And Smoke Clears

Arriving at the Potter Mansion, Harry barely took notice of the décor, or anything else around him. He merely trudged through his new lodgings in search of a room to sleep in. He made his way up the stairs and opened the first door he saw. Inside was a bed, a desk, a mirror hanging on the wall, and on far side of the room a large window, with curtains hanging on either side.

Taking the things out of his pockets, he settled them on the desk, planning to restore them to their proper sizes later, before collapsing on the bed. He didn't even bother bringing the blankets up over him as he fell into a dreamless sleep.

Later when he woke, he felt a bit disoriented, until the memories of the last twenty-four hours came back to him. He was alone, with no Dursley's, no Voldemort, and no friends trying to get him to open up. It was with that thought, a small house-elf in a remarkably clean tea-towel appeared before him.

"Hello Young Master," the house elf spoke, bowing so he was parallel to the floor. "I am Caspar, the house-elf that resides here at Potter Manor. What can I do for you? Perhaps you want something to eat? Or maybe a tour of the property? All you need do is ask."

Looking at his new house-elf, Harry felt his emotions bubble back up to the surface and tears come to his eyes. He didn't deserve this house-elf's kindness, and he certainly didn't deserve everything he had gotten from Gringott's, including this house.

"Oh no, Young Master, was it something I said? I can certainly punish myself if I'm not satisfactory. Young Master?" Caspar questioned, stretching his neck forward to get a better look at the young man in front of him. "Perhaps you're hurt. I can do minor healing charms, but anything that requires more than that I'll be able to take you to St. Mungo's. Young Master?" He asked again.

Harry's body was shaking from his suppressed sobs. He shook his head, not trusting his voice, and motioned for the house-elf to leave.

"I shall prepare a late lunch then," Caspar said before popping out of the room.

The second Caspar left, Harry released the small hold he had on his emotions. In less than a minute his face was stained with tears and the sounds emitting from his small frame could be heard all the way down to the kitchens. Caspar sadly looked towards the ceiling in the direction of his new master. He knew who his new master was, he had nothing but time on his hands the last seventeen plus years, and the Daily Prophet had been his biggest anchor to the outside world.

He had, of course, kept the property up to standards, never letting dust settle onto any of the furniture, but once he had finished his chores for the day he had been left to his own devices. At first he had taken to just sleeping and waking up when the sun rose the next day. Soon though, that became so monotonous that he consulted a portrait of one of his old master's who told him that he could rearrange the library if he felt like it.

So he did. And once he was done with that he became curious and opened one of the many books. Over the years he had read maybe a quarter of the books and had learned more than probably any house-elf ever. He had learned proper grammar, many of the wizard laws, and a great deal of history. He knew that if any house-elf ever learned of what he had done the last ten years he'd be ostracized; That was hardly a worry for him.

Before too long he heard his young master's cries dissipate. Grabbing the platter with the sandwiches he popped into the room and found his young master staring at the wall, as if he could see beyond it. "Young Master?"

Once again looking at his new house-elf, Harry gathered all the breath he could, before finally speaking, "Thank you Caspar, but I'm not hungry." His voice was scratchy and strained as he spoke his first words since leaving Gringott's. The fact that he had been relentlessly crying may have been a factor as well.

"Young Master, I must insist you eat," Caspar said, holding out the tray. "A few bites at the least."

"I said I'm not hungry," Harry retorted, a misplaced anger striking the small creature. With a sigh Harry apologized.

"It is fine Young Master, I understand. Perhaps you will tell me what you expect of me and we can work from there," Caspar suggested, offering a sympathetic smile.

Staring at the small elf, Harry was at a loss. What did he expect?

Seeing the dilemma, Caspar spoke up again, "My old Master was firm on me keeping the house clean, but I do that regardless. He also instilled that I leave him be when he was in these moods."

"I just need time," Harry whispered, casting his gaze out the window. The sun was up and just barely reached his window. "How large is the property?"

A bright smile reached Caspar's face at the prospect of telling his new master all about his property and what he had done to keep it manicured. "The grounds reach well into the surrounding forest, before the forest is a small Quidditch pitch. There is also a training area outside. There was a barn, but the horses have all passed on. Inside on the bottom floor is a potions lab, an office, a broom closet, another training area, a weapons center, the kitchen, and a bathroom. On the ground floor there is the entrance hall, part of the library which has it's own office area, a dining room for up to sixty people. There is a ballroom, and the living room, and another the bathroom is under the stairs, all connected to the main entrance hall. On this floor there is this room, there are four bathrooms, ten other rooms, the rest of the library, another small living room, and an office. The top floor is the attic and is full of old furniture."

Harry had closed his eyes as soon as Caspar started telling him of all the luxury in the place. Upon hearing the end of the expanses, he opened them, and found Caspar staring happily around the room, everything on the desk had been restored to it's proper size.

Harry noticed Caspar staring at the book he got from the Black vault with wide eyes. "Master isn't a dark wizard, why does Master have that book?" Caspar questioned the air not expecting to hear Harry answer.

"I'm not, I just want to know what spells these wizards use. And please, you can call me Harry," Harry said, quelling the elf's fears. "Have I got any letters?"

"Yes, shall I bring them up?" Caspar asked. Harry nodded, and Caspar popped away. Quickly he returned and handed Harry four letters, one of which he could tell was a howler. "Anything you wish me to do now Young Master?"

Eyeing the small house Harry thought that at least he wasn't being called "master". Harry shook his head and picked up the howler, best not to leave it any longer.

"Harry James Potter!" Mrs. Weasley's voice screamed ringing all through the house. Her voice cracked a bit and filled with tears. "How dare you leave without as much as a goodbye. We have been worried sick over you and now you've up and disappeared?! We all know you're feeling this is your fault, but, it is not. You come back right away young man," she paused again before she let out a tearful cry. "Just stay safe Harry, and tell me where you are."

Her letter sealed itself again and Harry took a minute to just stare off into the distance. He almost wished he hadn't listened to it. He had known they'd be worried, and they'd want him to come back, but he wouldn't be writing back, or going back. They would never learn of where he went.

Picking up the letter that appeared to be from Professor McGonagall, he sighed. What would she have to say?

"Potter,

First and foremost, you did everything you could. Stop blaming yourself.

I've been asked to let you know that Kingsley wishes to speak with you.

And I would like to speak with you as well.

Be safe, Harry, there are still Death Eater's running amuck.

Regards,

Minerva"

Another sigh escaped him and he shook his head. The Death Eater's wouldn't be a problem for him. Yes they'd be angry, but coming after the man that killed their master? He doubted they'd be that stupid.

Opening the letter from Hermione, he saw it was from her and Ron.

"Harry,

You've been blaming yourself and not talking to us. Don't be stupid.

It's not your fault. No one blames you, expect yourself.

Yeah mate, everyone knew what they were getting into!

We really wish that you'd come back. I'm going to be leaving for Australia.

I'm going to find my parents and bring them back.

We miss you already Harry.

Ron and Hermione"

Seeing the last letter was from Ginny he felt his heart stop. He knew she'd be the most upset, and he almost didn't open it, but he had to. She deserved that much.

"You prat.

If you know what is good for you, you'll come back.

With a good stinking apology.

Ginny"

Of course she was angry. But he wasn't going back, and he didn't have the apology she wanted. Looking back out the window, Harry wondered what he was going to do now. He wanted to study, but before he could do that, he really needed to stop crying at every interval of the day.

Hearing Caspar return, Harry turned to see what he wanted.

"May I speak freely Young Master?" Harry nodded and Caspar continued, "I feel you should talk about it. I have seen this pain before, Young Master. This pain is not good to keep inside. This pain destroyed old Master. You can talk to me if you want. I will listen and I will definitely keep your secrets. I am here for you Young Master."

Breaking down once again Harry just shook his head. With sobs heavy in his voice he claims, "They're all dead. They're all dead because of me."

Seeing his master so broken down Caspar isn't sure what to do. So he just asks, "Did Master fire the killing curse?" Harry shook his head. "Then Master didn't kill them."

"I might as well have," Harry stated, tears once again running down his cheeks. "If I had just turned myself over sooner, if I left finding the horcruxes to other people, they'd still be here, they'd still have a beating heart."

"You can't know that for certain Master. Fate always finds a way to take it's path," Caspar relayed, remembering what his old master once told him.

"I just want them back," Harry cried. "That's all." And then it came to him, he could have them back, at least in some way. The resurrection stone. But he had left it in the middle of the forest, and it was surely trampled into the ground.

"Perhaps Young Master would like to talk to Master Stephan? His portrait is very insightful, he went through similar things," Caspar said trying hard to help his master.

"There are portraits? Do my parents have one?" Harry asked trying not to become excited.

"I'm sorry sir, they don't," Caspar said, his little eyes full of sympathy for his young master. "Master Stephan would love to talk to you though. He's only had me the last many years."

With a sigh, Harry just nodded. What could it hurt? "Where is he?"

"Downstairs library, in the corner next to the desk," Caspar said. "I shall bring you some tea."

As Harry made his way down stairs his mind raced around the idea of the resurrection stone, and the tale of the three brothers. Maybe the story was just a fiction built upon the truth, but did that mean that the three brothers created the Hallows?

Going into the library, Harry quickly found the portrait. The man, Stephan, had been young when the painting was made. His hair was combed neatly to the side, and a full beard adorned his face. When he opened his eyes they met Harry's green ones with their own striking blue. "The man of the house has returned, I see," Stephan said, raising his eyebrow at Harry. "Congratulations on your victory, I'm very pleased to hear that my heir hasn't left before giving his seed to another."

Harry's eyes went wide at this statement and he shook his head. "I'm not looking for…to do that!"

"But our line must continue, so you must," Stephan replied, eyeing the man in front of him from his feet to the top of his head. "I thought you'd be taller."

Harry stayed silent for a while. He came here wanting to ask about the story, but now he was being affronted by a portrait of his late relative. And the relative wanted him to have kids! He was only a kid himself!

"Young Master," Caspar said, setting the tea on the table. "Master Stephan doesn't expect you to have a kid right away, he's merely stating for you to have one eventually."

Moving his gaze between Caspar and the portrait, Harry shrugged. Maybe eventually he would have a kid. But for now, he was going to ask the questions he had. "How old were you when you died?"

"I was forty-three," Stephan said.

"What year was it?" Harry continued, he had no idea what year the invisibility cloak was created, but he was sure as hell going to find out. Stephan was his only lead.

"1876," Stephan told him.

"Oh. What do you know of the Deathly Hallows?"

Stephan's gaze pierced the young man with a harsh look. "And why would you want to know about those?"

"Because I am the Master of Death," Harry stated. In his head he was thinking, "Because I want to create a new resurrection stone!"

Stephan looked shocked. The Potter's had only ever been given the invisibility cloak. However this young man got all three of them… He was shocked. "The cloak has been in our family for generations, given to us by our fathers, and Death himself," Stephan relayed.

"I know that, but surely that's just the story. Ignotus and his brother's had to have made the Deathly Hallows themselves, right?"

"It was the story I was told as a boy, and the story I told to my own son. The creation of the Hallows died with the Peverell brothers, just accept the story for what it is, and move on," Stephan said turning and leaving his portrait. He would answer no more questions.

Harry sighed. How was he going to create his own stone if no one had the answers of how the Hallows were created? Taking a sip of tea, Harry called to Caspar.

"Yes, Young Master?"

"Did the Potter's keep any kind of…journals?" he asked, unsure where to begin his research.

"A few of them did write some, Young Master," Caspar said.

"Do you know where they are kept?"

Caspar nodded, "In the vault at Gringott's."

Again, Harry sighed. It seemed he would be taking a trip back to the world sooner than he thought. He would have those journals though, and he would find out the truth. He would create his own stone, and he would bring back the dead. He owed it to everyone.