hole that Sirius's death had caused within him. The night of sleep he'd gotten, completely free of nightmares, of a vision of Sirius reaching out from the Veil... Stop thinking about it! STOP IT!

Gathering all the items into his arms, he dumped them in his trunk, and closed it. Or tried to. The lid wouldn't completely shut, so after replacing the loose floorboard, Harry went and sat on the lid. The addition of his own weight managed to close it, and he slipped the lock down.

Head buried in his hands, elbows resting on his knees, Harry remained seated on his trunk for what seemed an eternity. He straightened up, and looked at his new watch, and was shocked to find only five minutes had passed. The first week of the holidays had been spent in similar blurs, most of which had lasted hours and hours. This one... he'd snapped out of it almost immediately. Feeling slightly cheered by this, seeing it as a sign of recovery within himself, he looked over at the bed.

The book. The Young Wizard's Handbook. He'd left it out of the trunk, just left it lying on the bed. Looking at the leather-bound cover, Harry began to ponder something. Quickly he glanced at his watch. Still ten more minutes before anyone was due to come and pick him up. Plenty of time to do more reading. Plenty.

Sitting on the bed, he began to read it again, this time making sure he actually read it instead of just staring in wonder at it. In fact, he was so engrossed in it, he missed the arrival of Lupin, Tonks and Moody downstairs. Well, he didn't really miss it, he just ignored it. At least, that's what he told himself later, after Moody had finished having a discussion with him about being aware of one's surroundings at all times. Paranoid old bastard.

Turning the page, Harry's head snapped up at the polite cough that came from his now open door. Standing there, eyes twinkling slightly in amusement, was Remus Lupin, once again visiting Number 4 Privet Drive. Behind him, laughing quietly was Tonks, her hair a deep red and blue, oddly subdued for her. After all, the Auror metamorph usually had an incredibly bright colour to her hair. Downstairs, he could just make out Moody's voice growling something to Aunt Petunia, who actually sounded fairly calm, instead of her usually shrill voice whenever faced with speaking to someone from the wizarding world.

"Little preoccupied there, Harry? What are you reading, that has you so interested?" Remus asked him, voice lightly teasing. Harry almost blushed as he scrambled to his feet off the bed, closing the book.

"Nothing important, Remus, nothing important." Harry held the book close to his chest, and began to go put it in his trunk.

"Ah, Harry? You might want to close it. You know, properly and all. Wouldn't want someone to see all that privileged information and all." Here, Lupin drew himself up slightly. "After all, that book is a work of art."

Harry again felt his face heat slightly, so he pulled his wand, opened the book up, and tapped it, muttering "Mischief managed". He looked at the two standing in his door, and raised his eyebrow. "Well, are we going?"

Lupin and Tonks both stepped into his room, clearing the way for Moody who had just trooped up the stairs. "Come on, Potter. Time to go, you got all your stuff together?" the old auror growled.

"Yes, Moody, all ready to go. Just waiting for you now."

Moody flicked his wand at Harry's trunk, and it rose slightly off the floor. "Grab a hold of that, then grab a hold of this." Here he pulled out an old Daily Prophet, one of the ones from almost two months ago. You-Know-Who Appears At Ministry Of Magic! it shouted. Harry snorted. He'd been saying Voldemort had returned for nearly a full year by that stage, and so had Dumbledore. But what had it taken for people to believe him? An appearance by the Dark Tosser himself, in the Ministry itself. And at what cost?

Harry's moment of introspection lasted only a few seconds, before he grabbed both his trunk and the old newspaper. Lupin and Tonks also touched it, and Moody touched his wand to it, muttering a brief incantation. Harry felt the sudden jerk behind the navel that characterised Port-key travel, and the lack of other sense. The whole world briefly revolved around his hold on the newspaper, his hold on his trunk, and that yanking feeling, of being pulled along against ones will.

Just as quickly as it had begun, the journey had ended, and Harry went sprawling on the ground, almost dragging his trunk over his legs. Lupin and Moody remained standing, but Tonks... Tonks had fallen even worse than he had. Somehow, she had ended up arse over tit, on her back with her legs over her head. Harry had only managed to just avoid breaking his glasses as he slammed into the ground, it was a good question how Tonks had managed to do that. But then again, it was Tonks, who had to be one of the most spectacularly clumsy people on Earth.

"Ugh... I hate port-keys... where are we?" Harry asked, voice partly muffled by the fact he was still lying face down on the ground. He could hear Lupin chuckling at him, and Moody and his wooden-leg striding away, followed by the opening and closing of a door. A hand landed on his shoulder helped bring himself to his feet, and he looked around. It was a fairly non-descript hall, yet one that was awfully familiar. "Oh no... not here..." he whispered to himself.

It was 12 Grimmauld Place. Sirius's old house. It didn't seem quite so... dark, as it had earlier. Something seemed to have lightened up the place considerably. But still... it was the house of his dead Godfather. The hand had remained on his shoulder, and now it squeezed tightly, offering comfort. Harry's shoulders slumped, before he turned around to look at Lupin.

His face was... tired. Empty. A vast sadness, and loneliness, had filled it. The laughing mask that was often there had fled, leaving behind what filled it now. The last of his friends, the true Marauders, had died, and he was alone. The only one still alive was the traitor, the rat Wormtail. First it was Prongs, James Potter, along with Lily Potter. Now, Padfoot, the one who before Harry's third year he'd thought had betrayed them, was dead. The last of one. The only link was Harry. Prong's Junior.

"I know, Harry. I know."

They were the only words that he spoke. The two looked each other in the eye, and another silent moment sprung up. This one was quickly interrupted by Tonks asking for help to upright herself from the position that she had inexplicably got herself into. The two brought her to her feet, and then Harry grabbed his trunk.

"Same room as last time?" he asked, beginning to walk towards the stairs that led upstairs.

"No actually, a different room. Come on, I'll show you where. Tonks, just go into the kitchen, I want to have a word with Harry while he settles in." Lupin said, waving Harry forward and Tonks towards the kitchen. The two began to climb up the stairs, then along the second floor corridor. They passed his room that he'd shared with Ron last year, and passed the room that Ginny and Hermione had shared, and into a short corridor that he hadn't noticed last year. There were six doors leading off, two of which were open, revealing them to also be bedrooms. Lupin walked up to one of the closed doors, and swung it open. He gestured Harry to precede him in.

He came to a dead-stop in the door frame. The room was richly decorated in Gryffindor colours, deep scarlet and gold, a queen-sized four-poster bed occupying most of the space, with enough room for a desk, a dresser, some bookcases(empty) and a few chairs. The chairs seemed to have come straight from the Gryffindor common room, they just looked so... right, for the colour scheme. The fact that they were slightly beaten up and very comfortable looking helped to increase that feeling. Harry stepped forward to take a closer look, and realised these were the chairs from the Gryffindor common room, most specifically his, Ron's and Hermione's favourites for when they were lounging about(not that Hermione ever really lounged about.).

"What... how... when..." he managed to splutter out. A quiet chuckle from behind him made him turn his head back to the door, where Lupin was watching him with a soft smile on his face. "What's going on?"

"This was Sirius's idea. He'd wanted to do it before Christmas, but he never really got around to it. It was like the whole house was fighting being changed, and with Kreacher doing whatever he could to get in the way... well, nothing was getting done. He'd planned it out, and after Kreacher... decapitated himself, Dumbledore managed to bring in a few house-elves from Hogwarts, who were more than glad to help. Now, all the first and second floors are done, and the basement, cellars and third floor are all halfway done. And once all of these bedrooms were clean... well, we wanted to honour him, by giving you the room he'd planned from you. The chairs... well, they were chosen by the house-elf. Dobby? I believe you know him" Lupin smirked a bit at this, and Harry had to roll his eyes through the overwhelming desire just to break down into a sobbing heap, which was taking all his self-control developed from the ten years of living with the Dursley's. If Dobby had been involved, every second sentence would have involved the words "The Great Harry Potter" or something to a similar effect. And if Remus knows... Harry groaned, he was going to get a bit of taunting about it.

"Yes, well, I did manage to free him from the Malfoy's, so he's bound to think quite highly of me, can we leave it at that?" Harry said, his cheeks reddening slightly as he said it. "Can... can I just look around for a bit? Settle in, get used to it? I... I don't think I'm going to be able to talk, or even listen properly for awhile, this is just so... wow..." Harry trailed off, and he could feel a resurgence of despair.

Lupin nodded. "Okay, Harry. I'll come around in a little while. I need to talk to you about some things, some things about Sirius. And your OWLs, too. Come down if your ready in under, say, half an hour. Happy Birthday, Harry." With that, he closed the door, leaving Harry alone with his thoughts.

He continued to just stand there, shocked. He couldn't believe it. This was his room. His very own room. He didn't have to share it with anyone, it wasn't able to be locked from the outside, he could do anything he wanted in here. Pulling his trunk, he put the Handbook down on the desk and sat on the desk-chair. He'd somehow managed to keep a hold of the book, and not even damage it. Reaching down, Harry unlocked his trunk and began the slow process of clearing it out.

The Invisibility Cloak, photo album and other items made their way onto the bed, to wait until he could find places to place them. His spell-scrolls went onto the desk. In fact, he put all the parchment in his trunk, including his blank school supplies on it, along with some Muggle lined paper he'd managed to get his hands on. The books he just temporarily placed at the foot of the bookcase, not actually trying to organise them. His presents he resorted, placing the books with the other books and the others on the bed, still treating the twins gifts with extreme caution. Then, he went to sort his clothes into the dresser, only to find it was already full with clothes, largely wizarding, off much better conditions than the what were practically rags he was wearing at the moment. Looking quickly through what was in there, he estimated that he wouldn't need clothes for the rest of Hogwarts, if he didn't grow any more than he already had. The variety was quite wide, so he grabbed out a shirt, and held it to himself. He couldn't quite see if it was the right size, so he slipped off Dudley's old shirt, and put his new one on. Almost immediately he felt it resize itself to him. "Wicked" he said to himself, before quickly grabbing a pair of pants out of the dresser, taking off his shoes and Dudley's old jeans, quickly getting into the new trousers. Again, they adjusted to his size. "Definitely wicked."

Harry was in the middle of pondering what to do with the pile of Dudley's cast-offs that had gathered in the near the door when Lupin came back into the room.

"I see you've explored everything. And what are these?" he asked, pointing at the pile of clothes.

"Dudley's old stuff. I was just thinking about how to get rid of them."

Lupin nodded slowly for a second, before calling out in a clear voice "Dobby, can you come here for a second? We need a hand with something"

With a soft crack, Dobby appeared in the room. "Yes, Mister Mooney? What can Dobby do for you?"

Harry bit back a snicker, but Lupin still levelled a glare at him. "Yes, Dobby, can you please dispose of Harry's old clothes please?" he asked, voice polite even though his eyes were promising dire vengeance if Harry laughed.

Dobby jumped up, and squealed, turning around to face Harry. "HARRY POTTER SIR!" The manic house-elf flung himself at Harry, who managed to turn to the side enough not to catch Dobby's head fair to the crotch. "Harry Potter sir, you're here, you've arrived! Oh, Dobby is so happy to be serving you! Does Harry Potter want anything?" Dobby had released Harry, and was now bouncing up and down in front of him. Now it was Lupin who was biting back laughter, and Harry who's eyes were full with promises of vengeance if that laughter got out.

"No Dobby, I don't need you to do anything. What you can do for me, however, is get rid of these clothes here. You can take whatever you want for yourself, if you feel the need."

Dobby's eyes suddenly began to well with tears, and he went still. "Harry Potter is too generous. Thank you, Harry Potter sir, thank you!" he cried, and snapped his fingers. All the clothes disappeared, and a second later so did Dobby, with another soft crack.

Lupin finally burst out laughing, and after a seconds embarrassment, Harry joined him. After awhile, the two calmed down, and Harry went and sat down on his favourite chair, gesturing for Lupin to take the other. "So, Remus, what do you have to talk about? And what's the deal with my OWLs, I thought I'd have them ages ago!"

Lupin sat down, and ran a hand through his hair for a second. "Well..."