Unofficial Portkey Archive

"Are you ready?" he asked.

"I think so," she answered.

With that Harry pulled on the handle and waited for the sounds of tinkling bells. Just as they subsided, the door clicked and he pushed it open wide. He stood behind Hermione and waited for her to step inside of Heaglevert's old workshop. As he watched her gingerly lift one foot and enter the soft lit room he felt a sense of anticipation run down his spine. This room had become like an inner sanctum for the side of him he had always kept hidden from the world. Now his sanctuary was, in a strange way, being violated by another human being. However, for him it was a voluntary intrusion. He was allowing someone to see this secret part of his life. Well, not just anyone, it was the perfect someone. The person he trusted almost more than he trusted himself. Would she accept this part of him; the part so desperately searching for a connection to his past? Searching for what had eluded him all of his life, a deep and personal sense of belonging.

In a way, he was allowing the two distinct parts of his person come together. Hermione represented all of the good and magical things that had happened in the past seven years. This room represented the walls of isolation he had built to protect him from all of the bad things; the loss of his parents, being trapped inside the empty world of the Dursleys, the constant threat of Voldemort. This was the moment he had been waiting for since he had first come here. It was the moment where he allowed the good things to crawl inside his towering walls and share the same place in his heart.

Hermione was all the way inside now. She seemed dumbfounded, unable to even breathe. Harry stepped beside her and just stared at her face as she took everything in. Her eyes were opened as wide as they could be and her mouth just slightly open in the shape of an 'oh' of surprise and wonder. He reached out and gently put his hand, fingers outstretched, onto her back. She turned and looked at him shaking her head in disbelief.

"You tried to explain it to me, but now that I see it I… I'm amazed. Your great, great grandfather was a very interesting scientist. His work is so brilliant and yet chaotic at the same time. I mean no disrespect Harry, but he was not only extremely intelligent, but I have to admit I think he was at least a bit insane. Please don't take offense at that Harry…"

She looked a bit taken aback by what she had just said.

"It's okay. From reading his journal, I sort of came to the same conclusion. I think he was daft in a good way though. At least he was using his life to accomplish something good."

"Are you sure about that?" Hermione said with her head cocked to one side.

"I wasn't at first, but I am now. He was doing this for a good reason, well at least at first anyway, and then I think he was doing it because he saw something important in his ideas. Something that would change the world. I just need to finish his work, with your help, and bring some closure to my family; even if they are all dead."

"For better or for worse, I'm with you all the way Harry. We'll see it through to the end."

Harry simply could not take his eyes off of her face. The soft reflection of the light on her cheeks made her seem almost otherworldly. A sense of gratefulness welled up inside of him.

"Where should I begin?" Harry asked her.

"Show me everything," she quickly replied.

So, he did.

--- ---

After seven straight hours of touching and examining everything in the workshop the two of them had agreed they had done enough for one day. Harry had spent some of that time talking to Amelia. Hermione could not help but feel a bit disconcerted by it. Harry would talk so seriously, but she could hear no reply. However, Harry did and he even let the girl inside of him for awhile and the two of them worked intensely on the mockup of The Great Machine.

She did not like to admit it, but she felt a pang of jealousy. Harry and Amelia seemed to share a very strong connection. On top of it, this ghost of a girl could go inside of him. That did not sit well with her at all. She was sure that it was dangerous, or at least Hermione kept telling herself that. On a much deeper level, she began to wonder what it would be like to step inside of the one and only Harry Potter. What did he feel like on the inside? Could Amelia touch Harry's soul? Thinking about that started to get her riled up inside. No one should be touching Harry's soul! His soul was not a toy to be played with. She would never do something like that. If she could touch his soul, she would be sure to treat it very carefully. Harry probably had a very special soul. It probably would feel very nice. Which made her think of Amelia inside of him again and that started the whole thought cycle all over again.

Hermione started to get frustrated with herself. She had intended her walk around the manor to clear her thoughts, so she could concentrate on all the things she had seen and heard. It was a great deal to take it all in at once. She thought about Colette and how serious her condition was. She thought about how odd Amelia's situation was. If she really was a ghost, she was vastly different from any of the information discussed in the Hogwart's textbooks. How could that be? She thought about the philosophical discourses that Heaglevert had in his journal. Harry seemed to think they were less important, but Hermione knew better. After reading them she tended to agree that the purpose of the machine was something good. Leakwood had a firm set of noble and fair ideas about how magic folk and muggles alike should be treated. He also spoke strongly against the ministry of magic, which at the time had some very negative opinions about witches and wizards meddling in muggle affairs.

Then there was of course the odd situation as to why their letters had never made it to their destinations. How did the letters not make it to their intended people and yet the owls returned home as if the deliveries had been made? Then the question remained of who had sent Harry the big sapphire that he had hidden away somewhere in the house. She did agree with Harry on the point that if they could solve the mystery of the machine, then the other mysteries would fall into place.

Having more questions than answers really irritated her. That was something she was not used to. It was time to do what any girl would do in a situation like this. It was time to hit the books. The library was large, had about three thousand books in it and had her name written all over it. With a contented little sigh, she wandered down to it and immediately set up shop. This was her element. Harry needed answers and that is what she did best, find answers.

When they were together in the cellar, she could feel his green eyes piercing her. Accept when Amelia was near, he never took his eyes off her. At first it was a bit annoying, but after awhile it stopped bothering her and it was sort of nice. It wasn't like he had not looked at her before, but it was the first time since the last Yule Ball that he was really serious about staring at her.

It was hard to leave America at first, but now that she was here with him and he needed her so much it all changed. Now, there was no other place in the world she would rather be than right here, close to him.

--- ---

Harry was stretching his arms out on the front porch when an enormous brown owl came barreling out of the sky. It landed with a distinct thud on the ground right next to him. With a quick shake of its head, it dropped a letter and immediately took flight again. After watching it disappear in the distance he reached down and picked it up. He had read the first note so many times that he recognized the handwriting right away.

I need to warn you. There are forces at work that you are unaware of. There is one who would try and betray you. One who desperately wants you to succeed. And yet another who seeks that which you have hidden away at any cost. You must figure out who is who, before it is too late. It saddens me to tell you these things, but it would be more wrong not to. I do wish you well.

~A Friend~

Harry wanted to immediately run to Hermione, but something deep inside made him think twice. If he told her, she would immediately suspect the sender of the letter of wrongdoing. Somehow Harry knew that was not the case. He could not explain it, but he just knew. Hermione had enough on her mind as it was. This would just make things more complicated. However, his attitude was changing. Getting to the bottom of Heaglevert's machine was no longer a matter of closure. Somewhere in the distance there was a clock ticking and he sensed that time was beginning to run out.

--- ---

Colette sat in her usual chair humming to herself. She did the hourly check of her cloak and various wrappings. Each part needed to be securely in place. Bili insisted that she was extra careful about not allowing any part of her catch a draft. Her condition was getting worse and so he began to fret more with each passing day.

She often asked him if she was still as beautiful as the day they had met. Without hesitation he would kiss her on the top of her head and insist she was even more beautiful now. If that was the case, then why did he not kiss her cheek, or her forehead, or her lips as he had so eagerly done years ago? Also, in his voice she detected a slight quiver or quick falter, but she never let on that she noticed. Maybe there was something that he was not telling her. Did her illness change her appearance? She could not know as blindness had set in long before she had been forced to cover herself.

He had always been a passionate man, but now he channeled all of his passion into finding help for her. He had brought her to so many, but none could provide the cure he so desperately searched for. Though he never said it, she knew that if he did not find help soon that she would die. At first the thought had frightened her, but after being in so much pain for so long she began to wonder if dying was really so bad. She mentioned it to Bili once and he absolutely refused to talk about it. To be honest, it was after that conversation that he began to become obsessive about saving her. She never mentioned it again.

From downstairs she heard footsteps. Finally he had come home. He would disappear for days at a time, always looking, always searching. Then he would come home broken hearted with each renewed failure. His footsteps sounded strangely heavy. He must be particularly upset this time. No matter, if she had anything, she still had her gift at cheering him up. She could do nothing else, so she channeled much of her energies into trying to bring some happiness in his life. It made her feel good to hear his laugh, or to hear him sing some new song he had learned in one part of the world or another. From what she understood he had been in search of some 'witch doctor' high up in the Andes Mountains. It sounded as if it had been another dead end. When she heard him making his way up to the top of the stairs Colette stood up.

"Dearest? Oh, you sound sad. Come up here and sit your weary bones down. We'll talk together and you can tell me all about it."

There was no answer.

"Dearest?"

The footsteps stopped at the entrance of the sitting room. A strange smell of rot and decay began to fill the room up. This was not her dearest.

"H…h…hermione?"

A low and raspy voice replied, "Guess again blind woman."

"Who are you?" she cried in alarm.

"Oh, I'm a great deal many things. For now, you may consider me a source of priceless information. Sit down!"

Colette immediately sat down. A terrible fear swept through her like a December wind.

"You have to do nothing, but sit there and listen. You will ask no questions and you will not interrupt. When I am done, if I am satisfied with your reaction I will leave. Do you understand?"

Colette shook her head up and down to let him know she understood. Where oh, where was Bili she pleaded silently?

"There are a great deal of things that you do not know about your 'dearest'. Allow me to enlighten you…"

Colette began to shake violently. Whatever was in the room with her did not seem human, not at all.

--- ---

He had made her cry. What kind of awful person was he? Just because he felt he needed to tell her something that really did not matter anyway? He had never seen Ginny cry before and it did not sit well with him. He should have done something, anything to stop her and explain. In the end, he did nothing. He simply watched her turn around with that hurt look in her eyes and walk out his front door. That was that. The last memory of her he would have was of the pain he had caused her. It was a new low, even for him.

Then he began to think to himself. Was being loved by him so awful a thing that it would stun her into silence? Was it so terrible that it would cause her to cry? That must be it. What else could it be? There is no lower place a human life can come to, than to know that the most prized possession you could share with another, your love, is something horrible and worthless. Tears of his own began to fall from his eyes. He sat down in small chair, closed his eyes tightly and began to sob in silence.

The room felt suffocating and his own emotions were like a merciless prisoner. There was nowhere he could go that would lift the weight from his heart. So, crushed under his own worthlessness he sat there. Even his imagination could not save him from what he was feeling. He tried to imagine being somewhere else… being someone else… but his mind refused to cooperate. What now? What could he possibly do? Tomorrow he would have to get up and face the day as if his life was worth living. Then he would have to do that the next day, and the next. What kind of life is that anyway? It was no life, he thought bitterly, no life at all. His crying could no longer be kept silent and a sad sob escaped his lips.

Then the light in the room seemed to change. He felt two hands from behind rest on either side of his shoulders. Then the hands slid around and he felt two arms wrap tightly around him. Soft, perfumed hair fell across his right shoulder and a cool face pressed quietly into his cheek. He felt a tear slide down and splash on his neck. The tear was not his own.

His eyes still closed, a gentle hand lifted up to his chin and turned his face upward. Soft lips that tasted like a fresh field of strawberries pressed against his. For so many years, this moment he had waited, hoped and dreamed about, but felt it would never come. His imagination could not hold a candle to the reality of it. For some reason his tears still kept coming. It was as if his grief and his joy were somehow swept together into one overwhelming wave of emotion. He slowly opened his eyes and saw bright red hair falling all around his face. He closed them again and lost himself in her kiss.

--- ---

Hermione was missing something. She knew she was missing something. It had to do with what Harry had mentioned only in passing. As hard as she tried though, it simply would not come to her. The sun had long ago set and the library had been kindly lit by various candles from a quiet Teebel.

She stood up and decided to go for a walk around the manor to try and see if something would trigger her memory. Harry had said he wanted to go for a walk in the garden and so she decided it best to give him some time to himself. She found herself missing him. She thought that was so odd. He was still right here. She could most likely find a window and call out to him and he would come running. However, that brought no comfort. She wanted him to be near her. She felt it so much lately that it caused her to want to examine the source of this strange neediness inside her. However, there were so many things to concentrate and worry about right now that she felt it was not appropriate to indulge herself. Especially when Harry needed her help with this important work.

The thought of him needing her made her feel warm inside. It was her safe place. This place she found herself in time and time again. The place where Harry would turn to her in his time of need. He trusted her so much and fulfilling that trust gave her a sense of wholeness that she felt at no other time.

As her mind and feet wandered she ran across a twisting corridor that she had never seen before. She took notice of her surroundings. There was a cold breeze coming from up ahead. That in itself was rather odd, as it had been quite the warm summer day. She followed the hall until it reached a large stone door. The door was partially ajar. Hermione poked her head around and looked in. It was quite dark. This must be the family crypt Harry had mentioned. She pulled out her wand and spoke 'Lumos' to provide some light.

She pulled the door open enough to be able to pass through. Then she walked inside with a somber quietness. As far as crypts go, it was a rather nice one. Creepy, but nice. She made her way into the first antechamber and saw the beautiful stone and marble coffins. There was the archway that Harry said led to the room where Amelia had been laid to rest. Though, from what she could tell, she was not getting much rest these days.

She hesitated for a moment and then passed under the arched door and into the larger of the two rooms. Just as he had said, the smallest coffin off to the side was there. A sweet carving of a young girl sat on top of it. Hermione walked up toward it and found herself staring into the statue's eyes. How sad that she had died so very young. Then, she felt a distinct presence in the room. She looked around and noticed a very faint outline of a girl in the center of the room.

"Amelia?" Hermione asked softly.

"You can see me?" Amelia replied.

"Well, sort of, you're very faint. Although, apparently I can hear you quite well."

"Harry said it's because I am close to my body and that gives me a better connection to the world of the living."

Hermione shook her head yes, "I agree with him. It does sort of make sense. Although, I have never heard of a ghost needing to be close to their body before. All the ones I have seen before were nowhere near their body and I could see them quite clearly."

"Hang on," Amelia said, "let me get closer."

With each step towards her own sepulcher Amelia's outline became brighter and a bit clearer. However, when she was right next to it, she was still a bit difficult to focus on, though her form was quite bright. She seemed to be almost shimmering or twinkling, like stars do at night, especially when they are close to the horizon.

"How's that?" Amelia announced.

"Much better," Hermione said with a wry smile.

"You've seen other ghosts before?" Amelia asked.

"Yes, many times."

"Harry said I was different from other ghosts, too. How come?"

"I'm not exactly sure," Hermione admitted. "To be honest, I wish I did know. I think you are a very important part of the puzzle to getting your father's old invention to work again. If you don't mind, I would like to ask you a few things. Would that be alright?"

"Well… sure, okay." Amelia agreed.

"You were very ill, do you know what was making you so sick?"

"Yes. Papa said that the doctors told me I had sick bones. That something was supposed to be happening inside them that wasn't. It made my body hurt all the time."

"Your bones, hmmm." Hermione thought out loud. "Wait a minute! Why did your father take you to a doctor? Why didn't he take you to a healer?"

"Oh… only my sister could go and see a healer. The healers wouldn't help me. It made Papa mad and Mama very sad, but they just wouldn't."

"WHAT?!" Hermione yelled, "What do you mean they wouldn't help you?!"

"Because… Papa said that healers didn't think people who couldn't do magic should be helped."

Hermione's knees gave way and she flopped straight onto the stone floor. Everything made sense now. Amelia was not a wizard or witch ghost. She was a real ghost. That was why Heaglevert had done all of this. He wasn't trying to change the world, or create some machine to further the annals of science or magic. He did what he did, because his little daughter was sick; really sick and not from some hex, or jinx, or anything like that. She most likely had something akin to bone cancer and they would not help her as she had the biggest curse of all in the wizarding world. She was a muggle… and because of it, they turned their back on her and so she died.

A loud grating sound filled the room and then Hermione could see torch light through a hole in the ceiling. She blinked and looked hard. There was Harry's face looking down on the two of them.

"Hey! This trap door is really pretty nifty. You two should come take a look," he said enthusiastically.

"Harry!" Hermione cried to him. "Get down here right away, we really need to talk."