THE VERY-GRAND-AND-NOBLE ROOM

For the sixth-years, they found that there was a reason their coursework was getting heavier. And why they needed study periods to begin with.

On one particular fall day, they could be found in the corridor, trudging with their arms laden with books. Hermione suggested they actually use their study period for studying. Without even knowing what they were agreeing to, Harry and Ron both said yes. They followed Hermione as she led them down the corridor to the N.E.W.T. study hall on the ground floor.

"Study hall, huh? You know…we've never been here before…" stated Ron.

"We've never had coursework as hard as the N.E.W.T.s," said Hermione. "The O.W.L.s were nothing compared to these—Grammarye—"

The knob-less door with elaborate carvings on the wooden panels opened as she said the password, and the three walked in. It was a long rectangular room, rather like the staff room that Harry had been in once or twice. There were two long tables and a lot of straight-backed chairs, and over two dozen sixth- and seventh-years were already hard at work.

"Well, this'll be fun," said Ron sarcastically.

"Sshh," said Hermione, and led the way to the end of a table.

Harry found his thoughts drifting off more than once as he worked on his Care of Magical Creatures homework. I think this is the first time I've ever worked on my homework less than an hour after it's been assigned, he thought idly.

The long windows covering the length of one wall showed a perfectly blue sky that looked all too inviting—the storm of the past few days had finally moved off into the North Sea. Azkaban was probably getting the brunt of it now, he guessed—although, Azkaban was always in the middle of a storm. Perhaps it had something to do with the enchantments surrounding the wizarding prison…or maybe the hundreds of dementors guarding it made the permanently bad weather, since just a couple bring about fog…

In no time at all, the bell rung for lunch, and Harry found that he had written a total of three paragraphs.

"Merlin, my back aches," Ron groaned as they walked into the Great Hall.

"Didn't you use a cushioning charm on your chair?" said Hermione in surprise.

"Er…we're allowed to?"

"Of course! The only reason they have those chairs in there is because the students that are more serious about their grades want the buckling-down the chairs give. I knew they'd be hard on you, but I thought you'd at least try a charm—"

"Well, that's useful to know," Ron grumbled as he sat down. The words had just left him when he immediately stuffed a roll into his mouth, groaning in satisfaction.

Hermione watched him, disgusted. "That looks revolting."

"Then don't look," he said.

"You know…I would think that riding on a broomstick every week, you'd be more used to uncomfortable sitting positions," said Hermione, spooning some lambchop stew into her bowl.

"Not really—all broomsticks have a cushioning charm on them," said Harry. "Of course, the Firebolt is the most comfortable—I don't even get a wedgie sitting on there—"

Ginny snorted behind him.

Harry swiveled around. "Er—sorry—didn't know you were there—"

"Do they always talk about this stuff in front of you?" she asked Hermione as she slid into a seat.

"Every once in a while," said Hermione.

Harry and Ron reddened.

Ginny smirked. "You should hear about what they really do when they're on their brooms."

Ron choked on his dinner roll.

Because it was a free period, Harry and Ron could choose between finishing their Potions essay or going down to the kitchens to grab a bite.

Needless to say, they chose the kitchens.

When they got there, the numerous house-elves were quite pleased to give them some food, and bombarded them with trays of pumpkin pasties, tansy cakes, honeyed biscuits, and éclairs.

"I love it here," said Ron fervently, and took it all.

As they sat down near the roaring fireplace, Harry looked around. But although he couldn't find Dobby, there was one elf tending to the baking bread that looked oddly familiar—

"Winky?"

She turned and Harry and Ron saw that it was her, although very changed. The last they had seen her, she had a matching skirt, blouse, and hat all very unkempt and covered with stains and burns. Now, however, there wasn't a spot on her new clothes and she was draped in white cloth that had the Hogwarts crest stamped on the left chest. Her hair had recently been trimmed, her eyes were no longer red and puffy, and she seemed like she no longer drank butterbeer as heavily as she used to.

"Harry Potter, sir!" she gasped. "I-I is not seeing you since—since—since old Master—"

She broke off, sniffling.

"Yes, well, never mind that," Harry said hastily, not wanting the waterworks that had come from her so frequently back in fourth year. "Er, how've you been?"

"Winky is a house-elf of Hogwarts, sir."

"Er…right…"

"You're not still drinking butterbeer, are you?" said Ron sternly.

"Winky is being banned from drinking," she said miserably. "Dobby is banning me from all things that is making me be sad."

"Well, that's good!" said Ron.

"Winky is not liking Dobby for it," she said, sticking her bulbous nose in the air.

"That's not fair, Winky," Harry stated, coming to Dobby's rescue. "He's only trying to help you be happy."

"Winky is not caring for happy. I's a good house-elf and does what M-Master tells us to! Dobby should minds his own business."

"Winky," Harry warned. "Dobby just wants to be your friend. Don't you like him at all?"

The nose came down a fraction of an inch. "Well…D-Dobby is making Winky laugh."

"That's good. Right?" said Ron.

"And…well, Dobby is helping Winky with chores. I is needing help sometimes. But I's still a good house-elf!" she added hastily.

"Of course you are!" Ron agreed.

"Good. Just be a good friend now too, all right? You know what it means to be a friend, don't you?" said Harry.

"Winky is knowing how," she said, head hanging. "Winky's just being mean to Dobby."

"Well—now you can be good to him," said Harry.

"Funny things, house-elves," Ron commented after she left. "Although…you know, Winky reminds me a bit of Hermione."

"Hermione?"

"Well…yeah…they both have trouble admitting when they're wrong, you know? And…well, they are a bit hard on their friends, aren't they," said Ron ruefully.

"Well, you know what we should do when Hermione starts getting on to us about homework, don't you?" said Harry.

"What?"

Harry smirked. "Steer her towards the butterbeer."

They were so busy scarfing down sweets that they almost missed Dobby, which was rather hard to do—five of Hermione's hats bobbed on his head and although his clothes were different than last they saw, they were still as colorful and mismatched as could be.

"Dobby has been missing the great Harry Potter, sir," said the house-elf earnestly. "Dobby would like to help in any way he can, sir, 'cause Dobby knows you will be very, very busy with finding!"

"Er...thanks, Dobby, but I don't think I'll be needing—"

"Oh, no, sir! Dobby knows all about your task, sir, for Dobby is having lots of friends in the Very-Grand-and-Noble-Room and is overhearing Harry Potter talking to the magic hat!" said Dobby, beaming.

Harry opened his mouth in realization—he had totally forgot about the 'task' the Sorting Hat had given him—finding the heirs and the gifts in that poem.

"Your task?" Ron asked Harry.

"The Very-Grand-and-Noble-Room?" Harry asked Dobby.

"Oh yes, sir! It is very grand and noble, which is why the house-elves is calling it grand and noble, sir!"

"Yes, I understand that," said Harry impatiently, "but how come?"

"Harry, what—?" said Ron again.

"Because it is belonging to the Master Headmaster, Harry Potter! It is having lots of special things in it—things that the Master Headmaster isn't wanting to be cleaned too often, sir, because they is being too breakable and unknowable. But the house-elves isn't liking the magic hat being there, sir. The magic hat is too grumpy and scowly to the house-elves. But Dobby doesn't mind him, sir! Dobby is the one to take the magic hat upstairs, which is why Dobby is overhearing it telling Harry Potter about his findings of old witches and wizards," Dobby said rather proudly.

"Er...great," said Harry, feeling less enthused. Dobby was making it sound as if Harry had set himself up for a sort of quest, which was the last thing Harry wanted to do. If he was really supposed to find the 'findings' as Dobby called them, couldn't he just do it in a week and have done with it?

"Wait—is he talking about the Sorting Hat?" said Ron, realization dawning on his face.

"Er—listen, Dob," said Harry, leaning towards him. "Where's the magic hat now?"

"Why it's in the Very-Grand-and-Noble-Room, sir, where it's supposed to be!"

"All right. Could you do me a favor and go tell the Hat that I...er...that I changed my mind? I'm not exactly up to finding...whatever it was it wanted me to find. Tell it to find someone else to do it if it has to be done. Can you do that?"

"Oh yes, Harry Potter, sir! Dobby would be delighted, but the magic hat...it won't like this as much as Dobby. The hat is being very mean to Dobby, sir, but Dobby isn't minding."

"Very obedient, aren't they?" said Ron when he and Harry left twenty minutes later. "Dobby seemed right happy when you told him to tell the grumpy hat 'no'."

Harry thought back to his first meeting with the house-elf, who kept trying to save Harry's life by stopping him from going back to Hogwarts.

"That's because Dobby doesn't know the meaning of the word," Harry said ruefully.

It was during Double Transfiguration two weeks into September that Harry finally achieved his first non-verbal spell. By this time, Ron and Hermione both were getting better at it, moving up to transfiguring their mice into top hats without a word. Things were indeed moving right along and Harry found himself settling into life at Hogwarts almost as easily as all the years previous.

He could be found one night trudging to Gryffindor Tower, eyes weary with sleep. The Occlumency lesson with Dumbledore lasted for quite a while—they were making headway. The first lesson he had with Dumbledore proved this last to be quite true. Dumbledore was rather impressed with Harry when he told him that ever since the Department of Mysteries—when Voldemort entered his mind at the end of Dumbledore's and Voldemort's duel—he'd been practicing the mind-emptying exercises each night before bed.

"I guess…maybe it was because I had to learn the hard way why it was so important," Harry had said. "I wasn't going to let what happened with Sirius happen again with anyone else."

"I do believe, Harry," Dumbledore stated, "that the reason you had a difficult time learning Occlumency last year was because a part of you did not want to learn anything."

Harry started. "Er…sorry?"

"Please excuse an old man. I am not pointing fingers, so much as pointing suggestions on how you can better yourself," said Dumbledore. He continued, "Last Christmas, you realized that if you had not been connected with Voldemort's mind you would not have seen that he had placed Arthur Weasley in such grave danger until it was too late. It was because you were in his mind that Arthur was saved so soon after the attack. I do believe you thought that if this connection were to continue, you would be able to save others in time, and this is why you were compelled to such action when you saw Sirius was in danger. If you had been practicing to clear your mind every night, you wouldn't be able to see Voldemort attacking others, thus saving them in time. It is the hero in you, you see, placing your own self in danger to Voldemort in order to save others from a different fate."

He was right, Harry thought now. He simply hadn't wanted to learn Occlumency last year. He hadn't wanted the dreams to stop. And when he had that vision of Sirius, a part of him was glad that he'd had it, so he could save Sirius in time.

When he asked Dumbledore if they should up the lessons to three times a week instead of one, so he could fend Voldemort off if he were to try sooner, the elder wizard shook his head.

"He will not be trying to get inside your mind like last year, Harry. His modus operandi will be different, especially from your performance when he was in your head last. Now that the wizarding world knows he is alive, he will not be building up a defense anymore. Like in Muggle American football, this war will be run entirely on his offense. And as one of his targets, this means that you must make your own defense much stronger. It only takes your will. If you truly want it to stop, then your body will do anything to make it stop."

With this Occlumency lesson, it was no different. For the first time, Harry had been able to repel the headmaster from his mind; something of which he was rather proud of. It was a powerful feeling, expelling someone from your mind, Harry found out. Like when he did the same to Snape last year during their lessons, or as he did to Voldemort at the end of his and Dumbledore's duel in June.

"I do believe you will become an accomplished Occlumens soon enough, Harry. Remember to practice not only at night, but while you are in the corridors, while you are playing Quidditch, while you are eating supper, while you are at your most unawares," said Dumbledore, as Harry left. "This is vital if you are to succeed."

Dumbledore then told him something that made his heart chill—

"If you do not succeed, Harry, Voldemort will go after someone you love just to get to you. He has proved this at the Chamber of Secrets and again at the Department of Mysteries. But this time, it might be someone far closer to your heart...like your best friend, Mr. Weasley...or even Miss Granger. Are you willing to risk that?"

I can't expect Dumbledore or anyone else to save me if something happens, or even to build up my defense for me. I can't rely on luck anymore—whether it's 'the power the Dark Lord knows not' or isn't. For Dumbledore's and Ron's and Hermione's sakes I must. For Ginny and Neville and the Weasleys and Luna and everyone else out there. For Sirius' death and for the possibility of everyone else's deaths, I must.

Merlin abroad, if that just didn't sound so cheesy…

September seemed to pass slowly and drudgingly until the Gryffindor Quidditch try-outs loomed ever closer.

Harry found that being Quidditch Captain not only had its perks, but it had nulled Ron and Hermione's renewed prefect statuses quite a bit in his mind, and he had felt better for it.

While they would be patrolling the corridors, he would be training new recruits for his team and holding try-outs for everyone. He knew it was going to be hard, especially since they were losing Fred, George, Alicia Spinnet and Angelina Johnson this year, but he couldn't help but devise game plans in his head and figure out new maneuvers they could practice.

Over their third week into September, he kept finding himself looking at his fellow Gryffindors as they passed him in the corridors, and sizing them up for a certain position. He would need two Beaters to replace Fred and George since Andrew Kirke and Jack Sloper had proved to be horrible, as well as two new Chasers to fly alongside Katie Bell. Harry had hopes that he'd be able to get Ginny Weasley back on the team—she had replaced him as Seeker last year after he was banned, but when he was playing with her over the summer, he saw just how good a Chaser she might make as well.

There is no way I could possibly get any new team to be half as good as we were when Oliver Wood was Captain, but…I'm sure as hell going to try.

All in all, Harry thought, maybe being Quidditch Captain will be better than I thought it would be.

Ron was in such a state of nervousness that he insisted practicing for two hours every day. Harry thought this a bit much, seeing as how good Ron had gotten even the past few months, but kept it to himself. It sure beat having Ron automatically think that Harry would choose him just because they were best mates, in any case. Besides...it was nice pretending to be Chaser for once. Harry thought he could actually get used to it, if he did lose the Seeker spot this year. His dad was one, after all, and when Harry flew around with the Quaffle tucked under his arm, he imagined he was his dad. Sirius, of course, would be somewhere protecting him from Bludgers, with Moony in the stands cheering them on. And then he'd pass the Quaffle to Hestia Jones, who'd—

"OY!" Ron roared at him. "Watch it, won't you?"

Harry realized he had just chucked the ball straight at Ron's head.

"You need to be prepared, don't you?" Harry said. "It's what the Slytherins would do..."

"If I wanted to practice with one, I'd have asked them, not you," Ron grumbled in reply. "Chuck me one again. On target, this time..."

It was the night before the Quidditch try-outs and with Ron's furious practicing, they didn't realize until it had gotten dark that it was after curfew.

They had just entered the entrance hall when Harry heard someone call his name.

Dread hit them both as they realized they got caught, and they both spun round to find Hestia Jones striding up to them.

After reluctantly scheduling detention for Sunday for their out of bed infraction, she excused Ron, saying that she really only wanted to speak to Harry. Ron looked at Harry questioningly before leaving, and Harry turned to her, confused.

"I wanted to give you this," she said, handing him a book. The cover was blank.

"What—"

"It's a two-way diary. They've been selling them for years now and—"

"Yeah, I know," said Harry, fingering it. "It's one of those special ones, where it comes with a pair and everything you write in this book appears in the other one, isn't it? That way, you don't have to owl each other, but you can write letters to each other and it appears in the other's diary...but then...why would you..."

He trailed off, frowning at her.

The thought that Jones had just given him a Dark object flitted across his mind. His second year...the conversation he had with Tom Riddle in his diary...only, Riddle was able to actually put himself inside the pages—he hadn't needed another copy of the diary to talk with Harry...or Ginny...

"Oh, you misunderstand me, Harry," said Jones, her eyes twinkling. "I have no intentions on sharing a diary with you. I see you enough in class as it is; and now in detention as well. No, this diary used to be mine after I graduated from Hogwarts. Your mother and I..."

Harry opened the book to the front page. Scrawled in two separate handwritings were the words:

You are holding in your hands the property of:

Hestia Jones Hesperus

and

Lily Cecelia Evans

P.S. Read, and you'll be cursed to within an inch of your life. Just a warning.

"—we got them soon after they were married. We wanted to still keep in close contact with each other—she was marrying your father and moving to Godric's Hollow, and I was in the middle of my Auror training. I don't know what happened to her copy—I suppose it was destroyed, so I figured you had never had the chance to look at it. Now, I've already gone through and taken out anything I wouldn't want you to read—we were two young witches after all—but I thought it would be worth it for you to learn some more about your parents. You see..." she said, then paused. "These are the letters she wrote when she was pregnant with you."

Harry fingered the dark green cover, a longing filled inside him.

My mother...letters written by my mother...and she's pregnant with me...

He couldn't seem to voice his thanks, but Professor Jones knew already.

"I thought you'd like it," she said quietly.

All the way up to Gryffindor tower, he clutched the book tightly in his hands, mind spinning. It was spinning so fast, in fact, that he collided straight into Snape.

"Well, well, Potter," he drawled. "Out for a little midnight stroll, are we? Thought you were above detention now that you've inherited your father's badge?"

"No," said Harry coolly. "Or I wouldn't have just got detention."

"You might be advised to watch your tongue," Snape hissed. "Or you may well be scrubbing the dungeon floors tomorrow as well."

"You can't do that! Gryffindor try-outs is tomorrow—I'm captain—"

"Don't fool yourself into thinking I could care less about your day-to-day affairs. And what have we here? A stolen book, perhaps?" said Snape, snatching Professor Jones' book from Harry's hands.

"I didn't steal it," Harry said, seething. "Professor Jones gave it to me. She said I could read it—"

Snape opened it and scanned the first page. Perhaps it was the faint light from his wand, but Harry thought he looked rather surprised at the names.

"She did, did she?" said Snape coldly. "I hardly think that a teacher would let a mere...student...read her school-girl diary."

"But—"

"To bed, Potter. Before I give you detention for wandering the corridors. Wouldn't want any meandering Death Eaters to catch you, now would we," said Snape snidely, and he turned around and left, tucking the diary into his cloak pocket.

"Talking about yourself, are we?" muttered Harry, scowling. With a seething hiss, he marched the rest of the way to the Tower.

When he came to the portrait of the slumbering Fat Lady, he saw that lying at the foot of it was one of Ron's unmistakable orange Chudley Cannons socks. Wearily picking it up, he reached inside to find a slip of paper and Ron's unintelligible scrawl:

Harry: Password's been changed. New one's 'Bally-hoo'.

Harry whispered the word aloud and the Fat Lady swung open as she slept.

Harry's bad mood stayed with him all night. He awoke the next morning to Ron's smelly socks, thinking about Snape, and his mother, and the Quidditch try-outs today, and feeling a huge knot in his stomach tighten.

Ron was sitting on his bed, unusually white, and trying to stuff his legs into his shirt sleeves. Seeing Harry awake, he gave up this new method of dressing and started making his bed—something Harry had never seen Ron do while at Hogwarts.

"When did you come back last night?" said Ron, voice high and his back to Harry. "I see you got the note I left you. Good idea to put it in my old socks, wasn't it?"

"Sure," muttered Harry, getting up. "Until someone else came along and was able to get inside the common room with your message and murder us all in our beds."

Ron stopped fumbling with his covers. "I hadn't thought of that."

"Yeah. I noticed."

Ron scowled.

With foul moods and nervous stomachs, they both left for breakfast.

If Harry had thought he was nervous before, it turned out to be nothing compared to what he was feeling at breakfast. Gryffindor Quidditch try-outs were to be held at ten o'clock, and all eyes were on him.

He, however, had eyes for someone else. Up at the staff table, he saw Snape and Jones talking.

Bloody prat. Prolly tattling to her about that diary he stole from me, thought Harry, and it wasn't until Ron and Hermione looked at him that he realized he'd said this aloud.

"A diary?" Ron snorted. "I didn't know you kept a diary! Not very masculine, is it—"

"Is it possessed?" said Hermione sharply, glancing over to the next table where Ginny ate. Harry followed her gaze.

"No, no, it's not like that. And it's not even mine, Ron. Jones gave it to me last night..."

With a hushed voice, he told them what she had said.

"About your mother?" Hermione gasped when he finished. "But that's wonderful!"

"Not when Snape steals it so he can read it himself," Ron scowled. He called Snape a name that made Hermione kick him.

For the rest of the meal, Harry barely ate his cheese and ham, feeling like he always did just before a match. To his right, Ron was shredding his toasted bread into tiny pieces. Hermione reached across the table and gripped Ron's hands.

"You'll be fine," she promised him. "You're the best Keeper this school has."

A voice from behind interrupted them. "I, of course, would beg to differ. Wouldn't you, Fred?"

Another voice joined the first. "Right you are, George, right you are. I can't help but remember our senior year—"

"—back when we were diligently studying for our N.E.W.T.s—"

"—and thinking of a better time when school would be behind us, our future in the present—"

"—when our dear brother happened to be trying out for Keeper—"

"—spots to fill, you know—"

"—and successfully managed to stop a Bludger from entering his goal—"

"—not quite a Keeper's duty, to be sure—"

"—and lugged it straight at poor Fred, an innocent bystander—"

"—couldn't think straight for a month—"

"—tragic, it was—"

The tables around them were filled with laughter at the antics of Fred and George Weasley, Actors Extraordinaire.

"Oh, cut it out, you two," said Harry, though he was grinning. "What're you doing up at the castle, anyway?"

They sat down on either side of Harry and Ron, and filled their own plates to the brim with food.

"Try-outs," said Fred. "Wouldn't miss them for the world."

"Even if you're not supposed to be up here?" said Hermione.

"Especially then," said George. "We have rather a few…investments, so to speak, and must protect them."

"Besides, no one would miss this. The entire school's talking about it," said Fred.

Harry's elbow landed in his ketchup. "Why?"

"Why do you think?" said Ginny, sitting down. "Hullo Fred, George. It's because it's you, Harry. Anything with you involved is likely to get exciting. You should be used to it by now."

"Pass your elbow, Harry," said Fred. "I'd like the ketchup, please."

Ron clunked his head in his arms, and moaned. "I'm doomed."