The house had stood dark for the last five years. Not a soul had come or gone, but the neighbors never noticed. In fact, they made it seem as if the house didn't exist at all. They're eyes would seamlessly travel from number 11 to number 13, and if anyone asked about number 12, they would laugh and say that the builders had forgotten that 13 was supposed to be the unlucky number, not 12.
But to those who knew where it was, Number 12 Grimmauld Place standing dark and abandoned was a sad reminder of someone who was lost. The only saving grace they had, was that it had remained hidden over the years. To them, it meant that its previous occupant was still out there somewhere, even if they couldn't come home.
People had long since stopped coming by just to see if the house's occupant had returned. Occasionally, someone would glance over from the park down the block before shaking their head and moving on. But even that hadn't happened in months.
There was no one around to see the flash of green light in the sitting room window. Or a candle sputter into life as a shadowed figure looked down on the street from the top floor. Eventually the figure turned away, and the light was doused once more. But for the first time in many years, someone appeared to be living in Grimmauld Place.