Harry Potter and the Secret Treasures

“Not at all, not at all … It’s no trouble. …” said Mrs. Weasley softly.

She looked at them, a long, searching look, then smiled a little sadly, straightened up, and walked away.

No one spoke. Evan, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Elaine watched silently as she waved her wand near the washing line, and the damp clothes rose into the air to hang themselves up. At that moment, Mrs. Weasley’s back looked so sad, it was heartbreaking. Perhaps influenced by the inexplicable sadness, even Ron, who had recently been very dissatisfied with his mother, said nothing.

Harry’s seventeenth birthday arrived in a heavy atmosphere.

That morning, Evan was awakened early. Harry and Ron, in the bed next to him, were talking in their sleep.

Ron would sometimes cry out “No!” and sometimes laugh unpleasantly, as if caught in some strange dream.

Harry was even more worrying because he kept saying ‘Gregorovitch.’

Gregorovitch, the wandmaker, was as famous as Ollivander and one of the three great wand-making families in Europe.

Harry wasn’t dreaming at all. He had once again connected with Voldemort’s soul, who was seeking the secrets of the Elder Wand.

Ever since the failed ambush, Voldemort’s soul seemed increasingly unstable, his direct connections with Harry increasing in frequency.

Voldemort himself seemed unaware of this fact, which meant he was gradually losing what little sanity and control over his soul remained.

Evan wasn’t sure if Voldemort’s soul’s instability was due to that evil magic or some other cause. He had a bad feeling, as though he was missing something important, but he couldn’t put his finger on it. He lay on his camp bed, listening to the two mutter in their sleep for a long while, his thoughts ever more tangled, until at last he sighed and opened his eyes.

The sun had not yet risen and the room was still shadowy.

On the cupboard, Hedwig and Pigwidgeon were sound asleep with their heads under their little wings, softly cooing.

Evan went over and woke the two of them. They seemed not to have figured out what was going on yet.

“I think I dreamed again!” said Harry, rubbing his scar, trying hard to remember exactly what he had seen in the dream, but all that came back was a mountainous horizon and the outline of the little village cradled in a deep valley. “Voldemort’s looking for someone. His name is Gregorovitch. Who’s Gregorovitch?”

“A famous German wandmaker,” said Evan.

“What does he want with him?”

“Voldemort wants to uncover the secrets of Wandlore. The three great European wandmakers — each comes from an ancient pure-blood Wizarding family, each with countless secrets that have been passed down for a thousand years, never revealed to outsiders. Voldemort probably wants to discover the most precious of those secrets. After all, his wand always malfunctions whenever it faces you,” said Evan. “Or perhaps he’s hoping to seize greater power in the process. But that’s not really important.”

“Why is it not important?”

“Because his power is already very strong, adding another powerful wand won’t change anything. No matter how powerful it is, it cannot cover up the fact that his soul is shattered. And besides, things may not go his way. Voldemort doesn’t truly understand wands. Neither Ollivander nor Gregorovitch would ever reveal all their secrets to him. So we don’t need to worry,” said Evan. “But you, Harry, you can’t keep peering into his mind through your dreams. That’s dangerous.”

“I know. Do me a favor, Evan, and don’t tell Hermione,” said Harry wearily.

Evan gave a noncommittal nod, then turned his head and asked, “What about you, Ron? You’ve been talking in your sleep too. What did you dream about?”

“Er, I —” Ron paused for a moment, as though struggling to remember, then said in a low voice, “I think I dreamed I’d joined a Quidditch team — the Chudley Cannons. I was Keeper in the Quidditch World Cup final, saved every single shot, broke a record. That’s about it.”

“Well, you were laughing awfully strangely, and kept shouting ‘No!’ I thought you were having some kind of nightmare.”

“Was I? Maybe I didn’t want the Quaffle going through the hoops. Anyway, it doesn’t matter, does it? Just a silly dream,” Ron shook his head and added, “Today’s your seventeenth birthday, Harry. Happy birthday.”

“Happy seventeenth birthday, Harry!” Evan followed.

“Thanks!” said Harry, breaking into a grin. “I almost forgot — I’m seventeen now!”

He seized the wand lying beside his camp bed, pointed it at the cluttered desk where he had left his glasses, and said, “Accio Glasses!” Although they were only around a foot away, there was something immensely satisfying about seeing them zoom toward him, at least until they poked him in the eye.

“Ha!”

“Slick!”

For the next few minutes, while Evan and Ron got dressed, Harry, still reveling in the removal of his Trace, sent his own, Evan’s, and Ron’s possessions flying around the room, and even sent Hedwig’s and Pigwidgeon’s cages floating in mid-air. Hedwig looked at him reproachfully, while Pigwidgeon fluttered excitedly around his cage.

Harry also tried tying the laces of his trainers by magic (the resultant knot took several minutes to untie by hand) and, purely for the pleasure of it, turned the orange robes on Ron’s Chudley Cannons posters bright blue.

“I’d do your fly by hand, though,” Ron advised Harry, sniggering when Harry immediately checked it. “Here’s your present. Unwrap it up here, it’s not for my mother’s eyes.”

“A book?” said Harry as he took the rectangular parcel. “Bit of a departure from tradition, isn’t it?”

“This isn’t your average book,” said Ron. “It’s pure gold: Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches. Explains everything you need to know about girls. If only I’d had this last year I’d have known exactly how to get rid of Lavender and I would’ve known how to get going with … Anyway, I’ve learned a lot. You’d be surprised, it’s not all about wandwork, either. Oh, and Evan, you can have a look too.”

“Sounds good. Hopefully it’ll be useful with Hermione. Here’s my gift, Harry,” said Evan, throwing the gift over.

“What is it?”

“A magic amulet I made myself. It can resist, to a certain extent, the mental attacks of the evil god or Voldemort. I think it’ll be very important in the battles ahead,” Evan explained. “Wear it, Harry. It’ll buy you a few seconds, so you have time to use the Patronus Charm or other spells.”

“That’s brilliant.” Harry tore open the wrapping and looked with delight at the stag-shaped amulet.

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