Taste the Ashes

Narcissa Malfoy had wanted the house. Harry Potter, now the owner of Number 12, Grimmauld Place, ha refused. He didn't know why; he didn't want the house. He hated it. But he didn't want to give Mrs. Malfoy something she wanted.

So Harry had spent the past week at the former Black residence. He needed supervision, of course, so the Order had arranged for two members to stay with him. He had been upset about his godfather's death all summer, and being with a sulking witch and wizards hadn't helped the situation.

During this time, he had thoroughly investigated the entire house. He had discovered all sorts of things about the Black family that would have shocked most.

The Blacks had been known for hating people. The various artifacts they had hoarded in their lair reflected that. They had hated halfbloods, mudbloods, blood traitors, and anybody who had ever spoken to those people.

Harry Potter, who unfortunately fell into those categories, hated the Blacks. He hated them more than any of the Blacks had hated anybody. He had a reason to hate them, as just last month, a Black had killed one of the few decent Blacks, Harry's godfather.

Harry was sick of the Black family. He hated everything that had belonged to the Blacks, but more than the rest, he hated the tapestry. Every day, the boy would study it that listed the hundreds of generations of pureblood Blacks. By now, he knew every crevice of the tapestry, but he kept staring at them. Sirius was gone, so the rest had to go too. He didn't want a trace of them left.

Harry subconsciously fingered his wand in his pocked. He slowly pulled it out and brandished it like a sword. He heard himself mutter something, but his brain didn't understand what he had done.

The tapestry suddenly caught fire. The flames startled Harry until he realized he had produced them. Then, he watched eagerly. They crept up the tapestry and destroyed each generation of Blacks, one at a time. Ancient parchment turned to ashes and dropped to the floor. The event was a funeral for the whole Black family. Inside Harry laughed maniacally, but his face bore a solemn expression.

Tonks smelled the smoke and dashed downstairs. Remus was right behind her. She ogled at the burning tapestry shrieking, "Fire burns, Harry. Do you know what you're doing?"

Harry said nothing. He didn't even turn his head.

Tonks screeched, and water poured out of her wand. Remus did the same. Some of the water reached the tapestry, but it hindered just a few flames.

"Stop!!" yelled Harry. He drew more flames from his wand. These spread throughout the room.

Tonks and Remus kept battling the fire, but Harry kept lighting more. His spells were more powerful than theirs, even though he was outnumbered. He had more emotion, as well as strength, behind them. The room's walls were burning, and much of the furniture was too. They were surrounded by flames.

Remus was the first to realize this. He panicked, and grabbed Tonks and Harry. He ran, and pulled them along. He sprinted through the walls of fire and was burned in the process. That didn't matter; they could go to St. Mungo's later. They just had to get out. He didn't stop until he reached the street.

They stood in the road and watched the house burn. Passing muggles wondered what could hold their attention. They muggles were puzzled. They could smell the smoke and taste the ashes, but where was the fire?