The days blurred into weeks for Harry after Ron and Neville's induction into the so-called Junior Aurors Division. There was much to do, both inside the office and out, as Ron and Neville both officially made the move into Grimmauld Place. By day they would dig into research about Death Eaters and other Voldemort sympathizers; by night they would discuss their findings over the kitchen table back at No. 12. Harry felt quite like he was back at Hogwarts again, attending classes before joining friends in the common room for evening chats and laughs. It was nice to have people around to pass the time with, to take turns shutting up Mrs. Black's screeching portrait in the entry hall.
All else would be well with Harry were it not for the nightmares. They had come back in full force since Ginny's attack, and she factored into the vast majority of them now. It didn't matter if he was in the Battle of Hogwarts or at the Quidditch World Cup; all he knew is he would be running after some nameless, faceless creature preying on her. And no matter how quickly he caught up, how furiously he fought, Ginny never recovered; he would find her sprawled on the ground, and unlike reality, there was no heartbeat to be found. And it was his fault...always his fault… Harry did not divulge these nightmares with anybody, not wanting to make them worry. He knew they noticed his lack of energy during the day, but nobody said anything. And Harry would keep it that way. They all had enough to worry about as it was...
Ron spent much of his free time at the Burrow with Hermione, but the two of them soon began hanging out at Grimmauld Place more often. "Burrow's not the most pleasant place to be right now," Ron explained. "Mum and Ginny have been rowing...Ginny's adamant that she's not going back to school, that she's joining the first Quidditch squad that opens up a reserve spot for her. Her tryouts went well I guess, but Mum won't hear it. She'll come around eventually, but I just can't take the shouting anymore…"
It wasn't long until September 1st rolled around, and Hermione was off to Platform 9 ¾ for the new Hogwarts term. With her gone, Ron redoubled his efforts in the Auror Office, scouring the Compendium for any information about Ginny's attack. But their efforts were fruitless; they could not find a single shred of information about magic scepters or shady visitors to the Quidditch World Cup. Harry could tell morale was low with Ron and Neville, who had clearly envisioned more adventure with the Aurors (as he once had himself). And he knew the burden now rested on him to rectify it.
"I think we could use a little field trip," Harry announced. "I've been meaning to visit Hogwarts to speak with McGonagall for a while now. Might be wise to poke around in the library there for information too."
Ron and Neville perked up at this idea. And the following Saturday, after obtaining permission from Robards and confirming the plan with McGonagall, the three departed Grimmauld Place bright and early, Apparating into Hogsmeade. It was a clear and quiet day; no doubt the students were all busy with homework and studying on one of the first weekends of the new term. However, Harry could see some students milling about the grounds, lounging in the grass and throwing Fanged Frisbees back and forth. He saw flashes of red robes on the Quidditch pitch – Gryffindor tryouts, perhaps? Harry wondered who the new Captain was, longed to make a detour and watch...for the first time, he was slightly regretting his decision to skip seventh year…
But there were more pressing matters to attend to. As they approached the Entrance Hall, Harry said, "I'll go up and see McGonagall, and you two head to the library. I'll find you there once I've finished." And they went their separate ways, with Ron and Neville heading down the first-floor corridor while Harry began the ascent to the Headmaster's Tower. The castle looked a lot better than it had the day he left; it had mostly been repaired, but scorch marks and cracks still appeared on the walls, perhaps unable to be fixed by magic. There were also items conspicuously missing from the walls – portraits, suits of armor – whether destroyed in the battle, misplaced or stolen, Harry couldn't be sure.
Harry reached the stone gargoyle guarding the entrance to McGonagall's office. "Piertotum Locomotor," he said, and the gargoyle sprang aside to grant him entrance. Harry ascended the spiral staircase and arrived at the door to the office; he knocked, and it swung open at his touch, allowing him to walk through.
"Good morning, Potter," said McGonagall curtly from behind her desk. She looked quite stressed; no doubt it had been an ordeal to arrange for the school's reconstruction and reopening, not to mention the added burden of accommodating students like Hermione whose education was disrupted by the war.
"Morning, Professor," said Harry, sitting across from her. "Busy day?"
"Every day is busy, I'm afraid," McGonagall sighed, rubbing her temple. "Hogwarts has not faced such challenges in decades...then you show up and it's been nothing but trouble since." There was no mistaking the wry smile on her face at this, and Harry laughed.
"Professor, I wanted to ask you about the scepter that was stolen from Hogwarts," Harry explained. To his surprise, she did not register recognition at this.
"A scepter?" she asked. "Here?"
"I read about it in the Prophet," Harry frowned. "What is it, exactly?"
McGonagall continued to look perplexed. She opened one of her desk drawers and withdrew a small stack of papers. She rifled through them for a moment before pulling one towards the front. "Ah, yes," she said, showing Harry a printed photograph of the scepter in question: an ornate staff, about two feet long and adorned with ruby-red jewels at its tip. "Filch noticed it missing and found this in our records."
Harry examined the photograph. "But wait, I've seen this before!" he exclaimed. "Didn't this hang over the doorway in the Great Hall?"
"Used to," said McGonagall. "Been there for as long as I can remember, but it must have been knocked down during the battle. The bracket it sat in is still there."
"What's the story behind the scepter?" Harry asked. "You said it was valuable—"
"I have no earthly idea what its value is," said McGonagall. "Its value is implied by its age and its history within the school. As with every portrait and suit of armor that went missing in the fray."
"So it does have a history here?" asked Harry. "How old is it?"
McGonagall thought for a moment, then turned to the wall of portraits behind her. "Albus, do you recall this scepter during your early years?" she asked. "And what of you, Phineas? Dilys?"
The portraits of Hogwarts' various past headmasters stirred; as usual, they were pretending not to eavesdrop, but they had heard every word. "It precedes even I, Minerva," said Dumbledore.
"And I," said Phineas Nigellus.
"Likewise," said Dilys Derwent. "I remember it from my own first year, three hundred years ago."
"Well there you have it, Potter," said McGonagall. "A historical artifact nearly as old as the castle itself. But why the sudden interest? The Aurors aren't investigating petty larceny, are they?"
"Well, Professor," said Harry, "I'm sure you heard about the attack on Ginny Weasley at the World Cup this summer."
"I did hear rumblings," McGonagall muttered. "I take it she's alright?"
"Yes," said Harry. "But the person who attacked her was carrying a scepter that matches this description. And he was trying to give it to her. Does that make any more sense to you than it does to me?"
"Afraid not," said McGonagall, looking puzzled. "And you're sure it's the same scepter?"
"No," said Harry. "Though I think I'd like to show Ginny this photo to confirm, if that's alright."
"Certainly," said McGonagall. She brandished her wand and pointed it at the photograph of the scepter, muttering, "Geminio." A copy of the photo burst into being, which she handed to Harry.
"Thanks," said Harry. "And you're sure you don't know anything about the scepter's history? Who made it? Who it belonged to? Any of you?" He appealed to the portraits behind McGonagall as well, but none of them seemed knowledgeable on the matter.
"I have no idea," said McGonagall. "I suggest conferring with your friend Ms. Granger, who I hear has a proclivity for finding obscure trivia about this school in our vaunted library. I daresay she knows more about this castle than most witches and wizards alive."
"You're not wrong," Harry chuckled.
"Anything else I can do for you, Potter?" asked McGonagall. Harry considered dismissing himself and heading straight to the library to begin his research with the others, but a stray thought stopped him. Something that had nagged at him for months now…
"Professor," he said slowly. "Did you teach Dawlish when he studied at Hogwarts?"
"John Dawlish, the Auror?" McGonagall asked, surprised. "Why, yes I did. One of the best students I've ever had."
"Did you ever get a sense anything was amiss with him?" asked Harry.
"In what way do you mean?"
"Well…" said Harry. "It's just, I've always wondered why he wasn't a member of the Order of the Phoenix in the last few years. And he was a Slytherin—"
"I would remind you, Potter, that belonging to Slytherin House is not a condemnation of one's character," McGonagall chastised him. "I've taught many Slytherins who went on to do great things for the wizarding community. Professor Slughorn, for instance."
"Right," said Harry. "But then, Slughorn fought for our side in the war, didn't he? Dawlish was on Voldemort's side in the Battle of Hogwarts—"
"At least half of the fighters on Voldemort's side were Confunded or Imperiused," McGonagall snapped. "I have no doubt Dawlish was among them."
"But he still stayed with the Ministry after it fell to Voldemort!" Harry protested.
"As did Arthur Weasley, if you'll recall," McGonagall said. "Do you believe him to be a dark wizard?"
"Well, no…" Harry stammered. "But he was just keeping up appearances, keeping his family safe—"
"As were thousands of witches and wizards who remained with the Ministry," said McGonagall. "Dawlish was loyal to the Ministry to a fault. We knew this back in the Fudge days, which is why he was not inducted into the Order. He was a good man caught on the wrong side of history, which is no reflection of his integrity."
"None of the other Aurors stayed when Thicknesse took over," Harry muttered.
"A brave move indeed," McGonagall agreed. "However, cowardice is not a crime. Will there be anything else, Potter?"
Harry silently fumed at being shut down like this, even though he'd expected it. Why did no one seem to worry about Dawlish like he did? All the red flags were starting to pile up. For all he knew, he'd been the one who attacked Ginny at the World Cup! It would certainly explain why she'd vaguely recognized him. But he didn't want to get into a shouting match with McGonagall, so he relented.
"No, Professor," he sighed.
"Have you been sleeping alright, Potter?" McGonagall asked, suddenly looking concerned as she studied his face. "You look weathered."
"It's nothing," Harry dismissed. "Just some nightmares I've been having since the battle. Nothing I can't handle."
McGonagall considered him for a moment, then reached back into her desk for a blank piece of parchment. She dipped her quill in ink and began to write something. "Potter, I want to refer you to an old colleague of mine," she said. "His name is Claude Dupont, and he's a retired Professor of Divination at Beauxbatons Academy."
"Divination?" Harry sneered.
"He's also a skilled Legilimens," said McGonagall. "He used to mentor veterans of the First Wizarding War. This is his address in France; you ought to pay him a visit." She handed him the scrap of parchment, but Harry barely looked at it.
"No way," he said. "I'm not studying Occlumency again. Not after what happened last time."
"Occlumency and Legilimency are separate disciplines, Potter," said McGonagall. "And Severus had ulterior motives, as we both well know now. Professor Dupont might help you deal with these nightmares you're having."
"Yeah, alright then," Harry said, stowing the parchment paper in his pocket. He had no intention of following through, of course – he'd had enough of people digging around in his brain for one lifetime after sharing a mind with Voldemort for so long. Besides, a Divination teacher? Was McGonagall mad?! Harry envisioned himself sitting across from a Trelawney look-alike, listening to him foretell his imminent doom with increasing conviction, and had to stifle a laugh.
"Thank you for your time, Professor," Harry said, standing to shake McGonagall's hand. He turned towards the door, and out of the corner of his eye he noticed the Sword of Gryffindor gleaming in its display case in the corner. "Oh...did Neville return the Sword after the battle?"
"Indeed he did," said McGonagall, eyeing the Sword with trepidation. "I had no idea what to do with it, but he suggesting keeping it here for the next student who might need it."
"I see," said Harry. He knew the Sword was not strictly tied to the school, as it had been summoned all the way from Gringotts after Griphook tried to steal it. And that gave him a sudden idea… He bounded down the steps towards the library to reconnect with Ron, Neville and Hermione.
He found them as expected in a quiet corner of the library, but they were joined by none other than Luna Lovegood, who beamed at the sight of him. "Harry Potter!" she said, a little too loudly, causing a group of alarmed second-years nearby to whip around and gawk at him.
"Hiya, Luna," said Harry, joining the table. "Hey Hermione. Good term so far?"
"Yes!" Hermione beamed. "It's been busy with N.E.W.T. course loads, but surprisingly it's not too bad. I've even had time to make these." Hermioned withdrew two identical packets of handwritten notes, which she handed to Harry and Ron.
"What's all this then?" said Ron. "Homework?"
"Yes," said Hermione matter-of-factly, which wiped the smile off of Ron's face. "I'm taking all the useful seventh-year material and copying it down for you to practice. Stuff you'll both need for Auror duty. I can help you practice them over the holidays, but it'll be a good start."
Harry thumbed through the packet. It was loaded with all kinds of advanced spell work that went over his head, and he was already exhausted just imagining going through it all. But he knew it would be invaluable information that would save him loads of trouble in the future with Robards.
"Wow," said Harry. "Thanks Hermione!"
"We'd be lost without you, seriously," Ron shook his head in amazement. He gave Hermione a tender kiss, and Neville turned a shade of beet-red, clearing his throat.
"So Harry, what did McGonagall have to say about the scepter?" Neville asked.
"Not much," Harry muttered. "Though she did say it was hanging in the Great Hall, and it had been there for a while." He pulled out the copy of the photo she'd provided him with and set it on the table between them. Everyone craned for a look.
"Oh yeah, I remember seeing that," said Ron. "Never thought much of it; just assumed it was decorative."
"Maybe it was just decorative," said Hermione.
"Then why report it stolen?" wondered Harry aloud.
"There are eighty-seven artifacts registered as missing or stolen from the castle," Hermione said matter-of-factly. "We don't know if any of them were significant."
"Well, eight-six of them didn't attack my sister at the World Cup!" Ron said hotly.
"I know," Hermione said, exasperated, "I'm just saying we shouldn't jump to conclusions, that's all."
"But you haven't found anything about it in the library?" asked Harry hopefully.
"No," said Hermione, looking distressed. She pulled a fat stack of books out of her bag and plopped them onto the table. "I've checked in Hogwarts: A History, and even Dark Relics and Artefacts, but there's been no mention of a scepter."
"Sorry," said Neville, suddenly looking embarrassed, "but what exactly ARE scepters for, anyway?"
"That's the thing," Hermione sighed. "I've never heard of one with actual powers before. I don't see the use any witch or wizard could gain from a scepter."
"A sword's got no use to a witch or wizard either, without the enchantments," Ron pointed out.
"But it has practical uses, unlike a scepter," said Hermione. "In the Muggle world, scepters were just ceremonial, for kings and queens. You wouldn't actually use one for anything—"
"It can't be used to summon magic?" Harry wondered aloud. "Like a wand?"
"In theory it could, but only with the aid of another magical object," said Hermione. "Like Hagrid's umbrella, for instance. But there's nothing inherently special about an umbrella, is there?"
"More useful than a scepter when it rains," Neville muttered.
"Exactly my point!" said Hermione. "I'm sorry Harry, but I still don't see any possible way this scepter could've been related to Ginny's attack. Maybe Robards was right, and it was just somebody drunk, or not all there—"
"Maybe it belonged to Godric Gryffindor," Ron blurted out.
"What gives you that idea?" Hermione asked.
Ron pointed at the photo again. "Looks like rubies to me, doesn't it?" he said. "I dunno, I see red, I think Gryffindor, don't you?"
"That doesn't mean anything necessarily," Hermione said. "Plenty of valuables within Hogwarts are inset with jewels that don't correspond to the four Houses. Besides, Gryffindor already had the Sword, didn't he?"
"But that doesn't mean he can't have more than one relic, right?" Harry argued.
"I guess not," said Hermione. "But you'd think there would be documentation of it somewhere if he did—"
"The locket, the cup and the diadem weren't documented!" Harry protested.
"But none of them were displayed prominently in the Great Hall!" Hermione countered. "It could be, Harry, but it's just very unlikely!"
"The Ravenclaws used to gossip about that scepter, you know," said Luna in her typical dreamy fashion. "We called it the Scepter of Bravery."
"You did?!" Harry said, turning towards her. "What did you know about it?"
"Nothing, really," Luna shrugged. "Just rumors. We just thought it looked very pretty, and as Ronald said, the red could be significant towards Gryffindor qualities." Ron gave a triumphant, I told you so look to Hermione, who refused to acknowledge it.
"Well, I'll keep researching," Hermione sighed. "But if it's not registered at Hogwarts, or with the Ministry, I fail to see how we can learn anything more about it."
"Unless we could find out who made it," Harry wondered aloud.
"And how would we do that?" asked Ron.
"Hermione, do you know if the goblins ever forged scepters?" Harry asked. Hermione looked startled by the question.
"I-I don't know," she stammered. "Wizards don't have access to goblin records, so our understanding of their history is limited—"
"Exactly," said Harry. "They forged the Sword of Gryffindor, didn't they? Is it a stretch to assume they forged something else for the school?"
"What would that matter?" asked Ron. "So what if it's goblin made or not?"
"I think it's time I had a talk with Garunk the Great," said Harry. "He's been pestering me for months since the break-in anyway. Maybe he'd be able to track down the history of the scepter for us."
"Making a deal with goblins is very dangerous, Harry," Hermione warned. "They can be very vengeful, and they distrust wizards—"
"Well, I don't see what other choices we have," Harry sighed. "I'm tired of not getting any answers. In the meantime…" he said, pulling a blank piece of parchment paper towards himself, "we'll see if Ginny recognizes the scepter."
"You're going to write her a letter?" asked Ron, looking over Harry's shoulder as he began to write.
"Yep," said Harry. "And I'm gonna show her this as well." Harry reached into his robes once more and withdrew another photo: that of a handsome middle-aged wizard, standing tall beside Minister Fudge and Kingsley Shacklebolt…
"Oh, Harry, not this again," Hermione groaned. "Dawlish? You don't seriously believe—"
"I'm leaving no stone unturned, Hermione," said Harry, folding the picture of Dawlish alongside that of the scepter. "I asked McGonagall about him...she didn't have any suspicions of him, but—"
"So why didn't you listen?" Hermione demanded. "You're the only person who seems to be suspicious about him!"
"And I find that hard to believe," Harry growled, leering at her and Ron, "considering he attacked Aberforth in the battle and nobody seems to care!"
"I saw Dawlish during the battle, Harry," piped up Neville. "He looked out of it, and half his spells were missing. I don't think he was right in the head—"
"Well until we're sure, let's not just sweep it under the rug!" Harry snapped, feeling quite cornered all of a sudden. He felt a sharp jab in his forehead; he reached instinctively for his scar, but his mind was just tired, screaming at him to calm down. He rubbed his temple, attempting to coax out the fatigue that had plagued his brain for the past few weeks. Hermione noticed this from across the table.
"I think we could all use some rest," she sighed, slamming her current textbook shut. "I'm going back up to the Gryffindor common room for a bit."
"I'll go with you," Ron said hastily.
"I don't think you'll be allowed, Ron...you're not a student…"
"Well…" Ron stammered. "We can find a quiet place somewhere, I'm sure…"
"Say Neville," said Harry, getting the hint, "d'you wanna come with me down to the Hog's Head? I'd like to talk to Aberforth before we go."
"Sure," said Neville. "Haven't talked to him since the Battle. Luna, fancy joining us?"
"Oh, students are only allowed into Hogsmeade on specified weekends, remember?" Luna said.
"We could take the secret passage!" said Neville excitedly. "Through the Room of Requirement!"
Harry, Ron and Hermione shared a nervous look. "About that, Neville," said Ron sadly. "The Room of Requirement is gone. Destroyed in the battle."
"What?" said Neville. "No way. How could that be?"
"Fiendfyre," said Hermione. "I just tried to access it last week, and it wouldn't open for me."
"Ah," said Neville, a note of profound disappointment in his voice. "That's a shame, isn't it? Well, it served us well. Shall we, Harry?" And Neville stood up to leave abruptly, halfway across the library before Harry even registered his departure. He must've really grown attached to the room during his final year, not to mention the nostalgia of their first Dumbledore's Army meetings in their fifth year – where Neville finally found his voice and came into his own. Harry bade farewell to the others before following him out of the library.
Harry caught up to Neville at the Entrance Hall, and together they walked out onto the grounds. "Say Harry, I'm gonna swing by the greenhouses," said Neville. "I'll meet you at the Hog's Head, yeah?"
"Sure," said Harry, and they parted ways. Harry sensed the shift in Neville's mood, the nostalgia peeking through that only Hogwarts could provide. None of them felt satisfied in the Auror Office, Harry knew it. He wondered if he was doing the wrong thing, if they were wasting their time trying to solve a mystery that might not have a solution. But he couldn't worry about that right now. Ron and Neville had put their trust in him by signing up for the Junior Aurors, and he had to be a strong leader for them. He pushed his self-doubts aside and quickened his pace down the road to Hogsmeade.
It was late afternoon by the time Harry arrived at the Hog's Head, and there were a few shady characters populating the bar already. Aberforth beamed at the sight of him, beckoning him in. "Take a seat, boy!" he said. "What'll it be today? Hungry for more ham I hope!"
"Nothing right now, thanks Aberforth," said Harry. "Actually, I hoped to talk to you in private, if that's okay."
Aberforth beckoned Harry into the back room, where he settled into an old creaky armchair while Harry perched precariously on a stack of crates. Harry noticed that the scar on Aberforth's face was healing; it was still purple and pronounced, but no longer looked like it was about to erupt into a mess of blood pustules. "What can I do for you, Potter?" Aberforth asked. Harry was disarmed by just how much Aberforth looked like his brother Albus, studying Harry over interlocked fingers, his light blue eyes resting calmly on his face. Harry cleared his throat.
"It's about your brother, actually," said Harry.
"Oh, blimey," Aberforth sighed. "Still digging for his gruesome childhood secrets? 'Fraid I've got none left to share with you."
"No, nothing like that," Harry said hastily. "His tomb hasn't been fixed yet. D'you know anything about that?"
"Noticed that myself," Aberforth grumbled. "Damn disgrace if you ask me. I'm guessing it was some dark magic that destroyed it, but that's no excuse. I've half a mind to march up there and demand McGonagall patch it up tomorrow."
"I take it you've been keeping an eye on it, then?" asked Harry.
"I walk by the lake every once in a while, sure," said Aberforth. "Why d'you ask?"
Harry reached into his pocket and procured the Elder Wand. He held it up in the dim light, and Aberforth eyed it warily. "This was your brother's," said Harry. "I want to return it to its rightful owner. But I don't want to do that until it's safe, you understand?"
"Lot of stories flying 'round in the papers about that wand," said Aberforth, looking suspicious of its presence.
"They're all true," said Harry simply. "Well, most of them at least; I dunno what drivel Skeeter has been putting out lately. But I wouldn't want just anyone to walk up and pluck it out of the tomb themselves."
"So you expect me to what, put it back for you once it's fixed?" said Aberforth. "If half the rumors about that cursed wand are true, I want nothing to do with it."
"I can do it myself," said Harry. "I just need to know when the tomb is ready. And...I'd like to know if anyone's been snooping around it."
"I see," said Aberforth. "Well my legs aren't as spry as they used to be, and I'm not too keen on walking in the dark, so my coverage will be limited."
"That's why I brought you this," said Harry, rummaging through his pockets again. He pulled out a folded bundle of parchment and set it on the table beside Aberforth. Harry pointed the Elder Wand at it and said, "I solemnly swear that I'm up to no good."
The Marauder's Map came to life, its blank pages filling with ink as the Hogwarts grounds materialized within them. Aberforth eyed the document with curiosity.
"This will show you everyone's location on the Hogwarts grounds at all times," said Harry, pointing out the moving names and footsteps on the map. He pointed out Neville in the Herbology greenhouses, McGonagall in her office, and Ron and Hermione in an abandoned classroom on the third floor. Harry noticed that Peeves was just a single room over from them; he considered warning Ron with his bracelet, but thought it funnier not to.
"Remarkable bit of magic, this is," Aberforth whistled as he picked up the map and studied it more closely. "Who designed it?"
"Doesn't matter, they're all dead now," Harry shrugged. "Anyway, just keep an eye on the Map from time to time. If you notice anyone lurking around the tomb – or on the grounds in general who shouldn't be there – let me know."
"Alright, I can do that," said Aberforth. "I wasn't much of a brother to Albus in life, but I suppose I can be his keeper in death." Harry nodded in gratitude at this sentiment.
Neville turned up about an hour later, and soon he and Aberforth were swapping drinks and stories at the bar like they were old chums. They had seen a lot of each other last year during the Dumbledore's Army days, and Harry admired the camaraderie between them. Sometime after that, Ron walked into the bar looking somewhat disgruntled (Harry said nothing), and they enjoyed a few more drinks with Aberforth before calling it a night.
Harry lay in bed at Grimmauld Place that night feeling like he had more questions than he did walking into Hogwarts. But that only motivated him to work harder to find solutions to the problems he faced. He still felt an incredible burden on his shoulders, not only to solve the many mysteries they'd been presented with, and not only to lead the Junior Aurors properly, but to keep Dumbledore's secrets under wraps. That task felt more and more impossible with each passing day, and he was beginning to suspect that there was somebody out there actively seeking that information – waiting for him to slip. So he had to stay the course and find that person before they found him. Harry pulled the covers tight, silently praying that he would be able to find a few hours of sleep tonight...