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SIYE Time:9:04 on 28th March 2024
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Summer Story
By Arnel

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Category: Post-OotP, Buried Gems
Characters:None
Genres: Action/Adventure, Fluff, General
Warnings: None
Story is Complete
Rating: PG-13
Reviews: 392
Summary: Summer at the Dursleys’ is typical for Harry Potter who hopes his stay with his relatives will only last two weeks at most. In this sequel to You’re Still You and New Year, New Hope Harry learns that his role as “savior” of the Wizarding world is more complicated than he thought and that he needs his friends and mentors more than he ever imagined.
Hitcount: Story Total: 135216; Chapter Total: 4227





Author's Notes:
One of my friends was rather vocal about the fact that Deathly Hallows didn’t have an aftermath so that we knew distinctly whether or not Harry reunited with Ginny immediately after his sandwich and long nap, what was ultimately done with Voldemort’s body or how long it took Harry to put the Elder Wand back in Dumbledore’s tomb. Melindaleo, I dedicate this Aftermath to you because now you know exactly what happened during the week following Harry’s victory... at least in this story.




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Five days after the Battle of Godric’s Hollow, Harry finally found some time to himself. He was tired, both mentally and physically. Dying to get rid of the last Horcrux seemed to have sapped his strength, and he hadn’t quite recovered from the ordeal. He craved solitude in a place where he could be alone with his thoughts, in a place where only his close friends could reach him if they needed him.

He was tired, too, of coping with people and the things they wanted from him. The Ministry had required a thorough retelling of the Horcrux hunt story–twice–and had documented his account of his time in the cave as well–in triplicate–because so many Death Eaters had been involved and the Wizengamot needed his testimony for the up-coming trials. That had been mentally taxing and he had only gotten through the ordeal because Ginny had been sitting next to him.

The media, mostly in the form of Rita Skeeter, had hounded him night and day. Her interviews had been invasive and full of verbal trickery; at one point, Harry had nearly snatched her Quick Quotes Quill out of the air and snapped it in two. The only thing that had kept him from doing so was the spell Hermione had found for him, one that he had used wandlessly to make the quill record the truth and not lies. Rita hadn’t found out about it until she had gone back to the Daily Prophet. The resulting articles weren’t nearly as inaccurate as they would have been which made Harry very happy indeed.

Private citizens wanted his attention as well. Harry could no longer walk freely down the streets of Hogsmeade, Diagon Alley, nor even in Godric’s Hollow without someone wanting something from him. They wanted to thank him, to give him things. They asked for his autograph and the chance to have their picture taken with him. At first, he had been flattered, but when people started asking him to speak at their loved-ones’ funerals he refused, telling them it wouldn’t be fair if he spoke at some but not others. His answer seemed to satisfy most people and they soon dropped the subject.

He had endured this attention as long as he could without snapping at someone. Finally, yesterday, he had said ‘enough’; he needed some private time before he began attending the seemingly endless parade of funerals he felt he must go to, including Fred Weasley’s, which would be held privately the following morning at The Burrow. In short, he needed to centre himself and come to terms with the personal ramifications of the war’s outcome.

Arriving on the road leading into Muggle Godric’s Hollow early in the morning, Harry threw the Invisibility Cloak around himself and strolled the five miles between the villages until he reached the gates of Gwenyn. He let himself in and restlessly wandered the rooms and corridors of his house, unable to sit still for more than a few minutes before needing to get up again. Finally ending up in the library with its ample space for pacing, Harry strode about the room, removing books from shelves and then putting them back, rearranging the pictures on the mantelpiece, and tidying the desk in his attempt to calm himself. The truth was, even though he was physically tired, his brain remained on fast forward. His thoughts kept jumping from one painful subject to another, each one seeming to drag him farther down into a mental pit swarming in melancholy, sadness and depression. Then, he’d suddenly think of some triumph that had resulted from the battle and his spirits would soar for a little while. And underlying it all was the mental battle between fact and fiction.

On the one hand, his mind understood that the Wizarding world was now free of Voldemort. On the other, he could still feel the Dark Lord’s threat upon his shoulders, the threat that had been with him ever since he had entered the Wizarding world. However, overwhelming evidence pointed to the fact that the former was true– especially when he remembered his walk through the village and saw, in his mind’s eye, the damage done by the Death Eaters’ spells to the houses, the business district, the church and the graveyard with its blackened, cracked and broken headstones.

Harry had spent some time when he had first arrived in the square gazing over the kissing gate into the cemetery. The biggest change to this part of the village was that witches and wizards longer needed to discretely pull one’s wand to get the Wizarding part of the graveyard to reveal itself; the ancient protections had failed in the first few minutes of the battle and, Harry had heard, the village elders were debating whether or not to put them back up.

He had decided to cancel the Fidelius Charm and most of the other protections that had been on the Potter Family crypt before the battle. He wanted the world to be able to see where his parents were buried, the same place where he wanted to be laid to rest sometime in the far distant future. What had helped him make this decision were the many people who had expressed their thanks to him and told him they were saddened that they had never been allowed to thank his parents personally for their sacrifice that eventually led to the vanquishing of Voldemort.

Another thing that was weighing on Harry’s mind was how he felt about Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott. He was torn between his old, deep-seated dislike of the three Slytherins and the new respect for them he had formed during the Battle of Godric’s Hollow. Two days previously, Harry had made a point of seeking out the convalescing Draco at the undertaker’s to express his condolences regarding the loss of his father, Lucius. Blaise and Theo were also there, sitting quietly with their friend while Mrs. Malfoy dealt with most of the visitors.

Despite their differences, the four wizards had managed nearly an hour of civil conversation. It had been very awkward at first; none of them had known how to get past the polite phrases one murmurs to the bereaved. Then, as Harry was about to leave, Blaise had asked how Harry, Ron and Hermione had come by the Basilisk fangs. Harry had recited a very brief version of the trip down into the Chamber of Secrets and ended his story by inquiring after Blaise’s health. The other man had smiled and glanced at his companions, who nodded.

“Truthfully, we’re all a bit loopy from all the potions we’re taking,” he admitted sheepishly. He frowned at his friend. “But Draco insisted he needed to be here to support his mother, so we’re here instead of in bed.”

“Where we should be,” Theo grumbled, his gruff tone cancelled by the concern in his eyes when he looked at Blaise and Draco.

Draco shrugged. “I couldn’t make my mother to face this alone,” he said, gesturing towards his father’s coffin and the black-shrouded couple talking with Mrs. Malfoy. “It’s too painful.”

“People would have understood why you weren’t here,” Theo continued.

“So would your mum,” Blaise added.

Draco sighed. “I know, but since I’m the sole heir...” He broke off, doubling over and coughing violently into a handkerchief which turned red even though he tried to hide it. Blood.

Harry politely looked away as Theo and Blaise finished Draco’s sentence, “... you’re expected to be here.”

Draco could only nod because he was struggling to control his breathing as he Banished the offensive cloth to a nearby bin. Harry, slightly alarmed at this manifestation of Draco’s condition, offered to interrupt Mrs Malfoy. Draco glared back, shaking his head at Harry, who looked helplessly between Blaise and Theo.

“See what we mean?” Blaise asked and Harry could only nod in silent agreement.

Finally, Draco sank back in his chair gasping, “That hurt.”

Again, the three wizards sat in silence, giving Harry time to think about Draco. He could see something of his own dogged determination in Draco’s stubborn self-control; Harry knew he was anything but ‘fine’ at the moment and knew that if he was in Draco’s place, he’d be doing the exact same thing because in times like these duty came first over personal comfort. A wild thought occurred to him: if things had been different could he and Draco been friends? His next thought was more conventional: could they be friends now that the war was over, or had too much happened between them over the years to ever allow them to be more than tolerant acquaintances? Only time would tell.

Harry decided to ask about Theo’s, Blaise’s and Draco’s arms.

“No repercussions whatsoever,” Blaise declared, a mixture of embarrassment and relief fleeting across his face. “I was afraid there might be some after-effects from the snake venom, but so far I haven’t been affected.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Harry murmured. “Hermione and Ginny were concerned.”

“My nights are no longer plagued with nightmares,” Theo admitted, somewhat self-consciously. He ran a hand through his hair. “No more unwanted thoughts or summonses to fight against either.”

Harry nodded. He knew what that was like.

“Thank you, Harry...” Draco murmured softly.

As his mother walked up behind him and put a hand on his shoulder, he rolled up his sleeve. In the place of the Dark Mark were the two small round scars on his forearm showing where the fang had pierced the flesh. He glanced up at her, sharing a sombre smile.

“...for everything,” he finished. Then grey eyes had met green, and Harry knew that Draco’s thanks were far more than the simple words implied.

He had stayed to talk until someone else was announced, but unlike the family that had Apparated in–he recognized Daphne and Asteria Greengrass–Harry had left by the street door and taken a long walk under his Invisibility Cloak to sort out his thoughts. He had not come to any definite conclusion except that maybe he and the three Slytherins had tacitly agreed to bury the hatchet and accept each other without further malice between them.

There came a single knock on the library door. Harry pulled himself out of his memories, but didn’t say a word. He’d learned the day after the battle that this was Kreacher’s custom and that if he responded verbally or opened the door himself, the elf was wont to be cross with him for not acting like a proper master. He smiled as the elf eased into the library.

Now that Kreacher was fully in the room, Harry looked him over appraisingly, pleased with what he saw. The change from a week ago was remarkable. No longer clothed in the filthy loincloth Harry was accustomed to seeing him in, Kreacher was now dressed in a crisp, Christmas-patterned tea towel. He had informed Harry that he had chosen the towel because the colours signified his owners’ Hogwarts Houses; green for his former Slytherin family and red for his new Gryffindor master and mistress. Around his neck hung a locket–identical to the ruined locket Horcrux–that Harry had given him. This one had an ornate ‘B’ engraved on its face, signifying that it was an heirloom of the Black family. When Harry had granted Kreacher permission to wear Mrs Black’s locket, the ancient house-elf had wept at Harry’s feet, declaring Harry the nicest master he’d had in a long time.

“Master,” Kreacher croaked, “tea is served in the sitting room. Mistress Hermione and your guests are waiting.”

Harry sighed inwardly and rose from his chair. He couldn’t get over the fact that Kreacher was so devoted to his friend. “Thank you, Kreacher. Tell my guests I’ll be with them shortly,” he said, trying to be as formal as possible.

You’re doing really well, Harry. I think Kreacher realizes all this formality is new to you, came Ginny’s unexpected response in his head as Kreacher nodded and backed out of the library, closing the door behind him.

Thanks, Ginny. This ‘master’ thing is taking some getting used to, Harry responded.

I think Kreacher understands and is having the time of his life educating you on proper etiquette, Ginny giggled.

Well, I’m glad he’s happy, Harry grumbled, shaking his head and withdrawing from their connection. His melancholy returned abruptly and he remained standing where he was, staring into the flames, not wanting to go out and be social just yet. These few hours of solitude hadn’t been enough, hadn’t given him the time he needed to come to terms with what had happened on New Year’s Eve.

Then he thought of the people he was keeping waiting. Ginny was in the sitting room, most likely taking up the middle of one of the formal settees, saving a seat for him, just like she always used to in the Gryffindor common room. Hermione was also in there. Harry could picture her hovering over the tea set, most likely worrying that the tea would go cold before she could pour it. He could picture Ron as he reached for a scone, only to have his mum and Hermione gently slap his wrist and tell him to wait until Harry joined them.

With one last look at the fire, Harry walked over to the library table and picked up a large package wrapped in brown paper. Then, with one last look about him, he headed down the corridor to the sitting room.

Ginny threw her arms around his neck as he entered the formal room. He leaned the package against the wall and hugged her back, immediately losing the melancholy gloom that had hovered over him in the library.

“Come and have tea,” she said, taking his hand and leading him to the settee nearest the fire.

“Hi everyone,” he said as he took his seat. Mr and Mrs Weasley, Dudley, George and Percy–all looking sad and a little worse for wear, but much better than the last time he’d seen them–returned his greeting from their seats.

Harry smiled at the room’s two other occupants. Ron and Hermione were seated on the settee nearest the tea service. Ron, he noticed, still had his right arm in a sling, so he was sitting as close to Hermione as he could. Her small smile told Harry that she was enjoying Ron’s closeness very much. As Harry sat next to Ginny, Hermione whipped out her wand to renew the warming spell on the teapot. When steam issued from its spout, she began pouring and handing out cups.

“What lovely china,” Mrs Weasley exclaimed, holding the antique cup up to the light. “It’s so thin and delicate.”

Ginny turned her saucer over and stared at the black mark on the back. “Harry, I think this is first edition Belleek,” she exclaimed.

“Er... okay.” Startled, Harry just stared at her blankly. “How do you know that?”

Smiling over at her mother, Ginny said, “Mum has a few pieces she collected on holiday while she was at Hogwarts and she taught me all about this kind of china. It’s Muggle china made in Ireland. The mark on the back of my saucer is the one used between 1863 and 1890.” She giggled as Mrs Weasley very slowly and carefully set her cup on the nearest table. Dudley, George, Percy, Ron and Mr Weasley all did the same.

“Oh, honestly!” Hermione exclaimed, and taking out her wand again, she cast unbreakable charms on the tea set. “None of you has butter fingers!”

All the men in the room breathed a sigh of relief.

A discrete knock alerted Harry that Kreacher was about to enter, and he turned to greet the elf.

“Has Kreacher selected the wrong china?” Kreacher asked, looking apprehensive.

“Not at all, Kreacher,” answered Harry and Hermione together, making the Weasley family smile and smother giggles behind their hands.

“We were just surprised by its age,” Harry replied.

“Only the best china for Mistress Hermione,” Kreacher said, nodding as he began backing out the door.

“Hold on!” Harry cried more loudly than he had intended. “Kreacher, please come back in.”

The elf stopped and looked at Harry, his big eyes fearful. Hermione threw Harry a censorious look and went to kneel beside Kreacher.

“Kreacher, Master Harry isn’t angry with you. He only wanted to get your attention. Please, come sit by the fire. We would like to speak with you,” she said soothingly as Ginny conjured an elf-size chair.

Kreacher sat down warily, his hands worrying the locket around his neck. “What does Mistress Hermione want to speak with Kreacher about?” he asked.

Hermione cleared her throat and nervously looked at Harry. He nodded and she asked, “Would you tell us about the ‘bad’ locket, please, Kreacher?”

Kreacher gripped Mrs Black’s locket until his knuckles turned white. “Kreacher is a bad elf. The locket made him a bad elf.”

“What do you mean?” Harry asked in a much softer tone than the one he’d previously used.

The elf breathed deeply and began his story. “Many years ago, when Kreacher served the noble House of Black, Kreacher was given a locket by Master Regulus Black, second son of Orion and Walburga Black. Master Regulus had just come back home from being imprisoned for a time by the Dark Lord. He had escaped from a cave the Dark Lord had built in a mountain to house prisoners and had come back with a locket he had found concealed in his cell hidden in his robes.” He stopped as Harry involuntarily sucked in his breath. When his master only grabbed Ginny’s hand, he continued his story.

“The locket was identical to one that Mistress Black wore every day, except that it had an ornate ‘S’ engraved upon it rather than a ‘B’. Master Regulus was fearful. He told Kreacher that his locket was filled with dark magic and that he was going to attempt to destroy it. He knew the Dark Lord would most likely find out the locket was missing before Master Regulus successfully destroyed it, so he hid it in the Grimmauld Place house and asked Kreacher to guard it with his life. He gave Kreacher permission to give the locket to only one person, Albus Dumbledore, and then, only if the Headmaster asked for it.”

Kreacher stopped talking and began to sniffle, fat tears leaking from his bulging eyes. “The Dark Lord came after Master Regulus one night. There was a terrible fight in the house, during which Master Regulus summoned the evil locket from its hiding place and gave it to Kreacher. He made Kreacher promise to do his best to destroy it if he was killed.”

Harry and his guests all glanced at each other. Just from the expression on each face, everyone in the room knew what was probably coming.

“The Dark Lord accused Master Regulus of double-crossing him,” Kreacher continued. “Kreacher hid behind Mistress Black’s chair and watched as Master Regulus just stood before him, saying nothing, and bearing the vicious spells the Dark Lord cast upon him. Finally, after hours and hours, the Dark Lord tired of Master Regulus’ silence and cast the Killing Curse at him.”

Kreacher broke down completely, howling inconsolably. Harry, Hermione, Dudley, and the Weasleys sat glancing uncomfortably at each other until Harry could not stand the elf’s grief without trying to do something to help him. He conjured a handkerchief and slowly walked over to Kreacher, holding it out to him.

“Kreacher, I’m so sorry this happened,” he murmured sincerely.

Kreacher nodded and blew his nose loudly. “There’s more, Master Harry,” he shuddered.

Hermione came to sit next to them. She reached out and gently patted Kreacher’s back. The elf jumped under her touch and she murmured her apologies, her eyes seeking Harry’s.

“Abused,” he whispered to her over the elf’s head. “Someone hit him like they did me.”

Hermione nodded in grim agreement, and Harry felt anger welling up inside him. He forced the feeling away and concentrated on the creature in front of him.

“Do you feel up to telling us?” he asked.

Kreacher nodded.

At length, he continued, “The Dark Lord left the Dark Mark over the house. Kreacher was terrified because he knew the Dark Lord hadn’t found his locket, the one Kreacher had concealed in his nest under the boiler at Master Regulus’ request. Soon bad things began happening to the noble Black family. Master Orion was found dead at his desk at the Ministry. Mistress Walburga was set upon by Death Eaters but managed to get away, and soon there was news that Master Sirius had been imprisoned for killing the Potters and someone named Peter Pettigrew.”

A collective gasp went through the listeners at this information. Harry bowed his head as the truth came rushing at him. He felt, rather than saw, Ginny come to sit next to him on the floor. She put her arm around Harry’s waist and he felt her love and support coming through their connection.

“What happened then, Kreacher?” Ginny asked. She rubbed her hand in small circles on Harry’s back and he began to relax under her touch.

“Kreacher began wearing the locket. Master Regulus was dead, so Kreacher took it upon himself to try to destroy the locket as he had promised. It was no good. Everything Kreacher tried failed and the locket remained as shiny and evil as it was when Master Regulus gave it to Kreacher.” He shuddered, blew his nose again, but did not weep. “Kreacher is a bad elf; he could not keep his promise to Master Regulus. He could not destroy the locket. It did not want to be destroyed and each time Kreacher tried, the locket did something to Kreacher until Kreacher felt that all witches and wizards, except Mistress Walburga, resented Kreacher and called Kreacher a bad, useless elf.”

“Kreacher, you are not a bad elf. You did your best to carry out Master Regulus’ wishes,” Hermione said softly.

Kreacher began worrying the locket again. “Kreacher knows that now, Mistress Hermione,” he croaked.

“I’m glad,” she said. She glanced at Harry and Ginny and then asked, “What happened to you on New Year’s Eve? You said you had been freed.”

The elf looked at her with adoring eyes. “Mistress Hermione, you took away the locket’s curse when you destroyed it. All the blackness left Kreacher’s heart. Kreacher is a good elf again.”

Hermione smiled at him. “Yes, you are. I see now that you never were a bad elf. You were devoted to Master Regulus and you tried to keep Mistress Black’s house for her, even though she was only a portrait for so long. And Kreacher...” He looked up at her with a ghost of a smile. “What you did for me in that battle saved me and the villagers several times over. I am very grateful to you. Thank you.”

“You are welcome, Mistress Hermione.”

Harry gazed at his house-elf with a new feeling of respect. Kreacher was just as much a victim of Tom Riddle as he was. So many people’s lives had been ruined by the wars, even Kreacher’s. It was a waste... such a terrible, terrible waste, when all was said and done.

“Will you be all right?” he asked Kreacher.

“Yes, Master Harry,” Kreacher answered. He picked up the locket that hung around his neck. “Thank you for saying I could wear this.”

“You’re welcome,” Harry replied warmly as Kreacher rose and walked to the door. He opened it, left, and then came right back in.

“Master Harry, Mistress Hermione,” he said, looking slightly flustered, “do you need anything before Kreacher begins preparing dinner?”

Harry looked at Hermione. She shook her head. “No, thank you, Kreacher. You may go,” he said stiffly. The door closed and he sat back down on the settee next to Ginny, his head reeling.

Someone across the room cleared his throat, causing Harry to look up.

“Harry, I think you have a problem,” Ron observed, nodding his head in Hermione’s direction.

Harry looked over to see his friend standing in front of the fireplace where Kreacher’s chair had been, her arms folded over her chest, glaring at him. Her posture immediately put him on the defensive.

“What did I do, Hermione?” he asked.

“Hmph!” she answered. “What do you think? You force him tell a story that obviously hurt to tell, and now you’re treating him like a slave!”

“Hang on! You were the one who wanted to know about the locket,” he said defensively. “I asked Kreacher to get us tea before you arrived, and he volunteered to prepare our dinner. I don’t see that as treating Kreacher like a slave.” He looked helplessly at the Weasleys and was startled to see that Ron seemed to be siding with Hermione. He had come to stand behind her and had his good arm on her waist. Ginny had stayed beside him and by the way she was sitting, Harry knew she was trying to stay out of their argument, although she was listening raptly.

“Hermione, is this about the fact that I inherited Kreacher?” he asked.

She responded with a tight-lipped nod that did nothing to assuage Harry’s defensiveness. They stared at each other for several moments before Hermione looked away.

“Look,” he said finally. “I can’t help it if I own Kreacher because I inherited him. I’m doing the best I can to treat him well, but I see you don’t think I’m doing a very good job. The fact is, Kreacher asked me... no, told me to speak formally to him like a proper master should. He scowls at me every time I try to be informal with him,” Harry said vehemently. Beside him, Ginny giggled softly behind her hand.

Hermione glared at her as she said, “All right, I’ll accept that, Harry, but I also noticed that he was wearing a tea towel, not clothes. Why?”

Harry propped his elbows on his knees and leaned forward so that he could rub his eyes under his glasses. “He refused to take clothes, Hermione. I offered them to him the other day. He immediately began begging me to chop his head off and mount it on the wall, since I seemed to think that he was completely useless.”

Hermione stared at him.

Harry stood up and began pacing. “Look, I did what I could. I had him pick his own tea towel and then gave him Mrs Black’s locket.”

“Mrs Black’s locket?” Hermione asked.

“Yeah, Mundungus Fletcher pilfered it from headquarters right after Sirius died. Dumbledore made Dung give it to him and he put it in the desk in the library. I found it and gave it to Kreacher. He was over the moon about that. I’ve never seen him happier.” Harry glanced over his shoulder at his friend and saw that her arms were now hanging loosely at her sides and that she was leaning back into Ron’s chest. Encouraged, he said, “Kreacher doesn’t know it yet, and I don’t know how he’ll take it when I tell him, but I’ve set up a vault at Gringotts for him. I’m paying him a galleon a week and he’ll get several days off each month, though I doubt he’ll take them. The only thing lef–OOF!”

He couldn’t finish. Hermione had thrown her arms around him so tightly he couldn’t breathe. “Oh Harry!” she cried. “You’re so good for him! I can see that now. Can I match what you’re paying him? I know he’s your elf, but he seems to think that because I freed him from the bad locket’s curse, he belongs to me now, too.”

Harry extracted himself from her hug and stepped back, laughing. “Yes, Hermione, you can match my payments. And any time you need his help, I’ll send him over. How’s that?”

Hermione beamed at him. The crisis was solved. “I think it’s a splendid arrangement,” she agreed. She sighed and then said, “It’s taken a while, but I’ve come to realize that as much as I’d like to achieve total freedom for house-elves and other magical creatures immediately, we really need to do it one small step at a time. And this is a good step in the right direction.”

Ron snorted with laughter and murmured something that sounded very much like, “It took you long enough,” as Dudley’s quiet “Women!” made everyone else chuckle.

Harry sank back onto the settee and picked up his tea cup, relieved that at least for now he and Hermione were in agreement. His tea was ice cold, so he set the cup back in its saucer, not wanting to drink it. Ginny pointed her wand at his cup and murmured a warming spell. Harry smiled at her and took a sip, letting his gaze travel around the people in the room. They were his family, his adopted brothers and surrogate parents, people he felt free to love and have friendly disagreements with, people who accepted him as “just Harry” and not the saviour of the Wizarding world. They were people to whom he could turn when he needed comfort or looking after. They were the people he had willingly given his life for in battle.

He had nearly finished his tea when Ron asked, “Harry, what’s in that package by the door. You know, the one you brought in with you?”

“Oh, I forgot about that,” Harry exclaimed, putting his cup carefully down on a side table. He stood up and brought the package over for everyone to see. Then, with a flourish, he ripped off the wrapping and held up the formal portrait.

Exclamations of “it’s brilliant!” and “how appropriate!” and “how lovely!” filled the room. Harry grinned and walked over to the fireplace. Taking out his wand, he levitated the portrait onto the nail sticking out of the wall where Aberforth and Albus Dumbledore’s sister’s picture had hung for so many years. Harry had replaced that picture with one that meant a lot to him. As he stood gazing up at it, James and Lily Potter gazed down at him, smiling approvingly.

“There,” he said, stepping back. “I’m going to love this room now.”



A/N: Spring seems to be a very busy season this year and I suddenly found myself without any pre-betas to peruse and comment on this chapter before I sent it to Aggiebell. I was lamenting this fact to my friend KEDme and she graciously agreed to read what I’d written in spite of the fact that she hadn’t read any of my other chapters. What she suggested tightened the prose and eliminated some of my superfluous words so that the chapter read the way I wanted it to. Thank you, KEDme, for reading my chapter. I appreciate the time you took to beta it for me.

Finally, many thanks to Aggiebell for finding the time in her insane work schedule to go through my chapter and comment on it. I hope the coming week won’t be quite as wild as the last one was. You deserve to rest!
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