Author's Disclaimer: HP – You have no idea how much I wish this universe were mine. ;-)

Author's Note: Thank you to Nicky15 for the super-fast turnaround. For those of you asking when things start to happen, enjoy! Please be sure to review if you have a moment. Since I don't get to enjoy JKR's tidy royalties, reviews have to suffice:-D

All That's Left Behind

Chapter 7 – Falling Into Place

Since coming to Number 12, Grimmauld Place, Harry found he couldn't shake the feeling of being watched, even when he was the only one in a room. While everyone respected his obsessive compulsion to study, they were still keeping a close eye on him.

He found it maddening, as he had no idea what to do with the kind of scrutiny he was under. Normally, the only time people watched him that intently was when they were waiting for him to mess up or to catch him doing something wrong…

Which was why Harry nearly laughed aloud when both Moody and Tonks had to go to the Ministry for an unexpected mandatory meeting. It had been two days since the full moon. Although by all accounts Remus was doing better than last month, no one expected him before the end of the week. The Aurors' surprise meeting meant that, the first time since leaving the Dursleys, he was truly alone in the not-so-noble house of Black.

Except for Dobby, he amended silently, but Harry trusted the house-elf's discretion, and there were things he needed to do. He'd been patient, and waited for an opportunity. Finally, one had presented itself.

If Remus knew I was going to be left alone here, he'd have kittens, he thought as he raced upstairs.

First place to check - the attic. That's where they put all the other dark artifacts, Harry recalled. While he understood it was undoubtedly dangerous going up there alone, he couldn't afford for anyone to even begin to suspect what he wanted, for they'd move them the instant they knew. If they're even here… But they have to be. Where else would they put them?

If the books they sorted through are still in the house, they're probably warded, though, he realized. How can I get access to them? He had no idea how long the Auror's meeting would be for, and dared not waste any time dithering. Abruptly, Harry stopped as he reached the third floor, slightly breathless, and feeling like a fool.

"Dobby?" he asked. The house-elf appeared almost instantly.

"Yes, sir, Harry Potter, sir?" Dobby asked, his eyes wide and eager to please. Harry took a breath and instead of the question he intended to ask, said the first thing that came to mind.

"How come you don't use a wand?"

Dobby's eyes widened, and Harry realized it wasn't right to tower over the little house-elf if he was going to ask favors. He sat down and faced Dobby, leaning his back against the banister as he pulled his knees to his chest.

"House-elves don't use wands. That's for Wizards," Dobby replied, shifting from foot to foot.

"Could you teach me how to do wandless magic?" Harry asked softly, and Dobby stepped back so quickly Harry was afraid he'd flee the room.

"Harry Potter is a Wizard, sir! Harry Potter doesn't need house-elf magic!" Dobby said in a strained, high-pitched voice.

"Easy, Dobby. I know I've got magic of my own. But I can't use it until I get to school, and even then, if someone gets a hold of my wand, I'm an target. You can apparate all over Hogwarts, and when you were at the Dursleys, you fooled the Ministry into thinking I had used magic," Harry said in a soothing voice. He didn't want to sound accusatory, after all. He was just making a point.

"I'm so sorry, Harry Potter, sir!" Dobby wailed, and huge tears rolled down his cheeks as he whipped his head to the side and began banging it on the banister railing across from where Harry sat. Harry realized it was distinctly possible the house-elf might throw himself down the stairs altogether.

"Stop it this instant!" Harry yelled, jumping forward and grabbing the little elf by the shoulders. Dobby's lip still quivered, but he stilled and grew silent.

"I just mean that I need to be able to do that! Magic, that is," Harry clarified, "I need to be able to practice magic without the Ministry knowing. I'm not blaming you for anything. You were trying to help me," Harry said and had to force his lip not turn up in an ironic twist as he spoke the words. Dobby's help had proved memorable, certainly.

"We're born with magic. Wizards grow into theirs," Dobby supplied hesitantly. "Dobby isn't not sure what Harry Potter is asking, sir."

"Draco Malfoy used to boast about how he practiced magic all the time before he came to Hogwarts. How did he do that?" Harry asked after a moment's thought. Dobby was the perfect one to ask this, after all. Details… He needed details.

"Master made sure he could," Dobby said, easily slipping in the title of his former owner, and Harry suppressed a shudder as he couldn't help but wonder just how free Dobby truly was of Lucius Malfoy.

"Right. Okay. I can see I'm going about this all wrong," Harry said to himself and let go of Dobby's shoulders. "No hurting yourself, right? This is just us talking." Dobby nodded obediently.

"Do you know if the rest of the books from the Black library are still here?"

"Certainly, sir. They're in a hidden room in the basement, near where the traitor used to live," Dobby said, and Harry was surprised at the venom in the small elf's voice.

"What traitor?" Harry whispered. Surely he didn't mean Sirius? The escaped convict had been partial to the kitchen, and spent a great deal of time there. He claimed it was the cheeriest place in the house, which at the time especially, wasn't saying much.

"Kreacher," Dobby spat in almost a snarl, the tips of his ears curling with anger. Those are pointy teeth, too.

"He betrayed his master. There's nothing worse a house-elf can do," Dobby said angrily, and Harry wondered how the house-elf balanced what he'd done to protect Harry with what Kreacher had done. After a moment's thought, he decided that whatever Dobby did to rationalize things, Harry had no business making him feel insecure about it.

The independent minded house-elf had tried to protect Harry at great personal expense. He shuddered to think what Lucius Malfoy would have done to Dobby if he'd succeeded in taking him home after the meeting with Dumbledore, when Harry survived the Chamber of Secrets. He had no doubt that Dobby's life would have been forfeit, but not before a considerable amount of suffering.

"Are there wards around the books?" Harry asked, holding his breath. Dobby nodded.

"I really need to be able to get a hold of them, and not have anyone know I'm reading them. Can you help me with that?" Harry pleaded. Dobby looked distressed for a moment, then appeared to come to some sort of decision.

"House-elf magic isn't something Wizards can do, Harry Potter," Dobby said slowly. Harry shook his head.

"It's okay. I didn't mean to upset you. I've been wondering about it and thought, since we're friends, that you wouldn't mind if I asked," Harry said with a shrug.

Dobby's lip quivered violently at his words, and his ears flattened against the back of his head. Harry wasn't sure what that signaled.

"Harry Potter is Dobby's friend?" the little house-elf asked in a tiny voice.

"Of course you are," Harry said gently. The house-elf's eyes filled with tears, but instead of doing anything dramatic (thank Merlin), he smiled hugely.

"Dobby is Harry Potter's friend, too," Dobby declared with such conviction that it made Harry pause for a second, but realized he had to move on.

"Erm, sorry to cut this short, but how about I meet you downstairs so you can show me where those books are?" Harry asked. Dobby blinked out of existence, and Harry snorted softly as he began running downstairs as fast as he could.

"This way," Dobby encouraged as Harry entered the kitchen, waving him into the pantry. Harry walked in and frowned as he looked at the tiny room filled with food stuffs. Burlap sacks of kitchen staples such as flour and sugar lined the floors of both sides of the pantry, and wooden shelves were stuffed with jars of preserves, spices, and canned goods of all sorts.

"What am I looking for, Dobby?"

"Here," Dobby said, and pointed his long finger at a spot on the stone wall at the back of the pantry, to the right of the cupboard that housed the water tank and tiny alcove which used to serve as Kreacher's den.

Dobby walked closer to the wall, and pointed to a particular spot, motioning that he wanted Harry to place his palm against a section of surface that seemed a bit smoother than the rest.

Interesting, Harry thought as he reached forward and placed his hand where indicated. He'd noticed the water tank cupboard was off center but then never gave it another thought. You notice these things and dismiss them. Stop doing that. You're missing details.

The moment Harry's palm touched stone, a section of wall the size of a tall door separated and swung open, forcing Harry to step back, as it was nearly as large as the pantry itself. Dobby snapped his fingers as Harry peered into the gloom, and torch flames sprung to life around him.

The room was larger than he expected – about the size of the Gryffindor boys' dorm room, and completely bare except for stacks upon stacks of books. Hundreds of them. Harry went to take a step forward, but Dobby stopped him.

Harry shook his head in disappointment"That's right. The wards," he said dully. I am so close. When he'd first decided on what he wanted to do, he'd been positive that the Black family library was likely to be the place he'd most easily find the information he needed.

Now, though, as he stood in the room and looked at the wealth of knowledge before him, Harry's goals felt more out of reach than ever. He could almost sense magic humming, vibrating in waves from where the books had been stacked. It was unsettling, like having a swarm of gnats buzzing near his ears, and Harry shook his head in discouragement.

"Yes. Harry Potter's friends used strong magic to hide it," Dobby replied, but looked deeply into Harry's eyes.

"What is it? You're trying to tell me something, aren't you?"

"Magic can't hide what belongs to the master of the house," Dobby slowly said. Harry took a step back and shook his head.

"No. That can't be true," Harry said automatically in denial. No. This can't be happening. Tell me he didn't do this.

"Dobby can show Harry Potter this room, because this is Harry Potter's house," Dobby said solemnly.

"NO! I don't want it! Couldn't he have given it to Remus?" Harry said and hated that his eyes were starting to water. It made no sense. How could Sirius leave anything to anyone?

"The wards won't tell Harry Potter's friends anything. Harry Potter can read what Harry Potter pleases," Dobby said, distressed at how upset Harry was and trying to soothe him.

How long had the house been his, and why hadn't anyone told him. Does Remus know? Harry wondered, and sagged dejectedly when he realized that his former professor probably did. Too many secrets, he thought in defeat, then laughed darkly at the irony. Everyone wanted Harry to not keep things to himself yet they still insisted on keeping things from him.

All his life, he'd never been able to ask for help. He'd had to rely on himself, because there was no one else. Then came Hogwarts. For the longest time, Harry had thought that Dumbledore wanted his confidence, but he couldn't bring himself to give it, no matter how badly he'd wanted the Headmaster's approval. He'd learned long ago that if you gave someone a club, there was a good chance they'd beat you with it.

Why hadn't the Headmaster told me that Voldemort might be listening and influencing my dreams? Harry wondered for the millionth time, and felt his face grimace in pain. How he missed Sirius!

Why couldn't the headmaster have told Harry? If Dumbledore had intended to feed Voldemort false information, that would have made sense. Then Voldemort couldn't know that Harry suspected anything. But Harry had been left alone, feeling like a leper already after saving Mr. Weasley.

He'd felt dirty and tainted because in his dream he'd wanted to hurt Mr. Weasley. Even his friends, as understanding as they were, had been disturbed, and had sent many an unsettled look his way when they thought he wouldn't notice.

What harm would it have done to give just the tiniest bit of reassurance that he was okay? That it wasn't him? Because it is…Now belt up. You're wasting time, he scolded himself. The damage had already been done anyway.

The fact that they still felt the need to keep secrets from him made Harry feel better about the secrets he himself had chosen to harbor. It's better that they not know. They'd try to stop me, which struck Harry as incredibly ironic. Looking back on his time at Hogwarts, it was clear that even while Dumbledore held affection for Harry, it didn't keep him from allowing him to step into harm's way. You can't try to shelter me one minute and throw me to the wolves the next, Harry thought, and grimaced at the thought. Poor choice of words.

Whether he wanted it or not, the house of Black was his, and offered him a host of opportunities he otherwise would not have. Even in death, Sirius was providing Harry with knowledge that everyone else would undoubtedly try to hide from him.

"I'm okay," Harry said to reassure Dobby, after taking a steadying breath. The little house-elf was quivering with anxiety, his bulging eyes enormous. "Can you tell when someone's arrived?" Harry asked.

"Dobby knows when any Wizard comes or goes," he replied.

"Good. Let me know if anyone comes," Harry instructed. Dobby bobbed his head eagerly, and Harry turned his attention back to the room.

Taking a deep breath, he stepped inside. Barriers of magic seemed to give way against his skin, making him feel as if he were stepping into a pool of water. Even his baggy shirt seemed to rustle with the currents of power, billowing gently against his knees as he stepped forward. Whoever warded this didn't mess around.

He knew it was dangerous, but he needed to track down memory charms like the ones Hermione mentioned. He wasn't retaining like he wanted to. Certainly, his studying helped. He'd even surprised Remus a few times with suggested alternative charms while they were cleaning up the last of Mrs. Black's portrait, something that gave him a small feeling of pride, but he felt like he was running out of time. He couldn't afford to stop now.

The air felt heavy and thick, and smelt of stagnant water with vague whiffs of decay.

Self-doubt plagued him as he neared the books. What if Dobby was wrong? What if the barriers held? Was an alarm going off somewhere? Scenario after scenario of things going wrong kept tumbling through Harry's head as he approached the stacks of tomes, ratcheting up his anxiety levels until finally, about three feet from the books, all the fear that had been building inside him seemed to burst, as if the emotions were a bubble that had been abruptly popped.

"Part of the wards?" Harry asked roughly, his mouth dry.

"Dobby doesn't think Harry Potter will have to endure that next time, though," Dobby said.

"Thank Merlin for that," Harry murmured and knelt down at the rows of text nearest to him.

At last. He began to peruse titles, hoping they'd been put away alphabetically, or in some other organized fashion. Edward Faustus' Dark Arts for Black Hearts. Pius Arsenikon's Killing Them Softly, a Guide to Poisons for Personal Gain. A Zealot's Descent into Blood Magic, by Nahemah Goetia… Harry blushed and quickly cast aside the last book. The pictures on the cover were particularly graphic. He sighed as he continued to skim through the titles. They weren't alphabetical, or organized by topic or title. It appeared they'd been stacked randomly, probably in a rush. Harry threw his head back and groaned in frustration, running his fingers roughly through his hair.

"Great. How am I supposed to find what I'm looking for in this mess?" he asked aloud.

Clearly Remus had not been involved with clearing out the library. Harry couldn't imagine the former professor allowing any books to be treated so cavalierly, even Dark Arts ones. Of course, look at where they are as well. I hope they've got water repellant spells, or some of them might already be ruined.

"Does Harry Potter know any book search spells?" Dobby asked softly from behind. Harry jumped in surprise. He hadn't realized the house-elf was still there. Harry nodded as he set the books back where he found them and slowly got up from his knees.

"I do," he said. Of the few books he could read from the Black library, he'd actually found some incredibly helpful research spells.

"Harry Potter can cast spells in here," Dobby whispered and began violently pulling on his ears. Harry froze and knew his jaw was hanging open.

"What?" Harry asked dumbly.

"The house itself may not always shield Harry Potter's wand from the Ministry, but this room will," Dobby said, his eyes filling up with tears.

"What's wrong, Dobby? Were you not supposed to tell me this?" Harry asked, bewildered by the way the house-elf was behaving. Dobby shook his head.

"Dobby was never told not to, as Harry Potter was never thought to be able to get in," Dobby replied cryptically.

"Then what's wrong? What's so special about this room?" Harry asked.

"No spells can be monitored here. Not even Dark ones," Dobby explained and pointed to the furthest wall. Harry felt nauseous when he realized what he was looking at. What at first glance looked like rock texture were in fact five sets of rusted manacles that dangled from where they were secured near the ceiling.

"Were people tortured here?" Harry whispered in horror. Dobby nodded and began to cry in earnest.

"This place shouldn't be Harry Potter's home! Bad Wizards did bad things here! The House of Black does not deserve Harry Potter!" Dobby cried. Harry reluctantly stepped away from the books, keeping one eye on the door leading back to the pantry.

"Dobby, I need you to listen for a bit. Can you do that?" Harry asked as he squatted down next to the house-elf. Dobby sniffed and stopped crying.

"Yes, Harry Potter," Dobby whispered.

"You've tried to protect me for a long time now," Harry began, collecting his thoughts. What he said now could gain him a powerful ally in what he needed to do, but he had to be sure Dobby was loyal to him, and wouldn't run at the first signs of trouble.

"But there are things I'm going to have to do. Things that might hurt me, or not be good for me, but I'll still have to do them. Can I trust you not to tell my secrets?" Harry asked bluntly.

"Of course, Harry Potter! Dobby will always be Harry Potter's ally!" Dobby agreed. Harry nodded in satisfaction.

"Thank you, Dobby. You have no idea what a relief it is to hear you say that," Harry replied, and returned his attention back to the books. He pulled out his wand from his waistband and closed his eyes for a moment, comforted by the heft of it.

"And there's no way for the Ministry to know I'm casting magical spells?" Harry couldn't help but ask one more time.

"Harry Potter must trust Dobby. No one will know Harry Potter is doing magic but Dobby, and Dobby promises to keep Harry Potter's secrets," Dobby said solemnly. Harry nodded and gave a soft smile to the house-elf, then raised his wand, pointing it at the books.

"Quaero Libri Memoria!" Harry cried, and watched, pleased, as books began to lift, suspended mid-air, one at a time. Pages in each book shuffled as if an invisible someone were thumbing through them at lightening speed, before returning them to their rightful place and moving on to the next one. Occasionally, in the midst of being searched, a book would glow faintly blue and, instead of returning to its pile, drift over to rest at Harry's feet. It took about ten minutes to get through them all, and when the spell was done, Harry had ten books to glance at.

Eagerly he sat on the ground and began to read book titles. The Secrets that I Forgot, by Lewis Tuttle. Messing with Memories, by Edward Historich. Wiping Slates by Wiping Memories, by Christmas Stedman…

"No no no, not Lockhart memory charms!" Harry groaned, but couldn't help but smile grimly as he did. Evidently there had been a wealth of information for Lockhart to perfect his specialty. Harry stood up, wand in hand, once more.

"Reverto Exemplar!" Harry said, and watched as the books returned to their original spots without disturbing their neighbors. He'd looked up a couple of words to use in his search charm, which now appeared to have been a good plan.

"Quaero Libri Recordatio!" Harry tried again, and waited for books to once again settle at his feet. This time there were only four. Quickly he picked them up and scanned their titles and couldn't help the pleased smile that lit up his face.

"Perfect! This is perfect!" he exclaimed, stunned that things were finally going his way, and quickly ran upstairs to the front entrance, where he'd last left some of his Hogwarts texts. He grabbed four fourth year books and held them close to his chest as he sprinted back to the hidden room in the pantry, acutely aware that someone could show up at any minute. He set each of the Black books next to his texts, and blessed the powers that be that he had been able to find so many useful spells from the few books he'd been allowed to read from Sirius' family library.

"Speculum Agnosco!" he said, waving his wand in a sharp arc, and watched as the Black tomes took on the appearance and characteristics of his Hogwarts books, while his Hogwarts texts began to look like the memory recall books he was 'borrowing'.

Now, to the casual eye, he'd be reviewing his school books. Just to be safe, though, he also sent his (now disguised) schoolbooks to fill up the gaps left by his search. If anyone had catalogued the order (however unlikely) or number (more likely) of the books in the room, they would not find any missing.

"How are we doing, Dobby?" Harry asked breathlessly. Finally, after all this time, things were coming together.

"Dobby and Harry Potter are still alone," Dobby replied. Harry held the books close and ignored the faint threads of fear that began to course through his veins.

No matter how good his intentions, he was still fully aware of the fact that he was intending to read, if not Dark Arts books themselves, then certainly books of questionable morality. He wasn't naïve enough to think that bad things couldn't happen because of what he was about to do. But in his gut – and his heart – this still felt like the proper course of action, and he steeled his resolve to what he must do.

Placing his hand on the stone, Harry watched as the door swung closed again. Even upon close examination, he could not see any seams in the wall that could have hinted at the hidden room. He took his books upstairs to Buckbeak's room, which he'd begun to spend more time in now that Mrs. Black's portrait had been dismantled.

The hippogriff trilled a soft greeting as Harry bowed, and began to huff gently, ruffling Harry's hair as he peeked over his shoulder and watched Harry tuck his books away in a tall bureau in the corner of the room. When Buckbeak ate, things got gory, and Harry chose not to have his books spattered with blood.

"Hello Buckbeak. I'll be up in a minute with dinner," Harry promised distractedly, and patted the hippogriff's beak as he began to leave the room. "Don't show them where I put them, okay?" he teased gently. Buckbeak nudged Harry's chest, and even though it was gentle, it still nearly threw Harry onto the bed. He recovered his balance and quickly slipped out of the room, heading downstairs for Buckbeak's daily allotment of rats.

No matter how confidant he was with his illusion spell, he still didn't trust the books not to show up as they really were to Moody, and chose not to risk fate by keeping them hidden. The front entrance had been, when Mrs. Black was there, the quietest place in the house to study, ironically enough. Now that he'd purged the house of her, though, the place Harry felt most comfortable was with Buckbeak. The hippogriff was the closest connection he had to Sirius, and he felt awful that he hadn't thought to ask after the hippogriff when he'd first arrived.

Most of the Order kept a decent distance from Buckbeak, which meant Harry would be able to study undisturbed, save for Remus once he returned. Harry prayed to anyone listening that his former professor really was all right, and that nothing bad had happened. He couldn't bear to think of losing him, too. He knew Remus would be horrified if he learned what Harry intended to do, and found that knowledge oddly comforting.

By the time Moody and Tonks finally returned three hours later, Harry's nerves were nearly shot. No matter that he knew he would be okay, that first hour in particular kept him jumping at shadows, fearful for an owl from the Ministry. Once that time passed, he'd begun to relax, but knew that he wouldn't feel completely at ease until the two Aurors returned from the Ministry without anything suspicious having been reported.

They were both tired and grumpy and refused to talk about the meeting at all upon arrival, other than to say it was a 'bloody waste of air', which appeared to be the mutual consensus. They all ate their dinners without much enthusiasm, other than for Tonks to occasionally snort in disgust at nothing in particular. After several quizzical looks from Harry, she finally blushed and kept silent.

He forced himself not to flinch when Dobby appeared to each of them, asking if they needed anything else after serving up the light dinner, and had to keep from smiling too innocently when Tonks finally turned to him with watchful eyes and asked how his day went.

"All in all, pretty quiet," Harry replied and lowered his eyes as he sipped at his tea.

"What did you do?" Moody asked abruptly.

"Just taking another crack at the Black library," Harry replied casually, and knew the portable sneakoscope the old Auror kept handy would read his statement as the truth.

"I saw some of the books Remus was letting you read. You'll have fun at school," Tonks replied with a fond smile, and the topic was left behind.

He didn't think anyone noticed the way Dobby's eyes slid to catch his, or the way the house-elf faintly nodded before disappearing, but he couldn't be sure. Either way, nothing was said. No owls were received or alarms raised.

That night, before settling in to read, Harry sent off two letters. One to Hermione, asking for any help she could give on how to find Wizarding legal books and where to order them, and the other to Ron. Harry was hoping Charlie Weasley might be up for another Operation Norbert, only this time with a hippogriff.

He'd wrestled long and hard with whether or not to contact his friends, but in the end decided they deserved to be respected for the choices they'd made, however foolish their decision to stand by him might be.

Besides, he had to admit he needed them. He loved them. They were all the family he had now, as odd as that sounded, and he could face his future as long as he knew his friends would be able to benefit from what he intended to do. His life might not be better in the end, but by Merlin theirs would be.

Tbc…

Author's Note Supplemental: Quaero Libri Memoria (roughly translated: search book for memory) - Reverto Exemplar (roughly translated: return to original) - Quaero Libri Recordatio (roughly translated: search book for recall) - Speculum Agnosco (roughly translated: mirror perception)