Shadows of the Past
The afternoon sun cast long shadows across the familiar, if slightly dilapidated, facade of Grimmauld Place. Harry stood on the doorstep, a nervous flutter in his stomach. He’d sent a message to Lucian, a simple invitation to visit, and now, he was waiting. He glanced down at his worn trainers, then up at the peeling paint of the front door. This place is a mess, he thought, but it’s… home. It’s the only place I’ve ever truly felt safe. A shiver ran down his spine, not from the chill in the air, but from a sudden, unwelcome memory. Safe… until it wasn’t. He quickly pushed the thought away, focusing on the present. Just breathe, he told himself. It’s just Lucian.
A soft pop announced Lucian’s arrival. He stood there, looking elegant and a little out of place against the backdrop of Grimmauld Place’s gloomy exterior. He was dressed casually, but even his casual wear spoke of quality and subtle refinement. He cleans up nice, Harry thought, a smile tugging at his lips. Too nice for this place. He belongs somewhere… brighter.
“Harry,” Lucian greeted, his voice warm.
“Lucian,” Harry replied, returning the smile. “Come on in.”
As they stepped into the dimly lit hallway, Kreacher appeared, his wrinkled face set in an expression that Harry couldn’t quite decipher. It wasn’t his usual scowl, but it wasn’t exactly welcoming either. He’s probably just annoyed that I’ve interrupted his nap, Harry thought. He subtly shifted his arm, a slight flinch going unnoticed by Lucian. Or maybe… maybe he knows. The thought sent a shiver down his spine.
“Master Harry,” Kreacher grumbled, his voice as raspy as ever. He then turned to Lucian, and Harry’s jaw dropped. Kreacher gave a small, almost… respectful bow.
“Master Lucian,” Kreacher said, his tone surprisingly polite. “Welcome to Grimmauld Place.”
Harry stared at Kreacher, speechless. He’s never been this polite to anyone, he thought, astonished. Not even Hermione. What is going on? Is it because he’s a Malfoy? Is that it?
Lucian, seemingly unfazed by Kreacher’s unexpected courtesy, nodded politely. “Thank you, Kreacher.”
Kreacher, without another word, vanished with a pop. A moment later, he reappeared, carrying a small silver tray laden with a steaming pot of tea and a plate of delicate pastries. He placed the tray on a nearby table with a flourish.
“These are a traditional Malfoy recipe, Master Lucian,” Kreacher announced, his voice laced with… pride? “I hope you enjoy them.” And with that, he disappeared again, leaving Harry and Lucian alone in the hallway.
Harry turned to Lucian, his expression a mixture of amusement and bewilderment. “I… I don’t understand,” he stammered. “Kreacher’s never… he’s always so rude to everyone.”
Lucian chuckled. “The Malfoys have a… certain reputation,” he said, a hint of amusement in his voice. “Even in the darker corners of the wizarding world, we are… respected.” He paused, his expression turning slightly serious. “Or perhaps feared.”
Harry frowned. Respected? Or feared? What does that mean? He thought back to the dinner at Malfoy Manor. The easy camaraderie, the laughter… It didn’t seem to fit with the image of a feared and respected family. Unless… it’s a mask, he thought. Unless they’re all just pretending. Like everyone else. A wave of cynicism washed over him.
“Come on,” Harry said, trying to shake off his confusion. “Let me show you around.”
He led Lucian through the house, pointing out the various rooms and sharing stories about his life there. He showed him the library, where he had spent countless hours reading as a child; the drawing-room, where he had argued with Sirius and Remus about the war; and the kitchen, where he and his friends had shared countless meals. So many memories, he thought. Some good. Some… not so good. He glanced at the cupboard under the stairs, a dark shadow flickering across his eyes.
As they walked, Harry couldn’t help but notice the subtle signs of neglect. Dust lay thick on the furniture, the wallpaper was peeling, and the air was heavy with the scent of damp and decay. This place is falling apart, he thought sadly. But it’s… mine. It’s the only place I have left. The only place… he doesn’t know about.
They reached Sirius’s room, and Harry hesitated, a wave of grief washing over him. He hadn’t been in this room since… since Sirius had died. He took a deep breath and pushed the door open.
The room was exactly as Sirius had left it. His belongings were scattered about – clothes draped over chairs, books piled on the nightstand, a half-finished letter lying on the desk. The air was thick with the scent of dust and old memories.
Harry walked over to the window and looked out at the street below. He could almost see Sirius standing there, gazing out at the world, a look of longing in his eyes.
“He missed his life,” Harry said softly, his voice barely a whisper. “He missed being free.”
Lucian stood beside him, his expression thoughtful. “He was trapped,” he said quietly. “In more ways than one.”
Harry nodded, understanding the unspoken words. They were both trapped, in a way. Trapped by their pasts, by their families, by their reputations. Trapped by secrets, he thought, a bitter taste in his mouth. Secrets Dumbledore kept. Secrets that… changed everything.
They turned away from the window and began to explore the room. Harry picked up a photograph of Sirius and his friends, Remus and James. They were all laughing, their faces full of joy. Before… everything, Harry thought. Before the war. Before… he found out.
“They were so young,” Harry said, his voice choked with emotion. “They didn’t deserve…”
He trailed off, unable to finish the sentence. Lucian put a hand on his shoulder, offering silent comfort. Harry flinched slightly at the unexpected touch, then relaxed as he realized it was Lucian.
He’s different, Harry thought. He’s… safe. Or at least… he seems to be.
As they continued to explore the room, they found a small box hidden beneath Sirius’s bed. Inside, there were letters, photographs, and other mementos from Sirius’s life. Harry carefully picked up a letter and began to read. It was from his mother, Lily, to Sirius. She was writing about Harry, about how much she loved him, about how she was worried about the war.
Harry’s eyes filled with tears. He had never read a letter from his mother before. It was like she was speaking to him from beyond the grave.
He shared the letter with Lucian, his voice trembling as he read it aloud. When he finished, they sat in silence for a moment, both lost in their own thoughts.
“She loved you very much,” Lucian said softly.
Harry nodded, tears streaming down his face. “I know,” he whispered. “I just wish… I wish I had known her.”
Lucian put his arm around Harry, pulling him close. Harry leaned into him, finding comfort in his embrace. He stiffened slightly at the contact, then relaxed, reminding himself that this was Lucian. He’s different, Harry thought. He’s… safe. Or at least… he seems to be. But can I really trust anyone?
They stayed in Sirius’s room for a long time,surrounded by the ghosts of the past. As the sun began to set, they finally left, hand in hand.