Chapter Text
Everything was shoved in bottomless boxes and bags. In every box thousands of shelves, chests, all manner of containers and objects, and even some things Harry was not sure could be given any correct description. Dumbledore truly had a collector’s streak. Mildly put.
Fourteen months have passed since the Battle of Hogwarts, but still the rebuilding and renovations were dragging on. Every time some area was thought to be finished something new came up. Hogwarts was like an endless trick box. The Marauders would have felt ashamed to find out they had not known of 72 secret passages and rooms that were now discovered. And that was just for now. Harry would bet his magic, those were not even half of them, seeing the endless rate all kinds of wonders popped out of every "fixed" corner. And one previous headmaster, now grinning lovingly and definitely smugly from a portrait on the wall, was obviously as bit full of endless surprises, as his beloved school.
Harry smiled fondly and shook his head. He was sitting on the floor of the headmaster’s office, almost diving in the bag of Dumbledore collections. Being one of the volunteers to help rebuild Hogwarts, and one of the few given the permission to do so, even without the proper experience, he was currently given the simple task of enlisting every object owned by the infamous Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore.
When he first saw the reasonably sized chest, two boxes and a silvery threaded bag, no bigger than a pillow, he thought this would be a piece of cake. Will finish soon and help the others. Just like everyone else working on the castle at the moment he was greatly proven wrong. Each of these objects was an endless pit. The chest even had rooms. The damn thing was a whole castle on its own! Harry sight, yet again. To those who did not know him well, they would say he was tired, or frustrated. They would sympathize. To his friends, like one Hermione Granger standing next to the bookshelves mere feet away, it looked exactly as what it was. Harry Potter was so excited to look in detail at everything which was in there, that he felt sad having to only glance at each object, enlist it, and reach for the next.
After the war ended Hermione expected Harry to be crushed. To need long recovery, like everyone else. To be depressed. And though he did sincerely mourn for everyone they’d lost, and she knew he had nightmares much too often, he was giving off the exact opposite feeling. Not of depression, not of sadness, but of hope and anticipation.
Though she could see the color drain from his eyes during every funeral and he’ll often space out having that same look in his eyes, the fire would return in them with greater power on every small positive sight they fell upon. The smile on the passersby at Diagon Alley, walking calmly. The lack of barred windows. The exhausted but determined faces of ministry workers, busily rebuilding the damage from the war. The little Bahaduri tree that grew where Colin Creeve had lost his life in the battle. Most saddened at the sight of it, some did not want the reminder, but Harry smiled at it. And he forbid anyone from touching said Bahaduri tree. He did not have the legal authority to do so, but at the moment no one really had more authority in magical Britain than Harry James Potter did. And he only used it purposely that one time.
You could see the hope of the future in his eyes. Everyone who met him could see it, and all of them seemed a bit more alive after. He was no longer just an image of hope. He was the epitome of it. He gave Hermione hope too. Every time she held Ron’s hand Harry would smile so subtly one would miss it the first hundred times. But now she easily saw it, and she knew there was a bright future. Because Harry Potter would not have it any other way. And he could be damn sure she and Ron would be by his side every step of the way. As always.
Harry pulled out yet another object he had absolutely no idea the use of. It was dark. Black and cold. The shape reminded him of those drawings of electrons in muggle textbooks. But the thread was only one, circling in several loops around a core, barely visible. There was something about the object that would not let Harry just look at it wishfully, check Dumbledore’s catalogue, name it and place it with the others. He could not stop staring at it. Fascinated. He didn't know how he knew, but he released a small amount of magic in the object.
The next second letters were glowing on the threads.
Someone shrieked and Harry turned to see Hermione approaching fast.
-Harry, what is that!? Put it down, it might be dangerous!
-Everything here might be really. That’s not a good point.
She did not look convinced.
-What is it?
-I don't know.
-What do you mean you don't know!? Harry James Potter how many times must I tell you to read what something is before pulling it out of that damn bag!? How are you still alive!? Merlin, do you drink Felix Felicis instead of water every day!?
-No, but imagine if I did.
Hermione frowned, that would be a frightening occurrence.
-Anyways, just put that down! I don't like how it’s glowing.
-Calm down, It actually has letters on it. I don't even need the books, look...
Hermione looked curiously over his shoulder, more closely and she saw that indeed there were some signs there, obviously some sort of writing, though she did not recognize it.
-It is a description of some sort. I think this is some kind of a portkey...- Harry stated while turning the black object with shining letters carelessly, examining it.
-How can you tell? And do be more careful, stop turning it like...
-The writing...can't you read it?
He looked over his shoulder at her confused, she returned the same look mixed with concern.
-I've never seen this language before, Harry. Do you mean to tell me that you understand it?
He just nodded, brows furrowing.
-Do you think it’s parseltongue?-the girl asked.
-Wouldn't make sense now. You know I no longer speak it...I think. I mean I tried talking to a snake once and it blatantly ignored me, thank Merlin! Kind of funny that Ron is now the one people turn to when they need help with parseltongue. - He huffed a laugh and Hermione smiled.
-He just knows this one word "Open" and I think everyone in the auror department knows it too by now. But I've seen parseltongue writing more than enough now actually, and indeed I don't think this is parseltongue. Harry, do you know some other languages?
-Just English. But this looks just like… - he looked at the glowing letters again and faltered-...not English. I hadn’t noticed, but this is strange. I've never seen such writing in my life and I can understand it perfectly. Better than English in fact.
-Another magical language then?
Harry shrugged. It was tiring to be always surprised at the weird stuff happening around him anymore, especially after the war weirdly enough. So he had taken to just excepting everything as he went. The same went for Hermione as well, regarding him.
-So what does it say?
He looked at it again and started reading, but what came out of his mouth was not English. It was the most pure, melting, flowing, pleasant and light all together sound Hermione had ever heard. And it was doing something. She could feel magic going haywire and panic gripped her gut.
-Harry! HARRY, STOP READING!!!-she tried to touch him but the magic was so thick that her hand could not go through. And Harry seemed completely oblivious, transfixed, continuing to read in that strange, beautiful, terrifying language. And she was indeed terrified!
-HARRY!!! ST... STOP REA....
The magic started pushing her back and the glow from the object increased. The objects in the office started rattling and some floating. The headmasters and mistresses from the paintings ran from the frames except for Dumbledore and Snape.
Someone burst into the office and Hermione had just the mind to notice it was Headmistress McGonagall with someone behind her when Harry stopped reading. All went dead still. Then the magic just sucked itself in with blinding light, back to the object and in a moment everything went back to normal as if nothing had happened. Everything except Harry Potter, who had promptly disappeared, only a black object lying on the ground where the boy had been sitting moments ago. It no longer glowed and dread wrecked through Hermione's body as she screamed Harry's name and lunged forward uselessly grabbing the thing. But it was no longer active and Harry Potter was gone.