The Locked Room - 2

As soon as the thought occurred to him, the Gryffindor common room with its large, squishy armchairs and red and gold coloring appeared before him. His bubble landed on one of the chairs in front of the fire, and he stretched his long legs, feeling the heat on his suddenly uncovered toes. He rubbed them into the rich, red carpeting, resting his head on the back of the chair.

He wondered if the locked room somehow worked by thought, and he tested it by imagining a steaming cup of chocolate. It appeared on the end table next to him in a Hogwarts golden mug. Harry settled back into the cushions, gazing at the fire and wondering what it was he was supposed to do here. It seemed a funny place to be after…well, after everything that had happened tonight.

Dispassionately, he realized that he was uninjured. He had full use of his arms, and there wasn't even a trace of blood on his clothing.

"I am glad to see that you have made yourself at home, Harry," Professor Dumbledore said, strolling into the room. His long white beard was knotted at the end, and he held it as he took the chair next to Harry, conjuring his own cup of hot chocolate and stretching his bare toes to the fire.

"Sir!" Harry gasped, shocked. Some of his hot chocolate dribbled down his chin, scalding him.

He wiped it quickly, blinking with astonishment and unable to voice a coherent thought. Dumbledore merely sipped his own beverage, his blue eyes twinkling, until Harry blurted, "Am I dead?"

"No, my boy, you most certainly are not dead, thank the Heavens. Your body has a long recovery ahead, but I am more concerned with your mind," Dumbledore said, the sparkle in his eyes dimming as he looked at Harry over his half-moon spectacles.

"My mind?" Harry asked blankly, feeling that he was several steps behind. He sat back and tried to relax. Dumbledore was obviously in charge of the conversation. Some things never changed.

Dumbledore raised his arms and gestured at the vast expanse of nothingness. "This room…this place…is a representation of your mind, Harry. Am I right in surmising that you are presently feeling rather desolate?"

Harry shrugged helplessly, uncertain what to say or even what to make of all the emptiness. Feeling slight embarrassed, he instead focused on their immediate surroundings. "It looks like the Gryffindor common room to me," he mumbled.

"Yes. I conjured the fire to try and light your way to me. You created the image in your mind of a place you felt warmth, some security, perhaps," Dumbledore said, nodding. "I am, of course, pleased that Hogwarts has always felt like a home to you."

"So…this place is inside my mind?" Harry asked, still feeling as if he were grasping at straws. If that were the case, it looked as if his mind was rather empty – a fact he was certain Ron would find highly amusing.

"Precisely," Dumbledore said, smiling approvingly. "The only way to enter that locked door at the Ministry is within your mind. I imagine that you are feeling lost and rather hopeless

right now, and you felt the need for explanations; hence, you called for me. I suppose I have traditionally been the one to offer you my advice after you have been through a trauma."

"So…you're not real, then? I'm only imagining you?" Harry asked, aware that the first real emotion beginning to swell in his chest was that of great disappointment.

"Oh, I am very real, Harry. More importantly, not everyone could simply have called me back such as you have done. Your need must be very great," Dumbledore said solemnly.