The Dog Returns
Harry leaned against the door, heart pounding. How had he not noticed a dog of that size wandering around?
He took a deep breath, then cracked the door open. The dog was still there.
"Er, hello."
The dog barked.
"How'd you get in here?"
The dog cocked its head.
"Do you understand me?"
The dog barked once.
"Can you do one bark for yes and two barks for no?"
"Bark!"
"Great. Let's test that out. Are you a cat?"
"Bark bark!"
Harry looked the dog over. He was generally wary of dogs, given the existence of Ripper, but this one seemed friendly enough.
"...Are you a boy dog?"
"Bark."
"Okay, well. I was just leaving."
The dog stood up and stepped aside. Harry kept his eyes on him as he walked. The dog followed.
"That's a strange dog," the snake hissed.
"You're telling me."
The dog whined a little, looking at Harry with concern.
"Sorry, I can talk to snakes. Does that bother you? Don't tell anyone, they always get upset."
"Bark."
"I have no idea what that means."
At the gate, Harry stopped. "I'm going back to London. There was a house I wanted to see, but…I don’t know. I think I'll go tomorrow. Do you have a home to get back to?"
"Bark bark. Bark."
"Was that a maybe?" Harry shook his head. "Owners?"
The dog growled. "Bark bark!"
"Sorry, I didn't mean to offend you. I have a room at the Leaky Cauldron. Are you staying here?"
"Bark bark!"
"...Did you want to come with me?"
"Bark!"
"I suppose that's fine."
Harry opened the gate, letting the dog through first, then closed it behind them. "I'm going to summon the Knight Bus now. Stay close to me." Harry remembered to put on his glamor glasses this time, not wanting to be recognized.
Harry lifted his wand and the bus shuddered to a stop almost on top of him.
"Nice dodging there, Ern. Can't believe Batty Bagshot's still lurching about. She must be 200!"
Stan leaned out of the door. "Is that you, Bob? Fancy seeing you again!"
"I'm headed back to London," Harry said, clambering on. The dog hopped up next to him.
"Is that a dog?"
"...Yes. Do I need to pay for him too?"
"Nah," Stan said, waving his hand.
Harry gave him a few coins and found a bed. "The Leaky Cauldron, please."
"Right, hang on," Stan said, and the bus took off like a shot. As they careened through the countryside, popping in and out of existence, Stan kept talking.
"So what were you doing in Godric's Hollow?"
Harry, who had wrapped his arms around the dog for safety, exchanged looks with his canine companion and said, "I was picking up my dog."
"Has he got a name?"
"Yeah."
Stan looked at him. Harry looked back.
"Well? What is it?"
"Dog."
"You named your dog Dog?"
"Yeah."
The dog huffed.
"Hear that, Ern? Bobbo here named his dog Dog!"
"Hm."
Harry pet the dog distractedly, thinking of how he could sneak both of them back into the Leaky Cauldron. The dog was kind of mangy, with knotted fur and rheumy eyes, and Harry could feel ribs sticking out. “We’ll get you some food soon.”
“Woof,” the dog quietly said.
“Maybe I should take you to a veterinarian.”
“Woof woof.”
Harry frowned. “If you say so. Do you want a pasty? That's something you can eat?” Harry pulled one out of his bag and handed it to the dog who, to Harry’s surprise, took his time eating it instead of horking it down. Harry brushed crumbs off the blanket. “How often do you think they wash these?”
Eventually the Knight Bus screeched to a halt, and they stumbled onto a dark street. The Leaky was a revolving door, cloaked people hustling in and out, raucous noises echoing down the street. Harry put an arm around the dog’s neck and tugged him into an alley. He knelt down and pulled out his invisibility cloak. The dog stared at it.
“I’ll have to carry you,” Harry said, “but we can both get in under this.”
Displaying startling intelligence, the dog draped himself over Harry’s shoulder, and Harry flung the cloak over them. It was a little awkward, as the dog standing up was taller than Harry, and was heavy despite being emaciated. Harry shuffled back to the street, willing his cloak to stay in place. “Now,” he huffed, “just need to wait for the right time.”
He adjusted the dog as he waited for a lull in the foot traffic, hurried forward when he saw it, and pushed his way through the crowd. Shouts followed him, but the noise of the pub swallowed any complaints. He struggled up the stairs, nearly tripping over a tray of food left in front of his door. He nudged it aside with his foot and managed to get the door open. Once it was shut, the dog squirmed to the floor and Harry shoved his cloak back into his bag. Harry shuffled over to his bed, muscles aching, and flopped down with a sigh.
"It's been a long day."
He heard little crunching sounds, and saw Hedwig gnawing on a mouse. The snake wormed his way onto the bed, sporting an additional frog-shaped lump.
"Is it safe for you to eat magical creatures?" Harry asked. The dog, who had been sniffing around the room, jerked his head up.
"How should I know?" The snake said.
Harry pulled his bag up and found his regular glasses, then stood up to retrieve his dinner tray. He looked down at the potatoes and greasy sausages, wondering how long it had been out there. "Do you want this?" He asked the dog, who yipped eagerly. Harry set it down for him. "I really don't know if that's healthy for a dog." He shook his head. "I'll go down and see if I can get a water bowl for you. I'll say it's for scrying or something. I was planning on taking divination this year."
The dog gave him a skeptical look.
"Don't worry, I've dropped it."
The dog nodded approvingly, then went back to his food. Harry set about making tea, practicing the spells he had learned. It was a little easier to conjure water, but not by much. When it was ready, he poured himself a cup. “Would you like one?” The dog happily stuck his tongue out, so Harry set a cup down for him.
“I’m not sure what—”
Someone pounded at the door. Harry nearly dropped his cup and looked at the dog. He waved his hands frantically, and the dog scrambled away, shoving himself under the bed. Harry straightened his robe, tried and failed to flatten his hair, and opened the door.
“You alright in there, Harry?” Tom asked, looking down at him. The old barman stuck his head in, looking around. “Thought I heard you talking to someone. No one’s seen you all day!”
Harry kept his hand on the door. “I’ve been studying.”
“We tried knocking a few times,” Tom said, leaning down.
“Sorry? I’ve been studying really hard.”
Tom smiled at him. “If you say so. Shall I take that tray down for you? Why’s it on the floor?”
“Er, I needed room on the table.” Harry quickly grabbed the tray and shoved it at Tom. “I need to get back to studying, thanks for checking in. Have a nice evening.” He shut the door, not caring if he was being rude. He sat back down and picked up his tea again, hand shaking. After a few minutes, the dog wriggled his way back out and pressed against Harry’s side. Harry twisted fingers into his fur.
“You need a bath,” he said absently. Then, softly, “I didn’t like that.”
The dog growled lowly, pushing closer to Harry. “The minister said they’d be looking after me this summer, Tom I mean, but I didn’t know that meant stalking me. Because of Sirius Black, I'd wager.” The dog whined. “If I hadn’t run away, would they have sent people to watch my aunt’s house?” The dog plopped his head on Harry’s knee. “I live with my Aunt Petunia, and her husband, and my cousin.” The dog snarled. “Yeah, I don’t like them. My uncle’s sister came to visit, and she said some…things about my parents. So I accidentally turned her into a balloon and she flew off. And then I ran away here.” Harry took a sip of his tea. “I thought it was going to be fun, at first, but things have been strange. And confusing. I’ve seen aurors following me in Diagon, and I learned from Gringotts that Sirius Black is my godfather.” The dog nudged him again, and Harry smiled faintly. “I don’t know if that’s a good or bad thing. I’m not sure what to think. Professor Bagshot said he was there the night my parents died, and that Hagrid had orders from Dumbledore to take me away.” The dog growled. “Right? Why would Dumbledore have anything to do with that? I never even met him until first year! And apparently—”
A floorboard squeaked outside, shutting Harry up. He narrowed his eyes at the door, then whispered, “Do you think someone’s listening?” Then, “Are there spells for that?”
The dog gave him a significant look, then nodded solemnly. Not dwelling on how a dog could possibly know something like that—magical animals, and at this point Harry was certain there was something special about the dog, were always uncannily intelligent—Harry decided to keep quiet, finished his tea, and started packing his trunk.
When Harry woke the next morning, he was bowled over by a frolicking dog. He rubbed his eyes and jammed his glasses on, looking around the room. He had packed everything away in his new trunk, and he was anxious to get on with the rest of the day. It was too early to do anything, really; there were some things he wanted to pick up in Diagon Alley before he left. He went downstairs to get food, exchanged pleasantries with Meg, and managed to get some of yesterday’s roast for later. Once back upstairs, he set it down for the dog to eat, and worked on his own breakfast. By mutual agreement, they were silent. He spent some time looking through his mother’s potions book. The potions themselves seemed very advanced, and he didn’t understand any of the theory or even what the potions did, but he liked reading her annotations and the little drawings she had done. He smiled at the ones that were charmed to move around.
“Alright,” he said out loud, drawing the attention of the dog. “I need more parchment and ink. I think I’ll get some fountain pens. What do you think, Hedwig?”
She snapped her beak. “Right, and notebooks.”
The dog looked back and forth between them, smiling goofily.
“I need new quidditch gloves too,” Harry added thoughtfully. “Think I should take my broom in to get tuned up?”
After some more dithering, Harry decided he had waited long enough and left. He looked at the dog, the owl, looked for the snake until he realized he was in his robe pocket, and pointedly said, “I’ll be back,” before shutting the door. Fear of being overheard prevented him from coordinating with his various animals, but he had a rudimentary plan in mind.
Harry really did need more writing supplies, so he stopped at Scribbulus’ to get what he needed, picking up inks in different colors, and a few nice pens he hoped would be easier to write with. He got rolls of parchment, since the professors had them turn all their work in on parchment, but notebooks for his class notes. Since learning parchment was made out of animal skin, Harry wasn’t thrilled to keep using it. He wondered where all of it came from.
After he purchased his writing things, he slipped into the quidditch shop next door and found a new pair of gloves in his size. As he walked to Flourish and Blotts he started breaking the gloves in, bending the leather back and forth.
“Back again, Mr. Potter?” The manager asked from the counter. “Have you got your school books yet?”
Harry smiled, putting the gloves away. “I’m still deciding which subjects to take,” he said. “I wanted to read Hogwarts: A History first.”
The manager lit up. “Excellent choice! We have a few special editions, including an illuminated 100th anniversary…”
Harry left the store with an admittedly gorgeous book. The cover had the house mascots cavorting with each other, though the snake and lion seemed a little…tense. He hoped Professor Bagshot didn’t mind signing it, but Harry figured she could just send it back if she didn’t want to.
When he got back to the Leaky it was near lunch, and he retreated to his room with some food. Too nervous to eat, he left it all for the dog.
“Are you going hunting, Hedwig?” He said, looking at her, hoping she took the hint. She flapped her wings a bit. “Find me later, okay girl?”
After she flew off, he glanced around the room. His new trunk was able to shrink on its own, so he put it in his bag. He tried to shrink his old trunk with a spell.
“Reducio ”
His old trunk shrank, and shrank, and kept shrinking until it vanished into a crack.
He looked at the dog, who was laughing at him again.
“It kind of worked,” Harry protested. “I just hope it doesn’t unshrink itself at a bad time.”
He heard the lunch crowd picking up downstairs. It was the perfect time to sneak out. He knelt down and held his arms out for the dog, once again covering them both with his cloak.
“Did you get heavier?” He muttered, and the dog snuffled his hair. Surprisingly, the dog seemed cleaner than the day before. “We’re going to have to go slow.”
A young woman rushed up the stairs and Harry flattened himself against the wall, holding his breath. He took another shaky step down, readjusting the dog. When he got to the ground floor, there was a break in the crowd. He hurried through, twisting between tables, and slipped out the door, breathing heavily. He sat right on the street, still covered with his cloak, and pulled out his map.
“Think it’s safe to talk now?” He said softly. The dog nudged him, shuffled out of the cloak and paced down the block, stopping only to look back at Harry. Harry stood up and, holding his cloak close around him, followed the dog at a distance. He ducked between two cars to uncloak himself, getting an odd look from a passerby when he hopped back up. The dog waited for him, and they kept on, crossing over the river and walking along it until they found a free bench.
“How about now?” Harry asked, smiling. The dog woofed, jumping on the bench next to him. Harry pulled his map out again, tapping on London so he could figure out where they were going.
“I met with a solicitor the other day,” he began. “To go over the Black estate. I think he called it holdings? It was a little confusing. After I learned I was Sirius Black’s godson, and after they told me I had so many vaults, it made me think what other things there were, you know? People’s things don’t just vanish when they die.”
The dog nudged his arm. “Yeah, that’s where you found me yesterday. I can’t really live there though. I don’t know how to fix the roof, and it’s a secret. I don’t think I could get a repairman past the gate.”
The dog nodded sagely.
“I had to go over all these papers with the solicitor,” Harry said, “and I learned that I sort of own a house in London. The others are kind of far away.” He kicked at the dirt a little. “There aren’t that many ways to travel. The Knight Bus is a nightmare, and they’re nosy. I’ve only used Floo once and it was horrible, I ended up in a wardrobe.” The dog chuffed at him and Harry scowled. “I suppose I could fly, but I’d be spotted right away. We tried it with Ron’s dad’s car last year and nearly got expelled, and the car was able to go invisible.”
Harry looked down at the map, seeing a small dot where he sat next to the river. “I need to find Grimmauld Place.” Harry missed the dog’s reaction, eyes focused on the map. “Here it is!” He held the map out a bit. “It doesn’t look that far away.” He looked at the dog. “They don’t allow dogs on the bus without leashes, so we’ll have to walk.”
He stood up, but the dog grabbed his sleeve.
“What is it?” The dog pulled again. It took a moment for Harry to realize he still had his robe on. He took it off quickly, making sure to relocate the grumpy snake to his trouser pocket, and shoved it into his bag. “Thanks. Most of the sneaking I do is when I’m invisible. It’s easy to forget what I look like.”
They moved away from the river and walked down a street. The dog’s head swiveled around, taking everything in. The cars, the shop signs, the pigeons, music blaring from someone’s window. Harry had to drag him bodily away from a chip shop.
“If this doesn’t work,” Harry said, having wrestled the dog down half a block, “I could find a hostel that allows pets. Muggles don’t have owls as pets, though. That would be hard to explain. Maybe a park would be better.”
The dog pushed against him, whining a little. “What? I’ve slept outside before, when my uncle locked me out. It’s not a big deal. And if you’re around, I doubt anyone would bother me.”
They walked for a while, getting some looks due to the size of the dog, but it was summer and not unusual for a boy to be out with his dog. Harry wasn’t Harry Potter in the muggle world, he was just a kid in London, like a million others. This anonymity made him feel more comfortable.
“It’s hard to explain,” Harry said to the dog. “The two times I’ve gone to Diagon Alley in the past I was with Hagrid. He’s huge, no one would mess with him. When the minister first said I was meant to stay there until school started, I thought it would be fun. An adventure, but not the kind that ends with your teacher trying to kill you.”
The dog gave him an alarmed look. “I’ll tell you later. I do think that, for someone else, it could have been like that. But I was being watched, all the time. The minister said it was safe, but I don’t believe him. I don’t like the way Tom was ‘keeping an eye on me,’ or the aurors sneaking around, following me.” He rubbed his arms. “People watch me all the time at school, too. Even at my aunt’s house they were always watching me. Unless they were shoving me into the cupboard,” he added darkly. “If someone wanted to hurt me, I think Diagon Alley would be an easy place to do it. They could just blow up the entire block. Or hide on a roof or something. That’s how muggles do it.”
Harry fell silent. After a while he asked, “Do you think I should have left a note?”
“Bark bark!”
A few blocks later, he said, “I don’t think Sirius Black is trying to kill me. Why would he put me in his will if he wanted me dead?”
The dog woofed. “Exactly. And Professor Bagshot said she was there that night. She didn’t seem very confused, until the end at least, and she told me what she remembered. She saw Sirius Black holding me. If he wanted to hurt me…well, the minister didn’t specifically say it was because of Sirius Black he wanted me to stay at the Leaky Cauldron and not wander off, but I think it was implied. If he wanted to hurt me, or kill me, he had the chance when I was a baby!”
The dog woofed in agreement, subtly nudging Harry when he was about to make a wrong turn. The dog would occasionally stop and tilt his head inquisitively at something, and Harry would explain whatever the thing was. Movies, music, technology that had recently come out. Harry knew of most of it vicariously through his family.
Eventually, the dog trotted ahead of him and went around a corner. Harry hastily pulled out his map, surprised to see they had reached Grimmauld Place. He was more shocked to see it was a rather run down block. Trash blew down the street, bins were tipped over, broken windows were taped up. It was distinctly unmagical. Harry couldn’t fathom why a wealthy pureblood family like the Blacks would have a house here. He put the map away and stepped carefully down the block, keeping an eye out for 12 Grimmauld Place.
The dog was sat in front of a broken gate, and let out a sharp bark. Harry hurried over to him, checking the house number.
“How did you know?” Harry asked. “Can you read?”
The single bark could only be described as indignant.
Harry muscled the gate open and the dog padded forward, up the broken staircase. Harry frowned at the dilapidated state of the house. “Maybe it’s nicer inside,” he muttered. “Not that I mind cleaning up. Honestly, anywhere would be nice. I’d rather live in a cave than go back to Privet Drive.”
He reached the door. Unlike the neighbors, the door was painted black and peeling. There wasn’t a keyhole, or a letterbox, or even a doorknob. There was just a door knocker, a twisting snake in tarnished silver. Harry had an odd sense of the house, like the immense pressure at the bottom of the ocean, pressing him down into inescapable darkness.
“Am I supposed to knock?” Harry asked, not sure if it was safe to touch the thing. “Mr. Lappin said I needed to ask the house.” Feeling silly, he said to the door, “May I come in?”
Nothing happened. The dog stood on his hind legs and pawed at the knocker without touching it.
Harry sighed, then grabbed the door knocker. The snake writhed to life, and Harry gasped in shock. It coiled around his wrist, gripping him painfully. It opened its mouth, revealing razor sharp fangs, and bit into his palm. Harry yelped, tried to get his hand free, but the snake was latched on. After a minute, the fangs retreated, and after another squeeze the snake uncoiled and returned to being a door knocker. The breath rushed out of Harry, leaving him feeling dizzy and weightless.
Harry cradled his hand and turned to glare at the dog, who looked back at him stoically. “Why did you make me—”
The door creaked open.
The dog glanced at Harry, then pushed his way in. Harry had no choice but to follow.
The door slammed shut behind him, startling Harry so badly he nearly knocked over an umbrella stand that looked disturbingly like a troll leg. After finding his balance, Harry took a moment to look around.
The entry hall was dark, even with the morning light slanting in. The dust motes were so thick in the air it looked like mist. It smelled like an old shed, damp and musty. The dog sat on a carpet so dirty it was nearly black. Harry took a tentative step forward.
"Looks like no one's been here for ages," he said quietly. There was something oppressive about the atmosphere. He felt like he shouldn’t speak at all. "I—"
A set of black curtains on the wall, which he hadn't noticed, flung open to reveal the portrait of an imperious elderly woman in pitch black, regal robes. Her steel gray hair was twisted into a severe style, and her piercing eyes glared out of her portrait frame.
"Who's there?" She demanded with a sneer. The dog backed up into Harry, hackles raised. "Kreacher? Kreacher!"
A house-elf popped into existence. Harry stared at him, eyes wide, and felt a pang of immense pity for the elf. He was the opposite of Dobby in every way. Instead of a toga he had a loincloth, grimy with age. His skin sagged around him, as if he had lost a great deal of weight. Tufts of white hair sprang from his ears, and his eyes were gray and clouded. He was hunched, knotty hands rubbing together in an off putting, servile manner.
“Mistress called for Kreacher?”
“There’s someone here, Kreacher!”
Kreacher turned to face Harry, anger written across his face. He glanced at the dog, who growled, then back at Harry.
“Filthy mutt. Disgusting child.”
Harry grabbed the scruff of the dog’s neck.
“Filth! Scum! Interlopers!”
As the portrait shrieked, her face became monstrous. Harry’s jaw dropped as her skin stretched and yellowed, saliva flying out of her mouth, eyes rolling wildly.
“I’m not!” Harry protested. “I—”
“How dare you! Vile taint upon the home of my ancestors!”
Harry suppressed the urge to shout back. It wouldn’t help. His experience with Vernon, and Dudley, told him that sometimes people just had to scream themselves out. He wasn’t sure how well that would work with a portrait, but still he waited. At least she was just a portrait, and not able to scream directly in his face, or hit him.
The elf, at least, seemed entertained. Kreacher nodded vigorously, agreeing with his mistress and occasionally giving Harry a dirty look. Harry looked around, though there wasn’t much to see in the hallway, and went back to examining the portrait. At the bottom, in dull gold, read Walburga Cygna Black. This was Sirius Black’s mother?
After a while, her screeching tapered off, and the woman rearranged her hair. Eventually, she noticed Harry standing there, watching her.
“Who are you? Kreacher! Remove this—”
“I inherited this house,” Harry said simply. That brought her up short.
“You what?”
Kreacher looked at Harry with marginally less disgust.
“I inherited it. From Arcturus Black. My great-grandmother was Dorea Black.”
“Kreacher! The tapestry! Take the boy!”
The house elf seized Harry’s hand and dragged him down the hall, into a parlor room. An ancient tapestry moldered on one wall, dominating the room. The top was stitched with the words The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, and Toujours Pur. Kreacher tugged Harry along, muttering about Mistress Dorea, fingers twitching.
“Mistress Dorea…Potter…” He looked up at Harry, eyes narrowing.
“That’s right, I’m Harry Potter.”
Kreacher stared at him. Harry sighed and lifted his fringe.
“Filthy half-blood.”
Harry shrugged. “My blood was good enough for Arcturus Black to name me in his will.”
Kreacher's sneer returned, a touch less hateful, and he hurried Harry back to the portrait.
"Well?" Walburga said.
"This is the boy who stopped the Dark Lord, Mistress,” Kreacher said, pushing Harry forward. Walburga looked Harry up and down and sniffed.
“You looked like your blood-traitor father,” she said.
“Thank you?” Harry said uncertainly.
“That’s not a compliment, boy!”
Harry flinched at the word.
“My traitorous son ran off with him! No son of mine—”
“Mistress burned him off the tapestry,” Kreacher said gleefully. “Ungrateful swine!”
“No son of mine!” Walburga shrieked. “In Azkaban!” She cackled, then broke off, abruptly morose. “And poor Regulus! My heart and pride!”
“I failed him!” Kreacher wailed. “Master Regulus!” He started beating himself around the head. Harry lunged for him, grabbing his arms, while the dog bit Harry’s shirt and tried to drag him away.
“Stop! Kreacher! Stop hurting yourself!”
Kreacher immediately stopped, and Harry slowly released him. The portrait kept moaning in the background, but she was becoming easier to ignore. Kreached looked up at Harry with big, watery eyes.
“Yes, Master,” Kreacher said, bowing. “Kreacher lives to serve the noble house of Black.”
The dog finally released Harry, staring at Kreacher.
Harry felt disgusted at how readily the elf obeyed him. He didn’t want to be anyone’s master, and Kreacher looked absolutely ancient, far too old to serve. Did house elves ever retire?
“Kreacher,” Harry said. Kreacher stood alert. “I’m planning on living here from now on. Do you think we can clean up? I don’t know many cleaning spells, but I can learn.”
“Kreacher will clean, young Master,” Kreacher said decisively.
“I think you should take care of yourself first,” Harry said. “Is it safe for me to do magic here? Will the ministry know?”
“The Black family spells are very old,” Kreacher said, “tied to Black blood. ”
Harry rubbed his hand absently. “So only family members can come in here?”
“Unless Master gives permission,” Kreacher said.
“Can you show me who else is family?”
Kreacher nodded, then led Harry back to the tapestry room, where Kreacher launched into an impromptu genealogy of the Black family. Harry listened with half an ear, looking at where his own name was in relation to hundreds of others, spread out across the centuries, almost all of them dead. Harry found Sirius Black’s name, but his image was burned away. Next to him was Regulus Arcturus Black, deceased. He looked around for other living relatives, finally finding three sisters, one of whom was burned off, with the name Andromeda, and in stilted letters, as if reluctantly added, was the name Ted Tonks. They apparently had a daughter named Nymphadora. Next to Andromeda was Bellatrix, married to someone named Rodolphus Lestrange. They had no children. Last was Narcissa, and Harry hoped he was imagining that she was married to Lucius Malfoy, but Draco’s name was embroidered lovingly in gold beneath them.
“You’ve got to be joking,” Harry said.
“...and his great-great-grandfather, Phineas Nigellus Black, headmaster of Hogwarts.”
“I’m sorry, whose grandfather?”
“Master Regulus—”
“Sirius’ brother?”
“Master Regulus,” Kreacher said insistently.
“Sirius Black is my godfather,” Harry said.
“Master Regulus’...godnephew.”
“If you say so,” Harry said. “I’m not sure if it works like that. Hang on, his great-great-grandfather was a headmaster? Is there a portrait in Dumbledore’s office?”
“There is a portrait in the house,” Kreacher said, obviously proud of having a headmaster in the family. “Kreacher will show you.”
“Wait!” Harry said. “I know portraits can move around, they do it at Hogwarts all the time. Can they move if they’re in different buildings? I ran away, I don’t want anyone to know where I am.”
Kreacher paused, frowning. “Young Master is in hiding?”
“Yes,” Harry said, thinking of how to turn things to his advantage. “I lived with muggles. I…attacked one and left.”
Kreacher’s eyes widened in mixed glee and horror. “A child of the Black family? With nasty muggles?”
Harry winced, but nodded.
“Kreacher will defend young Master. Kreacher will make sure the house portraits are loyal. Young Master must now speak with Mistress.”
“Alright.”
They walked back to the portrait, who had finally calmed down. The dog pushed his nose into Harry’s hand, and Harry patted him reassuringly. Walburga appeared composed, but Harry was prepared for her to fly off the rails again.
“The Boy-Who-Lived,” Walburga said sourly.
“I hate that name, actually,” Harry replied. “It just reminds me that my parents died and left me behind.”
Walburga narrowed her eyes. “The worst thing for a parent is to have their children die before them.”
“I’m not…ungrateful,” Harry said, shifting awkwardly. “It’s hard to explain.” He ran a hand through his hair, which Kreacher tutted over. “Can we talk now?”
Walburga waved her hand.
“Like I said, I inherited this house, in a sense. Arcturus Black had me in his will, and I’m also Sirius Black’s godson, whatever that means. You said he ran off with my father? And that he was a blood-traitor?”
“Filthy blood-traitors betray their families! Consort with mudbloods and halfbreeds,” Kreacher helpfully explained.
“When I burned my son from the family tree, he sought shelter with the Potters,” Walburga said.
“Is this a pureblood thing?” Harry asked. “Someone opened the Chamber of Secrets last year, and the basilisk went around attacking muggleborn students.”
“A basilisk?” Walburga asked, taken aback.
“It’s fine now,” Harry said. “I killed it.”
“An 11 year old child—”
“I’m 13.”
Walburga looked at him, clearly disbelieving. “Nevertheless, a child. Fighting basilisks.”
“Young Master ran away from vile muggles,” Kreacher added. “Harry Potter seeks shelter in his ancestral home.”
“I’m a halfblood,” Harry said archly. “And I think my muggleborn mother was the one who defeated Voldemort.”
“Don’t say his name!” Walburga shrieked.
“Why not?” Harry asked heatedly. “People keep saying that to me but no one explains. Should I use his birth name instead? Tom Riddle?”
Walburga froze, looking for all the world like a mundane portrait. Kreacher too was stunned.
“Did they finally shut up?” The snake hissed, poking his head out.
“I think I broke them,” Harry whispered back. The dog looked confused by the turn of events.
“You lie,” Walburga said breathlessly. “That upstart, dirt poor mudblood?”
“He’s a halfblood like me,” Harry corrected. “And I’ve met him. His full name is Tom Marvolo Riddle, and if you mix the letters around you get I am Lord Voldemort. I think it’s stupid, honestly.” Harry tilted his head. “Did you follow him? Voldemort, I mean? You talk like you did.”
“Master Regulus took the mark,” Kreacher hissed in his ear, “but—”
Walburga’s curtains snicked shut. Kreacher gave them a sad look, then pulled Harry away. The dog now looked like he was having the time of his life, prancing behind them.
"Mistress is not well," Kreacher said quietly. "Kreacher will make tea, then will show young Master the house."
"Was she always like that?" Harry asked.
Kreacher hesitated, but reluctantly nodded. "Mistress grew worse after Master Sirius left. Then Master Regulus…" Kreacher choked up.
"I'm sorry," Harry said gently. "You've been alone with her for a long time."
Kreacher shook himself and stood up straight. "Kreacher will bring tea," he said, then popped away.
Harry stood in awe of the most aggressively Gryffindor room he had ever seen. Kreacher had at first, reluctantly, offered to put Harry up in Regulus’ old room, which was the only clean room in the house, but Harry could tell that Kreacher maintained it as a memorial and didn’t want to intrude. Then the dog barged into the next room over, and thus Harry’s sleeping arrangements were decided.
Kreacher had hastily cleaned what he could, so the room was mostly free of dust, and the bedding had been changed, but largely the room looked like an explosion of house spirit. The curtains were burgundy velvet, emblazoned with roaring lions. There were Gryffindor pennants and banners hanging from the ceiling, and even the bed’s headboard was carved into a lion. Harry picked up a gold, lion-shaped goblet.
“I’m in Gryffindor. I pulled the Sword of Gryffindor out of the Sorting Hat,” Harry said, setting the goblet back down. He didn’t think about whatever had been growing in it. “Even I think this is a bit much.”
The dog huffed, then jumped on the bed, putting his head on his paws and watching Harry explore.
“Not even the common room is this decorated.” He looked up at the chandelier, which hadn’t been cleared of its dust. A red and gold scarf hung carelessly off it. “I’ve been in the Slytherin common room,” he said. The dog perked up. “It’s in the dungeons, under the Black Lake I think. It’s bigger than ours.”
Harry accidentally kicked something. He crouched and saw it was a crate of records. He flipped through them: Black Sabbath, Rush, Uriah Heep, Deep Purple. He poked around looking for a record player, but didn’t see one. Did his parents listen to the same music?
Harry walked over to the bed and sat down. He looked around at the walls, which were covered in muggle posters of girls and motorcycles. Harry bet Walburga hated it.
“I told Mrs. Black the Chamber of Secrets opened last year,” he said. The dog nodded. “My friend Ron’s little sister was possessed, we figured that out at the end of the year. But before that everyone thought it was me.” The dog’s ears perked up. “Because I’m a parselmouth. So my friends and I brewed polyjuice in the girl’s toilet to sneak into the Slytherin dormitory. You know, Heir of Slytherin and all.”
Harry sighed, putting his arm around the dog. “The Hat said I could be great if I went to Slytherin. But everyone told me that only bad wizards came out of Slytherin, and that my parents were in Gryffindor. It didn’t feel like I had much of a choice, really.” Harry looked around the room, thinking about the snake door knocker, a portrait obsessed with blood, a dead boy’s room draped in silver and green. “I wonder if Sirius felt the same.”
He spotted one magical photo on the wall, and stood up to look at it. He saw the same four boys he’d seen in his parents’ bedroom, and he carefully pulled the photo free, returning to the bed to look at it. He flipped it over, but the back was blank.
“I know which one’s my dad, obviously,” Harry said. “He looks a bit like me. Or I look like him, but I also look like my mum, which no one ever says. Except for talking about my eyes,” he said, rolling them. He looked at the black haired boy, who was smirking in this picture too, silver eyes flashing. “That must be Sirius. He doesn’t look much like Mrs. Black—” the dog snorted “—but I see the resemblance. I have no idea who these other two are.” The dog cocked his head at that, wrinkling his snout. “Sirius has an excuse, he was in prison this whole time. But if my parents had friends, why haven’t I met any of them?” Harry paused thoughtfully. “I know a lot of people died, but I don’t even know their names.”
He laid back, holding the picture above him. “I wonder if Colin has any pictures of me and my friends.” The dog made an inquisitive noise. “He’s this kid in the year below us. He followed me around with a camera last year. It actually saved his life, since he saw the basilisk through it. He was only petrified. It was mad.”
Harry pushed his glasses up and rubbed his eyes. “There are so many things I don’t know about my own life. So many secrets. Don’t I have a right to know? It’s my life. Dumbledore said I wasn’t old enough to know. What does that even mean? I was old enough to kill someone, why can’t I know why my parents were killed?”
The dog flopped on top of him and woofed, clearly upset. “I guess I should explain what happened first year,” Harry said, yawning. “Our defense professor, Quirrell, was possessed. Wait, I should start with the stone. Or maybe the letters. Okay, so a week before I turned 11 I got a letter that said…”