Chapter One
The Letters

Harry awoke to the sounds of rustling draperies and unfiltered morning sunlight at 12 Grimauld Place. Kreacher, not altogether gently, was beating the curtains of Harry's room with what appeared to be a potato masher as a colony of tiny black-bodied Doxies fled under his bed.
'Is this not something that can wait until I'm up?' Harry asked blearily, fumbling for his glasses and pushing them roughly onto the bridge of his nose.
Kreacher turned to Harry with what could only be described as a manic expression - he was using a woman's scrunchy to hold back his enormous floppy ears and the effect was quite alarming. 'Master Potter is awake!' Kreacher bustled from his room and returned with a tray of steaming tea cakes, clotted cream, and a huge mug of hot coffee. Kreacher tipped a pitcher of milk into Harry's coffee and beamed up at him as he dropped in two sugar cubes. 'As you like it, sir.'
Kreacher was the house elf that Harry had inherited along with Grimauld Place upon the death of his god father. Although waking to a hot breakfast and a smile was a welcome change to his lifetime of Dudley's scraps and dirty looks from his Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon, the attention was still something Harry was adjusting to.

Harry sipped his coffee gratefully as Kreacher continued his assault on the doxy family. 'We are almost rid of them, sir. This is the last of them!'
'If you just wait for me to wake up, I could help you,' Harry offered. Kreacher turned his enormous orb-like eyes to Harry with what could only be described as a look of hurt confusion.
'Poor Kreacher is still good, sir. Poor Kreacher isn't too old to be taking care of his master's house, sir.'
Harry pushed the now empty food tray to his bedside table and resettled in his pillows, staring up at the canopy bed that had once belonged to his godfather, Sirius. Harry, unable and unwilling to return to his aunt and uncle's home following the defeat of Voldemort, had found Grimauld Place to be a sanctuary after spending a year in hiding in a tent in the English countryside. This was despite of the unnerving air of dark magic that still hung in the air, and apparently the drapes, from the previous tenants.
'That should do it, sir!' Kreacher said, his small chest swelling with pride. He took his potato masher and retreated from the room, closing Harry's door behind him with a flourish. Harry could hear Kreacher dragging his potato masher down the hall, mumbling incoherently to himself. He breathed a sigh of relief - Kreacher, since being given the last remaining relic of his beloved Regulus Black, had taken up house-keeping with an unsupressable enthusiasm that Harry sometimes found exhausting.

Just as Harry was drifting back to sleep, he heard a loud 'POP' on the doorstep.
'Harry?' called a familiar female voice. Hermione Granger, one of his best friends and the smartest witch he knew, had come to visit just as she had every day since her return from Australia, much to Harry's chagrin. Harry couldn't help but feel that Hermione felt an obligation to check up on him, knowing he was alone in a house much too large for a single person.
'Up here!' Harry called back, scrambling to change out of his pyjamas. Just as Harry pulled an emerald jumper over his untidy head, his door burst open revealing a disheveled but undeniably vibrant Hermione Granger.
'I have brought enforcements this time,' Hermione panted, entering his bedroom with a large pile of books in her hands. She collapsed on his bed and began flipping through the pages of one, "Helpful Spells for the Modern Homeowner". Hermione smoothed back a number of flyaway hairs with the back of her hand, exhaling heavily. 'God, it is hot out there today. When was the last time you went outside?'
'Is all of this really necessary, Hermione?' Harry said, ignoring her latter comment. 'I am not even sure I am going to stay here long-term... it still feels a bit traitorous to Sirius, doesn't it?' Hermione rolled her eyes exasperatedly.
'Really Harry, come off it. Sirius left you this house, he wanted you to have it. I know he didn't necessarily have the best memories here but he wouldn't want you to get rid of it, surely. He would want you to have a home'. Harry waited in thoughtful silence as Hermione continued through the pages. A few moments later, Hermione began her usual onslaught of uncomfortable questions that had become somewhat of a ritual over the last few months. 'Has Ron been round much?' Hermione was trying and failing to appear disinterested in the answer.
'He was here last night, we played a few rounds of wizard's chess but he didn't stay long'.
'Is he looking well, then?'
'He looks alright, I guess' Harry responded, uncomfortably. Hermione nodded and continued fingering through the pages of her books. Hermione and Ron had gone to Australia together following the battle of Hogwarts to retrieve Hermione's charmed parents. Since they had returned, there was an obvious tension between them that had resulted in Ron's avoidance of Hermione and Harry feeling very much like the go-between. Harry, wanting to respect the privacy of his friend's newly budding romance, was afraid to ask what exactly had happened.
'Here!' Hermione exclaimed, shoving the book excitedly at Harry. 'I think we can remove the portrait of Sirius' mum with this one! I knew I had read about this spell somewhere...' Hermione, easily the best student in their year at Hogwarts, had already managed to place a silencing charm on the horrible portrait that was inclined to scream obscenities whenever Harry had company come. Since then, Harry had almost forgotten that it was still there at all as he had taken to keeping it covered with a sheet.
'That's great, Hermione,' Harry said with a feigned enthusiasm.
'What should we do with it when we get it off?'
'What do you mean? Just throw it away, who cares. She was horrible to Sirius,' Harry responded, irritatedly. Hermione had developed an annoying sort of reverance for the other Black family antiquities that they had removed from the house, and continuously insisted on talking through the removal of each one before allowing Harry to proceed.
'Don't you think... Kreacher might like to have it?' Hermione asked, lowering her voice to a whisper. 'She was his only company for ages, you know. It seems wrong to just throw it away'.
'He can't hear you, Hermione. You don't have to whisper. I don't know if you noticed, but he is ancient', Harry hissed back. 'And I really don't care, Hermione. Do whatever you want'. Hermione bristled with triumph at this small victory and set off into the entry way to begin her attempts, once again, at removing the portrait of Mrs. Black.

Harry came down to the kitchen to find Hermione sitting at the table, reading the paper, with Kreacher furiously trying to shove the newly removed portrait of Mrs. Black into his hovel.
'Its not going to fit, Kreacher. Give it here,' Harry said, removing his wand. Kreacher gingerly handed the portrait to Harry, watching with blurry eyes as Harry tapped it with his wand and muttered 'Reducto'. The portrait shrunk to a pocket size while Mrs. Black screamed silently inside, banging the edges of her frame in dismay.
'There you go, Kreacher! That will look nice hanging in your... uh, your room!' Hermione said, referring to the crevice of squalor in which Kreacher insisted on taking up residence. Kreacher, who had come a long way in accepting Hermione's blood status, nodded and took the portrait with shaking hands. 'Thank you,' and bowed to both of them.
'You can just call me Harry, you know. We have been over this!' Harry called after him as Kreacher disappeared into his cupboard. Hermione beamed after him. 'Isn't that nice, I told you he would want it! But honestly, don't you think you could let him have a proper room?'
'He can have whatever room he wants, I've told you. It isn't my choice to have him sleep in there'. Hermione 'harrumphed' and resumed reading her paper.

Hermione shoved the prophet under his nose as he fiddled with the T.V. he had purchased, the only muggle device for which he still had some loyalty.
'Look, they have appointed Professor McGonagall as Headmistress of Hogwarts!'
Harry took the paper from Hermione, looking down at a moving picture of Professor McGonagall scowling intimidatingly while shooing away what Harry assumed were photographers.
'Was there ever really a doubt?' Harry asked honestly. McGonagall seemed like the only natural choice following the events of the previous year, and the death of Snape.
'Still, good for her' Hermione responded excitedly. 'It has been a while since Hogwarts has had a female headmaster. It is about time, honestly'.
'I guess,' Harry muttered, disinterested. The internal politics of Hogwarts felt very far away and it was difficult to care, considering his own uncertain future at the moment. Harry, forced into hiding in what would have been his final year of Hogwarts, had not completed his "N.E.W.T.s" - otherwise known as "Nastily Exhausting Wizarding Tests". As a result Harry's dream of becoming an Auror, a dark arts investigator, had been dashed and Harry was left feeling directionless. It was an odd thought, that Voldemort had given his life so much meaning and that without his looming presence Harry felt so empty. Harry assumed that Voldemort's death would bring him so much relief - which it did, but that relief had quickly given way to questions about the future he had not been so certain he would see.
'Have you seen much of Ginny?' Hermione asked, studying his face.
'Not a lot,' Harry answered honestly. Melancholy had left Harry feeling not only directionless, but also like a shit boyfriend.
'She misses you, you know. We have talked about it a lot. I think you should tell her how you have been feeling, she is confused Harry.' Hermione said. Harry knew she was right, but that only irritated him more.
'Stay out of it, Hermione. You are one to talk, considering you and Ron have barely spoken in ages.'
'That's different!' Hermione bristled. 'Ron and I... it's... it's different!'
'How? Maybe you should just tell him how you feel, instead of prodding me for information everyday.' Angry tears swelled in Hermione's eyes as she turned away to hide them.
'I've said it before, but Ron has the emotional range of a teaspoon' she said, haughtily wiping her eyes. 'I thought, after everything, we could have an honest talk about starting our lives together but...'
'But you didn't' Harry responded, flicking the T.V. on and drowning out the rest of Hermione's thought. Hermione rose and left, heading back into the kitchen. Harry knew Ginny, like Hermione, assumed that the end of Voldemort meant the beginning of a normal life for the two of them - together. Harry couldn't explain it, but he still felt tainted... like his presence in Ginny's life was an infection eating away at normalcy. It probably did not help that Harry and Ginny were stalked ruthlessly by reporters everywhere they went and that, as a result, Harry had taken to hiding in Grimauld Place for most of the summer. Harry knew Ginny deserved more than a mad house elf and a house full of painful memories as company.

Harry watched the muggle news absentmindedly, barely registering the stories at all. His eyes kept flitting back to the empty cage that lay in the corner of the sitting room - the cage that had belonged to pet owl, Hedwig. Hedwig had been his only connection to the wizarding world when he had been away from Hogwarts during his previous years, now that she was gone he felt a loneliness so thick it strangled him. At least when Sirius was cooped up here he had Buckbeak, the Hippogriff that was on the run from the law, as company. Harry really felt like he had no one.
'Harry, come quick!' Hermione gasped from the kitchen. Harry, having seen this reaction from Hermione countless times and usually as a result of a less than riveting book, pushed himself out of his chair with no sense of urgency and slumped over. Hermione was standing in front of the kitchen sink, hands wringing a dish towel, staring out the window.
'What is it?'
'Owls - two of them. Are you expecting any mail?'
'No,' Harry shrugged disinterestedly, squinting out into the sunny day to look at the two specks on the horizon. 'They might not even be coming here'.
'You're the only wizard around, Harry! Of course they are coming here!'
'Doubt it, I haven't gotten mail in ages. You and Ron just pop round whenever you want,' Harry returned to the living room while Hermione struggled to open the window that had been painted shut before giving up and resorting to magic 'Cistem Aperio!'. A moment later, both owls swooped into the kitchen knocking over the sugar dish. Kreacher crawled out of his hole, muttering angrily as he brushed up the rogue sugar. 'Poor Kreacher, can't even spend some alone time with his poor old mistress... filthy owls ruining it...'
'Harry, one of the letters is addressed to me! No one even knows I am here!' Hermione shakily untied the scrolls of parchment from both legs of the birds and tossed one to Harry. Hermione tore hers open with unbridled enthusiasm and gasped. Harry, with mounting dread, opened his as well to find finely swirling handwriting:

Dear Mister Potter,

It has come to my attention that you do not intend to complete your education. As the newly appointed Headmaster of Hogwarts, I must implore you to see reason. I know that it is your wish to become an Auror and I must remind that you are required to sit for your final examinations in order to be considered. I have gone to the liberty of including the book list for the required courses.

I expect to see you at the start of term.

Yours most sincerely,

M. McGonagall

Hermione's eyes hungrily devoured the page. 'Is this serious? She wants us to... go back?' Harry too was awestruck.
'I... it seems that way.' Harry flipped to the list of books McGonagall had included, reading through the titles quickly. Potions, defense against the dark arts, charms, transfiguration... the thought of returning to his schooling caused Harry's gut to clench uncomfortably with longing.
'She is right, we have to go,' Hermione said determinedly. 'I wasn't sure how this would all work with us never completing school, I was going to ask Professor McGonagall about correspondence courses...' The second loud 'POP' of the day sounded from the front step and Hermione squealed in surprise, cutting her off mid-sentence.
'Harry! Harry, did you get a letter too?!' Ron yelled, throwing open the front door. Hermione turned tomato red and turned, disaparating on the spot. Ron thudded to a halt. 'Who the bloody hell was that?'
'Hermione, she just left'. Ron stared at the empty spot where Hermione had just been with an unreadable expression. Her floral perfume still clung to the dust particles in the air.
'We can't just go back, can we? Doesn't it feel... weird? After everything?' Harry asked. Ron stared at him, mouthing wordlessly.
'I have been thinking about this since you killed... you know who.' Ron shuddered, still visibly uncomfortable with speaking his name out loud. 'I don't know if you noticed mate, but I am not exactly naturally gifted like Fred and George are. I mean, Fred was.' Ron hastily corrected himself, ignoring Harry's uncomfortable expression. 'I kind of need my N.E.W.T.s if I have any hope of doing anything worth while.'
Harry looked back at the letter in his lap, reading it over again. Go back to Hogwarts? The thought was exciting, and terrifying.