Harry Potter and the Library of Templar
Chapter Four :
The Key to Vault Nine Hundred and Twenty-One
"Don't do that, Bill," Hermione scolded. Giving her a cheeky grin reminiscent of Ron, the eldest Weasley brother sat down on the chair Harry was leaning against.
"That's a key," Bill announced. Harry glanced again at the highly-polished gold in his hands.
"But you said you know what it's for," Harry said. Bill seemed to contemplate this, deciding he should speak when he saw the look on his sister's face.
"It's a key to Gringotts." Ron snorted at him.
"Obviously, but whose?" persisted Ron.
"Well, Ron, you're Harry's best friend. Who would give him a vault key for his sixteenth birthday? Bill patronized. Ron opened his mouth to retort, but Harry cut him off.
"No one."
"Your parents," Bill said, looking uncomfortable in the awkward silence that fell upon the group.
Harry blinked, not really minding the talk of his parents. "They're dead." Immediately, Harry went through a chain reaction, brought to his morbid thoughts of Sirius. Swallowing hard, Harry focused on Ron's words.
"I suppose no one's bothered to tell you, but turning sixteen is a bit of a big deal if you're the oldest in an old pureblood line. I was really young when Bill had his sixteenth birthday, but I still remember it. There was this huge party and Uncle Reggie got Mum drunk! Best time ever."
Bill laughed. "That was a lot of fun."
"I knew turning sixteen was a bit of a celebration in the muggle world," Harry offered, rather pathetically he thought.
"You wouldn't believe what my grandmother wanted," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "She was adamant on Mum and Dad keeping me home from school until after my birthday so she could throw me a ball. It was disgusting."
"You never said anything about that," Ron said. "You never talk about your grandparents."
"There's a reason for that," said Hermione. She shook her head and muttered something under her breath. Ron looked at Harry with raised eyebrows. Harry shrugged.
"Why's sixteen so important?" he asked.
"The year an heir turns sixteen, it marks his journey from an adolescent to an adult. These are the years that are supposed to shape the man you will become. Traditionally, a wizard receives a key to a family vault on this day."
"But I have the key to mine," Harry interrupted.
"Let me finish, Potter," Bill intoned. "You have the key to a vault with part of the Potter fortune. The Potter aren't as old as the Weasleys but you're a pretty old line. You're sure to have a nice collection of treasure and heirlooms. I got this really weird armor from the Roman age or something."
"So I have a treasure vault now?" Harry asked slowly. Bill nodded in affirmation. "Bloody hell, I have to clean it." Harry began muttering darkly, making a list in his head of all the things he would likely need.
"Why on earth would you clean it?" asked Ginny. The idea seemed to amaze her. Ron mirrored this.
"Because you can't find anything when everything is all over," Harry intoned. "Important things need to be orderly. That way when you need it, you don't have to go through piles of junk to find it."
"I never knew that you liked your things neat, Harry," Hermione said pleasantly.
Harry blinked at her. "Well, you are a bit of a freak about that, Hermione." She looked rather put out. So he hastily added, "but it's charming, of course. I suppose that this is just something that stuck. I used to clean and organize the attic every time the Dursleys added something. There was this one incident, when I was four and Aunt Petunia was looking for some portrait of Uncle Vernon and Aunt Marge's great-great-great-great-grandfather or something and she couldn't find it. After that, I had to keep everything in order up there."
Bill, for some reason, seemed a bit startled at the story. Hermione and Ron exchanged a quick look of exasperation and Ginny seemed slightly annoyed. He figured that he should have kept this slight narcotic of his to himself.
"Do you think they'd let us go to Diagon Alley again tomorrow or something? I mean, I was hoping to take care of this before we left for school. Get it off of my mind."
"I suppose it's up to Dumbledore," Ron said with a shrug. Harry felt his stomach clench in anger.
"Of course it is. It must have burnt him up inside, knowing that he lost me," Harry spat bitterly. He squeezed the key tightly in his hand, anger at Dumbledore sweeping through him. The sound of shattering glass made them all look at the grandfather clock in the corner, the glass now lying in shards on the floor. He was shocked, somewhere inside. He hadn't realized how mad he still was. Apparently the lazy novelty at being back among wizards was wearing off. Everything that had happened was suddenly beginning to become sharper in focus.
Harry dimly noticed Bill exit the room, eyes understanding.
Hermione sighed softly. "We knew you were still upset." Harry spun around. She looked slightly scared, hand clamped over her mouth. But Harry just stared at her. "Sorry, Harry. It's just… well…."
"You were a right royal prick last year," Ginny said casually, picking a bit of dirt from under her nail. Harry let a slow breath out and sunk back into the couch.
"I believe I'm perfectly justified. Dumbledore…" Harry didn't finish, eyes flashing.
Ginny rolled her eyes and turned to him, leaning forward. "I don't care if you were angry. Bully for you! Pummel the life out of your pillow, or fly at breakneck speed on your broom, or, I dunno, blow something up. But Ron and Hermione took all of your crap last year, and I don't think they deserve it again this year."
Harry blinked at the girl in front of him. Her eyes were blazing and her voice rung slightly in the room. Huffing, she went back to her nails. Harry could feel himself start to blush.
He turned to Ron and Hermione. Hermione was wringing her hands nervously and Ron was staring intently at the floor. Studying them, he thought for a moment. Hermione's eyes kept flitting up to him. Ron kept flexing his toes and twitching.
"She's right." Harry didn't understand why his voice was slightly hoarse. Hermione froze and Ron's head snapped up. Harry shifted uncomfortably at their startled expressions. "I mean about how I treated you. I was angry and all, but you didn't deserve it. And I'm not going to pretend that I'm not still angry or anything, but I shouldn't have taken it out on you two."
"Harry, that's what we're here for. We knew it would be different. After Cedric." Hermione gently squeezed Harry's hand as his breathing sped up a bit.
"And we didn't suffer alone," smirked Ron. "You went off on a few other people."
"I suppose I, er, should apologize to you too Ginny." Harry glanced guiltily at her. She waved it off.
"I understand. After all, Voldemort was rather testy as well, and one can only assume that bloody scar of yours was twitching like a bugger." She glanced up with an evil little smile on her lips. "Besides, you were quite right in telling Ron and Hermione off in the Great Hall. They do fight too bloody much."
"Watch your language, Ginny," Hermione snapped, slightly red. Ron's ears were coloring, Harry noticed absently. "And, Harry, we already talked about this. Ron showed you those letters and everything."
"I can't promise things will be the same as before," Harry whispered. "I want to. But I can't. Voldemort… he isn't just going to go away. And as long as he's still around, he's still part of me." Harry let his head fall into his hands.
"What are talking about?" Ron's voice had wavered, and his hands twitched ever so slightly. Harry swallowed, realizing what he had let slip.
"You don't know everything that happened at the end of last term."
"Obviously," said Ginny. "You were even worse afterwards. Understandably so. What with Sirius and all. But you were in Dumbledore's office for a long time."
Harry laughed, his voice cracking to more of a sob in the middle. "I chased Bellatrix out by the fountain, after Si…Sirius."
"And then?" whispered Hermione. They seemed frightened. As if interrupting him or allowing him to stop would end this timid revelation. Harry realized how much he had yet to tell them, and regretted it.
There had been a time when the three had shared everything. Ron and Hermione used to know all about his issues with Voldemort. But now…. Harry looked warily, brokenly up at them.
"Ron! Hermione! Ginny! Harry!" The others jumped at the sound of Mrs. Weasley's voice. Suddenly, Harry was knocked out of the slight trace he had been in. Glancing at his friends as he crossed the room to the doorway, he shuddered, thinking of what he had almost told them. What would they have thought? He was no better than Voldemort himself.
Harry heard Ron moving around as soon as he stirred. Cracking an eye open, Harry saw that it was five o'clock in the morning. "Ron, what the bloody fuck are you doing?"
"I just needed to send an owl," Ron said, whispering despite the fact no one but Harry was in the room.
"Right. Do it quieter next time. And preferably not in the hours when normal people are asleep." Harry rolled over, hoping to catch up on lost sleep. It was no go. Moaning in resignation to his alert state, Harry heard Ron flop back into bed. Within moments, Ron's breath evened, telling Harry his friend was asleep again.
Harry crawled quietly out of bed.
Dressed in a pair of Dudley's old jeans (which were not so loose anymore, Harry noted wryly) and one of his school shirts, Harry left the room and made his way downstairs to the kitchen. He forced himself to keep memories at bay ─ Sirius, singing ─ Sirius, grinning ─ as he moved through the house.
Happy to have reached his destination, Harry walked into the room without hesitation and immediately moved to make himself tea. Distracted, Harry literally jumped in the air when a voice sounded behind him.
"Not even a good morning, Potter?"
A chill ran down his spine. Careful to keep his breathing calm, Harry looked blankly at Snape. "Good morning." Snape sneered.
"What are you doing up at this hour? Instigating trouble? Of course you are. What else does our resident Golden Boy do?"
Harry turned sharply and continued with his tea. Nothing more was said between the two as Harry finished. Silently, he pulled two cups from the cabinet and set them on the table and poured himself a cup of tea. The teapot and the other cup sat innocently between the two.
Harry's eyes closed in welcome as the tea warmed him. So involved in the calm state he had found, he was startled when he heard the scraping of the tea cup. Looking at Snape, he saw the man had poured himself a cuppa. His hands were shaking.
"What are you doing here?"
Snape raised one thin eyebrow. "I am a member of the Order, Potter. This is our headquarters. I have every right to be here. You, however, are not a member. What is your excuse?"
Harry glared at his Potions professor.
"No comment? What a shame."
"Severus." Harry broke the intense staring match, turning to Professor Dumbledore with barely contained vehemence. "Mr. Potter." Harry said nothing, only turned resolutely to his tea. "Severus, Poppy is waiting for you." The Potions Master took his leave with a final glare of loathing towards Harry, leaving Harry alone with the Headmaster.
Silence reigned as Harry felt the old wizard's eyes on him.
"Where were you, Harry?" Not sure of exactly why, Harry felt a bit of triumph run through him. Dumbledore knew nothing of where he had been. It felt nice, to have outsmarted the man who thought he knew everything.
"I couldn't tell you," Harry said evasively, happy that he was able to so easily twist this truth.
"You know where you were," Dumbledore said softly. "I know you do." Harry stared unblinkingly at him. The years that made Dumbledore were suddenly visible and Harry felt a flash of guilt before his anger took over. Wearily, Dumbledore seated himself in a chair. "Why do you not tell me the truth?"
"I have never lied to you." Harry's tone did nothing to disguise the insinuation in his words.
Dumbledore's sigh filled the room. "Is this really how it must be, Harry? You wish for your anger to be a barrier between us?" Harry stared incredulously at the powerful wizard.
"My anger?" Harry felt his incredulousness down to his toes and up to the tip of his hair. "It's not anger. It's resentment." With that, Harry stormed from the room, not quite able to dodge the slightly guilty feeling that floated back from the image of Dumbledore's desperate, hopeless aged face.
It was hours later when the door to the roof opened behind Harry. He didn't bother to turn. He knew few people would have approached him while he was in one of his moods. And, truthfully, Harry wasn't certain he wanted to be alone.
"You woke up nearly the entire house, storming up here."
"It didn't stop you from following, did it?" Harry was careful to keep all malice from his voice. Remus gave a half-chuckle.
"Got me there, Harry." The werewolf settled next to him. Harry didn't turn, but Lupin made no move to force him into a conversation. They sat together, saying nothing, only staring at the empty muggle street that stretched before them. Harry, who had lost his anger long before, hugged his knees to his chest, mind relentlessly drifting to all the places Harry wished it would stray from.
"You know, it always amused me, this neighborhood." Harry looked at Lupin, waiting for him to expand on his comment. "The Blacks were firm supporters of flushing all muggle blood out of the wizarding world. Odd, isn't it, that around their grand house, muggle built their community. This area used to be part of wizarding London, a long time ago."
"That's irony for you," Harry said, somewhat bitterly. His mind strayed to Sirius, thinking of the barking laugh he would have given in response to Lupin's observation. His thoughts took their banal path and soon Harry was retracing his steps that night at the end of last term.
If he had only…. No, Harry would not allow himself to do this again. He had spent the entire summer avoiding wallowing. He was not about to start now. Besides, if Kreacher hadn't lied - if Snape had actually reassured him or done something sooner – if Dumbledore had told him the truth, if he had looked at him, had helped him to learn Occlumency instead of shipping him off to Snape –
Harry gave an angry hiss and slammed his fist against the roof. Lupin jumped though if Harry hadn't seen it happen he'd have thought the older man made no reaction as he returned to simply watching the teenage boy next door let out his large dog.
The silence between them was soon strained, as Harry waited expectantly for Lupin to begin saying something. But nothing came. Shifting uncomfortably, Harry lay back and gazed unseeingly at the sky.
"Harry," Lupin seemed reluctant to speak. It was apparent he had not found their quiet at all disconcerting, quite the opposite of Harry's sentiment. "I – you should be getting back inside. Molly has breakfast ready and I'm sure your friends want to see that you're all right."
Lupin stood abruptly and walked calmly away. Watching the werewolf's retreating form, Harry noticed that Lupin's threadbare robes hung looser on his frame than at the end of the year. Shaking his head, Harry followed his former professor back to the kitchen, accepting a heaping plate from Mrs. Weasley and gratefully refilling his tea cup.
It wasn't until the next day that Harry remembered the flash of pain in his scar, so brief he thought he imagined it.
They had spent the day in the enormous library, under Mrs. Weasley's order, making plans for everything they wanted to change about Number Twelve Grimmauld Place. It had started as a list of things they should clean again, but had quickly morphed into rolls of parchment covered with complex drawings, scratched designs, and scrawled ideas. Excited suggestion kept branching off into more, a never-ending tree.
"Do you really think your mother will let you paint the kitchen lime green? Ron, think for a moment!"
"This coming from the girl who wants to sort this enormous library into main categories, subsections, alphabetize those groups, take inventory of the place, and then make a library index?" Ron shot back at Hermione. Harry rubbed his forehead in frustration. They had been going at it like this for nearly an hour.
"Ginny, you think a nice, light brown for the kitchen?" Harry asked the smiling redhead in an overly loud, voice.
"I think that would be brilliant!" Ginny exclaimed, also louder than necessary. Harry flushed slightly when she tossed him a wink, leaning over to grab the kitchen plans from Ron's part of the table. "Maybe we should to light brown and cocoa stripes? Vertical?"
"Perfect." Harry sent her a silent thank-you as the other two occupants of the room broke off their argument to help with the choosing of paint colors. Hermione had found a large book filled with samples of paint colors among the stacks around them. They had decided to hand-paint everything (one could never predict what Grimmauld Place was hiding) but were using the book to help them choose. There was also a page in the middle where they could try different ideas of how colors and patterns looked.
They had just finished their outline for the kitchen when the door to the small library opened and Lupin entered. He smiled tiredly at them all. "What are you miscreants up to?"
"You're one to talk, Lupin," Ron teased. Harry blinked. When had Ron stopped referring to Lupin as Professor?
"Molly wanted me to check on you. I'm on baby-sitting duty for the rest of the summer," Lupin explained, sitting next to Ginny on one of the moth-eaten couches.
"You've been on baby-sitting duty nearly all summer," Ginny muttered, so quietly that Harry was sure only he and Lupin had heard.
"What are you up to?" Lupin was peering curiously at the stacks of books, bits of parchment, and candy wrappers strewn over their workstation. "Molly said you were making a list of chores. This doesn't look like a list of chores."
"It's not," Hermione said brightly, as though Lupin hadn't been sarcastic. Harry wondered, for a moment, if she had actually missed it, bur decided for his own mental safety, he would keep from analyzing Hermione's mind.
Ron expanded on Hermione's rather palpable statement. "It started as one, but, well, this happened. They're plans for redoing all the rooms. We've only the unoccupied bedrooms left."
"And the War Room."
"And the War Room," Ron amended his sister. "But we figured that we weren't going to get our hands on it." Lupin was shifting through their papers, rather fascinated. But Harry was more interested in their conversation than with the reasoning behind Lupin's curiosity.
"What's the War Room?" Harry interrupted impatiently. He hated being out of the loop. Hermione must have identified the expression on his face.
"It's where the Order has been meeting, making defensive plans for the war."
"And just how, Miss Granger, do you lot know that we're making defensive plans?" Lupin's eyebrow was quirked interestedly at Hermione. Harry looked between the two, not quite understanding. They'd always found out things like that.
"There were a few flaws in the protection spells," Hermione muttered, flushing as though she were a Weasley.
"Are their names Fred and George?" Lupin inquired. Hermione, Harry decided, had absolutely no poker face. He would most definitely have to play cards with her. "Thought so. Don't worry. I've never wanted you all left out of what's going on, I remember what it was like to be your age, but I wish we didn't have to bring you into this war."
"None of us should be in it," Harry spoke softly.
"Well, we are." The accepted resignation and truth in Ron's words made Harry see, for the second time since returning, that Ron was growing up after all. A part of Harry yearned for the boy who was his care-free, spirited best friend. He felt slightly guilty at that, knowing Ron had to mature sometime. The war meant it would far too soon. But Ron was the relaxed member of the trio. He had always thought later, acted first.
"Yes, we are," Lupin agreed. Harry saw in his eyes the knowledge of what was to come, the consequences of war he had already faced. There was pain and regret, he knew. But there was hope. And for that, Harry found faith. The emotion was gone in an instant. A smile spread across his face, though Harry could not help but notice that it was barely in his eyes. "These ideas are brilliant. I only wish we had more time to complete them."
"We have a very long time," Hermione said, smiling in a very un-Hermione-like way. While Harry looked at Ron in confusion, Lupin seemed to understand what their friend was getting at because the two shared a sardonic smile.
"Of course, Miss Granger, you're right as always."
"Well, it's bloody nice that she's right," Ron burst. "Now, would you mind telling us what the hell you're on about? We leave for school soon. How is it that we have all this time?"
"You'll be back," Remus said, voice bittersweet. And Harry understood. Grimmauld Place would be their cage, he realized with a twisting stomach, as it had been Sirius's. The Weasleys were no longer safe at the Burrow and aside from Hogwarts and the Dursleys, Harry knew he would reside nowhere else. Would it eat away at them too? Would the dank rooms and dark hallways slowly drive them to their deaths? Their Christmases would be held in the foreboding house, tainted with horrible memories and the bitter pains of war that clung to the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix.
Harry wasn't sure, by looking at Ron, if he understood what they meant. But he got the gist of it, as Ron's posture became resigned. He glanced fleetingly at Ginny, registering her closed eyes and depressive air.
"Look at us, moping about," Lupin said, his voice devoid of anything save sordid amusement. "Let's get cracking. I'll go run this past your mother. You four try and think of a way to get Mrs. Black off of the wall."
"Fat chance," Ron muttered darkly. "We'd have to bust down the whole wall." Harry snorted in agreement and an odd gurgling noise resounded from Ginny. Lupin, too, looked amused. Hermione, however, gave a little squeak.
"That it!" she breathed, eyes bright. Harry registered immediately she had an idea. "Ron, you're a genius!" Hermione was up and shifting through books within seconds. Ron was acting pleased, though he clearly had no idea what Hermione was so excited about.
"Hermione, you aren't seriously saying we should demolish the wall," Ginny said, disbelieving.
"That's exactly what I'm saying." Hermione presented a book, the pages opened to a spell for taking out a wall with minimal mess. "Muggles do it all the time. When they remodel their homes, they'll just take out a wall if they want to make a room larger. Or they'll add a wall. We've been thinking about this entirely the wrong way. We kept trying to find a spell to undo Mrs. Black's magic. The answer was right there all along. The portrait is attached to the wall. The wall is not infallible, the portrait's binding to cannot be destroyed by magic. So we should take out the whole bloody thing." Hermione finally paused for air, her whole body radiating energy, crackling with the fire of passion. It took Harry a moment to register that she had cursed.
"That' brilliant," Lupin muttered. "The old hag is finally coming down!" He let out an uncharacteristic whoop and let the room in what Harry could only call a bound.
The four teenagers exchanged a glance. "Right then," Ron said, summing up their feelings on the matter. Ginny snorted before collapsing in giggles, Hermione following soon after. Ron and Harry chuckled at the pair while rolling their eyes.
Lupin returned ten minutes later. "Molly agrees whole-heartedly to the destruction of Mrs. Black. So everyone grab a sledge hammer." Hermione's eyes went wide.
"Professor Lupin, you can't be serious! You can just use this spell-"
"And find out that the woman put some hidden charms on the wall? No thanks. That's the same reason you four intended to paint everything by hand, is it not?" Lupin raised an eyebrow at them in scrutiny.
"He's right," Ginny said, hopping up. "Besides," she added, eyes flicking to Harry, "There's nothing to relieve anger and stress like hitting walls down with heavy objects."
Harry smiled slightly, feeling a bit better than he had before. Besides, Harry reasoned, Sirius would have liked this idea. Might as well do it for him. And so Harry stood up and took the heavy mallet Lupin offered him, eyes glinting with something akin to malice.
Chapter Five :
Ginny's Letter
A/N Sorry about the wait. I've been trying to make an outline for the plot. I've come up with a few ideas. Hope this isn't too short! Happy Mother's Day. I'd write more on this chapter, but I have to go help my idiotic sister make fruit salad because we're leaving in about fifteen minutes and she hasn't even started….