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Chapter 2

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A/N: I'm glad folks are enjoying this story so far. I expect to post two chapters a month.

Harry has a bit of time to breathe this chapter. He'll be back to his trouble-finding ways soon enough.

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A quiet, calm morning. The wrecked House of Black permitted its sole human occupant to avoid the considerable street noise outside in busy London. Until a door opened and feet tapped across wooden floors that had once been covered in expensive carpets. But no longer.

"Harry, Harry, are you here?"

Hermione.

Harry had been dead asleep, but he recognized the voice even before he was fully awake.

Harry had been sleeping in a wizard's tent, but he hadn't paid for any of the added features, like sound blocking.

Harry sought out any noise of a battle, any sounds of danger.

"Harry."

No. It was peacetime.

There was no danger, save for a Hermione Granger on a self-directed mission.

Harry felt like boiled hell from his time with the goblins, but unleashing a concerned Hermione might be worse than drinking more of that Red Stone Wine.

Harry pushed himself out of bed and tried to shake off the stresses and pains that the night had provided little remedy against.

"What the hell happened to this place?"

Her voice really did travel. Harry pulled on his jeans and his trainers and fumbled with the cheap buttons that held the tent's flap closed. Who'd made these things?

"Harry, where…"

"Just a second, Hermione. I'm here. I'll come down."

Harry walked out of the tent and then down the stairs. He made sure to jump past the several destroyed bits. There were some ominous groaning noises. Not good. A strong wind might just bring these sticks down, the ancient house of Black notwithstanding.

"I can find you," she called back.

"Not this time."

Harry hoped he'd be able to climb the stairs again later. If the noises they made got worse, he guessed he could do some experimenting and float himself up. Then he'd have to gather his tent and other belongings and find somewhere else to stay for a while. Maybe the Forest of Dean.

Harry looked around.

"Hermione?"

"Downstairs. What a mess. I'll come up."

Harry waited. Better that one of them stop moving and allow the other one to catch up.

His eyes took the time to survey the main floor. He could see into the basement from where he stood. If he looked up, he could see overcast sky.

He'd have preferred to set up the tent in the parlor. He'd have to do some cleaning and move the tent downstairs today. It would be some time before Grimmauld Place was actually habitable without it. The next rain storm — and Harry lived in England, the land of rain — would see Grimmauld Place become a five story swimming pool.

Harry turned when he heard footfalls on wood.

Hermione did not look happy to see him.

"I thought you ran away," Hermione said. "A patronus message saying you're moving out of Hogwarts — not sufficient."

Harry tried not to smile. She never did change. "I did run away after telling you I was running away."

"I thought I drove you out of Hogwarts."

"Nope."

"I feared you wouldn't be here or anywhere in England, anywhere I could think of."

"I'm here."

She was in hyper-fear mode. Harry would have to be careful not to let her know about what happened in Gringotts the night before. She'd have Harry wrapped in ropes and levitated to Madam Pomphrey before Harry could say another word.

"You could have said London. I was fearing some place a lot further away… Outside the places that receive the Daily Prophet."

"When have I ever traveled?" Harry asked.

"When you're being pursued by insane newspaper readers."

"It's irritating, nothing more."

"I collected another forty-seven letters for you. More advice from total strangers."

Of course. The Prophet got more paying readers the more that they fanned this thing.

"You going to demand that I open these, too?" Harry asked.

"I'm sorry about yesterday morning. I shouldn't have stuck my nose in. I was just nervous, scared. Seeing my parents, assuming I can find them. Then I hate for you to get battered in the Prophet again…"

"Breathe, Hermione. It's okay. It's fine. I'll figure something out."

"But, if you don't, if you hit the end of August…"

"I know. I'll be joining you at Hogwarts. I did get wrangled into that promise. You and Professor McGonagall made me. It's okay."

"No, it's not fair. You don't have to."

That almost sounded like Hermione apologizing. Impossible. Harry took some effort not to smile.

She would always push too far and then feel guilty. He'd forgive her and then she'd do it again the next time she got agitated. It was like she couldn't take medium steps in life. She either had to be running or shuffling meekly.

He forgave her. Not that he'd say it in so many words. He forgave her, but still hoped she'd learn a different way to confront the world.

Hoped, not expected.

He did know Hermione Granger, the founder of SPEW and many other acts of insanity.

"It's okay. It's always good to have some plans. Merlin knows that I could have saved myself some trouble if I'd planned."

"Okay, Harry. So what are you going to do about this place?"

Harry finally started laughing. Hermione just killed him sometimes. Her mind had to march from problem to problem like a possessed soldier.

"No idea. Ever read a book on fixing up the house of a noble family?" Harry asked.

"No."

"I mean, would using reparo work?" he asked.

She fished out her want and tried it on a damaged section of the floor. No deal. She would have gotten more progress just flicking grains of salt at the holes.

"Or another spell?"

"What spell?" Hermione asked. "You asked about a book on this. I've never even seen one."

"So we can transfigure door knobs into wombats, but we can't keep a structure from tumbling down on us?"

Hermione smiled. "I think it was candlestick holders into koalas."

"Take a picture of a koala for me," Harry said.

"I will. Somehow."

"You'll find them."

"I'm dreading that. The finding. But the fixing and the explaining. I can't even form up those words in my head," Hermione said.

He definitely didn't want her to start crying. She was his friend, but tears were no-man's-land. "You said you brought some letters?" Harry asked.

"Right." She underwent a transformation. The pre-lachrymose young woman became all business again, like she were some kind of professional post woman. Hermione went through her bag, pulled out a huge stack, and then counted them. Then she turned them over.

"Do I have to open some?" He was teasing.

A bit.

But he wanted to see if Hermione was also going to relax. Her trip to Australia was driving her crazy. Harry knew that if she was crazy for the next few days, she was going to make a lot of people crazy alongside her.

"No. You don't have to. Not for me."

She still wielded guilt pretty well.

It was far more devastating than her getting into a demanding-sort-of mode.

Harry decided to handle the letters later. He set them on the floor because there was no intact furniture still on the first floor. He supposed he could transfigure some rubbish into a table or something, but no. He hadn't been raised to think of doing everything with magic.

"What were they doing on Hogwarts today?" Harry asked.

He might have moved out, but he still cared. It was the crazy people reading the Prophet who made Harry look for safety elsewhere. Thankfully the wards on Grimmauld Place weren't as damaged as the building was. After all, his mail was still going to Hogwarts rather than coming here. Harry didn't know who'd pulled off the redirection charm, but he was glad for it.

"Professor McGonagall managed to get an enchanter in. The witch is very old, but she climbed a scaffolding and has been working on the ceiling of the Great Hall."

"Good. Hogwarts isn't really Hogwarts without that…"

She looked around the room and shook her head. "You need to hire someone like her."

"I'd love to. Give me a name."

"I didn't ask. Just don't let this place fall down on you."

He knew what it all looked like. "I'm pretty concerned, too."

"What are you going to do about it?"

"I'm going to ask for help," Harry said.

"You never do that."

"This time I am."

"So are you going to be back at Hogwarts in September?"

"I said I would if…"

"I know you better than that. That's what you said. You'll do it, too. But what would you rather do? I kind of forced you into saying yes."

She was trying to mend a strain in their friendship. At least Harry could be honest with her.

"You did. That's okay. But, I don't want to go back. I will find something else."

"Why?"

"I've never been all that good in the classroom. If something's about to chop my neck off, I can get the magic to work. If it's just for an essay, my magic is as cooperative as a tapeworm."

"Tapeworm, Harry?"

"Okay, my metaphors needs work, too."

"It was a simile."

"Hush, you. You're right, I do need some education. But I don't think Hogwarts is where I'll get it."

She wanted to argue. She wanted to tear apart every word Harry had just said. He could see it in the gritting of her muscles and the tension in her face. But she kept quiet and eventually her face and hand muscles relaxed. She didn't say whatever her first reaction was — perhaps also her second, third, and fourth.

Instead, Hermione just nodded.

"Okay. But it's an option, right? Not the best option, but it's on the list."

"It's on the list," Harry agreed. He didn't bother to remind her that it was at the very bottom of the list. A couple of blank spots waiting to be filled in, then Kingsley's offer to train as an Auror, then a whole bunch more blank spots, then Hogwarts all the way at the bottom.

It was there, but Harry knew he wouldn't be using it. He needed to find something else.

"Well, I need to go to Gringotts…."

Harry almost choked.

"What for?"

If the goblins knew that she had been involved, Harry couldn't imagine how she would take that ceremony. He didn't want Hermione to go through that, make her a Thief or a Warrior or something. She'd be puking for a day straight. Angry for years.

"Well, I needed to exchange what few galleons I have left into pounds. Money for the trip, you see."

"You bought everything for Ron and me over the last year. Least I can do is pay you back now."

"Oh, you went to Gringotts. Did they growl a lot?"

If Hermione only knew.

"Let me just suggest that you keep clear of them for a while."

"Harry…"

"I'll tell you the whole story when you get back. It's funny, I promise."

Harry would be sure to leave out the terrifying parts.

"Fine. I won't go to Gringotts if you could spot me some pounds."

Harry had taken a bunch of gold out the night before and exchanged a good amount of it into the "Muggle" currency. He could buy her a Range Rover just now.

Harry picked up the letters and started for the stairs. He was about four risers up when they made a horrific noise.

"Harry!"

Hermione shouting didn't help.

He turned and jumped down to the main floor (which made it's own horrifying kind of noise). The stairs collapsed behind Harry.

Hermione was all over Harry checking for injuries like an octopus checks a bivalve for its vulnerabilities.

He eventually fought her off — or at least convinced her he was uninjured. "I'm fine. I'm fine. I'll just float myself up to the next floor."

"Harry, you can't stay here."

"It's my house." It was something Sirius had left him, even if Sirius had hated it. "I'm going to fix it."

"Fine, fix it. But stay somewhere else for now."

"Let me get you your pounds."

She realized she wasn't going to win this argument in this particular way. That didn't stop her.

Harry floated himself to his tent, collapsed it, packed it, and then floated back down. "I guess I can set up in the kitchen."

"You don't want to go in there," Hermione said.

"Well, maybe the back yard."

That got her nodding. The house wouldn't fall down around his ears if he were sleeping outside the house. Though it might still collapse.

Harry handed Hermione two thousand pounds.

That started another argument. It was too much; it wasn't enough. She couldn't take it; Harry wouldn't take it back. They argued like silly children for several minutes before Hermione conceded.

"Thank you."

"Just don't visit Gringotts until I explain what happened… After you get back. Promise?"

"Fine. But I want the whole story."

She really was dreading her trip. Not to push on this. She knew she couldn't multitask Harry's issues along with her own.

Harry didn't expect to win many arguments in the future this easily.

Hermione interrogated Harry a bit more before she excused herself to get ready for her trip. Harry surveyed the house a bit more before he moved his tent to the back yard.

Then he had a flash of inspiration.

Harry called for Kreacher.

The aged elf appeared and said he was glad to be back at the House of Black. Harry asked about how Kreacher had been since the Battle of Hogwarts. The old elf made no complaints. Which was a considerable change from how things used to be.

"The house is in bad condition, I'm afraid," Harry said.

"May I look?" the elf asked.

"Please."

The elf was gone and back again in seconds. Harry didn't think it was possible for the large-eyed creature to look even more astounded, but Kreacher was.

"It has never looked that bad before."

Kreacher was speaking very slow and crisply, more like a butler from the Beeb than any house elf Harry had ever met. Perhaps an old house elf could learn new tricks.

Harry nodded. "Are you able — or are certain house elves — able to help repair houses?"

"Oh, no, Master Harry."

Harry thought to ask why. But, in Harry's experience, Kreacher and the late Dobby and even Winky were terrible at explaining things. Especially facts concerning their previous masters.

Best to move past this question.

"Do you know who helped repair the house in the past?"

"Well, the mistress would call one of her relatives and he would come and help perform the repairs. But nothing that looked this bad."

Harry nodded.

"Was there a book he consulted?"

"Not that I saw."

He didn't think there were all that many members of the House of Black around. Narcissa — no. Andromeda — yes, Harry would stop by soon and ask her. And see his godson, Teddy.

"Thank you, Kreacher. You can return to Hogwarts for now. Once I get Grimmauld Place fixed, would you like to return here and work?"

"Yes, Master Harry."

"Off you go for now. Let me see what I can do to get this back in shape."

The elf disappeared. No noise. Harry still couldn't get used to that. Silent movement. There was also the fact that Kreacher was much reformed and still alive.

Harry looked to the back of 12 Grimmauld Place. He didn't know what he was going to do about the place.

He thought of Hogwarts. Hagrid might know about building, that little hut of his. But he was strong enough that he may have just hauled an axe into the forest and logged his own building materials. Perhaps Professor McGonagall might know or Professor Flitwick.

Harry pondered…when he realized who really would know about construction. Arthur Weasley. If the Burrow wasn't held together by magic, Harry would eat the staircase that had just collapsed.

X-X

Harry had a tradition of not really thinking all that deeply. Get an idea, run toward it, get smacked down hard. As in his present situation, he had decided to leave Hogwarts in order to hide out from the insanity that the Prophet was creating around him. So what did he do on Day 1 of his freedom? Head to the largest, or second largest, concentration of witches and wizards in England and expect everything was going to be okay.

It was like Harry had walked into a party in full swing that stopped dead and then sucked him right inside it.

But instead of party, think construction pit, mingling zone, gossip network, and general chaos center.

There were muggleborns, freed from Umbridge's camps, moving through the atrium. They still wore their prison rags, but they were alive, barely. There were some of the surviving 'renegade Aurors' getting some kind of award — the honest kind of Ministry employees, not the crazies who'd been dressed up in the red robes under Voldemort's rule. There were reporters listening in. There was reconstruction aimed at dismantling some of Voldemort's decorating 'touches.' Like the statue of a wizard sitting on a pile of skulls and bones, little stuff like that.

Plus the atrium was filled with other people who were waiting or loitering. Perhaps people who had lost their homes. Harry had heard something about that.

Harry made his way to the security wizard and handed over his wand. Well, one of them. Phoenix feather and holly. Best not to mention the elder and thestral hair he still carried with him.

"Can you direct me to Arthur Weasley?" Harry asked.

The man had once been in a small office handling Misuse of Muggle Artifacts. Then he'd been promoted by the late Rufus Scrimgeour. Now Harry didn't know what Arthur was doing for the Ministry.

"You're Harry Potter."

Shit.

The security wizard said it about as loudly as a human voice could manage it.

Everything happening in the atrium stopped. All eyes in the atrium snapped to Harry. Like he was some rare artifact someone had just found in the dirt. Like Gryffindor's lost sandal or a golden unicorn horn.

Harry spent at least the next five minutes being grabbed, groped, squealed at, and lectured to. His cheeks hurt, on his face and the set lower down his body. His ears hurt. His head hurt. He was told about becoming a security wizard, a potion brewer, an acquirer (read, thief) of antiquities, an enchantment renewer, and about seventy other careers Harry had never heard about before.

Finally Kingsley Shacklebolt rescued Harry.

"Back off," he said in his booming voice. "Let Mr. Potter alone. He's a wizard, not a sack of cockroach clusters. Hands off."

"Merlin." Harry said. "Thank you."

"Let's get out of here. You can tell me why in the world you're here, Harry. Coming in through the main entrance. Tell me you're signing up with the Aurors."

"Not today. I was here to see Mr. Weasley."

"Arthur? Asking for Ginny's hand in marriage…"

Harry's mouth dropped open.

Then he saw that Kingsley was trying not to laugh. The bastard.

"I actually came about a rumor I heard. I understand you pardoned Dolores Umbridge as a pre-wedding gift to her," Harry said. "Wouldn't want your beautiful bride in Azkaban for your wedding night. Very poor mattresses."

Kingsley started gagging from the idea.

Then Harry laughed.

"You're an evil kid, you know," the interim Minister of Magic said.

"I've been told that. You see Mr. Weasley around this bedlam?"

"You helped cause some of this craziness. You know some people are here dropping petitions so you'll be allowed to join the Aurors."

"Please tell me that's a terrible joke."

"A hundred fifteen names across seven different petitions. So far."

Harry regretted ever sitting down for an interview with the Daily Prophet.

He regretted the easiest question in the interview: 'what will you do next?'

He really regretted fumbling his answer: 'I don't know.' Also known as being completely honest. No one really appreciated honesty any more.

Because everyone who read the interview felt some kind of obligation to tell Harry just what he should do with the rest of his life.

"You square things with Gringotts?" Kingsley asked.

After a lot of pain and humiliation…which Harry wasn't about to share in this place.

"I think so."

"You went to them and talked with them?"

Kingsley didn't believe Harry.

"We're fine. They even let me into my vault."

"Huh."

"Why?"

"I thought you were still ducking them. The goblins have sent a letter requesting my presence tonight. I thought it was about you and that blasted dragon."

"Nope."

"Any idea why they want me?" Kingsley asked.

Harry had a guess. He supposed the Order of Warriors or Society of Thieves, or whatever the mess was called, was about to have a new member. Kingsley would get to meet those Gnashing Worms.

"Nope," Harry said.

Inside he was laughing. Let Kingsley figure out what his advice was worth. 'Please go make peace with the goblins.'

"Arthur should be up on 2. Can you find your way?" Kingsley asked.

"Yeah, you stay down here and corral the crazies."

"I still say most of this is your fault. Be careful sneaking out. They'll be looking for you. They might have even called in friends."

Harry glared at Kingsley and disappeared into a lift.

X-X

Mr. Weasley was on two. In a much larger office than Harry remembered from before.

"Harry, good to see you. Ron said you'd left Hogwarts."

"Well, I thought it was time to put some attention into my house. I discovered it was really trashed."

"Oh. I'm sorry to hear that," Mr. Weasley said. He blinked a few times and then reached over to pat Harry on his back. Like Harry were an overgrown infant in need of a burping.

Perhaps having so many children had done things to Mr. Weasley's mind.

If Harry needed burping, he thought he could accomplish it on his own. Instead, what he needed was advice.

"Any ideas?" Harry asked.

"On what?"

"How to repair a magical house."

The Burrow had been very homey, but some kind of magic had to have kept it standing.

"Oh. Well, I'm not the handy one in my family. My father was. Then my older brother Owen got the bug. He helps me repair the Burrow whenever we needed to in the past."

"Can you put me in touch with your brother?"

Harry was sure he saw tears in Mr. Weasley's eyes now. Oh no, what had he said wrong now? First Hermione, now Mr. Weasley. Merlin.

"He's in Saint Mungo's."

Harry didn't follow.

"Mr brother Owen isn't well at all," Mr. Weasley continued.

"I'm sorry about that."

"Me, too. He came afoul of someone at the Ministry. A snatcher team or some of the really dangerous people who claimed to be Hitwizards. They still don't know what the spell is."

"Merlin."

"Yeah. I lost a son and I expect I will lose a brother, too. It's been a bad couple of weeks."

Harry felt like an ass for complaining about a destroyed house. But he still had a house problem.

"For all of us. You more than most," Harry said.

"It's been hard seeing all the celebrating. Listening to all the claims of Imperius-this and Help-me-that."

"Then the little sideshow with the Prophet and my mess in it."

"I'm really sorry about them, Harry. Wizards and witches are the best kind of people, but we do take things too far."

Mr. Weasley had never said something so true in his life. Harry had received more than one hundred letters from absolute strangers who were convinced they knew Harry well enough to advise him on his life.

"So, how do I learn about house repair?"

"Well, that's what Hogwarts is for. To teach you everything you and your family will need to know for the rest of your life."

It was so frustrating that people told him these things well after he already should have known. Everyone seemed to forget that Harry had grown up away from the wizarding world. He was like a tourist in these parts.

"Was there a class I was supposed to take?"

"Well, no. But the library. Your family — oh, right — your family should have helped you to figure out a couple of things you might want to study on the side."

"You mean the library at Hogwarts has books on magical construction?"

Mr. Weasley scratched his head.

"You know, I think those were family spells. My grandfather's. Owen spent a lot of time with them. I never did. I'm sorry, Harry."

"Is there anyone I could hire?"

"I don't know," Arthur Weasley said. "Up until now, I've never had to worry about the question."

Harry nodded. "Thanks for your help."

"I'll ask around. Maybe a few folks in the Ministry will know. At least I can find out if there's an office that licenses builders or something."

"That'd be great."

Harry retreated to the lift and then thought about slinking through the Atrium again. He applied some of the invisibility spells he now knew.

"It's just a simple question. Who can help me rebuild my house? I can make myself invisible, but I can't fix a house."

Harry doubted he was going to get an answer from the Ministry. He was in need of a good builder. Or rebuilder. He'd settle for a carpenter or even a handyman. It didn't sound like any of that was forthcoming.

X-X

Harry stood in the back yard of Grimmauld Place. He had his tent and a propane grill. He wasn't going to starve, but he also couldn't just move back in to the shambles. What was he going to do now?

He wasn't going begging at Gringotts. Those little humanoids were plumb crazy. He could see if the Hogwarts library had anything…

Or he could just ask someone who knew what the library held. After all, he'd worked at the place for decades.

"Damn Dumbledore."

The ghost popped into existence. Unlike when Harry had seen him last, Dumbledore's evanescent form had a slight reddish tint to it. Plus the ghost appeared to be bent over and at least mimicking the act of vomiting.

"Where am I… Oh, Harry, thank Merlin you rescued me from the goblins. That Red Stone Wine even affects the dead. I never knew that. It's worse for a ghost, I think."

Harry wanted to laugh, but didn't.

"You working off your years of missed summer reunions?"

"It's horrible. How could you have left me to them?"

Harry kept an even look on his face. If Dumbledore didn't get the parallelism, Harry wasn't going to explain the wrongness of 'leaving someone' in a place where they shouldn't.

"I needed to ask you about the Hogwarts library."

"Harry, I'm a ghost. Not a question answering service."

"Damn Dumbledore."

The ghost wavered and then collapsed to his knees again.

It really did cause the old, err, new ghost a good deal of discomfort.

"Professor?"

"What do you want to know, Harry?"

He was defeated for now, but Dumbledore was a wily opponent. Usually.

So Harry laid out his problem with Grimmauld Place. "Are there any books at Hogwarts that can help me?"

"I don't think so."

"So how does anyone get and keep a house in this crazy country?"

"I never had to maintain a house, I'm afraid. Otherwise I could help you."

"Okay, point me in the right direction," Harry asked.

"I'm really stumped. I lived in family property for a number of years. Then I was in Hogwarts until my death. I guess you could talk to my brother, Aberforth, about how he maintains his pub in Hogsmeade. If he does, in fact, do any maintenance there."

Harry shrugged. He'd expected better of Dumbledore, master of all magics (except the useful ones).

"Is that all?"

"Harry, please release me. I'm supposed to be on my next great adventure. Not getting ambushed by you and goblins and asked questions I prefer not to answer…"

Just for that, Harry resolved to keep dragging Dumbledore back. The old bastard had a lot of penance to perform. Perhaps he'd even gift Dumbledore back to the goblins from time to time. Had Dumbledore pissed off any other groups? The centaurs maybe or the merpeople?

"For how few questions you answered in life, consider this a bit of repayment. Well overdue. Okay?"

"Harry…"

"You should consider brief detours back to the land of the living part of your next great adventure. I'm not going to forget how to summon you. Even if you're not terribly helpful."

The ghost-Dumbledore was really unhappy. He couldn't wriggle his way free of this. "True names, damn them. It's bad enough the crap I have to put up with from my mother and sister whenever they latch onto me. And then there's Bathilda Bagshot and that damned Gellert. If anyone should have a True Name of Damn, it should be that boy."

Gellert Grindelwald + Boy = Does Not Compute. Murdering Psycho, Check. Gellert as a Young Man, No. Double no.

Maybe Harry didn't want to continue summoning ghost-Dumbledore. He sometimes learned things he could never unlearn.

"Off you go," Harry said. "I guess I need to track down your brother."

"Thank you, Harry. I really am sorry how it all turned out."

"Just as you planned," Harry said with a bit of bitterness.

"Well, no one ever said I was a good planner. They just assumed the Headmaster of a school had a bit of logic. Not particularly. But ambition I had by the tonne."