Stranger Than Fiction
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe and all the characters in it belong to J.K. Rowling. This story is a work of imagination and is directed solely at readers of this website. No infringement of any rights is intended and no criticism of J.K. Rowling or her work should be considered to be stated or implied.
Author's note: Thanks again for the reviews and also to those who pointed out minor continuity errors. I will go back and correct these once the story is finished.
Part 5. Letters and Lettings
So, that's all that I can remember about those meetings with Hermione and Harry, Hagrid and Cho; and I have to say that, as I have reviewed my memories, I still can't really detect any flaws in my reasoning. It seems to me that Harry and Hermione's relationship, to that point, had been one long comedy of errors, with the Weasleys as the main beneficiaries. In my view, it was quite clear that both Harry and Hermione had strong feelings for the other. However, Harry, faced with the choice between the uncertainty and potential difficulties of a relationship with Hermione and the clarity and simplicity of a relationship with Ginny Weasley, had, for once in his life, decided to take the easy option. His decision had left Hermione with few choices of her own. But, I still could not understand how my carefully laid plan to bring the two of them together had failed or how these two seemingly unsuitable partnerships had supposedly flourished. Of course, that was the point - I couldn't be certain whether they had actually flourished or not. The only evidence that I had to go on was a second hand description from a work of Muggle fiction; even though the relative accuracy of other events recounted by Melissa gave me no adequate grounds to doubt the veracity of the state of affairs outlined.
But, as the days passed, it became clear to me that I couldn't let the matter rest. The whole business had unsettled me and I needed to seek some form of resolution. I wanted to meet with Hermione and find out what was really going on. But where to start? The truth is that I had neither seen nor heard anything about Hermione since the announcement of her wedding. She seemed to have disappeared completely from the mainstream of wizarding life. I found this extremely surprising, given her obvious talents and her notoriety after Voldemort's demise. So, if a meeting with Hermione was currently out of the question, the obvious next best alternative was the Weasleys - but I really had no great desire to get in contact with them again. I knew that Arthur had done very well in the new, more enlightened administration at the Ministry of Magic and that Molly Weasley had enjoyed major celebrity status as the witch who disposed of Bellatrix Lestrange. The social standing of the Weasleys had therefore risen remarkably in the intervening years and they now moved in the very highest circles of wizarding society. Hardly my cup of tea, you will surely agree. So, if I ruled out Arthur and Molly, this really only left me with Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley as my potential starting points.
Both of these two had made their careers in the Ministry and had featured heavily in the magical media over the last twenty or so years. Harry, I knew, had finally and inevitably been elected as Minister of Magic, to great popular acclaim, after a very successful time working as the head of the newly created Department for the Control and Eradication of the Dark Arts. From what I could gather, he had accepted the position rather reluctantly but was really given little choice. There would have been a public outcry if he had refused. Ronald Weasley, on the other hand, seemed to be totally suited to his position as head of the Department for Magical Games and Sports and could often be seen in the pages of the Daily Prophet visiting some sporting event or officiating at an opening ceremony; generally, with a broad, satisfied smile on his face. A trip to the Ministry of Magic, therefore, seemed the obvious place to start my search.
However, it was then that I remembered that Harry had written to me soon after Hermione's wedding to tell me how sorry he was that I hadn't been able to attend and to wish me a speedy recovery from my feigned illness. I had felt terribly guilty when I received the letter and hadn't dared to reply, realising that I would only expand the web of deceit that I had started to spin. I tend to horde old correspondence, particularly when it is unanswered, and sure enough I found the, by now, yellowing piece of parchment tucked away at the back of a cupboard in my spare bedroom, towards the bottom of a stack of assorted letters and messages stored in a battered cardboard box. The address, beautifully printed at the top of the parchment in black ink, written in Harry's careful hand, was 14, Flamel Mews, London. I immediately recognized this address. It was a street in a small wizarding enclave in the London Borough of Hammersmith - one of the many such communities that existed in the city. This particular street was well known to me since it had been home to many high ranking Ministry officials in previous administrations, including one Minister of Magical Education, and I had actually visited it on a number of occasions. Thinking that I was more likely to get to the bottom of things by visiting Harry at home rather than at work, I decided that a visit to Flamel Mews was in order. I reasoned that if neither Ginny nor Harry was at home, I could always return later, once I had checked on the location. Impatient to get started, I rushed down the stairs, grabbed my cloak and hat and, still clutching the parchment in one hand, I concentrated hard on the address, turned around slowly and was suddenly thrust into complete darkness, my body pressurised from all sides, as I apparated to my intended destination.
As my senses cleared, I found myself in a narrow cobbled street, enclosed by high, stone buildings on either side and decorated with black-painted, ornate iron street lamps of an ancient vintage. The cobbles were damp and slippery under foot. It had clearly rained earlier and the sky overhead was a threatening gray, although the air was still and fairly warm. Each building had some type of shop in residence on the ground floor, with elaborate gold-plate lettering announcing the names of the owners on black wooden boards positioned above the leaded-glass windows. There was a general store, a jeweler, a woman's outfitter, a bookshop, a confectioner, a florist, a branch of Gringotts and an estate agent. I remembered that the road that I was looking for ran parallel to this main street, connected by a short dark alleyway. I quickly traversed this passage and entered Flamel Mews, checking a few door numbers as I did so to ensure that I was heading in the right direction. As I approached number 14, I noted that the windows were dark and bare and I realized that there was a notice board attached to a white, wooden stake, fixed to the wrought iron railings outside. The wording on the notice announced "For Sale or To Let. All enquiries should be directed to Brewett and Sons Estate Agent." There was an address printed below, but I had already recognized the name as that on one of the shops that I had just seen in the main street. It seemed that I had come too late.
I wearily retraced my steps to the estate agent, which indeed turned out to be Brewett and Sons. Entering, I was greeted by a very pleasant young wizard, who introduced himself as Angus Brewett. He was notable mainly because of a tumble of vivid blond hair that hung untidily over his ears and forehead and a pair of brilliant blue eyes that peered out from under heavy lids. I informed him that I had just seen that number 14 Flamel Mews was up for sale and that I was interested in a viewing. He was munching his way through a large sandwich at the time - his lunch for the day - and was only too happy to hand me the keys, inviting me to have a look around. He said that he would join me in a short while and warned that the keys were charmed to return to him within half an hour, expressing his hope that this would not cause me any inconvenience. In answer to my enquiries, he told me that the previous occupants, none other than the famous Harry Potter and his family, had only vacated the premises a few days ago but had already moved out all of their belongings, so that the house was quite empty. Unfortunately, he had no idea where they had moved to, since they had left no forwarding address. He speculated that, given Mr. Potter's position and magical ability, a redirection charm had doubtless been placed on the house so that any owls approaching would receive appropriate information as to where the family could now be found. Mr. Potter had informed Mr. Brewitt personally that he would be in touch periodically to monitor the situation, although if Mr. Brewitt needed to make urgent contact, he should leave a message at the Ministry.
The house itself was situated in a terrace of similar properties and was rather narrow in width, boasting a black painted front door with elaborate stonework surrounds. Although unimposing on the outside, the property seemed spacious and airy inside. All of the furnishings had been removed and my footsteps echoed on bare wooden floorboards as I wandered from room to room. The walls were decorated in light pastel shades and all of the doors, ceilings and other woodwork were freshly painted in a brilliant white. As a teacher of many years standing, who has worked with devious young wizards and witches, such as the Weasley twins, one gets almost a sixth sense for detecting magical concealment and, as soon as I entered the house, I had the distinct impression that something was hidden there. I stopped in the doorway of each room, calling "Idem Cognito," the most powerful revealing spell that I know, as I moved my wand slowly from one side of the empty space to the other. But in every case, I found nothing. Finally, having exhausted my search of all of the rooms, I found myself standing in the upstairs hallway wondering if there was any point in trying to gain access to the roof space. I discovered that the attic was reached by a pull-down wooden ladder that descended from a narrow ceiling hatch. Assuming that my intuition had let me down for once, I held out little hope of success as I twitched my wand to activate the creaking mechanism. Once the ladder was in place, I slowly and carefully climbed the rather rickety steps until I stood just inside of the attic.
"Lumos," I muttered and the dim light from my wand tip revealed a dusty empty area with rough wooden boards nailed over the rafters. Sloping beams angled up from the eaves of the house to the ridge with dark brown, stained and marked roofing felt lining the gaps in between. A red brick chimney breast with uneven, carelessly finished mortar stuck up through the centre of the roof space. "Idem Cognito," I called again, waving my wand across the void. Nothing. I sighed, my spirits sagging. "Just one more try," I thought unhopefully and moved my wand slowly the other way, again chanting the revealing spell. As my wand reached the end of its travel, out of the corner of my eye, I caught a small glint of silver embedded in the mortar of the chimney breast.
I moved noisily across the squeaking floorboards towards the red brick structure, keeping my eyes fixed on the shining silver speck. Pointing my wand directly at the tiny irregularity, I shouted, "Engorgio!" and took a small step backwards as the silver dot began to glow brightly and then slowly increase in size. Fragments of mortar crumbled and dropped to the floor with a loud clatter as the object expanded from its position of concealment and I quickly conjured a levitation charm, as it started to fall, and lowered it gently to the floor. The object was clearly cubic in shape and shimmered with a grayish-silver haze as it continued to grow. Finally, all movement ceased and a totally unmarked cube of what looked like polished steel, measuring approximately three feet in each direction, sat solidly at my feet.
I judged that this cube was some form of storage vessel and its burnished appearance suggested that it had only recently been placed here. In addition, the manner of its concealment, although a powerful piece of magic, indicated that it had probably been hidden in a hurry, by someone intending to come back to retrieve it in a short while. I knew from experience that such a container could generally be opened only by uttering a password that had been utilized in the spell that had created it and so the chances of anyone, other than the originator, being able to gain access were exceedingly slim. The recent concealment, coupled with the departure of the Potters only a few days ago, meant that there was a good chance that this object had been hidden by either Harry or Ginny. Although a powerful witch, Ginny had, to my knowledge, generally been more concerned with, what I would term, active magic and I suspected that this degree of subtlety would be beyond her. I considered, therefore, that Harry Potter was the most likely creator of the vessel.
So, what password might he have used? What word would have particular significance to Harry Potter? "Firebolt!" I found myself shouting involuntarily, as the make of the broom that Sirius had given to Harry flashed into my mind. The cube remained unmoved.
Inwardly cursing my rashness, I forced myself to try to be more selective and cautious. Witches and wizards often used the names of famous people or people who had meant a lot to them as passwords. James and Lily were too short and too common to be useful and Sirius also seemed to be too directly linked to Harry to make it a feasible password. "Dumbledore!" I cried, waving my wand over the recalcitrant object. Still nothing.
I don't know if it was the mention of Dumbledore's name or not, but suddenly I could hear in my mind a conversation that I once had with Harry Potter as we walked along the path from my rental in Hogsmeade towards the Three Broomsticks. His voice was as clear to me as if he was whispering in my ear. "I liked Dumbledore's approach. The password for his office always seemed to be linked to one of his favourite sweets. Now, that's how passwords should be thought up."
Could that be it? Had Harry remained true to his word and to his undoubted respect for Albus Dumbledore?
"Chocolate Frog!" I guessed in another moment of rashness. Once again, the cube didn't budge or change in any way. I berated myself again for my stupidity. This type of charm generally gave you three attempts before locking up completely if you had a further failure. One more incorrect guess and I would probably have lost any opportunity of discovering what it was that Harry had been so keen to conceal. I was sure that I was on the right track now, but how did you choose from the many different types of sweet that were available?
"Sherbert Lemon!" I recalled in a moment of inspiration. To my great relief, there was a sudden grinding sound and a dark, square outline, marking the presence of a door, gradually appeared on one face of the cube. Once the door was fully formed, it swung soundlessly open and I peered breathlessly inside.
The interior of the cube was as seamless and shiny as the outside and was empty save for a shallow stone basin, decorated with familiar runes and symbols. A silvery light was emanating from the top of the basin and reflecting off the polished walls. Moving closer, I could see a bright, whitish silver liquid filling the basin; the surface moving and swirling ceaselessly. The object was undoubtedly a Pensieve.