Chapter Three

Don't Take #12 Grimmauld Place Lightly, If You Know What's Good For You

Harry Potter awoke to the sound of a rooster crowing. He swung his legs over the bed. When his feet hit the floor, he said, "Thank you, please go back to sleep." That was his system for making sure he didn't go back to sleep. Feet on the floor, tell the rooster to shut up. Get up, walk to the kitchen, start the coffee maker, walk to the bathroom, shower, shave, brush teeth, back to the kitchen, pour a cup of coffee, walk to the bedroom, get dressed, back to the kitchen, turn off the coffee maker, rinse cup and leave in the drainer, walk to the living room, take the floo to #12 Grimmauld Place, London.

Harry Potter was an Auror with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement of the British Ministry for Magic. He owned a townhouse at #12 Grimmauld Place but chose not to live there full time, because, frankly, the place was too big for one person and it kind of creeped him out. He liked to keep his apartment because it was so manageable. That was where the enchanted rooster statuette resided. He had brought it to #12 once when he slept there and the rooster couldn't crow in the morning. He took it back to his apartment and it worked just fine. No one could find anything wrong with the rooster. He asked his friend Hermione Weasley, nee Granger, what she thought the problem might be. Hermione knew much more than Harry knew about witchcraft, and what she didn't know, she knew where to look it up.

"Spell." Hermione said with some air of finality.

"This is so ironic," Harry said, "but that is the part I'd already figured out. What are the probabilities?"

"Harry," Hermione said, with a good bit of frustration in her voice, "#12 has had the Black family in residence since I don't know when, but at least as far back as the thirteenth century. The Black family loved its mischief. Look at the family tree tapestry and count the portraits that have been burned out. The Noble and Ancient House of Black kicked people out who weren't up to their standards, those being largely based on mischief, by whom, how much, and most importantly, how serious was it?"

"Now," Hermione continued, "if you took a rooster alarm clock to #12 and it didn't function, and then you took it someplace else and it worked fine, I would venture to guess #12 didn't want a rooster alarm clock on the premises, and I would back off and leave it alone before #12 took umbrage and something really unfortunate occurred. Why don't you ask Kreacher for wake-up service next time you sleep over? He gets cranky when he's underutilized."

Harry had reconciled himself to the fact that he would not have the use of his chicken statuette at #12 whenever he stayed over. The Noble and Ancient House of Black, the male bloodline of which was now extinct following the death of Harry's godfather, Sirius Black, had expressed its desire to remain crowing rooster statuette-free.

It was Sirius Black's untimely death at the hand of his cousin, Bellatrix Lestrange, that caused the handsome townhouse to become Harry's property. Unmarried, childless Sirius had willed his earthly possessions to his godson, Harry. Although the bequest was a bit out of the ordinary, when reviewed by the Ministry for Magic, it was found to be legal and binding. Harry inherited the house, as well as Kreacher, the house elf bonded to #12, the responsibilities of Head of the Ancient and Noble House of Black, a signet ring he feared wearing as he suspected it was thoroughly and irretrievably cursed, and some ancient rights to conduct activities including the sale of cockles, barnacles and scallops at a market on a Black estate in Cornwall.

Harry knew he had put too little time into his personal business. On the other hand, he had a secure job with the Ministry of Magic, wizarding's equivalent of civil service. Unless dismissed for cause he had his job until he retired, after which he would be paid a pension until he died. Of course, an auror could die in the line of duty, in which case his personal business would be moot.

Harry's life to this point had been too chaotic to allow him to do anything but cope. Voldemort had hunted him relentlessly, finally getting what he wanted, a one-on-one shootout with Harry, only to lose in the most spectacular fashion. Harry had gone on to auror training and a career with the DMLE, the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. That had its own demands, and Harry found the work compelling. What little free time he had he spent with friends, or practicing forms in a dojo he created in an unused room upstairs at #12. He could spend hours polishing his technique in front of the mirrored wall that he had installed.

After owning the house for almost a decade, Harry was beginning to understand something of its power. He had been working out in the dojo for months when he started building on his auror training, developing forms for battling multiple opponents simultaneously. One day he got into his stance to begin his forms, and found three enchanted mannequins had materialized in the dojo. Harry raised his wand, and the mannequins did the same. He cast a spell at one, blocked the second, and stepped out of the way of a bolt of blue light from the third. The mannequins were the aggressors, then went over to defense. When Harry defeated them two or three times in sequence, they changed tactics, or got faster, always forcing him to exceed his last effort, or suffer a blast from a mannequin's wand.

After the second workout with the mannequins, Harry was hooked. He didn't know exactly how, but the dojo anticipated his needs. When he sensed he needed more work on responding to a single opponent, he faced a single, highly skilled duellist. The opponent was always just a little bit faster, more nimble, more accurate with his wand placement. The dojo even seemed to have a sense of humor, as one time it sent ten beefy mannequins with clubs, chains and steel-toed boots after Harry, in the kind of attack one might expect from a street crew that preferred brawling to wand work.

The next time Harry came to #12, Kreacher met him at the door. "Good afternoon, Master Harry," said Kreacher, "and welcome. Kreacher has just made tea, which is waiting for you in the kitchen."

"Thank you, Kreacher, that is the best news I have had all day. What kind did you make?"

"Master Harry's favorite, of course," said the elf. "From the chest you brought home from India."

Harry didn't ask how Kreacher knew he would stop at #12 after work, or how he knew when to have the tea brewing.

After taking a sip of tea, Harry said, "Perfect as always, Kreacher. My favorite tea in my favorite tea cup."

"Master Harry is very kind for saying so. If Kreacher may, Master Harry, Kreacher wishes to ask if the new arrangements in the dojo are satisfactory?"

"Kreacher, did you arrange for the mannequins?" Harry asked.

"Oh, no, Master Harry, #12 caused those to appear, as it appeared the Head Auror had need of them."

"Well done, then," Harry answered Kreacher. He looked about the kitchen, adding, "Well done indeed."