Disclaimer: Everything recognizable is owned by J.K. Rowling, and I am not making a profit by writing this story.

Author's Notes: Sorry for the delay in posting. In short, I moved and couldn't get to a computer for the longest time... I'm sure I lost readers, but I love this story so much, it doesn't bother me that much.

Rating: I've updated it to M due to language. I use "fuck" way too many times for any young reader to be reading this story.

Pairings: Ron/Hermione, Friendship!-Harry/Hermione, and this story will later focus on the Harry/Luna pairing.

This chapter picks up on the day Harry returns from his three-month long trip with Luna.

Enjoy!

Chapter One:
Of new beginnings with old friends…

Mrs. Weasley had looked like a porcelain doll when he had walked into the Burrow that night. She was sitting at the table with a steaming cup of tea in her hands, but her eyes remained focused on the Grandfather clock, now covered in an old school robe. Her hair was disheveled and her clothing was in disarray. At first Harry thought she hadn't noticed him, but as soon as the door clicked shut, she winced.

"Hello, Harry, dear," she said softly, flicking her wand to the kettle on the stove. "Would you like a cup of tea?" He smiled, sitting down across from her. She levitated the now-full cup towards him, and he readily accepted it.

"Hi, Mrs. Weasley," Harry said softly. "Sorry it's so late—we just got back, and—"

"How was your trip?" She interrupted, taking a sip, her eyes still on the clock. Harry blinked, taking a glance at it as well, before looking back at Mrs. Weasley.

"Exhausting."

"Really?" She said, attempting to appear enthusiastic, but her voice revealing her true intentions. "How so?"

"We walked everywhere… never apparated, rarely used magic," Harry said, watching her carefully. "Are—are you all right, Mrs. Weasley?"

"'m fine, Harry, dear," she said quietly, sipping her tea. She chanced a glance at him and offered him a tight-lipped smile. "Never used magic? Weren't you searching for magical creatures?" Again the feigned interest was tearing Harry apart, but he persisted with her façade.

"Well," Harry chuckled, once more glancing at the clock, "Luna often gave some of the already-known creatures 'special' names… for example, the hugging haliglow is the same as a common boa constric—Mrs. Weasley, are you sure you're--?"

"Harry," she persisted, finally turning to look at him. "I'm fine. Ginny's fine. Ron's fine. Hermione's fine… we're all 'fine', Harry…" She whispered lowly, bending to look at him. "And as far as I'm concerned, you are more than fine, but there are some things you need to know."

"Need to--?"

"Did you honestly think the world would continue spinning with their hero suddenly missing? How did you think it was going to look—Harry Potter himself gives up on the Wizarding World," she said slowly and carefully. She stopped him from jumping into the conversation, however, and continued, "I'm not saying I'm agreeing with them, Harry, but… the world isn't the same as how you've left it—if anything, it's worse." She looked him over carefully, from his long, unruly hair to the beginnings of a beard on his face. He looked dirty and so much older than he was. She took a deep breath, "But… everything is… your decision, now, and why would I be able to influence it?" She ended on a particularly high pitch, pulling a handkerchief out of mid-air. She dabbed her eyes with it and sighed. "Perhaps I'll just let… Ron and Hermione tell you the rest. Will you be spending the night here? I'm sure they wouldn't mind you flooing into their flat first thing in the morning."

"Flat?"

"Yes," Mrs. Weasley's lips nearly disappeared as she pressed them together so harshly. She dabbed her eyes again. "My little baby moved out and in with… her," she balked at Harry's accusing stare. "Don't look at me like that—I love Hermione, but… oh, they should be married!" She muttered, her whole face disappearing behind the pink handkerchief. "As if it isn't bad enough that this house is a little less full without—without--"

"Molly?"

"Oh, I'm coming, Arthur, I just needed a spot of tea!" She called up the stairs. This seemed to satisfy Mr. Weasley, who didn't come calling again. She sighed and attempted to regain her composure. She looked at Harry again. "I know you didn't ask for this dearie, and I know this is the last thing you wanted to hear from anyone, but…" She glanced at the clock again before looking back at him. "…the world needs someone like you, Harry, and no one is too pleased that you left. Know that you will always have supporters, but… just… just know that right now… right now they're just not the majority."

She stood up abruptly, as if remembering something. She moved towards the wastebasket and picked up an old newspaper. She sniffed down at him and smiled. "Here you are, dear… Just… remember what I said, all right?" She moved towards the stairs. "And don't stay up too late!" She called, halfway up the stairs. He smiled, but it faltered upon reading the headline:

The Boy-Who-Ran-Away Will Harry be remembered for his bravery, or cowardice?

Article by Rita Skeeter

Page 4 for full coverage.

"Mrs. Weasley!" He hissed up the stairs. He got up from his seat and moved towards them. "Mrs. Weasley!" He said, a little louder. Her head appeared around the corner a moment later, and he sighed. "What's Ron and Hermione's address?"

She smiled sadly at him for a moment, before nodding. "Flat 6C Botts Building. Password is… oh, goodness—phlegm. Yes, that's it. Phlegm."

"Phlegm?" Harry repeated, and Mrs. Weasley offered him a tiny smile.

"Yes, well, Ginny came up with it and… Fleur had made her a little upset, I suppose. Something about baby-showers and wedding bells… I don't know," she said, her mind obviously elsewhere. "Shall you be here for supper tomorrow?" He nodded and she smiled genuinely. "Welcome back, Harry… and the invitation for the night is still available if you find… less accommodating hosts."

He was about to question her again, but her head disappeared into the darkness, and he was very much alone. He sighed. "Flat 6C Botts Building," he repeated it over and over to himself as he walked to the fireplace. He picked up a handful of the shimmering powder and threw it into the dying embers. Immediately they burst into large emerald flames, and he stepped inside. "Flat 6C Botts Building!" He shouted and he was gone before one could blink.

He landed in a small, dark room with a single light on the far wall. He walked towards it, wand at the ready as he went. Upon reaching it, he saw a statue—much like the gargoyles in front of the Head Master's office at Hogwarts—holding a candlelit lantern. The gargoyle remained stoic, and Harry quirked his head to the side.

"Phlegm?" he questioned the beast, whose face contorted into a smile. He stepped aside, a hand grabbing the wall behind him. He pulled, causing the wall pull apart like curtains in front of a window, and Harry stepped inside Ron and Hermione's flat. He turned around and faced a brick wall. He turned back around and realized he was standing in the fireplace, and a very frightened red head was staring at him. Harry stepped out into the near-darkness and whispered, "Lumos." His wand tip illuminated and the room seemed a little less dreary. He was able to look the man in the eye, and his expression softened. "George?"

The look of intense surprise didn't falter from George's face; if anything, it heightened upon Harry speaking. "Harry Potter?" He questioned quietly, his hoarse voice cutting through the tension-filled silence. Harry nodded, and George paled. "I-I should… Ron!" He called suddenly, moving for the stairs. "RON!"

Thunderous footsteps erupted from upstairs, and Harry winced upon hearing Hermione's frantic calls of, "Ron, what's going on--?"

"George!" Ron called back, although he quieted after Hermione's initial calls. "George, what is it?" Ron asked, stepping into the room, not quite seeing Harry yet in the dark. "George—is it another nightmare? Do you want a--" He stopped upon finally noticing Harry—the only source of light in the room. He, like George, paled considerably upon the sight of Harry. "Harry?" Ron questioned quietly, grabbing his own wand out of his pajama pant pocket. "Lumos!" He nearly shouted, taking cautious steps towards Harry. "Harry Potter, you sodding wanker!" He said upon seeing Harry clearly. He glowered something horribly, looking back at George. "You woke me up for this?"

"'Scuse me for not knowing what to do with him," George muttered darkly, walking into the kitchen. There was a click and the room filled with light. Both boys turned to see Hermione standing on the stairs, arm crossed with Ron's Deluminator in one hand.

"Hello, Harry," she said somewhat cheerfully. She tossed the Deluminator to Ron and sighed. "Well—aren't you going to offer him something to drink?" Ron opened and closed his mouth a few times before he set his jaw and turned to Harry. If looks could kill, Harry would've been dead three times over, but Ron still managed to contain his fury and simply jerk his head in the direction of the kitchen. They walked together into the tiny room to find George sitting on the counter eating a bowl of cereal. He moved over on the counter and patted the place beside him in a mocking fashion. Ron chuckled slightly, offering his older brother a smirk before he sat himself down. Hermione rolled her eyes at their antics and motioned for Harry to sit with her at the table. She flicked her wand towards the kettle on the stove, and it filled with water and began to heat.

"So," George started softly, taking a bite out of his cereal and staring at Harry expectantly.

"So?" Confused, Harry asked looking from one person to the next.

"So," Ron said, his voice revealing his obvious attempts to control his anger, "you leave for three bloody months with nothing but a fucking note?"

"That's what you're angry about? That I left without saying good-bye or telling you my plans?" Harry asked, laughing off the situation completely. He heard Hermione moan beside him and he looked up to see Ron fuming.

"Yeah, a 'good-bye, thanks for spending the past year with me' would've been nice, but an 'I'm going on a vacation with a girl the day after your baby sister broke up with me' would've sufficed," Ron spat. Hermione sent him a warning look, which he ignored immediately and continued, "What the hell were we supposed to think? I get a bloody note on my pillow saying you were going to be gone for who-knows-how-long with bloody Loony Luna!"

"She's not as crazy as you think!" Harry insisted, and Hermione snorted.

"C'mon, Harry, she's led you on a three-month-long goose-chase," she said, standing up as the kettle screamed. "Or did you really find the elusive Crumple-Horned Snorcacks?"

"We weren't looking for those—we found so much more!" Harry insisted, standing up abruptly. "Besides, who are you two to talk—you left for Australia without a fleeting thought about me."

"We told you we were going!"

"The day before!" Harry insisted, glaring at Ron. Ron glowered back.

"Least we had the nerve to say it in person."

"You really wanted me to wake you up at three in the morning the day you were supposed to go to Australia on an extra-long flight?" Harry challenged, but Ron quickly dodged it with a change of subject.

"What about Ginny?"

"What about her?" Harry asked, laughing. "She's the one who broke up with me—or do you just prefer to overlook that matter? Merlin knows it has to be my fault that we broke up."

"Was it?" George asked quietly, looking at Harry from over his cereal bowl. Harry sighed.

"Not intentionally," he said softly, and Ron snorted. Harry glared, "What?"

"That means you said or did something accidentally to fuck it up, but you've fucked it up none-the-less."

"You're impossible!"

"No, Harry, you are," Ron said in a dangerous tone of voice. "Leaving with one of Ginny's best friends not even twelve hours after she broke up with you left her heartbroken and torn up for weeks. Hermione and I delayed our plans to make sure she didn't do something incredibly stupid. We waited for you to come back and say that you were sick of Luna's antics or that you had had enough camping on the Horcrux hunts, but we got nothing. And the worst part, by far, was the fact that we couldn't even owl you because you were so fucking inconsiderate enough that you put an anti-owl charm on yourselves." Harry looked away, realizing how horrible it all sounded as soon as Ron said it. He looked down at his hands as he felt the silent wrath of Ron's glare. "Guess where they came next?"

Harry didn't even have to ask. Ron had grabbed him and yanked him in the direction of the stairs. He dragged Harry up them and pushed him into a small room. He flicked on the lights and growled, "Here."

Harry's jaw dropped as he looked around the room; envelopes of all colors, shapes and sizes were in piles around the otherwise bare room. Ron pulled him in one direction, pointing to the second-largest pile in the far right corner. "Fan letters," he said. "Those ones are true admirers, those ones are letters of undying love," he said, pointing to the corresponding piles. He landed on the largest, "And these… these are borderline stalkers."

"You read my mail?" Harry said angrily, turning to glare at Ron. He shrugged with a sneer nearly as condescending as Malfoy's gracing his lips.

"Someone had to, and Merlin knows you weren't here to," he said simply, pulling Harry to another pile. "Ministry letters—those want your help, those want interviews, and those are party invitations… if you feel up to it, there's one tomorrow night," he said sarcastically, rolling his eyes. "Letters from Hogwarts requesting your help in the clean up," he said, and so on they went around the room, all the while the anger building up in Harry. Finally, they landed on the largest pile, and Harry gritted his teeth in annoyance.

"And this one?" He spat, glaring at Ron. Ron glowered right back.

"Those are all of our letters… sent back unanswered. Don't worry—I didn't need to read those ones… after all, I fucking wrote them."

"Ron, you're not even bloody listening!" Harry followed Ron as he left Harry alone in the room suddenly. Ron waved him off with a hand, moving back down to the kitchen. "You were leaving. Luna was leaving. Your sister left me—I had no place to go, no one to talk to!" Harry said, finally coming upon Ron in the kitchen. George had seemingly disappeared, and Hermione was sipping tea at the table, looking out the window. She didn't even move when they had walked in, and Harry was reminded horribly of Mrs. Weasley at the Burrow.

"When we had gotten to Australia you could've owled us—we didn't put charms on us!" Ron spat angrily, crossing his arms.

"And how long would those letters have taken to get to you?"

"Not the point--!"

"It's the ONLY point!" Harry yelled, frustrated. Hermione shushed him, suddenly, glowering at him.

"George is in the guest bedroom—he just got to sleep. If you want to shout, at least have the decency to put up a silencing charm," she whispered. Harry hung his head, while Ron flicked his wand around.

"Still… there's always the international floo!"

"They'd still have had to connect Hermione's parents' house up, and that could've taken weeks!" Harry insisted. "Don't you see how irrational you're being right now?"

"Me--? Me--!" Ron stuttered, his ears flushing a purplish-red.

"Who else could I be talking about?" Harry roared, slamming his fist on the table. Hermione stood up abruptly and stomped further into the kitchen.

"You're both being irrational right now!" She shrieked. Both boys flinched, horrible memories of fourth year rushing through their brains. "Neither of you are thinking about anyone other than yourselves!" She turned to Ron, crossing her arms over her chest, "Do you honestly think Harry would do anything with Luna? Or have you forgotten how much he fancied your sister in school? C'mon, Ron—he went away because he was hurt, not because he wanted to 'fuck' with you." Ron balked at Hermione's cursing, but she had turned her back too quickly to have seen. She unfolded her arms and her face softened, "And, Harry, I understand why you left, but… a letter every once in a while wouldn't have killed you."

Harry sighed, knowing Hermione was right. Ron, however, paled, staring between Harry and Hermione, his eyes widening. Before Harry even knew what happened, Ron had run out of the room as if he had seen a ghost. Moments later a door slammed and Hermione sighed. "Oh, Ron, not now…" she whispered to herself. She moved to go after him, but turned as if she was suddenly remembering that Harry was there. "The couch is free, if you'd wish, but…" she looked back out the door that Ron had disappeared behind.

"I'll be staying at Grimmauld Place," Harry said firmly, moving to walk out of the kitchen as well.

"Are you sure it'll be safe--?"

"Right now I'm so angry that I'd love for someone to try and cross me," Harry muttered darkly, walking to the fire. He paused and turned to ask, "What's with the hidden room and gargoyle?"

Hermione smiled painfully, "Reporters can be very… horrible house-guests." He winced, grabbing a handful of floo powder. "G'night, Harry…"

"G'night," he muttered, throwing in the powder and stepping into the flames.

He stepped out of the fireplace in the kitchen-basement of Grimmauld Place and sighed. "Incendio!" He muttered, his wand pointing behind him. A fire sprung up from the ashes, illuminating the room. "Lumos," he muttered, using his wand tip to guide him up the stairs through the darkness. His jaw dropped as he came upon the first floor.

The house was immaculately cleaned; the walls seemed to glow, the floors shined, and the carpet looked new. He couldn't see dust anywhere, or any other trace that this was the Black house. It looked…

It looked like a place Harry might live in permanently.

There were red and gold fabrics covering every table, flowers in vases were placed sporadically about the room. The house-elf heads were gone, along with many other things that he knew were Black-family staples. Out of nowhere, a small bundle of old tea cloths and pillowcases launched himself at Harry and attached himself to his leg.

"Master Harry!" Kreacher said, bowing so low his forehead touched the floor. "Oh, Kreacher is so happy to sees you, Master!" He stood up, beaming, "Does Master Harry approve of his household?"

"Kreacher," Harry bent low to stare the house-elf in the eye. "The name's not 'Master' anything. It's just Harry."

"Yes, sir, just Harry, sir," Kreacher nodded. "Would just Harry like Kreacher to turn down his bed, sir?"

"No, Kreacher… you can just go to bed," Harry smiled, truly happy that Kreacher no longer held… well, anything… over Harry's head. Kreacher nodded, moving towards the broom closet, when Harry stopped him. "Erm… Kreacher—why don't you take Mrs. Black's room?"

"You mean… my old Mistress's--?"

"Yeah… I mean… I'm not going to sleep there…" Harry shrugged. "And I don't see why you should have to--"

Harry didn't get to finish, however, as Kreacher launched himself at Harry's feet squealing his utter jubilation at the suggestion. After about fifteen minutes—and some prying on Harry's part, both Harry and Kreacher were climbing the stairs to sleep in a bed for the first time in a while.

To be continued...

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