Failure
A day later Harry takes himself to Grimmauld Place. His own house…
The door is black and opens to his thumb on the latch; though his hand tingles.
The front hall is a disaster area of black, peeling brown wallpaper that's going black, and a dark carpet runner that seems mostly dust.
Harry walks down the hallway, hearing a faint chittering noise.
"Thieves! Robbers!" someone yells. A woman, and she sounds unhinged.
Harry walks down the hall a bit further and sees a magical painting of a woman in a black dress yelling angrily. Little flecks of white paint make froth on her lips.
"Thief!" she yells quite loudly.
"My Name is Harry Potter and I just inherited this property from Sirius Black" said Harry.
The woman stops yelling instantly "He's… dead?" she asks curiously. "How did he die?"
"A hippogriff sliced his throat open" said Harry "It was protecting me from him. He'd escaped Azkaban to come and kill me."
"Kill you?" asked the woman curiously "Why would he try to kill you?"
"Well he betrayed my whole family to he-who-shall-not-be-named" said Harry conversationally "So he escaped to finish off the job for his master."
The witch laughed insanely then said "Sirius was a terrible disappointment. Not like Regulus. Regulus worked for the forces for order, of tradition. Sirius, he ran way to live with the Potters and never spoke to any of us ever again. Then got his idiot self imprisoned. I'm ashamed he was my son."
"But he was the dark lords' lieutenant" said Harry quoting a line from one of the more salacious histories of the last war.
"If he was, he was very secretive about it. I'd have been so proud of him." sighed the witch "I'd have forgiven everything, found him a proper pure-blood wife and let him why…even keep that damn moto-cycle."
"So… when did you die?" asked Harry.
"Nineteen eighty-five, I think" she said. "I'm Walburga Black, by the way."
"What family were you before you married?" asked Harry curiously.
"Black of course. Orion needed a proper wife." said Walburga. Harry's stomach heaved. They'd been relatives who married.
Harry walked into the nearby open doorway, which was huge dining room with a table long enough, Harry was sure, to play cricket on.
He sat on a chair to have a think. Sirius Black had left everything to Harry. He knew that.
Had been hiding as a dog, and stood around watching Harry play quidditch.
And was his godfather.
And his mother, who seemed prime Voldemort supporter material, still thought Sirius was a traitor.
And left Harry everything. Including a Caribbean island.
Oh fuck. Harry cast his mind back. Sirius Black had been standing around looking… like a ex-prisoner who… had come to see a godson. Fuck. Fuckedey Fuckedey Fuck. He'd killed the wrong man. Fuck. He really needed calming draught. Buckets of the stuff.
A house elf popped into the room "What are you" it asked in a croak.
"Head of the house" said Harry bitterly "Get rid of the talking painting, elf"
"Mistresses painting, not Mistresses Painting" croaked the elf; seemingly loyal to a painting.
"Get rid of it right now, or I'll give you clothes, then cut your head off" said Harry, feeling furious with himself, and the voice in his head was doing all the talking right now.
The elf disappeared with a pop.
When Harry stopped moping, the talking painting was gone from the hallway.
"Elf!" Harry called out.
The elf appeared with a pop. "Yes Master?" it croaked.
"Clean this place up" said Harry "I can do better than this!"
Harry went back to Surrey, where there was food, and he wasn't reminded of his fatal blunder. Harry took two vials of calming draught. Which helped.
'Flight and the Tower. ' popped into his head, and Harry looked up the tower… 'Change, bringing tragedy, downfall and suffering' said the book. Bugger. And Grims all year… because the bloody idiot godfather looked like one.
Harry cried tears of frustration till he fell asleep.
He woke up sure of one thing. Be more careful killing people. Mostly not to.