AN: I do not own Harry Potter or the Wizarding World Universe.

Chapter 23

Harry was up early the next morning with all the others. He rarely used the wardrobe, but he'd emptied and packed everything in his trunk the night before. All his dormmates left together, dragging or floating their trunks behind them. In the Common Room, the Prefects handed out letters and warned them not to use any magic outside Hogwarts. When Elliot Harper realized they had their trunks, he told them to leave them in their dorm. Their luggage would be on the train once they found compartments.

After a hearty breakfast, the students left the Great Hall as one giant mass as they headed towards the Entrance Hall. The older students left through the double doors towards the lawn while the first years went with Hagrid to the boats in the little harbor. They weren't new students anymore. It was different and yet the same as they left in the bright morning sun. This time, the Castle was at their back, and the Forest path ahead.

Susan, Hannah, and Ernie were in his boat. He looked back and watched the place he'd come to enjoy get smaller. The summer would go by quickly, and he would return. No matter what.

"It looks so beautiful," Susan whispered.

Harry looked and saw the Giant Squid waving its tentacles out of the water. It was like it was waving them off. He knew they would never use these boats again, at least not while they were students. It… felt odd but good. He and the rest of his year would be second years when they returned, and new first years would use these boats.

"You look sad," Hannah said.

He shook his head. There wasn't one emotion he could point at that was bothering him. He felt different than when he got on the boat months ago. Maybe that was what he was feeling. Change. A change within himself and within… he didn't know.

When the boats touched the opposite bank near the Forbidden Forest, he watched the others disembark. Some jumped off. Others used their wands to float themselves to safety. No one fell in, not even Longbottom. Almost as if he heard his name, Longbottom looked at Harry. Him on the shore, and Harry still in the boat. They looked away at the same time.

The trip to the Express wasn't nearly as spooky as it was arriving. He could see buildings and what might have been a stable through the trees. Hogsmeade was somewhere he wanted to visit. Sadly, he couldn't do it while at Hogwarts until his third year and only with permission from his guardian. That likely wasn't going to happen any time soon.

"We're never going to find a compartment," Ernie huffed. "Look at all the others."

Harry craned his neck as they crested the last hill. There were about twenty train cars and the engine. "We'd better hurry then," he said. If he could have an open compartment for his… friends, that would be great. It was another uncomfortable revelation he'd had after the end-of-term exams. He felt, or at least thought he felt, that his fellow Hufflepuffs were friends - even Justin Finch-Fletchley.

Ernie shouldn't have worried. There were plenty of compartments open. For some reason, many students wanted to stop and talk outside the train rather than find a spot before the others. Harry wasn't going to complain. All seven of them found a compartment in the middle of the train.

"Are you still going to the Midsummer Ball?" Hannah asked Susan. Once Harry settled, he heard a thump on the metal rack overhead. When he looked up, he saw his trunk.

Ernie, Wayne, Daisy, and Bridget all found seats. Their trunks appeared as if by magic in the overhead racks. Harry knew it must be the house-elves. Likely glad to be rid of all the students. He couldn't imagine how much work they did behind the scenes.

"We can bring our brooms next term," Bridget said excitedly.

"What do you have? I've got an old Cleansweep Five," Wayne asked excitedly.

"Comet 2060," she answered proudly.

"Oh, mum wouldn't let me get one," Hannah said, breaking off her conversation with Susan. Bones didn't look too upset. Hannah was like a finch. Always hopping about in conversations.

"Dad doesn't want the neighbors to see me flying one," Daisy grimaced. "After Flying Lessons, I want one, though."

Harry nodded. He was going to buy a broom at some point. Maybe he could use it wherever Kreacher found for him to live. His house-elf hadn't been too clear on the details, likely on purpose.

The ride back to London was relaxing. Harry took the first opportunity to change out of his robes and put them in his trunk. He found that his old clothes fit nearly perfectly now. Again, it was likely the work of one of the house-elves or Kreacher. After thinking about it for a moment, Harry didn't believe it was Kreacher, but he would thank him anyway, just in case.

Not everyone changed. He knew that families like Susan and Hannah would remain in the Wizarding World and likely leave some other way from the Platform in King's Cross.

"So, what is the first thing you'll do when you get home?" Bridget asked him.

Harry saw Susan's face darken out of the corner of his eye. "Probably read," he smiled.

Hannah snorted. "Somehow, that doesn't shock me," Bridget smirked. "Any other plans for the summer?"

"Enjoy not having to see Snape."

A small cheer went up around the compartment. "No kidding," Wayne laughed. "It would be nice not to have him next term, but sadly," he said with a dramatic sigh.

They all laughed.

Susan and Hannah came back from the bathroom up the train. They'd changed as well. His assumption might not be correct about the others leaving by some other method than the Barrier. "We just saw Draco," Hannah giggled. Susan had a very blank face. It was like she was trying not to laugh.

"Oh? Did the Slytherins do something to him after the Feast last night?" Ernie wondered.

"Better. Longbottom did," Hannah gushed. She smirked. "Curse of the Bogies," she laughed. "Big yellow disgusting things attacking his face and eyes."

Harry shivered. That was one of the spells Quirrell taught them. It was simple and disgusting.

"Close the door. Those things fly around," Bridget warned.

Susan realized she was still standing in the doorway and quickly slammed the door. About a minute later, a golf-ball-sized slimy thing hit the glass and bounced off.

"Yeah, no. That isn't funny anymore," Wayne said. "Someone needs to do something about that. Wonder if we can get off the train through the window," he said seriously.

Harry looked out and saw the English countryside pass by in a blur of trees and shrubs. Sometimes, he could see for miles and miles. It was beautiful.

All good things must come to an end. The Express reached the station near dinner. They'd left around nine or ten in the morning. Harry saw families and single witches and wizards standing on the Platform as the train pulled slowly into the station.

"Oh, Auntie looks livid," Susan whispered, whipping her wand at her trunk overhead. "I've got to go! I'll letter you all soon," she promised and rushed out the door.

Harry looked out the window and saw a tall, pale-skinned, striking witch in a black dress with a square jaw. Her close-cropped graying hair stood out from the golden monocle in her left eye. For a moment, they locked eyes. Her lips pressed together.

A tall man in a purple suit and a strange purple and gold hat on his head stood nearby, watching everyone who passed. His dark eyes didn't seem to miss anything.

Harry heard the others moving around the compartment. He risked a glance back at the striking woman and realized she hadn't stopped staring at him. That was either a good or a bad thing. He'd applied the paste so his scar was hidden. She couldn't possibly know who he was. Susan appeared to her left and said something. The warmest, brightest smile Harry had seen on an adult appeared. It was the kind of look that Petunia used when looking at Dudley. Amelia Bones, then.

A pale woman with bright pink hair walked by Susan and her aunt. Somehow, almost five feet away, the woman tripped on nothing and face-planted on the hard stone platform. A… person with more scars than face wore some weird eyepatch and barked something at the prone woman. The electric blue spinning eye inside the bronze socket of the eyepatch was unsettling.

Harry decided it was well enough time to go. Most of the others had left. Ernie still stood by the door, waiting on him.

"That had to hurt," he commented with a smirk.

"There was literally nothing there. She just tripped," Harry said with a shake of his head. "That has to be some magical curse or something," he snorted.

"Reckon they're Aurors," Ernie said softly. "That's Susan's aunt if you didn't already know. Madam Bones is… well… she's not one you ever want to cross. Ready?"

Harry easily lifted the trunk he had a little trouble with a few months ago. "Ready," he sighed.

They left the train together and got jammed up for a few minutes. "I know your summer is probably going to suck. If you need anything, just owl me," his friend said softly.

Harry nodded. He didn't have the heart to tell Ernie that he didn't have an owl. That was likely another purchase he needed to make. Hopefully, they wouldn't be as mean as the others in the Owlery.

Harry didn't see Susan or her aunt and Aurors. He saw a few people he either knew or had seen in passing from his House and others. They were with their families. Ernie disappeared when someone called his name.

Harry found a trolley to put his trunk on. He took one last glance at all the families and their children before going through the Barrier. There weren't many people he recognized on the other side. His initial assumption was likely correct. There were other ways off the Platform.

Vernon was waiting outside in his new Volvo Estate car. Harry went up to the window. "Sir," he said politely.

"Boy," the somehow fatter man greeted. "Get in."

"Would you rather me leave for the summer and go elsewhere?"

Vernon's eyes narrowed. Harry continued to look at his mouth and the stupid mustache he wore. "I would love nothing more, but as we both know, boy, they won't let me."

"Then say I'm out or with your sister," Harry pressed. He'd practiced this speech in the mirror before leaving that morning.

"And if they come asking for you?" Vernon sneered. "I could lose everything."

"No. If it comes to that, say I ran away. Do you want me to leave for the summer?" he asked again.

"You have somewhere to go?"

That wasn't the question he expected. "Likely," he said carefully. Technically, he wasn't with Kreacher and wherever that place was.

"Then, get in. I think people are watching you."

Harry could leave from Vernon's house just as easily as King's Cross. He put his trunk in the boot and glanced toward King's Cross Station. The pink-haired woman was leaning with her arms crossed by one of the pillars. She was watching him.

Harry got in the back seat.

"What's this plan of yours, boy?" Vernon asked. "I'll not have them show up and question me or my wife again."

"They are less likely to show up if I'm not there. No one should show up anyway."

"Some black gentleman from the government was asking about you. He wasn't nice, nor did he seem to believe us. What did you tell them at your freak school?" Vernon demanded.

"Absolutely nothing."

"Liar."

Harry shook his head. "It's better if I leave," he pressed again. This wasn't what he thought was going to happen. Vernon should be happy to get rid of him.

"And if they come looking for you?" he asked again. "What am I supposed to say? You being with my sister will only delay them."

"So you want me to stay with you all summer?" Harry frowned.

"No. Dudley doesn't need your sort around. Your freakishness caused him to fall behind in school. Now we have to pay for tutors."

Harry wanted to complain. It was Vernon who told him to do Dudley's homework.

"Say I ran away. You… I don't know… took me to get new clothes?"

Vernon scoffed. "And pay for you? Not likely. No, you just took off one night, and I don't know where you are. They can find you."

Harry wanted to breathe a sigh of relief. "I don't want to cause Dudley any more problems," he said, hoping the new tactic would work.

Vernon's big head nodded. "Yes, yes. Where do you want me to drop you off?"

Harry grimaced. It was a good question. "Do you know anywhere no one will be?"

Vernon looked at him in the rear-view mirror. "You must be joking. What are you going to do in the middle of nowhere?" he snorted. "No, that's perfect. I know just the place."

Harry wasn't sure if that was a good sign or not. Vernon drove in silence, and Harry didn't want to speak. He watched the buildings and people pass. After about fifteen minutes, Vernon turned onto one of the motorways. Another fifteen minutes and he turned again. Harry didn't like it when he started chuckling to himself.

The clock on the dash showed nearly six o'clock.

"This is a nice little secluded spot that no one would find," Vernon chuckled as he pulled off onto a one-lane road. "If you're wrong, you've got quite the walk back."

Harry didn't speak.

The car rolled to a stop in a parking lot, which was clearly connected to a public park. "Thank you," he said and made to get out.

"As soon as anyone comes to find you, I'll tell them you ran away," Vernon warned again.

"That's fine. Let me get my trunk, and you can leave. I'll try to have somewhere else figured out before next summer."

"That school of yours has made you bold, boy. You wouldn't speak to me like that if you didn't have those other freaks."

"Like you said with your paddle. You have the bigger stick. They have the bigger stick now," Harry said as he stepped out. He left the door open, just in case. When he got his trunk out, he closed the boot and the door. Vernon never looked back as he sped off.

Harry waited for a minute. No one showed up or called out to him to figure out what happened. "Kreacher," he said softly.

One moment, he was alone, and the next, the old house-elf was beside him. "Master," he grumbled.

"I'm ready."

Harry was, indeed, not ready. His body twisted backward as if it were folding in on itself and pushed down a narrow tube. The pain mounted and then vanished. He opened his eyes.

"Kreacher has brought the Master," his house-elf spat. "Blood traitor he is."

"I'm no blood traitor, Kreacher. Thank you for fixing my clothes," he said, suddenly remembering what he was going to tell his house-elf.

Kreacher stopped and looked up at him. His eyes went over Harry's clothes and then back to his face. "Kreacher is here to serve," he grumbled. "Even if Kreacher didn't fix the blood traitor's clothes."

Harry looked around. It smelled damp and strange, sweet, and rotting at the same time. Dust motes floated across the low-lit, old-fashioned gas lamps on the walls. It didn't feel like a house; it felt more like the building should be condemned. Peeling wallpaper and bits of rotting boards stuck out. It would have been a perfect place for a haunted house.

"Where are we?" he asked quietly. His eyes found the severed heads of house-elves on the wall.

"My Mistress' house," Kreacher said proudly. "Oh, the shame of having a blood traitor in Mistress' house," he complained under his breath.

Harry looked at him. "I… don't mean to be rude… but is this how she kept her home?" he asked gently. Petunia would die first.

Kreacher's ears wilted. "The blood traitor questions Mistress' house," he moaned. "No, Master," he answered louder in his bullfrog-like voice.

"Can I help restore it somehow? I mean… it isn't exactly welcoming, but even I know the walls shouldn't be about to fall down."

Kreacher covered his head as if Harry had hit him. "Kreacher failed to uphold Mistress' house," he moaned. "The blood traitor finds fault with The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black."

"I asked if you needed help, Kreacher. Not that you failed. What do you need to restore it?" Harry pressed. He'd read two books in the Library about how to deal with house-elves. Every book said a firm hand was needed. He didn't know how to do that, and he didn't want to pretend to be Vernon.

Kreacher didn't hear him.

"Kreacher, listen to me now," he ordered. His house-elf stopped and looked up at him with baleful eyes. "You are the house-elf of your mistress who you loved to serve. She is now gone. Will you not uphold the House of Black now that I am here?"

The old house-elf stood up straighter. "The blood traitor speaks true," he grumbled. "Kreacher will restore the house even if it ends him."

"No!" Harry shouted. Something wailed near the front door.

"Mistress! Kreacher is coming," the house-elf cried and made his way over.

"Who defiles the House of Black!" a shrill woman's voice screamed.

Harry felt a headache coming on. "Kreacher, she might be your mistress, but she is gone. Shut her up," he ordered.

The house-elf wobbled back and forth, muttering darkly. Harry heard blood traitor and unworthy several times. Finally, Kreacher snapped his fingers. The wailing stopped as something closed over the portrait near the entrance.

"Thank you, Kreacher. I know that was hard. I want to work together, not order you around. How can I help restore this place?" he asked softly.

Kreacher continued to mutter something and rock back and forth. "The filth wants to restore Mistress' house," he moaned a little louder.

Harry sighed and looked up and down the long corridor. It looked like a kitchen or dining room was at the far end of the house. There was a staircase near the door.

He lifted his trunk and made his way toward the open door. There was a kitchen to his left and ahead was the dining room attached by another door. Harry entered the kitchen and looked around. Like the entrance hall, it looked like no one had lived there in years. At least it had a refrigerator. He opened it and saw it stocked full of food.

"Kreacher, would you like anything to eat?" he asked. He was starving.

A soft pop announced the house-elf's presence. "Master will not cook!"

"Why? Is the gas turned off?"

Kreacher just stared at Harry. "The blood traitor doesn't understand," it muttered and rocked back and forth. "Kreacher must cook, Kreacher must cook. The blood traitor doesn't understand. Not smart enough."

Harry ignored him. "Do you eat something different than what wizards do? I know how to cook most things. You stocked the fridge, so thank you. How about something simple? A sandwich?"

Kreacher rocked back and forth and rubbed his hands. He looked conflicted. "Kreacher will cook," he said. All of a sudden, the room blazed to life. The gas lamps nearly blinded Harry for a moment. When he blinked the spots away, decades of grime, dust, and just about every other substance peeled itself off the surfaces around the kitchen before vanishing. Parts of the wall repaired themselves, and the counters gleamed.

Kreacher wobbled. Harry caught him. "That was bloody brilliant," he gasped. "I wish I knew how to do that. Maybe next term. Rest, rest. That must have taken a lot to do. Are you sure you don't want food?"

Kreacher's mutterings, this time quieter, seemed less angry and more tired. He didn't answer Harry directly.

Harry opened the pantry and found a box of biscuits. He checked the date, just to be sure. They were good, so he opened them and fished a few out. It looked like a premium brand, but he didn't recognize the name. Petunia only kept the best biscuits for Dudley and Vernon.

"Here," Harry said as he dropped to one knee, offering the food.

Kreacher gave him a baleful look. His gaze flicked to the biscuit and then back to Harry.

"Don't like this type? I don't even know what it is. Here, I'll try it first," he said, taking a bite of the other one he had. It crumbled in his mouth, and a milky vanilla flavor danced across his tongue. "It's good. Vanilla and something milky," he reported.

Kreacher just stared at him as if Harry were some strange creature. Harry fought a grin. It was probably how Harry looked at the first house-elf he'd seen at Hogwarts. After several long seconds, Kreacher took the biscuit and looked at it.

"It's not poisonous to you, right? That would be bad," Harry muttered. The last thing he wanted to do was somehow hurt the person who helped him.

Kreacher took a small bite. Then, chewed slowly as if considering the flavor, texture, or the meaning of life. Harry had no way of interpreting the look he got.

"Well, feel free to get some more," Harry said as he put the tin beside Kreacher. He stood and looked around the suddenly sparkling kitchen. It was almost too bright. He looked down at Kreacher. "Thank you…" he said softly. "Thank you for doing all this work. I know you don't like me, and that's okay. I promise not to be in your way as much as possible. I just need a few months to be here; then I'll be out of your way again."

Kreacher stared at him, biscuit still in hand.

"So… I didn't really plan anything outside of… well… this is a little dumb if I'm honest. I didn't want to go back to the Dursleys. You don't want to hear this. Uh… so, do you want food? Or… no, you have that. Uh…" he muttered as he looked around the kitchen again. A sudden thought struck him. "Does anyone know we're here? Can anyone like… find me here? I sort of ran away. Well… not really. I wasn't wanted and didn't want to be there."

"Like the traitor Sirius," Kreacher said suddenly.

"No! I am nothing like him. He betrayed my parents. No. I will not be like Sirius Black."

Kreacher ducked his head but didn't seem too upset. "Master is a Hufflepuff," he said as if it were an accusation. "Not even in a noble house like the proud Gryffindors or the cunning Slytherin… no, the Master is in the unworthy house."

Harry frowned. "Hufflepuff isn't unworthy. If anything, it's more worthy than the others," he argued. It didn't take a genius to know what House the Blacks were. "Slytherins aren't all bad. They just cheat at everything," he said.

"The Mistress would never allow an advantage to go unused," Kreacher said proudly. "The blood traitor doesn't even realize the unworthy house it is in."

Harry frowned. An advantage? There was nothing else to do, so he pushed his trunk near the large table in the kitchen and made for the fridge. His stomach was starting to growl. "So, tell me about the Blacks? I didn't get far looking them up. Was busy with school," he apologized. It seemed like the right thing to say.

Kreacher got excited, the most excited that Harry had seen so far.

While Kreacher told him all about Orion and Walburga Black, their true son Regulus Black and the disgraced Sirius Black, and the general greatness of The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, Harry tried to figure out the stove. Kreacher still muttered and insulted Harry, but he talked. The pots and pans looked brand new and heavy.

"Do you like beans and mash or cottage pie? I think I saw some sausage in the fridge," he asked.

Kreacher paused in his narration of Regulus Black's O.W.L. scores and jumped up. "No! Master Potter. Kreacher must be the one cooking," he half-yelled, half-squeaked. It sounded odd in his bullfrog voice.

Harry looked at him. Kreacher had called him Master Potter. That was a lot better than blood traitor. "I don't want to force you to do anything, Kreacher. You are telling me about The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. I need to know this stuff. Susan… my friend… said that it would be important to know about Potters and Blacks at some point. She's Susan Bones. I think the Blacks and Bones had some marriages."

Kreacher wrung his hands. "Five generations ago," he confirmed. "Callidoria the Second Bones 'nee Black. Died of Dragon Pox."

Harry blinked. "That's impressive," he grinned.

The pot lifted out of Harry's hand and moved to the back burner while two other pots floated onto the stove.

"I can do that," Harry grumbled. "If I could use my wand."

Kreacher looked at him and waved his hand again. The fridge opened, and several things floated out of it. "The old master has many wards and protections upon my Mistress' house. She would never let the Ministry in without invitation or a warrant. If they came, she sent them running. You are free to use your wand here, blood traitor."

Harry stared at Kreacher. "The Statute of Secrecy," he carefully reminded the house-elf. Kreacher was old. He didn't want to get in trouble… more trouble. As soon as someone figured out he wasn't with Vernon and Petunia, things wouldn't go well for him. That reminded him. "Kreacher, are we safe here? Are we alone? Is anyone going to come looking for this place or me here?" he asked quickly.

The pot on the back burner was boiling. Harry had to know how the house-elf did that. It was at least an eight-quart pot, boiling away in less than two minutes. The potatoes were pealing themselves on a silver knife nearby. Everything stopped as Kreacher looked at him.

"Master Harry is not safe here," the house-elf said. "The House of Black is dangerous to all. No one will come looking for you…" he said before trailing off. His eyes went to several paintings on the walls of the kitchen. "Though some may be able to find you."

"Is there a way to prevent that?" Harry asked as he, too, looked at the paintings. A few of the witches and wizards in a photo stared back at him. They all wore black robes with funny triangle black hats.

"Yes, Master Potter," Kreacher said as he closed his eyes.

Something happened. Harry wasn't sure what, but something definitely happened within the house. For some reason, he felt tired and more hungry. Whatever Kreacher did made a potato fall and nearly hit the floor before it floated into the air with magic again.

"I… don't know what you did, Kreacher, but thank you. I would rather just study and be alone than deal with people. Are you sure I can't help?" he asked.

Kreacher gave him a baleful look and muttered something that sounded like blood traitor.

Harry looked around the kitchen. "Please make enough for you as well, Kreacher. I'm glad that you look healthier than when we first met. Also… can you teach me how to… you know… be a Black? I mean… you seem to be the only one who knows everything about them."

When he looked back at the house-elf everything stopped again. He couldn't even hear the water boiling. "Master Harry Potter... it is as the Master wishes," Kreacher said with a smile that was not at all pleasant to see but at the same time filled with a strange joy.