A Potter Secret

R.A.B.

A door marked by the number 12. Harry taps his wand on the weathered surface and a series of metallic clicks are heard. The door swings open with a creak. The gas lamps spring to life, illuminating a narrow cobwebbed hallway. The trio glance about, then Harry takes a step forward. "Severus Snape?" Mad-eye's voice echos.

"Mad-Eye-?" Harry asks.

Just then a great rush of cold air sweeps through the hallway and the trio's tongues curl back in their mouths. Some thing shifts in the shadows at the end of the hall, rising from the carpet, tall, dust-colored and terrible looking, then rushes toward them. It's Dumbledore, but a ghostly, worm-eaten Dumbledore, a corpse come to life, with empty eye sockets and sunken face. It raises its wand and then- explodes in a great cloud of dust, swirling like mist in the corridor, drifting back to the carpet. "What was that about?" Ron asks.

"Mad-eye's doing, I'd guess. In case Snape decided to come snooping," Hermione notes. She spares a glance at Isabella but when she says nothing, they continue on. Just then, a floorboard creaks. The trio stiffen. Slowly, Hermione draws her wand, peers into the shadows. "Homenum revelio." Nothing. Hermione lowers her wand. Explains. "It's a spell to reveal human presence." She extends her hand, watches the settling dust stream through her fingers. "We're alone."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Through streets teeming with cloaked figures. The tongue that is spoken here is foreign, Germanic. We turn down an alleyway and the path narrows, the shadows growing more dense. Scratched into a wall is the symbol Xenophilius Lovegood wore around his neck, but the perspective lingers upon it only briefly. A sign comes into view, hanging outside a small shop at the very end of a dark cul-de-sac: "Gregorovitch, Wandmaker." We close quickly on the shop's door, catch a glimpse of Voldemort's reflection in the glass.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Harry awakens, peering at the cobwebbed chandelier overhead. He sits up, looks at Hermione, asleep upon the sofa, her arm dangling down to where Ron lies upon the floor, her fingers only inches from his. Harry stands up, lifting Isabella and placing her, in kitten form, on Hermione before pulling up the blanket. Nearby, the radio hisses softly, distant voices struggling to be heard. "Lumos," Harry casts.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Harry's wand blooms in the darkness as he scales the stairs and reaches the landing. He peers into a bedroom. The drawers have been turned out. The bedsheets stripped. He moves on, painting the wall with wand light, illuminating an empty portrait of a muddy landscape. He studies it, long enough that we'll remember it, then a floorboard squeaks, like the night before. Harry wheels, points his wand down the dark corridor adjacent.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Harry moves down the narrow corridor to its end, to a doorway. He eyes the nameplate: "Sirius". Harry enters slowly. This room, like the others, has been ransacked. Harry lingers by a photograph. In it, four young Hogwarts students, James Potter, Sirius Black, Peter Pettigrew and Lupin, stand grinning before the whomping willow. Harry traces the thin cone of light of his wand across their faces. Books and papers carpet the floor. A woman's face, striking and wise, peers out from a dust jacket. Harry crouches, turns the book over to read its title, "A History of Magic by Bathilda Bagshot". Harry turns it back over, studies the woman's face again. He begins to rise when he notices a crumpled piece of paper embossed at the top with a name: Lily Potter. As Harry begins to read, he hears her voice. "Dear Sirius. Thank you for Harry's birthday present. You'd think he'd been born on a broom. James says he's got the look of a Seeker, but then James would. We had a very quiet birthday tea, just us and old Bathilda, who dotes on Harry. Wormy dropped by late in the day, but seemed down and didn't stay long. James is frustrated being shut up here, but Dumbledore's still got his Invisibility Cloak, so he doesn't have much choice. By the way, Bathilda tells the most amazing stories about our old Headmaster. I don't know how much to believe. Can it really be true that Dumbledore-"