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Harry Potter and the Ankh of Khepri
A Sequel to "Harry Potter and the Phoenix's Flight"
By The Velvet Ghost
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Chapter Four - Sweetness and Scrolls
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There was a few moment's pause after Harry knocked on the door of room 18,
where he waited, hoping he had the right room. Then from inside called a
familiar voice, but one he hadn't heard for a long time, and his stomach seemed
to twist as it met his ears.
"Hello?"
He bit his lip, and resisting the urge to fling open the door and bellow,
"SURPRISE!", he twisted the handle carefully, pushed the door open,
and stepped inside.
It was a fairly small room, with a dark green carpet underfoot and walls
painted a soft colour of pistachio, with dappled white here and there, like
clouds. There was only one window, but the blind was pulled down so everything
was cast in a gentle shadow. Though Harry didn't really take much time to
appreciate the decor, as he was far more interested in the bed at the far end
of the room, and the person sitting tucked in the sheets, reading a book
propped open on her lap. He felt an odd lump in his throat as he shut the door
behind him, and made his way over to the chair next to the bed.
She watched him closely as he sat down, her eyes narrowed, and then in a
suspicious voice, she said, "I think you've got the wrong room..."
She didn't recognise him. Harry was a little hurt at this, before he realised
that he was of course disguised, and nobody recognised him. He smiled a little.
"Don't you remember?" he murmured.
She stared at him, her face tight in confusion, before suddenly, it clicked. He
could see the realisation dawn on her face, and it was amazing to witness, as
her mouth fell open and she choked, "I-... Harry?"
He smiled again. "So the blonde doesn't suit me," he said, with a
raised eyebrow.
She just stared for a few moments more, before she blinked, and then said, her
face falling into a confused smile, "You... I didn't know you were
coming... what's with the eyes? Spell Damage is fourth floor, you know, you should
get them checked out."
Harry laughed. He hadn't realised just how much he missed her sense of humour.
Here she was, in St Mungo's, after nearly dying from poisoning, and yet she was
still just as care-free as he remembered. "It wasn't a spell, it was a
potion."
"You're in the right place then," she said, grinning. "The
food's not too good, but at least it won't kill you."
"How are you doing now?" he asked. "Are you allowed to eat
proper stuff?"
She nodded, easing herself back in the pillows and putting her book down.
"They've repaired most of my stomach now, and it can take food, though
nothing too spicy or hot... my muscles were worst affected. But the healers are
going to get me a wheelchair soon, so I'll be able to move round again. I can't
wait to get out of this room... I haven't seen anything but green for a
month... and how are you? What happened while I was away?"
Harry smiled weakly. "Well... Lord Voldemort attacked the school and we
lost half the students... I nearly got killed a few times... Draco got half a
million points for Slytherin, then we got beaten in the Staff vs Students
Quidditch match. We split up for the holidays, I've been sitting in the dark
for a month, and here we are."
"So it's just been happy happy happy all the way, huh?" she said.
"Pretty much," he said, with a light smile.
"What happened in the Quidditch match? Anything I would be interested
in?"
"Madam Hooch broke Ginny's ankle."
"Oh, how nice of her."
"And Professor Sinistra nearly broke Draco's nose with the Quaffle."
"I can tell it was a really calm and boring game then." She smiled,
took a glass of water from the side of her bed and sipped for a moment.
"Who took my place?"
"Alrister," said Harry. "He joined the Bright Sparks to make up
for you... he wasn't quite as good though."
She grinned, and then sighed, glancing into her water. "I'll miss
Quidditch..." At his curious noise, she looked up again, a longing
expression on her face. "My muscles are too badly damaged... the healers
don't think I'll be able to fly a broom properly again, let alone swing a club
at the same time." She sneered bitterly into her glass of water.
"Healer Webb kindly suggested muggle golf. I don't think so somehow."
"You'll never play again?" he said, sadly.
She shook her head. "No... well." She sighed again, and put down her
water. "They only told me a few days ago. They were asking me what I
wanted to do with my life, to check I wouldn't have problems, and I said
Quidditch. You should have seen the looks on their faces. Stupid Healer Webb...
"I don't think that's a very sensible career for a lovely girl like
you." Did you see her when you came in?"
"I don't think so. What does she look like?"
"She's really old... all thin and wrinkly and evil." Kainda shivered,
glaring at the far wall. "Mum's aunt. When I got put in here, she sent
Webb an owl asking her to look out for me."
"What do your family think of all this?" he asked, tentatively.
"I mean... it was Blaise that did this to you, he's in Azkaban
now..."
She nodded, a grim smile curling her lips. "Mmm, at least something good
came out of it. Mum and Dad come to see me once a week for twenty minutes or
something, giving interviews to the Prophet about how angry they are at Blaise.
How betrayed they feel. I can just tell that they aren't sorry at all... my dad
is like Blaise. He probably thinks I just got in the way of Blaise's glorious
work."
"I'm sorry they think that way," he said, and he truly did feel sorry
for her. Not only had she lost her future in Quidditch, but her family too, and
a great deal of her education. He put an arm gently around her shoulders. She
leaned into him, resting her head on his shoulder, and it turned into a cuddle.
He had missed her scent so much. It was just a tiny thing, something he'd never
noticed before, but she smelt oddly warm and comforting, like a soft blanket on
a cold night.
"I missed you," her voice said in his ear. She took a little breath
in. "I hoped you'd come and see me... it gets really lonely here, with
only the healers and my stupid parents once a week."
He'd never known Kainda to be somebody who ever felt lonely, but this just made
him realise how horrible it must have been for her here, with no friends coming
to see her. He patted her back as gently as he could, careful not to hurt her,
and then he asked, softly, "Where are you going once you're allowed
out?"
She smiled into his neck. "I thought you'd ask me that... I've got good
news... Dumbledore wrote to me a few weeks ago. He said that because I'd missed
so much time off school, and I hadn't taken my NEWTs or anything, he'd let me
back in to do seventh year again. So I can get some proper qualifications and a
decent job... after all, I can't play Quidditch anymore."
"So you're coming back?" he said, happily. "That's great! You'll
be with all of us then... what subjects did you take at NEWT?"
"Dark Arts, Pure Arts... um... Potions, Care of Magical Creatures,
Herbology and Muggle Studies," she replied. "Did you take any of
them?"
He nodded. "Pure Arts, Potions, Dark Arts, Magical Creatures. So we'll be
together in at least some classes." He smiled, and gently, he kissed her
cheek. Once again, he was suddenly hit with the realisation of how much he had
missed her. Her confidence and laidback attitude rubbed off on him, and made
him feel that no matter how bad things go, there was always a future out there
somewhere.
"Do you know who's doing Dark Arts this year?" she asked, still
resting against him, her breath coming in warm little streams across his neck.
"Lupin," he murmured. "He's lasted three terms now... I think
that thing about the Dark Arts job being jinxed was just coincidence..."
She nodded a little, and he felt her lips smile against his neck. "No
collar today... got you properly trained at last, have they?"
He smiled. "Yes... I was supposed to have it on now though, but I just
left it at home..."
She laughed softly, that rich chuckle of pure amusement. "You're in
trouble when you get home, huh?"
"I'd like to see him catch me," said Harry, grinning. He hugged her
close to him again, gently rubbing her back. He gave a little sigh of
happiness. He had the feeling that this was all he needed, somebody to love and
look after, even though he knew he would never admit it to anybody, not even
Kainda.
"So... what's with the disguise anyway?" she asked, curiously,
reaching up to rub some of his blonde spikes between her fingers. "You
really look different."
"Oh..." he said, remembering the Daily Prophet article, with a
sinking feeling in his stomach. "You see... I sort of needed to get into
the building without being recognised."
She drew back, and raised an eyebrow at him with a mild smile. "On the run
now, are you?"
"Sort of," he admitted. "There were a lot of reporters
outside... and... well, I don't exactly know how to say this, but in the Daily
Prophet this morning - "
To his surprise, she chuckled. "I'm not so ill that I can't read a paper,
Harry."
"You know?" he said, raising his eyebrows.
She nodded with a little smile. "Webb came bustling in here this morning
while I was eating breakfast, waving it around and demanding to know what I was
playing at, dating a boy of Gryffindor heart." She grinned. "I proved
to her that I can still throw a little. It took them ages to get the baked
beans off the wall."
"So... you're not mad?" he said, hopefully.
"Of course I'm not," she said, and then she winked. "You didn't
think I'd do a kiss-and-tell and sell my story to the papers now, did
you?"
He grinned. "No, I just didn't know whether you'd want the attention or not...
there was something about Ron and Hermione, Ron's probably still going to be
purple from embarrassment twenty years from now."
"They could disguise him like you," she said, playing with a tuft of
Harry's blonde hair. "I'm sure he'd love that."
There was suddenly a knock on the door, and Harry looked around, not letting go
of Kainda, who rested her head on his shoulder almost defiantly. It creaked
open, and the face of a very stern-looking old woman peered in at them.
"You have another visitor," she said, sniffily.
"Oh? Who?" asked Kainda, vaguely, nuzzling into Harry's neck as she
did.
The old woman's eyes narrowed at that. "It is another man. If you don't
already have enough of them." She pushed open the door, and stalked away,
as Snape came into the room. He didn't seem ruffled at the sight of Kainda
cuddled up to Harry.
"We're going now, Potter... we can return next week, I daresay." He
glanced at Kainda. "Miss Zabini, how are you feeling?"
"Much better, thanks, Professor," she said, smiling, and loosening
her arms around Harry's neck. She winked at him. "See you soon, Harry. By
the way, did you get my potion?"
He grinned, and said, "Yeah, I did... oh! I nearly forgot! I've got you
something..." He reached into his pocket, and found the little box he'd
put there earlier. He handed it to her gently, and said, "It's not
much..."
She opened it, with an eager look in her eyes, and then her lips melted into a
smile. "Harry... thankyou." She kissed his cheek. "You're too
kind."
He smiled, and uncomfortably aware Snape was watching, he gave her a last hug,
then stood up. "I'll see you really soon. Do you mind if Ron, Ginny and
Draco come next time?"
"Sure they can," she said, with a smile. "I'd love more
visitors."
Snape held the door open, and Harry gave her a last wave, before Snape pushed
him neatly out, shut the door, and said, "Come on, Romeo, we have the
press to fool."
Harry didn't really care about the Prophet reporters anymore really. He quite
wanted one of them to recognise him, so he could just smile and say, "No
comment", then bounce off. He practically skipped out of the third floor,
with Snape hot on his heels, and they met Tonks at the staircase.
"How is she?" asked Tonks, with a smile.
"She's fine," Harry chirruped, giving a little hop as he started down
the stairs.
"Could you guess?" Snape muttered, sarcastically, as he and Tonks
followed Harry down the staircase and back into the lobby. Before they headed
for the exit, Tonks grabbed him and did a quick check that his disguise was in
place.
"Apart from the fact you've got kiss marks all over your face, you look
fine to me," she said, brightly. She took a tissue out of the pocket of
her fur coat, and dabbed his face, just like a mother upon finding dirt on
their son's nose. "Off we go then. They'll have started the decorating by
now, so we can still join in."
They slipped carefully through the window of the department store, leaving St
Mungo's behind and stepping out into the muggle street beyond. All the Daily
Prophet reporters were too busy watching the people going into St Mungo's to
notice the blonde boy who came out, grinning from ear to ear, leading two
bemused looking adults down the street and away.
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"Harry, stay still and stop wriggling around, dear..."
"Can't I just go and decorate?"
"No, not yet." Mrs Weasley slapped another palmful of Madam Madmop's
Natural Hair Colour Restorative into his hair, scrubbing vigorously.
"Really, Tonks, I thought you knew what you were doing," she sighed.
"I did," Tonks insisted. "How was I to know you weren't supposed
to use a Blonde Charm on black hair?"
Mrs Weasley sighed again, and stood back to peer at Harry's head. He was
sitting on a stool with his face hanging over the sink, his hair covered in the
Colour Restorative, a towel wrapped around his shoulders. "Well, at least
he's not ginger anymore," Mrs Weasley said, heavily. "Poor lamb. I
think we'll need some more of this stuff, it's still dark red."
Harry gave a little sigh. Tonks had fixed his eyes back to normal easily, and a
quick wipe with a facecloth and his scar was back, but then they had tried to
return his hair to its regular colour. Nobody would tell him what had happened
when Tonks first tried the counter-charm, but Draco had said, heavily,
"You don't want to know, Potter".
There were footsteps in the kitchen door, and when Harry peered under his arm,
he saw Snape coming in with a large goblet of something. "What's
that?" he said, worriedly.
"Various things which strip out colourants," said Snape. "It
would have been brewed sooner, had the Black family used their brains and
invested in a cauldron made of something slightly more hard-wearing than
plastic."
"And we just pour it over his head, do we?" said Mrs Weasley, taking
the goblet from him.
Snape raised an eyebrow. "A steady trickle would be slightly more
effective than simply sloshing it over Potter, but as you wish..."
Harry braced himself as Mrs Weasley gently tipped the foul smelling potion over
his head. It ran down under his jaw and across his forehead, and all the time,
there was a very worrying hissing sound coming from the sink below him. After a
few moments, the last of the draft drained away down the plug, and Mrs Weasley
started examining his hair. "Marvellous, it's black at last..." She
threw a towel over his head, and started to rub his hair dry rather vigorously.
Harry could dully hear the sounds of explosions coming from upstairs, though
nobody thought any of this was out of the ordinary.
Mrs Weasley smiled, and said, promptly, "There now... lovely. All back to
normal."
"Can I go and help now?" asked Harry.
"Of course you can. But be careful when you walk in, make sure they've not
just lit a firework," said Mrs Weasley, smiling down at him, and he
hurried out of the kitchen, heading for the staircase. He followed the sound of
voices, and eventually found where everybody else was. He knocked on the closed
door of one of the bedrooms, and called, "Can I come in?"
The door opened, and Ron grinned out at him. He was covered in paint, and had
even managed to get some in his ears. "Not ginger any more?"
"Luckily," said Harry, grinning back. They both stepped inside, and
shut the door. Harry was amazed at what they'd managed to do to the room that
had been black until recently. Everything was a shade of warm beige, and
everyone was standing around with their wands, using quick-drying charms on the
paint.
"Alright, Harry?" Fred called from across the room.
"Yeah, thanks," he said, as he drew out his wand, and started to help
Ron dry the wall near the door.
George strolled around behind them, acting like the boss of a large factory.
"Good work everyone, jolly good work! Keep this up and we might get this
all done by the time the sun collapses in on itself!"
"Why don't you actually do some work, as you're so good?" said Ginny
over her shoulder.
"I am working, for your information," he said to her, pompously.
"I'm doing the most important job of shouting at you all until you actually
work faster."
"Oh, George," said Bill. "We're not doing badly... maybe we
should split up though, so we could get more rooms done at once. We still need
to figure out how to get Mrs Black's portrait down from the hallway..."
"We could do that now," said Mr Weasley. "Remus? Tonks should be
up in a moment or two, could you two supervise Fred, George and Ginny in here?
The rest of us can go and start work on rehoming Mrs Black to the
dustbin."
And so Ron, Draco, Harry and Bill all followed Mr Weasley out of the bedroom,
and down the stairs into the hall, passing Tonks on the way. Snape was already
ahead of them, and was standing just outside the Mrs Black Danger Zone, deep in
thought.
"Any ideas of how to get it off the wall, Professor?" asked Draco,
instantly sucking up to Snape.
"Many," said Snape. "Each foiled in some way. The old hag was a
typical Black, only ever lending their brain to unimportant things."
"I'm related to them," said Draco, looking slightly hurt.
"Mm," said Snape, apparently not bothered.
"The problem is that we can't get near enough to try and remove the
curse," said Bill. "Any noise made near her and she'll wake up. It's
impossible to block out all that screaming enough to concentrate."
"Well... what's behind that wall?" said Ron. Everybody turned to look
at him. "I mean, there must be something there. There's just not a door.
Look at the shape of the house, there must be a room or solid concrete or
something there."
"And your point is...?" said Draco.
Ron shrugged. "Why bother trying to get her off the wall if we don't even
need the wall? We could just knock it through into the other room."
Quietly, he stepped through into the Danger Zone, and tapped with his knuckles
on the wall. "It's hollow," he whispered.
"We could do with Mad-Eye here to tell us what's in there," said Mr
Weasley. "Well... I suppose it won't be anything dangerous, if the room
has been sealed for as long as Sirius said it has. There's no harm in
trying."
"What if that wall's supporting the house or something?" said Harry.
"It won't be," Bill assured him. "All wizard buildings aren't
supported by the buildings themselves. They're held up by magic. You could
knock out the entire of the bottom floor, but as long as you left one thing
connecting the upper floor to the ground, it wouldn't fall."
Mr Weasley smiled a little, rolling up his sleeves. "Well then... sleeves
up everyone, wands out. A good reductor curse should blast through it... if we
all aim directly for the painting?"
They all nodded, and drew out their wands, standing back.
"On the count of three," said Mr Weasley. "Ready? One... two...
three!!"
"REDUCTO!!" they all cried at once, swishing their wands over their
heads, and bullets of red light burst from the ends of their wands. They all
hit the painting dead on, there was a tremendous BANG that shook the whole
house, and in an explosion of plaster and bits of wood, dust flew everywhere,
obscuring their view.
The smoke and dust gradually filtered away, falling in a grey cloud and leaving
whispy streaks floating near the ceiling. Through the haze, Harry could see the
wall where Mrs Black's portrait once hung, blasted apart with a huge hole right
where the painting once was.
Mr Weasley coughed, waving his hand in front of him to try and dispel some of
the smoke, as they all stepped forward to peer through the hole into the room
beyond. "It's too dark," said Mr Weasley. "Let's see...
lumos!" The tip of his wand glowed with a tiny little light, and
carefully, he reached through the hole into the darkness. The circle of light
washed over what looked like a pile of wooden chests and many scrolls of paper,
covered in dust, and clearly placed there years and years before. "How
odd," said Mr Weasley, frowning pensively. "Family documents, perhaps?"
He gripped a bit of the plaster and pulled, gradually widening the hole, enough
for them all the step through. They all lit their wand tips and crouched down
by the mass of parchment.
Bill, who had just picked up one of the rolls, was unravelling it and reading
slowly with a frown upon his face. "What language is this?" he said,
showing it to his father. "The lines are in different scripts... that's
Egyptian there... then Norse runes... that looks like Chinese, and I'm sure
that's Cyrillic on the line below."
Draco had picked up another scroll. Harry watched over his shoulder as he
opened it up. "This is Ancient Runes... something about loss of... what's
that? Mortality? I'm sure it is... does it mean death?"
"Loss of mortality, and death, are very different things," said
Snape. He took the parchment from Draco, and read it aloud, only pausing once
or twice. "Many things in this world provide a loss of mortality.
Concentrated vampire blood, unicorn blood, the eggs of the phoenix crushed into
a fine powder. All must be combined together to create The Brew of Everlasting
Life."
Ron said, suddenly, from across the room. "Um... Dad? I think I know what
this is all about..."
They all crowded around Ron, staring at the parchment he had unrolled. As the
light washed over it, they all understood. There, at the very bottom of the
paper, was the dark mark, inked in green and black.
"Voldemort," Harry whispered. A few people flinched. "And
immortality... do you think these are all his notes? When he was looking for
something to bring him eternal life?"
"What would they be doing in the Black household?" said Mr Weasley,
frowning.
"Perhaps he gave them to her to look after," said Bill. He raised an
eyebrow. "All the Blacks apart from Sirius were Voldemort supporters,
weren't they? If he found what he needed for immortal life, he would have given
the scrolls to somebody he could really trust."
"What about my family?" said Draco. "Surely the Malfoys would
have been a more logical choice."
"The two families joined together though," said Bill. "Because
of your mother. Voldemort would also need a very, very safe place to hide the
scrolls."
"Malfoy Manor is safe," said Draco, a little hurt.
Bill looked a little reluctant for a moment, and then said, "Look at it
this way... Grimmauld Place, the house of the Blacks, is still standing. It's
not been raided yet by the ministry or anything. But Malfoy Manor..."
"... was taken away because of a technicality," said Draco, frowning.
"This doesn't matter," said Mr Weasley, hurriedly. "Stop
fighting. If these really are the notes that You-Know-Who used, we need experts
to come and translate them. Find out how he did it. There might be a way to
break his immortality... which of us can read these?"
"I could translate the Runes," said Snape.
"I'll help," said Draco.
"I can do the Hieroglyphics, and some of the Norse runes," said Bill.
"Though we'll need more people. We should get these sent off to the
ministry, Dad, they've got experts there. We don't want anything to ruin the
parchment."
"Of course," said Mr Weasley. "You're right. Everybody out, we
need to keep them all safe and untouched until the ministry arrive. I'll send a
message to Cornelius right away. Bill, could you send an owl to your boss at
Gringotts? Tell him we'll need translators, and lots of them."
"No problem," said Bill, as he stepped out of the room and hurried
away up the stairs.
Mr Weasley shepharded the rest of them out of the dark vault. "This is
such a discovery... and who would have thought there was another reason for Mrs
Black to hang her portrait there? It was a guard. A decoy, almost."
"Arthur?" said Mrs Weasley, peering out of the kitchen at them all,
as they emerged from the scrolls room, covered in dust. "What's wrong? Has
something happened?"
"Yes, Molly," he said, breathlessly, as he headed away up the stairs,
calling over his shoulder. "We've just found the key to the down fall of
the Dark Lord once and for all!"
She stood in the kitchen door staring after him, and after a moment, she said,
blandly, "Alright then... dinner's at six."
