Remedy

Disastrous Dates

May 1998

Harry stood outside Grimmauld for several moments, trying to put together the willpower to enter. It had been difficult convincing Molly Weasley he wanted to live at Grimmauld at first. After a painful conversation on both their sides, she finally gave up her insistence on him staying at the Burrow. It hadn't been any one thing that propelled Harry to leave—but rather a million reasons piled on top of each other to form an insurmountable mountain so that he absolutely had to leave or risk losing his mind.

He felt awkward with Ginny. When she finally approached him after the last battle at Hogwarts, it seemed like she thought they would naturally fall back into what they had during sixth year. She had cornered him on the upper stairway of the Burrow and pressed close trying to kiss him.

And Harry had felt nothing. No pleasurable warm feeling in his stomach, no butterflies, no excitement. Harry had pulled back quickly, mumbling an excuse as he backed away. He had seen the soft look in her eyes. She was understanding, but how long would that last?

Then there was George. It literally hurt to see his face, because it was a reminder to Harry each time that Fred was gone. George was quiet and barely talked to anyone, and Molly's response had been to console him by stuffing him with his favorite foods. Two days after the war ended, George had gone through the Burrow and removed every single mirror from the residence while everyone silently watched, not sure how to react.

"You forget your key, mate?" A friendly voice asked.

Harry jerked around to see an older man staring at him curiously. Shit, how long had he been staring at the townhouse?

"No, just a lot on my mind. I'm-I'm going inside now?" The man looked at him curiously and Harry realized he phrased it as if he was asking him permission. "I mean, I'll be off then. Have a good day."

Harry felt the man's eyes on him as he approached Grimmauld and resisted the impulse to turn around and check. He walked quickly up the steps to the door. The magic of the wards recognized his presence, and the door swung open without him having to touch the knob. He walked in quickly to the cool dark exterior and shut the door on the outside world and the muggle still staring curiously in his direction from the sidewalk.

Flicking on the lights as he wandered through the townhouse, he realized it was quite clean. Quite a departure from the dusty, dank townhome it had been during the war and when occupied by the Order.

A noise in the kitchen drew him there, and he found Kreacher standing on a stool in front of the sink, scrubbing at a pot.

"Kreacher?"

Kreacher placed the items carefully in the sink before slowly getting off the stool and walking towards Harry with his distinctive limp. "Master Potter, the last Master of the House of Black, welcome home."

"Kreacher, you cleaned the entire house? You didn't have to do that."

"Kreacher is not cleaning the entire house. When Kreacher found out the master was coming back, Kreacher asked the other house-elves in Hogwarts to come help get the master's home ready."

"Thank you, Kreacher." Harry cleared his throat, trying to push away the emotion he felt at the gracious gesture, knowing Kreacher would get grumpy at seeing it.

"No thanking Kreacher for his duty. Now Master Potter can make it his own home." With that, Kreacher turned around and went back to the sink, ignoring Harry.

Make it his own home? Harry looked around the townhome. He felt a little at a loss to try to think of it that way as he had always thought of Grimmauld as belonging to Sirius or as the Order headquarters. But Grimmauld was his home now. Sirius had left it to him. He should step up and make it his own.