Work Text:
The kitchen of No. 12 Grimmauld Place had never finished been refurbished.
Molly had started the cleaning and renovations the summer before 5th year, rallying the chaotic horde of kids under her oversight in an impressive display of management skills. Once the children had returned to school and the Order scattered to the four corners of the Isles, work had kind of stalled and never restarted.
When Harry had been discharged from Saint Mungo's, he hadn't intended upon returning to Grimmauld Place. This house was one of fleeting memories and half-forgotten ghosts, trapped within the wallpaper and dust motes and dog hairs he refused to clean out of the master bed. Grimmauld had been more than just a house to Harry. To him, it represented everything he could've had, a better life not only for him but Sirius, Remus, Tonks, Fred-
Everywhere he looked there was another reminder. The chairs where the twins always sat, the grandfather clock that Tonks had tripped face-first into, a leftover stack of books, a scorched rail banister courtesy of Mad-eye, the drawing room that still smelled of chocolate and brandy and Weasley cooking. Memories and imprints of a more lively and packed house, of friends he hadn't seen in a week and those he wouldn't ever see again. He hadn't returned to the room with the Black family tree, too afraid of finding Sirius' name, burnt and now finally grey as the rest.
"Young Masters tea bes ready," Kreachers voice was just as croaky and worn as when he'd last seen the Elf, hunched and sobbing pitifully over that godforsaken locket. Only now, the tone wasn't tinged with resentment or grief, only concern.
"Thank you Kreacher," Harry whispered, lifting the fine china in his hands.
The tea was hot and steamy and carried with it a hint of ginger and vanilla, how Sirius had taken his. It's warmth leaked through the ceramic and into his fingers and Harry clutched the cup close, burying himself within its aroma.
He had once preferred a far more pallid blend, more attuned to his conditioned tastes. That was before he'd woken over the summer, with nightmares of green and gravestone, and wandered sluggishly down the staircase; bare feet padding in that way that never echoed. He'd found Sirius down there, skeletal spine poking from between hunched shoulders, curled drowsily around a cuppa. (His godfather hadn't said a word when he'd looked up to see Harry in the doorway. Sirius had been the only one who'd ever heard him coming when Harry walked like that.)
It had been 1:30 in the morning, but neither of them had gone to sleep for a long while after.
("Aren't I the one that's supposed to be looking after you?")
He'd gone to Hogwarts two days after.
The next time he'd seen his godfather in person, he'd watched him slip into the arms of death with a smile on his face.
Looking back, Harry doesn't think it was a faked one.
(He wonders why that makes him so tearfully mad.)
"Young Masters should bes getting some sleep."
Harry peered at Kreacher from the corner of his eye, sipping on the disgustingly sweet brew. "Its only 12, Kreacher."
Which was early for him. Rarely was he woken before 1 in the morning and even more rarely did he get back to sleep. It'd become rote for him. Always, every night, without fail, a nightmare would wake him, often clawing a choked scream from his throat. After the first few times he'd been woken, Harry had taken to discretely applying a silencing charm to himself before bed.
Unfortunately, 'Its only 12' was not the answer the House Elf was looking for, it seemed. "Young Master has Auror Academy tomorrow! Young Master bes forgetting to eats is bads enough!"
Harry sighed, rubbing a spindly hand through his hair. It stuck up in all sort of places and tickled against his forehead with annoying persistence.
"I'll be fine, Kreacher," he assured, blinking away the bone deep heaviness settled within him. He'd be fine. So what if he forgot he wasn't living on what he, Ron and Hermione could scrounge up food-wise while on the run? He'd live! He'd been doing just that for the past 18 years for Merlins sake!
Kreacher gave a mumbling reply, grouching off with a shuffle. Harry sighed, and leaned further onto his elbows, ignoring the sting of discomfort as they ground into the hardwood surface of the table.
He hadn't meant to pick up the House Elf either. But Kreacher, much like Grimmauld, had simply reappeared in his life one day and never left. At first, he'd convinced himself that he was only back here, only tolerating the what-ifs, out of necessity. He needed a place to call his own, and while Molly and Arthur had always assured him that he could stay at the Burrow as long as he liked, a house was always something of a minor dream for him. More of what it represented really; freedom, escape, value, safety.
As for Kreacher, well... Grimmauld was a big place, far too big sometimes, and he couldn't clean everything himself, despite how much he tried.
"What's this I hear about you not eating properly, mister?"
Harry jumped, spinning in his chair only to find Ginny, wrapped in a fuzzy bathrobe and thick slippers, stunning fiery hair bed-tussled, leaning her hip against the door frame. He swallowed, fidgeting nervously with his own hair.
"Ah, I- uhm, Gin-"
A long sigh from Ginny cut his stumbling short and he watched quietly as his girlfriend crossed the distance between them and sunk into his lap. Her arms curled around his neck and she leaned her shorter frame against his chest with a quiet contentment. Harry allowed himself to relax too, setting his teacup on the table and wrapping his arms around her; burying his nose in her hair. She smelled of Firewiskey, broom polish and spent adrenaline.
"Did Kreacher wake you? Cause I swear if he did-" Harry spoke after a long silence, basking in the bed-born warmth of the redhead.
"No, actually, he didn't. I was up already."
"At 12-?"
"-He did, however, inform me that you weren't sleeping again. Honestly Harry, you're an Auror, you need the sleep."
Harry grumbled, turning his head to the side, staring at an askew chair. He wondered who'd last sat in it, if he would ever see more than a gravestone of them ever again. The worst part was he couldn't remember.
"And then he mentioned you haven't been eating," Ginny continued when it was obvious Harry wasn't going to reply.
"I have," he muttered, cause he had. He had and he didn't want Ginny worrying about that.
Ginny tilted her head up. "How many times a day?"
Harry mumbled.
"What was that?"
"A few." He repeated, a little louder.
Ginny glared at him. Harry sighed. "Look Gin, I'm sorry its just- I-!"
"...You?" She prompted gently.
Harry ran another had through his hair, the dark locks now a right mess and grit his teeth. "I forget sometimes! Like, I spent most of my childhood without three meals a day so, when that happened again, in the tent I mean, I just-" He paused to suck in a breath, "-Just... Backslid, I guess. I dunno. I skipped meals at Hogwarts all the time too. It just- was the usual. I'm sorry for worrying you."
"Oh Harry," Ginny crooned, reaching a chaste hand up to brush along his cheekbone, so featherlight and delicate. Harry leaned into the touch, eyes fluttering closed behind his glasses, shoulders finally drooping with the exhaustion he felt.
They sat like that for a while, comfortable in each others presence and for once, Grimmauld didn't whisper things in Harry's ear.
And then, Ginny spoke, a hushed whisper. "I don't sleep either, around October."
Harry's eyes blinked open, only to find Ginny snuggled into his collarbone.
"I know nothing bad is gonna happen its just-"
"He took control on Hallowe'en." Harry finished, a growl to his voice.
"The first time, yea," Ginny admitted.
"He's dead now, and I'm here. You'll always be safe, Gin, I promise."
"You can't save me if you're out cold due to having no energy, Harry." Ginny countered and Harry felt oh so terribly bad.
"Of course," he agreed, already shifting, "I'm sorry Gin."
"Don't be. You don't have too. I understand."
"Come on," Harry mumbled into her ear, flicking his wrist to send his teacup floating towards the sink, "let's go to sleep."
"Are you sure?" She asked.
Harry nodded. "If I can't, then I'll just-"
"Wake me," Ginny interrupted, staring intently into his eyes.
Harry reluctantly nodded. "Okay."
"Good. You better!"
And, for the first time since returning to No. 12 Grimmauld Place, Harry went back to sleep without trouble.