Chapter Text
Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not my intellectual property, and I make no profit from writing this fan fiction. This story contains spoilers for the Harry Potter universe, and includes quotations from the novels, films, wiki, and other sources.
Ain't No Rest for the Wicked
Chapter I
Harry Potter woke with a violent start, a strangled gasp tearing from his throat as he bolted upright in bed. For a few disorienting seconds, he didn't know where he was. The darkness of the dormitory pressed in around him. Moonlight spilled through the tall windows of Gryffindor Tower, casting pale silver bars across the floorboards. The familiar shapes of the four-poster beds stood motionless in the gloom, their heavy red curtains drawn. Somewhere nearby, Neville Longbottom snored softly.
Harry's chest rose and fell in ragged breaths. Another nightmare. His fingers clenched around the bedclothes as he fought to steady himself, but the images refused to fade. The Department of Mysteries. The circular room with its countless black doors. The frantic chase through the echoing corridors.
The Death Eaters. Bellatrix Lestrange's triumphant laughter. And Sirius.
Harry squeezed his eyes shut.
He could still see it as clearly as if it were happening again. Sirius duelling Bellatrix, his dark hair flying as he laughed in the face of danger. For a moment, he had looked invincible. Then came the flash of red light. The look of surprise on Sirius's face. His body falling backwards. The ancient stone archway. The tattered black veil fluttering as though stirred by an unseen wind.
And then— Gone. The veil had swallowed him whole.
Harry's stomach twisted painfully. He had watched it happen. He had stood there and watched as the closest thing he had left to family disappeared forever. A familiar weight settled over his chest, cold and suffocating.
If only he had listened. If only he had used the mirror Sirius had given him. If only he hadn't rushed to the Ministry. If only he hadn't been so desperate to play the hero. The thoughts circled endlessly in his mind, each one sharper than the last. He shoved the covers aside and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. The stone floor felt icy beneath his bare feet. Sleep was impossible now.
Quietly, so as not to wake the others, Harry crossed to the window. The castle grounds lay silent beneath the moonlight. The Black Lake shimmered like dark glass, and beyond it the Forbidden Forest stretched across the landscape, its trees forming a jagged black silhouette against the night sky.
Most nights, Hogwarts felt like the safest place in the world. Tonight it felt empty. Harry rested his forehead against the cool glass.
Sirius should have been here. Not at Hogwarts, perhaps, but alive. Hidden away somewhere, grumbling about being stuck indoors, eager for news from the outside world. Harry should still have had the chance to visit him one day, to leave the Dursleys behind for good, to have something that resembled a family. Instead, all he had were memories.
Harry didn't know how long he stood by the window before finally returning to bed. The castle remained wrapped in silence, the moonlight painting silver patterns across the dormitory floor. Exhaustion weighed heavily on him, but he was certain sleep would never come.
Yet at some point, without realising it, he drifted off.
XXXXX
Morning arrived in a riot of noise.
Harry awoke to sunlight pouring through the tall windows and the unmistakable chaos of the Gryffindor sixth-year dormitory in full motion. For a moment he lay still, blinking against the brightness, disoriented as the remnants of the nightmare slipped away.
Then reality rushed back in. It was the first morning of the summer holidays.
All around the room, students were busy making their final preparations before returning home. Trunks stood open beside beds, clothes and books spilling out in untidy heaps. The air was filled with the scrape of luggage being dragged across the floor, the rustle of robes, and the chatter of boys exchanging last-minute plans for the holidays.
"Has anyone seen my trainers?" Seamus Finnigan called from somewhere behind a half-packed trunk.
"They're under Dean's bed," came Neville's sleepy reply.
"No, those are mine," Dean Thomas protested, crouching down to retrieve them.
Nearby, Ron was attempting to force an alarming amount of belongings into his trunk while muttering under his breath. Every few moments, something escaped and tumbled onto the floor, prompting a fresh string of complaints.
The usually tidy dormitory looked as though a small hurricane had swept through it. Books, Chocolate Frog cards, quills, rolls of parchment, and abandoned socks were scattered everywhere.
Harry pushed himself upright and glanced around the room. The sight was familiar enough, yet it felt strangely distant. While most of the boys were looking forward to returning home, he found himself dreading the journey.
In a few short hours, Hogwarts would be behind him. The warmth of Gryffindor Tower, the moving staircases, the enchanted ceilings, and the comforting presence of friends would all be left behind once again. And waiting for him at the end of the journey were Privet Drive and the Dursleys.
A hollow feeling settled in his chest. Usually, when summer arrived, Harry could at least look forward to seeing Sirius again somehow, whether through letters, Floo calls, or the faint hope of meeting him in person.
This year, there would be nothing. The thought hit him with fresh force. Sirius was gone. The laughter, the reckless grin, the promises of a future beyond the Dursleys—all of it had vanished beyond the veil in the Department of Mysteries.
For a moment, the cheerful bustle of the dormitory seemed to fade into the background.
"Harry?"
He looked up to find Ron watching him from across the room.
"You all right?"
Harry forced a small nod. "Yeah," he said quietly. "I'm fine."
Ron didn't look entirely convinced, but he didn't press the matter. Instead, he gave Harry a sympathetic look before returning to the impossible task of packing his trunk.
Harry was grateful for that.
XXXXX
The remainder of the morning passed quickly. Before long, the final bell rang through the castle, signalling the end of term.
Students poured out of Gryffindor Tower and into the corridors, dragging trunks, owl cages and battered suitcases behind them. The atmosphere throughout Hogwarts was noticeably different from usual. There was an air of excitement as students chatted eagerly about summer plans, family holidays and the prospect of several weeks free from homework.
Harry followed Ron, Hermione and Neville down to the Great Hall for breakfast.
The enchanted ceiling above reflected a brilliant summer sky, and the Hall buzzed with conversation. Hundreds of students filled the long House tables, finishing their meals while waiting for the carriages that would take them to Hogsmeade Station.
Despite the cheerful atmosphere, Harry found it difficult to share in their excitement.
Before long, Professor McGonagall stood and instructed the students to gather their belongings. A wave of scraping benches and excited chatter followed as everyone rose to leave. Together, they made their way across the castle grounds for the last time that year.
The morning sun shone brightly over the lake, turning its surface to glittering silver. Beyond it, the Forbidden Forest stood dark and ancient as ever, while Hogwarts Castle towered behind them in all its familiar splendour.
Harry glanced back once as they approached the waiting carriages. For a brief moment, he wished he could stay. Then the feeling passed, and he climbed into a carriage with his friends.
XXXXX
A short while later, they joined the crowds boarding the scarlet Hogwarts Express, which stood waiting beside the platform in a cloud of steam. After finding an empty compartment, Harry settled into a seat with Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Neville.
Ron immediately claimed the seat by the window and stretched his legs out with a contented sigh. "Finally," he said. "No more essays. No more exams. No more Snape."
Hermione sat down properly and withdrew a folded copy of the Daily Prophet from her bag, smoothing it out across her lap as she began to read.
Meanwhile, Neville carefully placed his Mimbulus mimbletonia on the seat beside him. The plant let out a curious bubbling noise, like something half-asleep stirring under water.
“Easy there,” Neville murmured.
“What exactly does that thing do?” Ron asked suspiciously.
Neville brightened immediately. “It produces Stinksap when it’s threatened.”
Ron shifted further away at once. “Brilliant. That’s exactly what I want in a train compartment.”
Ginny laughed. “It’s harmless.”
Harry couldn’t help thinking of the last time Neville had poked it—an ill-advised curiosity that had resulted in the entire compartment, including Luna, Ginny, Neville himself, and Harry, being drenched in the foul, eye-watering stuff.
“Better safe than sorry,” Ron said now, as if reading the memory on Harry’s face.
Harry leaned back in his seat and watched the countryside roll past outside. The Hogwarts Express had only just left Hogsmeade Station, and the familiar rhythm of wheels rattling over the tracks filled the air. Through the window, rolling green hills and distant mountains drifted by beneath the bright summer sky.
For the first time all morning, there was nothing required of him. Just the journey.
Ron suddenly read aloud from Ginny’s magazine. “‘Which Crumple-Horned Snorkack best matches your personality?’ That’s not even a real creature.”
“According to The Quibbler, it is,” Ginny replied calmly.
Ron scoffed. “According to The Quibbler, Cornelius Fudge is controlled by vampires.”
“That article was surprisingly persuasive,” Ginny said.
Ron stared at her. “You can’t be serious.”
Across from them, Hermione’s Daily Prophet lay open. The headline dominated the page in bold, aggressive type:
DEATH EATERS ATTACK AGAIN! BELLATRIX LESTRANGE SPOTTED!
The mood in the compartment shifted almost imperceptibly.
Harry’s eyes caught on the name before he could stop himself.
Noticing his expression, Hermione lowered the newspaper a little. "The Daily Prophet is publishing safety advice," she said quickly. "Things people should do if they encounter suspected Death Eaters."
Harry didn't reply. His eyes remained fixed on the headline.
The battle in the Department of Mysteries felt both distant and painfully recent. Despite what had happened in the graveyard the previous year, Voldemort had once again tried to kill him personally. Their wands' twin cores had connected for a second time, but the result had been very different. The strange magical reaction had not merely summoned echoes of the dead as it had before. Somehow, Voldemort's own curse had been turned back upon him.
The Dark Lord was dead. And Harry had once again become the wizarding world's reluctant saviour. Yet victory felt hollow. Most of the Death Eaters had escaped. Bellatrix Lestrange had escaped, fighting and injuring many Aurors.
The Dark Lord was dead, and Harry had once again become the wizarding world’s reluctant saviour. Yet victory felt hollow. Most of the Death Eaters had escaped. Bellatrix Lestrange had fled, injuring several Aurors in the process of her escape. Lucius Malfoy had vanished as well—most likely gone the moment he realised Voldemort had fallen.
Bellatrix was still out there. So was Lucius Malfoy, still accepted in certain circles of wizarding society as though nothing had changed. And that was the real problem. The last time Voldemort had disappeared, many of his followers had gone into hiding. The most fanatical among them had eventually been hunted down and locked away in Azkaban. This time was different. Most of them remained free. Worse, Bellatrix Lestrange appeared to have taken charge.
Malfoy was dangerous enough. Wealthy, influential, and intelligent, he had spent years carefully donating large sums to various Ministry causes, weaving himself into the fabric of wizarding politics. Harry doubted those favours had been forgotten.
He was an opportunist to the core—always polished in public, always careful never to say too much, as though ignorance itself were a kind of shield. But Bellatrix was something else entirely. Malfoy calculated risk. Bellatrix revelled in chaos.
And judging by recent events, she was already getting started. Several attacks had been reported during the past week, targeting both the wizarding and Muggle worlds. They had been reckless, brutal, and seemingly without any larger plan. Exactly the sort of thing Bellatrix would do.
“They’ll catch her,” Ron said suddenly.
Harry looked up.
“They’ve got half the Ministry after her,” Ron added.
"She can't stay hidden forever," Hermione added.
Harry glanced back at the newspaper. Perhaps they were right. Perhaps she would be caught soon by the Aurors. But as he stared at Bellatrix Lestrange’s moving photograph, her wild eyes glaring defiantly from the page as though she could see beyond the ink and paper, he couldn’t shake the feeling that things were only just beginning.
And beneath that uneasy certainty was something sharper still. Hatred.
"I hope so," Harry said at last.
Hermione seemed to relax slightly at the sound of his voice, exchanging a quick glance with Ron that Harry deliberately pretended not to notice. They were worried about him—about everything that had happened. About Sirius.
XXXXX
The rest of the journey passed quietly. The train rattled steadily south through the countryside, fields and villages flashing past beyond the compartment window. The occasional witch or wizard drifted in and out of neighbouring compartments, while the distant cries of the trolley witch echoed along the corridor.
For the most part, Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Neville carried the conversation. Harry was perfectly content to sit back and listen. It was easier that way. The discussion drifted from summer plans to Quidditch, then to the latest gossip making its way around the school.
Apparently, Cho Chang was now dating Michael Corner following her break-up with Harry. Michael himself had recently split up with Ginny, though judging by Ginny's complete lack of concern, she had moved on long ago. Which naturally led to the subject of Ginny's new boyfriend.
“Well, I date Dean Thomas now,” Ginny said matter-of-factly, as though she were announcing nothing more significant than a change of timetable.
“WHAT?” Ron spluttered.
Ginny rolled her eyes. “Oh, stop looking at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like I’ve lost my mind.”
Ron spluttered again, genuinely scandalised now. “I do not!”
“You do.”
“I just don’t see why it had to be Dean.” As he said it, his eyes flicked briefly towards Harry—quick, involuntary, as if checking something he hadn’t meant to reveal.
Harry kept his gaze fixed out of the compartment window, watching the countryside blur past in soft green and gold streaks. He pretended he hadn’t noticed at all.
Neville chuckled quietly while Ginny folded her arms and fixed her brother with a challenging look.
“Well, for your information, Dean’s very nice.”
“I know he’s very nice,” Ron said quickly.
Ginny raised an eyebrow at him.
Ron visibly deflated, muttering something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like a protest he didn’t quite believe himself. Hermione shook her head, as though she had seen this argument play out a hundred times before.
Ron was Ginny’s older brother, and in his mind that seemed to come with an unspoken duty to disapprove of every boy who so much as looked at her for more than a few seconds. As far as Ron was concerned, there probably wasn’t a boy in the world who could ever meet the standards he imagined for his younger sister.
Ginny, for her part, looked entirely unimpressed by the entire concept.
Harry found himself smiling faintly despite everything. For the first time since Sirius’s death, the familiar bickering felt oddly comforting. It was normal. And after everything that had happened, normal was something he hadn’t realised he’d missed quite so much.
XXXXXX
When they arrived in London and stepped off the train, Harry was surprised to spot Remus Lupin waiting on Platform Nine and Three-Quarters. Standing beside Mr and Mrs Weasley, Fred, and George, Lupin looked tired, though otherwise well. The shadows beneath his eyes seemed a little deeper than Harry remembered, and there were a few more threads of grey in his light-brown hair.
Then again, when Harry thought about it, Lupin had probably come for him. After everything that had happened at the Ministry—after Sirius—he was likely there to make sure Harry was coping.
“Hi, Harry,” Lupin greeted him with a small smile as Harry approached.
“Moony!” Harry replied, a warmth he hadn’t quite expected rising in his chest. “Mr and Mrs Weasley, Fred, George.”
“Yo, Harry,” Fred and George said in unison, both of them grinning as though they’d never been away.
“Ron! Ginny!” Mrs Weasley swept forward at once, gathering both of her children into a fierce embrace before either of them could protest.
“Oh, thank goodness,” she said, pulling back just long enough to inspect them critically. “You’re both far too thin.”
“Mum—” Ron began weakly.
“And Harry, dear, how are you?” she asked, turning immediately and drawing him into a hug before he had time to brace himself.
Harry stiffened on instinct, then awkwardly patted her back in return. “I’m fine,” he lied.
Mrs Weasley didn’t look convinced in the slightest. Her eyes lingered on him for a moment too long, soft with worry rather than suspicion.
“I’m glad to hear it,” she said gently, clearly not believing a word. “And Hermione!” she exclaimed, already shifting her attention, pulling Hermione into an equally fierce hug.
“Hello, Mrs Weasley,” Hermione said with a smile, sounding both amused and pleased at the same time.
Nearby, Ron’s attention had been captured by Fred and George’s new jackets. The dark grey material shimmered subtly under the station lights, covered in tiny scales that reflected flashes of silver whenever they moved.
“What’s that made of?” Ron asked, reaching out to touch George’s sleeve.
Fred smirked. “The finest dragon hide, little brother.”
Ron’s eyes widened. “Dragon hide?”
“Business is booming,” George said cheerfully. “We decided it was time to treat ourselves.”
“Besides,” Fred added, brushing an imaginary speck of dust from his sleeve with theatrical precision, “we have a reputation to maintain.”
“You mean showing off?” Ginny asked dryly, folding her arms.
Fred grinned. “That too.”
George nodded solemnly. “But it’s important work, really. Someone has to keep standards high at Diagon Alley.”
Ron shook his head, still half-awed as he ran his fingers lightly over the material again. “They’re brilliant… how much did they cost?”
Fred and George exchanged a look. “Let’s just say,” Fred began.
“—if you have to ask,” George finished smoothly, “you probably can’t afford it.”
Harry shook his head, amused despite himself. For a brief moment, it almost felt normal. Then his gaze drifted back to Lupin. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”
Lupin’s smile faded slightly. For the briefest moment, he exchanged a glance with Mr and Mrs Weasley. It was subtle, but Harry noticed it immediately. A knot formed in his stomach. Something was wrong.
“Well, Harry,” Lupin said quietly, turning back to him, “there’s something you need to know.”
Harry’s smile vanished. “Is there a problem?”
“No, no,” Lupin said quickly, perhaps a little too quickly. “Nothing like that. But this isn’t really the place to discuss it.”
Harry frowned. That answer only made him more curious.
The platform bustled around them. Parents reunited with children, owls hooted from cages, and clouds of steam drifted from the scarlet Hogwarts Express. Yet Lupin seemed strangely intent on having this conversation somewhere else.
“Then where?” Harry asked.
“We’re going to Grimmauld Place,” Lupin said.
Harry stared at him. “Grimmauld Place?”
The words hit him like a physical blow. The old Black house was the last place he wanted to see. The dark hallways. The heavy curtains. Mrs Black's screaming portrait. Every corner of that house carried memories of Sirius. Harry wasn't sure he could walk through its front door without expecting Sirius to appear at the top of the stairs, grinning and asking what all the fuss was about.
“But what about the Dursleys?” he asked, confused. “They'll be expecting me.”
Lupin shifted slightly. “We've already informed them that someone would be collecting you.”
Harry blinked. “You informed them?”
“Yes.”
Something about Lupin’s expression suggested that the conversation had not been entirely pleasant. Harry found himself wondering exactly how Uncle Vernon had reacted to being contacted by a wizard. The image of Vernon Dursley turning purple with outrage was vivid enough that Harry almost smiled. nAlmost.
“Right,” he said slowly. He still had no idea what was going on.
Lupin gave him an encouraging nod. “Come on, then.”
With that, he turned and began leading the way through the crowded platform.
Harry hesitated for a moment before following. Whatever Lupin wanted to tell him, it was apparently important enough to keep him away from Privet Drive. And that alone made him uneasy.
XXXXX
Grimmauld Place was exactly as Harry remembered.
Standing outside Number Twelve, he watched as the ancient house squeezed itself into existence between Numbers Eleven and Thirteen, forcing its neighbouring houses aside as though it had always belonged there and nowhere else. The grim façade rose several storeys high, its soot-blackened bricks and filthy windows giving it the appearance of a house that had spent centuries glaring at the rest of London.
A worn set of stone steps led up to the battered black front door, the silver serpent-shaped knocker glinting faintly in the afternoon light. Harry felt a familiar knot tighten in his chest. Too many memories. Without a word, Lupin led them up the steps and pushed open the door.
They entered the long entrance hall, which was dimly lit by flickering gas lamps and a large crystal chandelier hanging overhead. The familiar smell of dust, old wood, and something faintly musty greeted Harry at once.
The house felt unchanged.
The dark wallpaper was still peeling in places. The threadbare carpet stretched along the corridor, worn thin by generations of Black family members. Cobwebs lingered stubbornly in corners despite countless attempts to remove them, and the shadows seemed to cling to every surface.
Even after all the cleaning that members of the Order had done over the previous year, Grimmauld Place remained what it had always been—a dark, oppressive house that seemed determined to resist improvement. The house was quiet. Too quiet.
A year ago, Sirius's voice would have echoed through these halls. He would have appeared from one of the rooms, restless and impatient, eager for news from Hogwarts or desperate for any excuse to escape the house for a while.
Now there was only silence. Harry found his eyes drifting towards the staircase before he could stop himself. For one foolish moment, some part of him still expected Sirius to come bounding down it. But the staircase remained empty. The silence lingered.
They made their way up to the drawing room on the first floor.
The room was much as Harry remembered it. Tall windows overlooked the square outside, though the heavy velvet curtains were partially drawn, allowing only muted afternoon light to filter in. A large fireplace dominated one wall, flanked by ornate glass-fronted cabinets filled with silverware and dark, dusty curiosities collected by generations of the Black family.
Opposite the fireplace hung the enormous Black family tapestry. The sprawling family tree covered nearly the entire wall, its golden lettering shimmering faintly against the aged black fabric. Burn marks and ragged holes scarred the tapestry where family members had been blasted off the tree, silent reminders of the Blacks' habit of disowning anyone they deemed unworthy.
Harry found his eyes drifting to the spot where Sirius's name had once been. Nothing remained there now but a charred hole. A familiar ache stirred in his chest. Lupin seemed to notice where he was looking but wisely said nothing.
They had barely settled into their seats when the fireplace suddenly roared to life. Emerald flames burst upward, filling the grate with green light. A moment later, Professor Dumbledore stepped gracefully from the fire, brushing a trace of soot from his robes as though arriving through a fireplace was the most ordinary thing in the world.
“Professor?” Harry said, startled.
“Good afternoon, Harry,” Dumbledore replied warmly.
“Dumbledore,” Lupin greeted.
“Remus.”
Harry looked from one wizard to the other. First Lupin had met him at King's Cross. Now Dumbledore was here. What exactly was going on?
Dumbledore settled himself into an armchair and folded his hands in his lap. “Please, Harry, sit down.”
Harry obeyed, though his curiosity was rapidly turning into unease.
Dumbledore studied him over the top of his half-moon spectacles. “You are no doubt wondering why we have brought you here.”
Harry nodded.
“Last week,” Dumbledore began, “the Ministry completed the processing of Sirius's will. As his closest living heir, he left the entirety of the House of Black's property and his personal possessions to you.”
“Oh.” For a moment, Harry didn't know what else to say. The words felt strangely unreal. Sirius had left everything to him. Everything.
Dumbledore continued, patiently explaining the legal details. Number Twelve Grimmauld Place, the contents of the house, the Black family vaults, and Sirius's personal belongings had all passed into Harry's ownership.
When he finished, Harry spoke immediately. “I don't want this house.”
The words came out more sharply than he intended. His eyes drifted around the gloomy drawing room.
This house had been a prison for Sirius. As a teenager, Sirius had run away from it the first chance he got. Then fate had trapped him here again after his escape from Azkaban, forcing him to spend months confined within walls he had hated all his life. And now Sirius was gone. The house remained.
Dumbledore nodded slowly, as though he had expected that response. “Nevertheless, ownership had to pass to someone.”
“I'd rather not have it.”
“Unfortunately,” Dumbledore said, “the alternative presented certain difficulties.”
Harry frowned. “What difficulties?”
“The next eligible heir under the Black family line would have been Bellatrix Lestrange.”
“No!” Harry's response was immediate. The very idea was unbearable. There was no chance—absolutely none—that Sirius's murderer would inherit his home. Not Bellatrix. Not ever.
Dumbledore exchanged a brief glance with Lupin. “Yes,” he said calmly. “That was very much our opinion as well.”
Harry settled back into his chair, suddenly understanding why he had been brought here. The house couldn't be allowed to fall into Bellatrix's hands. Not after everything Sirius had done for the Order. Not after everything Bellatrix had done to him.
“There's also the matter of Kreacher,” Dumbledore continued.
Harry groaned. The ancient house-elf had been devoted to the Black family for decades and had openly worshipped Bellatrix and Narcissa.
“Kreacher was less than pleased to discover that you had inherited the house,” Lupin said dryly.
“He wanted to go to Bellatrix,” Harry guessed.
“Repeatedly,” said Lupin.
Harry wasn't surprised in the slightest.
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled faintly. “Unfortunately, Kreacher possesses a considerable amount of information concerning the Order of the Phoenix. Allowing him to leave freely would have been... unwise.”
After some discussion, they had settled on a solution. Kreacher had been sent to Hogwarts, where he would work in the kitchens alongside the other house-elves. Dobby had enthusiastically volunteered to keep an eye on him.
Harry suspected Dobby viewed this assignment as a matter of great importance.
“And so,” Dumbledore concluded, “that particular problem has been resolved.”
Harry nodded slowly. At least Kreacher wouldn't be helping Bellatrix.
Dumbledore folded his hands once more. “Now we come to the matter of your accommodation for the remainder of the summer.”
Harry immediately straightened. “Can I stay at the Burrow, Professor?” The question escaped before he could stop it.
Dumbledore regarded him thoughtfully. For a moment, Harry had the uncomfortable sensation that Dumbledore could see every thought passing through his mind. The dread of returning to Privet Drive. The grief he still carried. The desperate desire to be anywhere else.
At length, Dumbledore smiled. “Yes.”
Harry blinked. “Really?”
“Provided,” Dumbledore added gently, “that you spend at least one night at your aunt and uncle's house first.”
Harry's excitement dimmed slightly. “The blood protection?”
Dumbledore inclined his head. “Precisely. While your aunt continues to offer you a home, your mother's protection remains active. It would be unwise to abandon that safeguard entirely.”
Harry sighed. One night. Just one. Compared with an entire summer at Privet Drive, that was practically nothing.
“Alright, Professor,” he said.
Dumbledore smiled again. “Excellent.”
For the first time since arriving at Grimmauld Place, Harry felt a small measure of relief. One night with the Dursleys. Then the Burrow. It wasn't perfect. But it was a great deal better than he'd feared.
Author’s Note:
Hello, everyone! First and foremost, thank you so much for reading. I would love to hear your thoughts, so please feel free to leave a review.
This is an old fic of mine, the first Harry Potter story I wrote years ago, so some of you might have read this before. While the story remains the same, I might delete some parts and add new ones.
I no longer ship this pairing. In fact, I do not even remember how I ever came to ship them and write this. However, I plan to go through all my fan fiction one by one, correcting the grammar, refining the storytelling, fixing the messy POV and inconsistencies, and adding some new details.