A/N: Uhhhh yeah, so long time no updating. Sorry about that…I guess you could say I had sort of a writer's block…among other things. Not much to say about this chapter except that I made a lot of it up as I went along. Hope there are some of you still reading!

Chapter 14

The Hidden Chamber

Blue and purple twilight streamed in through the open curtains on the window of the bedroom on the third floor of Godric's Hollow. The previous night's storm had made the air outside close and muggy; birds chirped in the trees on the grounds and the evening light glittered in the newly formed puddles. Harry Potter pressed his glasses closer to his face, as they had slipped down the bridge of his nose as he stared down at the slip of decaying parchment. He was careful to be gentle with it; it was so old that it looked like it would crumble under a tighter grasp. He read and reread the solitary sentenced printed there.

The Order was here last time? he thought, wondering why this thought had never occurred to him. He realized that never once had he been told where the first Order of the Phoenix headquarters had been. His heart fluttered a little faster than normal. But how does this help me?

Harry glanced back over at the Pensieve in the wall – the unusually plain basin filled with shimmering vapor that he knew to be preserved memories. He moved toward it and scrutinized it contents carefully. Harry prodded the surface of the substance apprehensively with the tip of his wand, then, taking a deep breath, plunged himself headfirst into the basin.

It was a familiar sensation – the one of falling down, down into a pitch black hole. Finally Harry felt his feet land on a cold, hard floor. He blinked once or twice, trying to get his eyes to adjust to the darkness. Then, as he regained full vision, he realized that he had just arrived in what was unmistakably the low-ceilinged, musty-smelling basement of Godric's Hollow. He looked around, searching for the owner of this memory, and finding her before long. His stomach gave a jolt when he saw his mother – she was older than he had seen her last; her face was starting to become lined and had lost some of its rosiness. But Harry had to remind himself, somewhat guiltily, that he had really never seen his mother; only memories or allusions.

Lily Potter had to crouch down slightly to navigate through the moldy, cobble-stoned sublevel, meaning that Harry had to bend a considerable amount to prevent his head scraping the ceiling, for he was a good half a foot taller than his mother. He followed her over to the north wall of the room, watching her long red hair streaked with gray in the darkness. When she reached the rough cement wall, Lily raised her wand and tapped it on a spot there while simultaneously placing her hand on the cement. Immediately the outline of a small archway appeared, carving itself out of the wall. Lily made her way in hurriedly and Harry, puzzled, followed her.

Harry looked around with awe as they stepped through the archway. It was a large room lit with candled brackets around the wall and with only a large table in the center. Seated around the table were many distinctive faces that Harry instantaneously recognized. There was Mad-Eye Moody looking younger but still missing a chunk from his nose, Remus Lupin sat next to Moody with less gray hairs than the last time Harry had seen him, and James Potter sat near the head of the table next to Albus Dumbledore. James' hair was thick and black and his glasses rested on his nose; he was lean and long, though his face seemed to have grown worn from stress. Harry swallowed as he looked away from these two faces with difficulty. There were innumerable more familiar faces, among which Harry, repulsed, spotted the round, greasy face of Peter Pettigrew who wore his characteristic manner of twitchy anxiousness. Everyone seated at the table had been speaking in hushed, uneasy voices, but had all fallen silent when Lily had entered.

As Harry stepped nearer to the long table, which was covered in many various parchments, quills, and a crystal ball, his father rose. His long face was pallid and concerned and he began to walk around the table.

"Lily," he said. "We're in danger. Voldemort seems to have taken a personal interest in us, according to Albus." Dumbledore nodded. Pettigrew twitched, his ears perking. "Get Harry. We have to leave…"

Harry felt the memory dissolving around him as his body was pulled upward and out of the Pensieve. He felt himself appear back in the third floor bedroom in front of the compartment in the wall and blinked a few times, staring at the stone basin.

"That's it?" Harry asked aloud in bewilderment. But even as he said it his heart fell. Of course the rest of the memory wouldn't be visible…why would Lily Potter reveal the place of her hiding for anyone who was inquisitive enough to see while she was being hunted? But Voldemort had tracked them down eventually anyway, with Wormtail's help…

Harry stepped back from the wall where the Pensieve's contents cast glimmering lights on the paneling. Then a thought occurred to him…

Moments later he was at the door to the Potter's desolate basement. He pulled at the handle which did not want to give at first, but then came open with a little coaxing. The long room was freezing and dank, and Harry lit his wand as he crouched down to walk inside. As he headed toward what he presumed was the middle of the room, he turned in circles several times, attempting to see more than two feet in front of him, but it was impossible. It had been the north wall that contained the door, but Harry no longer remembered which way was north in the darkness.

"Point me," he whispered to his wand, laying it flat on his palm. It immediately began to spin very quickly, finally slowing to a stop, pointing deliberately to his right.

Harry hurriedly walked, crouching, over until he could see the wall. Then he placed his hand uncertainly upon the stone there and tried to imitate the wand movements his mother had made in the memory. To his surprise, the outline of the door appeared instantaneously, giving way to a space behind the wall that was, if possible, even darker than the basement.

Harry hesitated only momentarily at the doorway, thinking that he might do good to fetch Ron and Hermione, but decided that his curiosity about the room was too great. As he stepped into the room, Harry muttered a spell, hoping that the candles that he had seen in the memory would light. They did rather feebly, but illuminated the room enough so that everything was visible. There was the long table in the middle with the chairs around the edge. There were several cabinets around the perimeter of the room and a blank piece of parchment lay in the corner, looking forlorn. Everything was strung with wispy white cobwebs and caked with a thick layer of dust.

Harry's heart raced. He hurried to one of the cabinets nearest him and pulled it open with some difficulty as a cloud of dust was emitted, but as he peered into its depths he saw nothing…it was empty. No matter…Harry moved quickly to the next cupboard and wrenched it open, too. Nothing. Frowning, Harry moved across the room and opened all of the cabinets, one after another, but each was empty.

There has to be something useful here, thought Harry, his eyes scanning the dusty room again. And then he noticed it – a small drawer attached to one of the cupboards at the bottom. Harry walked over to it and bent over, tugging at the fragile, old brass handle, expecting it to be locked. However, the drawer slid open easily, revealing, along with a considerable amount of dust, its sole content.

A very old book lay in the drawer, coated with grime. Wrinkling his nose, Harry lifted the book out of the drawer and wiped at the cover with the sleeve of his shirt. He was just able to read the peeling letters in gold there: Myra Murble's Ultra-Modern Guide to Wands: Which Wand Is Right For You?

Feeling skeptical and a little let down, Harry opened the book and winced as he heard its weathered spine crack ominously. The letters inside were very faded and printed on yellowing paper. He tried to flip through the pages, but found it rather difficult, as the brittle parchment had a tendency to break off into little pieces in his hand. As Harry looked through the book, he noticed that the previous reader had used the bookmark ribbon that was attached to the book's deteriorating binding to mark a page toward the beginning. He pulled at the mark and opened the book to a page that was headed with bold letters: Phoenix Feather Core: The Dependable Wand. A certain passage had been underlined with ink:

Wands with a Phoenix feather core are usually looked upon as ones most unlikely to defy the user. However, what most don't know about these wands is that they can be easily made useless. If the Phoenix that supplied the core of the wand happens to become permanently deceased, the wand will become as lifeless as the bird itself. This is not the case with unicorn hair or dragon heartstring wands—

Harry's heart had begun to race. He had an instant impulse to run from the room and kill the phoenix that had supplied the feather at the core of Voldemort's wand. But, frowning, he realized that of course that would not be enough. Destroying Voldemort's wand would certainly be helpful for a short time, but his horcruxes would inevitably supply him with some form of life or another, no matter whether he had a wand or not. And another thing…how exactly was one supposed to go about killing a Phoenix? Harry cast aside the thought that the Phoenix he would have to kill would be Fawkes, frowning with the effort. He remembered an incident during his second year at Hogwarts during which he had had the horrible idea that he had killed Fawkes when the bird had burst into flames in his office alone with Harry. But Dumbledore had informed him that Phoenixes were immortal – bursting into flames and continually being born again from the ashes. Harry felt a small pang in his chest and quickly thrust thoughts of Dumbledore aside and directing his attention back at the book, scanning the page for more clues. Permanently deceased…?

Then, Harry saw it. There were tiny letters scrawled in cramped script in the margin next to the underlined passage:

Incendium

Harry stared at the word, knowing it must be an incantation, but not wanting to try it at the moment – he had already had too much experience in dealing with shouting out curses about which he was unaware of the effects. Incendium…it must be the key to something here….Deciding quickly to share his information with Hermione and Ron, Harry shut the book rather more swiftly than he probably should have, for its spine made another threatening splitting noise. Cringing, he cradled the dilapidated book gently under his arm, put out the lamps around the wall, and headed out of the stale room.

A/N: Not the most exciting chapter, but hey it moves the plot along some. Chapter fifteen is coming soon…so stick around because it'll be worth a read. Review if you like…the good the bad and the ugly!