The Mystery in the Attic

Chapter 1

Harry Potter lay awake, even though it was well after two in the morning. His body bore the soreness of a long day's effort, working alongside Ron to remove the gnomes from the Weasley back garden and hurling a quaffle at his best mate with Ginny. They'd flown for much longer than his bruised legs and strained shoulders now thought reasonable, though it had been an excellent chance to forget some of his woes, if only for a little while.

A long, pained sigh escaped him as he considered his recent months. Fighting against the tyrannical rule of Umbridge and the insufferable toadies of her Inquisitorial Squad. The horrible vision of Sirius being tortured within the Department of Mysteries. The ill-fated rescue mission which had endangered his dearest and most loyal friends. The unfathomable despair of watching Sirius fall through the veil, never to be seen again. Convulsing under the possession of Voldemort, desperately hoping for Dumbledore to end them both to ease his suffering. The dawning realization that he was meant to kill or be killed by the most dangerous wizard alive.

He found that he was gritting his teeth so tightly that his jaw had become sore. Harry shook his head from side to side before sitting up on the camp bed. The snores from his friend indicated that his sleepless musings had not disturbed Ron's slumber. Harry affixed his glasses on his face quietly before slipping out of the room.

His descent down the stairs wasn't as quiet as he'd hoped, as a creaky board just past the first landing snuck up on him again. He froze in place, listening intently for any sign that the noise had wakened Mr. or Mrs. Weasley. When he could hear nothing except the muffled thumping in the attic from the Burrow's ghoul, he continued down the stairs to the kitchen.

Unlike the Dursley's home, there was no rule against popping down for a late-night snack in the Weasley home. In fact, Harry had been encouraged to do so regularly during his stays at the Burrow. When he'd finally grown bold enough to take his hosts up on the offer, he had been pleased to find that others were also partaking almost more often than not. He'd stumbled upon Ron pilfering biscuits on more than a few occasions and both George and Fred making short work of some of their mother's leftovers. He'd nearly bumped into Percy one night, looking rather silly with a milk mustache after drinking directly from the bottle. Even Mr. Weasley had met him in the kitchen one night, shushing him before smuggling him a bribe of half the dessert he'd squirreled away from his children's prying eyes.

He had never seen Mrs. Weasley during a late-night foray into the kitchen, nor had he found Ginny there. Considering how adept Ginny had been at getting into and out of trouble, Harry thought that it seemed unlikely that the youngest Weasley avoided the kitchen at night completely. He probably just had not caught her there yet.

When he stepped off the stairs, however, nobody was awaiting him in the soft moonlight that streamed in through the kitchen window. It was just as well, he thought to himself. It wasn't as though he wanted to talk with anyone very much. With his head swimming with thoughts of war and prophecy and loss, he considered a quiet kitchen with leftover treacle tart just about the best situation he could hope for.

Several floors above him, the ghoul thumped again. Usually, it was relatively calm in the night, so its movements seemed somewhat out of place to Harry. Then again, the twins had been tasked with quieting it down in years past. Now that they were both living in a flat above their joke shop, perhaps the ghoul had decided movement was less likely to result in punishment from those who lived below. This was especially true since it took an awful lot to roust Ron from his sleep, even though he had inherited the job of keeping the ghoul quiet at night ever since the twins had left.

Once Harry was satisfied that the ghoul had not woken any of the Weasleys, he made his way to grab a small plate and a fork. He was careful only to take half the remaining piece of treacle tart, not wanting to be an overly greedy guest. He hopped up to sit on the kitchen counter, willing himself not to eat the entire thing in a single bite. Mrs. Weasley's desserts were well worth savoring.