Chapter Twenty-Two: Back
It was a warm day, Spring fading into Summer, though still nothing compared to the heat of India in all her fury. Many
were out and about, the park flooded with picnickers, joggers, playing kids and strolling couples. Had they been able
to see Harry, he would have stuck out like a sore thumb.
Why had he chosen this garb? The soles of his feet now well hardened, he'd become accustom to going without shoes, so he had not thought to bother. The gharab he had been given by Kitsaka had been torn to shreds in his most recent and unexpected duel. He could have mended it, but then it have reminded him too much of his friend. Instead, he transfigured it into a simple black robe. Black... the color of his heart at the moment.
The crowds in London Park would have stopped and stared at this odd sight. They would have been startled by the harsh, unmoving features of his frowning face, of the cold, stone look in his eyes. All, had he not been hidden beneath his trusted Invisibility Cloak.
His steady gaze was locked onto a small group sat out upon an unfolded quilt at the heart of all this happiness going on about him. Hermione and Ron, Ginny and Dean, Neville and Luna, Seamus and Susan. All perfect compliments to the joy in the park on this bright, sunny day.
A small piece, the smallest of pieces, some remnant of that young raven haired boy with glasses, dressed in his dirty sneakers, faded jeans, and hand-me-down t-shirt, stared at them with a longing in his heart. Eager to forget the last few months, the last year, the last years of his war torn life and run to them, to sit with them, to talk absently with them, to laugh with them.
So happy. So care free. The dark times were over. For them. Too much baggage now saddled his broad shoulders. He was a dark shadow over everything, bringing only pain and tragedy and heartache where ever he went. Koca... Kitsaka... Pita... They were only just the latest editions to his heavy list. There was no end to it. He would not join them. He could not join them less he risked adding them to that list.
As a breeze swept through, billowing about his cloak and bent the grass blades as a passing wall down the green field to them and past them, those brown eyes he knew so well, that had kept him through his most darkened times, looked up and in his direction... at him. But of course she could not see him.
He swallowed, the memories of those enchanting orbs so deep and unrelenting. He turned and left, leaving that small piece, that ghost of a boy still standing there, remembering, wanting, longing, but never again having.
. . . .
Three months. Such a short amount of time, not even a drop in the well of time, and yet a lifetime seemed to have passed him by. So much had happened in that time, it was hard for him to wrap his mind around it. It all blended in so much so with the war, his small reprieve in Australia the only bright star in all that darkness.
Harry had come to accept that he would be alone.
Like the lighting bolt scar on his forehead, he would forever be a marked man. He would never again allow his curse to be brought down on another, most certainly not on those he loved so much.
He had been destined to face down Voldemort, live or die, but he had lived. And now he had to live, but he was not sure how. He'd been given a glimpse of normalcy, of happiness on the shores of White Sand, but his sad life and dark fate swallowed him again. There was no escaping it. He stood with only the clothes on his back, his wand in his hand, his pouch about his neck and he had all he could in this world and from this point on, it would be all he'd need.
He apparated just outside the lonely mansion of Grimmauld Place. He waited patiently, studying it. He did not want any surprises. Why he came here? A lack of better ideas perhaps.
Someone had been by and tinkered with it, most likely from the Ministry. Every spell and ward imaginable covered it, sealing it whole. Yaxley was dead, but how many had he revealed this place to before he had departed this world? How many had been by here before it had been locked down, looking for him, ransacking the place, desecrating his given home?
In the two years prior, he had never met the neighbors of Number Eleven or Number Thirteen Grimmauld Place, but he observed them today from amongst the brambles and shadows of brush from across the street in the small neighborhood park.
Number Eleven housed a family of five. Two doting parents with two girls and a boy. Number thirteen belonged to an elderly couple with two small pooches they took out frequently to stroll the block and check in on the gossip with the other neighbors.
"Kreacher," Harry beckoned without any more thought, and with no more than a few seconds passed, a loud crack! announced the arrival of an aged old house elf with a piece of his ear missing from that final battle.
"Master Potter?!" Kreacher did his best to disguise his utter surprise, and bent low to the ground, Regulus's locket swinging below him.
"Please, Kreacher, stand up - stand up," Harry insisted while kneeling down to be eye level with him. Kreacher stared back up with bewilderment for his master.
"Hello, old friend," Harry clapped one hand on the elf's small shoulder, reaching out his other for an intended hand shake. Kreacher first looked at it curiously, without understanding, but then slowly felt compelled to reach out his own. He no sooner did though, than Harry took it and pulled Kreacher into him, giving the wrinkled skinned old codger a firm hug.
"I'm glad you're okay," Harry pushed him back to arms distance and smiled to him. Kreacher was speechless, part mortified, part horrified. Harry only laughed at this. "So where've you been holding up, helping at Hogwarts I'm sure?" he tried to sound light.
"Y-yes, Master. K-Kreacher has been helping the magnificent Headmistress McGonagall restore the great Castle!" Kreacher finished with his chin held high. Harry was both surprised and pleased with this new sparkle on his eyes.
"That's good to hear, Kreacher," Harry clapped him on the shoulder again. "I hope you've been happy there."
Kreacher seemed confused by this, emotions such as happy were a very foreign thing to him. It seemed he and Harry shared much more than met the eye. "Y-yes, Master, Kreacher has been... happy?" he said it more like a question. "A-and you, Master?" Kreacher looked down to the ground. "There have been many worried that Master Potter had gone missing..."
"Not missing, Kreacher," Harry forced a hint of a smile. "Just... detained for a bit."
"Detained?" Kreacher betrayed his sudden alarm.
"Sidetracked, Kreacher. That is all."
"Yes," Kreacher grumbled. "Kreacher assured them Master Potter, the greatest of the Purebloods would return."
"I'm a Half-Blood, Kreacher," Harry reminded the old, prejudiced elf. "Can you get us inside? Past all the wards without sounding any of the alarms?"
"Of course, Master, Kreacher is servant to the House of Black!" he made it sound as obvious as day, and taking Harry's hand and with another loud crack! the little old elf and Harry were gone.
Kreacher apparated them straight to the kitchen. Number Twelve was eerily still and quiet, that is except for the old house elf who went straight to work clanging pots and pans as he began with the intention to make Harry some dinner, grumbling all the while under his breath about the foolish witches and wizards who'd worried about his Most Powerful Master. Harry could not help but watch him with amusement.
"I'm afraid the stores here are not quite fresh, Master..." Kreacher pulled out a rotting, unrecognizable vegetable from the pantry. He didn't even bother with the ice box. "Not to worry," and with yet another crack!, Kreacher was gone.
Harry studied the kitchen in Kreacher's absence. Just as he remembered leaving it... the memories of that past life washed over him before he spotted a stack of mail on the table. "What the..?" Harry walked over, picking up the top letter. "Ron..."
The following was from Hagrid, the next few from Hermione, even one from her parents. The Weasley's, Molly and Arthur, Ginny, even Neville and Luna had written to him. There were also several from the Ministry, and Harry did not miss the one with the crimson "H" etched across it. "But how?"
Just then Kreacher returned, bursting the silence which sent Harry jumping.
"Kreacher can make Master some Gnu Stew, perhaps a Fleagel sandwich. No, no, this is a special occasion, Wombat Steak!" Kreacher had his arms full as he made his way over to the counter.
"Kreacher, where did you get all that?" Harry asked with a chuckle, thoroughly amused.
"From Hogwarts' kitchens of course, nothing finer!" Kreacher announced with pride.
Harry watched in silence for a moment as Kreacher began his preparations, pondering what he had just said. Even Kreacher's damp spirit had seemingly done an about face with the end of the war.
"Kreacher..." Harry finally interrupted him. "How can your kind do that, but not mine?"
"Do what, Master?" Kreacher asked offhandedly, keeping on busy with his task at hand.
"You can't just apparate in and out of Hogwarts. And then this house has an Dis-Apparating Jinx on it. So did the Malfoy's and Dobby was still able to get in and out without any problems. How?"
Kreacher shrugged as he fired up the stove. "We go to where our Masters require us, Sir."
"But..." Harry started, "how? It doesn't make any sense."
"You said it, Master Potter. This home is protected against apparating, but we house elfs are not allowed to use wands. We cannot apparate."
"But..."
"We Crack."
"Crack?" Harry asked confused, his faced screwing a little at the odd yet obvious name Kreacher had given it. "Is it not the same?"
"It is not, Master."
"Then why... why wouldn't the house be protected against... cracking?"
Kreacher scoffed. "Against cracking, Sir?! But why would a wizard need to protect themselves against an elf, Master?!" Kreacher found the idea most preposterous, but not Harry.
Could it be true? Were wizards so arrogant that they would completely overlook the magic of their servants? Harry knew the answer to this as soon as he'd thought the question.
"Kreacher..?" Harry asked with care. "Can - can you teach me how to... to Crack?"
. . . .
"Protego!" Harry bellowed as Kreacher's spell hurdled towards him. Kreacher's curse crashed into the invisible wall, rippling a bluish haze out in front of Harry. "Petrificus Totalus!" Harry shot back, but with a crack!, Kreacher was gone and the spell froze only the already immobile wall. Kreacher reappeared on what would have been Harry's flank, but Kreacher missed the second loud crack as Harry matched him.
"Bindum!" Harry yelled from across the room and the little house elf was suddenly being wrapped in a coil of thick cord. He struggled for only a moment before losing his balance and toppling over, cursing fouly along the way.
"Ha-ha-ha!" Harry gripped his stomach with laughter. "Got you again, Kreacher!" Harry walked over to him. "Defindo," he cut the rope and extended a hand to help up his friend.
"With your wand, Master," Kreacher challenged him indignantly. Their time spent and many duels had given the humble elf a bit more liberties in his otherwise closed mind.
"Yeah, well, you still got me there, old timer. Just not that good without my wand... yet!" Harry promised.
Harry and Kreacher had gutted the attic to make it into something akin to a dojo. Upon mastering the elfs' form of apparating, Harry had learned there was much, much more to elfen magic than met the eye, and had begun requiring Kreacher to teach him everything he knew. At the heart of it all, their magic was centered around wandless abilities, and after his time spent in Dakhal, Harry was adament that he would never succumb to being powerless without his wand again.
Kreacher had at first thought it ridiculous and demeaning even for a wizard to lower himself so, but commanded by his Master, as the days slipped by, Kreacher began to relish the time and new attention his Master was bestowing upon him, and how important he seemed to him.
To Harry, the value of what he was learning was obvious and immeasurable. He thought every other witch and wizard a fool not to learn from the elfs. Had Dumbledore? Surely...
Elfs were not nearly as helpless as wizards made them out to be, and Harry learned that the hard and painful way. However, it inevitably allowed him to practice the various healing charms he'd learned from Kitsaka as well as the moves he'd learned from Koca. His two lost friends. Two amongst many.
As Kreacher and Harry squared off for round number five of the day, a frantic tapping came from the window. Harry frowned. He knew what it was, yet another owl. He had yet to open a single letter that laid upon his kitchen table and the pile grew daily. He wished he could simply ignore the messenger, but he knew the poor little owl would keep at it for hours until Harry relented. Harry only knew this because he had tested it.
Harry opened the window and the little owl sputtered in before taking up a roost on the mantle at the fireplace. Harry obliged it and retrieved the letter, summoning a treat to feed the owl before sending it on its way. Harry nearly deposited the letter straight into the flames of the fireplace before the emblazoned "M" and thick block letters above it caught his attention. "FINAL NOTICE," it read.
Harry recalled the last letter he had read from the Ministry and the path it had led him down. He was not eager to read it. But between the warning of Final Notice, and a hard, thin object he could feel enveloped within, he could not restrain his curiosity from tearing it open. It was short and to the point.
August 12th, 1998
To a One Harry James Potter:
As the heir to a one Lily Potter, you have hereby been notified as the recipient and sole executor to the Estate of the late Severus Snape. A sum of Four Hundred Ninety-two thousand Galleons, thirteen Sickles and Four Knuts have been transferred from Mr. Snape's vault at Gringotts into your own.
The additional possessions of Mr. Snape have been collected and await your inspection at his former residence at Spinner's End. Due to your lack of response and instruction by the Undersecretary Mister Weasley, the key has been provided.
Regards,
Hugo Bently
Department of Property and Possessions Clerk
Ministry of Magic
The hard object inside was an old fashioned skeleton key.