[A/N: New week new goal gimme me POWA STONE!! take me to the ranking guys!!
enjoy!!!
-Nine11P2]
-----------------------------------------
Harry stood on the cracked front step of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, clutching his trunk handle a little tighter than he meant to.
The row of houses pressed together like silent watchers, their windows dulled with grime. It should have felt unwelcoming, even oppressive.
Instead, he felt his chest tighten with something he couldn't name, anticipation, maybe.
For the first time in a long time, he wasn't walking into a place where he'd have to shrink himself down.
The door swung open before he could knock.
"About bloody time," Sirius said, standing beside him and Remus grinning like a man who had just discovered sunshine. "Welcome home, pup."
Harry smirked. "Bit dramatic, aren't you? What if I hated the décor?"
"You won't," Sirius shot back immediately, then stepped aside with a flourish. "Go on. Prepare to be impressed."
Harry stepped in, and stopped.
He'd expected dust, cobwebs, maybe a foul smell like a wet rag left too long. Instead, the entry hall gleamed faintly, as if someone had scrubbed at the years of neglect with a vengeance.
The wallpaper was new, deep forest green trimmed with gold, and the chandelier overhead actually sparkled.
A warmth seemed to hang in the air, subtle but unmistakable, like the house itself had been convinced to shed its misery.
"Wow," Harry murmured. "It's… not awful."
"Not awful?" Sirius barked a laugh. "That's gratitude for you. I nearly drowned in bleach scrubbing this floor. Remus almost hexed me for the fumes."
"Because you opened all the cleaning jars at once," Remus said, amused His tired eyes softened when they landed on Harry.
"Damn, Harry," he said gently. "You've grown."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "Since last week? Not really."
Remus huffed out a laugh, but something flickered in his gaze, guilt, maybe. Harry caught it, filed it away.
Sirius clapped his hands together. "Right, enough standing around. Tour first, soul crushing family drama later. This way!"
The house was alive in a way Harry hadn't expected.
Room after room revealed small but meaningful changes: carpets unrolled, portraits replaced or banished (though one heavy curtain still trembled with muffled swearing), shelves restocked with books that actually looked readable.
Harry ran his hand along the banister, noticing how the wood had been polished to a deep shine. "You did all this… in a month?"
"With help," Sirius said airily. "I've got a genius for delegation. Remus did most of the boring parts."
"I'll make you do them next time," Remus muttered from behind.
Harry snorted, then paused at a doorway. A dining room, warm fire crackling in the hearth. For just a second, he could almost imagine this as ordinary, walking into a house where people wanted him, where the smell of food meant dinner together, not a plate shoved through a cat flap.
He shook the thought away before it dug too deep.
Later, after Sirius had insisted Harry sit ("Yes, you live here now, yes, the chair is yours, no, you don't have to ask permission like at the Dursleys"), Harry finally turned to Remus.
"Where were you?" he asked.
The question came out sharper than he meant. The silence that followed was sharper still.
Remus froze mid-reach for a cup of tea. His hand trembled just slightly before he set the cup down. "Harry…"
"No," Harry pressed, leaning forward. His green eyes narrowed, unblinking. "I mean it. Where were you all this time? You knew about me. You knew I had no one. And you didn't come."
The air thickened. Sirius stopped mid bite of toast, jaw tightening.
Remus's throat worked as if words had to be dragged out one by one. "I… thought you'd be safer without me."
"Safer?" Harry's laugh was hollow. "You left me with people who barely tolerated me because I forced them to. How's that safer?"
"I'm cursed," Remus said, voice low. "Every month, I lose control. I thought, I thought I'd be a danger to you. And after James and Lily… after losing them, I didn't know if I could…" He trailed off, staring at the fire as if it held an answer.
Harry's jaw clenched. He wanted to lash out, but something in Remus's hunched shoulders stopped him.
Sirius slammed his cup down. "That's rubbish, Moony, and you know it. You abandoned him because you were scared. Don't dress it up as noble sacrifice."
Remus's head snapped up. "And you weren't there either. You were in Azkaban—"
"Because I was framed!" Sirius shot back, eyes blazing. "Don't you dare act like my suffering was a choice. I would have crawled through fire to reach him if I could!"
The air crackled between them. Two broken men, lashing out at each other because they couldn't lash out at fate.
Harry leaned back, folding his arms. "Wow," he said dryly. "Love being the magical football in your guilt match. Really warms the heart."
Both men blinked at him. Sirius barked a laugh, raw but real.
Remus's mouth twitched despite himself. The tension eased, just slightly.
Harry softened his tone, though his eyes stayed sharp. "Look. I get it. You both lost things. You both got hurt. But so did I. I don't care about excuses. I just need to know you're here now. For real. Not in theory. Not in promises."
Remus swallowed hard. "You have my word."
Sirius leaned forward, expression fierce. "And mine. You're not alone anymore, Harry. Not ever."
For a long moment, the three of them sat in silence, the fire snapping in the grate.
The evening shifted as Sirius, eager to cut the heaviness, launched into stories.
"Did I ever tell you," he began, leaning back with a wicked grin, "about the time your father and I nearly turned Slughorn's office into a swamp?"
Remus groaned. "Harry doesn't need to hear this."
"Yes, I do," Harry said quickly, leaning forward, eyes alight.
Sirius winked. "Thought so. Anyway, James decided we needed to test our new potion mix—"
The story tumbled out, full of laughter and exaggerated gestures. Remus interrupted often to "correct" the details, painting James as both genius and reckless idiot.
The firelight flickered across Sirius's face, softening the lines of Azkaban that still lingered, and for once Harry saw not a haunted prisoner but the mischievous boy his father had loved.
Then Remus's voice grew gentler. He told Harry about Lily: her fierce temper, the way she always had ink on her fingers, how she'd once hexed James so hard he floated upside-down for an hour.
Harry drank in every word. These weren't the tidy, tragic versions he'd been fed in whispers.
These were real people, flawed, funny, alive.
When Sirius finally leaned back, eyes distant, he muttered, "They'd be proud of you, Harry. More than proud."
Harry swallowed past the lump in his throat. "You don't even know me that well yet."
"Doesn't matter," Sirius said simply. "You're theirs. And you're mine now too."
It was later, when the plates had been cleared and the fire burned low, that Sirius brought it up.
"There's something else you need to know," he said, voice shifting to a serious register. "About family."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "That's a cursed word."
"Not this time," Sirius said grimly. "You're my heir. To the House of Black. Until or unless I have a child, everything that comes with this madhouse of a family name goes to you."
Harry blinked. "So… what, I'm suddenly a magical aristocrat? Do I get a crown?"
Remus chuckled softly. "It's not quite that simple. It means you'll have a seat in the Wizengamot one day. Influence. Power. And enemies who'll expect you to play their games."
Harry leaned back, processing. "So basically, I'm a teen with family baggage and political responsibilities. Love that for me."
Sirius smirked. "You'll manage. You're a Potter and a Black. Surviving nonsense is practically tradition."
Harry stared into the fire, letting the warmth wash over him. For the first time in his life, the word family didn't feel like an accusation. It felt like a beginning.
And for the first time, Grimmauld Place felt like home.
-----------------------------------------
The next morning began with smoke.
Harry padded down to the kitchen barefoot, still tugging on his jumper, only to find Sirius waving a pan wildly as fire licked upward.
"Breakfast!" Sirius announced proudly, coughing as soot curled into his hair.
Remus, already seated at the table with a neatly folded copy of the Daily Prophet, didn't even look up. "Breakfast is supposed to be edible."
Harry stared at the charred mass in the pan. "What… is it?"
"Toast!" Sirius said indignantly.
Remus lowered his paper. "That was bread. Now it's a biohazard."
Harry snorted, sliding into a chair. "I survived Dursley cooking. I'll risk it."
"No, you won't," Remus said firmly, flicking his wand. A proper plate of eggs and sausages appeared with a soft pop. He pushed it across to Harry. "Eat. You need more than sarcasm to grow."
Sirius flopped into the chair opposite, sulking. "Traitor. You're meant to be on my side."
"I'm on the side of keeping Harry alive," Remus replied evenly.
Harry grinned, fork in hand. For once, meals weren't silent or strained. He actually wanted to linger at the table.
The days unfolded strangely gently.
Sirius dragged Harry into the drawing room one afternoon and insisted on teaching him hexes.
His style was flamboyant, all sweeping wand arcs and shouts of "Watch this, pup!" Half the time the spells blasted holes in the wallpaper, but Sirius only laughed harder.
Remus, by contrast, claimed the library as his domain. He guided Harry through complex theory, the delicate mechanics of magical intent, the flow of energy through willpower rather than brute force.
Harry listened intently, storing away every nuance.
Between the two of them, Harry felt… balanced. Chaos and precision. Wild heart and steady mind.
At night, when the house settled into creaks and whispers, Harry would retreat into his mindscape, the vast, infinite castle he had built through Occlumency.
Each corridor stretched further now, each locked door pulsed faintly with potential.
He pushed himself, refining Scutum Resonare, experimenting with blending Latin incantations and Sanskrit rhythm.
It felt less like training for survival, more like preparing for something vast that loomed just out of sight.
-----------------------------------------
The house was asleep.
Sirius had passed out in an armchair after trying to convince Remus that a proper kitchen needed a dragon skull for decoration.
Remus had muttered about responsibility until he'd nodded off himself.
Harry padded silently down the corridor, steps measured, wards brushing over him as he slipped toward the lower levels of Grimmauld Place.
He stopped outside the old elf's den.
"Kreacher," Harry whispered.
The elf appeared with a faint crack. His huge eyes blinked up, suspicious and wary. "Master's blood… what does he want from old Kreacher in the dead of night?"
Harry crouched, meeting those eyes without flinching. "I know about the locket. The one you've been keeping hidden. The one that hurts you when you touch it."
Kreacher stiffened, lips peeling back in something between a sneer and a grimace. "Master should not—"
"I'm not asking to keep it," Harry cut in softly. "I'm asking for it so I can destroy it. Permanently. That thing is poison, Kreacher. It's not a treasure. It's a curse."
For a long, taut silence, Kreacher studied him. Harry didn't press further. He simply held the elf's gaze, calm, certain.
At last, Kreacher's shoulders sagged. With a trembling hand, he produced the locket from the folds of his grimy cloth.
Its surface glinted in the torchlight, gold and cold, an "S" etched on its face.
"Master Black's heir speaks true?" Kreacher whispered, voice cracking. "That he will rid the House of this… blight?"
Harry nodded once. "I promise."
They descended together into a forgotten chamber, stone walls etched with dust and age.
Harry layered wards across the door with practiced ease.
He placed the locket in the center of the floor. It throbbed faintly, like a heart beating in the dark.
Kreacher shifted uneasily. "Bad magic… old magic…"
Harry drew his wand. His voice was steady. "Stand back."
He murmured the incantation, voice low, controlled.
"Ignis Infernum Diabolica."
The room exploded in flame.
A torrent of cursed fire surged forth, twisting into monstrous form, a phoenix screaming as its wings tore through the air.
Fiendfyre spell. Demonic flames he remember from his past life, discovered on his usual visits to restricted section under the invisibility clock.
The locket burst open, spewing black mist, a fragment of soul wailing in fury.
Shadows clawed at the stone, reaching for Harry, whispering lies.
Harry's grip tightened. He forced his will into the fire.
The phoenix lunged, tore the mist apart, swallowed the last of the screaming darkness whole.
The locket melted, warped, and finally shattered.
The Horcrux was gone.
Harry exhaled sharply, pulling the Fiendfyre back, reeling it into nothingness until the chamber was silent again. Not even slag remained.
Only scorched stone, clean of evil.
Kreacher stared at him, wide eyed, trembling. "Master… commands fire like the old ones…"
Harry looked down at him, wiping ash from his sleeve. "I told you. It's gone. Your House is cleaner for it."
For the first time, Kreacher bowed deeply, not grudgingly, not with muttered curses under his breath.
A true bow, low and respectful.
"Master Potter-Black," the elf rasped, voice hoarse, "has Kreacher's loyalty."
Harry smiled faintly, but kept his secret to himself. Neither Sirius nor Remus would ever know.
This was his burden, and his victory.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------