A/N: Just a small idea that plagued me until I got it out. Its post-Hogwarts and post-war. The epilogue is non-existent, because I would have never put certain people with others. Hope you all enjoy.

Disclaimer: I own nothing

This was the thirty-seventh house they looked at and after about two minutes inside Harry turned to Mrs. McArthur, the real estate agent, and shook his head slowly. She smiled and led him out of the house, but her head was full of questions as to why this house wasn't good enough, along with the thirty-six before this one.

As they got back into her car, she handed him the folder with several other house descriptions in it. Harry thumbed through them, barely glancing at the words on the page before shrugging and allowing her to make the decision as to which one she was going to show him next. Mrs. McArthur knew this was coming, and had already starting driving to their next destination, knowing that Harry needed to actually see the house before he made his decision.

She was at a complete loss though, unsure as to what exactly Harry was looking for. He was young and single as far as she could gather from him and a few of his friends he brought along on other days. And all he said he wanted was an unattached house, a couple of bedrooms and a cozy kitchen. She had tried to get any other information out of him, but he would just shrug and explain he'd know when he sees it.

Harry would always have a hopeful look about him every time they pulled up to a house. He'd smile and nod, looking at the landscape outside and scoping out the neighboring houses. They would walk in together and he'd start to look around. She could always tell the instant he didn't like it. She'd notice him freeze and his demeanor would completely change, standing rigidly before turning to her and shaking his head. After the first couple of times she'd question him, asking what was wrong so she wouldn't make the mistake again, he'd just tell her that something wasn't right before leaving the house altogether.

Every time someone else would come with them, Mrs. McArthur would try to corner them, gathering as much information about Harry as possible. She'd get a small, sad smile out of his female friend, who would only say 'Harry's childhood isn't what we would call the best', before walking towards Harry and laying a hand on his shoulder, giving him an understanding look. His male friend, who Mrs. McArthur learned Harry had been staying with, would be completely closed mouthed on the subject, ignoring her questioning while he told Harry that his mum really didn't mind him staying at their house.

Over the past couple of weeks Mrs. McArthur had gained a sort of compassion for the young man. She knew close to nothing about him, only that he wanted a place to call his own and that money was not an option. She was intrigued about how someone who was barely out of school could afford a house, and Harry seemed to know she was interested. He had explained that money was left to him from family, saying he'd like something a bit bigger than the first couple of small houses she took him to. After that, she tried not to seem as interested as she truly was in him, because the glassy look his eyes got right before he turned around made her heart ache for the stranger who seemed haunted by demons from his past.

Hoping beyond anything that this next house would please Harry, Mrs. McArthur pulled into a driveway and opened her door. Watching Harry get out as well, smiling and waving to the small children in the yard to his left, she walked up to the front door and unlocked it. Harry entered after her, walking past her and into the house.

Harry's smile was bright as he walked through the foyer, glancing up at the windows above the front door. His smile only brightened as he entered the living room, running his hand along the mantle over the large fireplace. But, as he turned she saw him freeze and she began calculating the fastest route to get to the next house. However, seeing his eyes soften slightly, she followed his gaze.

The stairs, she noticed, was what he was fixated on. She couldn't fathom why he seemed to like them, but she wouldn't ask and pry when he might be contemplating this house. Hearing him say 'its perfect' made her spin back around and face his huge smile.

"Really?" she asked him. "Are you sure you don't want to look through the rest of the house first?"

His smile didn't falter as he shook his head. "No thank you. This is the house. I can feel it."

She nodded and gestured for him to follow her out of the house so they could go back to her office and begin the paperwork. As she turned, she didn't notice the way his eyes slid back towards the stairs.

But, it wasn't the stairs that Harry was focused on. It was under the stairs that caught his attention, the open space that created a nice and inviting little nook. There was no cupboard, no door with a lock on it. There was no metal grate that could be closed from the outside. There was absolutely nothing that reminded Harry of Number Four Privet Drive, and because of that, Harry thought that this house could become his home.