Chapter 6: Discoveries

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"Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that." 
	-Martin Luther King, Jr.

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The next week went by fairly fast for Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Life at Number 12 Grimmauld Place had improved, but a thick
tension hung in the air. The feeling of an impending attack weighed heavily in the minds of all of the wizarding world. Harry
had begun reading the Daily Prophet cover to cover, but there were no more reports of disturbances, nothing out of the ordinary.
It was quiet. Too quiet.

Harry had spent the days after his brief meeting with Dumbledore studying Sirius' will, and had finally made the decision to
investigate the house and find some of the things that Sirius had left him. He started in the attic.

As he pushed open the trap door at the top of the rickety flight of steps, Harry was forced into a fit of coughing as dust
flew out at him. Apparently, this area of the house had been overlooked during Mrs. Weasley's cleaning sprees, he thought as he
carefully climbed into the small room. A thick layer of dust covered everything he could see. There were several bookshelves
filled completely with hefty tomes, piles of boxes, and a few sheet-covered objects, which Harry guessed to be old furniture.
Harry began rummaging through a few of the boxes; some contained dark objects like they had found during earlier cleanings, one
was full of old dishes with the Black family crest, another held Christmas ornaments. Harry discovered a box that was filled
completely with photos; some were black and white, prominently displaying haughty-looking Black family members, others were
more recent, and many were from Sirius' days at Hogwarts - all, however, had the unique characteristic of being able to move,
as wizarding pictures could.

Harry pulled one of the white sheets up to reveal a formal-looking red parlor chair. He sat down in it, pulling some of the
pictures towards him, and began browsing through them. He had gotten about halfway through looking at all of the pictures when
he heard someone below him calling his name.

"Harry? Harry, are you up here?" A female voice yelled from below. 

"I'm in the attic," he called back, not looking up from the photo he was holding. He heard footsteps pounding up the staircase
and saw Ginny's shock of red wavy hair as she appeared from the small trapdoor. She was coughing uncontrollably. "Yeah, the
dust is really bad up here," Harry remarked, standing up. Ginny nodded, managing to stop coughing and brushing the hair out of
her eyes.

"I've never been up here before," she said, looking around in amazement. 

"I don't think anyone has been in about 20 years, from the looks of it," he answered. 

"Mum wanted me to tell you that dinner will be ready soon. I didn't know if I would find you though, no one's seen you in
hours!" she exclaimed.

"What time is it?" Harry asked curiously. Ginny glanced at her watch.

"Nearly 5. Have you been up here all day?" she asked. Harry shrugged.

"Yeah," he mumbled, placing the pictures back inside of the box. "There's just so much up here..." Ginny smiled sympathetically.

"I'm sure if you need any help cleaning up here, mum'll be happy to help," she said, rolling her eyes. "You know how enthusiastic
she's been about cleaning this house for the last few years..." Harry laughed.

"Come on, Gin, let's go downstairs. I'm starving."

"Sounds good to me," she answered, smiling.

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Dinner that night was attended by almost every member of the Order of the Phoenix. Several of the aurors had completed successful
raids that day and the mood at the dinner table was cheerful and upbeat. Harry was seated between Ron and Hestia Jones, the
kindly witch he had met only a few times before. Because of this, he was surprised at her repeated attempts to engage him in
conversation.

"So, Harry, what were you up to today?" Hestia asked, helping herself to more potatoes. Harry gulped down the food that was in
his mouth and answered.

"I was up in the attic all day... just sorting through things, finding what's up there, you know..." He shrugged. Tonks laughed.

"I bet that's a sight," she remarked sarcastically. "It was a mess when people still lived here, and now it's been untouched
for who knows how long..."

"That's what it looked like to me," Harry said. "Everything's full of dust. Ginny and I about died coughing." A group of people
around them had begun listening, and laughed at this.

"I expect you'll be wanting to ride the motorbike now, too?" Tonks asked excitedly. Harry grinned.

"Yeah, that'd be great, but I don't even know where it is. I expect it's in the cellar, but I haven't had time to look down
there yet."

"I'll show you as soon as dinner's over, I know exactly where it is," Tonks told him, taking a sip of pumpkin juice. "It's
quite old, but I'm sure it still runs well." 

"A motorbike? Isn't that dangerous for a boy so young?" Hestia asked, looking concerned.

"I agree," Mrs. Weasley said, worry etched into her face. Harry's heart sank.

"Nonsense." Kingsley Shaklebolt's voice boomed across the table. "I learned to ride a motorbike when I was 14. It's not
dangerous at all, I'm sure Harry'll do fine. Besides, he's of legal age now, you can't stop him!" Harry grinned at Kingsley.

"Thanks", he mouthed to him. Kingsley winked.

"No problem," he mouthed back.

********************

Harry could hardly keep from jumping up and down with excitement as Tonks led him through the dark and dingy basement of Number
12 Grimmauld Place. 

"I think it's right over- oops!" she cried, knocking over a box that fell to the ground with a shattering of glass. "Hmmm, I don't
think I'm even going to look at what was inside of that... Anyway, the bike is right back here, in this room." She pointed to
a door a few feet away. Harry opened the door impatiently and Tonks switched on the light. An object stood in the middle of
the room, covered in a white sheet. "Well, go ahead, uncover it!" Tonks instructed Harry. He pulled the sheet off and inhaled
sharply.

"It's beautiful," Harry breathed gently.

"It's in great shape for being so old," Tonks agreed, tapping on the silver trim. "It looks as though it's been polished... I'm
sure that was one of the first things Sirius did when he got back here. He was obsessed with this thing..." Harry was hardly
listening. The bike seemed to glow; it held all of the freedom and maturity that Harry longed for. He ran his hands along its
side, then studied the many gauges on the front of the bike.

"When can I ride it?" Harry asked enthusiastically. Tonks pursed her lips, looking thoughtful.

"Well, we'll have to have someone teach you... You don't really need a driver's license, as long as you stay away from muggle
areas... You're not old enough to drive it according to the muggles, but they're really not popular with wizards, so we don't 
have as many restrictions."

"Great," he replied, grinning. He rushed upstairs to tell Ron about his new possession, climbing the flights of stairs two
at a time. By the time he reached his and Ron's room, he was out of breath.

"So?" Ron asked expectantly, looking almost as excited as Harry felt.

"It's... amazing... I can't wait... to ride it..." Harry panted, trying to catch his breath. 

"You'll have to take me!" Ron cried, looking a bit sad.

"Did you get chased upstairs by a herd of angry hippogriffs, Harry?" Hermione asked sarcastically. "It sounds like it, to listen
to you!" Harry sensed her mocking tone and had a feeling that she probably wasn't as happy about the motorbike as he and Ron
were. 

"Blimey, Hermione, I bet it's amazing!" Ron argued, looking scandalized that she would show any opposition. "This is the coolest 
thing ever!" Dobby appeared with a soft popping noise next to Harry as the Ron and Hermione argument continued.

"Is you needing a drink, Master Harry? You is looking thirsty!" he squeaked.

"Sure," Harry answered, waving his hand carelessly in the air. "Water's fine." Hermione was eyeing Harry with narrowed eyes.

"What?" Ron asked, picking up on the odd tension in the room as he glanced back and forth between Hermione and Harry.

"So you have a house-elf now, Harry?" Hermione asked dangerously. Harry gulped, looking at Ron for support.

"Er... well... he just sort of showed up, I think the Order wanted someone who would watch over me, you know..." he stuttered.
Damn it, I forgot all about Hermione's S.P.E.W. stuff, Harry thought worriedly.

"Well that makes sense. But when did they give you permission to order him around like he's your slave? Hmm?" Now her hands
were on her hips and she was looking even more angry.

"Hermione, I'm sorry, I didn't mean-"

"Well, you should watch how you're acting," she snapped, storming out of the room. Harry sighed, collapsing onto his bed.

"Sorry mate," Ron sighed. "You know how she is about house-elves..."

"Yeah, I know," Harry muttered. Dobby appeared with a glass of water and Harry felt a pang of guilt in his chest. "Thank you
Dobby," he said gratefully. He sat up in his bed, feeling uncomfortable in the situation. "Er... Dobby... I'm not treating you
badly, am I? I mean, did you want to be paid or anything, because if you do, that's fine-"

"Oh, no, sir," Dobby answered, shaking his head decisively. "You is much better than the Malfoys! Dobby is already getting
paying... I mean, umm..." He looked around nervously. "Bad Dobby!" he cried, running head first into the wall. Harry ran after
him and pulled him back. "Thank you, Master Harry," Dobby whispered.

"Who's paying you? The Order?" Harry asked wearily. Dobby nodded.

"You isn't supposed to know that, Harry Potter," Dobby said, still whispering. Harry shrugged.

"I figured as much. They're always sending people after me to make sure I'm being safe. Well, at least that's one thing I can
tell Hermione," he said, laying back on his bed. "Maybe she won't be quite as mad at me if she knows Dobby's getting paid," he
told Ron.

"Then Harry Potter shouldn't tell her about Winky. She is here, but she is not getting paid. She says paying is disgraceful to
a house-elf." Dobby looked up at them with his tennis-ball sized eyes.

"Winky's here?" Ron asked, surprised. "I've been here all summer and I haven't seen her!" Dobby smiled.

"You isn't supposed to see house-elves, Mr. Weasley. They is supposed to be invisible to their masters." He nodded to them and
disappeared.

"What a weird night," Harry said, closing his eyes as he leaned back onto his pillow.

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Hermione was still sore at Harry the next day, only talking to him when she had to. Ron and Harry had not told her about Winky
living at Number 12, but she found out nonetheless the next day when she spied Winky tending to the fire in the parlor upstairs.

"Winky!" she exclaimed. "I didn't know you were here." Harry and Ron exchanged an uneasy glance; last time Hermione had a
conversation with Winky, she had ended up even more upset. 

"Oh, hello miss, sirs," Winky greeted them nervously. Unlike the last time the trio had seen her, Winky was now dressed in
a white blouse and a simple black skirt which were both clean and looked new. Her appearance was no longer unkept and she
looked almost happy.

"Why're you here?" Hermione asked kindly.

"Master Dumbledore asked me to come after the old house-elf left. House-elves is not supposed to leave their houses," she said
harshly, looking angry. Harry assumed she was referring to Kreacher.

"I'm sure you'll be better than the old one," Harry muttered. Winky grinned at him, but Hermione looked mad.

"Thank you, sir!" Winky said with a smile as she left. 

"Harry, Kreacher was only mean because of all he had to go through! Now, if he would have started out with a normal family,
being paid and having vacations and weekends off-" 

Fortunately, Hermione's house-elf rant was cut off by a sharp tap on the window. Harry looked outside to see several formidable
looking barn owls - he had never been happier to receive his Hogwart's letter. From the expression on Ron's face, it appeared
that he felt the same way. Ron ran over to the window and opened it; the owls swooped inside, dropping off letters for the
three of them, while a fourth owl flew out of the room to find Ginny. Harry tore his open immediately, throwing aside his
list of books. He picked up the first piece of parchment inside and read it.

Dear Mr. Potter,

Because of your mounting responsibilities and because of Gryffindor's dismal performance last 
year during the Quidditch season, you have been relieved of your captain duties. I hope that
you can accept my decision gracefully. You will remain seeker and have all other privileges 
as a team member. I have chosen another captain who I hope will have more time to put into our 
team. 

On another note, I am delighted to tell you that the Headmaster has chosen you to be Head Boy.
Please understand that this responsibility is very important and would be almost impossible to
undertake if you were Quidditch captain also. I hope you understand that the situation had to 
be remedied in this manner. If you have any questions, please contact me. Enjoy your summer
holiday.

Sincerely,

Professor McGonagall

Harry stared at the letter in his hand, his mouth hanging open. The anger that he had felt when he had read the first paragraph
was quickly being replaced; he understood, as he would not have only a year ago, that some decisions are hard to make and
that Professor McGonagall had to choose between him being captain or Head Boy. He understood that he couldn't do both. However,
that still didn't take away the shock. I'm Head Boy, he thought giddily, putting a hand to his forehead. He looked up
at Ron and Hermione, both of whom had similar expressions on their faces. 

"I'm Head Boy," he mumbled, still staring at the letter. Hermione shrieked.

"I'm Head Girl!" she screamed, running over and throwing her arms around Harry. "Harry, this is great! This year is going to
be so much fun!"

"I'm Quidditch team captain," Ron whispered, looking at his letter as if it were a dangerous disease. "But how... I thought
that you were...." he stuttered, glancing nervously at Harry.

"Yeah... I guess McGonagall didn't want me doing both. She said so in my letter," Harry answered, gesturing to the parchment
he was holding in his hand. "It's okay, really!" he told Ron, answering his unasked question. Ron grinned.

"Hermione's right.. this is going to be the best year ever!"

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Harry went to bed that night feeling satisfied. He was slightly disappointed that he was no longer Quidditch captain, but he
was excited to be Head Boy and happy for Ron. He closed his eyes and pulled his blankets closer around him. He was warm and
comfortable and happy for once. How long can this last, with everything being perfect? he wondered before falling asleep.

Harry found himself inside of a white room. It was completely empty and devoid of all color. He turned and saw a woman behind
him with beautiful dark hair and sable sparkling eyes. She was dressed in what Harry thought looked like an old-fashioned outfit;
her dark crimson dress fell to the floor, its full skirt billowing out across her feet. She smiled gloriously at Harry.

"So pleased to meet you, Harry Potter," she said, holding out a hand. Harry stared at it, confused.

"Is this a dream?" he asked her. She simply smiled, lowering her hand gently.

"If you wish to call it that," she said. "It isn't important whether this is a dream or not. The important part is this: you
know about your prophecy. You know what your destiny is. You must stop Voldemort, Harry. He has acquired weapons more powerful
than ever before. You must stop him, Harry. Stop Voldemort...." Her words trailed off and the scene swirled in front of his
eyes. Harry awoke suddenly, his heart racing. Who was that? What did she mean? What weapons? he asked himself, his
mind turning a million miles an hour. What's going on?

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