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Author: Magicdust  Story: Essense of Chivalry  Chapter: Memory's Dream
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Essence of Chivalry

Disclaimer: Harry Potter is JK Rowling’s not mine.


Rating for Chapter Number Two [Memory’s Dream]: PG


AN: I am sorry, I made a mistake. In the first chapter, it says “June night” really it should say August. The wedding was on August the 18th, and it is the day after that they left.


Thanks~ I thank again to my beta-reader: PirateQueen, a very talented author and beta-reader who catches errors of mine in all places.


2nd:  To my friend, Ainslee, who reads all I write and strangely sometimes enjoys it.




Essence of Chivalry

Chapter 2: Memory’s Dream

By MagicDust




“Memory is a child walking along a seashore. You can never tell what small pebble it will pick up and store away among its treasured things.”  –Pierce Harris



Harry’s feet smacked down hard onto the sodden earth; he was the first to reach their destination and turned in time to see a rather disgruntled Hermione and indifferent Ron, appear alongside him with a quiet pop, or in Ron’s case, loud crack, on the sloping green hill, frothy with early morning dew.


“Ron, how many times do I have to tell you? You have got to work on your Apparating skills; what if someone heard us?”


Ron rolled his eyes towards Harry, who smiled in return.


“Of course Professor Granger,” Ron said, sweeping an imaginary hat off his head. “I shall work my hardest!” Harry snorted as Hermione scowled.


“Well maybe I wouldn’t have to be the teacher,” She responded hotly “If you actually tried and I didn’t have to force you!” Ron opened his mouth to retort and soon they were off, bickering as they always do.


Sighing, Harry took this chance to glance around him.


In the weak morning light of brisk pinks and purples, the tree tops glowed with the golden rays of the sun, sparkling through the branches. A light cool wind danced through the hair on his head, and caused his arms to prickle. Rubbing his shoulders, Harry looked down the steep hill at the small village below.


The rooftops cast a myriad of shadows on the cobblestone streets and the other sleeping buildings. A small bird flitted down to rest on one of the homes, where the chimneys had already begun to release small amounts of grey smoke into the sunrise, which disappeared quickly with the wind.


Reaching into his pocket, Harry pulled out a small folded piece of parchment. Instantly, he recognized Remus’ neat script.


Godric’s Hollow: pt.56 N; pt. 45 S; pt.78 E; pt.12 W

525 Godric’s Hollow- Edge of town, on the far North side from the hill.


Those coordinates had landed them right on the outskirts of the village.


Not bothering to wait for the other two because he assumed once they stopped fighting, they would join him, Harry began walk carefully down the hill, steeling his feet on to the sloping ground so he wouldn’t trip.


When the ground became level again, he walked a little quicker, eager to see the home of his parents.


Halfway towards the first house, he heard ragged breathing and quick footsteps behind him. Turning, he saw Hermione and Ron running at full speed towards him.


“HARRY!” Hermione yelled. Harry winced; he hoped she hadn’t woken up the entire village.  Slowly, he turned around to face her. “DON’T GO OFF ALONE!” she yelled, her voice fearful. He raised a finger to his lips and pointed at the house with his opposite hand at the village.


Hermione clamped her mouth shut but Harry could almost see rolling through her head. Once the other two had reached him, Harry began to speak in a soft voice.


“This village,” he said inclining his head slightly to the left, “is only half magical, meaning we can’t flaunt our magic.” He looked directly at Hermione.


“What…?” Hermione said, oblivious.  (best to just leave it at ‘oblivious’ here)


Ron mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like ‘first year’ and ‘stupid feather anyway.’


“Wonder if they actually still have your mum and dad’s house open.” Ron said looking around the place.


“Remus said that they had left it alone since their death.” Hermione replied reaching inside her pocket. Pulling out something small she continued “but he said he really had to fight for it; the government wanted to turn it into a museum or something.”


“Oh yes,” Harry said, pushing his glasses up his nose. “This is where my mum read her novels,” he said pointing at nothing in particular. “And this is where my dad ate breakfast in the morning,” he continued, pointing directly at a large rock.


A woman with long grey hair, who was picking up her newspaper, looked over at them strangely. Ron smiled innocently. She watched them for a while longer before shaking her head and walking back up the path to her home.


“Harry,” Hermione said. “This is the key.” In her outstretched hand was a tiny bronze key with a small string fastened to it. Harry picked it out of her hand and closed his knuckles over it, warming it slightly.


“Thanks,” he said, turning towards the empty road ahead. He began to walk forward, pulling Remus’ note out of his robes and glanced over the coordinates.  He frowned, his brow creased with concentration.


Harry looked around; the coast was clear. Only a few people wandered the streets, others still slept on in the wake of the weekend. Shrugging his wand into his hand and keeping it up his sleeve, he pointed it in the direction he thought to be north. “Point me,” he whispered to it.


Harry felt his arm vibrate, and shifting a few feet from where he was headed. He smiled slightly to himself, beckoning the others to follow.


Their steps echoed against the cobbled streets, and their robes occasionally swished, but other than that, the trio was silent. By the time they reached the centre of the village, more people had begun to emerge.


About halfway through the town, Harry realized how very odd it must have looked for a teenager to be walking down the street with his arm extended at nothing, leading two others behind him, and occasionally muttering to himself. Abruptly, he lowered his arm until it was barely hovering.


Occasionally, people would stop and look at the newcomers. Some would even point and whisper inaudible comments; Harry pulled his robe collar up, and self-consciously pushed down his bangs.


As the sun rose, voices stirred rising louder into the breezy morning. The three teenagers remained; there was nothing to say really, it was a time that all of them needed to reflect and dream. Harry alternated between wanting to run at the house or drag his feet.


Looking up at the path ahead, his glasses flashing, Harry noticed how the houses became fewer and fewer; the silence became more and more blissful. They must be getting closer, he reasoned.


Never had he had anything that had belonged to his parents. Sure, he had some pictures that Hagrid had given him in his first year, but those were like memories in Dumbledore’s Pensieve; they always painted a vivid image in his mind and heart, but when ever he saw them, he always wanted more. Now was his chance, but ironically enough, he didn’t want it; he just couldn’t handle it right now. 


“Harry,” Ron said abruptly. Harry’s head snapped up, looking straight ahead. An inaudible gasp ran through his mind, and an iron fist clenched around his chest.


A small cottage rested in front of them. Innocent oak tree branches leaned casually over a small path leading to the front door. The mostly demolished picket fence hung haphazardly in several directions, one plank leaning carefully against the mail box.


525 Godric’s Hollow


-was written in peeling black letters.


This was the Potters’ house, his parents’ home.


Harry looked at his friends. Ron stood slightly to his right, eyeing the house with obvious interest, glancing every so often at Harry. Hermione was on his left, staring at anywhere but Harry; honestly, most of the time it seemed that they thought he was just going to break down and cry; they watched him intently so they could be there, ready with a Silencing charm and a hanky.


Taking a deep breath as the wind ruffled his hair; Harry steadied his shoulders and walked briskly up the path. Dimly, he heard Ron and Hermione scuffle up behind him. Harry stepped onto the porch, the boards creaking quietly as his boots touched them. The key swayed slightly in the wind as he raised it up by the string.


Anxiously, he shoved his glasses up his nose, and grasped the key firmly between his thumb and palm.


He moved his hand steadily towards the door, and paused for a moment, a few centimeters away from the key hole.


Memories that were more like night terrors slashed at him, one in particular.


His parents.


That night.


October thirty-first. 


“Lily, take Harry and GO! I’ll hold him off!”


“Power the Dark Lord knows not…”


 “No, please! Not Harry! Have mercy! Take me instead!”


“…the chosen one…He. Will. Save. Us. All.”


The prophecy, the stupid prophecy, was the core of it all.


Harry shook the offending images from his head; it was no time to be slipping off into a string of thought.


With renewed courage, Harry inserted the key into the lock, turning it firmly to the right. The door opened like it would have those 16 years ago when James and Lily first moved into their home.


Not bothering to remove the key from the door, Harry turned the knob and took the first step inside.


His first impression of the room was startling; it looked as though nothing had ever been moved.


Lumos Maximum,” he whispered. Promptly, the lamps flickered on, illuminating the room with their orange glow.


The room was furnished carefully and tastefully with deep red furniture. Before an unlit fire grate, facing directly north, an elongated couch sat, with a rectangular end table where a lamp stood. Running around the west wall, the bookshelves brimmed over with books, untouched for years. The east wall was claimed victoriously by a staircase, which passed a small rectangular window, and led up to a dark hallway.


In short, it was exactly the way he pictured it.


Somehow, Harry could imagine his mother curled up on the couch reading quietly by the fire to him, and sometimes, out loud to James. He could practically see Sirius and Remus coming through the door, on one of the rare times they could visit, and flopping down onto the couch next to her.


Padding across the short, tan carpet, Harry picked a book randomly from the shelf and opened the inside cover. His heart seemed to thump out of his chest.






 For as long as I have known you, you have read, so now, I think your brain can’t hold any more; but, for the sake of my fragile heart, at least try and read this.


Happy Birthday,


Love From,




“What are you doing here?” a voice snapped behind him. Harry jumped and on instinct, grabbed his wand, which caused him to drop the book on his foot. Wincing, he looked up and found a pair of bright grey eyes boring into him.


“Well,” the old woman said, tossing her long slightly graying brown hair off her shoulder. “I asked you, what are you doing here, breaking in and entering without permission?”


Harry opened his mouth to speak, but Hermione got there first.


“Hello, my name is Hermione Everhart,” she said extending a hand. “Estate agent and these are my partners, Ron Josephs,” Hermione said, pointing at Ron, “and er….Harley,” indicating Harry. Harry threw her an angry look and began to speak.


“Harley is deaf, ma’am,” she continued, “so please excuse him; he gets rather temperamental when others around him who can speak take advantage of the ability.” Hermione walked over and patted Har---Harley’s shoulder firmly, as if to say ‘Be quiet, or she will be able to tell I am lying.’


“Who are you?” Ron said straightening slightly. Harry noticed that he had found his way towards Hermione.


The woman regarded them for a moment and then cocked an eyebrow at Hermione, in what seemed like a vaguely familiar gesture. There was silence for a moment while the woman’s grey eyes locked with Hermione’s rich brown. It seemed as though it was a staring contest. Finally the woman blinked and looked up.


“My name is Helen Deepak, and I,” she waved a hand around the room, “own this place. Pleased to meet you---- all of you,” she said, eyeing the trio. She turned to Harry. “You must be the Potters’ son. How long have I waited to meet you!”


“Eh … ?” he gasped out.


“You don’t sound deaf to me.” Helen smiled kindly. Harry spluttered a moment, trying to decide whether or not he should give in to this woman’s piercing gaze.


Helen let out a soft chuckle. “Relax, I know who you are, boy,” she said. “I know all of it.”


“You know all of what?” Ron said defensively. She turned to him.


 “I know you aren’t Ron Josephs, you are Ronald Bilius Weasley. I know Hermione Granger isn’t Hermione Everhart and I know Harry is by no means deaf, and he doesn’t even look like a Harley. Hermione, you may want to work on not keeping eye contact with a stranger too long.” Helen smiled at Hermione’s flushed face.


“Well, I mean it is obvious how you guessed Harry,” she said a bit sullenly.


“Yes, by his hair, the same horrible mess as his father’s, funny I would have thought that you would have had Lily’s hair and James’ eyes but it looks like the other way round, eh?” Helen said good-naturedly.


“Yeah, er, I suppose,” Harry said, a little taken aback by the woman’s knowledge.


He gingerly nudged the carpet with his boot toe; if this woman knew as much as she claimed, it was just a matter of time before she knew everything; and who knew how much there actually was to know.


“So…Miss Granger,” Helen said turning to Hermione, who immediately turned her gaze to the window. “What exactly are you hoping to find?”


“Nothing, I told you,”


“Yes I know that is what you said,” Helen crossed her arms. “But what I want is the truth.”


Hermione bit her lip as she cast a quick glance at Harry.


“I wanted to see my parents, or where they lived rather.” Harry said looking around the quiet house, barren of any life save the soft breathing or nervous shifts of his friends. Glancing back up at Helen, he saw a glimmer of sadness in the deep depths of her eyes.


Finally, she gave a brief nod.


“Well, all right,” she said, regaining her brisk manner. She walked over to the stairs “The house is pretty straight forward, upstairs, downstairs, two bedrooms, one bath, kitchen, and living room,” She said turning her head in each direction


Harry glanced at Ron, who glanced at Hermione who—didn’t look up. Instead, her eyes were transfixed on Helen.


Helen, however, couldn’t have cared less; she was fiddling with a small trinket around her slender neck; a beautiful tear-drop golden locket engraved with smooth ruby lettering, which spelled out Alieno Mihi Non, enhancing the locket’s delicate features.


Sighing, Hermione was the first to move. “C’mon you two,” she said walking quickly towards the stairs. “Let’s have a look around.”


Spinning on his heel, Harry followed Hermione up the straight staircase. As soon as the trio was swallowed up by the darkness on the last stair, Ron spoke.


“Who is she?” He said glancing back in the direction of Helen, who was humming a random tune quietly to herself. Harry shook his head.


“I don’t know, but I get the feeling she comes here regularly.”

“Wouldn’t Remus have warned us before we got here about someone who knew how to get here?” Hermione asked raising her eyebrow slightly.

“Unless he didn’t know himself.”


“Why wouldn’t he have known?”


“Look, we don’t have a lot of time here,” Harry said, intervening quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. “We have to stay on schedule, the sooner we find this Horcrux, the sooner all this can be over.”


The other two nodded in consent. Casting a glance once more down the stairs, Harry pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and carefully stepped past the other two and onto the landing. He blinked a few times to adjust to the darkness before fully removing his wand from his pocket.


“Let’s split up,” Ron said, walking towards a door on the left-hand side of the hall. He opened the door a crack and slipped inside. Hermione held her head up and walked farther down the hall to the last door on the left. Mimicking Ron, she opened the door with a soft click and soon disappeared from sight.


Revolving to his right, Harry’s eyes met a simple wooden door, begging to be searched. He turned, and reached his hand out to grasp the handle. He wasn’t afraid of Death Eaters popping out of nowhere, that wasn’t it. It was the simple fear that he may learn even more of the past history of his parents’ suffering.   


‘But this is no time to think on that,’ Harry mused quietly.


Was it ever?


Shaking his head as though it could tip all the bad thoughts from his mind, Harry once more gathered his strength to venture, for the second time in one hour, into the unknown interiors of his past.


Darkness met his eyes as Harry stepped into the chill room. He stood solitary in the door frame for just a moment, breathing in deep the smell of some new thing that had never seemed so long lost to Harry’s heart until now. 


However, as he took a confident step into the room, his equilibrium was disturbed. From nowhere, roaring orange blue flames whizzed dangerously past his ear and jumped into several lamps, lighting the room with a dim glow. Stumbling back slightly, Harry rubbed his ear subconsciously and looked around the newly light room.


“Great---Golden…Snitches,” he whispered. However, it wasn’t the new arrival of the fire that made him gasp, but the surroundings in which he found himself standing.


A nursery. A baby nursery. His room as an infant.


The room, though the tinier details were obscured by the dim light of the lamps, was in one word, perfect. The light cream walls, flickering with thin shadows, enclosed a wooden cradle, which stood untouched, a safe distance away from the window.  A long dark blue couch sat facing the cradle, decorated elaborately with what looked to be hand woven pillows of colorful yarns. Shelves of books lined the right wall, meeting a small blue window seat on the farthest wall, its window concealed by dust filled drapes.


“Wow.” Harry breathed glancing carefully around the room, taking every part in separately. One piece in particular caught his now calm eye. A small table, crafted of pine wood, stood carefully by the door frame. Bending down for a closer look, Harry saw a small crystal vase, tiny carved rose buds blossoming around the sides. Filled to the brim, the vase held one single flower.


A lily.


It was wilted, but all the same it seemed to fit, right down to the petals tanned by trials of age.


Something about the flower, despite its decayed form, made Harry want to reach out and hold it, to be close to something that reminded him of his mother.


He reached his hand out softly. As soon as his fingers brushed the centre of the flower’s bud, something remarkable happened; the flower began to grow.


The flower’s state, seemingly of its own accord, began to change, the colors richen, and the lily itself straightening and lengthening. The tips began to moisten; soon it brimmed with life. And then, as soon as its transformation had started, it abruptly stopped.


The previously rotten brown color was now replaced with a deep faded purple that ran over petals accompanied by a creamy white. Brown opal shaped dots stood out on the flower, which leaned delicately in the vase, flickering with the light from the lamps.


Harry was at a loss for words. Reaching out his hand he carefully picked the flower up. Warmth spread across his finger tips and throughout his hand. Despite himself, he smiled.


“Harry?” a voice said quietly from the door way


Harry straightened and looked at Ron, who was standing next to Hermione in the doorway. Harry followed Hermione’s eyes around the room. Carefully, she walked over the bookshelf and looked over the books.


“Er, Hermione? This room was Harry’s when he was about one,” Ron said going to stand by her. “So I don’t think you will find anything above any normal baby’s reading level.”


Hermione turned to face Ron, holding a slim paper back in one hand and a dusty    blue velvet volume in the other.


“I know that, Ron, I just looking for something we can press the flower into,” She said, carefully replacing the books.




Hermione ignored him as she pulled out a rather thick book. Its cover was a rich purple, with faded golden lettering that had long since been lost to the human eye.


“Well now, I think this will do.” Hermione said briskly, opening a page of the book at random, and holding her hand out for the flower. Harry reluctantly gave it, and she placed the beautiful creation between the thick parchment pages. She closed the book with a gentle snap, and it was soon tucked away into her bag.


“Harry,” Ron said shaking his head at Hermione, “we found some stuff in the other rooms.”


“I’ll come in a minute; I just would like a moment longer,” Harry said, looking around the room, trying to memorize each part. Though they thought Harry hadn’t seen, he had, as Hermione exchanged a nervous glance with Ron who nodded and led her out of the room.


After they’d left and he could no longer hear there footsteps, Harry plopped down on the couch with a loud sigh. Looking down at the pillows, one caught his eye. Fingering at the embroidered lion, which was laying on a backdrop of red material, which felt just like his old Quidditch robes, Harry looked at the window seat; he could almost picture his mum holding him close, singing him to sleep.


Suddenly, Harry stood up. There was so much he had yet to explore in this house; it was time to move on to the next room. He placed the pillow carefully against the others and began to cross the floor.




Harry stopped and looked around. Deciding it was nothing, he picked up his foot to keep walking.




Furrowing his brows, Harry squatted onto the floor. He ran his hand over the hard wooden panels. 


After a few moments, he moved his hand over the deep blue threadbare rug. For a while, he simply sat there, running his hands over the boards and putting pressure on individual ones. Finally, his hand found something; where one board should have been nailed down hard onto the joists, didn’t seem to want to stay down.


Barely able to control his heartbeat, Harry threw back the rug to examine the boards. At first glance, he could see something out of place; a board a little way from the centre was slightly out of place. Its back part was firmly fixed in the floor, but the front part was raised above floor level.


Removing the bent nail from its hole, Harry took his wand out and aimed it at the other two nails that were keeping him from discovering a secret within a whole chasm of the past life he had never had the joy to know.


Aufero Res.” He whispered breathlessly. The nails flew from their places and landed with a clatter nearby.


He carefully laid the board beside him and turned back to the now gaping hole in the middle of the bed room floor.




Soft yellow light filtered carefully from his wand as Harry pointed it downwards, illuminating the darkness.


He gasped, staring wide-eyed down into the pit. Amid a myriad of cloth, interwoven together with mismatched material, something sat, as though it had been waiting sixteen years for him.


And that much he knew.





A/N: Cliffhanger! Sorry, I will have Chapter Three up soon. Now it is time for some things to say.


*The Quotes: In chap. one the quote was from, but I began writing this chapter (Chap. 2) so long ago, I forgot where I got it from.

**The Latin spells: From a site called: and the French: from


***I have one thing to say, to agree or disagree with a reviewer, will Ginny stay away from Harry, Ron and Hermione? You think just like I do. I have that already decided, so I guess we will just have to wait and see.




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