Harry and Kreacher were cooking curry side by side when Wazel popped into the room. Both turning at the same time, Wazel grinned at the scene. Theys friends, like us and Minnies.

"'ello Kreacher, missed yous for lunch at Hogwarts yesterdays." Turning to Harry, "And Ello Mister 'Arry, I's Wazel from McGonagall Manor. Minnie and Miss Mione are finishing up theres and will be over shortly but didn't want yous to worry."

Smiling, Harry said, "Just Harry is fine, nice to meet you, Wazel. Care for some curry? I think it should be ready now. Right, Kreacher?"

Rolling his eyes, Kreacher grumbled. "You knows it's ready, Harry. You don't need me to tell you such things."

Chuckling and shaking his head, Harry turned back to Wazel and raised his eyebrows in question.

"Ooh, tanks you, 'Arry, me loves curries. Aye, I goes tells Elsie, be right backs." And with a pop he was gone.

Kreacher went to the cabinet and pulled five bowls, and began to set the table, humming his usual gravelly tune. Smiling, Harry felt warmed by how far he and Kreacher had come since his return to Grimmauld.

Five months prior

After snapping the Elder Wand in half, Harry left a stunned Ron and Hermione and set off in search of Ginnie. He found her in a corner of the partially destroyed Great Hall, curled in on herself, looking blankly toward where her brother lay dead. Leading her to the gates, he took her home to the Burrow. He ended up staying the week, pushing aside his own processing of recent events to look after her, holding her when she woke screaming at night, making sure she ate while the rest of the Weasley's also grieved and set about funeral preparations.

None of them were prepared for Hermione's patronus, a silver otter, speaking urgently to toward Harry and Ron, seated at the family meal table with the rest of the Weasleys, "Kingsley was unable to retake the Ministry. Prepare to be arrested. Don't fight. Meet me there. Professors are helping."

Not two minutes later the Burrow was surrounded by ministry officials. Ministry officials who also happened to be Death Eaters. A magnified voice from the perimeter wheat field rang out "Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley, you are to surrender yourselves to the Ministry at once by order of Acting Minister and Under Secretary Dolores Umbridge. Your trial for numerous crimes begins in fifteen minutes. Should you refuse to show, dementors will be sent for you with instructions to kiss." Arthur and Percy both grabbed their cloaks and darted for the floo. "We'll meet you there, boys," cried Arthur before being engulfed in green flames.

Stepping from the home, Harry and Ron exited with hands raised. Immediately, they were magically bound and yanked to the edge of the property line.

"Well well, looks like we get that reward money after all, eh, boys?" Laughter rang out through the ranks before they all disappeared.

Marched inelegantly into the same chamber where Harry faced charges of underaged magic, they were met with the calm brown eyes of Hermione, already positioned in the centre of the room, legs crossed, with a vacant chair on either side of her. Harry was surprised to see her so unaffected under the annoyingly triumphant gaze of Dolores Umbridge above her. The amphitheatre was at less than half capacity and Harry only recognized a few friendly faces from his prior trial. They've fired or scared everyone else off. How are we supposed to have a fair trial when it's just purebloods and Death Eaters?

"Oh, there you are, Mister Potter and Mister Weasley," Umbridge said in her bubbly disingenuous voice, "I was afraid you both weren't going to make it." Giving them a full smile with teeth, she motioned for them to take their seats.

Harry and Ron looked at each other, silently agreeing not to say anything. Looking back up at their former professor, they both nodded and sat on either side of Hermione.

The doors burst open. "What exactly are the charges, Dolores?" an irate Minerva McGonagall asked as she swept into the room, followed by Filius Flitwick and Kingsley Shacklebolt.

"Hahem," Dolores chirped, pretending to clear her throat, "This is a closed trial, Minerva. You three are not welcome here."

"The law clearly states in a criminal trial, each defendant may have one arbiter present. I am here for Hermione Granger. Kingsley is here for Harry Potter and Filius, Ronald Weasley. It also states that such a trial may not be conducted by the Wizangamot unless sixty percent of its members are present and agree to hold the trial. The current roster," Minerva waved a document with a flourish out of her robes,"shows eighty-five total members. You have not met quorum, Dolores. You have no authority here."

The once sickly sweet face transformed into a pinched, angry scowl. "A temporary delay, nothing more! The roster shall be updated to reflect the recent turnover in the Ministry."

Kingsley's booming voice caused everyone to look in his direction. "Now that Voldermort is dead, thanks to these three, I believe that those who have been absent will now be convinced to return to work, Dolores. I have also sent personal messages to those you have intimidated from showing up due to blood status that they have full authority to return under my protection. You will not interfere with the reinstatement of these officials. Your reign of terror will end, mark my words."

Murmurs and whispers filled the gallery. Before Umbridge had a chance to respond, a voice rang out amongst the chatter, "Is he really dead, Shacklebolt?"

Kingsley turned toward the voice and nodded, "Yes. I saw him blown apart with my own eyes. I will submit my memory for anyone who wants to see it in the penceive."

"And mine." Piped up Harry, looking around at his friends and professors, who all nodded. "We all will. He's gone and he's not coming back this time."

"Hahem," Umbridge chirped again, "Hahem! Order, please! For the record, the livelihood of a certain dark wizard has no bearing on this trial, Mister Potter."

Minerva cut in, "We have already established there is no trial, Dolores. We will be taking our leave now." Looking around the room, she added, "For those wishing to see our memories, you may visit my office at Hogwarts and use the penceive there."

And with a swish of her robes she strode to the door. "Come along, clan, we're done here." Smiling at the familial term from their former professor, the golden trio got up and followed Filius and Kingsley from the room.

"Blimey, Professor, that was brilliant," muttered Ron as they walked down the hall.

Once in the main lobby, Minerva turned smiling, eyes glittering, "Thank you, Mister Weasley, I take extreme pleasure in putting that woman in her place." Looking at Harry, "Potter, now that we know Severus was on our side, Grimmauld should be safe to return to and if you're willing, perhaps we can use it for Order meetings once again. It's clear from today's display and Kingsley's reports that the death of Voldemort has not ended the movement he started. We need to be on full alert and strategize how to break through the political and media gaslighting."

"Yes, of course, Professor, I'll go there now."

Arthur and Percy approached at a trot. "There you are! We couldn't get in. The blasted elevator refused to take us to the right floor! Are you alright?" Arthur exclaimed worriedly.

"All is fine, Arthur. Dolores didn't have enough members to reach quorum for a trial," Minerva said in a confident tone. "We do, however, need to act quickly to get the missing members of the Wizengamot informed of the developments of the last week and have them report back to work or else she will have cause to change the roster count." Her eyes landed on the towering sculpture of MAGIC IS MIGHT over Arthur's shoulder and shivered, "Let's table the rest of this discussion for a general Order meeting." Looking back to Harry. "Potter, go, and send word once Grimmauld is secure. Hermione, please go with him in case our assumptions are misplaced. The way you handled the Carrows today was most impressive. I'm confident you two could take any surprises you may find."

Hermione nodded, blushing. It was the first time she had heard her former professor address her by her given name. That, compounded with the high praise, she was left quite speechless.

"Kingsley, please return to Hogwarts with me to syphon your memory. The rest of you, keep alert, wands at the ready and await my notice of when we'll meet next." The group disbanded.

Arriving at the top step of Grimmauld, Harry and Hermione drew their wands and stood listening for any signs of occupation. Just as Harry turned the knob, the door was yanked the rest of the way from the inside, pulling Harry forward into a very grumpy house-elf.

"Why you creeping on the doorsteps Master?" He grumbled as he moved away. "And you calls yourself a wizard."

"Oh hello, Kreacher. Um, how are you? Any trouble here since we've been gone?" Harry managed to get out.

Not getting an immediate answer, Hermione stepped past him and looked around. The place seemed brighter somehow. And the screeching portrait hadn't made a peep. "How did you silence Ms. Black, Kreacher?"

Eyes narrowing at Hermione, he looked as though he wouldn't answer, but his mouth began slowly muttering, "She's been gone for about a week. Kreacher figures someone's put up another portrait of her somewhere and she prefers that one."

"I thought she wasn't able to move due to the wards?" Hermione's voice now full of concern. We can't have her blabbing about Grimmauld to anyone who passes by, wherever she is!

"Well, obviously the other portrait is in someone's possession whose signature is in the wards." Rolling his eyes, "Why Master makes Kreacher speaks to hers…"

"Kreacher, anything else I need to know? Anyone been here or anything disturbed?" Harry implored.

"No, it's just been Kreacher."

"Great, it's nice to hear some good news for once." Moving toward the kitchen, Harry remembered how Sirius had taught him how to narrow his focus and reach for the wards. Grabbing a seat and resting his hands on his knees, he closed his eyes and brought the image of the front door to his mind and pulled the denseness behind the image forward, feeling for the edges of it. A geometric system of matrices began to take shape around him. He felt more than saw familiar signatures within the matrix, one in particular chaffed, and he recognized it as Mondongus Fletcher. Opening his eyes, Hermione and Kreacher were sitting on either side of him.

"Kreacher, would you bring Mondgonus here, please?"

With a loud sigh, "If Kreacher musts." And with a pop, he was gone. Not a minute later, Kreacher was back with a squirming Mondongus.

"Oy, hands off, elf" he yelped then burped, clearly intoxicated.

Harry didn't waste any time. "Hello Mondongus, I won't lie and say it's a pleasure. We won't keep you. I just have a quick question. Do you by chance have a portrait of Ms Black in your possession?"

Eyes going wide at seeing Harry and Hermione, Mondongus ripped his coat from Kreacher's grip and attempted to stand straight, teetering a bit. "Oh 'ello 'Arry, 'Ermione, glad to see you are in good health, eh?"

"Um, yeah, thanks. The portrait, do you have one or not?"

Shuffling his feet, he nodded.

"Where did you get it and where is it now?"

"Well, when I heard that Bellatrix fell, I took the opportunity to visit her residence to see if anything, you know, belonged to me."

At the mention of Bellatrix, Hermione stiffened and unconsciously gripped her left forearm. Harry, not missing the gesture, pushed forward, wanting to end this conversation as soon as possible.

"Right, okay, so where is the portrait now? I can't have her revealing the existence of Grimmauld. The war is not over, Mondongus."

"She's hangin in my portrait gallery at me home. I have no secret keeper and don't intend to, so she's safe with me, 'Arry. She's actually quite pleasant now she's not trapped here." A defiant look crossed the drunk man's face.

"Well isn't that nice for her." Harry quipped. "Alright then, you can keep her, so long as you take the unbreakable vow that you will keep her to the best of your ability. No selling, no trading, no removing her from your warded home." Extending his hand, he waited. Mondongus looked shocked that Harry would go to this length for a portrait, but after a minute of thinking about it he shrugged and took his hand. Harry glanced at Hermione, who drew her wand. A gold coil burst from the tip wrapping around their joined hands then just as quick, disappeared. Harry releasing Mondongus's dirty hand continued, "Right, so as you haven't been an active member of the Order during this entire conflict, I'm removing you from the wards as of today. You won't remember how to get here, but if you must, you can send Ms. Black with a message."

Taking a last look around, Mondongus nodded.

"Kreacher, would you please return Mondongus where you found him?" And with a pop, they were gone. Harry reached back into the wards and easily finding the dissonant signature, he imagined it gone and the matrix folded in on the point and was no more. With a sigh of relief, he opened his eyes. Smiling at Hermione, he shook his head. "Well, that's done." Suddenly serious, he added in barely a whisper, "I can't believe this isn't over, Mione."

Taking her friend's hand, Hermione squeezed. "I thought the same thing as I duelled the Carrows earlier. I am beginning to realise the things Voldemort represented won't just disappear now that he's gone. He just gave those who believed as he did an excuse to be forthright in their bigotry and prejudice."

Silence took over as they both sat absorbing the realities the day revealed hands still joined.

Kreacher popped back into the room. "Good riddance, Master. Kreacher never liked that wizard."

"Yeah, me neither." Harry agreed with a slight smile. Removing his hand from Hermione's he got up and knelt before Kreacher.

"I'm going to move in here, Kreacher," and looking back at Hermione with a question in his eyes. She smiled and nodded. Returning his gaze to the wary looking elf, "and Hermione is going to stay with us too. And I'd like us all to live together like flatmates. Not like master and servant."

Eyes widening, Kreacher barked out "Why's you like this?"

"Kreacher, for the first eleven years of my life, I was treated very much like an enslaved house-elf. I thanklessly cooked and cleaned and even lived in a cupboard under the stairs. I wish that life for nobody, not even one who may hate me like you do. I'd like to live with you, not you living a life to serve me. I think we can learn a lot from each other and I'd like that opportunity. If you'd let me."

Kreacher blinked, "Kreacher don't hates you, Master."

"And about that, I'd like it if you would stop calling me that, please. My name is Harry, just Harry, alright? I am no one's master." After a long pause, he added hopefully, "So what do you say, Kreacher? Want to be my roommate?"

Kreacher made a strange sound, and after a moment, Harry realised it was laughter. Beaming, Harry barked out a laugh too. Holding out his hand, Kreacher looked at it then took it and shook it firmly. A tingling sensation passed between the two, acknowledging the inherited subservient bond had been lifted.

Harry got up from the floor, glancing at Hermione who had tears in her eyes, he smiled. "Where did we leave that gift for Kreacher, Mione? Do you remember?"

Wiping her eyes, Hermione left the kitchen, returning with a flat midnight blue box tied with a silk purple ribbon. Bringing it over she handed it to Harry, who offered it to Kreacher, "If you hate it we can return it for something else, but Hermione and I thought the style would suit you."

Opening the box, Kreacher unfolded a set of deep purple tailored robes, tastefully trimmed in gold. His big eyes teared up and snapping his fingers, he was suddenly wearing them instead of his usual dirty rags. Walking over to the mirror panelled bar cabinet, he took in his reflection, turning this way and that. Meeting Harry's eyes in the mirror, he breathlessly muttered, "Thanks you, Harry. I likes them very much." And with a pop, he was gone. It was not lost on Harry that it was the first time he'd heard Kreacher refer to himself in the first person. Grinning at his reflection, Harry pumped his fist in the air before pulling Hermione in for a hug. Now we're getting somewhere!

Sept 27 14:00 (Present)

Wazel popped back into the kitchen loaded with a basket of white and brown bread rolls, a plate of chocolate biscuits, and a large thermos of coffee. "Tanks for havin me. I cannae remember the last time I was invited for lunch, outside of Hogwarts a'course."

"Anytime, Wazel, always happy to welcome a friend of Minerva's." Harry replied, scooping curry into three bowls.

Wazel wiggled his ears as he laid out his contributions on the table. He cares for my Minnies. Oh what a nice weekends we's havin. So many new friends. Taking his seat at the table, he grinned at Harry and Kreacher before taking a spoonful of the fragrant yellow curry. "Mmm, well dones, yous. Imma gunna needs this recipe." Harry beamed, knowing it extremely high praise when a house-elf compliments your food. The three ate in companionable silence with just the sounds of spoons scraping the bottoms of bowls and the occasional slurp and smack of lips.

Wazel poured the coffee and doled out the biscuits. Just as Harry was about to swallow his first sip of coffee, an owl flew into the room. Choking a bit, Harry had a sinking feeling as the deja-vu from yesterday hit strongly. How is this possible? Hermione and Minerva wouldn't send an owl and they are the only ones left in the wards!

The owl impatiently shook his foot at Harry. With an unsteady hand, he took the rolled parchment and offered the owl some bread before it flew off. He put the paper in front of him and just stared at it.

Wazel sensing Harry's fear, reached over and put his hand over Harry's. "Wants me to go gets Minnie and Mione, 'Arry?"

Meeting the kind elf's eyes, "Uh, yes. Please. Thank you, Wazel." And with a pop Wazel was gone.

Harry closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, reached for the small scroll. Calling upon his Gryffindor courage, he opened his eyes and unfurled the note.

In a script he hadn't seen since he was a student at Hogwarts, but knew like it was imprinted on his soul, were the words scrawled in Albus Dumbledore's unique handwriting:

You missed one.