Findings, Part 3
An abandoned house, Unknown
25th september 2003
Getting to the second floor without sending it crashing on those waiting below, leaving anybody behind, or crashing back down with or without the accompaniment of the said floor crumbling once we’re there, for that matter, is very, very tricky. It’s a relief for all three of us, I bet, to solve this matter instead of dwelling on hurtful and bittersweet past experiences, since not even Luna has been spared the shared grief after listening to Neville’s no-doubt well-kept secret. (But then again, her mum died in front of her in some kind of accident with an experiment, didn’t she? Just like mine, if for a more serious case – in my opinion, at any rate.)
A long, animated discussion ensues, involving lots of expansive gestures and mimicry (mostly Neville and I), measuring the length and width and height of each intact stair and comparing it with our combined heights (that’s Luna’s doing), and lots more things. We at last settle on a few steps. Firstly, we’ll make something to shelter those waiting below safely, then someone – most likely yours truly – will attempt to Reparo the cracks on the ceiling to reduce chance of crumbling under our combined weight, then one of us will get up via Wingardium Leviosa cast by one of those waiting below, while carrying a length of rope that is going to be used to haul up the other two, and lastly the rest will be towed up one by one.
For all that to happen, at first, we need a huge, fortified umbrella to act as the shelter for those waiting their turns to go up – as Neville suggests, with much embarrassment but sadly an equal measure of sense, given the concept of it shielding one from rain… maybe even of the rocky type… – and also a charmed, fortified length of rope.
So, to fulfil the first order alone, Neville transfigures the nearest rubble into a huge umbrella that could fit up to eight adults standing close together, then Luna charms it permanent. Next, I mould the thing to be heavy or light and harden or soften on will, adding extensions down the sides so that it can act as a makeshift tent if need be, and sure the whole contraption up against hard impact with unbreakability mixed with instant softening of things that crash on it with quite a force – except for living things; Neville insists on that. Lastly, something that I do as well, a further moulding is added, by some of Luna’s suggestions, so that the umbrella – that’s getting more and more bizarrely featured by the moment – can help the said up-to-eight-people fly or float on water. – “An alternative for escape, at least,” Neville comments mollifyingly, looking somewhat constipated with no-doubt badly withheld sniggers.
Too exhausted and flabbergasted with the last request to say anything, I just aim a silent glare promising a later retribution at him, grunt my agreement to Luna’s proposal that we check the soundness of the bit of floor we’re about to step on once upstairs, then proceed with moulding load lightening, return-to-owner-or-sender, unbreakability, mild sticking and added-length-on-will to a length of rope I found in my pack. (Blessed be the Black house-elf – or house-elves – who foresaw a need for a rope in my formerly mild excursion!) We’ve agreed that Neville will be the first to go up, given his formal education in scoping out a dangerous place, so next I throw the coil of charmed rope round his neck with more vigor than necessary, then relish the chance to boss him to a good spot for the levitation, complete with a sing-songed, “Don’t forget: I’m the one who’ll levitate you.”
The last thing that I hear from him before we figuratively get on the way again is a – maybe true, maybe faked – apprehensive mutter of “Uh-oh.”
The bantering mood dies down again, sadly, once the three of us have gotten safely up on the second floor, and it’s not because, despite all the lengthy and convoluted and tiring preparations, nothing bad has happened.
Nothing bad has happened to us, true, but now we have the evidence that it did happen to the former occupants of this giant house. – Magic still swirls here, of the wild and desperate and protective kind, fueled by a willing sacrifice, as I encountered in traces up on the second floor of my own babyhood home in Godric’s Hollow. It even feels young, younger than even that of my mother’s. And the setting….
I look round, wild-eyed, taking in the evident remnants of homey décor in the rooms – and there have clearly been at least three here, whose walls have been largely knocked down whether by age or by force… or both of them. One could be a master bedroom, or maybe a shared bedroom given the remnants of furs and fabrics that seem to form one massive bedding and a smaller one; another, leading directly from the stairs, could be a family or working room, with all the giant-sized stone contraptions; and the last could be a study and/or library of some sort, occupied by an intact stone table and what look like built-in shelves, with books and other things scattered mostly on the floor.
Judging from how barren the first floor has been and how intact this one is, someone – or a few someones – must have fought hard to prevent the intruders from advancing on the heart of their home.
Like James Potter, buying some time for his wife and child.
And the large patch of darker stone that looks like some liquid has spilt and been left there to dry, just before something that lies on one corner of the maybe-bedroom, visible only now that I’ve sent a Lumos ball to hover over the said maybe-bedroom….
I hurry to the spot, disregarding any caution to firstly test for the soundness of the floor as we agreed before, and two sets of footsteps hurry after me.
“That’s…. That looks like blood-spill, Harry,” Neville says, his voice gone squeaky with some kind of emotion I don’t want to try to decipher right now.
“Somebody died and shrank there,” Luna says matter-of-factly, softened by traces of solemn sadness typical of a sympathetic stranger to a mourning person.
“Let me check first,” is Neville’s hasty warning, before I can step across the maybe-bloodstain to reach the bundle that lies beyond it.
I step back, watching with vague attention as he casts the same set of detection spells as he did downstairs. But in my mind’s eye and in my ears, the scene in a particular nursery one dark day twenty-two years ago replays itself, with a red-haired young woman being the only barrier between a helpless toddler and a madman bent on destruction.
It’s not a surprise to me, then, when Neville declares that the bundle beyond the stain on the stone is actually a living lifeform preserved in stasis.
A Lily Potter of this land sacrificed themself for a baby, just like a James Potter – or several of such – tried to buy the baby time to flee. But the time wasn’t enough, or the chance wasn’t there.
Just like it was, with a young, tiny family bearing the name Potter.
Luna, who has apparently cast her own set of detection spells, this time regarding wards and enchantments, as learnt in NEWT-preparation Ancient Runes, declares that there’s most likely a sacrificial death ward tied to the lifeform in concern; something that, she adds, must have shrunk the “blue angel” who sacrificed themself into nothingness, leaving only a pool of long-dried blood. Even as she speaks, I am stepping over the pool of long-dried blood and crouching, reaching for the bundle.
Harry Potter, meet the Harry Potter of this land. – `Just let’s hope there’s no bloody prophecy and powerful people after you, little somebody.`
“Hello,” I murmur, just as my hand rests lightly on the top of the bundle of old leather and cloth.
And just so, the world explodes.