In which there is another reunion
Staring up at the dingy exterior of Grimmauld Place, Harry is distinctly unimpressed. Although the level of grunginess is comparable to the buildings on either side of it that had been squashed outward when the house appeared, Harry is mentally comparing No. 12 to Aquarius House and finds it pretty lacking.
“What a dump,” Harry says disparagingly, before remembering that this is technically Sirius’s childhood home. Instead of taking any offense though, the other man just lets out a huff of laughter before nodding in agreement.
“Maybe we’ll fix it up one day. Turn it into a nice townhome.” Sirius offers, although Harry doesn’t think he’ll ever want to live anywhere other than the beachside manor they’ve claimed as theirs this summer.
If this is the supposed primary residence of the House of Black, it’s unsurprising that the Lords before Sirius retained a secret manor that was in a much better state.
“Who all do you think will be here?” Harry asks nervously
“Most of the Weasleys, although Arthur and the older boys will likely be out for work. In his last letter, Moony said he’d be here for the next week or so before heading out again. As for the rest, it was usually a bit of a revolving door” Sirius says with a shrug.
Reaching the top of the crumbling stairs, Harry eyes the menacing silver bird head in the place of a doorknocker. As he watched, the bird's head - some kind of raven or crow? - turned its head slightly so it could stare its beady eyes down at Harry.
“Do we knock?”
“Nah. It’s our house, Harry. We can just walk right in.” Sirius replies with a smirk, before throwing the door open in front of them and stepping inside. Somewhat reluctantly, Harry follows the other man over the threshold.
At first glance, the inside matches the dingy exterior. The hallway they step into is dark, barely lit with candles despite it being mid-day outside. There are stairs in front of them, the top disappearing into the gloom of the house, and on the wall, Harry is horrified to see mounted house-elf heads. Harry notes a sitting room to the right, and what someone as posh as Malfory would probably call a “formal parlor” to the left. Everything is done in black, dark purple, and silver and Harry would bet his firebolt that all the furniture was over a hundred years old. Beneath the grime and dust though, Harry can see the trappings of what once was a grand house.
In other words, exactly what Harry would expect in the public home of a rich, pureblooded family that had fallen from grace.
A quiet Pop and a grizzly old house elf appears in front of them.
“Master Sirius returns. And brings his Heir with him? Kreacher shall need to be introduced, he will.” The elf mutters to himself, while also staring Sirius down, as if ordering him to obey his wishes.
Harry hears what he thinks is a slight sigh from Sirius, before he says, “Hello Kreacher, I trust you have been taking care of the House in my absence. It is my honor to introduce to you Harry James Potter, Heir to the House of Black. He is the son of James Potter, great-grandson to Dorea Black. You will obey his orders as if they are my own, you will protect his life and his secrets, and you will respect him at all times.”
The elf - Kreacher - is now staring at Harry with his giant bulbous eyes, his gaze moving from Harry’s toes to the top of his messy hair, and Harry has the distinct feeling that he’s being weighed as to whether or not he is a worthy Heir to the House of Black.
Harry’s glad he’s wearing one of the new sets of clothing Sirius had purchased - black slacks with a dove grey button down tucked in, and open robes in black and embroidered silver over top. He knew his hair was usually a bit of a mess, but with everything that happened this summer he hadn’t had the chance to cut it, so his riotous curls had been pulled down into softer waves that he thought helped him appear slightly more put together.
Harry still might not know much about being an heir, but he thought he at least looked the part. Raising his chin just a touch and trying to remember what he had read in the etiquette books Sirius had sent him earlier in summer, Harry greeted the house-elf, “Hello Kreacher. It’s a pleasure to meet you, and I’m looking forward to getting to know you over the coming years.”
“Master Harry being welcome at Grimmauld Place, and Kreacher being honored to serve the Heir to the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black.” With his voice raised to more than a mutter, Harry can better hear the slow, gravely tone - a sharp difference from the high-pitched squeaky voices he’s used to from the house elves he’s encountered in the past.
Harry settles for just a nod in response to Kreacher’s welcome, and the elf focuses back on Sirius after giving Harry a final, searching look.
“Master’s long-term guests are still in residence. The Weasley woman is in Kreacher’s kitchen, where she be making lunch. Her children are in the upstairs lounge and bedrooms…they be cleaning.” This last word was said with a sneer, and Harry thought Kreacher seemed a bit offended that someone else would be cleaning his house. After glancing at the cobweb-laden hallway and the visible dust motes swirling in the air, Harry’s not sure Kreacher has the right to be affronted at someone else trying to clean up.
“Thank you, Kreacher. Please have tea sent up to my study in about thirty minutes. I’ll be heading there to do some work after greeting Molly and showing Harry around.”
“Kreacher also be making lunch for Master and Heir. It being Kreacher’s duty to cook for them.” It was quite remarkable how with just his tone and a particularly strong glare Kreacher managed to make an offer of lunch sound like a threat, as if he was daring them to eat something made by Mrs. Weasley.
Before Sirius has a chance to respond, Kreacher pops away.
Sirius slings his arm around Harry’s shoulder and begins to guide him further into the house. Padfoot gives him a brief tour as they head towards the kitchens, mostly just pointing out the different rooms they pass by, and Sirius indicating if it looked like the group had already cleaned it up or not.
Harry really couldn’t tell much of a difference between the “clean” rooms and the “not cleaned” rooms, but maybe he was missing something.
Finally, they pass through a heavy wooden door, and Harry sees Mrs. Weasley bustling around a kitchen that is dated but still the cleanest space he’s seen in Grimmauld yet. She has their back to them, but Harry can tell she’s got a frilly pink and white apron on that he remembers from his visits to the Burrow.
With a glance and a wink at Harry, Sirius loudly clears his throat and says “Afternoon, Molly. Got a visitor here to see you.”
At Sirius’s voice, Mrs. Weasley visibly startles and whips around to see who snuck in behind her, on seeing Harry her eyes get big and she drops the wooden spoon still in her hand to the floor with a clatter.
“HARRY! Oh, Harry, you’re here!” Mrs. Weasley rushes across the room and throws her arms around Harry, hugging him tightly to her. After a moment she pulls back just enough to scan his face and the rest of him.
“Oh, you’re looking so good Harry, dear. I’ve been so worried about you. I’m so sorry for your loss, of course, I know you weren’t close with your relatives but still…I’m sorry that happened to them, lovey. I’m sure you must be worried about them.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Weasley. Sirius said my aunt and cousin are in Saint Mungos and are being well taken care of there. I think that’s the best place for them now.”
Mrs. Weasley flicks a glance in Sirius’s direction before continuing, “Oh, but I was so relieved when we were told you weren’t there during the attack. After everything else you went through the thought of you facing dementors on your own would have just been too much. But you don’t look nearly as peaky as usual, and it looks like you’ve actually gotten some color this summer.”
As if realizing what that means, Mrs. Weasley levels a glare at Sirius, “I hope you’re not taking him wandering around the countryside, Sirius. Merlin only knows why you’re insisting on keeping him hidden away from the rest of us, but if you’re gallivanting around out in public I’ll simply not have it!” she says, her voice getting increasingly shrill.
Out of the corner of his eye, Harry sees Sirius stiffen at Molly’s accusations. “I’ve been taking care of him just fine, Molly. The little we’ve been out from behind wards, all precautions have been taken. Most of his tan has been from being outside at our home.”
Without giving Mrs. Weasley much of a chance to respond, Sirius looks to Harry and says, “Why don’t you go on upstairs, Harry, so you can spend some time with your friends while we’re here.”
“Oh yes, dear. Ron and Hermione are working on one of the guest rooms on the second floor. You go right on up, it's the first one on the left, but I’m sure you’ll hear them when you get close. Best be quiet on the stairs though, you don’t want to wake anything up.”
That last comment doesn’t have nearly enough explanation for Harry’s comfort - wake anything up? What is there to wake up? - Mrs. Weasley gives one last tight squeeze to his arms obviously dismissing him, before turning back to Sirius.
As Harry leaves the room and heads towards the stairs, he hears what is clearly the start of an argument behind him. Mrs. Weasley accuses Sirius of not taking Harry’s safety seriously - hah! Seriously - and then goes in on him for showing up with no warning. Harry can’t hear Sirius’s responses, as he’s speaking much quieter than Mrs. Weasley, but whatever he says in rebuttal isn’t calming her down much as her voice only gets louder before all sound out of the kitchen is sharply cut off from what must be a privacy ward.
Moving up the stairs, Harry passes thick curtains along the wall and eyes the dark corners of the landings and hallways he passes, keeping an eye out for any of the things he should avoid waking up as he progresses to the second floor.
Mrs. Weasley was right; as he finished climbing the stairs he could already hear Ron and Hermione’s voices.
“...not supposed to touch them, Ronald, you have no idea what kind of curses it has.”
Harry has to smile at the tone Hermione had taken. It was her I cannot believe I’m friends with you idiots tone. He and Ron kept a little tally of how many times she used it on them each year, with the promise of five chocolate frogs going to whoever got it the most by the end of each term.
If Ron knew Harry overheard this discussion, he’d insist on counting that towards his total. Harry gave it another second before moving to stand in the doorway. Seeing that his friends were both facing away from him at the moment, Harry settled in to wait and leaned against the doorframe. The guest room they were in had a massive four-poster bed with heavy velvet curtains in a shade of green that would fit right in somewhere in the Slytherin dorm rooms.
There were a few shelves of books and a wardrobe that Ron and Hermione were standing in front of, eyeing a bejeweled vase that must have been shoved in there for storage at some point.
“Obviously ‘Mione, I wasn’t going to touch it with my bare hands.” Harry could hear Ron’s eye roll from here. “I was going to float it to the bag for Bill to check later. ‘Sides, it’s barely reading as anything, the most it would do is give me hives or something.”
“Or something? Or something? Fred ran into something that barely dinged the spells we’re using and it tried to choke him. If George hadn’t been in the room he would have died, Ronald. You know that. We don’t know these detection spells nearly well enough to be sure of - HARRY!”
Hermione had turned around as she spoke, and upon seeing Harry standing there listening, she had much the same response as Mrs. Weasley. In an instant, she launched herself at him, and he had his arms full of his friend (and unfortunately, his mouth a bit full with some of her frizzing hair).
“We were so worried about you, Harry. And you never replied to our letter, but of course, you didn’t have to, and you must still be so angry with us. And I’m so sorry, Harry, truly.”
Harry can hear the tears in her voice and feels the great gulping breaths she’s taking. Behind her, Ron is watching with solemn eyes and slumped shoulders.
Cutting off Hermione’s continued ramblings, Harry sets her back from him and forces a smile.
He had envisioned coming in here and giving them a piece of his mind. He thought all his anger from earlier in summer would have come flooding back as soon as he saw them.
It hadn’t.
He just felt tired, really. Tired of wondering if his friends would really be there for him when he needed them. Tired of questioning their relationship. “It’s alright. You already apologized in your letter.”
Hermione glanced back at Ron, who met her gaze and stepped forward while Hermione took a step back, although she ran her hand down his arm to claim his hand.
“It’s not alright mate. You needed us this summer. And we let you down.” Ron said, voice measured and quiet. “We could give you all the excuses why, all the reasons the adults told us we shouldn’t try and contact you. But those don’t really matter, do they? You were still left alone for too long.”
Ron steps forward and gives him a shorter, but no less tight embrace than Hermione did. With her still claiming his hand, for a few seconds, all three are connected, and Harry releases the last bit of tension he’d been holding.
He knows this might not be the end of it and that maybe he needs to be more vocal about what he needs from his friends, but right now… right now, he’s happy with where they landed. Ron and Hermione apologized, both in their letters and now in person, and Harry has so many other, happier things, he wants to tell them about, that he’d rather focus on. For maybe the first time in his life, he’s reuniting with his friends after time apart and has more good stories to tell them than bad, and he just wants to revel in it.
He doesn’t want to focus on the anger and isolation he felt earlier in the summer when instead he could tell them about the beach, and visiting The Pier at Brighton, and his second-ever professional Quidditch game, and all the little moments with Sirius in between.
“C’mon, let’s go up to my room and we can catch up?” Ron asks, a bit tentatively.
Harry nods, and lets Hermione lead him out of the guest room, down one floor, and takes a left off the landing to the third door down.
Ron’s room isn’t much better than the guest room they had been in, still a bit dark and dusty but this one had two twin beds instead of one big one. Harry can also tell where Ron has tried to make the room his own, with a Chudley Cannons poster pinned to the wall, and a knit blanket in Gryffindor red draped across one of the beds.
Assuming the bed with the neatly made covers was still unclaimed, Harry sits there while Ron throws himself down on top of the mussed red blanket on the other.
Hermione, glancing at Ron’s bed with a sniff, seats herself next to Harry.
“So…” Harry starts, “What have you two been up to? Sirius told me a little, you’ve been cleaning this place up.”
“It’s been right boring mate. We don’t even get to mess about with the dark shite we find here, it goes straight to Bill or one of the adults to deal with.” Ron tells him with a grimace.
“He’s right Harry. It’s been a bit dull. We try and listen in during the Order meetings but they started placing silencing wards to block us. It is nice to see everyone briefly before and after the meetings though. I got a chance to ask Professor McGonagall about what might be on the Transfiguration O.W.L. and started on my study guides.”
Harry and Ron share an eye roll at Hermione already starting study guides ten months in advance.
“But what have you been up to, Harry? You’ve probably had a more exciting summer. We were so happy when Mrs. Weasley told us that Sirius had you and you were safe during the Dementor attack.”
Harry spends a bit telling them how Sirius sent him a letter earlier in summer, and the two of them spent the next few weeks talking via the mirror and eventually in person when Sirius sent him the portkey.
When Hermione asks where he’s been staying since the attack on the Dursleys, Harry is surprised that he doesn’t feel any hesitancy at not telling them about Aquarius House.
“Sirius and I are keeping that quiet for now. Traditionally, it’s just been a place for Lord Black and his heir, and Sirius and I agreed to keep it at that. At least for now.”
“Oh Harry, do you really think that’s wise? What if something happens? Someone from the Order should - “
Harry interrupts Hermione before she gets too far into her lecture, “No Hermione. It’s our home, Sirius has given up this place for the Order’s use and Dumbledore has already tried to track us down where we’re living now. We’re safe there, but the more people who know where we’re living the less safe I’ll be. I don’t trust Dumbledore, which means I don’t fully trust his Order.”
Harry stares challengingly at his friends, waiting to see how they respond. It was all well and good earlier to forgive them for having blind faith in Dumbledore, but he won’t allow it to continue. He’s pleased to see Ron’s already nodding slightly behind Hermione, before meeting his gaze and saying with a shrug, “I get it. He’s let you down too many times. I’m with you.”
Harry nods back at Ron and focuses on Hermione, who seems to be contemplating everything he’s said. “I know he’s let you down in many ways, Harry. Dumbledore has caused you personally so much harm. I know that and I completely understand why you’re hesitant. But I’m worried that he’s still the best chance we have at fighting You-Know-Who. Can we afford to cut him out completely?”
Harry is relieved that she’s at least willing to consider it, and her tone makes her question sound more like a philosophical query, rather than her being opposed to it.
“We’re not cutting him out entirely, Hermione. We’re not going to go at it alone and try and take on Voldemort ourselves. But why does he need to know where I live? The wards we’re under there are really, really secure. Like maybe even better than here. And Sirius has shown me all the different exit routes. I have an emergency portkey, and Sirius said he’s going to start teaching me how to apparate early, just in case. And besides, Dumbledore has always known exactly where I am for basically all of my life up until now, and how many times did I still end up in danger? What is him knowing actually going to do? I’m safer than I’ve ever been, and it’s no thanks to Dumbledore. Sirius is responsible for me now, and I trust him.”
Hermione stares at him for a moment longer before she gives in, “Alright Harry. I trust you, so if you say this is the best way forward, then I believe you. Don’t tell us where you’re living, but just…can you tell us other things about it? So we can hear about your new home.”
*
It wasn’t until nearly an hour later that they were finally disturbed. Harry had told them about his bedroom, and his favorite window that gave the best view of the ocean, before spending a while talking about The Pier. Ron had been a few times before, but Hermione had only ever read about the magical district of Brighton.
He doesn’t mention the Dursleys at all, so he can avoid trying to explain the confusing knot of emotions he feels whenever he thinks of them, the grief - anger - relief - remorse that sinks like a stone in his stomach whenever he considers the way an entire family was wiped away, all because they were close - physically if not emotionally - to him.
Nor does he tell them about the confrontation the week prior with Dumbledore, and the steps Harry took to ensure the Headmaster would leave him alone.
Harry keeps to the pleasant things, the topics he can talk about openly and doesn’t feel like he should be whispering about late at night, after the candles are blown out and the bed curtains drawn, to try to hide the stains on Harry’s very soul.
Eventually, though, the bedroom door is swung open after a perfunctory knock and Molly enters to tell them lunch is ready.
Downstairs, Harry is greeted by Fred and George, already seated at a table laden with soups and sandwiches, and Ginny trails in a few steps behind Ron.
Harry snags the empty seat beside George, who immediately turns to him and congratulates him on not having his soul sucked out of his mouth. In the ensuing lecture from Mrs. Weasley about “having some tact with sensitive subjects” most of the group fails to notice the quiet pop of Kreacher apparating in near the stove. Harry notices him however, and watches as he slinks over to the table to place a plate in front of Harry. Glancing at the chicken topped with some sort of creamy sauce, Harry quietly thanks Kreacher, who sniffs in response and gives a disparaging sneer at the plate of sandwiches in front of Harry on the table, before sending him a little nod and disapparating away.
“Mate, how did you get Kreacher to like you? If we ask him for anything he practically spits on our shoes.” Ron asks from across the table, staring warily at Harry’s plate.
Ignoring Hermione’s pursed lips and steely eyed glare at the plate Kreacher had set in front of him, Harry shrugs while picking up the knife and fork that had appeared next to the plate. “I’m Sirius’s heir. That’s probably all it is.”
“How did that happen, Harry? I thought Heirs had to be blood relatives?” Ginny asks curiously. Behind her, Harry notices Mrs. Weasly huffing slightly as she places a jug of lemonade on the table before taking a seat herself.
“Technically, I am a blood relative. I have a few distant Black ancestors, the way all pureblood families are interconnected, but more recently my great grandmother, Dorea Potter nee Black married into the Potter family, and that relationship was enough to anchor my connection to the Blacks. It’s a requirement of the Black Lord to have a stated heir when he takes up the Lordship, so when Sirius claimed the title earlier in the summer, he named me as heir.
“It was a bit of a surprise when I was in Surrey and out of nowhere the Black Family magic found me. I didn’t know what it was, so I wrote to Sirius, who explained.”
Ginny opens her mouth to reply, but before she has a chance Mrs. Weasly interjects, “It was quite the risky move to send the magic to you from such a distance. Who knows what could have happened if you had reacted poorly to it, or it to you.” She aims a glare at the floors above them as if she can sense where Sirius is in the house.
“It’s alright Mrs. Weasly. The magic didn’t hurt me. It actually felt really nice, protective even.”
As he speaks, Harry shifts his attention slightly to see if he can feel the family magic here at Grimmauld Place like he could at Aquarius House.
And as if it had been waiting for his attention, the magic flooded his senses.
Unlike at Aquarius House, where the magic felt like a watchful but lazy source of power - like a dozing dragon with one eye open just a smidge to keep an eye on the hoard it was sleeping on, the family magic here felt like a caged beast. It reminded Harry of the lion he had seen at the zoo they visited for Dudley’s birthday years ago - agitated, and pacing at the glass, glaring out the people gawking at him. At the time, Harry had thought the lion would have gleefully pounced on everyone in the vicinity and ripped them to shreds.
The magic at Grimmauld felt the same, and he had a distinct impression that it did not appreciate the Weasleys occupying space here. Harry didn’t sense any aggression aimed at him, if anything he thought the magic was more agitated with him here - as if it was searching for an enemy of his that it could attack.
Shaking his head to clear his imagination of dragons and lions and distressed magic, Harry tunes back into the conversation, which Fred and George seem to have guided away from Sirius or the Black Family.
Glancing at George next to him, Harry tries to express his gratitude silently with a small smile. George gave him a wink in acknowledgment before returning to his diatribe on the importance of sleeping in during the summer break and how the constant cleaning was cruel and unusual punishment.
The rest of lunch passes peacefully, with the twins and Ginny ensuring the discussion remains far away from any topics that might set Mrs. Weasley off.
Just as Harry sets down his fork after his last bite, he hears another soft pop behind him, and he turns to meet Kreacher’s bulging eyes.
“Lord Black being requesting his Heir in the study once he is done with his luncheon. Kreacher be showing Heir Black the way.”
“Alright, thank you Kreacher.”
Looking back to Ron and Hermione at the table and easily reading their anxiety that he might be leaving Grimmauld with Sirius and disappearing for the rest of summer, Harry promises, “I’ll come find you when we’re done. I brought my things, we’re going to stay the night. Stay for a bit so we can all catch up.”
In truth, Harry had agreed with Sirius that he’d pack overnight things and make a decision once they were at Grimmauld as to whether he wanted to stay. If things were awkward with his friends, then they would return to Aquarius house after a few hours. Harry was glad their reunion had gone well enough that he felt comfortable staying the night.
His friends smile at him in response, and Harry glances at the rest of the Weasleys, giving them all a slight nod in farewell and thanking Mrs. Weasley for making lunch, despite him not eating any of her cooking. By the time he’s standing, the dishes in front of him have already disappeared and Kreacher has started hobbling towards the door so Harry quickens his pace to catch up.
The hallway outside the kitchen is just as dreary as when he first entered the house, made no cheerier by the last couple hours of friendship and good food. Harry remembers Sirius’s casual offer to fix the place up one day. Even if they didn’t ever live here, he thought that would be a good idea.
Glancing at the elf a few steps in front of him, leading him towards the set of stairs leading upwards, Harry wonders why the house was in such bad shape. Granted, he didn’t have much experience with House Elves, but in general, they seemed to like things kept tidy.
“Kreacher, I don’t mean to offend you - and certainly don’t mean to imply you should punish yourself -” Harry hurries to add, not wanting to deal with a Dobby-esque breakdown, “But Grimmauld seems a bit…uncared for. It seems to be quite a large house, do you need help with the upkeep? Maybe we could find another House Elf, or hire someone in the future that could assist you.”
Kreacher, who had paused when Harry began speaking and swung around to face Harry with a deep glare on his face at Harry’s first insinuation that Grimmauld wasn’t being looked after, seemed to pause at the question and sent Harry a searching glance to judge the sincerity of Harry’s offer.
“There being used to be many elves at Grimmauld Place. To manage the House and the Family Magic. There just being Kreacher now, and he has…other duties that be needing his attention.”
Harry’s brow scrunches up in confusion, but just as he’s about to ask Kreacher what other duties he has, the elf continues, “If Heir Black is meaning his offer to bring other House Elves to Grimmauld to help with upkeep, Kreacher being grateful. Although Kreacher remaining Head Elf!” The last bit was said furiously, clearly trying to proactively warn off Harry of even considering demoting Kreacher.
“Of course, Kreacher. You’ve served the House of Black for so long,” and here Harry was really just guessing, but the elf certainly looked ancient compared to any other House Elf he had seen, “you’d remain the Head Elf. Let me talk to Sirius about it, alright? I’m not sure what the situation is with the Order using Grimmauld as their Headquarters, so it might not be right away, but we can sort something out for you. If it’s that much work, and you’re occupied with other things, we shouldn’t expect you to manage all of it.”
Kreacher squints at him for a moment, “Kreacher being very grateful to Heir Black for his offer. Perhaps Lord Black is not being as incompetent as Mistress always said he was.”
And with that less-than-glowing compliment, Kreacher turns and continues upstairs and down the hallway.
Eventually, they come to a solid oak door, and Kreacher turns to look at Harry again before wordlessly nodding his head at the entrance that Harry could practically feel was thrumming with magic, before he turned again and meandered off, continuing up to the third floor.
Harry knocks twice on the door, and waits until he hears Sirius call “Enter” before pushing it open and taking a few steps through the entryway. Harry has time to take in the comfortable-looking study with a large couch and walls of books, and Sirius smiling at him behind a huge carved desk before he hears an unexpected voice behind him.
“So, this is the boy you named Heir to the House of Black.”