The days slipped by quietly inside Grimmauld Place. It had been nearly two weeks since Harry moved into the newly cleaned house, and while the place still carried the echoes of its darker years, it finally felt livable. Not warm—not yet—but livable. The kind of space where silence didn't feel threatening anymore. Just… unfamiliar.
The battle had ended almost two months ago, but the world hadn't settled. Not really. Every morning the Daily Prophet still printed small updates about captured Death Eaters—three here, one there—always tucked somewhere below the fold. Harry made himself read them, even when the names made his stomach twist. It felt like a responsibility he hadn't asked for but couldn't ignore.
He sat at the kitchen table that morning—tea growing cold, paper open—when a knock sounded at the front door. Grimmauld Place had been magically hidden and warded, but the wards recognized Andromeda Tonks. She'd been one of the first he allowed through when he moved in.
Harry stood up and opened the door.
Andromeda stood there with Teddy in her arms—a chubby little bundle wrapped in a pale-blue blanket. Teddy was blinking up at Harry with wide, ever-shifting brown-to-blue eyes.
"Morning, Harry," Andromeda said. Her voice still held grief, but she seemed steadier today.
"Hi," he said, stepping aside. "Come in."
She entered with the kind of calm dignity that reminded Harry just faintly of McGonagall. But where McGonagall felt stern in a comforting way, Andromeda felt… tired beneath her strength. Grief made of layers. She had lost her husband and daughter weeks apart.
Harry swallowed. Loss wasn't something he could help with. But Teddy—Teddy he could hold.
"Do you want him?" Andromeda asked gently.
Harry nodded, and she placed the baby in his arms. Teddy immediately gripped Harry's shirt with shocking strength.
"Someone's getting stronger," Harry said, a small smile forming before he even realized it.
"Metamorphmagus babies tend to be like that," Andromeda said, easing herself into a chair. "Once he starts crawling, you'll be exhausted."
"I'm already exhausted," Harry said honestly.
Andromeda gave him a knowing look. "Grief and rest don't often exist in the same room."
Teddy's tiny fingers tugged at Harry's collar, and Harry's chest tightened in a way he didn't entirely understand. Not pain. Something warmer. He didn't know how to hold a baby properly, but Teddy didn't seem to mind. He rested against Harry's chest, small and trusting.
"He calms down around you," Andromeda said, studying Harry. "You know that, right?"
Harry's face warmed. "Maybe he just likes not being jostled."
"No," she said, smiling faintly. "He knows you. Babies have a way of recognizing the people who matter."
Harry didn't know what to say to that. So he just sat there, rocking Teddy slightly, listening to his small breaths.
After a long, quiet moment, Andromeda spoke again.
"I went to Gringotts this morning," she said.
Harry stiffened a little.
She noticed, of course. "Don't worry. This isn't about making you take anything. I'm not Narcissa, and I'm not here to force politics into your lap."
"I didn't think you were," Harry said quickly. "I just—lordship sounds… big."
"It is," Andromeda admitted. "But you don't have to take anything right now. Not for months. Maybe not for years. But you should know what the goblins told me."
Harry nodded, bracing himself.
"Your godfather wasn't disowned," she said carefully. "His grandfather—your great-grandfather by proxy—never finalized it. The paperwork was started, not completed. Which means the title reverted to Sirius when his father died. And when Sirius died…" She looked meaningfully at Harry. "The title passed to you. By blood and by magic."
Harry kept his expression neutral, though something heavy shifted in his stomach.
"And the Potter inheritance?" he asked.
"That, too," she said. "Your parents left you everything, of course. But you already knew that."
Harry nodded, though the knowledge felt different now. He'd never thought of himself as someone with old family responsibilities. Or expectations. Or weight.
Andromeda leaned forward, resting her hands on the table.
"You don't need to take any titles now," she said. "You don't even have to think about it seriously until you're ready. But Harry… you should understand what being the last Potter and the last Black heir could mean. For yourself. And, eventually, for Teddy."
Harry looked down at the baby in his arms. Teddy had dozed off, the little fist still gripping Harry's shirt.
"It's too much," Harry whispered. "All of this. The war just ended. I haven't even gone back to Hogwarts yet."
"You shouldn't rush," Andromeda agreed. "And I won't push. I lost my daughter, my husband… my nephew, in his own way. I don't want to lose anyone else to these old pure-blood games."
Harry's throat tightened.
"But," she continued, softer, "I do want to help you understand what you've inherited. You deserve that much."
Harry nodded silently.
The kettle clicked off behind them, the only sound for several moments.
"I miss Remus," Harry said suddenly, his voice cracking slightly. It felt strange to say it aloud. He'd been trying not to think about it too much. Thinking hurt.
Andromeda looked down. "I miss him too. He would have been so proud of you."
Harry swallowed. "Sometimes I think he'd be disappointed. That I can't seem to… I don't know. Function the way people expect me to."
"He wouldn't be disappointed," she said. "He struggled with responsibility too. He never said it, but I knew. Sometimes he wondered if he was doing enough for Dora. And when the war came back, he worried constantly about Teddy."
Harry's chest tightened again.
"He loved Teddy," Andromeda continued. "And he trusted you. More than himself, sometimes."
Harry blinked hard, looking down at the small, soft-haired baby in his arms.
"And that," Andromeda said gently, "is why I want to help. You shouldn't shoulder this alone. Not the child, not the inheritance, not the old magic."
Harry nodded. "Thank you."
They sat quietly, letting the moment settle around them.
After a while, Teddy woke up and began fussing, and Andromeda took him back with practiced ease. They were preparing to leave when Harry hesitated.
"Andromeda… can I ask something odd?"
"Of course."
"Did Dumbledore ever… talk about my parents' will with you?" Harry asked. "Or about Grimmauld Place. Or anything from the Potters or Blacks?"
Andromeda froze just slightly—a pause too subtle for most, but Harry caught it.
"He didn't," she said softly. "Albus kept many things to himself. Sometimes for good reasons. Sometimes… perhaps because he believed he knew best."
That small pause tugged at something in Harry. A tiny seam of doubt he hadn't wanted to examine.
"I'm not trying to think badly of him," Harry said quickly. "I just… I keep wondering why I didn't know things earlier."
"It's human to wonder," she said gently. "Albus Dumbledore was a great man. But great men are rarely perfect men. He loved you, Harry. In his own way. But he also made choices for you that you deserved to be part of."
Harry nodded slowly. "I think… I think I just want to understand the truth. About everything."
"And you will," she said. "But don't try to understand all of it at once. Your life isn't meant to be a puzzle you solve in a month."
Harry let out a small breath—half laugh, half sigh.
"Thanks," he murmured.
"Anytime," she said, shifting Teddy. "We'll come by again soon."
After she left, the house felt heavier again—but not in a suffocating way. More in a way that suggested it was waiting for him to figure things out.
Later, Kreacher shuffled into the room, coughing dramatically.
"Master Harry is looking troubled," Kreacher muttered.
Harry looked up. "Just thinking."
"Thinking is loud," Kreacher grumbled. "House has opinions."
Harry snorted. "Does it, now?"
"Old magic sits in the stones," Kreacher said, not elaborating further.
Harry raised an eyebrow. "Should I be worried?"
"No," Kreacher said. "House approves. Master is proper Black heir. House is pleased."
Harry rubbed his forehead. "I haven't agreed to be heir yet."
Kreacher squinted at him. "Magic already knows. Paperwork is slow. Magic is not."
Harry didn't know what to say to that. So he didn't.
Instead, he asked, "Kreacher… would you ever want to go somewhere else? If I decide not to—"
"No," Kreacher snapped before he could finish. "Kreacher stays with House of Black. Master Harry is House of Black. Kreacher stays."
Harry blinked. "Even if I don't take the title yet?"
"Titles are for wizards. Magic is for houses," Kreacher said with a dismissive sniff.
Harry gave a small, crooked smile. "Fair enough."
Kreacher hesitated for a long moment before speaking again.
"Kreacher is… glad Master Harry is here," he muttered, voice gruff. "House was empty. Sad. Kreacher was… alone."
The words weren't emotional, but the weight of them hit Harry like a quiet punch.
"I'm glad you're here too," Harry said honestly.
Kreacher froze, ears twitching slightly. Then he nodded once and disappeared with a pop.
Harry finally went upstairs to the study—Sirius's old study, now cleaned—and found a new envelope waiting on the desk. Goblin wax seal.
He sat down slowly.
Another step. Another responsibility.
He opened the envelope.
Mr. Harry James Potter,
We request your presence at Gringotts at your earliest convenience to discuss the final assessment and release of assets belonging to the Potter and Black estates. This includes properties, vaults, historical records, and ancestral responsibilities. A formal folder awaits your review.
Harry exhaled.
Not a demand. Not a summon. A request.
Still overwhelming, but… manageable.
He leaned back in the chair, staring at the ceiling.
He wasn't ready for politics. He wasn't ready to be a lord. He wasn't ready for whatever came next.
But he was ready to try to understand.
And maybe, he thought, glancing toward where Teddy had rested against his chest earlier—maybe he was ready to stop running from life and start building one.
Even if he had no idea what that life would look like yet.