Harry looked out the window as the rain poured down outside. Number 12 Grimmauld Place seemed empty without him. Everything was silent. Kreacher had died last week with the last of the Black sons. Harry was an honorary Black, but he wasn't Sirius. Even Walburga's portrait was silent. The house echoed with emptiness. Every footstep filled the house, mocking him in his loneliness. The house seemed to know that he was alone, and it took malicious glee in his situation. Floorboards creaked and the house swayed, as though Sirius were right around the corner, waiting to pop out and say, "Just kidding!" Harry looked out at the muggle street and the oblivious people across the way. They were sitting around their television, happily enjoying an evening together. Harry was sickened by their happiness. As he stood there, the thought of all the things that were wrong with this world. There was a war going on, that few people even believed they were fighting! The battle in the Ministry only proved how naive they were: Voldemort had been right there, and they still hadn't managed to capture him. It always seemed to come back to Harry and Voldemort. His second year, with Tom Riddle and the basilisk had only proven this point further. Why was Dumbledore always making that mad man his responsibility? Weren't there older wizards that could take care of Tom? Harry was a teenager! His thoughts returned to a man trapped in a diary for fifty years, and the memories encased inside. He thought again of his second year, with Ron and Lockhart…He thumped his head lightly on the glass as he thought of it. Memories! Why hadn't he realized it before! With tears sliding down his cheeks like the rain on the window, Harry raised his wand.

"Obliviate."

His thoughts of Sirius floated away from him. In his mind, it was as if water was being spilled on a very old book: words and pictures faded as everything was washed away. Even the pages seemed to dissolve as fourth and fifth year bled away along with second and third. His memories of the Mirror of Erised and Quirrel washed away along with them. Ron and Hermione, Remus, Hagrid, Professor McGonagall, Gryffindor house, Dumbledore, and finally, Voldemort. Everyone's faces faded from his mind as the spell wreaked its destruction. He had only meant to forget Sirius, but this seemed like a much better solution. Harry smiled blissfully as the entire Wizarding World faded away and his pain disappeared.

Hermione rolled her eyes as Ron scrambled down the stairs, tugging his shirt down and trying to buckle his belt at the same time.

"Honestly, Ronald, did your mother never teach you to dress yourself?" she asked sarcastically. She shook her head and emptied some Floo powder into her hand. The grainy golden sand trickled out between her fingertips as she threw her handful into the fireplace. The fire turned from a cheery orange to a deep green and she stepped into the grate.

"Number 12, Grimmauld Place!" she said clearly. The green fire swirled around her and she turned in the fireplace. Embers rose in a cyclone as the flames leaped and danced around her. Her knees nearly buckled as she was tossed into the correct fireplace, and then onto the ground in front of her new destination. As she opened her eyes, she distastefully took in the dark appearance of Grimmauld's living room. Dark wood and heavy draperies dominated the room. Dust clung to every flat surface thickly, and the paintings sneezed as they tried to peer out through the grime. Hermione shook her head again and walked into the kitchen. Might as well see if Harry had started lunch already.

Harry looked out the window at the street in front of him. Across the way, he could see a family around their television, enjoying their meal together. Hopefully Vernon wasn't home; he might get some lunch if his uncle was still at work. In the kitchen, he thought he heard Petunia, but he wasn't sure. How had he gotten here? This didn't look like Privet Drive… Harry shrugged his shoulders and turned around. His eyes widened dramatically: the room was disgusting! Petunia would have kittens if she saw how he'd been slacking! Harry grabbed a thin washrag from the corner of the room and got to work polishing the tables quickly. The washrag had been held tightly in an old statue's hand, but Harry didn't think anyone would mind him taking it, as long as he cleaned the room quickly.

Half an hour later, Harry could smell meat cooking as Petunia worked in the kitchen. He heard her grumbling, probably something about him, as she slammed pots and pans around. His eyes widened and he got back to scrubbing at the pictures hanging on the walls. It felt like someone was watching him, but when he turned around, Dudley was never there. He shrugged his thin shoulders and went back to cleaning, never noticing the cleaned pictures' eyes following him around the room.

Hermione slammed the pot onto the stove top and started adding chopped carrots and celery to it. As the water and vegetables boiled, she added some diced chicken and covered the pot to keep it warm. It was a little plain, but she couldn't find many seasonings. She had been surprised when she opened a cabinet and found a roasted chicken in it! She stuck her hand inside, and realized it had a cooling charm on it. Apparently, random cabinets were the Wizard World's solution to refrigerators… She smiled to herself as she set the table. Harry would be surprised when he came downstairs and found lunch already made!

Harry glanced around the room. The worst of the dirt was gone, but he didn't have a ladder, so the chandelier was still grimy. The paintings were cleaned, and the tables were shining. The glass in the cabinets was clean now, and he just had to vacuum the floor and he'd be finished. Harry wandered down the hallway as he followed the smell. The rest of the house was in as bad of shape as the living room! Scuff marks made the wooden floors look ghastly, and cobwebs hung everywhere. Well, he'd take care of that after lunch. As Harry walked into the kitchen, he saw a woman with her back to him. She had a t-shirt and jeans on, not Petunia's usual dress and high heels. Her hair was pulled back into a messy braid. This was definitely not his aunt…

"Hello? Do you live here?" Harry asked her quietly, not wanting to surprise her. The woman turned around and looked at him strangely.

"Hullo, Harry. Want some lunch?" Harry shook his head.

"I'm not supposed to eat food from strangers…Where is my family?" He asked her. The woman's eyes widened.

"Very funny, Harry. Come on, eat some lunch." She said again in exasperation. She dished him up a bowl of soup and placed it on the table. Harry sat down, but made no move to eat the food from this strange woman.

"Harry! Come on! I'm not that bad of a cook!" She said angrily. Harry shook his head again, and pushed to soup further away from himself.

"I can't eat food from strangers! My Aunt told me not to!"

"Your Aunt? Harry, you don't live with them anymore…" She trailed off.

"Harry?"

"Yes, ma'm?" He answered politely.

"How old are you, Harry?" She asked him slowly.

"11!" He said happily.