Harry Potter and the Power of the Past
Disclaimer: All JKR's, not mine.
Summary: This is a complete AU- Harry Potter is a 21-year-old wizard, who's on top of the world. He's rich, in love, and loved by all, but his life is turned upside down as a spiral of events leads to the ultimate battle between good and evil. Can Harry lead the fight for the light, but yet manage to keep his life together?
A/N: Thanks for the reviews everybody. Oh, and review again!
S/N: I know this chapter has been a long time coming, and it's not very action-packed, but this was a needed chapter that starts everything going. The next few chapters will be all about Harry and his hunt, and a few twists and surprises along the way.
S/N 2: Yes, yes, the decoration of the trunk and some of the stuff inside of it is complete symbolism for all of the made up rumors for Harry Potter book titles that littered the Internet for years before all of the books were out. The pillar's names come from the four types of love that exist.
Chapter 26: Another door opens…
With their mission accomplished, the Death Eaters, led by Quirrell took off out of the tower, heading towards the Hogwarts doors. They passed portraits who hissed at them, running down the circular stairwell, the wards and curses that they put up to prevent anyone from coming up having no effect on them. Then they hit a road block: there, with their wands raised, stood ten people, a mixture of Order Members, Aurors, and Teachers—Nymphadora Potter, Viktor Krum, Hermione Krum, Filius Flitwick, Minerva McGonagall, Severus Snape, Gaetana Robards, Pomona Sprout, Neville Longbottom, and Charlie Weasley.
The battle erupted, curses and jinxes bouncing off the wall, hitting the people in a random order. The Death Eaters, for the most part, were smart enough not to send killing curses, as with the close proximity of the fight and the narrow halls, the green lights were more likely to hit them or their comrades instead of the Order. Instead of fighting to win, the dark wizards were fighting to get out of Hogwarts, knowing that an extended battle would end badly for them. Gibbon bashed a hole in the Order's line, big enough to grant them passage, with a blasting curse—stone and dust flew up into the air, creating a haze that blocked people's view.
"Let's go!" Quirrell called out, running past the Order members, who were covering their eyes, trying to breath through the dust. The Death Eaters followed closely behind him, the soles of their shoes hitting against the cold, hard stone floor with a loud slap. Through the halls they ran, passing by the metal armor statues and portraits that were screaming at them. They came upon the main set of stairs, the ones that moved, and jumped down onto the platform below. Then, as they landed, the stairway shifted, and the only way to go was up, right where the Order members had regrouped. Then, with a simple flick of Quirrell's wand, the battle ensued: the Order versus the Death Eaters.
Single duels weren't happening, as it was one big scuffle, spells ricocheting each everywhere. As they were fighting, the Death Eaters, who had stayed close together, backed down the stairs, slowly, heading for the exit, knowing that they wouldn't win an extended fight. Finally, after ten minutes, they caught a break: being close enough to the ground that they could jump, they did, landing on the stone first floor with a thud and a roll. They immediately got up and sprinted towards the door that was down the hall, blasting it open with a hex, entering the grounds.
They ran, running faster than they ever had before, being chased by the Order, hoping and needing to get out of the anti-disapparation wards that Hogwarts had. As they passed Hagrid's hut, Gibbon lit it on fire as a distraction to the Order, who, knowing it could spread, would slow down to put it out. They, however, didn't: being so entrenched in capturing the Death Eaters they continued on, not even stopping when they saw Sirius and Harry lying on the ground, still and unmoving. Closer to the gates they ran, nearing them, blocking jinx and spells that were coming their way from behind. Then, with one great dash, they reached the gates, which were blown of their hinges with a curse; they reached the end of the wards and disapparated, leaving the scene.
With slumped shoulders and deep frowns, the Order and the teachers turned around, marching back up the grounds. Nymphadora and Gaetana ran to Sirius and Harry, who were stirring, though clearly injured. Hermione and Flitwick went over to Hagrid's hut, putting out the fires with a few flicks of their wands. Minerva, however, was heading straight for the Astronomy tower, where she knew Dumbledore was, whether he was injured or not she didn't know. Then, lying there, lying still, at the base of the tower was a body: an aged figure that was face down in the dirt and grass, dead.
Minerva's eyes moved slowly up, up the stone blocks that made up the tower, and saw the opened hole in the wall, directly above where the body laid, a few hundred feet up. "No," Minerva screeched, rushing over to the body, hoping, praying, begging it wasn't who she thought it was. She slid to a halt next to the body, rolling it over and gasping at the sight, the one person she didn't want it to be: Albus Dumbledore. His body was cold, dead, lifeless, his face pale and his blue eyes still open, though they lacked the twinkle that was usually there. Tears immediately flooded her eyes, as her hand jumped to her open mouth.
The others, minus Nymphadora and Gaetana, both of whom had gone to check out Harry and Sirius, gathered around the body, looking down at the corpse of Dumbledore in shock. They couldn't believe it; they couldn't understand how the greatest wizard of the age, one of the best wizards that had ever lived, could be dead. They stood there, shocked, for a few minutes, before draping a cloak over Albus' form, and carrying the body up into Hogwarts, making sure no one, not the students or other teachers, saw who it was; it would be a crushing blow to morale if they knew. They would find out soon enough, but now, after only a minimal amount of time since the death, was not the time.
Voldemort strolled into a torch-lit room; Death Eaters, cloaked and masked, were kneeling, bowing their heads low in a big, tight circle. "How did Potter and his gang of misfits know we were attacking Hogwarts tonight?" Voldemort hissed, walking around the circle, twirling his wand in his hand. "You six," He said, pointing to a group of Death Eaters. "Come here, bow in front of me." The group did as they were told, Kylie being one of them. "You were the only people to know of the attack, outside of the attackers themselves."
Oh, Merlin, what should I do, he thought to himself, a bubble of fear rising in his chest. He wasn't scared for his life; he didn't care about that, but now that Dumbledore was dead and with Harry depending on him, and in turn the whole world depending on Harry, he couldn't fail: he wouldn't fail. Voldemort was inching closer to the group, then, thinking quickly, he gripped his wand and screamed RUN in his mind. Suddenly, a Death Eater at the end of the row jumped up, and ran for the door. He didn't get far, as a stunner shot him down a few steps away from the exit, his body collapsing to the ground, unconscious. Damn it, I didn't want to use him so quickly, he frowned behind his mask.
Voldemort closed the distance on the downed Death Eater, his scarlet eyes filled with controlled rage and hatred. The Dark Lord flicked his wrist, rennerverating the Death Eater with a simple gesture. "Look into my eyes, traitor." He hissed, pouring into the man's dull brown eyes, reading his every thought, feeling, and dream. Finding the memory, Voldemort witnessed the flash of blue light from nowhere, transfixing the Death Eater into a state that would allow the other wizard to control his every move—allowing him to gain access to information as a result. "The Order using Unforgivables? How ironic." Voldemort laughed, breaking the connection and allowing the Death Eater's body to slump back down to the floor, where he landed with a thud.
Kylie cocked an eyebrow as the Dark Lord sent a Cruciatus curse at the Death Eater, knowing that a Cruciatus curse was a form of mercy the Dark Lord had granted: if mercy wasn't granted then it would have been a killing curse sent. The Death Eater was Cade Warrington, a Slytherin student who was a year or two above Harry when they were in Hogwarts. Good, you deserve it, he thought to himself as he watched Warrington writhe around in pain. Next time, he continued his musing, don't go around killing innocent people. Voldemort stopped his torture abruptly, and then he swiftly turned around and walked out of the room silently.
Harry Potter stood on a cliff that ran on the western part of his property, next to his house. He had a hot mug of tea clasped in his hands; his eyes were watching the waves crash against the rocks, as his mind was lost in thought. The sun was just rising in the distance, and as its light touched his face, it illuminated the cuts and bruises that he had, showing the fight he was in the night previously. He gave out a great sigh, his hands bringing the cup up to his lips, and he took a sip, giving into the flavor that soothed and calmed him. His mind couldn't stray from the thought of Albus Dumbledore, the news of his death hitting in straight in the heart: the memory of when he found out would be forever ingrained into his mind.
He rolled over in the bed he was sleeping in at the Hogwarts Infirmary. As he opened his eyes, Tonks and Madame Pompfrey stood above him, looking down at him with wide eyes. Sirius was asleep in the bed next to him, Emmeline sitting by his bedside. "Ow," He muttered, sitting up; Tonks moved to put a pillow behind his back.
"You were cut up pretty bad, Mr. Potter." Pompfrey said, disapprovingly. "Nothing serious, though you did lose a decent amount of blood." She ran her wand over him, checking him one last time before nodding and walking away, back into her office.
"Harry," Nymphadora said, softly, her natural eyes looking into Harry's green ones. "There's…something happened." She started, nervously. "Dumbledore, well, he's…he died. He was murdered by the Death Eaters."
For a second, Harry's heart stopped: it didn't beat, it didn't tick, it just skipped. He stared at his wife for a second, processing it, letting it soak in, before they turned to the white wall in front of him, and he stared aimlessly. "What are we going to do?" He whispered to himself, horror stricken. There would be time to mourn for his grandfather, his tutor, his mentor, but now, now that the greatest wizard to ever live was dead, the world was in trouble, and darkness was spreading. If left unstopped, the darkness would spread, engulfing and consuming the world like a gigantic beast does its prey.
Now, though, back at his home, in the peace and safety of his house, he couldn't help but want to mourn for Albus Dumbledore. The man was family to him, the grandfather he had always wanted, someone who would care and love him. Even still, a ping in his head refused to allow him to grieve fully, bereaving him of the opportunity, and he knew that what Dumbledore was working on, what he was doing while Harry led the Order, finding the Horcruxes, was now his job; his and only his job. He didn't know what to do, how to handle it now that Dumbledore was gone, unable to give Harry his advice, his help. Before, when Dumbledore was busy and Harry was in charge of the Order, Dumbledore was still there to talk to, but now he was alone, and it scared him tremendously. If he failed, then the world failed, and it would crumble at Voldemort's feet. Sighing, he turned back around and headed into his home, going to his den and losing himself in the tranquility it offered; solitude, warmth, and, in a time that was riddled with fighting, peace.
There was a soft tapping noise coming from the window an hour later. Harry groggily rose to his feet, he had fallen asleep on the couch, and slowly made his way to the window, throwing it open and allowing the bird into the room. The bird was an Osprey, large and black with specks of white on its wings and breast, its brown beak and talons were sharp and curved. The Osprey hobbled in, flapping its wings lightly, and Harry closed the window behind it. With a soft pop, the bird transformed into a tall, weedy human with dark hair and dark eyes: Kylie. "I'm sorry about Dumbledore." The spy said; his voice was filled with sorrow.
"Yeah, I am too." Harry replied, plopping down onto the couch. He gestured to the chair across from him, but Kylie declined with a simple shake of his head. "What's up? I didn't expect you to fly here."
"You weren't answering the messages that I wrote in the journal." Kylie shrugged, his gaze never leaving Harry.
Harry's eyes instinctively moved over to his wooden desk on the other side of the room, to the top drawer therein. Inside, blocked and protected by magic was the leather-bound journal Kylie spoke of, the charmed piece of stationary that allowed them to communicate anywhere on the earth. "Sorry, I fell asleep." He answered, giving a small smile.
"I bet." Kylie responded, nodding his head, seeing the bags under the wizard's eyes. The man was normally stout and powerful, but now, now he looked tired and worn-out. "So, what are we going to do now?" Kylie inquired, asking the question the rest of the Order was thinking to themselves, but wouldn't dare ask.
Harry bit his lip in thought, then, sighing, he said, "I don't know. I just don't know anymore." His answer, which was so frank and honest, seemed to placate Kylie as he gave a small smile, knowing that Harry would figure it out once he got over his grief.
"It was like a party at the meeting." Kylie whispered, as he turned towards the window, preparing to leave. "And, the worst part is, I think Bellatrix is alive and back with the Death Eaters. There was someone in between Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange, with his or her hood up, hidden from the rest of the Death Eaters. I think it was her."
Harry cocked an eyebrow at the mention of Bellatrix returning. "It doesn't matter," He said, quietly, shrugging. "She took Cedric's hand, I took her magic. I am impressed, however, if that was her, that she's still alive."
"What curse did you use? I heard her screaming when Rodolphus apparated in with her; it was excruciatingly painful to my ears." Kylie questioned, though he knew he wouldn't get an answer. Then, waving goodbye, he jumped out of the window, turning into a bird as he fell, and flew away into the clouds.
Wizards and witches poured into Hogsmeade a day later, preparing to pay their last respects to Dumbledore. A delegation of Ministry officials, including the Minster of Magic herself, arrived at Hogwarts earlier than the rest, making sure the premise was safe, away from harm. Meanwhile, Harry and the Order were sitting in the Great Hall, breakfast was being served but no one was very hungry. Everyone, even the children at the long house tables, was wearing their dress robes; dark and somber they were, diverging from their normal extravagant appearance. At the stroke of noon, the large group, those that were attending the funeral, headed down to the lawn, where an area full of seats was situated.
A powder blue carriage the size of a house swooped over the grounds of Hogwarts, landing near the edge of the forest. The door of the carriage swung open, and a gigantic olive-skinned and black haired woman stepped out, descended the steps of the carriage, and threw herself into the waiting arms of Hagrid. Hand in hand, the two half giants strolled over to the white chairs that were waiting for them, taking up two and a half seats each that were in the back.
An aisle ran down the center of the chairs: there was a marble table standing at the front, all chairs facing it. Half of the chairs had already been settled into by an extraordinary assortment of people; shabby and smart, old and young. Some Harry did not recognize, but most he did; Tom, the landlord of the Leaky Cauldron in London; Arabella Figg, Harry's former neighbor who happened to be a squib; Ernie Prang, the driver of the Knight Bus; Madam Malkin, of the robe shop in Diagon Alley; and the plump witch who pushed the trolley on the Hogwarts Express. The castle ghosts were there too, barely visible in the bright sunlight, discernible only when they moved, shimmering insubstantially on the gleaming air.
The beautiful weather seemed to mock them. It was uncharacteristically warm for an early December day, and the sun blazed down onto the lawn and reflected off of the lake. People were whispering amongst themselves, it sounded like a soft breeze. Then, abruptly, the most beautiful and sorrowful sound erupted around the whole of Hogwarts; a phoenix was singing in a way Harry had never heard before, a stricken lament of terrible beauty. And Harry felt it, as he had felt the Phoenix song before, the music that was inside of him, rushing up from deep within and turning his own grief into music. Everyone stopped what they were doing, no one knew for how long, just listening, most of them with their eyes closed; before long, however, the ceremony had commenced, the phoenix song still playing around the grounds.
Hagrid was walking slowly up the aisle between the chairs. His face was brimming with tears as Dumbledore, wrapped in purple velvet spangled with golden stars, was in his arms. Hagrid placed the body carefully on the table, gently lying Dumbledore down, still covered by the velvet cloth, before retreating down the aisle, rejoining Madame Maxime in the back. For a second, everybody was silent, quiet; even nature around them seemed to hush, as bird, beast, or wind didn't make a sound. Declan Tennyson, Head of the Magical Documentation Office, the warlock who oversaw Harry and Tonks' wedding, got to his feet and stood in front of Dumbledore's body. He was wearing plain black robes, and his voice was magnified tenfold as he spoke; even still, Harry, from the front of the rows, could only hear a few words. "Nobility of spirit"…"Intellectual contribution"…"Greatness of heart"…it did not mean much. He knew the real Dumbledore; he had spoken to him everyday, personally, for the past ten years.
There was a soft splashing noise to his left, and he saw the merpeople had broken surface to listen too. Dumbledore had always been good to the merrows living in Hogwarts lake, relating to them and conversing with them in their own language; a practice almost unheard of in modern day wizarding world, with most people seeing the merrows as lesser beings. Even Harry, with all his knowledge, all his know-how, didn't even know mermish; and he didn't even know where or when or how Dumbledore had learned it, either.
Harry noticed with squinting eyes that there was movement among the trees at the edge of the forest. The centaurs had come to pay their respects too. They did not move into the open, instead they stood there quite still, half hidden by the shadows, watching the wizards, as their bows hung loosely by their sides. Declan, by this time, had finished his speech, and he had resumed his seat on the other side of the aisle, directly across from Harry. Then several people screamed in shock, Harry not being one of them, as bright, white flames erupted around Dumbledore's body and the table it lay upon: higher and higher they rose, obscuring the body from view.
Spiraling into the air was white smoke; it twisted into strange and incredible shapes. Behind the smoke, Harry thought he had seen a phoenix fly joyfully into the sky, soaring off into the distance, but he knew that could not be. And, a second later, the fire was gone, vanishing, and in its place was a white marble tomb, encasing Dumbledore's body and the table on which he had rested. Then, unexpectedly, a shower of arrows soared through the air, falling short of the crowd by a few feet. There were hundreds, a tribute from the Centaurs, enough to almost blot out the sun for a second, each one showing just how much respect Dumbledore had earned throughout his long life. When the last arrow hit the ground, a swell of truth swept over him, and, by the looks of it, the rest of the patrons that attended the funeral.
It was as if the cloud, the haze of disbelief that surrounded Albus Dumbledore's death had been cleared away, the sheet being pulled off. Albus Dumbledore, the greatest wizard of the age, the most accomplished warlock in the world, was dead and gone, and now the country, the fighters against Voldemort, were finally understanding of the fact, and it terrified them. Dumbledore wouldn't be around for them to go to for guidance, for help; he wouldn't be there to count on, to come and save the day if they were in trouble. It was up to them now, to fight, to protect people, to win; and, in fact unbeknownst to the population, it was mostly up to Harry.
For the first time in Harry's life, he felt the crushing weight that was upon him. He alone knew of Voldemort's Horcruxes, and he alone would have to be the one to find and destroy them; the only problem was he had no idea where or what they were. Add that in with leading the Order, and he was quickly drowning in an ocean of work and responsibility, and he didn't know if he would be able to tread the water. Without Dumbledore there to guide him, he had no idea if he would be able to do it, and even with Tonks and all of his friends there for support, he felt so alone; he felt like that little boy that was locked in the cupboard before he went to Hogwarts, before he even knew of his heritage.
The merrows blowing their horns distracted him from his thoughts; then, as a group, both the merrows and centaurs left—the centaurs trotting deeper into the forest and the merrows diving deeper into the lake. The phoenix song, which had been playing continuously throughout the ceremony, winded down and then with one great burst it was over, Fawkes having left the school forever. Everyone in attendance rose from his or her seat at that point, all of them pulling out their wands and letting sparkles out into the sky. Forming a line, they all paid their respects to Dumbledore's tomb, dropping gifts in front of it, flowers next to it, or giving the top of it a caressing; after about twenty minutes, the line reached its end, and the ceremony, the funeral was over.
There was a reception back at the Headquarters for the Order, with food prepared by Dobby and Zeali. It wasn't a somber affair, as everyone couldn't help but laugh at stories they told and listened to. Elphias Doge and Dedalus Diggle had the most stories of all, having gone to school with Albus—ones from their childhood and early adulthood. With the war in the back recesses of their mind for the time being, the Order was able to celebrate the accomplishments of their leader, their teacher, and their friend, Albus Dumbledore.
The next day found Tonks sitting in the living room of her house, reading the Morning Prophet. She skimmed over the pages, not really paying attention to the writing as she took a sip of her tea, wondering where her husband had gone off to. He said he would be back in a few minutes, but it had been an hour and he had still yet to return. There was a flash of green flames in the floo-connected fireplace, and out shot a small package with a note on it. Tonks immediately jumped up, startled, then bent down to pick the package up, reading the note. It said:
Dear Mr. Potter,
This is your inheritance from one Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore's will. He left you these contents, with the rest going to Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry.
With regards,
Declan Tennyson
Head of the Magical Documentation Office
She unwrapped the package, throwing the brown paper on the floor, being surprised at what was inside. It was a shrunken trunk, it seemed, brown and square. Though curious, she wasn't daring enough to un-shrunk it and see what was inside, so instead she put it on the coffee table, hoping she was patient enough to wait for Harry. It sat on the table for a few minutes, daring her to open it, before, being unable to take it, she turned and walked out of the room, planning on seeing what her good friend Gaetana was up to.
Not twenty minutes later, Harry walked out of his workshop and closed the bookcase behind him, hiding his secret room, and making his way towards the stairs; he heard voices coming from the living room so he strolled down, checking it out. Gaetana and Nymphadora were sitting on the couch, eating some biscuits and fruit, while Cedric was making a food out of himself, charming a statue to dance. They all let out a laugh when the statue fell apart, having been constructed poorly by Cedric's magic. "Harry!" Cedric said in-between gasps of laughter, turning his attention to his friend that was standing in a doorway wearing a smile. Nymphadora and Gaetana both turned, too, waving Harry into the room.
Harry obliged with a sigh, thinking about all the work he had to do, and especially the particular activities he was engaging in within his workshop all morning. He picked up a few grapes and a strawberry, while Cedric talked about something that was happening at the Ministry. He listened halfheartedly, nodding when he needed to, but then the miniature trunk that was sitting on the table caught his eye. "That arrived for you, Harry." Tonks said, softly, noticing where his gaze was. "It's…it's your inheritance from Albus."
"Really?" Harry questioned, a lump rising in his throat. Tonks gave a brief smile, and Harry picked the trunk up, studying it. Quickly reading the note that had arrived, Harry excused himself from the room and made his way up into his library.
Pulling on the book that would move the bookshelf, he entered his hidden room, ready to see what was inside the trunk. He put the trunk down on the floor in the middle of the room, and then swung his wand over it, expanding it to its natural size. He popped open the latches, and swung the top open, revealing a chamber, big enough to stand and walk around in. Then, climbing into the trunk, Harry jumped down into the trunk and landed on a soft-carpeted floor, only about ten feet deep.
The chamber was a comfortable room, laden with bookshelves, objects, and a chair: in front of the chair was a table, and on that table was a stone basin, a pensieve. The room was alight with torches that hung on the wall, burning with a green flame that was as bright as the green of his eyes. In each of the four corners were four marble-like pillars, with big words engraved in them, like crevices in the stone: Storge, Agape, Philia, and Eros. There was a mural of an Azkaban-like castle, a fortress, tall and made from black stone, across from the entrance on the other side of the room; it created shadows in the forefront of the picture, as the sky in the background magically flashed with lightning. On the floor, the carpet was a mural too, showing five pyramids located in a desert, each one bigger than the last; they all looked to be made of rock, and were placed in a sea of gold sand.
He took a few more steps into the chamber, moving closer to the center table and the great stone basin that was on top of it. His eyes narrowed onto the writing that went around the opening of the pensieve; in loopy, archaic cursive, it read: The Chariot of Light. He cocked an eyebrow up in wonder, knowing that this wasn't the pensieve that Dumbledore usually used, the one that was located in his office before his death. This one looked ancient, maybe even older than the oldest books Harry had in his library, some of which were a thousand years old. As he reached down to touch the gray stone, the image of Dumbledore bubbled up in the silver liquid-like substance that was flowing in the basin, and rotated around. Then, miraculously, the image began to talk, as if he were real.
"If you are seeing this, Harry, then I have passed on into the next great adventure. I know what you must do, Harry, and believe me it will be no easy task. Therefore, to ease the process, I have left some information for you; though, I am not going to air out every one of my thoughts on the manner, as I don't want to taint your train of thought, to ruin the way you are thinking.
As we have already discussed, Tom's Horcruxes are most likely made out of trophies or trinkets that represent apparent greatness; the Founders' heirlooms, I imagine. Godric Gryffindor's heirloom, however, will not be one of them as I watched over his only relic each and every day while I was Headmaster of Hogwarts, the Sorting Hat. The locations of the Horcruxes will be places that mean something to him, that are of great importance in his mind. I know where two explicitly are: one of them is in a cave, in the North of England, on the seaboard—the note on the table will give you the exact locations. The other Horcrux is within his pet snake Nagini, so you'll need to destroy that piece of the soul before taking him on." There was a slight pause, as the Dumbledore imaged closed his eyes and smiled.
"I have faith in you, Harry. You will accomplish what must be done; you just have to have faith in yourself, in your abilities, in your knowledge, and most of all, in the people around you. You are loved, Harry Potter, remember that, and remember your love for those close to you, as well. Good-bye, my grandson."
And, quietly and somberly, the image of Dumbledore shrank back into the pensieve, before the silver substance disappeared, as if evaporating. Harry sighed after a moment, the grief that Dumbledore's death brought to him coming back tenfold. He would miss Albus everyday; miss the joy the man had for life. A tear escaped his left eye, rolling down his pale face, and dropping to the carpet. After a moment, he took a deep breath, regaining his composure, knowing there were things to do.
He moved around the room, running a hand down the binding of a few of the books and tomes, reading their titles. Some were ancient, very ancient, and some were dark, mostly about former Dark Lords and Horcruxes. There were journals, personal journals of Dumbledore, holding all of the information that the great wizard had accumulated over the years—all of the information that Albus had promised Harry. Then he moved over to the shelf that held some silver instruments and devices; there was a long, wooden object, a wand, wrapped in a purple cloth with a note tied to it.
This is the Elder Wand, Harry. In my long life, it was the only Death Hallow I was fit to possess. I gained it during my fight against Grindelwald, its previous owner. I, however, lost its allegiance during my battle with Voldemort in the Ministry's atrium to Bellatrix Lestrange. Luckily enough she did not know of this, nor did she have the wand in her possession; you gained allegiance ofthe wand when you beat Bellatrix in a duel, and now I grant you possession of an item that is rightfully yours. Take good care of it, and use it wisely.
-Albus
Harry looked at the wand, star struck, unbelieving that this was actually the Elder Wand. He closed his eyes, trying to remember that duel with Voldemort, trying to remember what happened and how Dumbledore had lost the Deathstick's allegiance.The memory was vague, so much had happened since then, but still, he remembered it.
Bellatrix Lestrange ran into the room, her violet eyes wide with either madness or surprise. Seeing Dumbledore, she raised her wand and released a great blast against the statue of the centaur that was perched in the fountain next to the aged wizard. The force, which was as close to her as it was Dumbledore, blew apart the centaur, and threw both Dumbledore and Bellatrix across the room, where they landed with a thud, both unconscious: his wand, like Harry's before, rolled out of his wrinkled hands.
At the time, he had no idea how important that disarming would be; how, with one duel, fate would be turned upside down. If Bellatrix had never disarmed Dumbledore, had never attacked the fountain like she did, possession of the wand would have never moved over to her, and, in turn, him. With that thought, he couldn't help but remember when Dumbledore showed him the wand during one of their many talks and conversations. It seemed so obvious in retrospect just what Dumbledore's intentions were, but Harry had not connected it, not knowing or even thinking about the possibility that Dumbledore had the Elder Wand.
"I heard you beat Bellatrix Lestrange in a duel, is that right?" Dumbledore asked, his voice low.
"Yeah, I did." Harry nodded, taking pride in the fact that, though she wasn't caught, he beat a witch as powerful as Bellatrix.
"Good, good." Dumbledore smiled: it was big, and almost unnatural when put in context about what they were talking about. Oddly, there seemed to be a gleam of triumph in his sparkling blue eyes—it gave Harry an eerie sensation. Then, reaching into his robes, he took out a dark, black piece of wood: a wand. He placed it down on his desk in front of him, gesturing to Harry. Harry studied it, immediately recognizing it for the wand that Dumbledore had used after Harry had borrowed his in the Ministry's atrium. "Remember this wand, Harry." Dumbledore whispered, scooping the wand up and putting it back into his robes.
Harry shook his head, trying to gather his thoughts; there was a lot to take in. One line in the note made an impact on him the most, however: possession of an item that is rightfully yours. The Elder Wand was Antioch Peverell's, who happened to be Dumbledore's ancestor; if anyone had a claim to such a wand, it could not be more so than Albus Dumbledore. Shaking his head, he took the purple cloth off of the wand, allowing the wood to touch his skin for the first time. Immediately, he felt the rush of power, feeling the Elder Wand bonding with him; green and gold sparks flew out of its tip and into the air. He knew he wouldn't openly use this wand in battle, knowing the dangers it risked, but it was comforting, somewhat, to know that he had it, that he was in control of it, rather than someone else. When the sparks died down, he pocketed the wand; his stomach gave out a growl and he swept a last look around the chamber, seeing if there was anything else that he needed right away before leaving.
Next to the ladder that would allow Harry to exit, there was a shelf with a plate on it. On that plate rested a golden ring with a black stone in its core: the Ring of Resurrection, and a former Horcrux of Voldemort's. He picked it up, and carefully put it in his pocket, intent on keeping it on his workbench, right next to the Elder Wand. As he moved to leave the chamber, it struck him: he was in control of all of the Deathly Hallows.