A crack sounded throughout the air.

A man appeared, only a small trunk with him and his face crinkled into a smile.

His feet carried him in a slow pace, reaching the rickety and aging steps of Number Twelve Grimmauld Place after only a few strides. His head tilted back as he glanced at the building. The outside looked the same as it had ever been. His eyes swept over the dark and broken brick that loomed over him. This man hadn't stepped foot near Grimmauld Place in over thirty years, but he remembered it like he had just come there yesterday.

A few pats at his jean pockets and a soft exclamation later and a jingle of keys was produced in the man's hands. He made quick progress in unlocking the dingy door. It creaked open with a harrowing sound. The man's heartbeat quickened with each step he took. There was feeling deep inside of him that swelled, something that he could tell was the feeling of coming home.

The sun lit the entrance hall, the dim lighting escaping. His eyes reached over every surface, subconsciously searching for something that wasn't there. The man turned and shut the door with another resounding creak. He paused at the feeling of the silver door knob in his hand as he closed the door with a soft thud, a sound opposite to what it had been when he had opened it. The dim lighting filled the room once again before he flipped the light switch on. Gaslit lanterns on the wall switched on, filling the entrance hall with light.

The man's eyes watered at the sight.

The trunk in the man's hand fell to the floor as he took a deep breath in. The scent of the stale and dust filled rooms hit him in the face. He smiled again. That smell was something he was familiar with.

He listened for any signs of life within the house but came back with nothing but the creaking of wood beneath his feet and walls groaning beneath the weight.

This man had a lot of work ahead of him and no help.

This man was named Harry Potter.

Harry hadn't been back to Number Twelve Grimmauld Place in over thirty years. After the war, he was basically thrown into the Auror Program and quickly married to Ginny Weasley. In no time, he had three kids and was made Head Auror.

In Harry's opinion, his life had passed by far too quickly after the death of Voldemort. His children had all reached their age of majority and no longer bothered to speak to him much. He was sure that they only spoke to him because of Ginny's insistence. He didn't mind, however, never having had a close relationship with any of his children.

His children were actually the reason he had come back to Grimmauld Place in the first place. Ginny, who had never had much money growing up, insisted that selling Grimmauld Place and the things inside would fill their children's vaults quite nicely.

Ginny insisted on a lot of things.

Harry had protested for many weeks with his wife, not wanting to get rid of his could-have-been childhood home, even after not visiting the place in many years. But Ginny did what Ginny did best: she insisted. They finally reached an agreement yesterday that Harry would be allowed, something that Harry thought was rather controlling, to sort through the things within Grimmauld Place and keep whatever sort of trinkets that he wanted. Well, "as long as they don't have dark magic on them." Ginny's words, not his.

Harry planned on keeping whatever he bloody wanted, but he wasn't about to tell his wife that. In his time, Ginny's rages were legendary even compared to her mother. And either way, Harry didn't think there were that many dark objects in the house that he couldn't just fix. He was Head Auror for a reason.

Picking up the trunk that he had let fall to the ground and his wand willing itself into his hand, Harry sent cleaning charms to all visible surfaces. Harry had a feeling that he wasn't going to sell Grimmauld Place and just pretend he did, but cleaning it gave Harry something to do while he was on sabbatical. Harry had amounted to four and a half years worth of paid leave in his time as an Auror. Hermione and Ginny were always on his case about taking time off to spend time with the family and just take a rest after the war. Harry, however, did not feel like spending four and a half years cooped up in their stuffy old manor.

Harry had wanted to live in Grimmauld Place after the war, but Ginny once again insisted on getting a better house. And to her a house was a huge manor with more rooms than they needed, a professional quidditch patch in the backyard and a brick circular driveway, all with a fountain in the middle. Did they need all of that for five people? Hell no. They didn't even have a car. Harry hated living there and Ginny could tell. She didn't care, however, because it was her dream house. And to Harry, he would rather go back to living in his cupboard than stare at those high-ceilings anymore.

That was why he was cleaning up Grimmauld Place. He loved this house. It had all of his best memories of Sirius. Sure, there weren't many, but they meant something to him. He wouldn't get rid of Grimmauld Place for all of the money in the world. If Ginny ever found out what he was planning on doing then he didn't know what he would do, but Harry was sure that was a problem for future-him.

Harry quickly cleaned up the entrance way of the townhouse. At times like these, Harry was extremely glad that he was a wizard. It would have taken him hours, even days to get the grime and dirt of the walls and floors otherwise. The darkened square on the wall that Walburga Black's portrait had been had cleaned right up with the use of his magic.

There were a few china cabinets against the walls, but Harry didn't find anything inside that he thought was worth keeping, so he bagged it up, planning on donating the non-magical items and selling the rest of the magical items down in Knockturn Alley.

He glanced up the stairs and could practically hear the laughter of the twins and the indigent screams of Ron as their prank worked its magic on his hair. Turning towards the double doors that led into the kitchen, Harry could imagine the sounds of pots and pans clanging as Molly Weasley made dinner for the Order and company.

The doors opened with the same creak as the front door and Harry could feel his breath catch as a lump in his throat formed. Sirius raising a glass of wine in his direction was in the front of his mind. He could remember it like it was yesterday. He wished it had been yesterday.

Being in Grimmauld Place brought back many memories that Harry had never forgotten, but always pushed away. Memories of Sirius were the most prominent. Harry missed the man so much at times that it was physically painful. It hurt. Harry wished Sirius was still alive constantly. And it may seem selfish to others who had lost so many people in the war, but Harry would choose having Sirius alive again if it meant that they would have to relive the war. He would do it in a heartbeat if it meant he could have his Godfather back. And it was times like these that Harry couldn't help but think that Sirius was more of his father than his actual father.

Sirius meant so much to him and sometimes he just didn't know what to do with the feelings that built up inside of him. Ginny was never any help. She didn't know how to comfort Harry anymore than he knew how to comfort her. Harry's only source of release had been working. But after a while, he had caught all of the Death Eaters and then work became slow and more about paperwork than catching dark wizards.

After the war had ended, no one wanted to cause trouble. There was so much damage to society that people just wanted to learn how to live again. Slowly but surely, the wizarding Britain built itself up again and went back to being just like it was before. He had thought that maybe the world would start working towards better laws that were harming their society and getting rid of all the politics that caused the Dark War to even start, but it just went back like nothing had ever happened.

Harry supposed that that was what the wizarding world was good at, but he assumed at least some things would have changed. However, Harry couldn't exactly complain because he never got into politics or tried to fix anything. He was always so focused on himself, trying to heal after being at war for most of his childhood. Most people never understood that about himself. Even Ron, Hermione, and Ginny.

Harry had been, from the moment he was placed his aunt's, all the way to eleven, in an abusive and neglective household. As soon as he got out, he was placed in a war that wasn't meant for children. Harry, in turn, had to grow up very fast. The world was a terrible place to live in and no one was there to help him. He had to do everything for himself. He had to raise himself, he had to educate himself, he had to fight a war himself, and he had to finish the war himself.

Harry was just tired.

Cleaning up Grimmauld Place gave him something to do with his time and he found himself enjoying himself more than even when at the flick of his hand, music filled the air.

There wasn't that much to clean on the ground floor other than the dirt and the grime that seemed seeped in the walls and floors. There was an odd dark creature hiding in the shadows every now and then, but Harry quickly took care of those. He finished in about an hour's time, having filled multiple garbage bags with things he was planning on throwing away, and slowly filling the trunk with trinkets that he wanted to sell.

He came back out into the hall where there was a staircase leading up to the first floor. The dark steps were covered in enough dust to create a small hill with. The narrow and steep staircase was dark and ominous. A wave of his wand cleaned the dust off the steps. He put one foot on the step and the floorboard groaned against the pressure. Harry winced in anticipation of the sound that would fill the room.

Walking up the steps in a slow pace, Harry readied himself for the mess that was probably the first floor. He planned on cleaning up the hallways and the sitting room before moving onto the bedroom.

Harry was pleasantly surprised to find that the first floor was not as bad as the ground floor. He supposed that with the Order constantly being down there, they would have made quite the mess. Harry had never spent much time on the first floor, preferring to spend his time down in the kitchen or in the bedroom he shared with Ron. Sirius had shown Harry the sitting room a few times, but he had never been in the room where the girls stayed.

Ginny and Hermione had stayed in the bedroom that was on the first floor. There was a bathroom connected to the room, which Harry belatedly realized that they were given for a reason. He was sure that the girls didn't want to share a bathroom with all the boys that were running through the house.

Harry made quick work of cleaning every surface he saw. He remembered when Molly had forced all of the children to clean up all of the mess without their wands and winced. He couldn't imagine cleaning without his want right now. Though, he thought that they never really cleaned up any dust. She had just made them deal with getting rid of all the dark objects that they found.

Looking back, Harry thought it was rather rude of her to do so. He remembered Sirius glowering at her from across the room. He knew that Sirius had wanted to say something about her throwing away his things, but he never did. Harry supposed that he just didn't want to deal with Molly's screeches.

A chuckle escaped his mouth at the thought.

The door to the sitting room opened a lot quieter than the rest of the doors, much to Harry's delight. He could imagine Sirius standing before the large tapestry and shook his head. He really didn't want to keep thinking about Sirius every time he entered a room. Although, he did suppose that he was asking for it, coming back here in the first place.

The tapestry stayed right where it was on the wall. He was definitely keeping that. He placed everything that he thought Sirius would like onto one of the clean bookshelves. Some of the things had a very dark energy about them, but Harry didn't care. He was far too old to care about something as silly as light and dark magic.

His wife really cared about it. Every time he mentioned any sort of dark magic that happened at work, even if he wasn't the one who cast it, she would begin to rant about how dark magic was evil and how she couldn't believe that he, an Auror, a dark wizard catcher, would mess around with it. He didn't think she understood that he had to deal with it because of his job. She had been one of the people who pushed him into the job in the first place, but he never mentioned that.

He didn't think she understood much about him, to be honest.

Having cleaned up most of the sitting room, Harry decided to take a break. He wished that Kreacher had been here. The old house elf had lasted maybe ten years after the war before dying. Harry had gotten used to him and was sad when he died, but he knew the elf would be much happier. He knew how much the elf hated his wife and children. Even after turning a new leaf - so to say - he still only preferred Harry's company and never stopped calling the Weasley's, blood-traitors.

Harry, who never cared about his mumbling before, had just asked to keep it to the minimum when he was in front of them. Kreacher had been a great house elf to him and loved serving him. However, he was never the same when the portrait of Walburga was taken down and destroyed. Harry thought that he only stayed alive so long because Harry would give him meaningless tasks. He knew that it made the elf happy to serve, so he couldn't not let him serve. No matter Hermione's insistence that he should free him.

He sat down for a few moments, taking a breather. He took a few sips of water before standing again. He wanted to get as much done as possible before having to go home to sleep in his old manor.

He finished the sitting room quickly, putting more things in his trunk. He was going to be able to sell a lot of things. He wasn't going to get much money from the small trinkets, but he couldn't think of a reason to keep any of it.

After all the dust was gone, he made his way to the bedroom. He felt a bit awkward about going into the girl's bedroom, but he knew he had to get the cleaning done. Opening the door with a small scrap, Harry entered the bedroom. He was surprised that the room was a lot more clean than the boy's room had been.

There were a few journals laying about and a couple copies of Witch's Weekly lying on what he assumed was Ginny's bed. He didn't think Ginny was going to want any of the stuff near her bed if she had left it there for so long and never asked about it.

Hermione's side of the room was pristine. The only thing dirty about it was the layer of dust covering the surface of everything in sight. There were a few books on the bedside table. He walked over to them, wondering if she might want them back.

They were stacked evenly in the middle of her night stand. Harry bent to pick the topmost book off the pile. It was black and had gold writing on the cover. The Complete Works of Laverne De Montmorency. Harry thought the author's name was quite familiar. He must have heard in history one year. The next book was larger and titled: Unethical Potions and How to Spot Them by Glover Hipworth. At the bottom of the pile was a book with a large picture of hag on the front. Montmorency: Early Life by Regulus Moonshine. Harry was suddenly struck with who the hag, actually a witch, on the front cover was. Laverne De Montmorency. He was sure he had heard that name before. Love Potions. She had created love potions.

Harry had dealt with many love potions in his life. Some thrown at him and others he had to take care of during work. He wondered why Hermione would even be looking at these books. He remembered her being quite adamantly against the use of love potions back in their years at Hogwarts.

He decided that he was just going to throw them away later after making sure there wasn't anything in them that Hermione might need. He used another cleaning charm on Hermione's side and went back to Ginny's side.

He threw the Witch's Weekly copies in the trash. He didn't want them and he was sure Ginny didn't need them. He used a cleaning charm to get rid of the dust. His head was nodding slightly to the music now. Harry grabbed a journal from the, unlike Hermione's, untidy pile and went to throw it away.

He must have not had a firm grip on it because it fell open at his feet.

He bent down to pick up and put it in the trash when something caught his eyes. He took a closer look and he was right. It was his name, he grinned. He knew Ginny had a crush on him around the time they were in Grimmauld Place, but he never assumed it went as far as her writing about him in her diary.

He wondered if she would mind him reading through a couple pages. He felt giddy and turned to the front of the book. He laughed loudly, throwing his head back.

This book belongs to the future Ginny Potter

He turned the page, a grin on his face. He found this hilarious. He couldn't believe his wife had been one of those people. And by one of those people, he meant people who doodled their crushes last name next to theirs. He had never done that before, and now he could tell why Hermione and Ginny got on so well. He remembered the Hermione Lockhart doodled all over Hermione's notes. She tried to hide it, but she never hid it that well.

He flipped to the next page and paused, frowning a bit. There were multiple types of handwriting on this page. He recognized them all easily. Ron, Ginny, and Hermione seemed to be having a small conversation in the book. He flipped pages ahead and saw that it went on for a lot of pages.

He sat wondering why they never included him in this or why he never saw them writing to each other. He thought maybe they passed it around when Harry wasn't looking and that made him all the more curious. What did they have to talk about?

The first handwriting was easily Hermione's small script.

H: Harry is going to be here in a few minutes. We need to use this to talk now.

Oh, so they had been talking behind his back. That was nice, Harry rolled his eyes, a feeling building in his stomach that he was familiar with.

G: That's okay. This journal has a page expansion on it, so don't worry about writing too much.

R: Good luck reading my handwriting. I won't write too much, don't worry.

H: Anyways, as I was saying before the Headmaster interrupted us, Harry is going to be taking occlumency lessons this year with Professor Snape, so I think we should learn it too. What if he gets good at it and learns Legilimency? He would be able to read our thoughts.

R: Yeah, I don't want that happening.

G: Me neither, Hermione. I think the Headmaster would be willing to give a book on the subject as long as we promise not to give it to Harry.

Had he told them about that by this time? He didn't remember if he even knew about those lessons during this time period. If he hadn't arrived at the townhouse yet, then there was no way that he could have known.

Flipping several pages, Harry landed on another with more writing.

G: So, you got them already? How did no one see you?

H: Headmaster told me that I could send them to him and he would personally give the books to me, so Harry wouldn't know.

R: Wait, what book?

H: Oh, Ronald, were you not listening when Harry was out? The LDM books. You-know-what!

R: Oh, the love lady?

H: Yes, the love-lady as you so put it. Goodness, Ronald, please keep your ears open.

R: Sorry! Mum called us to lunch like right after.

G: Anyways! Do you think you can brew the potions, Hermione?

Harry was getting a bad feeling about that sentence.

H: Of course! I'll be able to get it to you, maybe by the middle of the year, however. I do not have all the ingredients and it's going to take quite a bit of time to get them.

G: Oh, why?

H: Well, if I'm seen buying these ingredients together, I'll get in trouble. The headmaster won't be able to help me there. This potion is extremely illegal.

G: Oh, maybe I can help you get some of the ingredients and you can get the rest. What are some of the things you need?

H: Fresh Rose Thorns are something I need. You can't buy those without being questioned what you need them for.

Harry felt the color draining from his face. There was no way that they were talking about what he thought they were talking about.

G: Oh, I'll get mum to plant some rose bushes. I'm sure Dad can find some muggle seeds while he's out and about.

R: Wait, wait, wait. Why do you need a love potion again?

H: Honestly, Ronald. Listen more. Ginny won't be able to get Harry to love her otherwise!

G: Hey! Maybe I could…

H: I'm just saying. Have you seen Harry being interested in any girls?

R: No… But we don't really talk about that sort of thing together. That is more of a me and Seamus type conversation.

H: I'll tell you who he's been interested in. Draco. Cedric. Tom Riddle. Are you seeing a pattern?

G: Tom Riddle, really?

H: Oh, yeah. When I woke up he would not stop talking about how handsome Tom Riddle was. He always said, "He was quite handsome, so that's probably how he got away with all the things that he did."

G: Oh, that does seem a bit gay. I thought he was handsome too, but I never connected those dots.

H: Whatever. Ronald, Harry needs the potions because he is GAY. There isn't any way around that.

R: He's gay!? I'm rooming with him!

H: Oh, my god, Ronald. He doesn't like you that way. He literally see's you like a brother.

Harry stopped reading after that.

The feeling in his stomach was growing larger and larger. A lump was forming in his throat. If this was what he thought it was, then he didn't know what to think. He placed the journal down softly, feeling oddly numb.

He stood, feeling even more his age than ever. Tears were seeping out of his eyes, something that hadn't happened in a while. Not since Sirius. He left the room and walked up the dirty steps to the top floor. He went to open Sirius' door before deciding against it, not wanting to feel even more upset.

Instead he grabbed the doorknob of Regulus Black's old room and silently entered. This room was definitely the cleanest room in the house. Disregarding the dust everywhere, everything was in its place and nothing was cluttered around. Harry took off his coat and waved his hand. The music turned off and the dust disappeared. He pulled the blanket back and got into the bed.

He can't remember ever feeling this betrayed. Not when Ron left him multiple times, and not when he found out he was a wizard. This seemed way bigger. He laid down and took his glasses off. He shut his eyes softly, not being able to keep them open any longer.

He hurt. A sob tore from his throat. And by the time he noticed what was going on, he was basically screaming. His breathing was harsh and tears were leaking from his closed eyes. This had to be a lie. There was no way they could do this to him! What did he even do!

He didn't know how many hours passed, but he stayed in the soft bed of Regulus Black until his sobs turned into whimpers. He couldn't think straight. He didn't want to read the journal anymore, but he knew he was going to have to finish it someday. He wondered how many secrets his friends kept from him.

Did he really love Ginny or was it the potions? If what they were saying was true then he was gay. He didn't have a problem with gay people, but he assumed that since he was in love with Ginny that he was just straight.

He lifted his right hand up in the air, his tears drying up. He stared at the pale blue vein that was strikingly different from the rest of his skin. There were a few scars and bruises on his arm that he got from his many years on this planet. Thinking about those times, he felt that he was happier then that he ever was now. Even at war, he was always busy and had things to do. He wasn't… married to Ginny.

He didn't understand how he could have missed a love potion being given to him. He was Auror for Merlin's sake! Head Auror at that! His minded raked over the possible places that he could be given a love potion. He supposed his food would be easy enough. He never checked anything his supposed Wife made. He was definitely going to start doing that from now on.

He wondered if he was still even being dosed. He knew that the journal was dated back to his fifth year and that was a long time ago. She might have stopped dosing him, right?

He cast a wandless tempus and stared at the time. He had been there longer than he thought. He was getting hungry. He got out of bed, a sudden wave of motivation hitting him. He was going to go home and since it was around dinner time he was going to check his food.

Ginny liked cooking meals for him, and Harry, who had been forced to cook for others most of his life, was more than fine with that. Usually.

He ran down the stairs, absentmindedly cleaning the dirt and grime off with a wave of his hand. He reached the front door in record time, his coat hanging off one shoulder. He pulled it on quickly and decided that he was going to buy some food, just in case.

He reached a corner store sooner or later and bought a few things that would hold his hunger off if things went too bad. He shrunk them as soon as he found a dark corner and apparated on with a crack.

Harry had apparated into the entrance hall of his manor. He could hear the sound of plates clashing together and knew that Ginny was in the kitchen washing dishes. He stared at the tall walls of his manor, rolling his eyes at the fancy art and flowers that Ginny insisted on decorating the walls with. They distinctively reminded him of his aunt every time he looked at them.

When Harry had told Ginny this, she had told him that his aunt must have had good taste. Harry groaned, wondering how on earth he could have fallen in love with the woman in the first place, before remembering that she dosed him with a bloody love potion. He felt like seething with anger, but he knew that he needed to calm down before he saw Ginny or he would give something away. With the use of his occlumency shields, he kept a straight face.

He reached the kitchen doors in no time and paused, hyping himself up. He needed to act like he normally did or Ginny would suspect something.

He took a calming breath before opening the doors.

"Ginny."

The redhead twirled around, her hair flying everywhere and the apron across her hips flaring up. She smiled at him with a large smile. She was beautiful, there was no denying that.

"Harry! You're home," she set the bowl in her hand down and pointed at another bowl of food. "I made that for dinner tonight. I didn't know when you were going to be home so it's under a warming charm," she smiled sweetly at him.

He tried his best to smile back, but couldn't.

"Harry," she said, sounding worried. She walked over to him, placing the back of her hand on his forehead. "You're a bit warm. Are you okay?" She eyed him worryingly.

He let out a sign and came up with something on the spot. Something that he got rather good at after working in the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee for a few weeks a couple years back. He had only worked there because he was bored, but he found that he was rather good at making excuses.

"I ate something at Grimmauld Place and I think it was expired because my stomach really hurts," he started, "I think I'm going to take a few potions and eat up in my office. I have some paperwork to get done, but I'm still hungry. Is that okay?" He did his best at procuring a face of pain and worry. He wanted her to think that he was worried that she was going to be upset that he was missing another dinner, but also that he was in too much pain to talk much. He didn't want to talk to her if he could help it.

She seemed to take the bait when her eyes widened.

"Merlin, Harry, you should have said!" She grabbed the bowl off the counter and pushed it into his hands. "Of, course! Go eat in your office. Just make sure not to fall asleep in there like last time."

He couldn't believe that she actually believed him and then pushed him out of the kitchen. He thought he would have at least had to make up what he had eaten at least. Oh, well, he idly thought, it's not like I care.

He made it to his office fast, shutting and locking the door behind him. He stared at the bowl in his hand before setting it at his desk. It was plain spaghetti, a meal that he loved. It looked perfectly edible.

He closed his eyes as he took a deep breath in. This was it. This was going to prove whether or not his wife was poisoning him. He grabbed his wand, just to be sure, and muttered the spell over the dish.

Goosebumps broke out over his skin and his face went stoic.

He grabbed the bowl off his desk before dumping it in the trash, his jaw tightening and his breath becoming harsh.

He vanished the evidence before sitting at his desk until the natural light left the room.