Harry Potter and the Orb of Power

            Chapter 39: The Heir of Gryffindor

    Harry had mixed feelings as the end of term approached. While the feast at the end of the year was always a festive and cheery moment, Harry felt like the minute he left Hogwarts, he would be losing something, something intangible. Of course, going back to the Dursleys' wasn’t as miserable a prospect as before, owing to Aunt Petunia’s newly found magical powers, but Dudley would be worse than ever. Of all three of the Dursleys, Dudley took the news of his mother’s magic the worst. Harry was in the Common Room, staring into the fire, remembering when Sirius’s head popped into the fire in his fourth year. He had warned Harry about Karkaroff and his status as a Death Eater. Harry shook his head, focusing on Karkaroff’s fate rather than that of his godfather. Where was Karkaroff? Had he rejoined Voldemort? Or was he in hiding, or worse, dead? For that matter, who else has felt death touch their families, now that Voldemort is out in the open? Has anything happened? Intangibles, all intangibles; Harry had no answer. He had never been in a war, magical or muggle. The horizon was foggy, indefinite.

    The only definite that shown through was that at some point down the line, perhaps sooner rather than later, Harry would meet his end at the hands of Voldemort. The Heir of Slytherin would finally vanquish his lifelong enemy Gryffindor, or rather, Gryffindor’s Heir.

    But I’m not just Gryffindor’s Heir, Harry thought angrily. I’m Harry Potter, fifth year student at Hogwarts. He wasn’t just a pawn in Dumbledore’s struggle against Voldemort. He wasn’t just a victim fated to be murdered. Harry squirmed, watching the fire dance up, its warmth heating Harry’s skin. Harry could not suppress the cold shudder creeping up his spine at the thought of dying at the hands of Voldemort. The very idea was frightening; what would happen to Ron and Hermione? How would they cope with the idea that he, Harry, their best friend, was fated to die? Hermione of course would declare that prophecies were a bunch of woolly and vague predictions, while Ron would just blatantly deny the whole thing. But Harry wasn’t so sure; Rowena Ravenclaw herself performed the spell. Only she could really tell how to interpret the decision of Fawkes, but then again, she wasn’t exactly available, having lived a thousand years ago.

    Harry took out the pocket knife that Sirius had bought him for his birthday almost two years ago. It was designed to unlock any lock, to get him past any obstacle. Harry had an insurmountable obstacle in front him, and the knife, no matter how handy it was at unlocking locks, would never be able to use it to get past the obstacle, the ultimate obstacle, of death. He gripped the plastic handle of the knife and raised his hand. He would throw the knife into the fire; he didn’t need it, and it only reminded him of Sirius. His breathing was coming in rapid gasps. He tensed to throw it into the fire, but at the last moment, he lowered his hand. He calmed for a moment, and then had an idea.

    Harry stole out of Gryffindor Tower quickly, moving fast before anyone knew what he was doing. He headed straight for Mrs. Figg’s office. It didn’t take very long, and when he reached the door, he slipped the knife into the lock. There was a click, and Harry walked into the office. It looked bare; Mrs. Figg must have already left the castle by now. There was the familiar desk and a filing cabinet against the side of the wall. Harry closed the office door behind him, and moved quickly to the filing cabinet. Hoping it wasn’t empty, Harry grasped the handle to the top drawer, and pulled. This one was empty. Feeling panic rising in his chest, he pulled open the second drawer, which was filled with spare pieces of parchment. Harry rifled through them but couldn’t find what he was looking for. He closed it and opened third, and then the fourth, but both of those were empty too. He opened the last one with little hope, and he was surprised to see a lone folder in the cabinet. He took it out and slammed the large folder onto the desk. He opened it up and rifled through the parchments, hardly paying attention to anything else but looking for his goal. He came upon a blank piece of parchment, and his heart fluttered. He tapped the parchment with his wand, hardly daring to believe.

    “I solemnly swear that I am up to no good,” Harry muttered. The parchment did nothing at first, but when the familiar halls of Hogwarts arranged themselves on the parchment, he knew that he had found the Marauder’s Map. He felt relief sweep over him. He had managed without the map for the entire year, but somehow, maybe knowing that his father and Sirius had created the map, made him feel closer to them. Harry knew he was being stupid, but he felt relieved all the same. He set the map down next to him and moved to put the files back in the cabinet, when he saw a familiar name on one of the pieces of parchment. Interested, he took out the piece of parchment and looked at the header.

        Sibyll Trelawney’s Prophecy on Voldemort

    Harry was about to read more, but he saw on the Marauder’s Map that Professor McGonagall was coming. He tucked the piece of paper back into the file, slammed it into the cabinet, and then quickly wiped the Marauder’s Map just as McGonagall entered the room.

    “Professor Figg is no longer residing at Hogwarts, Potter,” McGonagall said, not surprised that Harry was in the office.

    “Oh, erm, yes, I know,” Harry stammered. “I guess I should be packing for the Leaving Feast.”

    “Hold on one minute, Potter,” McGonagall said, freezing Harry’s heart. If she knew he had stolen back the Marauder’s Map, he’d be in trouble.

    “Yes, Professor?”

    “Professor Dumbledore told me you’d be in here, how he knew I’ll never guess,” McGonagall said, her eyes slightly narrowed. “But he wished me to inform you that you are to take lessons on your Animagus transformations.” Harry felt relief wave over him.

    “Oh, sure, right,” Harry said. “Next year I suppose?”

    “Correct. You may have managed to do it twice, but I have no doubt that you’ll find it is far more difficult without the Orb of Power.”

    “But that only...”

    “...answers questions for you. However, you may not have noticed that it often answered questions for you even if you did not ask it.” McGonagall looked at Harry expectantly, and he realized she was right. So many times during the year he had a sudden bought of inspiration. McGonagall seemed to guess that he realized this, and she smiled slightly.

    “That isn’t to say you are brain dead, or that you have no magical skill. You only need a bit of training to make you proficient at your transformation.” Harry only nodded his head. McGonagall turned to leave, but then turned again.

    “Oh, and Mr. Potter. You especially are reminded not to perform magic over the break.”

    “Why me especially?” Harry asked curiously.

    “Professor Dumbledore does not know who the new Minister will be, or his or her tolerance on underage magic. We do not need you to be facing criminal charges.”

    “But I’ve already done magic over the break,” Harry said nervously. He didn’t want McGonagall to get angry at him. Her eyes narrowed, and Harry pushed onward in a hurry. “A vampire bat attacked Hedwig last summer and I had to use magic to protect her.” McGonagall’s lips pursed; Harry could tell she as mulling the story over in her head.

    “And you got no letter of warning from the Ministry of Magic?”

    “None,” Harry said. Professor McGonagall said nothing and shook her head.

    “That doesn’t make any sense. I’ll speak with Professor Dumbledore, perhaps he can explain it. In the meantime, do not do magic under any circumstance.”

    “Ok,” Harry agreed reluctantly. If he was going to be attacked, he was going to have to use magic. Was he going to be attacked over the summer? “Professor? Am I going to be safe at the Dursley’s? Are they going to be all right?” Professor McGonagall turned.

    “Of course. Professor Dumbledore performed several protective charms on your house, one of which prevents magic from being performed by anyone other than those in the household who can perform magic. In your case, two of you are allowed to do magic, so if anyone else were to enter the building, they would instantly be killed. The spell can be adjusted if wizards or witches were to visit.” This immediately answered one of Harry’s questions; the Weasleys and Sirius had visited, and nothing had happened to them. “And of course You-Know-Who himself cannot enter. You are in the care of her blood relations, your aunt, and as such Voldemort cannot attack you. It’s a very complicated spell, but effective nonetheless.” Harry’s jaw was set. It was impressive protection, but one Harry hoped would not be necessary.

“If that is all, Mr. Potter, I really must be going.” She waited for Harry to leave the office before locking it up herself.

    The day of the Leaving Feast was a mix of anxiety and subdued emotions. Most of the students wanted to get home to their familes, while others were nervous about saying good-bye to their friends. Who knew when they would be attacked? The atmosphere was tense, too tense; Hogwarts was starting to feel less like home. Harry and Ron had finished packing and were heading to the Common Room to meet Hermione. They were going to go down to the Leaving Feast together. The two of them were sitting in chairs, watching the girl’s dormitory for when Hermione came down.

    “Nervous about the summer?” Harry asked Ron, who looked dazed.

    “Not really,” Ron said slowly. “I’m worried, yes, but not nervous.”

    “They’re pretty much the same thing,” Harry said with a smile.    

    “I know,” Ron answered with a grin. The door opened to the dormitory, and Hermione came down the stairs quickly.

    “I’m sorry for keeping you guys, I couldn’t find Crookshanks, but he was hiding underneath Parvati’s bed.”

    “It’s ok, Hermione,” Harry said with a smile.

    “Let’s get going,” Ron said, and the three of them headed to the Great Hall. They saw Ginny and Neville coming up the stairs with Luna, who too seemed to be heading to the Great Hall.

    “Hey guys,” Ginny called out. “Heading to the Leaving Feast?”

    “No, we’re going straight to the trains,” Ron said sarcastically. Hermione and Harry laughed appreciatively.

    “If you’re going to the trains now, you should probably get your bags,” Luna said wisely.

    “Luna, you’re as dense as a castle wall,” Ron responded. Everyone laughed, but no one as hard as Luna, who had tears in her eyes.

    “That was a good one,” she said, holding her stomach as she cackled.

    “That never gets any less weird,” Harry whispered to Ron, who smirked. Harry noticed too that his ears had gone pink, but he did not press the issue. The six of them walked to the Great Hall; they said good-bye to Luna, and sat down at the Gryffindor Table.

    Harry heard a lot of laughing as he sat at the table, and it made his heart swell slightly. Harry had imagined that everyone would be nervously twittering about Voldemort’s return, about the carnage to come, but as he watched Fred and George demonstrating their Nauseous Nut candies, he immediately smiled. I suppose life will go on, Harry thought.

    Not yours, a part of his brain said, and Harry felt his heart deflating rapidly. He would have given anything to have been joking around and laughing like the rest of them. He wanted the carefree existence that was supposed to have been his. He sighed and waited for the food to load up on the table; he needed the distraction of eating.

     It wasn’t long before Dumbledore had stood up, before the plates were empty and the merriment died down. Everyone knew that Dumbledore was going to say something about the war, something about Voldemort’s return, and they were all dreading it. Most were looking for comfort in the headmaster’s words, for Dumbledore was their saving grace, their last defense against evil. He would know what to do. Harry shook his head, knowing that they were all in for a disappointment. Dumbledore had been slipping up lately. They were no more safer with Dumbledore than they were with Professor McGonagall, or their parents.

    “The end of another year,” Dumbledore said gravely, yet with a smile on his face. Harry noticed a twinkle in his eye, some spark of his previoius self, and despite his anger towards the headmaster, he knew he missed the old Dumbledore a lot. “Before we make any more announcements about the state of the wizarding world, we will first honor tradition and award the House Cup.”

    Harry gave a startled jump; he had forgotten all about the House Cup and Quidditch. He had lost himself in the state of affairs, the war with Voldemort, finding Sirius, finding the Orb of Power; the yearly events at school mattered very little to him.

    “The House Cup points stand as such: Slytherin in fourth place with 345 points.” A low murmer of enthusiasm at the Slytherin table were the only noises to go in the air. “In third place, Hufflepuff with 415 points.” The Gryffindors and Ravenclaws applauded politely as the Hufflepuffs cheered as well. “In second place, Ravenclaw with 455 points, and in first place, Gryffindor with 465 points.” The hall was filled with slightly enthusiastic applause, but not the usual roar that once filled the hall. The matter was subdued, because they were all awaiting Dumbledore’s announcements about Voldemort.

    “Think he’ll say anything?” Ron asked, whispering to Harry and Hermione.

    “I think so,” Hermione whispered back. “The students expect that he will, look how quiet they are.” Harry looked around and saw the expressions on the students’ faces. They were looking nervously, apprehensively, at Dumbledore. He cast a look around, and took a deep breath.

    “Now. As we are all aware, we are facing dangerous times. I see in your faces the need to hear something encouraging, something that will ease your hearts and allay your fears.” Dumbledore’s blue eyes sparked, and Harry saw a trace of some emotion, anger, fear, something, before Dumbledore continued. “I have learned over the course of my many years as both Headmaster and a person that the truth is preferable to lies. I have also come to acknowledge that as young as you all are, you are capable of handling much more than most give you credit for. And so I tell you. The worst is to come.” The students gasped in fear and shock. This was not what they expected. “The hardest times have yet to come. You must be prepared. I have said to you before, we are as strong as we are united, as weak as we are divided. Many of you will feel the touch of Lord Voldemort’s wrath before the end. It is true that the worst is indeed coming, but in the darkest times our best have never been brighter. It is times like these that prove our true character, and I know as I look into your eyes that you all have the potential of being great people. So as the year comes to an end, and you face a perilous world around you, know that you will find strength in your friends, and comfort in family. Have a good summer.”

    Harry, Ron, and Hermione had stowed their luggage on the train. Harry looked around and saw Professor Grubbly-Plank pointing the kids in the direction of the train. Harry felt a pang of worry for Hagrid before he turned and entered the train.

    “We should probably get to patrolling,” Harry said with a sigh to Hermione.    

    “It’s ok, I’ve asked Ernie and Hannah to watch for us,” Hermione said. Harry smiled slightly; of course Ernie would volunteer, he wanted every opportunity possible to be pompous and arrogant.

    The train ride was relaxing and light; they played several games of Exploding Snap, and then bought some Chocolate Frogs. Ron managed to get Ptolemy, a card he had been searching for years for, and was in an especially good mood. Hermione was absentmindedly stroking Crookshanks’s ginger fur and talking about when they’d receive their O.W.L. scores. Harry found himself staring out of the window, watching the storm clouds on the horizon approach slowly.

    “Looks like it’ll rain soon,” Harry said.

    “It’ll be fine. It doesn’t look too bad,” Hermione said, glancing out of the window.

    “Now I need Agrippa,” Ron was saying, staring wonderously at his new Ptolemy card. “Hey...this is interesting. Look at this.” Harry picked up the card and looked at the picture. Ptolemy had blond hair and bright blue eyes, and looked incredibly familiar.

    “He resembles someone, I just can’t put my finger on it,” Hermione said, looking at the card.    

    “That’s the same feeling I got,” Harry said.

    “It looks like Ollivander before he got old,” Ron said. “His eyes aren’t pale yet, and hair is a different color, but he’s got the same features.”

    “It can’t be Ollivander, Ptolemy lived in the beginning part of the era. Thousands of years ago,” Hermione said.         

    “But he was alive during the time of the Founders,” Harry said. “It was Ollivander who created it. He gave it to Verdoth Longbottom for safekeeping.”

    “And the store was founded in 382 B.C.,” Ron said, his finger on his chin.

    “But the same Ollivander founding the store, creating the Orb of Power, and making wands currently today?” Hermione asked. “I suppose there are methods of living that long. He can’t have Sorcerer’s Stone, the only one in creation was destroyed.”

    “Maybe a charm?” Harry asked. “Some spell?”

    “I suppose, although it would take some powerful magic to keep himself alive,” Hermione said thoughtfully.

    They spent the rest of the train ride mulling over the mystery of Ollivander. All too soon the train arrived at King Cross Station. The three of them disembarked, saying good-bye to many of their classmates, before heading through the barrier from Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. Harry saw the Weasleys talking to the Dursleys. Uncle Vernon was engaged in a debate with Mr. Weasley on the use of fossil fuels.

    “Magic is much more cleaner. I’ve been researching this oil and gas that you muggles seem to love so much, and they really are quite inappropriate.”

    “That’s a load of old tosh,” Vernon waved his hand dismissively. “You’re ruddy magic is very inefficient. A load of wooly guesswork if you ask me. I’m sure we’ll stick with our petrol.”

    “That looks really queer,” Ron said nervously.

    “I’m still not used to it,” Harry said. Aunt Petunia was talking with Mrs. Weasley about the difficulty of child rearing.     

    “Well, this should be an interesting summer,” Ron said with a smile.

    “I’ll owl you at some point,” Harry said with a smile.

    “Excellent, let me know what your Aunt’s surprise is,” Ron said, clapping Harry on his shoulder. Ron gave Hermione a hug good-bye and then walked over to his parents.

    “So,” Hermione said with a smile.

    “So,” Harry said. “I’ll call you?”

    “Ok,” Hermione said.

    “I suppose a good-bye kiss wouldn’t be too terrible?” Harry asked nervously.

    “Maybe,” Hermione smiled mischievously. She leaned forward and kissed Harry on the lips. Harry closed his eyes, feeling his heart swell.

    “Bye Hermione,” Harry said, when they broke apart.

    “Bye Harry,” she said, giving him a quick peck on the cheek before going to her parents. Harry walked over to his aunt and uncle, fully knowing that his face was beet red, and not caring.

    “My, my, you sure are the lady’s man,” Aunt Petunia said with a smile. Harry laughed.

    “No. I’m just incredibly lucky.” Harry turned and watched Ron and Hermione as he left the station, feeling that no matter what came, they would be ready for it.