This short story is written for Slytherin House, prompt being Funeral. (1,116 words)
P.S. I'm a stand-in player.
It took Harry an embarrassing amount of time to realize what made him restless after the Battle of Hogwarts. But, as Hermione once said to him, better late than never.
That wasn't the only reason why he returned to Grimmauld Place 12, but it was definitely the only one he was willing to acknowledge. He climbed up the steps and pushed the door open, taking a moment to recall.
"It really has been a while", Harry murmured, nostalgia swamping him as he remembered the first he saw this place.
Everything was just as he, Hermione and Ron had left before their hair-brained scheme to infiltrate Ministry and snatch Slytherin's locket from the Toad Umbridge. It seemed Yaxley hadn't done anything in particular to the Order's former headquarters. Even the troll leg umbrella stand Tonks tripped over so much…
Pang went through him. Tonks and Remus, forever together in their grave and separated from Teddy, his little godson. Irony did not escape him: just like him and Sirius, Harry was way too young to truly undertake his godfather duties, and Teddy's parents left him way too early.
Hastily rubbing away stray tears, Harry ran up the stairs, not bothering to call Kreacher. This was his duty, and his alone. When he manages to screw his head on straight, he will call the house-elf to help him with the preparations for Regulus, but for Sirius, he had to do it on his own.
Opening the doors with inscription of godfather's name, Harry had to stop again, lest the pressure in his chest does overwhelm him. The room was just as trashed as he and Snape had left it, only with the added layers of dust coating everything. The Gryffindor flag looked a little more faded than before, and the smell of the stale air was enough to induce headache, but otherwise, the room remained the same.
Taking a deep breath, Harry took out his newly repaired holly and phoenix feather wand and pointed it at the wall holding the flag and the small wizarding photo of Marauders.
"Defodio", he murmured, etching deep gouges in the wall. After repeating the spell for a few times, the entire section of the wall looked a little shaky as it clung to the last corner. Harry smiled grimly.
"Defodio, Wingardium Leviosa!" His voice was much steadier and like him. The section obediently separated from the rest of the wall and hovered over Sirius' bed. "Diminuendo", Harry finished off his spell chain with a flourish and caught now miniaturized wall. Before he could stop and think any further, black-haired boy ran downstairs, not heeding Mrs. Black's horrible screeching, and stumbled onto the street.
One turn on the heel later, he stood in Godric's Hollow, in front of the graveyard his parents, Ignatius Peverell and Dumbledores were buried in. Doing his best to ignore the changing war monument he marched into the graveyard to his parents' graves. Even without the snow, the white marble seemed to glow in the light of the setting sun.
Going on his knees, Harry drew out the small bouquet of lilies and chrysanthemums from his mokeskin pouch, enlarging them and placing them carefully next to the flowers he and Hermione left there on Christmas Eve.
"Mum, Dad", he spoke through tight throat. "Hey. I promised I'd get you real flowers last time I was here, remember? And I did. But, I couldn't help but think I forgot something then. And I did." He sniffed. "Padfoot. With all the worries about Tom and Moony and Teddy and Wormtail, I completely forgot about Padfoot." He stopped. "His brother, Regulus – do you remember him? He was a year younger than you – betrayed Tom, and died. They never found his body, and really, it's better they didn't." Here he shivered, even though it was a warm July day. With a jolt, he remembered his birthday was in a week's time. Merlin, where did the time go?
"Anyway. We never got Padfoot's body to bury, either. Even Wormtail, little traitor, had a body for us to burn." The Veil in Department of Mysteries… "So I brought a bit of Snuffles' room here. I called Padfoot Snuffles, if you're confused."
Gently, he enlarged the section of the wall he took from Grimmauld Place and carefully fixed it to the back of the tombstone, so that the picture of Marauders was just peeking out, and covered it with glass. After staring at the changed monument, Harry stood up.
"You know, I'll be eighteen soon. From what I've heard, Mum, you wouldn't let that little fact stop you from constantly checking on me and bothering me about the state of my place." He chuckled. "Rest assured, Mum, I can and am keeping myself fed and my house clean, more or less. Don't worry, it never looked like Ron's room; a pigsty if I've ever seen one. And Dad, I just know you and Sirius would love to drop in unannounced when I'm not home and charm the heck out of everything I touch." He wrought his fingers, a little grin on his lips. "Not to mention dragging Moony and Wormtail in, all in the name of testing if your Prongslet forgot how to Marauder. Although I'd pay good money to see my fiancee Ginny hex stuffing out of you for pranking her. What was I thinking when I proposed a redhead and Weasley, I'll never know." Here Harry stopped and licked his lips, trying to collect himself.
"Snuffles, you win that bet. Moony married Tonks and had a kid, Teddy. Moony even named me his godfather. You know, the first thought I had after I accepted it was, will I be just as reckless as you?" Harry laughed, and the wind rustled the trees surrounding the graveyard. "I pray to Merlin I'm not. Azkaban does not need any more high-profile inmates, or ridiculous break-outs. Though, I think Teddy will get the kick out of having you as his sort-of uncle, the only man who escaped Azkaban without outside help."
After a moment of silence, Harry waved his wand again and turned on his heel, disappearing with a loud crack. White marble tombstone now read:
In loving memory of
JAMES POTTER
27TH OF MARCH, 1960 – 31ST OF OCTOBER, 1981
LILY POTTER
30TH OF JANUARY, 1960 – 31ST OF OCTOBER, 1981
SIRIUS ORION BLACK
3RD OF NOVEMBER, 1959 – 18TH OF JUNE, 1996
The last enemy that shall be destroyed is death.
Mischief managed.