Dedicated to my mom, for her support in drafting these ideas.
Chapter One
Bludger Banter
The sole occupant of number twelve, Grimmauld Place, lay lazily in the drawing room, enjoying the feeling of having nothing to do. His light black robes kept him as cool as could be expected: it was a pleasantly warm summer, in contrast from the depressingly cool seasons of prior years, when hope and life had been drained.
Eventually rising and assuming responsibility, he entered the kitchen and peeked inside the oven. A small tray of brownies was still baking. Satisfied, he strode over to the wireless and spun the dials purposefully until a light polka filled the room. With the house resonating to the boisterous chords in three-four time, he rummaged around in a seemingly infinite drawer until encountering a needle so thin as to be barely substantial, but endowed with a power that transcended the metal.
Tool in hand, he wandered over to a large tapestry and pushed the needle through a hole. A single blasted thread leapt through the eye of the needle and tied itself. Nimbly, he guided the needle in the path of a capital A. It was eager to begin the next letter, but a knock at the door intervened.
Weaving the needle back through the hole, he stood and approached the front door. He made an impressively serious figure: from his appearance alone, one might reckon it comical. But he was a respected member of his community.
He simply happened to be an elf.
Kreacher opened the door and bowed slightly. "Good evening, Master Potter."
"Just "Harry" is fine," said the addressee wearily, stepping in.
"Apologies, Master Harry. Dessert is nearly finished."
Harry closed the door and spoke tersely. "I just ate." Collapsing on the couch, he reminisced. "There was a lot of food. A big turnout. You know she'd been missing for over a year? And there was still no body. But they had to schedule this memorial service around the other fifty-it's the same people who go to all of them."
Kreacher, aware of Harry's moods, went to check on the oven.
But Harry leapt up after him, aware as if for the first time of the surrounding music. "Oi! What's with the polka?"
"Kreacher knows that Master Harry is not partial to this music, so Kreacher plays it when you is not here." He changed the frequency.
"It has been confirmed that Puddlemere United Keeper Loren Dimond has used performance-enhancing spells and will be banned for a year."
Lee Jordan's commentary calmed Harry, who sat up and watched Kreacher continue repairing the venerable family tree. The house-elf had had more urgent tasks to do in the house for the last several weeks, having only recently returned from Hogwarts School. Despite his official liberation, he still enjoyed working there and in Grimmauld Place-and found his habit of addressing employers as "Master" particularly hard to break.
"…and we urge all Bludger Banter listeners to contribute to the capital fund for rebuilding Hogwarts School. Significant curse damage still lingers in the infrastructure as special correspondents have attested. But for only one Galleon a month you can help with the process. For five Galleons a month, you'll get a copy of "Quidditch through the Ages", and for ten you can have it signed. Thirty Galleons a month, and we'll send you a free copy of "Hogwarts, a History". Send your owl to…"
"We is needing more thread, Master Harry." Kreacher tied off a final s. "The tapestry is not having room for Missus Nymphadora."
Harry paced over, impressed at how much the tapestry had grown. Even with the deaths of the last Blacks (Sirius had already been restored at the bottom), the entangled morass of pureblood wizardry continued to expand. "At the rate you're adding people to this thing, Kreacher, half the wizarding world will be on my Christmas."
Kreacher turned abruptly. "Should I stop?"
"No. Yes. I mean-" Harry threw up his hands in exasperation. "It's great that you understand that not just purebloods deserve to be on here. But we don't really need this kind of thing, do we? I mean, that's exactly what the old Ministry was trying to do-chart everyone's genealogy."
"But there is a new ministry now, yes?" After a short interim, Kingsley Shacklebolt had been overwhelmingly supported for Minister of Magic.
"Yeah…" Harry said wistfully.
Kreacher ducked into the kitchen. "Would Master Harry like some brownies?"
""Master Harry" would like to be just Harry. Not the hero of wizardkind today, not someone that the Ministry can showcase for no reason, not someone whose only purpose is to visit his friends' funerals." He looked at his watch. "I'm seventeen, and in a couple of hours I'll be eighteen. I need a job."
"Is you not working at the Ministry?"
"I is not working at the Ministry," Harry mimicked. "I don't have the credentials of my coworkers-all I've done is kill Voldemort. So I can't officially be an Auror. I forget what my official title is-something like "Head Exterminator of Rogue Operatives". Or maybe "Eliminator"."
Kreacher set the warm pan on the counter and turned off the oven. "The brownies is ready, Master."
Harry trudged in and took the first piece Kreacher cut. He ate mechanically, forcing an expression of contentment upon his face.
But when he went up to bed that night, a Snitch fluttering around his room, he slept soundly and without dreams. It was as much as he could ask for, and it made so much worth it.