Grimmauld Place, the ancestral home of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, and now property of Harry Potter, his own by unfortunate inheritance. The house exuded an eerie and haunted aura, filled with untold memories that seemed to weigh upon its very foundations. Harry stood in the entryway, listening to the house's ancient timbers creak and groan, almost as if it were sighing. The processing of Sirius's will had been swift, and Harry was grateful to leave the Dursleys behind as quickly as possible.
He turned and locked the heavy front door, his wand slipping back into his pocket. As he stepped further inside, the old floorboards groaned under his weight. "Is anyone here?" he called out, but the silence remained unbroken. Harry set down his belongings, removed his cloak, and hung it on a hook next to the door. The kitchen lay at the far end of the first floor and he made his way through the sitting room and down a short corridor until he reached the dining area. The room had a stark simplicity, with wooden tables and chairs that gave Harry the impression of dining with strangers. The house's silence was overwhelming and Harry had been reluctant to return to the Black family home since his initial visit. Now, as its master, he felt a sense of responsibility to care for or at least occupy it. Dumbledore, through Remus, had requested permission to continue it's use as the headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix, a request Harry was more than happy to oblige.
Walking through the sprawling mansion, Harry couldn't help but feel like an outsider in a lineage as proud and regal as the Blacks. He was trying to push aside thoughts of his family history as he ascended the staircase to the second floor, where most of the bedrooms and bathrooms were located. Harry made his way down the hall and entered his own room, a spacious chamber with a large window offering a view of the quiet street below and a neatly made bed. He closed the door behind him, setting down his trunk and Hedwig's cage, grateful to have a space away from the prying eyes of the Dursleys. He opened the window, allowing fresh air to fill the room and awaiting Hedwig's eventual return.
Leaning against the windowsill, gazing out into the tranquil street, Harry sensed the house shifting and stirring beneath him. He recalled something Sirius had told him about the house, how it seemed to have a mind of its own and occasionally rearranged its layout. He hoped that such changes wouldn't occur while he was residing there, for getting lost in this labyrinthine estate would be an embarrassment. As he unpacked, he couldn't help but feel the eerie presence in the air, as if Grimmauld Place itself could sense his pain and sorrow. Harry picked up a stack of unread letters from his trunk, tossing them onto a nearby table before reaching for his wand and lighting the fireplace.
Nighttime brought vivid and haunting nightmares of the battle at the Department of Mysteries. He witnessed Sirius falling through the mysterious veil, vanishing before his eyes, and felt helpless. In his dreams, he pursued Bellatrix Lestrange, casting curses at her, while Voldemort's taunting voice echoed through the Department. Hermione lay lifeless on the ground, and Ron struggled to fend off a brain-like creature with tentacles coiled around his neck. Harry woke with a cry, drenched in sweat, his heart pounding against his chest.
He put on his glasses and lit the bedside lamp, looking around the room in an attempt to regain his composure. Hedwig hooted softly in her cage, offering a small measure of comfort. Harry found that after a few days at Grimmauld Place, he had begun to settle in, and it was time to explore the house further. The kitchen was stocked with food and drink, and Harry spent hours snacking on whatever caught his eye. However, the third floor remained a mystery to him, filled with dusty halls and locked doors, piquing his curiosity.
As he ventured down a corridor, the portraits of the Black family seemed to come to life, whispering to one another and watching him curiously. Harry paid them little attention, engrossed in his exploration. The presence he had felt earlier grew stronger as he approached the end of the hall, leading him to a door. He turned the handle and pushed it open to reveal a vast library, lined with shelves filled with countless books. The library was so large that it had a spiral staircase leading to a second floor, and a cozy nook with plush armchairs by the window. A fireplace, currently unlit, adorned the room, with a wide, gilded mirror hanging above it.
Harry smiled and stepped inside, his eyes scanning the titles on the spines of the books. Some were written in languages he couldn't comprehend while others contained information about magical creatures and potions that were unfamiliar to him. While perusing one of the volumes, he heard a faint rustling sound. He glanced up, and for a brief moment, he saw movement in the reflection of the mirror above the fireplace. Whirling around, he scanned the room, but found nothing amiss.
"Who's there?" he called out, his voice echoing through the empty library. "Show yourself!"
There was no response. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up and a sudden chill pervaded the air. He closed the book and placed it back on the shelf, keeping his eyes on the mirror. Although he didn't see anything else, he had the persistent feeling of being watched. Harry decided not to linger and made his way back to his bedroom, locking the door behind him. The feeling of unease intensified. He was not sure what to make of it, but he knew he couldn't deny that he felt as though he was not alone in this house. Grimmauld Place held secrets, and Harry sensed that some of those secrets were not meant to be discovered. He wondered if he'd of been better off with the Dursleys, annoying as they were, for at least there he knew where he stood.
After another sleepless night and another onslaught of haunting dreams, Harry was finding it difficult to concentrate. The weight of the guilt and pain of his recent experiences had begun to take a toll on him. The house seemed to conspire to torment him, its creaks and groans resembling whispers of the past. In an effort to distract himself, he turned to the forbidden knowledge within the Black library, engrossed in books and spells that revealed the darker side of magic. With each page he turned, he felt as though he was delving deeper into an abyss. As Harry explored the dark tomes and ancient spells, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was unlocking a door that he might not be able to close again.
Lying awake in bed that night, he heard footsteps and murmurs echoing through the house. He knew he wasn't imagining it. The footsteps drew closer, and his heart raced. He sat up, hand reaching for his wand.
"Harry?"
A muffled voice Harry recognized as Remus's called out from the other side of the door and Harry let out a sigh of relief. He got up and opened the door, finding the werewolf standing there along with a cheerful Nymphadora Tonks standing beside him.
"Wotcher, Harry?" she asked, her bright pink hair bouncing as she spoke. "We didn't wake you, did we?"
"No, it's alright," Harry said, his hand still clutching his wand. "I wasn't asleep."
"All settled in, than?" Remus asked, his kind grey eyes shining in the dim light of the hallway. "You know you can always come to us if you need anything."
Harry nodded, but his mind was elsewhere. "Yeah."
Tonks gave him a sympathetic look. "We'll be around if you want to talk." She said before hesitantly turning away with Remus.
As they left, Harry shut the door and sat on the edge of his bed. He didn't want to talk, not really. He'd wanted to be alone, but even the house itself was not willing to accommodate him. His gaze fell on the stack of unread letters sitting on the table by the window. He knew he should open them but he didn't have the motivation to deal with anything else right now. Another night went by accompanied by another reel of memories. The smell of cooking wafted up the floors of the house and Harry's stomach grumbled at the thought of food, reminding him that he hadn't eaten in quite a while. He made his way down the stairs and entered the kitchen.
"Harry," Remus greeted, looking up from the stove. "Care to join us?"
Harry looked around and saw that Tonks was seated at the table, a plate of steaming food in front of her. He nodded and took a seat.
"Here you go, Harry," Tonks said, setting a plate of food in front of him. "Eat up."
As he dug into his meal he could feel the tension easing. He didn't like to talk about what had happened but he found it comforting to be around the other members of the Order. They understood him, they understood what it was like to face the darkness and come out the other side. And for the first time since he arrived at Grimmauld Place, he started to feel a little more at ease.
"Harry," Remus said softly. "Is there anything you want to talk about?"
Harry shook his head, chewing his food. Remus sighed and exchanged another look with Tonks.
"Have you received word from any of your friends?" Tonks asked.
Harry swallowed. "No." Silence fell over the table as they continued eating, the sound of silverware clinking on plates the only noise in the room. Harry finished his food and pushed his plate away.
"Thank you for the meal."
He stood up and left the table leaving Tonks and Remus behind. He felt bad for his rudeness but didn't want to be around anyone at the moment. As he climbed the stairs to his room he couldn't help but feel as though he was running from his demons, as though he was hiding from the truth that was staring him in the face. And what truth was that? That he was responsible for the death of his Godfather? That he had nearly led his closest friends into a death trap? He shook his head and slammed the door behind him. He couldn't change the past, and he couldn't run away from the guilt that was slowly consuming him. But he could try to make amends, could try to find a way to move forward. He sat at his desk and pulled a piece of parchment out, dipping his quill in ink. He paused, unsure of what to say. Finally, he wrote:
Dear Hermione
I'm sorry for everything that happened. I hope you're doing okay.
Please know that I never meant to hurt either of you. I was just trying to do what I thought was right, and I was wrong. I should have listened to you.
I want to make things right. If there's anything I can do to show you that I regret what I did, please let me know.
With love,
Harry
He stared down at the letter for a moment before his face twitched in frustration at the words he had wrote down. Sneering, he took the parchment and tore it into tiny pieces, tossing them in the fire. He couldn't apologize, couldn't fix what he'd done. He didn't deserve their forgiveness, didn't deserve to be absolved of his wrongdoings. He slumped back in his chair and closed his eyes, wishing he could take it all back. Wishing he had never gone to the Department of Mysteries. A pecking noise at his window startled him and he glanced up, his eyes landing on Hedwig perched on the sill. He went over to the snowy owl and took the letter she was carrying, Hermione's neat script greeting him. He frowned in thought before tossing it on the bedside table with the rest of his unread letters.
He couldn't bring himself to read them, couldn't bring himself to face the reality of his friends' anger or disappointment. He crawled into bed and pulled the covers over him. He hoped that one day he would be able to make it up to them, but for now, he could only wallow in his own guilt and regret. What happened that night in the Department of Mysteries was a nightmare that Harry wished he could forget. But the memories followed him like a shadow, and he found himself waking up in a cold sweat more often than he cared to admit.
He couldn't forget the feeling of fear that had gripped him as he faced Voldemort, couldn't forget the desperation he felt as he realized that his friends were in mortal peril. And he couldn't forget the moment when he realized that he was the one who had put them in harm's way, and that he was the one to blame for what had happened to Sirius. He tried to push the thoughts out of his mind, tried to focus on the present. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't escape the guilt that haunted him. As he drifted off to sleep, the shadows in the room seemed to come alive, taunting and tormenting him with reminders of his failures. Voldemort's laughter echoing in his ears.
"Your friends are next, Harry," a disembodied voice hissed, the shadows closing in around him.
He bolted upright, gasping for air. The room was dark and empty, the shadows retreating back to the corners. Panting, Harry sat up, his nightmares were becoming more intense. Harry rubbed his tired eyes and rose from his bed, stumbling towards the bathroom. He splashed his face with cold water and gazed at his reflection in the mirror, the lightning bolt scar etched into his pale skin standing out vividly. As he stared, an unsettling chill coursed down his spine. In the reflection, familiar shadows loomed ominously in the background and a dark, hooded figure flickered just behind him. Harry spun around only to find the room devoid of any presence. With a slow, steadying breath, he wiped the dampness from his face and returned to his bed. Restlessly, Harry shifted and rolled.
"Your parents are dead. Sirius is dead. Death follows you," the sinister voice hissed as the shadows in the room seemed to take on a life of their own.
"Shut up," Harry growled, pulling the covers over his head.
"Face it, Harry. The shadow of a curse looms over you."
With his eyes squeezed shut, Harry attempted to drown out the voice. "I'm not cursed. It's not my fault."
"Oh, but it is. Abandon hope. You will never find happiness," the voice hissed, the shadows closing in around him.
"Shut up!" Harry yelled, his hands covering his ears.
"You're a failure. You can't protect those you love. You will survive while those around you will perish. Solitude is your destiny," the voice taunted, the shadows now enveloping him like a suffocating shroud. In a frantic surge, Harry bolted upright for the second time that night, sleep was proving impossible. Feeble light streamed through the tattered curtains, casting long, eerie shadows on the floor. Harry remained seated upright on his bed wondering if he was going mad with guilt.
"Harry?" Remus's concerned voice filtered through the door.
"Yeah?" Harry croaked.
"Mind if I come in?" Remus inquired.
Harry sighed. "Sure."
Remus entered the room with his brows furrowed in concern. "Are you okay? We heard shouting."
Harry nodded. "Just another dream."
Remus took a seat on the bed. "Do you want to talk about it?"
Harry shook his head. "It's nothing."
"It's not 'nothing,'" Remus said gently. "Nightmares can be a sign of underlying trauma or stress. If you keep everything to yourself, it may serve to only make matters worse."
Harry shrugged, not wanting to disclose his inner turmoil. "There's nothing to say."
Remus frowned but placed a reassuring hand on Harry's shoulder, his attention drifting towards a stack of sealed letters neatly arranged on the table. Hermione's distinctive handwriting on one of them caught his eye, prompting him to pick it up, his brow furrowing with curiosity.
"Have you read any of these?" Remus inquired.
Harry shook his head as a sense of guilt washed over him. Remus sighed through his nostrils before gently setting the letter back down.
"Well, it's your choice," Remus said softly, "but it might be worth catching up with them. I know you didn't mean for things to happen the way they did... and I'm sure they understand that too."
Harry looked away and frowned. "I'll think about it."
Remus rose from his seat. "I'll give you some space for now," Remus said, "But, Harry, if you ever require anything, don't hesitate to ask."
Harry nodded, watching as Remus exited the room. His eyes fell wearily on the stack of letters and with a resigned sigh, he reached for one. Sitting back down on the bed, he carefully tore the envelope open, releasing the familiar scent of parchment.
Dear Harry,
How are you holding up? I'm truly sorry about Sirius. We all miss him terribly. Things have been rather quiet at the Burrow and both Ron and I are deeply concerned about you. Please, write back. We're here to support you, Harry.
Love,
Hermione
Harry crumpled the letter and tossed it aside. Her kind words having zero affect on his psyche. His attention turned to the remaining letters, most bearing Hermione's neat handwriting. He gathered them up and stashed them away in a drawer. Harry lay back down and idly wondered what his friends where doing at the Burrow. Images of Ron and Hermione laughing with Mrs. Weasley and the rest of the family filled his mind. They probably didn't even think about him. They probably hated him. It's better this way, he thought. He drew a deep breath, trying to imagine what it would be like to go back to normal, to live without the burden of guilt and regret. He attempted to concentrate on the symphony of creaks and groans that emanated from the house. His gaze was fixated on the intricate dance of shadows upon the ceiling. With the sun ascending higher in the sky, the room began to bathe in warmth and light, causing the shadows to retreat. He closed his eyes, wishing for the darkness to engulf him again.
Upon waking, the house was cloaked in an eerie stillness, Remus and Tonks absent, presumably preoccupied with their tasks for the Order. Left to his own devices, Harry ventured to explore the sprawling mansion. His footsteps echoed resoundingly on the aged wooden floors proving the stark reminder of his solitude. However, Harry couldn't shake an unusual presence, a subtle shift in the atmosphere, almost as if something lingered in the shadows. Intrigued and slightly unsettled, Harry followed this sensation. The hair on the nape of his neck stood on end as the presence intensified sending a cold shiver down his spine. He rounded a corner as his breath caught in his throat. Standing in the hallway was a ghostly apparition, its form ethereal and shimmering. Harry froze in place as the apparition turned and their gazes locked.
"Who are you?" Harry whispered.
The apparition remained eerily silent. Curiosity tugged at Harry and he cautiously took a step forward.
"Are you real?" he asked hesitantly, "or am I imagining this?" The apparition continued to stare, its eyes an icey shade of grey, almost as if they were staring straight into his soul. Harry could feel himself being drawn into those eyes, a strange sensation creeping over him.
"Black," the apparition uttered in a raspy and spectral voice.
Harry froze in his tracks, "What did you say?"
"Black," the apparition repeated, its voice growing stronger.
Harry felt the blood drain from his face as he drew nearer, the apparition's features began to take shape, becoming increasingly tangible. Recognition washed over him. "Sirius," he breathed. Harry trembled as he stared at his Godfather's ghost. "I'm sorry," he whispered, his eyes filling with tears. "I never meant for any of this to happen. It's all my fault."
"Yes. It is."
Harry recoiled as if he had been slapped. "I...I don't..."
"You didn't protect me."
Harry swallowed hard. "I know."
"You failed me," Sirius said, his voice laced with bitterness. "And you you will fail her."
Harry awoke with a start, glancing around the room, he found himself alone and the apparition nowhere to be found. "A dream," he whispered, his heart rate slowly returning to normal. Harry tore out of bed and made his way to the bathroom, making sure to splash cold water on his face.
"Get a grip," Harry growled, looking at his reflection in the mirror. "It was just another dream."
With a steadying breath, Harry regained his composure and headed back to his room. He selected a fresh set of clothing before stepping into the bathroom for a rejuvenating shower. The soothing heat of the water enveloped him and Harry exhaled with contentment as the steam filled the room. After finishing his shower, Harry changed into clean clothes and made his way downstairs. In the foyer, he encountered the unmistakable figure of his best friend, Hermione Granger, walking out of the drawing room.
"Hermione?" Harry whispered hesitantly, unsure if he was still experiencing another waking dream. "What are you doing here?"
"You haven't returned any of my letters. I was worried," Hermione said flatly, crossing her arms across her chest.
"I've been busy," Harry replied.
"Look at me," Hermione said sternly, approaching him and turning his face toward hers.
Harry met her gaze. "I'm fine, really."
"You look exhausted. Have you been sleeping?"
"A bit," Harry lied. Hermione dropped her hand from his chin and studied his face with concern. "Shouldn't you be at the Burrow?" He blurted.
Hermione sighed heavily. "I needed a break," she said simply. "Besides, I wanted to make sure you were alright. You've not replied to any of my letters," she paused and craned her neck to the side, surveying the stillness of the house, "and it seems like Remus, Tonks, or any others are scarcely around. Whose bright idea was it to leave you isolated in a house like this anyway-"
"Hermione," Harry murmured. "I'm all right, honestly."
Hermione fixed her gaze on him, her sigh a testament to her deep concern. "No, you're not. Come on." Hermione took his hand and led him into the sitting room. Harry sat down on the worn couch as Hermione sat herself next to him. She gently squeezed his shoulder.
"Talk to me, Harry," she said softly.
Harry lowered his head. "I don't want to talk about it. I can't."
"Fine. Don't talk. Just listen." Hermione took a deep breath. "I know what happened was beyond anyone's control. I know you blame yourself, but it's not your fault. And I won't let you sit in self-pity and wallow in your guilt. Do you understand? You are not to blame, Harry, and you need to stop feeling so guilty about it."
"Easier said than done," Harry said dryly.
"I know. But you need to try. For your own sake." Hermione smiled and stood up. "Come on. Let's go for a walk."
Harry hesitated. "I don't know. This house is kind of eerie even during the day. And I'm not supposed to leave."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Don't worry about that, and I didn't mean this house. We wont be long anyway. Now, come on!" She grabbed his hand and pulled him up, leading him outside.
"This is better, isn't it?" She said, gesturing to the warm sunlight and the lush green surroundings. Hermione led Harry away from the dreary house and into the warm embrace of sunlight. Harry squinted, the brilliance of the outdoors momentarily blinding after days spent confined indoors. Hermione held onto his hand and together they strolled along the overgrown path, the tall grass gently brushing against their ankles. Harry inhaled deeply, savoring the refreshing air, a stark contrast to the stagnant atmosphere within the Black ancestral home.
As they continued their walk, Hermione pointed out various plants and flowers and Harry nodded along, though his thoughts occasionally wandered. It was impossible to overlook the fact that her small hand remained clasped in his. Hermione spoke about some Muggle plants before transitioning to magical flowers, her enthusiasm was contagious, and Harry enjoying her animated descriptions.
"Harry, are you paying attention?" She said, her tone light.
Harry nodded. "Yeah. I'm listening." Hermione regarded him with a skeptical gaze before proceeding.
"In any case, I've been delving into research on Flitterby moths. Did you know they engage in a remarkably intricate mating ritual? The males dance and display their wings to woo the females. Isn't that utterly fascinating?" Hermione rambled. Harry nodded as she continued her engaging discourse on Flitterby moths and their intricate courtship rituals. He couldn't help but admire how Hermione could discuss the most diverse subjects with unwavering passion and enthusiasm. As they continued their stroll, Harry found himself becoming increasingly comfortable in her presence, despite the lingering sense of guilt and regret. He thought of his dream and the meaning of Sirius' words but they seemed insignificant compared to the warmth of the sun and the softness of Hermione's skin.
"Harry?" Hermione said, pulling him back from his reverie.
"Huh?"
Hermione rolled her eyes, a faint smile quirking at the corners of her mouth. "Never mind." With her hand still nestled in his, Hermione led the way and Harry's heart fluttered, an unfamiliar sensation stirring within him. Swiftly, he suppressed it, but when Hermione turned toward him, tucking a strand of autumn-tinted hair behind her ear, his stomach flipped once again.
"Should we head back?" Harry asked.
"I suppose," Hermione said reluctantly. "Listen, there's something I've been meaning to tell you."
Harry's pulse quickened. "Yes?"
"Not here," Hermione whispered as her hand slipped from his, she turned and began retracing their steps toward the house. Harry took a deep breath as he watched her walk away; she stopped, noticing his absence and whipped her head around, her wild curls cascading around her shoulders. Her slight smile was radiant and he wanted to pinch his self to see if he was still dreaming.
"Are you coming or not?" She called playfully, and Harry hurriedly followed, his mind buzzing with possibilities. Hermione gave him an amused smile as they began the walk back in companionable silence while the sun began to sink lower in the sky.
As they neared Number Twelve Hermione took a deep breath, she had a look as if there was an exam she had forgotten to study for. She took his hand again and led him through the front door and into the house, guiding him slowly into the nearest sitting room. Harry's heart raced and as Hermione opened the door, following her inside. Hermione bit her lip before taking a step towards him. She opened her mouth, but before she could utter a word, the house shuddered and a resounding crash echoed throughout the building.
"What was that?"
"Stay here," Harry insisted. "I'll go check it out."
Hermione grasped his arm. "I'm coming with you."
Harry let out a sigh, feeling Hermione's grip tighten around his arm. With a reluctant nod, he drew his wand and they began their path down the dim halls of Grimmauld Place. Hermione clung to him, her fingers tightly wrapped around his arm causing his heart to quicken as they approached the source of the commotion. The anticipation gnawed at him as they neared the kitchen. As they entered the room, they found Remus and Tonks, both covered in soot.
"What happened?" Harry asked.
"Kreacher," Remus said, sighing. "He's become quite hostile."
Harry narrowed his eyes. "Kreacher..."
"Yes," Remus said. "We're trying to find a way to contain him, but it's proving more difficult than expected. At least the damage is minimal."
"Right," Harry said, glancing at the shattered remains of a china dish strewn across the floor.
"He's been sabotaging the kitchen appliances. He's also been hexing us whenever we try to do any cleaning or repairs." Tonks explained.
"Why is he still here?" Harry exclaimed.
Remus leaned against the counter, rubbing his temples. "The Order has been struggling to locate a suitable new home for him. We're trying our best but it's not exactly easy to find a place that would accommodate him."
"That's ridiculous. It shouldn't be that hard. I mean, he's a bloody house elf, why not just send him to Hogwarts?"
"It's not that simple, Harry," Remus began in a measure tone. "You have to understand, he's been the Black family's house elf for centuries. It's not something he can just leave behind. And besides, Hogwarts already has a full contingent of elves."
"Where is he?" Harry demanded.
"Harry, maybe we should-" Hermione interjected, but Harry was already making his way out of the kitchen, leaving her to trail behind him. Remus caught up to him and grabbed his arm.
"Stop, Harry," he said sternly. "Kreacher is in a delicate state. The last thing we need is for you to lose your temper and make things worse, and I'm sure he is sorry for all the trouble he's caused."
"S-Sorry?" Harry let out a dry laugh. "He helped Bellatrix. He betrayed Sirius! Kreacher needs to pay for what he did."
"Not like this," Remus replied, his own voice rising. "Please, let's just figure out a more civilized solution."
"Calm down." Hermione whispered, taking his arm in her hands. Harry pulled his arm free and stormed down the corridor, Hermione calling after him with Remus and Tonks trailing behind.
"Harry!" Hermione shouted but he paid her no mind, his anger surging to the surface. Harry traversed the house, determined to locate the traitorous elf. He checked every room and closet but Kreacher was nowhere to be seen. Eventually, Harry found himself in the drawing room, his face flushed with exertion.
"Stop, Harry. Please," Hermione implored, her voice filled with concern. Nevertheless, Harry persisted in his search.
"KREACHER!" Harry bellowed, his voice reverberating through the house. "I know you can hear me, you treacherous bastard!"
Harry continued to stomp through the house and just as he was about to vent his frustration on another door he felt as if he was being sucked through a narrow tube. In an instant, he found himself unceremoniously deposited on a bed with Hermione landing on top of him. Harry grunted as Hermione sat up, her hands firmly on his shoulders, anchoring him to the bed. Under Hermione's weight, Harry's chest constricted and his heart raced.
"H-how.. what did you..." He stammered.
"I didn't want you to do something stupid." Hermione said. Harry furrowed his brows in confusion.
"No, I meant...when did you learn how to do that?"
"Oh. Um, I've been doing some reading and... well, it's not important. Right now, I need you to calm down."
"How can you say that? How can you expect me to calm down when Kreacher is still walking around this house after what he did? Doesn't that bother you?"
"Harry," Hermione responded, her tone gentle and empathetic. "House elves like Kreacher are known for their loyalty, and in this case, it's only natural that he sided with his former masters, he's clearly suffering. He's alone and confused, and I know you feel betrayed, but that's not the answer. Besides, we've got enough to worry about without having to deal with Kreacher, don't we?"
"What do you suggest, then? It's better to address this issue head-on," Harry hissed. He attempted to push her away by reaching for her waist, but Hermione swiftly seized his hands and firmly restrained them above his head.
"Is that really what you want, Harry?" She said, leaning over him. "To resort to violence?"
"N-no, I don't want that, but it doesn't seem like we have a choice. I mean, what else are we supposed to do? Just let him run rampant?"
"We can deal with him later, alright? Right now, my only concern is you..." Her hands left his and began to trace a path down to his chest. Harry's cheeks reddened as her presence above him awakened a sensation within him. He wriggled beneath her, but Hermione kept him firmly in place with a hand on his shoulder.
"You need to relax," she whispered, her warm brown eyes locked onto his. "Please? For me?"
Harry nodded, his heart racing, the sound of his own pulse filling his ears. Her hand moved smoothly up his chest, tracing over his collarbone before gently settling on the back of his neck. His eyes closed, overwhelmed by a surge of electric anticipation. As Hermione shifted her hips, a soft, longing moan escaped his lips. When he opened his eyes, he found Hermione gazing at him with a contemplative expression. He placed his hands on her hips and Hermione let out a contented sigh, her fingers twirling through the hair at the nape of his neck.
"Good. That's good," she whispered, her hips moving against his. Harry's mind was overwhelmed with desire, making it difficult to think. His breath hitched, and he found himself immobilized, trapped beneath Hermione. Just as the heavy footsteps grew closer, and the door swung open with a loud bang, Hermione hurriedly scrambled off Harry. He sat upright, attempting to regain his composure while discreetly adjusting himself.
"There you are," Remus began, but his words were cut off as he surveyed the disheveled and flushed pair of teenagers. "Er... Is everything alright?"
"Y-yes. Everything's fine. We were just talking. About Kreacher. Harry wasn't going to do anything, right?" Hermione stammered.
"Right. Nothing," Harry added, clearing his throat.
"Alright then," Remus said, his gaze shifting awkwardly between the two. "Well, I'll just, er... leave." As Remus turned to make his exit, he was met with the sight of Tonks barrelling down the hallway. Her foot caught on a loose floorboard that sent her crashing into him as they tumbled into Harry's room in a heap of tangled limbs. Groaning, Tonks extricated herself from the pile, and Remus, with some effort, pushed himself off the floor before offering her a hand.
"I thought you were right behind me," Tonks mumbled, earning an unamused look from Remus. He then turned his attention to Harry and Hermione who remained on the bed, visibly disconcerted yet struggling to contain their amusement.
"Apologies for the intrusion," Remus offered, while Tonks regarded the couple on the bed with a mischievous grin.
"You two should get a room, oh wait!" Tonks laughed and Remus rolled his eyes before leading her out of the room.
Harry and Hermione exchanged awkward glances, both unsure of what to say or do after being discovered in such a compromising position.
"So..." Hermione began, smoothing down her shirt.
"Yeah," Harry responded, his gaze lingering at the door for a moment before he turned back to Hermione. "You alright?" he spoke softly. Hermione, seated sideways on the bed with her back still turned to him, cautiously reached for the slightly open drawer in the table, unveiling a stack of sealed letters.
"Have you not read these?" Hermione inquired, her tone reflecting a blend of frustration and concern. The envelopes were addressed from Ron and Hermione, untouched and overlooked. Harry felt a constriction in his chest, struggling to articulate his reasons.
"I..." he began but was quickly interrupted.
"These are letters from Ron and me," Hermione continued, her gaze fixed on the letters as if they held the answers she sought. "You haven't even opened them."
Harry's defense appeared to crumble under her intense stare, and he found it challenging to formulate a response. "Hermione, I've just..."
Hermione's patience grew thin, and she cut him off once more. "You've what? Been too preoccupied sulking in this house, feeling sorry for yourself?"
Harry's brows furrowed, his anger flaring. "I'm not just moping around here," he retorted.
"Oh no? What else have you been doing, Harry? Other than avoiding your friends and worrying us sick."
"Hey, that's not fair. I-"
But Hermione was relentless, her frustration and concern fueling her words. "What's not fair is you shutting everyone out! I've tried writing to you. Ron has too. You haven't even bothered to open these letters."
"Hermione, you don't understand," Harry began, his voice pleading. "I didn't-"
"You didn't what, Harry? Think? Care? Listen?" She interrupted him again, her voice edged with anger. With a shared sense of urgency, they both stood, Hermione's eyes flickering with defiance as she stared him down.
Harry was speechless, his mind racing to come up with a response, but he was cut off once more.
"Does our friendship mean nothing to you that you won't even bother to read what we have to say?" Hermione demanded, her voice escalating in volume. "You know what? Just forget it." She cast the letters aside and walked past him, forcefully closing the door behind her. Harry remained rooted to the spot, his thoughts swirling as he tried to process what had just happened.