Chapter Text
Harry looked up at the imposing front of 12 Grimmauld Place. After his meltdown just outside of Hogwarts, he had quickly evaluated where he could go and decided the old Order headquarters would be safest. He knew there was a risk of being found, but he also knew that there was only one door.
Inside, having cast several wards on the door, he inhaled the distinct scent of dust and old that permeated the building. Now that he was no longer on the run or a moody teenager, he was able to appreciate the house for what it was. The Black family, while deeply twisted, had lived here for many generations. And the war had certainly taught him to value family.
He made his way to the drawing room, sitting on a comfortable chair in front of a table that he and Ron had used for chess before their 5th year.
“Kreacher!” he called. A minute later, there was a crack! And Kreacher appeared, glaring at Harry. “What does you require?” he asked angrily.
Harry looked at the elf a little shamefully. He wasn’t over Dobby’s death yet, of course he wasn’t. But Kreacher was still here, so he had to be nice. “Listen, Kreacher, I destroyed the locket Regulus had.” Kreacher’s eyes widened.
“You’s has destroyed it? How?”
“Well, actually my friend destroyed it, but we finished Regulus’ mission.” He knelt down to Kreacher’s eye level. “I understand you are still loyal to your old mistress, but Voldemort is dead now, and so the whole “blood-traitor” thing doesn't really matter anymore.” He paused. “So can we try to get along? I just need some help from you for a week or so, then you can do as you please.”
Kreacher glared at Harry again, though this time less disdainfully. “Fine.”
Harry smiled and stood back up. “Well then, where do we start?”
Days later, Kreacher and Harry had successfully cleaned out the living rooms, the bedrooms that the Order members had briefly used, and the library. Thankfully, the more crucial rooms such as the kitchen, dining room, and bathrooms were still mostly clean from the last few years. Harry had one night gone back to Sirius’ room, and cast preservation charms over everything. The room was colorful and a bit crude, but Sirius was his family albeit briefly, and he wanted to preserve his memory.
After that, he had hesitantly gone into Regulus’ old room. It matched the rest of the house much better, being quite neat with its deep greens and dark wood floor, but there was still evidence of being lived in. There was even still some hair on the pillows, and there were books on the desk in the corner. Harry didn’t dare touch anything, but still cast preservation charms on everything before closing the door behind him, for good.
That night, Harry was walking to the kitchen when he heard voices. Two voices, to be exact. He peeked around the corner, and nearly collapsed at the scene in front of him. He saw his godfather and Remus sitting at the table, the chairs somehow having been pushed back for them. They each had a mug of something in their hand off of which rose swirling steam. They had somber looks on their faces.
“Sirius, you’ll see him soon.”
“You don’t really know that though, do you? I just worry. There’s no way Dumbledore would let him come back here after this year. He’ll just be stuck with the Dursleys again, and I can’t even see him because I ‘m an escaped convict! Merlin…”
Sirius rubbed at his eyes. Lupin reached an arm around his friend. “Trust me, I understand. Imagine being his professor and not being able to make jokes with him about Prongs, or show any favoritism.”
They chuckled sadly, before staying silent. After a while, they faded. The chairs on which they had just sat were still pushed out.
Harry slid to the ground against the wall, unable to stop the tears. He cried, surrounded by utter silence.
Merlin, he thought, my whole family dead. And I’ll truly never be able to see them again.
At that, his body became racked with sobs as he mourned the loss of those he hadn’t been able to get to know nearly well enough.
Sirius, his dad’s best friend, who he had gotten to see less than ten times over two whole years. Then he died.
Harry wondered though, sometimes, if he was truly dead. If Sirius had gone through the Veil and come out somewhere else, confused but still alive.
Harry knew it was unlikely, but out of all the horrors he had seen, he let himself hold onto that sliver of hope.
The days passed slowly and without much change. Harry worked on restoring the house, room by room, and sometimes he would pick a random book off the shelf and read it for a bit. Other times he would go for a walk on the street, and observe the muggles walking past who lived in the neighboring houses, marveling at how they went about their lives. He once lived without magic, and now he couldn’t imagine losing it, but he sometimes envied the anonymity one found in the muggle world.
Harry got letters, sometimes. Some were from Ron and Hermione, but mostly fan mail. He always collected that stuff and stored it, but never read it. He couldn’t bring himself to be proud, it was because of him that so many had died. Clearly, others disagreed, as he now had two drawers in the kitchen stuffed full with fan mail and thank-you letters of all sorts.
One day, Harry decided that instead of watching the muggles semi-enviously, he would do what he could to fit in a bit.
As such, he found himself at a store trying to get a tv. He had previously cleared out a smaller room that might have once been a study and replaced it with a large sofa from another room and a table on which he would put said tv. He had done his best to de-magic the room, even installing some other muggle contraptions. Two hours later, he was sitting on the sofa watching the latest episode of Friends, a “sit-com”. He had forgotten the joy he got from tv, even though when he was a kid it mostly meant listening to it from the other side of the cupboard door.
Harry got used to living alone quite easily.
The house was always quiet, and no one complained when he didn’t mop up the floor after spilling water, or left a light on in another room.
The thought of his friends and what they were doing remained in the back of his mind, but Harry knew they were okay. After all, Ron and Hermion had each other now. He thought it best to give them some space before he continued ruining their lives.
Though hopefully that wouldn’t happen quite so much since Lord No Nose was officially gone.
Harry should’ve known the peace wouldn’t last.
One day, he got a copy of The Daily Prophet attached to a card from Hermione. It said little, but it did say
Harry, I think you should read this. I know you don’t subscribe to the paper, but please, read this.
Love, Hermione.
P.S. Are you okay? You haven’t responded to anything. We’ll always be okay with you stopping by.
Hey- Ron here- we’ve missed you mate. You should really come back soon. Seems that git finally gets his dues.
Curiosity spiked, Harry held up the paper.
The Malfoy Trials: Azkaban or Kiss?
The article discussed how the Malfoys were to be put on trial later that week, Thursday to be exact.
Harry let out a breath he didn’t realize he had been holding. The Malfoys, on trial. It shouldn’t have surprised him, but still, the reminder shocked him.
He remembered what the Malfoys had done very well. Narcissa had risked her life for his, and Draco……
Well they never get along. Harry would be lying if he said he had never entertained the idea of what might have happened if he had taken his hand the August he found out about the wizarding world. Would he have been in Slytherin? Would he have defeated Voldemort the same way? Would the same people have died?
Draco was difficult, to say the least. He loved attention and getting others in trouble for fun, but still, what had he really done? He had been tasked with killing Dumbledore, and he only got as far as he had because he wanted to protect his family. Doesn't mean he wasn't still a pointless annoyance, but he wasn't cruel. And he was hardly an eyesore, unlike so many of the Death Eaters and Snatchers Harry had the misfortune of encountering at one point or another.
Harry didn’t blame him, honestly. Malfoy had been scared for so many years of his life, and he just wanted to live.
The last time he saw them was when they were running from the Battle of Hogwarts. Harry absently wondered what they had been up to since that terrible day.
Harry shuddered at the reminder of the Manor, but he stood up and walked back inside, resolute, with a goal in mind.