Unofficial Portkey Archive

Harry was mesmerized by the myriad of objects lying upon the table. He tried as hard as he could to avoid the cellar, but felt a nagging feeling that it could not be a machine for evil. Not if it was created by his great, great grandfather. So, here he was touching each brass and iron cog and gear. It had taken a long time, but he finally realized that the parts on the side table were merely a model. A mock up of The Great Machine which if he put together properly, would show him what the real thing was supposed to look like. The thing he could not figure out was how could these complex pieces come together in the shape of the large, but rather plain looking pipe in the middle. Aside from a few large gears and metal tubing, the things in front of him bore no resemblance to the monstrosity in the center of the room.

In a room down the hall he had discovered Heaglevert Leakwood's machine shop. A large metal lathe, a forge, a variety of metal cutting tools were all at his fingertips. They meant nothing to Harry and so the room was merely a passing curiosity. This room, the one he was in now, amid the workings of a genius or possibly a madman, this is what he needed to comprehend or perhaps to conquer. The secret of his family's far gone past was holed up in this strange place. A room where a wizard dabbled in the forbidden arts of science locked in a twisted laboratory from the Age of Steam.

"Where are you Hermione?" Harry said out loud. "Why haven't you come yet? I need you to help me unravel this mystery."

Then a strange thing began to happen; Harry closed his eyes with his hands draped across the miniature fragments. He heard a voice, possibly come from inside his head or somewhere very close by. Simultaneously frightening and yet oddly alluring. The voice was as sweet as an angel, and as disembodied as sanity is to the insane. It was like hearing a child sing through a suffocating liquid of darkness. He strained to hear her, for she was so quiet, but at the same time when she spoke it was as real and demanding as only a child can be.

"Let me show you," she whispered.

Harry's eyes still closed tightly felt like his hands took on a life of their own. Suddenly the pieces felt strangely familiar and the diagrams in the red notebook seemed to make perfect sense. A moment of clarity like no other he had ever felt.

"Don't be afraid," her voice said somewhere near his left ear.

He began to pick up a piece and set it aside, then another he would bring closer to him. One he would pick up and arrange just so, and the next he would gently press into place. Like a child with a set of wooden blocks he began to build what he saw in his mind. There were so many pieces and the process of sorting through them and putting them in their proper place was exhausting and caused his wrists to become sore and his elbows to cramp. He imagined all of the objects and guessed there were over three hundred. Finding a gear and its mate and clicking them into place took what seemed forever.

"I can help you," she said with determination, "please… trust me."

For a reason that he could never explain to his dying day, he did trust her. He trusted her like no one he had ever put his faith in before. Only one other ever shared that same level of implicitness, but she was not here right now. He wanted her to be, but for now he had to do this on his own. When she came, and she would come, he would share everything he had seen and done in this old manor with her.

"Who are you?" the voice asked, "Why are you here?"

"I'm Harry. I'm the great, great grandson of Heaglevert Leakwood. I came here, because this is my home. I've been looking for it, for such a long time," Harry spoke with absolute truth.

"You are related to papa? … … … Then we are related Harry… You tell me that you have been looking for this place? … I will share my secret with you then… I have been waiting for a very long time. I was not sure what for; until I saw you walk inside this house for the first time. Now I know… I have been waiting for you."

"Why have you been waiting?" Harry asked, his eyes still closed and his tired hands still furiously piecing the brass and iron model together.

"I don't know. I was scared to leave. Papa and mama and my sister all lived here. If I left, then how would they find me?"

"Did they find you?" Harry asked.

There was a sad and terrifying moment of silence. Then quiet sobbing filled the room.

"No… they could not see me… they could not hear me… you are the first to find me."

"What is your name?"

Through tears her answer struck him as both a call of fate and a terrifying possibility that he could not avoid, no matter what he might try or do.

"I'm Amelia. You are in my papa's cellar. You are the first to find my papa's Great Machine. He said it would change the world, but he had to hide it, because all the witches and the wizards would not understand it. He said they would fear what it would mean and what it could do. He could not finish it before he died so his dream never came true. That's all changed now Harry. You and me, we will finish papa's machine. We will change the world together."

Harry recoiled his hands in pain. He had worked so hard and so intensely that his muscles were cramping up from the exertion.

"Oh! I am sorry Harry. I did not realize we were trying so hard. It can wait. We have time. Go and sleep. I will find you tomorrow. I need to go and rest myself. I still get so tired if I have been up and about for too long."

Her presence left the room. Harry opened his eyes, but the room had only one occupant and that was himself. He walked out feeling shaken. Things were going to be very different from now on. He was not sure why, but his thoughts went out to Hermione yet again. Her wisdom and patience would be an invaluable tool. Harry had convinced himself that she was going to make everything work out right. She had always done that in the past and he was confident this would be no exception.

Something had gone very wrong back when Heaglevert attempted this machine. The proof was the torn out pages at the end of the notebook. What had his ancestor discovered and why was he unable to finish the work? If the machine really was something evil then he was convinced that his great, great grandfather would have destroyed the whole notebook and most likely everything in the cellar along with it. That was not what had happened at all. Instead he left behind all the clues necessary to eventually pick up where he had left off. So, it was not the machine that had gone wrong, it was what Heaglevert had discovered at the very end. So, he erased the ending and left all as it was, in hopes of someone coming along and rewriting that ending, the way it was supposed to be. And Harry was just the wizard to do it.

--- ---

There was a loud commotion coming from behind The Burrow. The screaming was so piercing and shrill that Neville could hear it from around front. If memory of that particular screaming voice served correctly then a one, Ginny Weasley was behind that powerful voice. He wiped the tear on his cheek and shook his head to throw off the weepiness from his mind.

Curiosity was just too much for him to ignore what he was hearing. So, around the house he went. As he poked his head around the corner of The Burrow he saw a most peculiar sight. There was Ginny waving her wand to and fro, yelling at Draco Malfoy. Draco seemed to be paying more attention to the wand than anything Ginny might have been saying. Neville was able to understand the conversation from here.

"So, what you're trying to say is that NOW it matters that I'm not a wealthy witch?! Why didn't that seem to bother you back when you were trying to kiss me in the Hogwart's Cemetery, HUH?! You are so pathetic! I ought to hex you right here and now! You give me one good reason why I shouldn't."

You want to know why I'm bringing three Slytherin girls instead of you, besides the patently obvious?" Malfoy asked with venom in his voice, "Then I'll tell you. It took you months to even get to the point where you would let me kiss you and even then you made me work like hell for it. No offense, but you're just not worth it. You're too prude for my liking. I want a hot-blooded girl who is not afraid to put a little passion on her sleeve. Your blood runs as cold as ice and let me tell you something Ginny Weasley; this guy can do so much better than you. I've got two women who are willing to do just about anything and a third who 'will' do anything to land a prize like myself. So, you wanted to know why and now you do. Let me tell you something, you poor excuse for a full-blood. You could never be enough witch to be with me!"

Ginny's mouth dropped wide open. During the whole ugly exchange Neville had, without realizing it, crept forward into plain view. Ginny saw him out of the corner of her eye.

"Neville?"

"Oh bloody hell, what's that prat doing here?" Draco said rolling his eyes.

"I, uh, well I was just… here to see Ginny. I was just going." Neville replied turning around ready to bolt.

"Neville, you stay right where you are!" Ginny yelled.

He froze and slowly turned back around.

"You think I have no passion Draco Malfoy! NO PASSION!"

Ginny marched straight up to Neville grabbed him by the lapels and planted a deep kiss on the completely shocked boy. Her hands ran behind his head and pulled him as close as he could possibly be. He felt things pressed against his body that he had never felt before. His mind was reeling and he felt as high as a kite.

Ginny pulled away and yelled, "Or how about this!"

With that she jumped up and wrapped her arms tightly around his neck and her legs around his waist. She pushed her body against him in ways that should definitely not have been done in public. Under any other circumstances Neville might have called attention to this, but with Ginny's tongue down his throat it was hard to get a comment in edgewise.

Then Neville remembered where he was and who was here. This was not his wildest fantasy coming true, this was a woman scorned, acting out against her ex-boyfriend. This was not her passion for him, but instead merely a transference of her passion for Malfoy being played out in a fit of anger. He was less than a friend here; he was nothing more than a pawn in a very ugly little game. His heart sank and he slowly opened his eyes. Ginny's were not even closed; she was gazing with hatred at his old nemesis. He pulled away from her kiss, but she barely even noticed. He could see her mouth begin to open, surely with words of disdain about to be poured out towards Malfoy. He cut her off with a softness in his voice that made her pause.

"Ginny… you are the most special person in the whole world. I came here to tell you that. I've cared about you for a very long time now. Right now though, you are hurting me in ways that I never knew possible. So, I think I'll go home now."

With that she slid down off of him. Her eyes stared straight into his as she realized what she had just done. Then he did something he never knew he had in him. He turned to Draco, whose mouth was hanging wide open at the time.

"You, sir, are a complete arse. I hate you so much that if I thought I could get away with it, I would strangle you where you stand and hide the body so no one would ever find it. If you think I'm kidding then do me a favor and stop by my house later and I'll show you exactly how serious I am."

He then turned to Ginny and said, "And you. You may be the prettiest thing I have ever seen in my life, but don't you ever use me as a way to hurt another person ever again, even if it is that blonde excuse for a human being. If I want to confront him in one way or another, it will be on my terms. Do you understand me? ... By the way, that was the first time I ever kissed a girl before… it was nice. It would have been nicer if my first kiss was from someone who actually wanted to kiss me though, and not as a tool in your lover's quarrel. You completely ruined it for me."

He pulled out his wand and apparated out of there. He had made his stand and before he lost his nerve and broke down crying in front of both of them, he decided a quick exit was in order. He wondered if that was the last time he was ever going to see Ginny Weasley.

--- ---

Hermione had found Harry's manor. It was nothing like she had expected. It was fairly run down and the grounds around it were in a state of awful disrepair. Most of the windows were boarded up and the ones that were not, the glass had obviously been broken out for many years. She approached it cautiously, not sure exactly what to expect. She noticed a small garden that was now nothing more than a few rows of long dead scrubs and weeds. The front door was not even on its hinges. Instead it had been propped up and held in place by a couple of rotted wooden planks. She climbed up the crumbling stone stairway and caught a glimpse of the inside through a large gap in the entryway. Leaves and dirt had blown in and covered the entry hall. She could even make out a few beams of sunlight filtering in from the ceiling. A tell-tale sign that the roof was mostly non-existent. Then an acrid smell hit her nose and caused it to wrinkle up.

She grabbed the end of a tarnished knocker on the top of the door and began to rap loudly. She then called out Harry's name. There was, however, no response. She called out again, but still nothing. She decided she could probably slip through the gap and peek around inside. Trying not to get her clothes too dirty she wriggled in and began looking for some signs of life. As far as she could tell, there did not appear to be any evidence of someone coming and going from here in many years.

There was a chipped and battered marble grand staircase going up to the second floor. For lack of a better plan she began to climb them. The steps were a bit unwieldy as layers of dried mud and decaying organic matter covered them. Holding on to what was left of the rail she finally arrived at the top. It led to an open archway as an entrance to what once was likely a large dining hall. The only thing in the room was a long, wooden table whose finish had long since been rubbed away. Entering the large room, she called out again to Harry. Her voice echoed from one end to the other.

After trying to decide what to do next, a small door on the east side of the room slowly opened. A petite figure wrapped in a faded green cloak emerged. The whole body was covered and not even the smallest hint of their face was showing. The person seemed to be shuffling their feet and each step was agonizingly slow. This was definitely not Harry, so who could it be? She was about to call out to let them know she was their, but the person talked first.

"Dearest? … Is that you? … Where have you been? I'm a bit hungry, could we eat something?"

Hermione realized that the person could not see her and though the voice was a bit raspy and weary, it was definitely a woman. She knew that if she did not approach this with the utmost of care that she would frighten her.

"Hello. I apologize for intruding, I am merely looking for a friend of mine," Hermione said in her most non-threatening voice.

The woman did not answer for a moment and had pulled her hands up to her chest in concern.

"What do you want?" the woman asked with fear in her voice.

"I am so sorry. I did not mean to upset you. I am looking for my friend Harry. Is he here?"

"I'm sorry who?" the woman replied.

"Harry. Um, Harry Potter."

"I… I don't know any Harry Potters. It is just the two of us here. You should come back when my dearest returns. Perhaps he knows your Harry Potter."

Hermione could tell a lot of things from this dilapidated manor house. First off, there was no doubt that it was built and lived in by magic folk at one time or another. The fact that this woman was living here, but never heard of Harry, proved that she had indeed been living a sheltered life. Hermione recognized that she had quite overstayed her welcome and decided it best to leave.

"I'll do that then," Hermione said reassuringly, "I'll come back later and ask after Harry. Please forgive my barging in."

"Oh… do please wait for just a minute. I am quite blind and my dearest gave the servants the week off. I don't know my way to the kitchen. Would you perhaps be willing to find something to eat in there? I'm not sure how long it will be and I must admit I am a bit famished. I have no doubt you will find a larder full of foodstuffs. You could get something for both of us and we could eat a spot of lunch together."

Hermione felt a bit out of place here. Something told her that the woman was not exactly aware of how long it had been since any house-elves had come within a ten mile radius of this place. She also decided that she did not care to be the one to try and explain that to her. So, she made a pretense of finding the kitchen and promised the grateful woman she would return shortly. After walking a ways down a side hallway, she simply conjured up a platter of cheese, small sandwiches and a variety of juices. She then returned to the large dining hall. There the woman stood exactly where Hermione had left her.

After sizing the situation up, Hermione transfigured a couple of chunks of wood into a pair of suitable chairs. She then walked over to the woman and helped her sit at the table. She then sat down herself and announced what she had 'found' for their lunch.

"Oh, dear me," the woman exclaimed, "where are my manners. It's just we haven't had guests in such a long time. My name is Colette, and who might you be?"

Hermione blushed, "Of course, forgive me for not telling you that first thing. My name is Hermione."

"Well, it's simply wonderful to have a woman of your obvious wealth and stature visiting our home."

Realizing even more of this woman's situation, Hermione played it up. They conversed over lunch and she played the part of understanding, wealthy socialite. It seemed to bring a great deal of comfort to Colette and Hermione was glad to offer it.

"You must be terribly warm in the cloak. Could I get you something more comfortable to change into?" Hermione offered.

"Ah, yes, well you see… I have been ill of late. I get cold so easily that it quite suits me. Plus, my dearest informed me that my physician would go absolutely insane if I were to risk catching a chill in my condition. You understand don't you?"

"Of course," Hermione said hurriedly, "it would be absolutely frightful for you to not follow such sound advice. If I were you, I certainly wouldn't be so foolish as to not have it on at all times."

Colette sounded quite relieved at Hermione's response and replied, "Yes, you are so right; tempting fate would be utterly preposterous."

Hermione was relieved that the uncomfortable moment had passed. She knew that she was probably setting herself up with the question, but she wanted to know as much information as she could about Colette's circumstances. The worst had come to light; whatever afflicted this lonely woman was beyond even the capabilities of the staff at St. Mungos, nothing else would explain why she led this sad life.

"You said you were looking for your friend?" Colette asked.

"Yes, yes. He apparently moved here, I mean near here recently. Are you sure you don't know him?"

"Well, the name means nothing, but I do remember my dearest said that we have a new neighbor at the old Leakwood Manor. He went and visited him just a few days ago and said he seemed like quite the pleasant young man. Is it possible that would be whom you are looking for?"

Hermione began to laugh, "Oh that explains it. I thought this was Leakwood Manor."

"Oh dear," Colette started to laugh as well. "The manor is just a couple miles north of here. This is our home, the Kettlehorn Estate. It is our summer cottage that we visit every year. You must tell me what you think."

Hermione choked back and answered with all the enthusiasm she could muster, "It is the loveliest estate I have ever had the pleasure of enjoying lunch at. And I am not just saying that either."

The sentence was true to the last word. Hermione had never been in any other 'estate', no less had lunch at, so she was able to say it without too much guilt on her conscience. Colette seemed quite animated and happy at her compliment, although she could only guess for the most part as it was difficult to read someone's emotions when you cannot even see their face.

"You must promise to come and visit me again," Colette said enthusiastically.

"I promise that I will," Hermione said with a smile. "Can I help you to somewhere before I leave?"

Colette asked to be escorted to the sitting room. Hermione took her there and navigated the best she could with the rough directions that were provided to her. At last she stumbled upon it. It was the nicest kept of all the rooms she had seen. She guessed that Colette and her husband, or lover, or whomever it was living with her, spent all their time here. She sat Colette down and conjured up a bit of tea for her before heading out. Colette again insisted that Hermione come and visit her. Hermione was not about to refuse and assured her again that she would.

While Hermione was starting to leave the room the woman dropped a small handkerchief, and began to feel around the floor for it. Hermione offered to help and picked it up. When she handed it to Colette a small section of the cloak fell away revealing a portion of her face. It took everything Hermione had to not gasp. Her face was terribly disfigured and the one eye she could see was sunken and had drained to a completely pink color. There was no visible iris or pupil at all. Whatever curse this poor woman carried had deeply ravaged her. Hermione felt the sting of tears in her eyes as she said goodbye and quietly left.

--- ---

Hedwig flew into the window closest to Harry. He was grateful that the owl had returned, but was bitterly disappointed that Hermione had not written back. Maybe she really was not going to come. He thought it strange that she did not even bother to send a reply back explaining why. He sighed; maybe he was being too hard on her. With the way she throws herself into her studies, she probably just did not have time to write him. Though, the more he thought about it the more depressed he got.

He remembered how when they danced their second dance at the 7th year Yule Ball, her hair smelled lightly of nutmeg. He laughed to himself, wondering how on earth he could remember something like that, but he could never seem to remember he had a paper due in potions, or a project due in charms. He would have given anything to smell nutmeg right now. Just imagining it made him miss her even more. He looked out the window and saw the sun just beginning to hide behind the tallest trees in the forest. It would be twilight in an hour or so. He never admitted it to anyone, but he came quite close to giving her a quick kiss on the lips at the end of that night, but lost his nerve and settled for a friendly hug instead. He sort of regretted that, but what could he do? That was all in the past now and he had to get used to the fact that everyone was getting on with their lives.

Even he had found something new to occupy his time with. He was about halfway finished with the mockup of The Great Machine. Maybe tomorrow he would get the gumption to go back and try and finish. Thinking about that made him go over the events that had happened earlier. The voice of a young girl had definitely spoken to him. She even helped him piece together the model. He was not sure how, but she was able to guide his hands when he closed his eyes and let her. Then she had complained of being tired, just like she had in her diary. How does a ghost get tired? If that really was what Amelia had become. If so, then how come he could not see her? What happened to her?

Which brought him back to thinking about Hermione. She would be able to figure it out, quick as a flash. He was excited when he had convinced himself that she was going to come. That feeling, however, had now since passed. He would have shown her the machine and then taken her to the library on the second floor. If she thought Hogwart's had a good selection, she would be blown away by the amazing volume of books that the Leakwoods had collected throughout the generations they lived here.

Sometimes, when he would walk past it, he could almost see her honey-colored hair hanging in her face while trying to read some tome that was so big that she had to stand up to turn the page. He laughed at the thought, but then imagined what it would be like to walk up to her and brush her bangs from her eyes, so she could read better. Then he imagined her looking up at him. He could see her liquid eyes staring into his. Harry realized that he had actually stopped breathing, just thinking so intently about her. He forced himself to start again and rubbed his temples with both of his index fingers.

Harry started to wonder just how much longer he could stand not seeing her. Maybe she was testing him. Maybe she was wondering why he had not simply come out to America to come and see her. He felt so much responsibility in finishing Heaglevert's work right here, but his heart was beginning to ache. He started to imagine her looking at him again and then began to imagine what it might have been like if he had kissed her that night.