Disclaimer: Mr. H. Potter and the universe in which he resides belongs not to me, but to it's author J.K Rowling.

Chapter 4

June 28 1998

Harry Potter looked unusually downcast as he stared down into his kitchen table. Silence filled the kitchen at Number 12 Grimmauld Place.

'I thought it would be easier now. You know, to live my life, to be a regular bloke. But all the things that have happened... well, I... I haven't been sleeping well.' he mumbled it so quietly that Hermione almost misses it.

Kreacher is off organizing his precious collection of Black family heirlooms, which Harry has decided to let him keep in the attic after cleaning it out with him. Kreacher has also moved a select few heirlooms into his new dwelling in a large unused pantry in the kitchen, which Harry has helpfully repainted and cleaned up for him, even going out and getting a children's bed frame and shrinking it down so Kreacher has a proper place to sleep. 'A mattress in a cupboard is not a fit place for anyone.' he insisted in a most grim tone as he meticulously hung a gallery of Kreachers favourite Black family members on the wall around the shelf and cupboard he had installed there for the elf to keep his things in, and it broke Hermione's heart to hear the hollow note of his voice. She knows the wounds from Harry's childhood run deep, but it isn't something they ever talk about if it can be avoided.

Hermione clutched her coffee mug as tears threaten to fall.

'I've had some trouble with that myself.' she confessed. 'Any other news?'
'I am going to move into Grimmauld Place permanently. I'm hiring another house elf to help Kreacher and... well, you're still welcome to stay with me if you want. We're getting rid of the last Dark stuff soon, too.'
'Do you think you can?'
'Clean it up completely? Yeah. I've... I've written to Narcissa Malfoy about it. She reckons she knows the old family spells that Sirius never learned. She also reckons some of the portraits might actually willingly get off the walls if she's taking them. So... it should be fine. The Ministry is holding her, but they're going to let her help me.'
'Wow. Just... wow, Harry. You trust her to help you?'
'I don't think I have much choice. And she did save my life, you know. The Auror detail she has at all times also feels rather comforting.' he flashed her a smile, 'Would you like to move in with me then or are you just going to live in that tent forever?'

She leans back in mock sincerity, seemingly thinking it over.

'Well, it's a tough decision. On the one hand you've got this large, comfortable house and on the other I have my wonderful tent. Although I suppose... I don't know if you've ever been camping, Harry, but living in a tent can actually get rather tedious after a while.'

They both chuckled at that before silence fell and she deliberates only for a few moments longer before deciding this is the time to confess.

'I'm not staying in the tent forever, obviously. However, I am also not moving in with you, Harry. I am moving away for a while. Away from all of this.'

Harry nodded, but seems to steel himself, gripping his mug tightly. After a tense few moments he looked up.

'Hermione, it's not your fault. It isn't anyones fault. You did the best you could, you did what you had to do. I can see you're blaming yourself, but you really shouldn't.' gripping his mug like a lifeline he continues, 'I always wanted to be a Weasley, you know. But in the end... well, you and I have always been the odd ones out, haven't we? Ron... I don't think he knows what it's like, really, to be alone like we are. He's never experienced it. You and I are different. Our families have never understood or been a part of our lives in that way and... Well, in Godric's Hollow... for all that happened I'm still glad it was you I shared my first trip there with. We've only got each other. We're family, you and I, as far as I'm concerned. We've still got each other.'
'Oh, Harry! That's... well, I mean to say... I... I think of you the same way.'

She sighed.

'They're staying in Australia, Harry. My parents. They aren't really that angry with me. Death Eaters blowing up our street sort of demonstrated my point rather brilliantly, and Australia has really been agreeing with them. I've saved their lives, even if some of their memories might have been lost. I had no way of knowing I needed to protect all my neighbours as well, though. I...'

She broke off. It didn't matter how guilty she was or wasn't, the guilt she felt weighed as heavy on her either way. People were dead because of her. They'd never even known there was any danger. She hadn't even thought to warn her neighbours to look out for people in funny costumes or dark cloaks...

'The Dursleys are moving to back to Surrey. They've been hiding out in Ireland, apparently. I met Dudley the other day at their debriefing. He's spent all his time exercising and reading and keeping his head down. He's... well-mannered and stuff. It's beyond weird. He's changed so much.' Harry interjects.

'Haven't we all?' she paused, staring into her tea cup for a few seconds.

She sighed before plodding on.

'I'm going back to Australia, too. Nobody there knows me. I can finish school, spend a few years not being hounded by those bloody annoying Prophet photographers. Hopefully spending time in actual sunshine. You know... the sort of thing you could also need.' she gives him a warm smile.

'That is a very interesting offer, Hermione.' he looks impressed that she has offered, but not all together interested. This will not do.

'Well, in all honesty, Harry... you can't stay here. This isn't a home, it's a bloody mausoleum of awful memories. You'll never find peace here. Clean it up, by all means, but don't stay here. You need new surroundings.'

He stares at her, astonished. She huffs, annoyed that she has to be the one to point out the obvious.

'Harry, I've been thinking it over and well... what we need now isn't for the bad part to be over. It is already. What we need is for the good part to begin. Let's go somewhere we can not only be rid of the bad, but where we can embrace the good, alright?'

After several moments of seemingly turning it over in his mind, he looks over at her, cautiously.

'I suppose you're right. When do we tell Ron?'

June 1998 St. Mungo's Hospital

'How are you feeling mrs. Lestrange?'
'I... well, I don't...'

Bellatrix Lestrange burst into tears in front of no less than five Aurors, the Minister of Magic himself, and two Healers. Once she would have considered it humiliating, now she no longer cared much for her dignity.

'We've some things to discuss with you, madame Lestrange.' boomed the Minister, not much moved by her rather dramatic display of emotion.

'I think you should know the terms of your incarceration, and how we are proceeding with you. These are things I feel everyone has the right to know.
First, we've put a lock on your magic. Second, your assets have been seized to aid the Ministry in its recovery process. You should consider yourself under arrest, as a recently captured escaped convict. For the time being we will not start the trial preparations, as you have some health concerns that need to be addressed.
The third thing I wanted to inform you of is that... we've had some security breaches. You will be moved to a containment location where you will reside until further notice, where there will be Healers to help with your... recovery.'

He considered her, with obvious distaste.

'That is all, I suppose. Good day to you.'

And he stalked out.

I've spent the last 18 years working for freedom, and all I've earned myself is a smaller box in which to live. Sod it all. When Bellatrix is dragged none too kindly from her bed by the Auror nearest her she does not protest.

February 1962 Slytherin Common Room

'Have you ever seen a Muggle, Rod?'
'No, I haven't. But my father says that they are complete beasts. I wouldn't want to be around such filth, I shouldn't think.'
'They're awfully dangerous, you know. Before the Statute they used to murder witches and wizards in droves. They burned them for the most part.'
'I saw in 'A History of Magic' that it doesn't work most of the time. They're too stupid, can't do it right. Forget to take away their wands, see.'
'Oh, it does work! My father told me all about it. They lie to us, Rod, the ones who like Muggles. But my father showed me some books that tell the truth about Muggles. They can kill us. Think about it, they killed that Gryffindor ghost, didn't they? They drown us and they burn us and they hate us all. Witches especially, though. That's why we can never go near them, my father says. They're too jealous of our magic and they'll kill us to get to it. Father won't even take us to our aunt and uncles' house in London except by Floo because they live in a Muggle area.'
'Have you seen any Muggles there, then?'
'Yes.'

Bellatrix's eyes shone with excitement. Her voice was a reverent whisper now.

'I've seen them walking around outside, but they can't see us, see? I can see them from the window in the library.'
'What do they look like, then?'
'Oh, well... they look very strange in their costumes, and... well, there's a sort of dullness about them. Like they're missing something.'
'Wow.' Rodolphus beams at her conspiratorially.
'My mother told me they burnt down our family's house before the Statute of Secrecy. There were lots of kids in the house, and they all died! It wasn't for any reason at all except our magic.'
'That's horrible, Trix! That's why we came to Britain, too. In France, you're even expected to mingle with the filth.'
Rodolphus' face takes on a contemplative expression.
'Do you think the Mudbloods are like that, too?'
'I don't know. My father says it's best to stay away from them. Just to be safe. They expose our world to Muggles, after all. They're not to be trusted.'

Rodolphus nods, and they lean over their Potions homework once more. It has been almost 6 months since they've first seen a Muggleborn but they haven't yet dared speak to one.