Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Chapter II

Peverell Manor

The house was in a state of utter disrepair. It had to have been some time since a Peverell or a Potter had lived here. Taking a few steps away from the main gate into the entrance hall Harry surveyed the damage. There was dust everywhere, the wallpaper seemed ratty and he could even spot some mold along the ceiling. And that was just at a first glance.

Despondent at what else he might discover he turned back towards the door intent on closing it only to have it slam close in his face. Wrinkling his forehead he softly spoke:

"Look, I'm sorry what happened to you. I don't know why you were abandoned by my family but I promise I'll rise you back to your former glory. I'll fix this - you."

The house seemed to acknowledge his words and was all of a sudden less hostile. Still cold and cutting but no longer enraged past reason.

Looking around, his face turned grim. He certainly had his work cut out for him. It would take at least a week, probably longer, to return his manor to its once glorious state. With his luck, the manor most likely would not allow him to buy the fabrics he needed but insist he do the work himself and actually weave the tapestries, carpets and curtains.

Sighing he decided to get started by looking through all the rooms and taking stock of everything. Turning left at the end of the hall he stepped into the kitchen. Here, too, everything was dusted and broken. The kitchen appliances were either rusted or long gone. Whatever preservation charms had been in place had failed a while ago. Even the floor had some chips and burn marks.

Blinking back tears, he remembered when he had sneaked into the kitchen in the dead of the night as a little boy in the search for sweets. Always the house-elves had discovered him and sent him back to back with a small treat. Sometimes he met his father in the halls and receive a stern talking to about proper decorum and rules being there to be followed.

But all of this was long since gone now. Centuries in the past whereas his future was here in this strange new world with its too bright magicks and this decrepit manor. Abandoned and left behind, this is how he felt while walking through his home.

Noting the desolate condition of most of the rooms and the lack of magic swirling in the air he felt as bereft as the house. Stroking over the banister and gliding his hand along the wallpapers made him even more aware of the mood of the manor.

It had been left for hundreds and hundreds of years now. No Peverell or Potter setting a foot in it in the last generations. It had turned angry and bitter about no longer harboring its family. Its magic which had build up since the first Peverell came to live here slowly fading. Its standing slipping. Now it was nothing more but a ruin. A testament to the fall of a dark family turning light. Leaving behind their tradition and home in order to fit in with the new trend.

However, magic that strong which had once saturated the building could never truly fade away. So while the preservation charms may have broken and the magicks went dormant it still retained its consciousness. It still waited for the return of its rightful owners. It now had waited for centuries.

He would need to pacify and charm, dust and repair until the house forgave him and felt appreciated again. Magical houses could be very moody if they felt undervalued. And right now, his felt neglected. Neglecting it even more would only serve to enrage it even further. An enraged magical house was dangerous.

His home had not been valued by his family in some time that much his tour through the house had shown him. Deciding that now was as good a time as any to begin the arduous process of repair he went back to the master bedroom. The room his parents had shared while alive. It would be his now since he became master of the manor.

Its state of ruin was even more obvious than most other rooms he had gone through. It felt empty without the furniture and paintings he knew his parents had decorated their bedroom with. Now it was completely stripped of anything. The walls and ceiling a dull gray spotted with mold and some undefinable brown stains. The floor was so dirty he left foot prints in it.

With a shudder he wiped his wand out and started cleaning. First he banished the dust and cobwebs. Next went the mold and stains on the wall. Frowning he realized the house would be of no help to him in its current state. It could or would not repair some of the damage itself.

It hurt to now that his childhood home he loved so much and which had loved him so much had now grown so sullen that he would need to offer a considerable effort to win it over.

Sighing again, he went up to the attic and started routing around through all the junk which had collected there. Finally, in one corner he located the paint and some paint brushes. Getting it out and back to his bedroom he decided blue would be a nice color for the overall scheme.

Making another trip to the library which somehow while certainly more grim and dirty than he remembered remained almost untouched by time he got a book on Magicks for a wynlic heofenhám. Why his predecessors – or ancestors now - left them behind he could not guess but he was happy for the lucky chance.

Book in hand he moisturized the dried out paint and changed its color to a shade of bright blue. After several more tries he had refined the color to the exact shade he had in mind.

Brush in hand he went to start paint the wall only to run in the next problem. The wallpaper was sagging. He could not possibly repaint it and hope for any decent result.

Sighing deeply he put the brush back into the paint, got his wand out again and started ripping the wallpaper from the wall. After he finished stripping the wall he banished the heap of torn paper on the floor and went back up the attic looking for wallpaper.

Of course, he did not find any. Going out and buying any was out of the question. The house would not let him leave, not after having been abandoned for so long. He would need to weave his own wallpaper he realized with growing dread.

Searching for anything which could help with the endeavor he managed to locate some kind of paper rolls, papyrus and silk. Well that would need to be enough.

Sending it all to his bedroom he followed at a more sedate pace. How to make a wallpaper? He hoped the book would be of help to him. He knew his mother had used it to redecorate the manor on occasion. But to build entire materials from scratch?

Luckily it seemed, he realized upon leafing through the book, that it was an encyclopedia of all kinds of charms one needed for a house. Praising his good luck he quickly found the spell needed to create new wallpapers. Paper, papyrus and silk would need to do for the creation.

After a few tries he got the hang of it and created sheet after sheet of smooth white silken wallpaper. Looking them over he spelled them on the wall and his blue paint on them. The result was satisfying.

Narrowing his eyes he found the walls still lacked something. Leafing yet again through the book for inspiration he found a charm to create patterns. After a few failed tries he managed to lighten the blue on the wall to a lighter and grayer tone while the brighter shade turned into a pattern of leaves and flowers.

Suddenly the room seemed considerable brighter. The ceiling turned a charming tone of creme on its own and a small chandelier appeared gleaming brightly. The plastering in the corners and around the chandelier repaired and encrusted themselves with gold again. A small, hardly discernible shudder went through the house.

Smiling for the first time since setting foot into his home he went to the kitchens to get a mop to clean the floor. He hoped dearly he would not need to replace the wood work as well.

Mopping the floor went smoothly. It appeared the house was a tiny bit more cooperative than earlier in the morning. Following the grains in the wood he paid attention to the laid out pattern while quietly humming to himself.

Forgoing lunch he went strait in search of a loom in the attic to start weaving the curtains. He would pick up the color of the pattern on the wallpaper and create bright blue silk curtains. Light and airy to let the sun in, they would fit in nicely with the overall scheme.

It turned out he needed hours to weave the curtains. He was no weaver. That blessing had been his sister's. She had been a true weaver and been able to create the most beautiful tapestries, heirlooms for generations yet to come. A weaver in the house was a blessing. A blessing his family no longer had.

He looked up from his work and said into the room:

"Look, I'm sorry but I am not a weaver. I won't be able to create heirlooms or beautiful hangings that befits our station. If you won't give me access to the stores of furniture and fabrics we're going to have a problem."

The house stayed stubbornly silent at that.

"We don't have a weaver currently in the family but I promise I'll get one for this family again. We will be blessed again."

There was no direct reaction to this statement but the air lost something of its oppressive feeling. Heaving yet another sigh he turned back to the curtains. They were simply blue curtains. Nothing to sneeze at but not truly work of arts either. They would have to do.

Gathering the woven fabric he once again tracked back to his new bedroom and set to hanging the curtains. They were nice giving the room the last polish. The simple blue complemented the walls and brought out the highlights in the wooden floor. Flowing gently down they shimmered in the right lightening.

Stretching and yawning he noted that the sun had almost sunken beneath the horizon. He had spent the better part of the afternoon weaving the curtains. Still he had no bed to sleep in. Hoping the house would finally open the stores for him he went back to the attic.

Here the transformations had continued. Gone was the dust and dirt. The room was brighter and bigger filled with furniture and fabrics. He could spot some carpets hiding behind neatly rolled tapestries. Even the junk seemed to have shrunken and was now orderly stacked in one corner.

Under soft lights he went to pick a set of furniture, a carpet and a tapestry for his room. Keeping with the blue scheme he searched for blues, golds and greens.

After setting up his room, he went in search for some food. Hoping the kitchens had opened up he went downstairs. No such luck. The kitchens were cold and grim with shadows lurking in the corners. He barely managed to light a few candles he had summoned.

Standing in the cold, he considered his options. Leaving the house was not possible. It simply would not let him leave at this point. It was still too angry and afraid to loose him again to allow him past the gates. But he did not fancy going hungry either.

He concentrated on his magic and his bounds. The Peverell house-elves were long since dead now but the Potter family's should still be around somewhere. As the last Potter they were all bound to him.

Feeling the bounds of servitude that bound him to three elves he gently tugged at the strains to summon them to him. Three pops sounded through the kitchen. His elves had appeared.

Harry had gotten a headache. After the immediate chorus of "Master" had rung through the kitchen a lot of begging, crying and hysteria had commenced. As it turned out, his house-elves had practically been out in the streets. After Potter Manor burned down taking with it the elves bound to it only these three had remained. Traditionally house-elves chose to go down with the house.

But these three had been lucky. His grandparents had sent them away before the fire could claim them, too, as it had their brethren.

While his grandparents died in the flames, the elves went to his parents to serve the family in Godric's Hollow until their untimely demise. Since obviously his father had not deemed it fit to make any provisions whatsoever House Potter had not named a steward in charge of the estate upon his death.

That left his son to flounder alone through life and at the mercy of the ministry and one Albus Dumbledore while the house-elves had been entirely forgotten. With no house or family to care for they had been staying in the destroyed cottage in Godric's Hollow slowly wasting away with no household and no tasks.

How his father could have been this stupid and uncaring about his own house he would never know. But mustering the three pitiful creatures in front of him he felt cold fury taking hold of him. This was the work of blood traitors and mudbloods. Forgetting the call of the old ways, forgetting their duties to their house led to this, to the suffering of those under their care and protection.

Six eyes stared at him nervously. At least, they stayed silent now after their initial bout of hysterics. The elves had finally calmed down somewhat when he ordered them to be quiet. But it was undeniable that they were still greatly distressed.

A house-elf without a house and a family had no purpose and no magic to feed off. Eventually it became depressed and wasted away. The gaunt faces looking up at him proved that his elves had given up hope and resigned themselves to a slow death taking their master's secrets with them.

Harry took a deep breath.

"Why did you not come to me in the past? You should have been able to feel the magic binding you to me."

A nervous elf rung his hands before stepping forward and answering in a high voice:

"Master had been too young to acknowledge the bound. Kili could not come to him. Kili had to wait. Kili waited for master at his old house."

Avidly nodding, the other two elves confirmed his words.

"Fine. I acknowledge our bound now. You are my elves bound to my family and my house. Do you swear to keep my secrets?"

A choir of vows immediately greeted his ears.

"Do you swear to serve me and my house faithfully?"

Another round of oaths pipped up. Satisfied Harry watched as his elves transformed. The magic of their binding washed over them, giving them back color that replaced the gray shine of their skin. All of a sudden they seemed much healthier and livelier than just seconds before. Just was the magic of the old way.

"Good", Harry clapped his hands together. "Now, let's see. This is your new home, the ancestral estate of the Peverells. I expect you to keep it clean and tidy. The grounds need vast clearance as do the stables. The orangery probably has to be replanted and refurbished from scratch. I will take care of that. For now, prepare me dinner!"

With that two of the three house-elves popped away to fulfill their orders filled with renewed strength and determination. Only one remained and shuffled its feet nervously.

"Master, Twinky is sorry. Twinky would love to prepare dinner for master but Twinky cannot find any food in the house. Twinky will need money. Twinky must go to the market for food."

Of course, the elf could not access the vault for household purchases anymore since it was likely frozen since his parents abrupt death. Well, and since he was not yet emancipated - which he would fix as soon as possible - he could not grant the elf access to any vault but his trust vault. Which was not meant to be either accessed by a house-elf or used for grocery shopping.

Thinking quickly he replied:

"I will set up an account for the household as soon as possible. Until then use the Galleons you can find in my trunk in the entrance hall."

The elf popped away and left a Harry deep in thought in the middle of the kitchen. He would need to go to Gringotts to set up this account and take care of a number of other things like evaluating his estate and getting his emancipation. However, that would be impossible as long as the house held him prisoner. Based on the frosty air alone he would say it might take a while before he set foot out of these halls again. The house did not appear to be inclined to forgive him anytime soon.

Watching the last glimmer of the sun set beneath the horizon from the now cleared out dining room he stared at the darkening sky and waited for his house-elf to reappear with his dinner. He had spent some effort in cleaning the room into a state of no-longer-too-gross-to-eat-in but it was tentative at best. He was already too tired. He just wanted to eat and then sleep.

So a few uttered charms had to be enough for today. He even went to the trouble of returning to the attic and picking out a nice dining table with a dark shade of wood and the matching chairs stringed with green brocade.

Of course, the house did not value his tired efforts. Instead it seemed piqued that he dared to move a shining piece of furniture to an unkempt room. Already it seemed less shiny and he swore two of the chairs had tried to trip him up.

It was time that the day finally was over. So where was that damn elf with dinner? He was half starved by now. It did not help that the boy apparently had only scraps to eat the whole summer. Understandingly his body craved food now especially after the long exhausting day he had.

Sleep came slowly this night despite the fact that he was so exhausted from the day of cleaning and renovating. He thought back to his parents in whose room he now laid and back to his little sister whose tingling laugh he would never hear again.

Bitterly, he turned to the side and stared out the window. The moon shone brightly this night. As bright as in the night of his capture. He still remembered the feel of his contracting muscles as he ran faster and faster trying to escape his hunters. Past exhaustion, he had made his way through the marsh lands in hope of finding a good hiding spot or losing his pursuers in the dense fog.

But no such luck. He had been caught and that was it. Languishing in some dungeon he had known there was no hope of rescue. He had known that it would be his death and in so many ways he had been right.

His body had died that night on the cold floor of his prison cell and his life, his real life he had been born to, had died with it. Everything he had, everything he was had ceased to be. In the span of centuries, everything and anything that mattered to him had been turned to dust by the trickling sands of time.

The wheel of fortune had turned yet again. Though he had been brought back to life he had no family. He had imagined that with a new body would come a new home. But there was nothing for him. No decent family, no decent room, not even decent clothing!

When woken up to this strange new life he woke up to find that he had been reduced to the life of a pauper no better than the mud scum squirreling through life. He had imagined that even life as only a halfbood might not be that bad. That the halfblood would still have the life he was entitled to simply by virtue of being born in the right family, the family of the main branch of the great house Peverell.

Though the Peverells had turned to being Potters they surely had not lost their standing. Which made the boy's life all the more puzzling. Why did he live the life of a blood-traitor? Why hadn't he resided in his ancestral home and taken his rightful spot as the last heir of one of Britain's oldest magical lines? Surely, the others had not given him to much grief over his polluted blood? It was his father's damnable choice after all and if the boy had married right his children would be pureblooded once more.

Yet, he had found himself in a nearly destroyed room serving as trash heap upon waking. He had to slink back to his ancestral manor only to find out it had not been used in generations. His family had clearly moved the family seat to another location that was unknown to him.

Instead now he was left with cleaning up his former family home. Completely desolate and in a right mood it hurt to see his house reduced to this. A magical home like theirs deserved better.

He definitely would need to look through their recent family history and see where it all went wrong. Had they truly become blood-traitors? Marrying mudbloods, neglecting their manors, forgetting about the duties of the paterfamilias, the list of deficits was indeed a long one. He just hoped that his estate was not reduced along side his standing.

The father of the boy must have been a fool. The boy most likely had been one, too. He really needed to go to Gringotts and check up on his estate. There was no telling what they had done – or not done.

With these thoughts in mind, sleep finally claimed him and he dreamed of the life of a boy who had spent the majority of it in a cupboard under the stairs.

The next day dawned after a night of fitful sleep. Bleary eyed he rose with the sun, immediately missing the warmth of his bed. The manor was quite chilly in the early morning hours.

Getting dressed took some time. While the house-elves had unpacked his trunk and put all clothing in the wardrobe it seemed the boy owned nothing but rags and school robes. Ugly muggle clothes greeted him upon opening his dressing room which put him at once in a fool mood.

Going through the wardrobe did not improve it. He just found muggle clothing for the size of a small whale – probably passed down from his "cousin" Dudley. Wrinkling his nose he summoned an elf to get rid of the rags. They were entirely unbecoming of an heir of house Potter.

That left him with the boy's school robes. Apparently the boy never saw fit to add everyday robes, dressing robes or any other kind of robes to his wardrobe. Or really any kind of decent clothing he was not forced to get.

Wondering about the boy's lack of grooming and pride, he resigned himself to school attire. But touching one garment brought on a whole new slew of of indignant thoughts. Not even the simple school robes were properly done! They consisted of mediocre fabric at best instead of the expensive wool or fine acromantula silk he was accustomed to.

Turning the cloth in his hands he noticed the lack of an emblem. Fury boiled over in him. That boy! No pride in his house! No respect for the long line of ancestors bearing the emblem proudly! He had been a disgrace to house Potter! It was truly luck that he had taken the boy's body and life over. He would save their family from utter shame and disgrace. Blood-traitors had no place in their noble line.

After a short breakfast, he returned to the dining room which seemed even more grim than yesterday. The table had completely lost its shine and stood lackluster in the middle of the room. It did not seem that the cleaning effort of his house-elves had any effect whatsoever.

Not that he had expected anything different. As long as the house was this sullen and angry, it would not allow him any kind of outside help. It demanded nothing less than his own hard work and effort in retribution for having been neglected for so long.

Magical houses were like this. The longer a family dwelled in a particular home, the more magic swept into the stones and woods. Until it finally developed a consciousness and thus became a true family seat and home.

The relation between a house and a family usually was a symbiotic one. The family would care and maintain the house, their magic strengthening it while the house in turn would protect and care for its family. The more sentient it became, the more it would come to love its family.

He still remembered the one ball in celebration of Samhain that his family had hosted for the ancient and noble houses of their time. There had been one guest who had seen fit to insult them and cause a scene. His action had not gone unpunished. Attacking or insulting a magical family in their ancestral home was never a good idea. Often these houses were sentient and would revenge their families. As had done his beloved manor on that fateful day many centuries in the past now.

He still remembered the fury in the faces of his parents when that wizard had accused his sister of being a hedge witch. He still heard the demands of that thrice accursed bastard of having her executed in his dreams at night. And he still could see the reaction of their house play in his memory as if it happened yesterday. Nobody threatened a family member of the house of Peverell in their ancestral seat.

The house had risen to their defense. Wards uplifting from the floor and throwing the wizard around until finally chucking him out of the building, into the night far past their timberline. Sometimes, he could still feel its cold fury, its need for revenge and its satisfaction in getting it. Thus was the nature of a magical, sentient home.

It made it all the more important that he made amends. He did not want to suffer the same consequences as that foolish Weasley family whose bloodtraitor ways had caught up with them shortly before he had been born in his original life.

The story had been the stuff for legends even in his time. His father had told him and his sister the tale as a warning of what happened if a wizarding family did not respect their magical home enough. As it went, the Weasley family had become noveau rich two generation before he had been born. In an effort to gain prestige, they had searched for a bride who would bring a magical, sentient house as a dowry. As fortune -or misfortune depending on ones view – had it, a recently impoverished pureblood family agreed to the deal. They gave the hand of their eldest daughter and their home away in marriage under the requirement that both would be treated with the respect their standing demanded. Consenting to these demands, the Weasley family soon proved that while they had the money to found a house, they did neither have the manners and honour nor the necessary skills in order to become one of the truly great magical families of Great Britain.

So they disrespected the house while living in it. Never trying to win it over, never showing it an ounce of appreciation and respect. Instead they vandalized it with their parties, turning it into the hovel they originally came from. That is until the house could no longer stand it. In one night, it turned against its family, swallowing the eldest son, his unlucky bride and their newborn son. Luckily, for the rest of the Weasley family – and unluckily for the rest of Britain- they had not been in the house that night.

Upon realizing, that the house had gone rough it had to be destroyed. If it went so far as to kill its own family, there was no turning back. It would swallow all living beings that would dare to set foot in it.

He quite liked the story and remembered its telling fondly. Served those bloodtraitors right for dismissing the old way and trying to buy their way into greater standing. Only magical prowess and tradition was an acceptable manner of advancing ones social standing.

He sighed. While reminiscing, he had at least managed to clean part of the floor. He sighed again. It would be a long day.

Harry stretched his back and stifled a yawn. The sun was already sinking beneath the horizon. He had been right. It had been a long day. The only thing he managed to accomplish was fixing the dining room. It now sported freshly painted walls, a new lustre, a gleaming wooden parquet floor, a hours long dusted of Persian rug and the appropriate furniture.

The right furniture for a specific room was very important. Magical houses were very uptight about these kind of things. They minded a lot if you ate in the kitchen when you were supposed to eat in the dining room or breakfast room. They also could not abide misplaced furniture. A dining table in the kitchen would probably result in quite the snit and very lousy food no matter the skill of his house-elves.

And then were there the furniture itself, of course. It needed the right balance per room. Otherwise it could get jealous and would try to outshine each other. Resulting in broken wood and an overall gloomy atmosphere. Fighting furniture was no fun. What was fun however, was that the furniture pieces in magical houses all seemed to have a semblance of sentience. Not to the same degree as the house itself but a gleam of sentience all the same.

Hat stands would walk over and try to take your coat, chairs would slide under the table by themselves, lustre would lighten without prompting and a plethora of other things which made life all the more magical.

Of course, it depended all on whether they were treated with the necessary amount of respect they felt they were due. Putting a glass on a piano? Bad idea. Eating on a love seat? An offense without compare. Throwing a party in the kitchen? An insult that had to be dealt with. Magical houses and their furniture were very proud indeed.

His sister had once dared to eat in the library. Aged nine, she had not wanted to abscond with her reading and instead ordered a house-elf to bring her dinner so that she could eat while reading. It had not gone over well with the house or the study table. As soon as the food was placed in front of her, the food had withered and every attempt of picking it up was met with stubborn resistance of the table until she finally gave up and joined them in the dining room. Their father had a good laugh at that. Saying, that all children of house Peverell would make that experience at least once in their life and he hoped it would teach them the necessary regard for the house. Their home had seemed to preen at that.

On the other hand, their home had also always been their greatest accomplice. Hiding them at night to sneak in the kitchen for cookies? Done. Moving dangerous items out of the ways of grabby toddlers? Done. Preventing running children from tumbling down the staircase? Done. Their home was fond of its family and they were fond of it. It was this simple.

His day ended with little fanfare. He ate and went promptly to bed. He swore he had never been this tired doing servants' work to appease his childhood home. His sleep this night went unmarred by dreams.

Over the next two weeks, Harry cleaned, repaired and refurbished the once glorious mansion. He righted the wrong done to his home. He paid attention to every minute detail, fixed even the slightest damage and bent over backwards to appease the house.

And slowly his house seemed to come around. It started small at first. After a few days, it did not take him quite as long to clean a room. There seemed to be less grim clinging to the floor and the walls. It became easier to access the furniture, the selection of nicely woven rugs and tapestries. A day on from that, he caught his home shaking out the curtains and a line of beetles vacating a cupboard in the kitchen. The atmosphere seemed brighter, less frosty as if suddenly someone had wished all the dust in the air aside.

Finally, it began to feel like home again. The rooms became bigger stretching out and returning to the size he remembered. He discovered the library in its original state again, full of books and papers just as if he had stepped out and returned a few hours later not a few centuries. His bathroom extended again offering him the luxury of a small spa area. He found his father's former office with diaries from the paterfamilias at least extending to the thirteenth century.

However, the biggest step forward had come this week. Candles lit when he stepped into a room. His house-elves were at last able to clean the mansion doing the household chores for him. And he was eventually able to open the door leading into the gardens.

Taking a step outside and breathing in the fresh morning air, he finally felt settled like he gained at least a part of his past back. Turning back to the house, he smiled an it seemed as if the house smiled back at him.