Chapter 14 - The House of Potter
June 6, 1998
Harry stood on the cobbled street of Grimmauld Place in the early-morning gloom, staring at the darkened space between numbers eleven and thirteen. The familiar, weathered facade of number twelve emerged as he approached, sliding into existence like an unwelcome memory he couldn't quite shake. Every moment he started at it reminded him of the weeks of planning, of the war, of Sirius. He was beginning to question his decision to turn the dilapidated old house into his home.
Harry exhaled sharply, shaking off the thought. He adjusted the strap of his bag on his shoulder, steeling himself. The house had always carried an air of foreboding—a shadowy reminder of the past and all the horrid things Pureblood superiority stood for—but now, after the battle and everything they'd lost, it felt heavier than ever.
"Best be careful," Mr. Weasley said from where he stood beside Harry. He gave the exterior an appraising once-over. "It looks unscathed enough, but there's no telling what nasty surprise Death Eaters might have left for you." He glanced over to Harry's other side and asked, "Bill?"
Bill's wand waved complex patterns in the air. He shook his head. "The Blacks locked this place up tighter than anywhere I've ever seen outside of Hogwarts and one old crypt in Egypt," he said. "I can barely tell where one ward ends and the next begins, never mind all the other enchantments, curses, or hexes that might have been part of the original protections or left behind more recently."
"Zo, you are saying we should be careful?" Fleur asked, trying for a bit of levity.
Bill shot her an unamused look. "If that was what I was saying I would have left you home with Mum and Ginny," he countered.
Fleur smirked knowingly, and Bill rolled his eyes. Mrs. Weasley had volunteered to watch Teddy after Andi was called into work unexpectedly. Ginny had argued rather hard that she should join them, but her parents were adamant that she avoid Grimmauld Place until they were certain it was safe. Her not yet being of-age was really starting to sour her disposition.
Harry was glad she was safe, but in truth he'd wanted to share the moment with her. He hadn't realized just how badly he'd wanted a future—their future—until that evening with Neville and the others at the Leaky Cauldron. He wanted it more than he'd wanted anything in his entire life. Staring up at Grimmauld Place, he couldn't help but picture it as their home, with their lives happening inside it: Ron walking in like he owned the place, Hermione scolding him for it; Andi and Teddy coming by for dinner; their friends stopping by to listen to Quidditch matches on the wireless.
Merlin, he wanted that life.
He stepped forward, but Bill reached out and snared him by the arm.
"I know that look, Harry. Seen it a hundred times before," Bill said, his eyes piercingly serious. "You want to get it over and done with and get back home. I get it."
But he really didn't.
"You need to be smart and slow," Bill continued. "We don't know what's waiting for us. Going in without your head screwed on right is as dangerous as going in at a full sprint."
Bill wasn't entirely right in his read, but the message was clear. Harry needed to slow down. He nodded, and the worn black door materialized fully as he reached the stoop. His fingers brushed over the serpentine door knocker, but he didn't use it. Instead, he drew out his wand and whispered the unlocking charm. The locks clicked and whirred, and with a groan of ancient wood, the door creaked open.
The musty smell hit him immediately, mingled with the faintest trace of polish. Someone had been here since the war—Kreacher, maybe—but time had still left its mark. Dust clung to the edges of the hallway, and the curtains over Mrs. Black's portrait hung askew, revealing a corner of her sour, scowling face.
They stepped inside, with Mr. Weasley shutting the door firmly behind them. The sound echoed through the empty house.
For a moment, Harry simply stood there, taking it all in. The chipped wallpaper, the frayed edges of the rug—it was all the same. And yet, it felt profoundly different. He was finally accepting that it was his.
He ran a hand along the banister, his fingers brushing over the carved wood as he moved deeper into the house. Memories stirred with each step: listening in on Order meetings with the Twins, de-Doxyfying the curtains with Ron and Hermione, Ginny brushing past him in the narrow hallway.
Bill moved his wand in long, slow, wide arcs. "Good so far. Let's move to the dining room. Slowly. We can use that as a Benevolent Space and start moving up and out from there," he said, speaking in a clipped businesslike tone that Harry had never heard before.
Gone was the "cool older brother," the doting son, and the affectionate husband. Bill was entirely in his element; whispering indecipherable spells under his breath as he led the way into the house. His wand wove continuously through the air in one hand, while the other hand was splayed open in front of him. The fingers of his empty hand moved as he passed them through the air, like he was feeling for something.
When they reached the dining room, Bill paused. He shrugged his bag off his shoulder and handed it to Fleur, then he cast a sharp, precise spell. The moment Bill finished casting, the air in the Grimmauld Place dining room seemed to shimmer. A faint golden light rippled outward from the tip of his wand, enveloping the room in a soft, protective glow. The once oppressive shadows that had clung stubbornly to the corners began to dissipate, retreating as though banished by some unseen force. The musty scent of decay and lingering malice that had haunted the room for decades was replaced with something more herbal—like some sort of spice.
As Bill moved to each wall, he carefully traced the symbol of an open eye in the air, his wand leaving behind faint trails of silvery light. The symbol lingered momentarily, as if watching, before sinking into the surface of the wall with a soft hum. The room seemed to exhale again, and the oppressive weight that once seemed to smother Grimmauld Place lifted slightly. The air grew warmer, more inviting, and the sense of lingering hostility that the house had always carried began to ebb.
When the final eye symbol was traced and absorbed into the wall, the entire room pulsed gently, as though it had acknowledged and accepted the magic. A faint, protective hum vibrated just beneath hearing—a comforting sound, like the murmur of a shield being raised. The dining room now felt...lighter.
"Fancy bit of wandwork there, Bill," Mr. Weasley said appraisingly. He walked over to take a closer look at where the eye symbol had vanished into the nearest wall. "You never showed us anything like this when we visited you in Egypt."
"Well I wasn't about to bring my parents and younger siblings into anything actively cursed," Bill said with a grin. He walked over to the opposite wall and ran his fingers across the tattered wallpaper. "But I figure if the Eye of Horus is protection enough for curse-breaking a pharaoh's tomb it's a good enough start for us now."
Harry dropped his bag onto one of the chairs and stood there, staring at the space where Sirius had once sat. The long wooden table sat in the middle of the room, its surface worn and scarred from years of use—and abuse. Where so many plans had been made. For a moment, he wondered if he'd made a mistake coming back here. Maybe it would've been better to sell the place, to leave it behind for good. Sirius had hated the house. The only thing that kept him from burning it to the ground was the fact that it was the only place he could live and the Order needed it.
Harry knew right then he could save himself any trouble. He could burn the place to the ground, honor Sirius's wishes, and let the Noble and Ancient House of Black be forgotten.
But then he thought of Kreacher. The old house-elf had fought alongside them in the battle—loyal and brave in ways Harry never could've imagined when they first met. And Kreacher deserved more than that. Sirius deserved more—even Regulus deserved it. All of them had been so deeply scarred by this place. So Harry knew he could either destroy it and leave that scar behind. Or he could heal it.
He thought about what Andi had told him, one of the precious few things he knew about his family—that his grandfather and great-grandfather had openly defied Pureblood traditions, using their influence to help the many instead of themselves. Harry resolved to do the same. He would take Grimmauld Place and turn it into something that Sirius would be proud of; something that would bring him joy, knowing that Harry was using it to spit in the face of every vile thing Voldemort, the Malfoys, and Sirius's parents believed in.
Harry straightened and cleared his throat. His voice felt small in the vast stillness of the room.
"Kreacher?"
There was a faint crack, and then the old house-elf appeared before him, bowing so low his long nose brushed the floor. Kreacher's ears flopped forward as he croaked, "Master Harry calls Kreacher. Kreacher is here to serve."
The sight of him—a little frailer than Harry remembered, his patched tea towel tied neatly around his middle—brought a lump to Harry's throat.
"Hi, Kreacher," Harry said softly. He hesitated, searching for the right words. "It's…it's good to see you."
Kreacher straightened, his large eyes blinking up at Harry. "Master Harry has not called for Kreacher since…" The house-elf's voice trailed off, and his gaze dropped to the floor, his expression unreadable.
"I know," Harry said quickly, guilt flaring in his chest. "I should have called you sooner. I'm sorry, Kreacher. I just…" He trailed off, running a hand through his hair.
Kreacher tilted his head, studying Harry. Then, with a surprising softness, he said, "Master Harry has been fighting a great war. Kreacher understands."
The lump in Harry's throat grew. He crouched down, so he was eye-level with Kreacher. "I'm done now. With that war," he said quietly. "It's done. For good this time."
Kreacher made a face that was something between a scowl and a smile. "Kreacher is…conflicted," the elf admitted. "The Mistress," and at this he glanced out towards the entrance hall where Walburga's portrait still hung, "would be devastated. But Master Regulus…this is what he wanted and died for."
Harry nodded, distinctly aware of the Weasleys' eyes on him. "It's okay to be conflicted, Kreacher," he assured the elf. "I am, too." Kreacher's eyes snapped wide and stared at him in disbelief. "It's all I've known, for my whole life. I'm only just starting to feel like things are different. It can be overwhelming. It can be—"
Kreacher cut him off. "Terrifying," he said. Then, realizing he'd just interrupted Harry, looked stricken.
Harry held out a placating hand. "Yeah. That's right," he said.
"It can be quite terrifying to start something new," Mr. Weasley said, kneeling down to Kreacher's level. The elf's eyes went wide and he stared at Mr. Weasley in bewilderment. "But oftentimes once we get to work it becomes much less so."
"Maybe we can help each other," Harry said, and Kreacher's look of astonishment grew.
He bowed his head. "Kreacher lives to serve his Master."
"Is that what you want though?" Harry asked. "To serve?"
"Kreacher is a house-elf. House-elves serve," Kreacher insisted forcefully.
Harry nodded slowly. He could free Kreacher. But if Kreacher truly didn't want it…was that just another form of slavery? Would he be freeing Kreacher by forcing him out of happiness? Harry couldn't imagine one without the other.
"That's…hard for me," he admitted. He smiled sadly. "Dobby was the first house-elf I met. He was happy to be free; happy to live free—happy to die free, too. And I'm very proud of the part I played helping him get that freedom."
"Kreacher is not a young elf with funny ideas. Kreacher lives to serve his Master."
Harry stared into the elf's eyes and knew, then and there, that Kreacher had no doubts or second thoughts on the matter.
He nodded. "Okay," he said slowly. "But I want you to understand that some things will be changing." Harry smiled awkwardly and glanced around. "I want to live here."
Kreacher gave him a wary look.
Harry grinned. "You know me. Snakes, and troll feet, and elf heads. That's not who I am. If I'm going to live here, and make it my home, I need it to be mine." Kreacher wrung his hands together. "So I want you to understand that you will always have the choice to gain your freedom." Kreacher looked scandalized, but Harry persisted. "If you feel, at any point, that what I'm doing here is causing you too much distress…"
Kreacher seemed to understand what he was saying. He screwed his face up proudly. "Kreacher would never abandon his House."
"But I want you to be proud of it, too," Harry insisted. All his hopes and dreams flashed across his mind. "What I want to do here—Walburga would not be proud of it. Sirius would be."
Kreacher seemed to coil upon himself, his eyes wide and wild, a half-snarl dragging its way across his face.
Harry kneeled down beside Mr. Weasley and across from Kreacher. "Walburga was not a good person, Kreacher. What she believed was cruel. The same cruelty that killed a lot of people," Harry said. "Sirius was a better person. I loved him, but he was still cruel to you. I know I can't change that." Kreacher uncoiled slightly. "I'd like the House of Black to be better. If you're choosing to remain in service to the House, I think it needs to be worthy of you this time."
Kreacher looked stunned. The revulsion and confusion was gone, replaced by something akin to epiphany. "Worthy of Kreacher," the elf muttered.
"Worthy of everything we've been through," Harry said with a gentle nod. "Of everything and everyone we've lost."
Kreacher was silent for a long while, his baleful, bloodshot eyes searching Harry's face intently. After a moment, the elf took a deep breath, drawing himself up and standing profoundly straight-backed. "Kreacher would like to continue to serve the most Ancient and Noble House of Black."
Harry grinned and extended his hand. Kreacher recoiled, looking at the offending limb as if it were a venomous snake. "Kreacher is a servant," he muttered shakily.
"This is a show of respect," Mr. Weasley said. He placed a hand on Harry's shoulder and nodded. "You can serve and still be respected. Some say the mark of a good master is how he treats his servants."
Harry fought the urge to flinch, knowing that Mr. Weasley was only calling him that for Kreacher's benefit and understanding. Master Harry, Master of the Elder Wand, Master of Death. The Boy Who Lived. The Chosen One. The Man Who Won. Titles were never something he felt comfortable with.
"I'm going to need your help putting this place back together," Harry said, his hand still outstretched. "I can't do it without you."
For a moment, Kreacher was silent. Then his thin lips curved into a small, proud smile and he took Harry's hand. "Kreacher will help Master Harry. Always."
The room felt just a little warmer, a little less heavy. Harry gave him a faint smile in return. "Thank you."
And just like that, the oppressive silence of Grimmauld Place seemed to ease, replaced by the quiet promise of something new.
They worked throughout the rest of the morning and into the late afternoon, moving through Grimmauld Place room by room, curse by curse. Bill took the lead, his years of experience as a curse-breaker shining through as he directed the group with quiet confidence. The dining room, now sanctified as a "Benevolent Space," served as the focal point of their efforts—a refuge they could retreat to if things went sideways.
Every inch of Grimmauld Place seemed to resist their efforts, the house groaning as if resentful of their intrusion, as if the oppressive darkness that they'd spent the past few years fighting off had been reignited by whatever it was the Death Eaters had left behind along with the destroyed belongings. Its walls seemed to bristle with the lingering remnants of dark magic, the air thick and heavy.
Harry couldn't help but notice just how much damage the Death Eaters had left in their wake. The once-oppressive but intact house had become a shell of itself during their occupation, with broken furniture and scorched, vandalized walls marking nearly every room.
"They're not very creative," Harry muttered, casting a quick Scourgify to remove a bright-green "Die, Mudbloods, Die" off the wall of the sitting room. Bill had stopped him from doing anything to the graffiti before he checked it for traps or curses, explaining that it was an often-used method of triggering a curse.
"Well no one ever accused Death Eaters of being clever," Mr. Weasley agreed, drawing his wand over a bookshelf. He frowned, muttered a string of low words under his breath that Harry didn't quite catch, and then the weight seemed to leave the room. "There. I think I got it. Bill, would you mind checking?"
Bill gave the room another last check-over and nodded, confirming the all-clear and indicating for them to move on to the next. It was slow, painstaking work.
But Kreacher had done more than Harry had expected. Though the house was still far from welcoming—or even livable—much of the superficial damage had already been repaired. Furniture had been mended, upholstery patched together, and the floors scrubbed of grime, soot, and…other things Harry didn't want to think too long on. Harry's heart ached with gratitude for the old elf's efforts. Despite everything, Kreacher had done his best to preserve the house, just as he had once preserved the memory of Regulus.
Even so, the deeper scars—curses, hidden hexes, and dark enchantments—were a different matter altogether. Those couldn't be swept away with a mop or repaired with a snap of the fingers. For that, they needed Bill's expertise.
"Alright," Bill said, brushing dust off his sleeves as he studied a parchment covered in rough sketches of the house's layout. They'd finished with the ground and basement floors. Bill had explained that breaking the curses at a building's foundations weakened the curses and hexes further up and allowed them to be broken more easily.
"We'll move up floor-by-floor now," Bill said, moving towards the staircase. "Each floor we clear should make the rest that much easier, as long as the curses are tied to the house itself. Cursed objects are different, so try not to touch too much if you can help it."
Bill was careful as he climbed the stairs and cautioned them against using either handrail. He regaled them with the story of a coworker in Egypt who had descended a stairwell without checking it for curses. He'd ended up dropping through the pyramid into a dungeon-like room where he'd remained trapped for several days with a broken leg before the team was able to find him and get him out.
They continued the arduous task, working their way up room-by-room and floor-by-floor. Kreacher followed, scouring the rooms clean in their wake. It was—frankly—rather disgusting work. Curses applied to rooms and items had a tendency to leave behind grimy residues in the air once broken, leaving Harry's skin, hair, and clothes feeling oily and sticky. The strange spicy-herbal scent that seemed to emanate from every broken curse filled the house, making it seem like someone had been cooking for hours.
Bill wiped a trail of strangely-fluorescent sweat from his brow and Harry had the sinking feeling that he was covered in the same unsavory substance. "Fleur and I are going to check the last two floors," he said once they'd finished the second floor bedroom that Harry and Ron had shared during the summer before their fifth year. "I'll make sure there's nothing too malignant and then we can call it a day."
Harry waited on the second floor landing with Mr. Weasley, listening intently for any signs of distress from above. But beyond the muffled back-and-forth between Bill and Fleur and the creaks of the old house everything remained largely silent. And then even that faded away as the pair moved further upstairs.
"I suspect Molly won't let us back in the house until we've all been appropriately Scourgified," Mr. Weasley said playfully.
"I'll admit. I thought this would take longer," Harry said.
Mr. Weasley shook his head. "I don't want to disappoint you, Harry, but I'm afraid there's still quite a bit more on your plate before this place is livable again."
Harry nodded. "I'm just impressed that we got so far already," he said. "I wanted to make sure we didn't…I dunno…get trapped in the walls as they filled with acid."
"I believe Bill took care of that one on the basement stairs," Mr. Weasley joked. He walked back to the bedrooms on the second floor, stopping to run his hand over the door of the room where Remus had stayed.
"Mr. Weasley, I don't want you to think I'm not grateful for everything you've done for me," Harry said suddenly. At Mr. Weasley's curiously-baffled look he forged on. "Giving me a place to stay. A—a home, a real one. I don't…it means more to me than—"
"Oh, Harry of course not," Mr. Weasley said quickly, putting a solid hand on Harry's shoulder and pulling him closer. "We told you before—dating Ginny aside—you're ours in every way that matters." His eyes twinkled. "This is what parents do for their children. They teach them as best they can, and when it's time for the children to set out on their own…we try to ensure that they're ready." He gave Harry a pointed look. "And make sure they know they will always have a place to return to if they need it."
Harry's heart swelled in his chest and he nodded tightly.
"Do you think Ron would mind living here?" Harry asked tentatively. "If he joins the Aurors, I mean."
The first letter from Ron and Hermione arrived at the Burrow that morning. Mrs. Weasley had eagerly torn it open while the rest of the family gathered around. In it, Ron and Hermione detailed their initial experiences in the unfamiliar country, describing how they had quickly sought out the Australian Ministry of Magic for assistance. The Ministry officials had been accommodating, assigning them a caseworker to aid in locating Hermione's parents.
Ron, however, had devoted a significant portion of the letter to detailing what he called the "absolute horrors" of Australian wildlife—specifically, the spiders. He recounted, in graphic and deeply traumatized detail, his encounter with a Huntsman the size of his hand lurking in the bathroom of a restaurant. According to him, it had moved at "unnatural, demonic speeds" and disappeared before he could hex it, leaving him paranoid and on edge for the rest of the night.
Once Ron had finished his tirade about the local wildlife, Hermione took over to explain the more serious matters at hand—evident from change to her neater, measured handwriting. Hermione explained that the process to reverse the memory loss was delicate. Her memory charms had been thorough, and undoing them without causing harm required careful handling. They were tracking down records and following leads, but progress was slow. Despite that, she remained hopeful, and Ron assured everyone that they were managing just fine, even if he was still getting used to the strange magical customs of Australia.
The letter also included an address where they could receive post, allowing them to keep in touch as the search continued. Harry and the Weasleys were relieved to hear from them, even if it was clear that their journey had only just begun.
"I daresay he'd be rather disappointed not to," Mr. Weasley said offhandedly, glancing into the room he and Ron had shared during their stays. "Even with the two of you this is a lot of house. You might consider asking if some of the other Auror candidates would like to share the space."
"Like an Auror boarding house?" Harry wondered with a grin.
Mr. Weasley chuckled. "I wouldn't say limit it to Aurors exclusively, but can you imagine anything upsetting dear old Walburga more than having a bunch of progressively-minded Aurors making this their home."
Harry liked the sound of that. He'd have to owl the others once they got everything more put together.
"Have you thought about which room you might want to take for yourself?" Mr. Weasley asked, returning to the stairway and glancing up towards where Bill and Fleur had gone off to.
Harry nodded with a smile. He'd only had one in mind. "Sirius's old room," he answered. "Wouldn't feel right to be anywhere else."
"Well you've got your work cut out for you," Bill said as he made his way back to their floor. He had a look of almost-shock on his face. He shook his head. "The Death Eaters really didn't like Sirius, did they?" At Harry's curious look he continued, grimacing as he did. "They took some…liberties with the room. You're going to want to Bubble-Head yourself and Scourgify everything." He gave Harry a pointed look. "Everything, Harry."
Harry shuddered, feeling especially unclean all of a sudden.
"I'll say this about your godfather, though," Bill continued with a smirk. "He had great taste in posters." This earned him a reproachful smack on the arm from Fleur and a chuckle from Harry. He winked playfully. "But looks like they couldn't take anything down from the Permanent Sticking Charms."
Harry nodded. "I'll ask George if he has any ideas," he said. He refused to believe that George and Fred hadn't come across the sticking charm problem at some point in their long and industrious troublemaking careers.
"Good news, 'owever. Zey barely touched ze bedroom across from Sirius's—with all ze Slytherin decoration," said Fleur who, even in the strange grime-filled air, seemed entirely unaffected. "And I do not think zey even set foot in ze master bedroom."
Harry nodded. That would make sense; desecrating something that was so staunchly Pureblood and pro-Slytherin would have been an affront to Voldemort's ideologies. Any Death Eater risked Voldemort's wrath by doing so.
"We checked, just to be sure," Bill told his father assuringly. "Didn't find anything that wasn't there the last time I was here."
"Thank Merlin for small miracles," Mr. Weasley said, clapping Bill on the arm. "Shall we head back?"
Bill led the way back down the stairs, wand raised, hand still splayed and looking like it was feeling the air in front of him. He paused a few times to dispel a few minor missed curses he'd missed along the way up. At the ground floor, the air had already begun to clear of the strange, floating grimy feeling.
They gathered their belongings from the dining room and headed to the entrance hall. "I won't be able to help much until next weekend," Bill said, hefting his bag over his shoulder. "I'll help clear the attic then. I don't want anyone going up there until I do. But if you want, Fleur said she's willing to come with you and help you get started on the rest."
"Is it safe?" Mr. Weasley asked.
Bill nodded. "I mean…I wouldn't let Teddy roll around on the furniture, but we've found and removed the worst of it," he said with a shrug before nodding to Fleur. "As long as Fleur is along, I don't have any issues if you're continuing the cleanup without me."
Mr. Weasley nodded thoughtfully.
"Ah, yes, zis was actually quite exciting. I think I finally understand why Beel loves zis so much," Fleur said, winking at Bill.
Bill gave his wife a wolfish grin. "She's a quick study."
Harry gave Fleur an appraising glance and she seemed to sense his surprise. "Come now, 'Arry. I am a Triwizard champion, non?" she said, as flipped her hair over her shoulder. "And I spent two years interning wiz Gringotts—I know my way around curse-breaking."
Harry held up his hands in surrender, a grin on his face. For more than seven years he'd seen the way the Weasleys stood up for and helped one another. He'd pitched in himself as well when able, but this was the first time he could remember them coming to help him when there was no urgent threat. This was…helping him build something—helping him create his future. The way family did.
He fought the urge to offer her some sort of compensation. He knew Fleur and the Weasleys well enough to know they'd take it as an insult. But it was Bill and Fleur's anniversary coming up. He'd have to do something nice for them. Ginny would know what to do.
"Kreacher," Harry said, his voice. Kreacher appeared with a crack, bowing to Harry as he did. "We're done here for the day, but…have you been staying here the whole time?"
"Kreacher has been at Hogwarts per Master's instructions," he said with another bow. "Kreacher returns to the Master's house when he is able."
Harry nodded. "Alright. I'll ask you to stay at Hogwarts unless we're here as well," he said. "I don't want anything happening to you if we're not here to help."
Kreacher looked scandalized again, but swallowed down his revulsion and nodded back. "Master Harry is good and noble. Many of the Hogwarts house-elves say so."
Harry smiled. "Thank you, Kreacher. You were a great help today."
Kreacher stood proudly and gazed up at Harry. With what looked to be a monstrous effort, he extended his hand towards Harry. "Master Harry is…m-most…w-welcome." He took a deep breath. "Kreacher is…proud to serve the Noble House of Potter."
Harry stifled a gasp and felt his eyes grow wide. He grinned and nodded. "The…House of Potter is lucky—and proud—to have you."
The Burrow hummed with the sort of quiet peaceful rhythm that Ginny had once found dull when it was last just her and Mum, but now felt oddly comforting. The warm spring breeze wafted through the open kitchen window, carrying the faint scent of wildflowers just starting to grow outside. Death Eaters had left a number of rather vile curses in the gardens, and Mum had only just been able to get anything to take.
Mum bustled near the stove. Before, she'd be humming softly under her breath as she stirred something in a pot. But now she was quiet, cleaning things methodically, and casting worried glances to the space on the wall where the family clock used to be. Mum still hadn't put the clock back up, but old habits were hard to break. Ginny wished she'd just sit down and relax for a minute.
Ginny sat cross-legged on the living room rug, her wand tucked behind her ear, cradling two-month-old Teddy Lupin against her chest. Teddy squirmed as he slept in her arms, his tiny fist brushing against her collarbone, and Ginny couldn't help but smile. His hair had shifted again, from a soft, downy brown to a shock of bright turquoise, as if even in sleep, his little body couldn't decide what it wanted to be.
"Still turquoise?" Mum asked, walking over from the kitchen with a look of defeat on her face that Ginny knew had nothing to do with Teddy's hair color.
"Turquoise," Ginny confirmed, swaying softly with Teddy. "Though I bet once Dad and Bill come home there will be enough of us to get him to turn his hair red again."
Her mum chuckled gently. "Well if he does be sure he makes his way to Fleur," she said conspiratorially.
"Mum!" Ginny whisper-gasped in mock horror. "That's so unethical."
"Ginevra, my dear, what could you possibly be accusing me of?" Mum asked innocently. She reached out and smoothed the little tuft of hair on Teddy's head. "I'm just…doing a bit of gardening. Watering here, planting a seed there." She shrugged coyly. "If it inspires Fleur and your brother to have a bit of a conversation later, and maybe consider cutting their worldly travels…shorter…well…"
"Mum that's almost devious!" Ginny teased.
Mum rolled her eyes. "Said the girl who broke into the Headmaster's office," she countered. "You've always known exactly where you get your devious streak and it's not from your father."
"You can't do that to Fleur. She'll feel pressured."
Mum scoffed. "Oh, please. That woman is too strong to feel pressured by anything," she said, waving off Ginny's concerns.
Ginny felt her teasing grin soften. Fleur and Mum had come such a long way; from Fleur's subtle—and Mum's decidedly not subtle—cattiness to the bond of respect and understanding between them. Both married into the larger Weasley clan, both seen a profound loss early into their adult lives. But they'd found their person.
Ginny finally felt she could relate.
"Well as long as you don't do it with me and Harry," Ginny warned.
"With you and Harry, oh?" Mum said, turning to her pointedly.
"Merlin. Fuck," Ginny swore, and recoiled, jostling Teddy and causing him to squirm angrily.
"Ginny!" Mum admonished. She half-expected to hear, "Watch your language!" come next, but instead Mum just motioned to Teddy, as if her swear would somehow hurt him.
Ginny struggled to form words fast enough. "Mum. Please, we don't—I haven't—we haven't—" she stammered. "This conversation—I swear."
Mum leaned back cautiously. "That is not the conversation I want to be having at all right now, but thank you for the offer," she insisted warily. She waited until Ginny caught her breath before easing back forward. "I wanted…well…we spoke a while back, right? About relationships, the nature of love…"
Ginny nodded, holding the metaphorical mask over her face with all of her metaphorical might.
"I was just wondering…how things were," Mum offered.
Ginny felt her shoulders ease at the question. The memory of their dockside conversation from just a few weeks ago flashed vividly across her mind. It still made her heart swell to think about. She still remembered the wet, wide-eyed look he'd given her when she'd first said those three words. She couldn't help the smile that split her face.
"They're good," she said, grinning madly. It was the only word she could think of. Good. It was uncomplicated and meaningful and warm and honest. It was good.
"Good?" Mum asked knowingly.
Ginny just chuckled and rolled her eyes.
"I'm happy for you," Mum assured, gripping her arm. "For both of you."
"But you desperately want to give me advice."
"Desperately."
Ginny laughed. "Well?" she shrugged. "Go ahead."
Mum grinned and shook her head. "No." She glanced down at Teddy and watched as his eyes began to flutter, a sign Ginny had learned meant he was going to wake up soon. "I think sometimes it's better to focus on that one thing that makes everything else line up and make sense rather than the complications that get in your way."
Ginny stared at her for a moment. "You know that's advice, don't you?"
Mum scoffed playfully. "Yes, but did you see how supportive and subtle it was?"
"This is the least subtle conversation I've ever had in my life," Ginny pointed out.
Mum looked like she was about to object but there was a tapping at a window. A huge brown owl with tufted horns stood on the perch clutching a talon-full of letters.
"Oh, thank Merlin," Ginny whispered. She watched as Mum offered the owl something of what she'd been preparing for dinner before flipping through the delivered letters. "Who's it from?"
"The Ministry," Mum said tentatively. She placed all but one letter down on the counter. "There's one for each of us."
Ginny rose and made her way over, placing Teddy gently into his bassinet as she did. There were letters with the Ministry's embossed seal on the envelope addressed to each of her parents, Charlie, George, Ron, Harry, Hermione, and her—all of them currently staying at the Burrow. She had no doubt Bill, Fleur, and Percy would receive one as well if they hadn't already. Ginny took hers and tore it open.
The Ministry of Magic
Department of Magical Law Enforcement
Office of the Wizengamot Administration Services
To Miss Ginevra Molly Weasley,
The Burrow, Ottery St. Catchpole, Devon
And Mr. and Mrs. Arthur and Molly Weasley, legal guardians,
Ref No.: WZ/1998/CRIM/1047
Dear Miss Weasley,
The Ministry of Magic, in accordance with the statutes governing judicial proceedings under the Wizengamot Charter, formally summons you to appear as a witness in the upcoming trial of Alecto Carrow and Amycus Carrow. The accused stand charged with multiple crimes against the wizarding population, including but not limited to torture, unlawful use of the Cruciatus Curse, and acts of violence committed at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry during the recent school year (beginning September 1997).
Your testimony has been deemed vital due to your direct experiences and observations during the period in question. As you are currently under the legal age of majority (17 years), this summons is also addressed to your parent(s) and/or legal guardian(s) for their acknowledgment and consent regarding your participation.
Details of the Summons:
Date of Appearance: 18th July 1998
Time: 10:00 a.m.
Location: Courtroom Ten, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Ministry of Magic
Please note that your testimony will be conducted in accordance with Wizengamot procedures and under the protections afforded by the Witness Protection Charter. Should you have any concerns regarding your safety, emotional well-being, or the proceedings themselves, the Ministry encourages you to contact the Victim and Witness Support Office at your earliest convenience.
Your cooperation is essential to ensuring justice is served and the truth is upheld in these proceedings. Kindly confirm your availability by owl at your earliest convenience. Should you require transportation or have special considerations, arrangements can be made upon request.
We extend our gratitude for your bravery and willingness to contribute to this significant matter.
Yours sincerely,
Geraldine Towler
Chief Administrator, Wizengamot Administration Services
Ministry of Magic
"A summons," Mum whispered, staring down at her own letter. Ginny heard the tremor in her voice. "For all of us."
Her eyes flew to the stack of unopened letters, noting the varying thicknesses and that Harry's seemed largest. She glanced back down at the letter in her hands and read it again. It all felt so…academic, so sterile.
She swallowed down a feeling of revulsion at the memory of Amycus Carrow's rotten-toothed grin as he forced student after student to practice the Cruciatus curse. She remembered his mocking laughter when students failed; and his sheer glee when they'd get it and the first years thrashed in agony.
Her anger flared white hot in her throat, and tears pricked at her eyes. "I'm not letting them get away with it," she told Mum forcefully.
Mum had yet to meet her gaze, though she was no longer staring at the letter in her clenched fist. Instead she stared out at the grounds of the Burrow, her eyes unfocused and glassy.
"It was supposed to be over," Mum said shakily.
Ginny reached out and took her hand. "Not until they answer for what they've done," she said. She was surprised by the vehemence in her own voice. She glanced over to Teddy's still-sleeping form. "It can't be like last time. I won't let it."
Mum nodded blankly and placed her letter by the pile of unopened ones. Her fingers lingered a moment longer, before she snatched them away as if they'd been burned. She turned, and Ginny was struck by the pain and sheer exhaustion in her unguarded eyes. The wall Mum had built between herself and the grief of losing a son could only hold back so much.
Ginny chewed her bottom lip. "I think I understand what you're saying now," she said slowly. "About finding that one thing that makes everything else all make sense."
Mum stood straighter and the grip on Ginny's hand tightened. "They will answer for what they've done, Ginny," she said, her voice steady, even though she looked everything but. "We will not allow the next generation to suffer the same way." She cupped Ginny's face. "I couldn't stop it from infecting your childhood. But I swear to you, that's where it ends," she said fiercely. "I will not let it cast a shadow over your life like it did mine."
Ginny swallowed down the uncertainty, the fear, and the anger, and she focused everything she had on the one truly good thing she knew to be true. Harry, and the future he was trying to help build right that very moment for them both.
One thing. One day at a time.
Ginny knew that Harry had wanted nothing more than a victorious homecoming after spending the entire day cleansing Grimmauld Place of all the nastiness that had been left behind. He'd come back with a wildly-triumphant grin plastered all over his face, looking all the more like he had when they'd won the Quidditch Cup than he had in months.
It had meant the world to her, seeing him so happy, even with the weirdly-sticky sheen of dried, almost-fluorescent sweat caked on his skin. She hated how she would have to pour cold water on that victorious, lopsided grin of his that she loved so much.
She'd been royally irked when Mum put her foot down and refused to allow her to go along to Grimmauld Place; she'd gotten over it by rationalizing that she'd get a chance to spend time with Teddy, but now she was glad she'd been home to receive their court summons. She'd have hated to walk right into that announcement. This way she'd had the time to come to terms with it before sharing the news with Harry.
Harry's delivery had more summons than anyone save for Dad's, which—given his proximity to the ongoing cases in the Ministry—made sense. Dad had read the first of his summons thoroughly and then glanced over the rest, seemingly satisfied with what he read. Harry, however, had yet to take his eyes from the summons. His brow was furrowed in concentration
Ginny placed a hand on his arm. "You alright?" she asked.
"I've been called as a witness in the Malfoy trials—Draco's and Narcissa's," a conflicted look crossed his face. "For the defense."
"You're joking," Bill scoffed. Harry shook his head and handed him a few pages. Bill gave it a quick read. "Bloody hell. 'You are hereby summoned to appear before the Wizengamot as a witness for the Defense in the case of Draco Lucius Malfoy v. The Ministry of Magic, regarding charges of Complicity with Death Eater Activities and Crimes Committed During the Second Wizarding War.'"
"'Complicity?" Ginny demanded, snatching the paper from her brother. "He took the bloody Dark Mark!"
Mum tried to calm her. "Ginny—"
"He helped Death Eaters break into Hogwarts," she stormed on. "He and his git flunkies attacked Harry, Ron, and Hermione in the Room of Requirement with Fiendfyre! He tortured students under orders from the Carrows! And that's just what he did in the last year! This—"
A high-pitched screech from the sitting room told them all that Teddy was awake, and Ginny fought the urge to kick herself for interrupting the little boy's nap. Mum squeezed her hand firmly before heading off to comfort the baby.
"Harry?" she asked, tentatively, reaching out to him.
He gave her a forced smile. "Not sure why I expected anything different," he muttered.
"It'll be alright, son," Dad told him, placing a solid hand on Harry's shoulder. Harry's eyes darted to the elder Weasley and his chest swelled with a sharp intake of breath. "Answer their questions, tell the truth, and try to avoid getting riled up. Trust in the system." Harry grimaced. "I know that's hard for you," Dad added. "This will be your first test: if you're going to be an Auror you need to believe in the system and that justice will win out."
Harry nodded thoughtfully.
"What else did you get?" Bill asked, offering the Draco and Narcissa summons back.
Harry took them and handed Bill the remainder, reciting their names as Bill flipped through the pages. "Called on by the Prosecution for the cases of Victor Crabbe, Gregory Goyle Jr., Gregory Goyle Sr., Augustus Rookwood, Tobias Nott, Magnus Mulciber, Atticus Selwyn, Walden Macnair, Roderick Travers, Lucius Malfoy, and…" A harsh, determined look crossed his face. "Dolores Umbridge."
Dad let out a disbelieving whistle. "Those are going to be high profile cases, Harry," he warned, looking pensively at Ron and Hermione's mail as well. "We should find a way to send word to Australia. Make certain Ron and Hermione are aware of what's going on and not caught off guard when they return." He turned to Mum. "I'll talk with Percy tomorrow, see if he can get them a message through the Australian Ministry."
They opened the rest of the mail. Ron and Hermione were also being called to give testimony for the prosecution regarding Umbridge, the Malfoys, and Goyle. George and Charlie were called to give testimony regarding additional Death Eater activity that they'd been aware of in Britain and internationally, respectively.
"Who's this 'Klarion Bleak' chap?" Dad asked, looking over one of Charlie's letters. "This one says Charlie is being called to give testimony on his capture. Don't think I've heard of him."
"Not surprising," Bill said, carding a hand through his long hair. "Charlie said there were a good number of Voldemort sympathizers out on the continent. Kingsley had Charlie following them for a while. Guess Klarion never thought he'd run into someone from the Order in…" Bill scanned the summons a bit before blanching, "Latvia? Merlin, what was Charlie doing there?"
Dad frowned thoughtfully. "Word at the Ministry was that Voldemort was beginning to shore up support for an international push," he said, shaking his head. "He had sympathizers across Europe and in the United States. It's rather terrifying to think how close we were to him taking the war globally."
Ginny suppressed a shudder; it was a sickening realization, realizing just how fragile their victory had been. How many witches and wizards had fled Britain for mainland Europe or—like with Maddox—had sent their children overseas to escape the violence. They'd gambled on there being a safe place to escape to, but they'd really succeeded only in weakening the resistance at home.
Harry seemed to be struggling with the same realization; he frowned deeply, rubbing at the bruise on his chest. It had been healing well with regular applications of Andi's salve, but he tended to massage it more when he was worried.
Dad noticed it as well. He laid a firm hand on Harry's shoulder and squeezed gently. "I know how much you hate the attention that comes with what you did and stood for, but you need to understand why it means so much to people," Dad said.
"You all fought just as hard," Harry protested.
Dad managed a pained smile. "Yes, we did. And despite all it cost me—all it cost us—I would do it again in a heartbeat knowing what we saved," he said, nodding purposefully. "But in the end, it was you who faced him. When so many others fled or bowed, you stood in defiance—time and time again—and became someone the rest of us could rally behind." Harry shifted uncomfortably. "It's not just that you won, Harry. It's that you fought when so many others had all but given up. That doesn't go away just because the war is won."
Harry nodded slowly, clearly struggling to reconcile his own internalized self-worth issues with the measured and deliberate praise Dad was giving him. Ginny took Harry's hand and squeezed tightly, trying to desperately convey how strongly she agreed with her father.
Dad saw this and smiled warmly. He cupped Ginny's face tenderly, then looked past them to Bill, Fleur, and Mum. "This will be hard," he said, nodding to the stack of summons on the kitchen table. He took a shaky breath, and Ginny again appreciated just how difficult it had been for him, too. "But we have already faced this evil. We fought and—most importantly—we won. So, even though this is hard, we will face it again like we always have. Together."
He gave them all a pointed look, and Ginny nodded. Beside her, Harry nodded as well. Then Bill, then Fleur, and finally Mum; all of them drew strength from her father's certainty.
"I—I need some air," Harry muttered, pushing back and heading outside towards the garden. His voice wasn't sharp with anger or tight with nerves as Ginny had expected. Instead, it was heavy—weighted with something closer to exhaustion, maybe even disappointment.
Dad gave her a pained smile, nodding once as if to acknowledge his own helplessness in the moment. That alone sent a shiver through her. Arthur Weasley had always seemed to have the answers. Even when he wasn't sure, he could make you feel like things were going to turn out alright. But now, just for a second, he looked impossibly human.
How do you assure a young man like Harry that everything was going to be alright if the entire world was looking to him to set the example?
Ginny waited a beat before deciding to follow. She found Harry standing at the edge of the pond, his back to her, silhouetted by the fading light. A flick of his wand conjured a small stone, which he tossed into the water, watching as the ripples spread outward.
Harry seemed to sense her approach. "It's not fair," he said, sending another stone splashing into the pond.
She stepped up beside him but didn't take his hand or stop him from venting his frustration. "It's not," she said, nodding.
"All I wanted to do was tell you about today," he growled, and another stone splashed into the rippling surface of the water.
She remembered how happy he'd looked walking through the front door before she and Mum told him about the trial summons.
Harry turned to face her and she could see the exhaustion in his eyes. "We got so much done, Gin," he muttered. He told her about how they had spent the day methodically working through Grimmauld Place, curse by curse, room by room, with Bill leading the effort.
He told her how impressed he was, seeing Bill in his element for the first time—and said wryly how he wished Bill would have been by more during their summer at Grimmauld Place to help clear some of the cursed objects. It had been slow, painstaking work, each broken curse leaving behind a grimy residue in the air, which explained the strange sheen on his skin and clothes.
He told her how Kreacher, despite everything, had done his best to mend the damage left behind by the Death Eaters—scrubbing, patching, and repairing what he could—and that they'd left off the day on better terms than ever.
He told her how much it meant to him to have her family there with him, reminding him that they were as eager for and invested in his future as he was, as Kreacher had called it the 'House of Potter.'
Ginny listened quietly as Harry spoke, watching the way he ran a tired hand through his already-messy hair. He wasn't just worn out from the day's labor—this house carried a weight that went far beyond its physical state. It was history and legacy and loss all tangled together, and now it was his responsibility.
She stepped closer, her hand finding his. "Sounds like a hell of a day," she murmured.
He let out a breath, squeezing her fingers lightly. "Yeah," he admitted. "But we were getting somewhere." A pained look crossed his face. "And now…"
Ginny finished the thought that had been needling her all afternoon as well. "Now the war comes crashing back at us," she said.
"Why won't it just end, Gin?" he asked, leaning his forehead against hers. "Why won't it just let me move on?"
Ginny leaned into him. "Do you remember what you told me when I said the same thing?" she asked. She felt him sigh and relax against her. "We're all here. Hurting together. Some days are going to be hard. But…" she pulled back and cupped his cheek, drawing his gaze to hers. "But maybe it's not about all the things in our way," she continued. "Maybe it's about finding that one thing that makes everything else line up. The thing that keeps us going, even when it's hard."
Harry searched her face, something shifting in his expression. Slowly, he exhaled, letting his forehead rest against hers. "You always know what to say," he murmured.
Ginny smirked. "I listen to good advice."
A small huff of laughter escaped him, and the weight in his shoulders seemed to ease just a little more. "You give it, too."
"So," Ginny said, a smile daring its way onto her face. "Tell me more about this so-called Noble House of Potter."
Next Time: Chapter 15 - The Broom & Badger
==\=/==
Finally getting to the meat of the matter. Grimmauld Place, Death Eaters, Trials. Summer is starting to heat up. And if I'm not mistaken, Harry doesn't even have his Apparition License yet! (I'm not mistaken, because you haven't read that part yet)
Are they going to be able to balance their grief and rebuilding with the weight of what's coming next? I wish I could say "undoubtedly yes" but then we wouldn't have much of a story, would we?