The sunlight poured into the square, illuminating the homes along Grimmauld Place. There was a single man walking briskly across the grassy park, paying no mind to his surroundings as a loud crack announced the arrival of the master of number 12 Grimmauld Place. Harry Potter strode across the short distance between the park in front of the homes as number 12 Grimmauld Place appeared before him. He wore dark robes and carried a small rucksack that he shouldered more securely as he entered the home, his unkempt hair falling over his eyes.
‘Welcome Master Harry!’ came a squeaky elf voice as Harry entered the home. A smile spread across his face knowing that his house elf was there to help him take care of things. Grimmauld Place did not seem quite as dark, dank or dire as the last time he had been there. It felt like a lifetime had passed since he had been here plotting the downfall of Voldemort with his two best friends Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger. The curtains across Mrs. Black’s portrait were secured; the old house elf perhaps had found a way to keep them shut.
Harry stepped further into the home, closing the door and replied, ‘Hello Kreacher – how are things here?’
Kreacher bowed again, ‘Master Harry, everything is in order. I have prepared a meal for you after your long journey and I will draw a bath as soon as you are ready.’ The old elf looked around somewhat expectantly and added, ‘Will your friends not be joining us?’ The Black family, whom Kreacher belonged to and had inherited Harry from, was obsessed with wizards and witches being of pure blood.
The old elf stressed the word friends as he knew that Ron’s family were considered blood traitors and Hermione was what the wizarding world refers to as a Mudblood, neither parent being of the magical world.
Harry sighed and shook his head, ‘No, Kreacher, I’ll be staying here for a bit. Alone. I have some business I’d like to take care of and I may need your help with something.’
Kreacher gushed, ’Of course Master Harry. If Kreacher can be of any service you have but to tell me!’
Harry nodded and started walking up the stairs. He stopped and turned, ‘Kreacher, which room shall I use as my own?’
The house elf bustled to the foot of the stairs and said solemnly, ‘Master Harry, I have placed all of your effects from Hogwarts into Master Sirius’ room. I did not think you should stay in a smaller guest room.’
Harry nodded again, ‘Thank you Kreacher.’ He could hear the house elf muttering his thanks about having such a generous master. Harry remembered not too long ago when Kreacher’s behaviour was quite the opposite. It had been less than two years ago when Harry had first arrived at number 12 Grimmauld Place. Sirius was still alive then. The pain of that loss haunted him to this day, and would likely haunt him the rest of his life. Almost three years since he’d inherited number 12 Grimmauld Place. Now that Kreacher had taken to him, the place really felt like home. More of a home than Harry had ever known. He would rather have more people here; the place seemed far too quiet and lonely for just himself and Kreacher. But both Ron and Hermione were spending some time with their respective families after everything that had transpired.
The horrors of the last year were still fresh in Harry’s mind. He never believed coming back from the dead could be so liberating, but being free of Lord Voldemort was everything he had hoped for. The only thing lacking now was company.
He would have liked to spend the time with the Weasleys, but he thought it better to allow them to mourn on their own. He missed them nonetheless, and none more than Ginny, the youngest Weasley. Although Ron was his best friend and had been with him through many of his hardest times, he had a growing affection for Ginny that had yet to abate. More than a year ago he would have called himself her boyfriend. But after Dumbledore, the late headmaster of Hogwarts, had passed on and Harry had embarked on his perilous mission, he did not want to risk someone he cared about so deeply. He knew if Lord Voldemort had ever seen into his mind; seen his love for Ginny, she would have been in the greatest of peril.
He had seen her briefly over his last week at Hogwarts. But with all the confusion of families coming together and his not really having a family, yet being something of a celebrity, he had not had a chance to talk to her extensively. He still remembered catching her for a few minutes in the Gryffindor common room. She was sitting quietly by herself, in the corner of the room looking at a picture of herself and her late brother Fred. He had felt uncomfortable speaking to her, knowing it was partially his fault that her brother’s death had occurred, more than anything, the fact that he had caused her such grief.
The common room had been relatively empty. He had walked up to her and sat on the arm of the over-stuffed chair and laid a tentative hand over hers. She had looked up suddenly, as if she hadn’t realised he was there and then smiled. He knew his own smile of comfort was there for her. He had wanted to say something, anything, but words failed him. He only leaned in closer and gave her an awkward hug, which she returned, sitting up slightly to gain the warmth from him.
He wasn’t certain how it had happened; as they embraced he pulled her closer still, his arms tightening around her. As she leaned forward, to balance herself, he managed to pull them both back into the chair, she sitting on his lap with her head on his shoulder, the picture of she and Fred still clutched in her hand. Fred appeared to be waving back at them and winking a bit at Harry. Harry shut his eyes and felt the urge to pull her closer still, but before he could he saw her drop the picture and felt her hands gently framing his face and pulling him into a very soft kiss. It was that comfort that made him forget many of the horrors of the previous months. This was what he had needed, what he could get from no one else – the love and affection of someone he had decided to give his own heart to.
He ran his hands down her back to rest around her hips as her hands weaved their way through his hair, her thumb softly rubbing his scar as if to erase the pain that it had caused. He felt a rush of emotions burning through him, and her lips were diffusing all the pain and worry, as if there was no-one else but them in the world.
A loud voice called out through the portrait hole, ‘Ginny!! I don’t know the password – let me in!’ The voice belonged to Ron, Ginny’s older brother.
Harry didn’t want to relinquish his grasp on something so peaceful and perfect, but Ginny pulled away from him, Harry kissing her softly on the cheek and neck pulling her back into his embrace. She smiled and laughed slightly, ‘Harry, we’ll have to let him in…’ But she did not fight to pull herself away again, falling back into his warm embrace; his lips travelling slowly back up her neck to her cheek and lips. She ran her hands down his chest then firmly pushed him back, breaking their kiss again. She looked into his eyes as he stared, rapt at how she had changed after knowing her since he started attending Hogwarts.
She started to say something as they both overheard a conversation going on outside the portrait. ‘Ron – do you still not know the password? Really.’ The tone of exasperation came from none other than Hermione.
Harry’s recollection of the pleasant memory ended there, as Ron and Ginny left that afternoon and Hermione not long after. Harry had wanted to talk to Ginny, talk to her about what had happened, but he’d never had the chance. He would have to inquire after Kreacher about getting another owl, as he had lost his own, Hedwig.
As he made his way up the flights of stairs to his godfather’s old room Harry realised how much light was pouring into the house and how clean and orderly it was. He was almost afraid to praise Kreacher further; the house elf looked like he was fit to bursting as it was.
Harry opened the door of his godfather’s room and it was much as he had remembered it. The furniture was left in the same places, but new linens had been spread across the bed and the curtains around the windows were pulled back, the windows were open, letting fresh air come in. Sirius had been a Gryffindor also; the room had burgundy and gold around it, much like the Gryffindor common room. He crossed the room to the bed, dropping his rucksack and moving towards the desk. A pile of letters was stacked there, a few garnering immediate attention. He opened a larger envelope and discovered a picture of his godson, Teddy Lupin, giggling up at him and a note from Teddy’s grandmother saying both were well and safe and that he should come visit. He placed the picture on the desk, thinking he needed to ask Kreacher if there were any frames around the house.
There were also a few letters from the Ministry of Magic. One he recognised from the acting Minster of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt. He opened that one quickly to read a brief note from the new Minister:
Harry,
We at the Ministry of Magic would like to thank you for all of your help with the recent goings-on with the late Lord Voldemort. A brief interview at the Ministry of Magic at your earliest convenience would be greatly appreciated.
Yours respectfully,
Kingsley Shacklebolt
Harry re-read the letter wondering why it should be so vague – he wouldn’t be in any kind of trouble, magically speaking? He would have to send an owl to Mr. Weasley to confirm, but he couldn’t imagine anything that he had done would cause a stir. He had saved the world by destroying Lord Voldemort – surely no one could be upset about that!
Harry looked around the room, seeing many of the things his godfather had left behind. The picture of his parents and their friends was still on the wall, everyone waving at him. He missed them terribly. He didn’t like not having any family. In a way, this was worse than being with the Durseleys. At least there he had some limited human interaction, however laboured. He wondered what had become of them. They had left quickly the previous year, and for their own protection he didn’t know where they had been relocated.
He headed back downstairs after a few minutes of unpacking. He really did not have a lot of things. Despite having travelled far and wide the last year, he only had what he had taken, perhaps less than that. He had left many things back in his trunk unsure how long he’d want to stay at Grimmauld Place alone.
Descending the stairs he realised he may have to exercise some patience and stay here in London until things had settled down more. There was a fragrant smell emanating from the kitchen. Kreacher had made a rich beef stew and baked fresh bread. He bustled forward as Harry entered, ‘Is everything in order?’
Harry nodded as Kreacher laid a napkin out, ‘Kreacher, are there any letters from Ron or Hermione?’
The old elf shook his head, ‘I have seen no letters from those two friends. But Mr. Weasley sent you an owl that arrived just yesterday.’
Harry thanked Kreacher and began to scan the headlines of the Daily Prophet. The newspaper had taken a complete turn in reporting, no longer being under the thumb of either Lord Voldemort nor his faithful Death Eaters. News about the triumph at Hogwarts was across every page. He saw a picture of himself staring back at him over a column entitled, ‘The Boy Who Lived – Again!’
The article re-told what he already knew, adding no details he had not known about nor modifying the story for the readers’ benefit. His eyes started to glaze over, he didn’t really want to re-live the moments. He’d been going over them in his mind for days and days. He quickly finished his supper and headed back upstairs to wash up and tend to the stack of letters in his room.
There were many letters that were from what Harry could only describe as ‘fans.’ He was expecting a note from Rita Skeeter any day now and dreaded having to avoid her. He had read her book about Dumbledore and did not want her to have the chance to paint him in such a grainy light. Harry quickly opened the letter from Mr. Weasley up.
Harry,
We would love to have you come stay with us this summer! I know you have yet to decide on your plans for next year, but a summer without a visit to the Burrow can not be allowed – you must join us as soon as you have sorted out all your effects!
Yours,
Arthur Weasley
Harry felt a rush of relief come over him. He had been worried that he would not be welcomed with open arms back to the Burrow. Even though the loss of Fred was not his fault, he still felt responsible for the outcome. All the funerals had taken place, but that did not, in Harry’s mind absolve him of guilt for his part in the losses. He knew he would have to deal with the Ministry before taking a holiday, but what Mr. Weasley had said was true, he had not decided what he wanted to do in the future.
Harry went to bed thinking over how quickly he should report to the Ministry and decided he would not be able to inquire more after Mr. Weasley and should trust that Kingsley would not do him a disservice now. Despite having defeated the Dark Lord, he still had restless nights.