Note: I know I said this is one shot, but I decided that I will be adding some more. It won't happen often, but I plan to add one or two chapters per the date mentioned in the first chapter. Someone made a review that this wasn't a story so I will try to make it into one.
August 1997.
The Grimmauld place, number 12 was as grim as ever, Harry thought, as he observed the interior of dining room.
There was no source of natural light, it was rather provided by hanging light fixtures. The room was occupied by a long, wooden table, surrounded by chairs made of matching wood. It featured a massive dresser holding the Black family crest and dusty china.
"Kreacher!" he called into the empty room, but old elf appeared immediately, bowing deeply and murmuring, 'Master Called.'
"Hey Kreacher," he started carefully, hoping that the elf won't make any problems after he fought with them in the last battle. "Can you, umm, make this place a bit...brighter? And maybe bring me something to eat?"
"Kreacher can, master. Kreacher will start immediately," he responded, popping away and Harry sat on one of the dusty chairs.
He wished he could just conjure a comfy armchair like Dumbledore did when they attended disciplinary hearing a few years ago, but he couldn't. He simply wasn't that good wizard. He didn't even finish his education at Hogwarts and, to be truthful, the only field he was good in was the defense against dark arts.
His train of thoughts, however, went south once he started to think about Hogwarts. The pictures of Dumbledore, Remus, Colic Creevy, Fred, and many others started to mercilessly invade his mind and there was nothing he could do to stop it so he cried.
As his tears flew down his face, ironically, he thought of Severus Snape and his silver tears that explained so much. How he was just a lamb raised for a slaughter, to die for whole magical community. In the end, he did so, but it still made him angry, the thought that he had no real control over his life until now.
However, he did the impossible once again, and he survived. For the first time in his life, he had a chance to live, to have a family, to love and to be loved.
He wished he could block everything like Snape could. 'Control your emotions!' Snape yelled at him in his 5th year. "Discipline your mind!'
But he couldn't. He tried to reconcile with Ginny, but that only brought more pain as he was forced to watch Weasleys suffering and grieving. He tried to visit his godson, but the only thing he visited was a place of memories and more pain so Andromeda shooed him away. He tried to hang out with his best friends, but because of their relationship he constantly felt like he didn't belong with them so he retreated away, in his own house, left to him by Sirius, his godfather.
Kreacher popped back, holding a meal of kidney-and-meat pie that smelled deliciously and swiftly served it to Harry, who attacked it with gusto, happy to have any sort of distraction from his thoughts.
However, when he finished half of it, another thought popped in his mind.
"What should I do?" he asked desperately and jumped from his chair, reaching for his wand when the empty room responded.
"Master should check his gold in Gringotts. Master should become a better wizard, worthy of The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. Master should make sure that filthy mudbloods and blood-traitors from the ministry don't bother Master because he killed Dark Lord and others and Master should eat more," Kreacher droned, almost sounding concerned as he pretended to dust the family crest.
Harry breathed out, and put his wand back in the front pocket in order to avoid losing his buttocks, according to Moody. Thinking about elf's proposition, he decided he really should do something to reconcile his relationship with Goblins.
"I'll go to Gringotts later, then. Thank you Kreacher."
"Master is too kind," elf bowed again and Harry decided he won't bother with thanking him anymore. It seemed elf didn't appreciate it and Dumbledore once told him that Kreacher is what he was made by wizards. Who is he to change that?
"Kreacher will prepare best robes for Master," the elf said as Harry scoffed.
"What robes? I have no good ones."
"Master Regulus had many. Master Harry has a similar height and build. They will fit."
(...)
Harry stumbled out of floo, barely managing to stay on his feet, and every face in Leaky Cauldron turned towards him. Their eyes widened as they recognized him and he cursed under his breath, praying they will shake his hand only once.
Unfortunately, he undermined his own fame and managed to escape the inn only after a few very long hours.
"Bloody hell," he murmured, as he tapped the right brick and entered the Diagon alley. He was sad to see that many of the shops that graced it were still closed; some were demolished, some had newspapers glued on their windows and some, like Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes just looked abandoned and lifeless.
He swore to change that. He will personally drag George in there if he has to, if only to continue Fred's lifework he shared with his twin. Harry knew that was what Fred would like, after all, it was their dream.
He also had one darker thought, in which he wished that George had left this world with his twin, with the same mischievous grin on his face in his last moments. However, Harry learned a long time ago that fate was a cruel bitch, and there was nothing he could do to rectify that.
As he reached Gringotts, he shook his head, in an attempt to drive away this kind of thought and swept away invisible dust from his shoulder. With a heavy sigh, he encouraged himself to proceed in the enormous, white building.
Two goblin guards, once they realized who he was, changed their posture immediately. They narrowed their eyes, pointed their weapons towards him, and waited.
"Umm, hello," he started stupidly, but quickly continued when one of the guards started to advance at him, "I'd like to speak to your boss."
"What about, wizard?" We don't do business with thieves," one that was closer to him spat.
"I am not a thief!" he hotly replied, surprising both of them and himself with a loud crack of accidental magic that followed after his outburst.
"Listen," he tried again, "I know I did wrong by you and I was just wondering if I could speak to whoever is in charge of the bank so we could talk about it. Maybe even reach some kind of agreement."
Two goblins exchanged brief glance and then, to Harry's relief, the closer one nodded and slightly dropped his guard. The way to their chief was a long one and Harry tried to remember the way, but it was impossible to do so. They turned right or left too many times to count, all hallways looked the same and goblin walked at an incredibly fast pace for his height.
Finally, they arrived in front of the big, dark entrance that looked just like the vault door. Goblin gently stroked it and Harry could hear complicated mechanisms working its job as the massive door slowly opened. Not feeling that brave, but refusing to show it, he stepped inside.
"Sit down, Mr. Potter," the voice of the ancient goblin reached him. Harry squinted his eyes to see him better while he took his seat. And indeed, the goblin looked almost as old as Kreacher, his skin grey and lose, his eyes old and tired, his movements slow and short.
"The damage done to the Gringotts bank was extensive, but that is just the beginning. We lost 24 Goblins, 5 wizards, and, as you are already aware, one dragon. Damage can be repaired, a new dragon can be trained and other wizards can be hired, but the loss my kind experienced cannot be forgotten. Family members cannot be replaced, loved one cannot be brought back from the land beyond us," old goblin droned as Harry squirmed in his seat, not knowing what to say. He didn't acknowledged indifference old goblin showed towards the dead wizards.
"As you are already aware, there is no love between our kinds. There never was, but still, you showed some minor compassion towards us when you saved traitor from the dungeon of Malfoy manor. Griphook was his name, I believe."
"Even knowing what you did to us, you dared to approach us, in order to repent for your sins and to fix the relationship between us. Something your government hasn't deemed necessary to do."
"They probably blame you because you served him," Harry finally dared to say, but in a neutral tone.
"Served him?" old goblin breathed out, looking even more tired than before, "We did what we have been doing all those years; performing our duties to your kin at the best of our ability. Your laws forbid us to stand against your ministry and now we are blamed because we didn't do so. Even if I could, I wouldn't do so..."
"Why?" Harry interrupted, angrily, "Why have you let bloody children to fight the war you cooked for yourself?"
Goblin gave him a long look, his eyes fixed on Harry, "We have been in war for centuries, wizard, and we didn't care much if you changed one dictator for another. Nothing has changed for us, except we were in even more danger than before. You asked me why we didn't stand up against your Dark Lord? We didn't because I said no," goblin stopped to take two deep breaths before he continued, "Imagine being remembered as the last king of your kingdom, as the last goblin, as a goblin who was responsible for the extermination of his own race."
Harry thought it over, agreeing with a goblin on some points and disagreeing on others, but spoke none of them. Instead he bluntly stated, "So can we reach some kind of agreement? I really need my gold."
"You are a strange wizard," goblin uttered words Harry already heard once before, but this time he hadn't cared about them.
"So I've been told."
"Half of your fortunes," goblin finally decided after few seconds. Harry was ready to counter it, but then he got an idea.
"And you won't bother Weasleys and Hermione with this," he tried and goblin merely nodded, writing something down.
"Half of your fortunes," he repeated, "And a promise."
"What promise?" he asked warily, remembering his last deal with a goblin.
"Simple one, wizard, one that goblins will give to you too. Vow to never act violently against each other."
Harry thought it over carefully, trying to think of any hidden meaning of such a vow. When he found none, he agreed, but had to ask, "Why that? I mean, I'm not a strong wizard and I don't care much about politics."
"There is little we, goblins, can do to stop your prejudice and hate towards us, and every time when I can, I protect my people with such a vow. Every wizard that vowed not to act against us, is one less enemy to be worried about. And you are young, but magical beings live long and who knows what would you be in 50 years."
It was a good argument, Harry noticed, but it didn't change his mind. Everything he ever wanted was a peaceful life and this oath won't stop it in any way.
(...)
Happy with his new deal with goblins, Harry immediately sent Patronus to invite his best friends, Ron and Hermione, over to tell them the good news and to catch up. True, they haven't seen each other only for a few days, but still, they were always together and Harry felt weird without their presence.
Sure, he knew how they would react when they saw him; Ron would want to talk about mundane things with his best mate in order to escape from the world of grief that Weasley family was currently and Hermione would ask him how was he and if he was alright on his own. She would pester him in order to forget that she had left her parents in Australia, hoping they are happier than they were with her.
Ron arrived first, casually walking in, as if it were his own house. Harry didn't mind. They would always be welcome.
"You look like a ponce, mate," his friend greeted him, causing Harry to inspect his robes once again.
"The best robes I have, according to Kreacher," Harry defended, leading Ron in the dining room.
"Master looks like a proper wizard," Kreacher revealed himself, "Anything for the guest?"
"Bring us some butterbeer," Harry ordered.
"And cookies," Ron added, sitting down. They stood in silence for a while, waiting for Kreacher to serve them.
"So," Ron started, "Your Patronus sounded excited."
"Yeah, well, I was in Gringotts," Harry started, but Ron interrupted him immediately.
"What? Are you mad? You are lucky they didn't behead you and put it in the middle of Diagon."
Harry just shrugged, and answered, "They agreed that it was Riddle's fault."
Ron gaped in disbelief, remained like that for a few seconds, and then laughed out loud and clapped Harry's back, "You reckless idiot! You bastard, HAH, you did it? Bloody hell, mate, what have they asked in return?"
Harry sighed. So much for his hopes that they wouldn't think of that.
"Some gold," he replied, trying to sound casual. He knew that gold was not a good topic to reach with Ron so he tried to get over it as soon as possible. He decided not to tell them about the promise part.
Before Ron could answer, however, Hermione appeared and rushed to hug Harry. He spread his hands, ready for one of the tight hugs she liked to give and returned to his seat. They sat in silence for a whole minute when Ron decided to break the tension Harry didn't know existed.
"Chudley Cannons won their last match," he blurted out. Harry and Hermione looked at him in disbelief and then, a few seconds later, fell into the round of laughter. Just like that, the tension was broken and they happily continued to catch up.
"Are you returning to Hogwarts?" Hermione asked him.
"Umm, I don't think so. It is just, you know," he trailed, his eyes unfocused and she grabbed his hand, squeezing it in a comforting way.
"Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry. I just..." she started, but he had to interrupt her.
"It's okay. There are enough books here for me to catch up and some of the portraits already agreed to share a thing or two," he changed the topic.
"Are you sure that is safe?" she asked.
"Yeah, I mean aren't books here a little bit...you know...evil?" Ron added.
"Ron, they're just books and Hermione, yeah, I think it's safe. It's just...after seeing Riddle in action I realized how little I really know. Here, at home, I can focus on my studies without everyone whispering about me and pointing their fingers," he ranted and he knew they understood. He could see it in their eyes. Deep understanding born out of many years of friendship and numerous attempts at their, but mostly his, life.
"We get it, bloody hell, we get it. I mean, some people point at me now and I have no idea how could I be jealous of you, like ever."
"So, will you make some kind of schedule for your studies or? I can send you notes from Hogwarts if you want," Hermione returned to the topic.
"Well, I think I'll do only a few subjects at the time. I kinda want to go over the things we did in 6th year, you know, to see if I'm still pants at magic," he replied, scratching his head.
"Don't be like that. You are not unintelligent, you just had a, well, intriguing school years. I'm sure you will catch up in no time," she smiled at him and he smiled back. He really needed some encouragement.
"Yeah. I mean if I passed my second year with a broken wand, Chosen One won't have any problems with a Death Stick," Ron joked, but Hermione got serious.
"A-are you using it? Or your own wand?" Harry hesitated before answering. He didn't want to speak about hallows or about strange feelings they gave him.
"Yeah," he finally decided on an answer, "I use my own in public and so, but I do new spells and stuff with it."
"Is there really any difference?" Ron wanted to know, "Is it really that powerful?"
"No," Harry slowly replied, "But it kinda knows what I want. I pick up new things faster and sometimes it goes to my hand when I think about it. It feels more, dunno, natural?"
They both remained silent after his explanation so he hurried to point their conversation into safer waters.
"Anyway, do you guys have any idea what to do once you got your NEWTs?"
"Kingsley offered me an auror position if I get passable grades. I think I'll take it. There's not much I'm good at anyway," Ron indulged him, "That is if things are okay at home till then. I'll stay at home if mom and George don't break out of their depression."
"I still don't know," Hermione added, sending a sad look towards Ron. Harry knew why she didn't comment. She wanted him to focus on his own life, but couldn't reprimand him for wanting to help his family. Harry would do the same if he had any left.
"I want to do something for the betterment of the whole magical world, not only wizards and witches. Honestly, it is time for some progress and I'm planning on introducing some open-minded ideas, if I can," she explained and Harry smiled. She really was a noble girl and Harry really wanted her to succeed.
"What about you?" Ron asked him quietly. He had a strange look on his face, one Harry couldn't interpret. It was something between pity and understanding, but it didn't make any sense to Harry.
"Dunno. Maybe travel a bit, see the world."
"That would be nice," Hermione commented, but Harry felt a need to explain himself further.
"I mean, I remember when I saw Diagon for the first time. I was so curious about magic. I wanted to know how everything worked, I wondered about the limits of magic. I-I wondered if there was a way to bring them back. Especially when I saw that blasted mirror for the first time," he continued passionately, noticing the dark look on Ron's face and a tear in Hermione's eye, "and where did that wonder disappear? There is so much to magic, but we were never able to research it properly because grown-ups fucked up everything and pushed us into the war we were far too young to be a part of. Now, instead of that wonder, I have PTSD and never-ending nightmares. Didn't we deserve some peace? Some time off?"
He was breathing deeply when he finished, cursing himself once again because of his inability to control his temper.
"You deserved it, sure, but you'll never have any peace here," Ron told him bluntly, "You are a celebrity. Your name is spoken in the same line as Dumbledore's and everyone is expecting you to fix everything and dunno whatnot."
"Yeah," Harry stated, defeated, because he knew it was the truth, "I know."
(...)
Days have passed, and Harry stopped inviting his friends over. He missed them, but the last conversation with them showed him that it was too early. They were living reminders of what he has lived through and it was too much for him to cope.
These days were pure torture for Harry; sleep denied him its sweet escape from the reality, food had no taste, potions effects were reduced... Only solace and distraction he could find in the house were books and portraits and their ageless knowledge.
Annoyingly, portraits decided that he was some kind of a lord and insisted on using that phrase to address him when working with him. Kreacher, always loyal to deceased Blacks, adopted the name too.
It was early in the morning, the sun barely showed itself, when Kreacher finally managed to convince Harry to deal with letters that kept coming.
"What in the Merlins name is this?" he said loudly when Kreacher showed him the room he called 'the letter room' and the name finally made sense to Harry; there was hundred of letters on the pile that covered most of the room and every few seconds a new one arrived.
"People being grateful to you, my lord," Kreacher explained," These being presents, invitations, letter of gratitude, cursed letters, and many more."
"Can you just split the useless ones from important ones?" Harry asked hopefully, but elf quickly crushed his hopes.
"Kreacher knows not what is important to lord Harry. Kreacher can only get rid of cursed ones."
"How do you know which ones are cursed?" Harry asked curiously.
"House be telling. Old masters took safety very seriously. They been putting many magics around the house to tell if the items are evil."
"Why don't they tell me?" he demanded to know.
"Master isn't in charge of the magic surrounding the house and even then the house will tell only if it is very evil. It is elf's job to protect his masters."
"Oh. Do you know how to do that?"
"Mistress knows, m' lord, master, you should be asking her," Kreacher directed him, much to his dismay.
"Okay then. Get rid of cursed ones, I don't want to read those and see if there are some by Kingsley, Ron, or Hermione. If there is, put them on top, okay?"
"Yes, my lord," old elf dutifully replied and Harry just sighed, preparing himself for a conversation with infamous Walburga Black. Deciding there was no sense in delaying the inevitable, he made his way in the hall, where the portrait was and took a deep breath.
"Mrs. Black?" he called quietly, pulling the curtain that was over it away.
"You! Filthy half-blood has returned to defile the house of my fathers. YOU ARE A DISGRACE, just like your godfather was," she started, but Harry was more than used to her demeanor and interrupted her.
"Yeah, yeah, I know, but I am the owner of the house and therefore the only way for this noble house to reach its previous status," he stated casually. It wasn't the truth of course, since both Malfoy and Teddy could inherit the line, but the portrait didn't have to know that.
"So, as much of a disgrace I am, I'm also your only way to preserve the blood you seem to like so much."
"Filthy blood," she corrected, causing Harry to sigh again, but also added, "What do you want?"
Now that he got her attention, he could share some more with her, he decided, "I wanted to bring remaining members of the family back. Narcissa and Draco Malfoy, who are waiting for the trial, and Andromeda and Teddy."
"More filth! Not worthy of our ancestry," she decided, but Harry ignored her.
"And to do so, I have to take control over the wards."
She was observing him, Harry noticed, and at that moment she looked more sane than he had remembered. Deciding to go along with he waited.
"You are a bit on a short side for a true Black," she finally commented, sniffing loudly in an obvious disdain, "But you do have some of our looks. If you let your hair grow, you might even curb it and look somewhat presentable."
Harry just raised his eyebrow. Does his look really mattered?
"You are underfed, you wear rags, and you look like you haven't been asleep in years," she sniffed again.
"Fix that, and I'll teach you."
"How to take control of the wards?" he wanted to be sure.
"That," insane, old woman confirmed, but added, "And much more."
Harry smiled in relief, "See you in a few days then," he said, but she just frowned, murmuring something too quiet for him to hear. Not bothering with it, he turned around and groaned as he remembered a huge pile of letters that awaited for him.
"MASTER," he suddenly heard, "WE WILL BE BURNING SOME IF THEY KEEP COMING," mad elf continued and Harry wondered why did he sounded amused.
When he arrived, the difference in the number of letters was clear and Kreacher's amusement now made sense. Harry groaned again.