Harry Potter and everything about him belongs to JK Rowling, I'm just having a bit of fun.
Chapter Thirteen
The debriefing was finally over. Even with such an uneventful mission there were still lessons to be learned and more than a dozen reports to be filed. Proudfoot had set them all down in the breakroom when they had returned to the Ministry and took them step by step through the operation, commending the things they had done right, and nitpicking even the smallest fault. As she had been expecting, Heather had received five full minutes on forgetting to mention the many noisy chains and locks that secured the front door. Still, Proudfoot made sure to tell them that all in all the team had done well for their first assignment. Most importantly, everyone who had been sent out had come back safely and a suspect was in custody. Mundungus was currently sitting in a holding cell being watched over by a heavy-set old warlock who ran the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol night shift. The accumulated evidence gathered at the house was already catalogued and filed away.
Heather had been warned that the worst part of any mission, or at least one without loss of life or serious injury, was the paperwork that had to be filled out afterwards. Sitting in front of her on her little desk was a mountain of paperwork bound tightly inside green folders, one of which was thankfully already completed. The stack was easily half again as large as the one needed to change her name, and it had to all be completed before she could go home. It was already past midnight, and Heather estimated that she still had another hour of hard work ahead of her. The only gleam of light on the horizon was that Proudfoot had given off them the following day, Friday, off, which meant a nice, long three day weekend. The thought of spending those days flying with the wind in her hair was about the only thing keeping her going. Well, that and the mug of stiff coffee sitting nearby.
All around her the only noise to be heard was the scratching of quills and the shuffling of parchment, occasionally broken up by a groan or a quiet curse. She adjusted on her stool and nearly toppled her pile of forms. The small cubicle couldn't be considered roomy with just one occupant. Honeywell's chair, desk, and filing cabinets claimed most of the floor space, leaving Heather with a very small corner for her stool and table. She was just about to gather up her stuff and move down to the breakroom, which would give her more room to spread out as well as put her right next to the coffee pot, when Seamus stuck his head in through the opening.
"Heather, a few of us are headed out to get a drink after this, you in?" he asked.
"I dunno, Seamus," she replied wearily. It took her several seconds to get her eyes to focus on his face, a sure sign that she was going to need another round of coffee to get through all of this.
"Oh c'mon, you can't want to just go home after all that. It's just one drink" he pressed determinedly.
"All right, fine," she sighed. She held up a finger, "One drink." What could it hurt after all.
Seamus grinned broadly and withdrew his head. Nearby, Heather could hear him repeating the question to Ron. She returned her eyes to the form currently atop the stack and found where she had left off. List each spell utilized during the engaging of suspects and notate any damage caused. If tonight had gone another way, that section would be very full. Thankfully, she was able to mostly skip it.
When she was done at last, and after Honeywell had checked it carefully for any errors, she dropped the folders in a box outside Robards' office and slung her coat over her shoulder. Seamus and Padma were already waiting for her near the lifts, and she waited with them until Ron and Daphne appeared. It wasn't long before they appeared, Ron yawning wildly. He came straight up to them but Daphne stopped several feet short and didn't speak to anyone. Heather walked over to her while the lift clattered upwards.
"Are you coming out with us?" she asked politely.
"I don't think that's a good idea," Daphne replied cautiously, still not looking at anyone. She looked drawn, like someone not getting enough decent sleep. Her hair, which had always been bright and vibrant was now dull and hang limply in an untidy ponytail.
"You know, we don't bite," Heather said, trying to inject humor into her tone.
Daphne met her gaze, causing Heather to take half a step backwards. There was no emotion there, not the faintest sign of life. It was almost like her eyes were empty sockets. "I just, I think it's for the best if I didn't. Thanks, Potter." Daphne muttered and looked away again.
A lift appeared at that moment. Everyone clambered aboard except for Daphne, who waved them on and said, "I'll take the next one." No one paid any attention to that except for Heather. They were all too busy debating where the best place was to get a drink this time of night. Heather ignored them. She wouldn't admit it to anyone except maybe Ron, but what she had seen in Daphne's eyes had unnerved her.
"How about the Wyvern?" suggested Seamus as they crossed the empty Atrium.
"The what?" asked Ron.
"The White Wyvern. It's this tiny pub near The Leaky Cauldron I've been meaning to check out." Seamus explained.
"Near?" asked Padma skeptically.
"Well, something like a hop, skip, and a jump away," said Seamus, clearing wishing Padma hadn't picked up on that.
Seamus' idea of 'near' the Leaky Cauldron was right in the middle of the neighboring Knockturn Alley. When he led them out the back of the pub and into Diagon Alley, Heather had been hesitant. As far as she knew there were no other establishments on the Alley itself, and she had almost refused on the spot to follow when Seamus made the turn at the end of the row. Knockturn Alley had taken a hit since the end of the war, in stark contrast to the rest of Diagon Alley. More stores than ever had been boarded shut, with the notable exception of Borgin and Burkes, and it looked like someone had actually tried to clean up the alley.
The White Wyvern was grimier than the Hog's Head, something Heather hadn't thought possible. Perhaps it was for the best that the only lighting inside was a handful of sputtering candles on the corner of the bar. There were no patrons inside, just a grumpy looking bartender who jerked awake when the door opened.
"We're closed," he snorted at the sight of them.
"No you aren't," replied Seamus, casually swinging his leg over a stool and sliding up to the bar. "Five pints." He laid down a pile of sickles on the bar and waited. Whether it was Seamus' confident air or the silver DMLE badge on each of their chests, the bartender snatched the coins off the counter. He inspected each one closely and bit one as though expecting them to be fake. When he was satisfied, he drew five pints of some dark beverage into what were probably his dirtiest glasses, just to make the point that they were not welcome.
Nervous that she would end up contracting some fatal disease just by putting her lips to the cup, Heather took a sip when it was set in front of her. She had never had beer or ale before, and almost gagged at the first swallow. It had a rather strong aftertaste she hadn't been prepared for. Ron also looked like he would rather be drinking anything else, but both Seamus and Padma gulped theirs back happily.
"How can you drink that stuff?" asked Ron. The bartender heard him and shot him a dark glare.
"I'm Irish," said Seamus, shrugging and taking another swig. "It's in my blood."
Heather tried another sip. It certainly wasn't butterbeer, but she supposed that with practice, she might be able to come to enjoy it. On Seamus' recommendation, Ron ordered a whiskey instead, sliding his still mostly full pint towards Seamus.
As was to be expected, both Seamus and Padma had questions about Grimmauld Place. Heather told them how the house had been Sirius' and that after his death it had been left to her. Ron took over then, talking about the summer before fifth year when they had all had to clean the house and how he had nearly been strangled by a set of ancient robes in the attic.
"It's so creepy!" said Padma.
"And you didn't even meet Kreacher." Ron replied.
"Who?" asked Padma.
"He's my house elf, he came with the house." Heather explained. "And he isn't nearly as bad as he used to be. As I recall you actually liked him there towards the end of our stay," she added, levelling a finger at Ron who shrugged.
"So, Heather," asked Seamus after he ordered his third drink, "You got any plans for that mansion of yours?"
"Dunno really. Why?" she replied. Padma had just drained her own and was calling for another. The bartender was pretending not to listen to them as he pretended to wipe down glasses. Heather's first drink was still half full, and Ron was sipping his whiskey carefully. It looked like this was going to be more than just 'one drink' whatever Seamus had promised.
"Well, I was just wondering if you'd be willing to take on a tenant?" he asked after laying more sickles on the bar.
"You want to move in? To that house?" Heather asked incredulously. Ever since the plans had been made to clear the house, thoughts about what she would do with it afterwards had been circling through her mind. One of these had been to open it to those who had lost their own homes during the war or who no longer had family to live with. The house, as it sat, could easily hold a dozen or so people, and if the drawing room and the study were converted to bedrooms that number could go even higher.
"I told you, me mum's driving me mad. I'd move into a broom shed if you had one available," Seamus insisted.
Heather hadn't been expecting this. Sure, it would be understandable that for someone with no other place to go, Grimmauld Place might be ideal, but to willingly want to live there? Then again, she could remember with distinct clarity how overbearing Seamus' mother could be. Besides, it made good sense to let someone live there at least until she could make other plans. She would know then if death eaters or other unsavory types ever tried to enter, and she knew Seamus would be able to handle himself were that to happen.
"Err, sure then" she replied after a long moment's consideration. "When do you want to move in?"
"Yes!" Seamus shouted, throwing his hands up in celebration and sending the contents of his drink flying everywhere. "Oops, sorry," he said to the bartender, who had jumped a foot in the air at the loud noise and was now glaring daggers at Seamus. Seamus cleaned up the mess with a wave of his wand and slid a few extra sickles across the bar.
Seamus insisted on celebrating his soon to be freedom from his mother until well after four in the morning and Heather was still reeling when she was awoken at what she felt was an ungodly hour, nine o'clock, by a delivery owl. Apparently, Seamus had quickly spread far and wide the news that he was renting a room from Heather, and Katie, who unlike Heather was working that morning, had taken the time to scratch out a quick request asking if she too could move into Grimmauld Place.
Heather groaned at the owl, vehemently cursing mornings and everyone who enjoyed them. As the owl flew away, her stomach gave a heave and in that moment any other concern fell away. She sprinted towards the door, wrenched it open, and threw herself across the landing and into the bathroom. Not even bothering to close the door, she knelt over the toilet. Time seemed to stop as she crouched there, forcefully emptying the contents of her stomach over and over again into the ceramic bowl. When the last spasms subsided, she leaned against the wall and silently swore off ever drinking that much again. She noticed that the bathroom door had been shut, and that sitting on the floor next to the doorframe was a glass of water left by some unknown saint.
When she finally arrived in the kitchen, the smell of breakfast cooking almost sent her reeling for the toilet again. Her insides firmly rebelled against the thought of introducing anything solid into them, so she helped herself to tea. When Mrs. Weasley insisted she eat something, Heather buttered up two slices of dry toast and attempted to force them down. She was halfway done with this small breakfast when her stomach twisted again, and she had to dash back upstairs. Rather than return to the kitchen she dragged her tired body back into bed, drew the curtains with a wave of her wand, and pulled the covers over her head. She slept fitfully all morning into the early afternoon, when Mrs. Weasley came upstairs with lunch on a tray and a cup of some potion she said would help. It did.
Saturday mornings post brought a request from Seamus, asking if he could move in today. Heather, who was feeling more like herself that morning, set out shortly after breakfast for Grimmauld Place. The house was still empty when she arrived. Not willing to take this at face value, she searched the house again from top to bottom, but it was clear that no one had entered since they had left the other night. Her last stop was the kitchen. Kneeling down, she pulled open the door to Kreacher's old bedroom. There was no sign that he had been here for a very long while.
"Kreacher," she called into the thick, dusty air. Kreacher appeared an instant later with a loud crack that echoed off the walls. He looked well, she thought. His ear hairs were well groomed, and his white towel was fluffy and clean.
"Mistress Heather," Kreacher said, his face alight with happiness as he bowed. "Kreacher has been waiting to be summoned again." He rose and glanced curiously around the kitchen. "Mistress has returned to the house of Kreacher's former mistress?" he asked.
"I have. It looks like there are going to be some people staying here for a while actually." Heather explained, lowering herself onto one knee so as to address the old elf on his level. "But before everyone gets here, I wanted to talk to you."
"Talk to Kreacher?" he asked nervously, unconsciously wringing his bat like ears in his knobby fingers.
"Yes, I want to know what happened after we left here last year. Please, sit down." Heather pulled out a chair for him at the long table before sitting in one herself. Kreacher eyed the chair warily and did not approach it. "Please, sit," Heather repeated kindly. "Remember, we've talked like this before." She saw his throat convulse with a hard swallow before he shuffled over to the chair and pulled his tiny body up into it. He perched himself on the very edge of the wooden seat, trying to touch as little of it as possible while his thin legs swung underneath him a foot off the floor.
"Kreacher, what happened after we left last September?" Heather asked when he looked as comfortable as he was going to allow himself to be.
The old elf looked down at his dangling feet and shuddered. His left hand continued to massage one of his ears. "It was…horrible, Mistress. Very, very bad. Dark wizards came in to Mistress's house. One, he had long yellow hair, demanded to know where Mistress was, but he called you by the name you no longer go by, Mistress."
"You know, I thought I told you a long time ago that you can call me Heather," she said, caught between exasperation and politeness.
"Yes, Mistress." said Kreacher swiftly before continuing his story. The death eaters had spent hours inside the house, checking everywhere and questioning Kreacher. "Then, when Mistress did not return, they left."
"They left?" asked Heather.
"Yes, Mistress. They told Kreacher to tell them when Kreacher heard from his Mistress, but Kreacher said nothing." Kreacher said firmly, almost as though he thought he was afraid of being punished.
"And then what happened?" Heather pressed.
"Kreacher cleaned, Mistress."
"You cleaned?" asked Heather. This was not at all what she had been expecting.
The elf nodded vigorously without looking up. "Yes Mistress, Kreacher cleaned the whole house. The wizards made lots of mess. It took Kreacher many days. He had to have the house cleaned before Mistress could see it in such a state. But… Mistress never came back." It could be her imagination, but was it possible his voice had cracked, just slightly, at those last words?
"I'm really sorry, Kreacher" said Heather softly. "We just couldn't risk it. And we didn't know if they'd be able to track you or come along if we called for you."
"When Mistress didn't return for a very long time, Kreacher went back to Hogwarts." Kreacher said, still to his knees.
"I know, I saw you in the battle. You were really brave, Kreacher."
He met her gaze with his large eyes, "Is Mistress coming back to live here?" he asked.
"Err, I don't really know yet Kreacher," she replied truthfully. "I haven't decided what I'm going to do."
"But, Mistress says that others are going to live here?" the elf asked.
"Yes, some friends of mine." Heather said.
Kreacher hopped out of his chair, throwing up tiny sprays of dust when his feet landed on the floor, and bowed. "Then Kreacher will help clean while Mistress decides. Does Mistress desire her old bedroom be cleaned for her?"
"You don't have to do that." Heather protested, but she could see the old elf looking around the kitchen with a new fire in his eyes as though already making plans for what he should tackle first.
"Kreacher is happiest when he is cleaning, Mistress. Working at Hogwarts is slow now that there are no students, and Kreacher serves his Mistress." He made to leave but Heather stopped him.
"You should know, Mundungus Fletcher's been in here again. He tried to make off with more stuff."
Kreacher's face darkened. "Has Mistress stopped him?" he asked.
"Yes, he's in the custody of the Ministry."
Kreacher bowed again and tottered off up the stone stairs. Heather wasn't entirely sure, but she thought that, as he walked away, she heard him mutter, "Mistress should have let Kreacher use the frying pan again."
The doorbell clanged loudly at that moment. She shook her head with silent laughter and went to open it. She knew Seamus, and most likely Katie, would be along at some point, and Ron had made some noncommittal noises about coming to help at breakfast. Heather was only just able to hide her shock when, upon opening the door, she found a small troupe waiting there for her. In addition to Seamus, Katie, and Ron, Lee and Neville had apparently tagged along, as well as Susan Bones, a Hufflepuff from Heather's year, and Luna Lovegood, neither of whom Heather had seen since the Battle.
"What are you all doing here?" she asked incredulously as they pressed through the door and into the hallway.
"We're here to help clean!" said Lee excitedly, who was gazing around at the dour faced portraits on the walls. "Blimey, Seamus said this house was creepy, but…blimey." He finished, unable to articulate his feelings otherwise.
Heather had to blink several times before her thoughts caught up with events. "Oy, Seamus!" she called across the very crowded space, "can I have a word?" She gestured past her shoulder to the hallway leading to the Dining Room and Study. Seamus maneuvered his way through the bottleneck and joined her. Once they were out of earshot, she turned on him. "Who else have you told could move in here?" she asked irritably.
"Well, about that…" Seamus began, massaging the back of his neck and looking embarrassed, "Katie's been looking for a place as long as I have, so I may have dropped her an owl."
"I know about her already." Heather said darkly. "Who else?" She glanced over his shoulder back towards the crowd. From the sound of it, Ron had taken charge and was leading everyone down to the kitchen.
"Umm, Katie might have told Lee, who told Neville. I dunno if they want to move in too, but they were both eager to come help clean. Truth be told, I don't think she wanted to live here with just me." He said quickly as Heather's cheeks flushed. "I figured the more the merrier, eh?" he continued with an attempt at a grin.
"Well with the way you hit on her every time she moves can you blame her?" Heather asked, crossing her arms, and trying to replicate one of Mrs. Weasley's famous glares.
"I suppose that's true," he replied sheepishly.
"What about Susan?"
Seamus' grin died, replaced with a sorrowful look. "She, well she doesn't have anywhere else to do. Lost her mum when the Ministry fell last year, and her dad just passed in St. Mungo's. On top of that, the death eaters blew her house to bits while she was at school. She's been sleeping at the hospital for the past two weeks to be with her dad, but now…" his voice, which had already been quiet, trailed off into nothingness.
Heather could feel her anger deflating. "Oh…"
"Yeah, same with Luna," Seamus continued. "Death eaters blew her and her dad's house to bits-"
"I know. I was sort of there for that." Heather cut him off. "What happened to her father?"
"No one knows. He was let out of Azkaban with everyone else, but he's just vanished." Seamus answered with a shrug.
"Merlin" Heather whispered, leaning tiredly against a wall. "All right, you did the right thing then. I'm sorry for jumping on you." After taking another handful of seconds to pull her thoughts back together, she led him back towards the stairs.
It was very noisy in the kitchen. Every lamp had been lit and a roaring fire was blazing in the grate warming the room and dispelling, to a degree, the feeling of neglect. Everyone was sitting around the long table, swapping stories. Heather could see now just how red Susan's eyes were. Luna on the other hand was acting like her normal, slightly untethered self, but everything about her looked wrong. Her hair was matted and dirty, and the clothes she was wearing were filthy. It took Heather several seconds to recognize them as the ones she had been wearing the night of the Battle.
Her arrival silenced most of the conversation. "Listen you lot, I appreciate everyone coming to help," she said from the head of the table. "This house, my house, hasn't been properly lived in for a long time. I think it'll be best if we break off into groups to clean." Assignments were quickly decided on and everyone set to work. Their priorities for today would be the kitchen, the drawing room, at least one bathroom, and two bedrooms, one for everyone Heather knew was moving in. She expected that number to rise quickly. Susan didn't say anything to her, or anyone else for that matter, but followed Neville and Katie upstairs to start cleaning bedrooms. Luna, who had volunteered to clean the kitchen with Heather, remained behind as everyone left. When they were alone, Heather pulled her to her feet and into a tight embrace, wrinkling her nose at the smell emanating from her friend's clothes.
"It's so good to see you again," Heather said into her shoulder. Luna's hair was draped across her face, and she could feel the grime there. Luna felt thin and incredibly frail in her arms.
"Yes," Luna replied, though her voice was quiet and sounded pained, "I'm glad to see you as well."
She didn't say much as they go to work. From the little information she did let drop, Heather was able to put together something of a picture of what her friend had been through since the fall of Voldemort. After the Battle, Luna, who had mercifully been uninjured, had returned to the house she shared with her father, or more exactly, the ruins of it. There was little of it still standing. She had expected Xenophilius to arrive that day, but he hadn't come. "I tried what I could to put the damage right," Luna said, "but almost everything was ruined by rain and weather."
"I'm sorry for what part we played in that-" Heather began.
"It's not your fault." Luna interjected, quietly cutting her off.
"Has there been any word on your dad at all?" Heather asked hopefully.
"No," Luna shook her head dejectedly. "He was supposed to come home, but…" her voice trailed off.
"Do…do you need a place to stay?" Heather asked into the silence.
"Oh, no I couldn't ask that of you," Luna replied. Her head perked up, and she looked like her old self for half a second. Then it all came crashing down again as Heather watched. "Especially not after what he did-" she continued.
"He didn't do anything to me." Heather stated firmly. They had talked about this before at Shell Cottage. She didn't blame Xenophilius for betraying her to the death eaters. In a similar situation, with the life of someone Heather loved on the line, she would probably have done the same thing. But why hadn't he come home? Had Azkaban done to him what it had done to so many others and drove him mad? "He made the only choice he thought he had." She insisted.
"I suppose, it's just hard to know anymore. About anything he's ever told me…" her voice failed again and she sat down in a chair. Heather could see that her eyes now were brimming with tears, and Heather's began to do the same as her heart broke for her friend. She rushed around the table and held Luna close to her.
"You're moving in, either here or the Burrow with me." She left no room in the statement for Luna to argue. Luna just nodded mutely.
"I…I don't have any of my things." She said a few minutes later.
"Kreacher!" Heather called loudly. The house elf appeared instantly.
"Mistress?" he said, peering curiously at the two crying witches.
"Kreacher, this is Luna Lovegood." She propped Luna up, allowing her to see the elf. "Luna, this is Kreacher."
"Hello Kreacher." Luna managed a slight smile.
"Listen, Kreacher. I need a favor." Heather pushed on.
"Of course, Mistress. Mistress has only to name it. Kreacher has been busy cleaning the Noble and Most Ancient House of Bl…Potter?" He finished the statement as a question.
Heather groaned and almost forgot what she had summoned him for. If Seamus or Ron ever heard the phrase 'Noble and Most Ancient House of Potter' she would never hear the end of it.
She pressed on. "Kreacher, Luna's house was badly damaged by death eaters several months ago. I would like you to accompany her there, and to help her locate and pack all her possessions. Then bring her back here. Do you understand?"
"Miss Lovegood's house was destroyed by those who supported the Dark Lord?" asked Kreacher. Heather knew that with that statement, any objections Kreacher might have to carrying out this task had just vanished. He bowed once more to Luna and extended a hand. "If Miss would be so kind as to hold on, Kreacher will be more than happy to accompany her to her home."
"Thanks, Heather," Luna said with a sad smile as she and Kreacher vanished with another crack.
There were footsteps on the stairs and Ron, followed by Katie and Susan appeared in the kitchen. "What's going on down here? Where's Luna?" asked Ron.
"She's gone home with Kreacher to get her things." Heather said, then explained just who Kreacher was to the two curious witches. "Susan," Heather continued, "You're welcome to move in if you'd like too."
Relief mixed with sadness on Susan's face. "How did you know?" she asked.
"Doesn't matter. Go ahead and tell your friends. Anyone who doesn't have a place to go is welcome here." Heather said.
Luna and Kreacher returned before an hour had passed. Between the explosion of the erumpent horn and months of exposure to the elements, there hadn't been much left to salvage. Heather made a mental note to talk to Ginny about them donating some clothes to her. Meanwhile, she had been trying her best to arbitrate an argument that had cropped up during Luna's absence. Seamus and Katie were all in a bother about who should get the Master bedroom. Heather hadn't had the heart to inform them of the hours she had spent in there feeding dead rats to Buckbeak the hippogriff, but if this went on much longer, she just might have too. Still, she supposed, these kinds of problems were really not so bad, all things considering.