The Potter Conspiracy

A/N: Thanks to all those who have read and reviewed.  Feedback is greatly appreciated!

A quick note about the Ollivander situation to avoid confusion: if you look closely at last chapter’s conversation between Dumbledore and Snape, you’ll see that his well-being is not their primary focus.  Just a hint.

Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter.  JKR and her partners do.

Chapter Six – The Key

September 2nd, 1995 – Hogwarts, Third Floor Corridor

Removing his invisibility cloak, Harry Potter gave one final glance to the Marauder’s Map and entered an empty classroom on the third floor.  Finally he could have some time to himself.  During his summer of isolation, Harry had desperately wanted the company of his friends.  Now that the school year had restarted, he suddenly felt overwhelmed with people.  It seemed to him that Ron and Hermione had spent the entire day glued to him, and he was now craving some solitude.

Today had been the first full day of classes, and, all things considered, it had gone really well.  Professor Grubbly-Plank had filled in for the still-absent Hagrid, and Professor Trelawney had not predicted his immediate death.   More importantly, it seemed that there would be no consequences resulting from his confrontation with Malfoy.

Harry was unsure what to make of this.  Neither McGonagall nor Snape had mentioned anything to him, and he had only seen Malfoy at meals.  Perhaps Malfoy had decided that the embarrassment of being so soundly beaten outweighed his desire to see Harry punished.  But Harry remembered the lesson he had learned from Dudley earlier that summer.  Dudley had waited and planned his revenge, and it was highly likely—no, absolutely certain—that Draco was doing the same.  He would have to be very careful when walking the halls alone.

Tonight Harry wanted some time alone to solve a problem that was increasingly bothering him: his vault key.  He still had most of Dumbledore’s 100 galleon allowance, but he was contemplating the purchase of several “questionable” books that he had seen referenced in his reading.  These purchases were potentially very expensive, and Harry wasn’t sure how to get hold of them even if he could afford them.

But the fact was that he could afford them, if not for Dumbledore’s possession of his vault key.  The old man had not spoken with him today after last night’s imbroglio with Snape, and Harry dearly wished that he could get out from underneath Dumbledore’s thumb.  Step one was securing his financial independence, but he was out of ideas.  Time to go to the old stand by, Harry thought.

“Dobby?”

Dobby popped into the room, still wearing his tea towel but proudly displaying his present from Harry.

“What can Dobby be doing for Harry Potter Sir?”

“Hello, Dobby.  I’m sorry for asking you to do something again, but I need to find a way to take back my vault key from the Headmaster.  Do you happen to know where he keeps it?”

Dobby’s ears drooped.  “Dobby is wanting to help Harry Potter Sir, but he is not knowing where Harry Potter’s key is.”

Harry was disappointed, but he had not truly expected Dobby to be able to help him with this particular problem.  “That’s okay, Dobby.  Just…well, keep an eye out for it if you’re ever in the Headmaster’s office, okay?”

Dobby nodded vigorously and popped away.

Harry sighed and looked out the window over the dark landscape.  Tomorrow he planned to introduce Ron and Hermione to the wonders of the Come-and-Go Room.  He needed them safe to retain his sanity.  He would hopefully be able to resume his training tomorrow as well, but it looked increasingly like he would be training himself.  The odds of Dumbledore finding him a suitable tutor looked grim.  Harry blamed Dumbledore for much of his current situation, and felt a sense of claustrophobia every time he thought of the old man.  Something is not right here, Harry knew in his gut.  The old bastard claims to care about me, but he’s always working against me.  He HAD to have known how I would react to Snape.

He had asked Ron about his and Hermione’s meeting with Dumbledore, but Ron had just shrugged and said it was “prefect stuff.”  That didn’t ring true to Harry, but he didn’t want to start an argument.  He wondered vaguely if Ron and Hermione were spying on him for the Headmaster, but he didn’t think it was very likely.  Hermione, at least, would never betray him like that, would she?

Harry felt a deep sense of foreboding that something bad was on the horizon, and he wasn’t wrong.

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September 3rd, 1995 – Hogwarts, Great Hall

The next morning Harry, Ron and Hermione walked in silent dread toward the Defense classroom, wishing that the upcoming class could somehow be avoided.  It was time for Dolores Umbridge to begin her instruction of them.

Fred and George had experienced Umbridge’s “class” yesterday, and they had both left it with a week’s detention.  Harry had a feeling that today was not going to go as well as yesterday.  On top of Defense, they all had Potions with Snape this afternoon.

Reaching the open door, the trio entered and took seats in the middle of the classroom.  They were a few minutes early, and the room was not yet at capacity.  A slew of Slytherins sat together in the back, glaring disdainfully at all the Gryffindors.  Malfoy did not meet Harry’s eyes.  Harry wondered not for the first time why Dumbledore felt it necessary to throw the Slytherins and the Gryffindors together for classes.

A few minutes later Professor Dolores Jane Umbridge, Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic, entered her classroom.  She was once again wearing a pink cardigan over her robes.  All chatter quieted immediately.

“Good morning class, and welcome to OWL-level Defense against the Dark Arts.  In this class you will learn Ministry-approved methods for defending yourself against magical attack….” she simpered at them, eyes roving from person to person.

“…However, it must be said that, despite rumors to the contrary, you are in no danger outside of Hogwarts’ halls.  The Ministry is fully capable of protecting you, and it is highly unlikely that what you learn in this class will ever be needed.  Wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Potter?” she asked, her childlike voice at odds with the threat in her words.

Here we go, thought Harry.  If I provoke her, she’ll make my life a living hell all year long.  I can’t afford to have detention every night.  Time to swallow some pride.

“If you say so, ma’am,” Harry replied politely.  “You’re the expert, after all.”

Harry put enough emphasis on the word “expert” to raise Umbridge’s eyebrow, but she just gave him a sickeningly sweet smile.

“Quite right, Mr. Potter.  Quite right,” she said in response.  “So you admit that you were—ahem—mistaken about your claims at the end of last term?”

Harry closed his eyes in aggravation.  This foul woman was not going to stop until she found some means to punish him.  If he just agreed with her, he was sure that his retraction would be headlines in tomorrow’s paper.  It looks I’ll be getting those detentions after all.  Screw it, he thought, opening his eyes to glare at her.

“No, Professor, I was not mistaken in the least.  I saw Voldemort resurrected with my own eyes, and I saw one of his Death Eaters murder Cedric Diggory.”

There was an intake of breath and then total silence in the room, everyone anticipating an explosion of wrath from Umbridge.  She did not disappoint.

“You insolent boy!” she hissed.  “How dare you make such outrageous claims!  The Minister himself has confirmed that you are lying.”

“And just how did he confirm that, Professor?  Did he ask his buddy Lucius Malfoy, a confirmed Death Eater?  Are you suggesting that I murdered Cedric Diggory in cold blood just to win some stupid tournament?!”  Harry thundered, his temper getting the best of him.  He was so sick of the suspicious way people were looking at him.

Malfoy gave an ugly sneer at the mention of his father, but he made no move to contradict Harry.

Umbridge glanced uneasily in Malfoy’s direction for a moment, then put a mask of civility back on her face.  “We shall see, Mr. Potter, we shall see.  Perhaps we could arrange some questioning with veritaserum, dear boy?” she asked politely, thinking that this would cow Harry.

“You name the time and place, Professor,” he replied confidently, and now there were mutterings of disbelief in the classroom.  Harry Potter was willing to take truth serum to confirm his story?

“Well—hem, hem—class, quiet down,” Umbridge said, disconcerted that her tactic had failed so spectacularly.  “It appears that you need to learn some respect for your betters, Mr. Potter. I think that 50 points from Gryffindor and a week’s worth of detentions would be a nice start.”

“No,” replied Harry, shocking the class into silence once again.  Even the Slytherins were looking at Harry with open curiosity now; was he trying to get expelled?

“Excuse me, Mr. Potter?”

“I said ‘no,’ Professor.  If you take your punishment to Headmaster Dumbledore and he agrees with it, then I will serve the detentions.  But I refuse to be punished because you don’t like me; I have not been disrespectful towards you, I have only answered your questions,” Harry said evenly.

Umbridge was completely taken aback at his defiance.  Evidently she had expected to put The-Boy-Who-Lived under her thumb with ease.

“Very…very well, Mr. Potter.  You are dismissed.  I will meet you in the Headmaster’s Office at the end of class,” she said, trying to regain her sense of authority.  “Now, class, wands away and quills out, please.  Open your textbooks to Chapter One and begin reading.”

Harry made no reply; he gathered his things and left, seething at the incompetent Professor.  He gave her a two-fingered salute as soon as he was out the door.

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Hogwarts, Defense Classroom – 7:00pm

Harry sat in a desk across from Dolores Umbridge and waited on her to assign him some hideous form of work.  To his shock, the Headmaster had upheld Umbridge’s punishments, chiding Harry for his attitude and asking him to behave more respectfully toward his Professors.  The smug look on Umbridge’s face had been insufferable.  He must be angry at my refusal to work with Snape, Harry thought.  Harry didn’t believe that the Headmaster would ever allow him to be expelled, but apparently it wasn’t beneath the man to get a little petty revenge.

“Hem, hem,” the fat creature across from him started.  “Every night this week you will be writing lines, Mr. Potter.  You will repeat the line “I must not tell lies” until I am satisfied the message has sunk in,” she smiled widely.

“You are to use this quill,” she continued, handing him a sharp-looking black instrument.  “And you will not need ink.”

Harry shrugged and retrieved some parchment.  This didn’t seem so bad.

Umbridge watched closely as Harry began writing.  He gasped slightly in shock as the quill seemed to write directly onto his skin.  Harry stopped writing and looked up at Umbridge.  She was giving him a lethal smile, and Harry knew that he wasn’t going to be writing ordinary lines.  Her quill was somehow able to scrape the back of his hand, and its “ink” appeared to be his own blood.  A week of this would leave his hand bloody and raw.

Harry made his decision.  Looking directly into Umbridge’s eyes, he gripped her quill in both hands and quickly snapped it in half.

“Oops,” he said politely, smiling at her.  “I seem to have accidentally broken your quill, Professor.  Sorry about that.  It looks like I’ll just have to use my own.”

Umbridge stared at him speechlessly, too shocked at his audacity to be angry right away.

“Mr. Potter!  What…how DARE you!  That was an expensive quill!  I can charge you with destruction of Ministry property!” she shrieked.

Harry shrugged.  “Sorry, Professor.  Like I said, it was an accident.  But if you like, we can go see the Headmaster again.  I’m sure he would be willing to reimburse you on my behalf.  And he might find your quill to be quite fascinating,” Harry replied.  Dumbledore may want him punished out of spite, but Harry was willing to believe the old man had no idea that Umbridge was planning to torture him.

Umbridge was turning an ugly shade of violet, and Harry was reminded of Marge Dursley.

“Potter…go!  Get out of this room this instant!  You will serve the rest of your detentions with Professor Snape.”

Harry gathered his things and left, feeling giddy and triumphant at having successfully baffled the hideous woman.

As soon as Harry was out the door, Umbridge grabbed her floo powder violently and then shouted into the green glow of her fireplace.

“MINISTER OF MAGIC’S OFFICE!  CORNELIUS!”

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The rest of Harry’s week went considerably better.  True to her word, Umbridge had allowed him to serve the remainder of his detentions with Snape.  The oily bastard had made him scrub cauldrons with his bare hands, but hadn’t otherwise antagonized Harry.  He hadn’t even mentioned the aborted training plans, and Harry wondered if Dumbledore had finally decided to reign in the biting sarcasm of his potions master.  Umbridge  herself had not provoked Harry again during class, just insisting that everyone read quietly at their desks while she glowered at them.

His nightly detentions had prevented him from introducing Ron and Hermione to the Come-and-Go Room, but this weekend he would finally be free to restart his training.  Harry couldn’t wait.  He hadn’t decided yet whether to tell them about his difficulties with casting, but he was nevertheless excited to show them his new homemade spell book.

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September 6th, 1995 – Hogwarts, Room of Requirement

“And there you have it,” smiled Harry, his arms sweeping the room in a magnanimous gesture.

Ron and Hermione were in just as much awe at the Come-and-Go Room as Harry was when Dobby introduced him to it.  Hermione, in particular, seemed to have lost the power of speech.

“This…” she started, before blinking and trying again, “this is the most amazing feat of magic I’ve ever seen.  What else can the room do, Harry?  Have you experimented?”

“Er…no,” Harry replied sheepishly.  “Dobby said the elves use it to store things sometimes, but I’ve just been thinking about a training room when I come here.”

Hermione nodded.  Harry could tell she was composing a mental list of tests for the remarkable room.

The previous night he had told her about Dobby’s help over the summer, and, to his great surprise, she had not been outraged.  She had merely listened and then hugged Harry, informing him that she was thankful that he had had some company.  Yet another mystery about the new Hermione.

Ron paced around the room quickly, very eager to put its capabilities to the test.  One wall had provided them with a small library of defense books, while the rest of the room seemed dedicated to a dueling area complete with various kinds of targets.  There were even exercise mats in one corner.

“Right, then,” Harry said, pulling out his new grimoire.  “This is the little spell book I was telling you about.  It’s got about 100 different kinds of advanced spells in it, mostly charms, curses, and shields.  They’re, er, giving me a little trouble, but I thought we could use the room to train together and master them.”  Here Harry paused, searching for the right words.

“I want you to both to know that, er, that I appreciate you standing by me.  I know it’s hard to be my friend, and it will probably just get harder.  These spells will hopefully help all of us make it out of this mess alive.  Anyway, um, let’s get started, yeah?”

Ron shuffled his feet and looked at the ground as Harry spoke, a nod of his head his only acknowledgment.  Hermione had tears in her eyes, and stepped forward to give Harry a forceful hug.  Harry wrapped his arms around her, and was made newly aware of how frail Hermione was.  Her appearance had not improved at all in the first week of classes.

“Oh, Harry,” she said, “We’ll always be your friends.  Don’t ever forget that.”

Harry nodded, relieved that he was not alone in his time of trial.  He almost told them right then about his wonky magic, but truthfully he was a little ashamed of it.  He was hoping that it would eventually go away, or that he could find a solution without having to elicit more pitying looks from his friends.

The trio spent the next three hours leafing through Harry’s notebook, commenting on spells that looked promising and how they might be used in a fight.  Hermione eventually wandered over to the books on the wall and began perusing them, while Harry showed Ron how the room could provide small moving targets for stunner practice.

They practiced no advanced spells on that first day, but each of them had a mental list of things they wanted to try as soon as they could safely return.  The difficulty was going to be finding time when their schedules were all free, especially considering Harry’s upcoming Quidditch practices.  They also wanted to be sure that they could keep the room a secret; it wouldn’t do to have Umbridge or Malfoy discover what it was capable of.

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September 9, 1995 – Hogwarts, Gryffindor Common Room

Three days later, Harry was trudging down the steps that led from his dorms, Firebolt in hand.  He had never discovered who his mysterious benefactor was during third year, but he was certainly grateful to have such a fantastic broom.  Flying was the only thing that truly relaxed Harry, and he was desperately in need of relaxation right now.  

Only Ron and Hermione were treating him kindly, although Ginny, Neville, and Luna had each made token attempts at conversation with him.  The rest of the student body still fell silent whenever he passed, and the girls of Ravenclaw House had taken it upon themselves to loudly mention the name “Cedric” whenever Harry was near.  Evidently Cho Chang, Cedric Diggory’s former girlfriend and Harry’s erstwhile crush, held Harry responsible for his death.  The constant stress of reigning in his temper was beginning to wear on Harry.  

Dumbledore refused to allow him to continue his running program at Hogwarts, as it was supposedly too dangerous for him to roam the grounds alone, so Harry’s only form of exercise (save for his training sessions) now came from flying.  With quidditch practice not yet begun, he was now going to fly simply for pleasure.

At the bottom of the stairs he was met by Ron and Ginny.

“Going for a fly, mate?”  Ron asked.

“Yeah, I’ve got to get out of the castle for a bit,” Harry sighed.

“Well, if you’re going, would you, er, mind if Ginny goes with you?  She likes to fly too, don’t you, Ginny?”

Ginny managed to contain most of her blush and nodded.

Harry looked oddly at Ron for a moment and then shrugged.  “Well…yeah, that’s fine.  I didn’t know you flew, Ginny.”

“I, er, I fly sometimes at home when nobody can see.”

Before Harry could respond, Ron slapped him on the back.

“Right, then.  You two take your time.  We’ll see you in a bit.”

Why is Ron doing this?  Harry wondered, as he and Ginny made their way out the Common Room door.  Has he seen me looking at Ginny?

After they had stopped at the Quidditch locker rooms to locate a school broom for Ginny, she and Harry spent the next two hours in the air.  To Harry’s surprise, she was actually a competent flier.  She couldn’t keep up with his Firebolt and would never make the house team, but she flew with a relaxed ease that most of her classmates lacked.  They didn’t speak much while in the air, but both were flushed and happy when they landed to return to the castle.

As they walked slowly back, Harry couldn’t help but notice the way the fading sunlight reflected off Ginny’s red hair.  Merlin, she’s stunning, he thought.  Maybe I should ask her to the first Hogsmeade weekend? But then his new sense of mission kicked in, and he ruthlessly quashed these feelings of tenderness.  NO, he thought.  I do NOT have time for a bloody girlfriend.  Not until this is over.

Ginny noticed the shadow that crossed his features as they walked in silence, but chose not to mention anything.

Maybe she can join us in training later, Harry thought.  At the very least I could have Dobby keep an eye on her.

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September 10, 1995 – Hogwarts, Great Hall

The next morning Hogwarts’ “golden trio” entered the Great Hall for breakfast.  Harry noticed an empty seat next to Parvati Patil, and decided now was as good a time as any to make his apology.  He had kept Padma’s reprimand in the back of his mind for the past few days, but hadn’t been able to talk to Parvati when she was alone.  This morning Lavender was absent, so Harry motioned Hermione and Ron on while he hesitantly approached Parvati.

“Hi, Parvati,” he said cautiously.  “Do you mind if I sit here?”

The pretty Indian girl looked at him once in surprise, but quickly recovered.

“Oh…no, Harry, have a seat.”

“So did you have a good summer?”  Harry began, not sure how to broach the subject of the Yule Ball disaster.

Parvati shrugged.  “It was okay.  We just stayed around the house mostly.  We went to Germany once—my dad had business there—but that’s about it.”

“Cool,” Harry responded lamely.  He had filled his plate with food, and now didn’t know what else to say.

An awkward silence ensued for the next minute or so, when Parvati finally sighed and put down her fork.

“Padma said something to you, didn’t she?”

“Um…,” said Harry, articulately.

“What did she say to you?” asked Parvati, with a touch of heat.

“Well,” started Harry, “she said that you, er….I mean that, you know, your family…and that you told them you had a good time….and—,”

“Stop, Harry,” Parvati interrupted.  “I don’t care what she told you.  Here’s the deal.  We had a terrible date.  I didn’t want to embarrass myself by having to tell everyone that The-Boy-Who-Lived treated me rudely.  They would have felt sorry for me.  So I told people I had a good time.  End of story.  You don’t need to sit here and try to talk me.”

Harry leaned his head back and closed his eyes.  He was truly terrible at conversations with girls—Hermione didn’t count in his mind—and he had just botched this one badly.

“I’m sorry, Parvati,” Harry said, sincerely.  “That’s all I wanted to say.  I know it was, erm, a bad night.  If I had known how badly you felt, I would have apologized earlier.  It was just…well, last year was rough.”

Parvati gave him a small smile.  “Apology accepted, Harry.  Now, go sit with your friends.  They’re giving us funny looks, and Ron looks like he’s about to choke.”

Harry nodded gratefully and moved to sit with Ron and Hermione.  Thank God that’s over, he thought.

As soon as Harry sat down and started to fill another plate for himself, Ron began peppering him with questions.

Harry explained between mouthfuls why he felt the need to apologize to Parvati, and Ron seemed to accept that.  Apparently it hadn’t occurred to him to apologize to Padma for his awful behavior.

Harry’s good mood continued until the arrival of the mail owls.  A large barn owl dropped a copy of the Daily Prophet onto his plate, and what little he could see of the headline made his stomach drop.  He opened the paper with trepidation, just as a hundred other students did the same.

Is The-Boy-Who-Lived a Danger to Hogwarts Students?

by Rita Skeeter

The Hogwarts School Year started only week ago, and already there are reports that a dangerous threat is roaming the castle’s illustrious halls.  With the death of Cedric Diggory last June, it was expected that Headmaster Albus Dumbledore would clamp down on troublemakers to ensure the safety of students.  But this reporter has learned that Harry Potter, already implicated in the deaths of Mr. Diggory and his muggle cousin, has been terrorizing students and faculty alike this term.

Says Defense against the Dark Arts Professor Dolores Umbridge: “In my first week of teaching, Mr. Potter has already earned a week’s worth of detentions for his constant disrespect.  His outbursts have started to negatively affect the learning environment at our beloved Hogwarts.”

We are forced to wonder what Headmaster Dumbledore, now in his sixth decade at Hogwarts, is doing to reign in The-Boy-Who Lived.  Has Mr. Potter gone too far in exploiting his fame for his own gain?  I’m sure if one were to ask the parents of Cedric Diggory…

Harry slammed his copy of the paper down in disgust.  The article continued for several more paragraphs, but he couldn’t bring himself to read it.  Merlin, he fumed, how can they get away with printing this shite?  And why the hell is Skeeter still writing about me?  I thought Hermione was blackmailing her.  Harry looked up at the Head Table and was revolted by the sight of Dolores Umbridge smiling at him.  So this is her game, Harry thought.  She couldn’t get me to lie, so she decided to blast me in the newspaper.

Little did Harry know that Umbridge’s “game” had almost gone far beyond propaganda.  She had convinced Minister Fudge to introduce a bill to the Wizengamot that would create the position of a “High Inquisitor” at Hogwarts.  Dumbledore, through his position as Supreme Mugwump, had the support to prevent such a decree from being passed, but just barely.  He was unpopular these days among the old families, despite his status among them, and he had had to call in special favors to prevent further Ministry inroads into Hogwarts.

Had Harry known this, it still would not have lessened his wrath at Umbridge and Dumbledore.  A member of the Hogwarts staff had spread lies about him.  And Professor Dumbledore had allowed it to happen, despite his status as Harry’s guardian.

Harry turned to Hermione, who had read the article with a mournful look on her face.

“Hermione,” he whispered, “I thought the Rita Skeeter situation was under control.  Didn’t she promise to stop?”

“She did, Harry,” responded Hermione, “but she apparently changed her mind.  She sent me a note a couple weeks ago which just said ‘Deal’s off.’  I think she must have cut some kind of deal with the Ministry.”

Harry nodded, fuming.  He couldn’t seem to catch a break.

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Ministry of Magic – Department of Magical Law Enforcement

Amelia Bones put down today’s copy of the Daily Prophet and considered the growing problem of Harry Potter.

Last May she had investigated the death of Cedric Diggory at Hogwarts, and she had been shocked at his claims of Voldemort’s return.  Her incredulity was only reinforced by the sneers and dismissals that greeted Potter’s statement.  People don’t spontaneously come back to life after being dead for a decade, after all.  And yet something still smelt funny about the whole business.

They had discovered an escaped Death Eater, Barty Crouch, Jr., apparently masquerading as a Hogwarts Professor.  But Fudge had ordered the man kissed before he could be properly questioned.

They had also confirmed that the Diggory boy died from an Avada Kedavra, and that it hadn’t come from Harry Potter’s wand.

The rest was still a mystery.  Dumbledore was being tight-lipped about the whole thing, assuring her that he had it under control, and the Minister had told her to stop investigating.  Now Fudge seemed intent on destroying Harry Potter’s reputation through the press.  And Dumbledore wasn’t attempting to stop him.

Something was just…off.

Her niece Susan had told her that Potter was a quiet boy, not getting into much trouble except for the adventures that seemed to seek him out.  Apparently the boy had only two friends and interacted very little with other people.  Susan’s description didn’t jibe with the vain, attention-seeking Harry Potter described in the newspapers.

A sense of apprehension was growing in Director Bones.  There were just too many events centered around Harry Potter of late, and too many powerful people had taken an interest in him.  

Removing her monocle and standing to straighten her robes, she decided it was time to pay a visit to Algernon Croaker.  Maybe he knows more about what’s going on, she thought.

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September 16, 1995 – Hogwarts, Room of Requirement

“Okay, Ron, I’m ready.”

“Stupefy!” Ron shouted.

Harry made a quick upward motion with his wand.  “Protego horribilis!”

Ron’s stunner deflected off Harry’s shield and was sent straight back at him.  Ron shouted his own “protego” and the spell finally dissipated.

“You got it, Harry!” Hermione gushed happily.

For the third night this week the trio was practicing spells from Harry’s grimoire in the Come-and-Go Room.  Tonight’s goal was mastery of the “Protego Horribilis” charm, a modified shield spell that sent most spells directly back at the caster.  There were better shields that Harry wanted to master, but so far this was the best he could do.

It was no longer possible for Harry to hide his weakened magic from his friends.  They had practiced reducto, diffindo, and several other offensive spells earlier in the week, and were now moving on to shields.  It had been immediately apparent to them that Harry’s magic was weaker when Ron and Hermione mastered the spells more quickly than Harry.  Harry had offered them an abbreviated explanation for his newfound weaknesses, and they had accepted it without too much further prying.

Harry, now sweaty and exhausted, nodded his thanks to Hermione.  Making such slow progress toward his goals was endlessly frustrating, and every day that passed with no solution further irritated him.  Of the 100 or so spells in his book, the trio had only worked through the five easiest of them.  It had taken Harry almost two hours of repeated failures and intense concentration to finally perform this spell properly, and now he felt like he could sleep for twelve hours.

Sitting down heavily in a chair the room provided, Harry leaned back as Dobby popped into the room with water for everyone.

Deciding to call it a night, the trio checked the Marauder’s Map for lurkers and then exited their training room.  It was closing in on curfew, and they still had essays to write for the next day.

Arriving in their dorm room, Harry collapsed on his bed as Ron tossed one of his mother’s homemade cauldron cakes in his direction.  Harry usually needed a snack after his training sessions, and Molly Weasley had made sure that Ron would be able to provide him with one.

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Hogwarts, Headmaster’s Office

Albus Dumbledore sat back in his chair, absentmindedly fingering Harry’s vault key and contemplating his upcoming plans.  With Harry’s will registered at the Ministry and Gringott’s, there shouldn’t be any difficulties in acquiring the bulk of the Potter Estate.  Still, better safe than sorry, Dumbledore thought.  Soon he would have to empty Harry’s trust vault, just in case there were challenges to the will.  If things didn’t go according to plan, they would probably need that money.

Setting the key down on his desk to reach for fresh parchment, he was startled by a sudden pop of apparition directly in front of him.  Shocked into immobility, Dumbledore simply stared as a house elf snapped up Harry’s vault key and pocketed it.

“This is belonging to Harry Potter Sir,” it said, before popping out again.

Dumbledore exhaled noisily at the elf’s departure.  Bloody buggering hell, he swore mentally, leaning back and trying to calm his racing heart.

This office was his inner sanctum, and he had never been surprised in it.  Until now.  By a house elf.  The Weasley boy had told him about Dobby’s presence in the castle, which worried him, but he had no way of warding the castle against a particular elf.  He had never seen one behave so boldly as just now.

The loss of the key was not a disaster for him, as it would be easy enough to recover after Harry’s upcoming demise, but Dumbledore didn’t want Harry spending money recklessly or being tempted to leave the castle.

This will have to be addressed, he thought, holding a hand to his chest and wondering if he would now have to ward his office against all house elves.

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A/N: Next chapter, an overheard conversation that will soon turn Harry’s world upside down.