12 Grimmauld Place had changed with Sirius’ death. The place had become less welcoming; it wasn’t just the terrifying specter that rushed you when you entered. It was the lack of Sirius himself that made the place feel somehow colder. Despite his horrible experiences, his godfather had filled this place with a certain warmth. Harry Potter had thought he would never step another foot in this place since his godfather’s death, but yet here he was. He walked through the place, not bothering to pick up some of the things scattered on the floor.

Nothing about the state of the house really made him angry because he knew just how Sirius felt about the house. His godfather had despised everything about the house; he had joked many times about just burning it down. What would Sirius have cared that Mundungus raided his childhood home? As far as Sirius had been concerned, the thief could have stolen everything inside; he could have destroyed it if it had suited his fancy. Harry truly agreed with this assessment…until he had pushed the door to Sirius Black’s room open.

Despite knowing that the house had been ransacked, he hadn’t known…he hadn’t thought that Mundungus would sink so low as to trash Sirius’ room. Rage unlike anything he had ever known swelled up within him as he looked around his godfather’s room. Over the scent of stale air was the heady smell of Sirius’ cologne that had poured from broken bottles. Drawers were removed from the dressers, tipped over, and discarded; things were strewn all over the floor–clothes, broken cologne bottles, books, and pages. Feathers covered the floor from the demolished pillows and the torn mattress. It look as if a tornado had torn through his godfather’s sanctuary.

Harry turned his back to the damage and tried to breathe, to calm down. He tried every trick he knew of: counting, thinking happy thoughts, and just breathing deeply. It took about an hour for his rage to subside enough to him to face the room again. With a simple wave of his wand, dresser drawers flew back into their slots; clothes were returned to their proper position; broken bottles were vanished; the puddles left behind were cleaned; pages returned to the books and the books returned to the shelf. Within seconds, the room was tidy again. (Harry suspected that it was much tidier than Sirius had ever kept it). Only then did Harry’s blood pressure lower enough for the ringing in his ears to die.

And for the first time since Sirius’ death, Harry entered the room his godfather had called his.

It wasn’t until Harry reached his godfather’s closet that he realized the cleaning spell had only extended to things he could see. Inside the closet, a box was still overturned. Items of apparent sentimental value lay on the floor. Harry knelt down and began to gather them by hand.

The first his hand touched was a golden Snitch. Its wings unfolded slowly. They were yellowed by age and made brittle, but they still flapped–albeit half-heartedly. ‘This must have been the Snitch my dad was playing with in Snape’s memory…’ He thought as he turned it in his hand. He allowed himself a small smile at holding something that his father had once held before he set in the box.

He lifted the next item that rested on the floor: an old, aged potions book. He opened the cover out of curiosity and saw the name: Lily Evans. His heart gave a small skip as he stared at his mother’s signature. He noted with affection that she used the bottom slope of the “s” to underline her surname. He ran his fingertip over the handwriting. For a moment, he wondered if she had written notes in the margin; he decided then that he would go through the book later. He set it beside the feeble Snitch.

A full moon necklace with the initials R.L. carved into the back came next. Harry smiled slightly as he delicately worked to untangle the chain. While he unraveled the knots, he thought of the necklace’s origin. ‘I wonder if Remus would want this back…’ His grin faltered a little when he recalled Remus’ boggart: a full moon. ‘Even though…it was probably given to him as a joke.’ He thought as he ran his thumb over the engraved letters. ‘I’ll have to ask who gave it to him…and why…’ He laid it carefully on top of the Potions book. For a moment, he simply stared at the necklace before he pulled his eyes away from it. Another book…no, a composition notebook came last. By the moving picture charmed to the front, Harry could tell that someone had fashioned to be an album of sorts. Elegant, male handwriting declared the book The Marauders’ Most Marvelous Adventures. He stared at the picture, entranced. He didn’t have to wonder who they were; even without the flashy title, he would have known. He recognized the group from Snape’s less than flattering memories, but their faces were different. They weren’t maliciously happy…they were simply happy.

Sirius stood with an arm around his father’s shoulder. The smile on both of their faces was blinding. More notable to him was the laughter on both of their mouths. He swallowed. Remus stood next to the group, just smiling fondly at his friends. Harry shook with emotion at the sight of Peter. The traitor stared with almost worshiping eyes at his father and godfather. Suddenly, the youth and happiness on their faces seemed out of place. He felt they should have been angry; they should have been distant from him. He wanted his father, his godfather, and Remus so far away from Peter that he almost wished he could Apparate into the frame and shove Peter out.

Unable to look at the album at the moment, Harry set it inside of the box–on top of the other things. He closed the box and tucked it underneath his arm. He would carry it to Hermione so that she could keep it safe in that bag of hers until he was calm enough to look through it.