Chapter Two
"What is she talking about?" muttered Harry. He could feel that there were no wards on the house, new or otherwise.
Harry glanced at the date at the bottom.
21 September 1999
The date was two years too early, it was 1997, not 1999. Still confused, Harry stuffed the letter into his pocket. He reached for his wand and checked the area around the house. Satisfied that it was safe and hoping that nothing would go wrong, Harry entered the rundown cottage. The air had a dusty, woody smell so Harry cast a bubblehead charm to help him breathe better.
Despite the thick layer of dust covering every surface, the cottage seemed cosy and quaint. The living room was to his right, it was completely furnished with two chaise lounges and a sofa that sat in front of the fireplace. There was what Harry was hoping was a rug and not a large pile of dust that the furniture sat on top of. On his left was the kitchen and dining area, also furnished with a dining table and chairs.
As Harry explored the cottage, he remembered something about a box in the attic from the letter. He stomped up the ladder for the manhole, hoping to find nothing to explain the letter but there was nothing in the attic, except for a few dead rats that cause Harry to flinch.
"This is crazy," Harry muttered to himself, as he cast a few cleaning charms and banished the dead rats. He jumped down from the ladder and waved his wand to clean the entire house from all the dust and cobwebs.
Harry had spent at least an hour cleaning the cottage with magic and he was almost done when he heard someone shouting outside.
"Ahoy there!"
Harry undid his bubblehead charm, coughing as the dust flew into his face and he quickly transfigured the large pile of dust in front of him into a broomstick. Harry popped his head out of an open window. Outside, on the porch was an elder gentleman.
"Hello, sir!" greeted the man. He was small with a round belly that was wrapped tightly in a checked shirt and tucked into khaki trousers. His thin hair was combed over in hopes of covering his balding spot.
Harry greeted back, "Hello, can I help you?"
"Yes, I'm Robert Burns, your neighbour," the man answered, waving his hand. Harry smiled politely and ducked back inside to step outside the front door. Harry shook hands with his new neighbour and greeted him.
"James Evans, a pleasure."
James Evans was an alias Harry had used since he was fifteen. Dumbledore thought it was best that Harry stayed hidden from the world after Sirius died.
"It's nice to see this cottage lively again. It's been empty for decades," stated Mr Burns as he took in the ageing house. Harry frowned slightly but shook it off.
"Do you need any help with anything? It looks like you've been cleaning up a storm."
"No thank you, sir," Harry answered, snorting in his head. With magic, he didn't need any help, "I can manage on my own."
"It must be nice to be a strong young man like you," Mr Burns joked. "So what brings you here, son?"
Harry felt his cheeks flush a little, "Just looking to get away for a little while."
"Army?" asked Mr Burns. Harry wondered what made the older man draw to that conclusion but he was right in a certain way.
"Yes," Harry answered, "I just finished my enlistment."
"I served when I was younger," Mr Burns stated, as though he was reminiscing the times, "When I was done, I felt I would never fit back into the world."
Harry said nothing, although he had never served in the muggle military. His life was always in the eyes of the war. Even at the end of the First War, there were always threats. Mr Burns gave Harry a sympathetic look, it wasn't a look of pity but of understanding.
"Well, my missus and I wish to invite you to our house for dinner tonight," asked Mr Burns, tucking his hands into his pocket, "It's the cottage down the road, Hamhock House."
Harry shuffled awkwardly, it seemed impolite to deny this lovely muggle couple.
"Thank you, it'll be nice not to dine alone."
"Alone?" Mr Burns asked, "There's no Mrs Evans?"
Harry felt his face flush, he had never been assumed to have a wife before. But he guessed for his age it was suitable.
"No, just me," Harry replied shyly.
"Well, my wife will be thrilled, Mr Burns said with a laugh, "My granddaughter, Jane, is down here for a visit."
Harry choked at the meaning of Mr Burns' words. The older man chuckled and bid Harry farewell.
"Wait, sir," called Harry, as the said man walked past the mailbox. Mr Burns halted and turned.
"Do you know anything about who lived here before?" Harry asked, wondering if the questions that the letter gave could be answered.
"Um, no," Mr Burns replied, "The house been abandoned since the Graves died. I heard someone had bought the house but they never moved in. The cottage has been sitting here, empty, for almost thirty years."
Harry let the words sink in, it wasn't possible that Ginny Weasley had lived here before him. But who would leave a letter such as hers for him, not even Death Eaters could think of this plan to trick him.
Harry thanked Mr Burns and returned to cleaning the house. It took him the whole day to get everything spick and span. He had gone to dinner at Hamhock House with the Burns's. He had met the granddaughter, Jane, that was the young shopkeeper from before.
The dinner was lovely and the company was so familial that Harry missed it. Even the not so subtle matchmaking that Mrs Burns pushed onto Harry, didn't even sour the night. By the end of the night, Harry shoved the letter in the top drawer of his kitchen, not even bothered to wrap his head over this bizarre scenario.
Two weeks quickly passed, and with each day Harry made renovations to the cottage. He had the old wallpaper removed and the walls painted with fresh paint. He also repaired the house with magic so it wouldn't creek with each push of the wind.
Today, Harry was repainting the porch. The old wooden railing was heavy splintered and covered in flaking paint. At first, he thought of using magic to repair it but he also thought the locals would find him strange if he didn't show his face in town. So today, he was doing it the muggle way.
As Harry was in the rhythm of things, he didn't hear the distant bark of a dog until the said dog trotted up to him. The dog barked again and stepped into his tray of maroon paint. Harry jumped at the second bark. The black dog ran off, stepping his tainted paws on the wooden porch.
"Hey!" yelled Harry, wrapping his arms around the dog. The dog was large, black and shaggy, panting happily at his artwork on the floor. Harry laughed as he wiped the dog's paw with a rag. Wiping the last paw, something clicked in Harry's head. Remembering something about paw prints, he rushed inside the house and into the kitchen. Harry skimmed the letter again.
"Also, sorry about the paw prints on the porch…" Harry muttered to himself.
It had been two weeks since Ginny moved out of the cottage, she had her job at the Prophet, her flat in London and her dog. She had all she need in life but she felt empty. Sighing into her tea, Ginny glanced at her dog, Snuffles who was lazing about on the rug under her feet.
"How 'bout we go to Tintagel today?" Ginny suggested to the sleeping canine. The dog ignored her but let out a loud snore. Ginny, taking it as a sign of agreement, jumped up from her seat on the sofa, waking poor Snuffles in the process.
Within half an hour, Ginny had apparated to the outskirts of Tintagel, the closest village to the cottage. Snuffles, who had no issue with magical travel, trotted alongside Ginny with his tongue hanging out with joy.
"Ginny!" shouted a voice. Ginny turned and waved at the tall blonde that was waving at her. The younger girl crossed the street and wrapped Ginny in a friendly hug,
"Sup, girl," Ginny greeted as she looking the blue-eyed blonde that was a few years younger than her. Jane laughed at her and pulled back.
"What are you doing here?" Jane asked, "Missing Tintagel?"
"Well, Snuffles here was a little lonely. So we thought we can go on a trip," Ginny replied, patting Snuffles on the head. Snuffles barked loudly at the sound of his name causing the, to laugh.
"I won't keep you," Jane waved goodbye, "Promise to drop by the shop later. My grandparents will want you to say hello."
"Will do." Ginny promised as she walked down the street, "Do you know if anyone has moved into the cottage?"
"No, not yet."
Ginny continued, walking down the street, with Snuffles a few paces ahead of her. She loved walking so the hour walk to the cottage was a joy that she couldn't enjoy in London. Ginny remembered when she first moved in during the war. Her brother, Bill had just been married to a beautiful French and half Veela woman, and they had bought a cottage in a magical village that was twenty minutes away from Il Mare.
At the time, Ginny's boyfriend, Dean begged Ginny to go into hiding, thinking that Ginny couldn't fight. The idea had put the notion in her whole family's head that she should go into hiding. So, reluctantly Ginny moved to this cottage that was away from the fight. Ginny supposed that the only good thing that came from the whole debacle was that it ended with Ginny leaving Dean for good.
Reaching the cottage, Ginny was welcomed by the familiar sight and the sounds of the waves crashing on the cliffside. Taking a breath of the salty air, Ginny closed her eyes, letting the sound soothe her. A loud bark from Snuffles woke Ginny from her meditation. The black dog sat in front of the mailbox, barking at Ginny to get her attention.
"Hey boy, whatcha find?"
Ginny knelt to scratch behind Snuffles' ear. The black dog panted excitedly, his furry tail thumping on the ground. Snuffles barked again but this time looking at the mailbox.
"You want me to look inside?"
Snuffles didn't answer but continued to wag his tail with his tongue sticking out. Ginny laughed at the adorable canine and opened the flap of the mailbox. The letter that she had previously left was gone and its place was a new letter and it was addressed to her.
Confused, she opened the letter.
Dear Ms Weasley,
Thank you for your letter and your good wishes.
I am a little confused about when you resided at Il Mare. To my knowledge, this cottage has been vacant for thirty years. The wards that you speak of aren't here and there is no box in the attic but I am curious about those paw prints. Please write back at your earliest convenience.
Cordially,
James Evans
30 Sept 1997
A/N: Hi, thank you for the reviews! Please tell me what you think or what your theories are, I actually haven't thought about how to end this story. See you next time!
Mockthename