The Last Kefsen by Jardyn39
Chapter 3: An Echo that Refused to Die
Harry stood still in the middle of the entrance hallway to Number 12 Grimmauld Place staring into space. Behind him he was vaguely aware of the front door being closed followed by the familiar noises of the door being locked.
Someone unseen had just left. He didn't really care who it was, anyway.
Harry realised he had no real idea how long he had been at Privet Drive.
"How about a nice cup of tea? I'll put the kettle on."
Harry nodded slightly as Lupin put down the trunk, carefully placed Hedwig's empty cage on top and then went down to the kitchen.
It was quiet again. He was alone again.
As the quiet washed over him again Harry felt a little of his anxiety leave him. Harry had been afraid that he was going to have a reception committee. Harry made a mental note to thank Lupin for not allowing that.
Harry looked around, not moving from the spot. He noticed that the troll's leg umbrella stand was gone. Remembering what happened when it got knocked over, Harry looked over at where Sirius' mother's portrait had hung.
One side of the curtain that had covered the portrait was missing and the other side has partly torn down. The portrait itself was gone completely. Sirius must have managed to remove it.
Harry's insides tightened at the thought of Sirius and for a moment Harry closed his eyes, fighting to control his emotions, fighting not to make a noise.
A sudden crash coming from the downstairs kitchen followed by a curse from Lupin caused Harry to open his eyes.
Harry found himself being driven away from the noise coming up from the basement. With no distinct memory of getting there, he found himself upstairs outside Buckbeak's room.
He entered, and found it empty. The scratches and claw marks were there, but no Buckbeak. He wondered vaguely how long Buckbeak had been gone.
Harry left the room, careful not to make any noise, and continued further upstairs. When he reached the top of the last flight of stairs and could climb no higher, Harry looked around. In front of him was a door which had been propped open and the opening led to a long narrow corridor. The timber door frame was splintered showing it had recently been forced open. It also looked like the door had been papered over at some point.
He had not noticed this door before and, just to delay the time when he would have to return downstairs, Harry entered the corridor. The paint was peeling from the walls and the floor had bare timber floorboards. The corridor was dimly lit by small dirty roof-lights.
Harry's progress was slow along the corridor. The hard floor and echoing walls made it challenging to make no noise. Turning a corner, eventually he reached a plain door at the end of the corridor.
He realised he had been just standing and staring at the door for some time with no real thoughts running through his head. He shook his head gently. He really should go back down stairs.
He gently tried to turn the door knob. After all the noise he'd imagined making getting there, he would have to try and open this door in complete silence. It would not move. Letting go, Harry thought to himself that the door was probably magically sealed and could not be opened by force anyway. Harry's thoughts moved to his wand. Where was it? Oh yeah, downstairs in the trunk. Not much point in carrying it when you're not supposed to do magic outside school.
It then suddenly occurred to Harry that returning to Sirius' house wasn't quite the debilitating experience he was expecting. He wasn't sure how he felt about that. He still felt the pain, yes, but he also felt a small degree of comfort somehow. Harry thought how the loud bark of Sirius' laughs used to echo through the house. It was as if the last echo, now inaudible, refused to die.
Harry turned, determined that his return journey would be as quiet as possible this time. At the same time, Harry thought he heard a faint shuffling sound coming from inside the room.
He listened intently. Had he just imagined it?
Harry looked again at the door. It looked like it had not been opened in years.
Harry felt his curiosity grow and he automatically held up his hand to the knob again. Resting his fingers loosely over the cold dull brass knob, Harry surprised himself when he heard himself whisper absently, "Alohomora".
Instantly he felt the round door knob turn under his still fingers and the door opened slightly into the room.
Harry mentally cursed himself for breaking his silence. He had not spoken for how long now? His annoyance with himself didn't stop him being sure that it was he that opened the door. The fact that he had again performed magic outside school, and wand-less magic at that, would only occur to him later.
For a long moment Harry stood at the ajar door listening intently. He heard nothing. Slowly Harry pushed open the door, feeling resistance in the hinges that had not moved for some time. He pushed harder, pleased that the door made no sound as it opened, until he felt the bottom of the door wedge against something firm.
The gap between the door and the jamb was now wide enough to enter. Harry moved into the room but stayed in front of the door so he could see about a third of the room which appeared to be empty save for some old packing crates. Harry could see a dirty window ahead with tattered dusty curtains drawn letting in a little light. The floor boards were bare and dusty.
Harry let his eyes become accustomed to the dim light and listened again. Nothing. He was now sure the room was empty. The air in the room had a dry, stale smell.
Harry stepped silently around the door to look into the rest of the room. Harry took an audible intake of breath at the sight before him. He froze.
A grotesquely giant spider, at least ten feet across, lay apparently at its ease in the middle of the room on an assortment of large timber packing crates. Was it an acromantula? It was certainly big enough to be. Its body was covered in fine hair the colour of a beautiful golden brown with cream markings. It was breathing gently and was facing a small fireplace which was on the wall opposite from the door.
His heart now pounding, Harry thought furiously.
What on earth was this thing doing here? It did not look exactly like a domestic pet. Harry was sure it would make a meal of him given half a chance. He had no wand. His quiet entry into the room was probably why it had not reacted. Shouting for help would be a bad idea, Harry decided. No, he would quietly back out of the door.
He had moved barely an inch before the enormous arachnid suddenly turned and reared up to him sending packing crates crashing about the room.
Hit by a blinding flash of white light that somehow appeared to come from the creature, he felt a flash of heat across his face. Harry was then pushed backwards into the wall by some force. Toppling, Harry then felt his shoulder impact heavily on the floor.
Harry was scrambling to get to his feet when he suddenly felt his head would explode with pain. In agony Harry screwed his eyes closed and suddenly felt a surge of energy flow through him. What was this creature?
Fighting the pain, he forced his eyes open, expecting the creature very close now and ready to finish him. He was determined to face up to this monster even if these were his last moments. Perhaps a well aimed kick would give the creature something to remember him by, at least.
Harry could not see properly but the acromantula had gone. Standing before him, bathed in a strange golden light, was a lone indistinct figure. It looked the size of a normal person, perhaps a little shorter than himself. Harry could not make out their features but they appeared to be in some discomfort, waving their arms defensively into the air. He could not tell where the light was coming from.
The figure froze when it saw Harry and their eyes met. Instantly the figure yelled and charged towards him, and the light around them turned bright white. The yell turned into a ghastly high-pitched scream. Harry covered his ears but it made no difference - the scream was in his mind. He yelled aloud as the pain intensified. Suddenly the light turned bright gold again and figure collapsed in a heap just in front of Harry. The screaming in his head stopped abruptly.
Harry froze in shock as he recognised the figure. No. How could this be?
She tilted her head up and Harry could not help himself from looking into those eyes. The coldness of her look ran through him. Suddenly her face distorted with malice and she began to whisper to him. Harry could not stop listening intently to these words of spite, and he did not notice the distant shouts and running footsteps echoing down the corridor.
With every word he felt weaker until Harry finally closed his eyes and surrendered to unconsciousness.
*
Harry woke warm, relaxed and comfortable. He sleepily opened his eyes and looked around. Squinting, he reached out and took the glasses which were on a bedside table.
He propped himself up, adjusted his glasses and looked around the room. The room had no window and was lit by a single dull ceiling pendant light. The shade looked just like the one Aunt Petunia had chosen for the top landing at Privet Drive.
Across the room Harry noticed a small framed print hanging on the wall. Harry frowned. That print, he thought, was the same as the one Dudley had drawn graffiti over two or three summers ago. Harry had liked that print, which was of a sunset on a beach somewhere. Come to think of it, thought Harry, the frame looked similar too.
Harry threw off the covers and made to get out of bed. He noticed he was wearing pyjamas. His old pyjamas. They seemed to fit him, but he had outgrown these pyjamas last year. Aunt Petunia had cut them up for rags. Hadn't she?
Harry sat on the edge of the bed. Something very strange was happening here. As Harry begun to survey this strange room with growing curiosity, the door opened.
"Harry, you're awake at last!"
Carrying an enormous vase with fresh cut flowers in it and wearing a broad smile was Hermione.
Despite his misgivings about these strange surroundings, Harry felt a grin spread across his face and replied in a whisper, "Hi."
Harry had actually been dreading seeing any of his friends again. He felt Hermione especially would be disappointed in him.
Yet now it came to it, he was very glad indeed to see a friendly face. Especially hers.
He had no idea how he knew. She looked, sounded and acted identically in every way, and yet somehow Harry was sure this wasn't his Hermione.
"I should introduce myself, my name is Harry Potter. Who are you?"