Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter series. All rights go to JK Rowling. But damn, that would be rad as Hell.
[A/N: This is my first Drarry fic. Please be gentle. I am weak. HA just kidding. Do your worst. MUAHAHA]
PART ONE
Step 1: Beginning to Grieve
There were tears. Dreadful, heart-wrenching tears. Everyone was quiet most of the time, save Mr. Weasley who would do what he could to try to get a smile to cross everyone's face, especially Mrs Weasley who spent most of the summer in the kitchen cooking and baking or cleaning. Charlie, Bill, and Fleur stayed at the Burrow, trying to fill the empty space that seemed to be impossible to fill. Percy was locked in his old room, feeling guilty that he couldn't get to Fred in time. Ron kept a tight arm wrapped around Hermione as if she'd fade away any second. And Ginny, Ginny was always crying. George was the worst of all. He haunted the Burrow with a blank face, not talking with anyone and never entering his and Fred's room, only sleeping outside no matter the weather. Barely anyone spoke, and when they did it was so awkward the conversation went silent again almost immediately. Harry didn't know when or how but he was sure Ginny broke up with him.
As it was, he wasn't innocent of the depression infecting the Weasley home, either. Fred wasn't just a friend, he was an older brother figure. The Weasleys were his family, and now Fred was gone. And with Remus, the last man he considered to be like a father gone, he could barely breathe. What do you do when your parents were murdered when you were a baby? When your godfather was murdered by his cousin right in front of you? When your favourite teacher, your last loyal connection to your father and the last person you consider to be a father figure, and his wife who happened to be cousins with your godfather are murdered during a battle because of you? They can say the war wasn't about Harry. But, it really was. While most people said they were fighting for a free world, fighting against the Death Eaters, Lord Voldemort saw the war as him versus Harry and anyone else who got in the way were nothing more than obstacles to destroy. So, yes. Harry blamed himself for the war and in turn every death that came with it.
At some point Harry went to Ron and Hermione explaining that he needed to leave. He respectfully kissed Hermione's forehead and hugged Ron with a vigor to describe the grief consuming them both. Fortunately, they understood. They knew they would write and spend time together once the pain subsided just a little. Harry grasped a generous amount of floo powder and stepped into the unusually large fireplace before throwing the powder into the pit and announcing his destination: 12 Grimmauld Place, London, England.
Once inside the shabby Noble House of Black, Harry fell to his knees and dry heaved out tears, yelling and cursing out his pain. Though, no actual tears fell. As it is, Harry didn't cry for a long, long time. Not for another 4 months, 3 weeks, 2 days and 13 hours, to be exact. The day was June 1, 1998, and Harry had just begun to grieve. The release wasn't accepted just yet. He needed someone to push him like no one else ever could. A certain prince, to be exact. After all, a heart doesn't beat on its own, and our Golden Boy's heart had frozen over. But, that is for another time. Kreacher Apparated into the living room and placed a comforting, gnarled hand on his Master's shoulder. Though he didn't care for the "blood traitors", he did care for Harry. With Harry having been kinder with the house elf, Kreacher grew to be fond of the boy. Kreacher didn't like Sirius or Remus or Tonks, but Harry did. And Kreacher would be there for his young master, no matter what.
Kreacher took his master's hand and led him to Sirius's old room, refraining from wincing at the Gryffindor colours and muggle decour. Harry had become quiet by now and followed Kreacher in a dream state. His eyes were glazed over and his legs sluggish. Kreacher sighed as he sat his master on the bed, guiding his back to the mattress and carefully swinging his legs over. He delicately took Harry's shoes off and placed them beside the bed. He told Master Potter that should he need anything, he just need call for the house elf and Kreacher would be there. Harry made some noncommital noise and with one last sigh, Kreacher disappeared with a crack!
Harry awoke in the morning to a headache and a dull pulse in his chest. He didn't feel like his face could move, his mouth feeling stiff and like any expression would feel foreign. He didn't feel a thing, just numbness. It wasn't right. It felt strange, yet he welcomed it. It was better than that neverending pain that would have driven him insane. Harry rolled his shoulders back, effectively cracking it and walked towards the door. The moment he opened the door, Kreacher Apparated at the top of the stairs.
"Does young Master Potter need anything?" He spoke softly, his voice a perpetual growl.
Harry passed him and lightly pat the ancient house elf's shoulder, not saying anything as he descended the stairs. Kreacher watched Harry in worry and snapped his fingers, reappearing in the kitchen where he made his master tea and served breakfast on a plate, placing the meal on the small table that lay in the smallish room. Harry pushed through the swinging door and sat before his meal, saying a soft thank you and began to eat. Kreacher nodded curtly and disappeared once more, checking in on Harry throughout the day.
It went on like this for weeks. Harry waking up. Kreacher at his door asking if he needed anything. Harry barely answering him. Eating meals in solitude and silence. Kreacher checking up on him. It made the house elf nervous and a bit worried. He was used to the young man showing emotion, Hell he had a hard time controlling it. But seeing him never show any, and for such a long time, he didn't know what to do. Kreacher didn't know how to console anyone. He was a servant of the Blacks, for crying out loud. They were cold blooded and harsh and cruel; everything Harry wasn't. How did one console a man with an actual beating heart versus a lump of inflammable rock? He didn't want Young Master Harry to grow despondant like his previous masters. No, never Harry. The boy who wore his heart on his sleeve and did anything for anyone, who was hotheaded but felt with a heart that could melt diamonds. Harry James Potter was a good man and Kreacher was afraid of losing him to the darkness that was so familiar with 12 Grimmauld Place. So, naturally he was more than relieved to find a speckled barn owl carrying a piece of parchment tied to his leg. He removed the letter from the owl's leg and found the greatest relief of all: the Hogwarts crest.
Kreacher haphazardly threw owl treats to the owl and ran up the stairs to his master's bedroom. He burst through the doors, panting viciously and completely forgetting his place.
"Master Potter, you have a letter!" He extended his hand a little too excitedly.
For the briefest of moments, Harry's eyes flitted with something. Curiosity. It made Kreacher's old heart glad but then as fast as the emotion came, it vanished. Harry stood from the desk in the corner that held leather bound parchment journals and red ink wells with eagle feather quills. Kreacher never knew what young Master Potter wrote about, but he hoped it helped.
Harry quietly took the letter from Kreacher's gnarled hand and whispered a thank you before returning back to his desk. Looking at the seal, his hands began to shake. Harry was well aware that Kreacher still stood in the doorway, but he didn't mind. He knew the house elf worried for him. He would allow Kreacher to be there as a comfort for the elf. He must feel better knowing if Harry should need him for anything after opening the letter. And Harry appreciated that. With unsteady hands, his fingers disrupted the adherent seal and unrolled the letter from his former school.
HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF
WITHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY
(Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock, Supreme
Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards)
Dear Mr Potter,
We are very aware of the heartache and hardship from this past year. However, us, the administrators of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and the Minister or Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, have decided for the school year to resume on schedule.
As for the students who were already enrolled (not including the First Years for this school year) we have decided to invite you back to Hogwarts for a proper year.
It may not seem a bright idea to come back to retake the year, but the administrators have agreed that with the aftermath of the war, we all need some familiarlarity. It is what Professor Dumbledore would have wanted and what we are sure we all need, happy memories to roll over the bad.
Harry, I know that you, Hermione and Ron were absent from the school all of last year. As you three would have been 7th years, and as would your fellow classmates, should you agree to return this September, you will be enrolled as 8th years. The 8th years will have their own tower. Which means you will be staying in a tower full of each house. Each dormitory will be separate for each dividing house, but you all will share a common room. I know that people have changed, but I must warn the harsh consequences that would befall you should you betray the faith I have in my 8th years.
Term begins September 1st, as always. We await your owl by no later than July 31st.
Please, Harry. Consider coming home one last time.
Yours sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Headmistress
Harry set the letter aside and glanced over the supplies he would need. He lightly placed the list on top of the letter and slowly turned to Kreacher, releasing a steady breath.
"Kreacher, what day is it?"
"July 1st, Master Potter."
Harry looked out the window, lost in his own mind for the moment, like he was contemplating something. "Call me 'Harry'," he mumbled offhandedly.
Kreacher emitted a low squeak before stumbling over his words. "And is there anything M- H-Harry needs from Kreacher?"
Harry turned back to his house elf. "No, there isn't."
Kreacher turned to descend the steps when Harry held out his hand. "Wait! There is something." Finally making up his mind, Harry pulled out 10 Galleons and handed it to Kreacher. "Buy me an owl from Eeylops Owl Emporium."
"Does Mr Harry Potter have a preference for an owl?"
"Any owl will do, as long as it's not white."