She Walked into Hogwarts (GL)

Anne woke early the next morning on the only couch in the living room. Harry and Ron had, quite gallantly, insisted she take the sofa while they spent the night on the floor wrapped in sleeping bags.

A sliver of sky peeked through the heavy curtains, a cool, diluted ink-blue caught between night and dawn. The house was silent except for Harry and Ron's slow, steady breathing.

Anne lay there for a moment, staring at the dim ceiling and the cobwebbed chandelier above. Her dreams had been filled with chaotic, noisy fragments of memory. It took her a second to remember she wasn’t at the Burrow anymore. Quietly lifting the blanket, she picked up her beaded bag and slipped out of the living room on the second floor, making her way down to the ground floor and then deeper into the house, towards the basement, where the kitchen was located.

The kitchen was cavernous. A massive stone fireplace sat at the far end, and iron pots hung from the ceiling beams. Around the large wooden table, chairs were scattered in disarray. Anne scanned the room and quickly spotted the cupboard where the dishes were kept.

Fortunately, the dishes and utensils were intact, though thick with dust.

With a flick of her wand, she levitated the scattered chairs and set them upside down on the table. From the cupboard, she pulled out three plates, three cups, and three bowls. Turning on the stone sink’s tap, the long-unused pipes groaned and gurgled before finally releasing a stream of clear water.

After rinsing the dishes, Anne cleaned a portion of the long table, just enough space for four people to sit across from each other, and set the table.

At the fireplace, she raised her wand. A small flame sparked to life, quickly growing stronger.

She threw together a simple breakfast. Just as she checked her watch and started back upstairs, she caught sight of Ron shaking Harry awake.

“Anne! Where’d you go?” Ron sounded panicked. “You gave me a fright, I swear, if you’d gone missing, I don’t even want to imagine what Anne would’ve done to me.”

Anne laughed softly. “I was just in the kitchen. I made breakfast. Go wash up and come down, there’s something we need to talk about.”

“Whoa! Breakfast? Brilliant!” Ron dashed toward the bathroom.

Harry adjusted his glasses and stood up. “What time is it, Anne? What’s going on?”

“Seven-oh-two,” she replied. “We’ll talk over breakfast.”

In the kitchen, Ron was practically gaping at the contents of his cup. “Is this coffee? Anne, how did you make coffee?”

“Hot water. Instant coffee powder,” Anne replied.

“Instant?” Ron sniffed the cup, then took a cautious sip. “This is another Muggle thing, isn’t it? My dad would love this.”

Anne and Harry exchanged amused glances and smiled.

After breakfast, Anne spoke up. “What I wanted to talk about is our plan for the next few days.”

Harry and Ron nodded.

“My suggestion: step one, we need to clean this place up.”

“Ugh, again?” Ron groaned. He hadn’t forgotten that summer before fourth year when they helped the Order clean Grimmauld Place. He’d felt like a tireless house-elf.

“Anne told us last night to wait for her, which means we’ll probably be staying here for a few days. We can’t all just sleep in the living room, can we?” Anne said. “Besides, we’ll need to plan our next steps here. Anne gave me an entire book of research on Godric’s Hollow. It’s thick, we’ll probably need ten days to study it properly.”

Harry perked up. “Godric’s Hollow research? When did she give that to you?”

“Last night,” Anne replied. “I’ll explain more in a bit. Also, now that the Burrow’s no longer safe, this place might become the new headquarters for the Order. If it does, we’ll have helped make that possible.”

“I’m in,” Harry said immediately.

“Me too!” Ron chimed in. “I’m not that scared of hard work.”

Anne gave a knowing smile. “Good. Then today’s mission is to tidy the house. I’ll teach you two a couple of basic cleaning spells. The first priority is to clear out three bedrooms. They don’t have to be spotless, just like the kitchen: gather trash into piles, straighten what we can.”

Harry and Ron nodded.

“I’ll take care of the first and second floors. You two handle the third, fourth, and fifth.”

The fifth floor, the top of the house, had only two doors. Harry stood at the landing, facing one with a small plaque that read Sirius. He’d never been inside his godfather’s bedroom before. Slowly, he pushed open the door, raising his wand to light the room.

The space was large and must have once been beautiful. A grand bed with a carved headboard sat beneath long, velvet curtains. The chandelier was thick with dust, candle stubs still stuck in the holders, wax frozen in elegant drips like icy tears. Cobwebs connected the chandelier to a tall wooden wardrobe. Harry stepped inside and heard the rustling of mice scurrying away.

“Skollgify,” Harry muttered, trying a spell Anne had just taught him. Half the cobwebs vanished.

Posters and photographs lined the walls, almost completely covering the original silver-gray satin wallpaper. It was obvious Sirius’s parents had failed to remove the permanent sticking charms. Harry figured they hadn’t appreciated their eldest son’s decorative taste.

Sirius had clearly gone out of his way to rebel. Gryffindor banners hung in multiple places, their crimson and gold faded but defiant amidst this Slytherin household. There were also several pictures of Muggle motorcycles and even some posters of Muggle girls in bikinis, clearly Muggles, as they didn’t move, their smiles frozen on the paper.

In contrast, the only wizarding photo showed four Hogwarts students with arms around each other, laughing joyfully at the camera.

Harry’s heart surged, he recognized his father instantly. The messy black hair sticking up at the back, the glasses, just like his own. Next to him was Sirius, handsome and carefree, looking younger and happier than Harry had ever seen him.

Harry tried to remove the photo from the wall, but it wouldn’t budge. Sirius must have charmed it to make sure nothing here could be taken down.

Sweeping his eyes across the room, Harry flicked his wand. Books and items scattered on the floor lifted and floated neatly onto the bookshelf. Not difficult. He gathered stray scraps of parchment into a pile, just as one fluttering piece caught his attention. He snatched it out of the air, and the rest of the mess collapsed back to the floor.

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Dear Padfoot,

Thank you, thank you so much for Harry’s birthday present! It’s his favorite toy. He’s only one year old but already zipping around on that toy broomstick. He’s so happy! I’ve enclosed a photo for you to see. The broom only hovers two feet off the ground, but Harry nearly crashed into the cat and knocked over that dreadful vase Petunia gave me for Christmas (not that I’m complaining). James, of course, thinks it’s hilarious and insists our son will be the next Quidditch star. But we’ve had to pack away all the ornaments and keep an eye on him whenever he’s flying.

We had a quiet little birthday tea, just old Bathilda came by. She’s always been so kind and really dotes on Harry. Shame you couldn’t come, but the Order comes first. Besides, Harry’s too young to know what a birthday is! James is getting a bit restless cooped up here. He tries not to show it, but I can tell. The Invisibility Cloak is still with Dumbledore, so there’s no sneaking out. He would’ve been thrilled if you could have visited. Wormtail came by last weekend… seemed a bit down, though maybe it’s because of what happened to the McKinnons. I cried for a night when I heard.

Bathilda visits often. She’s a fascinating old lady and has told us some incredible stories about Dumbledore, things I never imagined. I’m not sure how much of it is true… I wonder how Dumbledore would feel if he heard some of it himself! Honestly, I don’t know how much to believe. It’s hard to believe that Dumbledore,

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Harry stood frozen, fingers numb around the fragile letter, his heart a volcano of joy and grief. He sat heavily on the bed, rereading the letter, not understanding more, just staring at the handwriting.

His mother formed her "g"s the same way he did.

Each letter felt like a wave through time, a gentle wave goodbye.

This letter was a miracle. Proof that Lily Potter had existed, had lived. Her warm hand had once held this parchment, her ink had formed these words. Words written about him, Harry, her son.

Wiping his eyes quickly, he read it again, this time focusing on the meaning, listening as if hearing a familiar voice.

They had a cat... It might’ve died in Godric’s Hollow. Or perhaps wandered off...

Sirius gave him his first broomstick...

They knew Bathilda Bagshot, maybe through Dumbledore?

The Invisibility Cloak… Dumbledore had it...

Harry paused. Why did Dumbledore take the cloak? He’d once said he didn’t need it to become invisible. Maybe he’d borrowed it for another member of the Order?

He read on...

Wormtail visited. That traitor. “Seemed down”? Did he already know it would be the last time he saw James and Lily alive?

And then Bathilda again, telling incredible stories about Dumbledore.

Hard to believe Dumbledore... What? What about Dumbledore?

There were many unbelievable things about the man, like failing Transfiguration once, or charming goats like Aberforth.

Harry jumped up and began searching the floor. The missing second page, could it still be here? He rifled through the pile of parchment scraps, nothing. He checked under furniture and along the floorboards.

Finally, he found a torn photo beneath a chest of drawers. It was the one mentioned in the letter: a black-haired baby flying around on a toy broom, laughing. Two adult legs chased after him, probably James’s.

Harry tucked the photo and letter into his pocket and resumed searching, but after fifteen more minutes, he had to admit: the rest of the letter was gone.

He reread the first page carefully for clues. But a toy broom wasn’t likely to hold much significance to anyone else.

Rubbing his eyes, he stood, pocketed the papers, and made a mental note to ask Anne more about the Godric’s Hollow material. Maybe there were answers there.

After organizing the room with a few finishing spells, he left Sirius’s room and turned to the other door on the fifth floor.

The plaque on this one was fancier, the handwriting formal, like something Percy Weasley might put on his own door:

No entry without explicit permission

Regulus Arcturus Black

A rush of excitement coursed through Harry, though it took him a moment to realize why. Then it hit him.

“Ron! Anne! Come up here!”

“What is it?” Ron clambered up the stairs, pausing when he saw Sirius’s door. “Oh, sorry, Harry. I didn’t mean to, ”

“Not that, look!” Harry pointed to the second door.

Ron leaned in. “Huh? This is Sirius’s brother, right? Regulus Arcturus, ”

“What’s going on?” Anne arrived, wand in hand. Harry pointed again at the nameplate. She frowned at the lettering.

Then her eyes widened.

“R.A.B.?” she gasped. “Sirius’s brother?”

“He was a Death Eater,” Harry explained. “Sirius told me. Joined young, tried to back out, and they killed him.”

“It fits!” Anne said quickly. “If he was a Death Eater, he would’ve had access to Voldemort. If he had a change of heart, he could’ve tried to stop him. The locket?”

“Let’s find out.” Harry tried the doorknob, it was locked.

“Alohomora,” Anne said, pointing her wand. With a click, the door opened.

The three stepped inside.

Compared to Sirius’s, Regulus’s room was smaller but no less opulent. While Sirius had made every effort to rebel, Regulus had embraced the family image, Slytherin silver and green dominated the decor. The Black family crest and their motto Toujours Pur were intricately painted above the bed, beneath which yellowed newspaper clippings formed a haphazard collage.

Anne walked over. “All about Voldemort,” she said. “Looks like Regulus spent years admiring him before actually joining the Death Eaters…”

She sat on the bed, a small puff of dust rising. Harry, meanwhile, noticed a photo of a Hogwarts Quidditch team, Slytherin. He leaned closer and found Regulus sitting front and center.

“He was a Seeker,” Harry said.

“What?” Anne asked, still scanning the articles.

“He’s sitting in the middle row, that’s the Seeker’s spot. Never mind.”

Ron was already crouched by the wardrobe, poking through beneath it. Harry walked over to the desk. Someone had gone through it recently. The dust was disturbed. Inside the drawers: old textbooks, a broken inkwell, a battered quill, and thick black ink staining everything.

“There’s a shortcut,” Anne said, noticing Harry wiping his hands on his jeans. She raised her wand. “Accio locket!”

Nothing happened.

Ron, searching the curtain folds, looked disappointed. “That’s it? It’s not here?”

“It might be here,” Anne said, “but warded against Summoning Charms, like the basin in the cave.”

“So how do we find it?” Ron asked.

“By hand,” Anne replied.

“Brilliant.” Ron rolled his eyes and kept digging.

After more than an hour, they searched every inch of the room, but found nothing.

The sun was high now, its glare still piercing through the dirty stairwell windows.

“It might not be here,” Anne admitted, “but it could be somewhere else in the house. We’re cleaning anyway, we might as well search while we do it!”

Ron flopped back on the bed with a groan, kicking up a cloud of dust. Harry wasn’t much more enthusiastic. Anne quickly cleared the air with her wand.

“Still, we have a solid lead on a Horcrux,” Anne said firmly. “Even if Regulus didn’t destroy it, he wouldn’t have wanted Voldemort to find it, right? Remember how many cursed items were here last time? That grandfather clock that shot screws, the robe that tried to strangle Ron. Maybe those were Regulus’s traps, meant to protect the locket. We just didn’t real—realize...”

Anne’s voice trailed off, her eyes wide.

“What is it?” Harry asked.

“There was a locket.”

“What?!” Harry and Ron both exclaimed.

“It was in the drawing room cabinet. None of us could open it. We all tried… then tossed it in the trash bag.”

Harry remembered it now, the locket no one could pry open. It had ended up with other junk: the cursed music box, the snuffbox with the wart powder...

“Kreacher stole a lot of things from us,” Harry said. That was their final lead, the one hope he wouldn’t let go of. “He kept a stash under the stairs. Come on.”

He bounded down two steps at a time. His friends scrambled to keep up, their footsteps loud enough to awaken the portrait in the hallway.

“Filth! Mudbloods! Scum!” it screamed. Anne flicked her wand; the curtain snapped shut with a soft thunk, silencing it.

They burst into the kitchen and ran to the tiny storage room beneath the stairs.

“I haven’t cleaned here yet,” Anne said.

“Who cares?” Ron muttered.

Harry yanked the door open and ducked inside. Kreacher’s old nest of filthy blankets was still there, but gone were the shimmering trinkets he used to hoard. Only an old copy of Nature’s Nobility: A Wizarding Genealogy remained.

Unwilling to believe it, Harry shook out the blankets. A dead rat thudded to the floor. Ron gagged. Anne closed her eyes.

“We’re not done yet,” Harry said, raising his voice. “Kreacher!”

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