The First Day

Whispers tickled the edge of Harry's consciousness. He became aware of a numb, yet strangely tingling sensation against the side of his nose where the frames of his glasses were pressed against it.

'You wakes him up,' insisted a hissed whisper.

'No, you do it,' argued a smaller voice.

'One of us has to be doing it,' ventured another squeaky voice.

Harry slowly sat up and glanced over his shoulder, adjusting his askew glasses. Five school house elves stood in a knot giving Harry nervous glimpses. 'Erm... Can I help you...?'

One of the elves shyly stepped forward. 'Mr. Harry Potter, sir...' he - Harry thought it was a he - choked. 'We hates to be bothering you...'

'Kreacher,' another one blurted.

Harry felt the blood drain from his face. 'What about Kreacher?' he asked, feeling his lips grow numb. He'd asked McGonagall if Kreacher could stay on at Hogwarts, since Harry didn't have a need for him at the time. He thought Kreacher might be happier in a place where he would have something to do. He also knew sending Kreacher back to Gimmauld Place would have been a bad idea. Harry never wanted to go back there if he could avoid it, and he didn't want to consign Kreacher to live out the rest of his life in isolation. He could have had Kreacher come to the Burrow, but he had an inkling Molly wouldn't appreciate it.

The house elves exchanged nervous glances with each other. 'Kreacher is being very ill, Mr. Harry Potter, sir,' the one who seemed to be the leader finally said, in a quavering voice.

Harry could feel his stomach clench in a spasm of guilt. 'And you'd like me to come down and see him?'

They nodded with seeming relief.

Harry gently detangled his hand from Ginny's and eased away from her, lest she wake up. Madam Pomfrey had given her a rather strong Sleeping Draught after they had woken up and eaten dinner. The process to heal the broken bones in Ginny's leg was quite painful, but not nearly as bad as trying to regrow them. The sleeping potion would ensure Ginny stayed off her leg as much as possible. 'Let's go, then,' he whispered to the group of elves.

He followed the elves through the silent corridors of the school, resisting the impulse to keep his back to the wall, and edge along in the shadows to stay hidden from teachers on patrol. He had to keep reminding himself that he was no longer a student. As the approached the painting of the bowl of fruit, the smallest elf reached up to tickle the pear. She tugged the door open and held it for Harry to pass through. He stopped just inside the kitchen. Kreacher was tucked into a small bed, covered with the quilt Hermione had made for him four years ago. 'He wouldn't be letting us move him,' an elf whispered loudly at Harry's elbow. 'He was insisting that he stays here for when you was to be coming for the Quidditch game, sir...'

'He was wanting to takes proper care of you, sir...' one of the elves piped up.

Kreacher's eyes fluttered open to slits. 'Master Regulus? Is that you, Master Regulus?' he called weakly.

'Who is Master Regulus?' wondered an elf aloud.

'His master before me,' Harry murmured.

'You was being a very bad boy, Master Regulus, to leaves me behind likes that,' admonished Kreacher.

'I'm really sorry,' Harry said helplessly, unsure of whether to deny he was Regulus Black or play along with it.

'But we's put everything to rights, Master Regulus,' continued Kreacher. 'So you is not having to worry about that anymore.'

Harry knelt next to the doll-sized bed and picked up Kreacher's frail hand between his. 'That's really great, Kreacher. I'm glad to hear it.'

One of Kreacher's large ears twitched. 'Is it all right for Kreacher to sleep now?' he asked fretfully. 'I is very tired now... Was wanting to tells you...'

'Yeah, that's fine,' Harry said. 'Get some rest.' He tucked the quilt around Kreacher as if he were Teddy. For a reason he couldn't express, Harry felt like he was inexorably bound to the bed by the insignificant grasp of Kreacher's hand. The fire crackled and popped in the silence and presently, the slight rise and fall of Kreacher's chest ceased and his fingers grew lax in Harry's hand.

One of the elves gently drew the quilt over Kreacher's still face with a sigh that sounded almost relieved to Harry.

'Has he been ill long?' Harry asked.

The elf shook her head. 'Just a couple of weeks, sir.'

'What will happen to him...?'

Another elf tugged Harry's sleeve. 'We will takes care of him,' he insisted. 'Or since you were being his master, you can.'

'I'd like to,' Harry admitted, surprising himself.

The elves exchanged glances once more, then one of them silently nodded once. 'Mr. Potter, sir? Where will you be wanting us to bring Kreacher?'

'Erm...' Harry's mind raced. 'I guess the Burrow... In Devon... ...'

'We is able to find it,' the leader assured Harry. 'Is Tuesday morning being all right?' he asked anxiously.

'Yeah, it's fine.' Harry sat for another long moment and slowly got to his feet. He awkwardly shuffled to the door. 'Thank you,' he told the elves. 'For coming to get me.'

'You is very welcome, sir.'

Harry ducked out of the kitchens and slowly walked back to the hospital wing. He tucked his hands into the sleeves of his jumper against the chill. He wondered where Ron had gotten to. Maybe he went back to Charlie's flat in Hogsmeade... They were to have spent the night with Charlie, then make it back to the Burrow for lunch on Sunday. Harry was going to stay with Ginny until Madam Pomfrey released her in the morning after breakfast. The hospital wing was a disorienting place in which to wake up. Harry knew he would have preferred some company when he'd had to spend the night in there.

'You're still here, Potter?'

Harry's head jerked up. 'Yeah.'

McGonagall loomed in the shadows. Harry's head tilted to one side and he suddenly realized he could look her in the eye. When he'd first met her, he needed to tilt his head back. 'Do you plan to stay the night with Miss Weasley?'

'If you don't mind...'

McGonagall eyed him beadily, then nodded shortly. She looked at him closely for a moment. 'Are you all right?'

Harry began to nod, then stopped. 'I really don't know,' he admitted. He started when he felt McGonagall's hand grip his elbow.

'Come with me, Potter...' She towed him down the corridors until they came to a stop at the door of the staff lounge. With a wry look at Harry, she said, 'Protean charm,' to the gargoyles that guarded the door.

'Oh, ha-ha,' Harry muttered.

Once the doors swung open, McGonagall gently pushed Harry through them. 'Have a seat,' she told him, waving her wand at the low table in front of the fireplace.

Harry dropped into an overstuffed armchair and accepted the cup of tea she offered him. 'Sirius' old house elf died,' he murmured. 'Just now.'

'And that bothers you?'

Harry glanced at McGonagall in slight amazement. She somehow managed to keep her voice neutral. 'Not really,' he said. 'It was just... Odd.'

McGonagall sipped a cup of tea. 'Odd in what way?'

Harry gazed into the flames of the fireplace. 'I've never seen that...' he said slowly. He caught McGonagall's slightly skeptical expression. 'Not that sort of death,' he explained. 'It's always been murder or in a battle.'

'I see.'

'This was almost... peaceful...' Harry met McGonagall's eyes. 'I knew people died this way. In bed, quietly, of old age. I just didn't know...' he finished lamely.

'And how does this make you feel?' McGonagall persisted.

Harry ran a fingertip over the rim of the cup. He reached for a Ginger Newt and nibbled it thoughtfully. 'It's not...' His brows knit. 'Sad.' He exhaled gradually. 'Not that I feel nothing,' he added. 'But it's not making me all twisted up inside.' He set his cup down. 'Does that make sense?' he asked.

'It does.' McGonagall examined Harry for a few moments. 'Death doesn't always have to be violent.'

'I know that,' Harry said flatly. 'I know one can greet death peacefully. It's how...' He trailed off and looked down. 'It's how the third brother did it.'

'The third brother?'

'In that book Dumbledore left Hermione,' Harry muttered. 'The story with the three brothers and how they met Death.'

'The Tale of the Three Brothers,' McGonagall supplied.

'Yeah. That's the one.'

McGonagall took a biscuit from the plate between them. 'You did things quite backward, Harry,' she mused. 'Most people experience how death is supposed to be - at the end of a long life - when they're young. You started off with the violence.'

'It's a little confusing,' he confessed in a near-whisper. 'Oughtn't I to feel sad or something? Because I don't. I feel... Relieved.'

'In what way?'

'Because he -' Harry hesitated. 'Kreacher suffered so much before. For years and years.' He retrieved his tea. 'I guess he can really tell Regulus that he didn't die in vain...'

'Regulus Black?' McGonagall murmured. 'I thought he was tortured by Death Eaters for wanting to get out...'

Harry shook his head. 'He knew what Riddle was trying to do. And he died trying to stop him.' McGonagall's brows rose in inquiry, but she remained silent. 'Kreacher told us last autumn,' he told her. Harry suddenly snorted in ironic laughter. 'I wonder if Sirius ever found out...'

*****

Hermione pulled Ron down a dark corridor, giggling.

'Where are we going?' Ron whispered loudly.

'Shhh!' Hermione came to a skidding stop in front of a thick door. She pulled out her wand and jabbed it at the door. It opened with a soft click. She slipped through the narrow crack. 'Aren't you coming?' she asked pertly.

Ron weighed his options. Go inside with her, and risk getting her into trouble, or leave now and go back to Charlie's flat... Before he could decide, Hermione's hand darted out and yanked him inside. The door firmly shut behind him, and Hermione flicked her wand at it lazily, locking it once more. Ron gazed around the room. It had a faint aroma of dust and the stale air of a long-unopened room. 'Where are we...?'

Hermione pushed Ron's coat off his shoulders. 'Don't you remember?'

Ron frowned and examined the room closely. He saw the shards of a broken porcelain plate on the floor, its colors still glaringly bright. 'This isn't...?' he breathed.

'Oh yes, it is,' Hermione gloated gleefully, shaking her own coat to the floor.

'And what have you got in mind to do here?' Ron asked.

'If you haven't guessed by now...' Hermione snorted, hands working on the stubborn buckle of Ron's belt. She backed up until she ran into the edge of the desk. 'I've been picturing doing something like this for years.'

'Snogging on a desk somewhere?' Ron was having a difficult time thinking.

'More than snogging,' Hermione promised. 'Don't you think it would make a lovely tribute to Umbitch to shag on her desk?'

'What if we get caught?' Ron hissed.

'We won't if we're quick about it,' Hermione retorted, hauling her jumper over her head. She started to peel off the Cannons t-shirt, but Ron's hand landed on hers.

'Leave the shirt on,' he growled.

*****

Ron held his wrist up to the window, peering at the time. 'It's awfully late, hen,' he told Hermione.

She shrugged and held her lit wand aloft searching the dark corners. 'Where's my left shoe...?' she murmured. She looked at Ron over her shoulder. 'And your point?'

Ron stumbled over Hermione's missing shoe and stooped to pick it up. 'Curfew was an hour ago.' He held out the shoe.

Hermione took it and shoved her foot into it and pulled her coat over her jumper. 'What's the worst they can do to me? Give me detention?' she snorted derisively.

'Well, yeah...'

'Please,' Hermione scoffed. 'I can do my homework blindfolded, and it's not as if I have Quidditch practice...'

Ron's mouth fell open. 'Who are you and what have you done with Hermione Granger?' he demanded.

'This is the most fun I've had since I got back,' Hermione retorted. Ron began to grin smugly, and she rolled her eyes and lightly smacked his arm. 'Not just that,' she told him. 'I'd just forgotten how fun it was a break a few rules and be a little naughty.'

'A little naughty?' Ron laughed. 'I don't think what we've just done could be classified as a little naughty,' he burbled.

Hermione attempted to keep a straight face, but she began to giggle. 'No, I suppose not.'

Ron bent double, unable to breathe, laughing, swiping at the tears streaming down his face. 'Oh, Merlin... Could you imagine the look on Umbridge's face if she knew what we did?'

'If it's anything like it was when the twins set off the fireworks in the school, then any punishment they can give me will be worth it,' Hermione chortled. She pressed an ear to the door. 'I think it's clear...' She jabbed her wand at the door, and it unlocked. She took Ron's hand and they began to walk toward the staircase that would take them to the entrance to Gryffindor.

They rounded the corner of a corridor and nearly ran into Harry, who seemed to be deep inside his own thoughts, and didn't realize they were there until he all but plowed into them. 'Oh... Hiya...' he said distractedly.

'I thought you'd gone back to Charlie's,' Ron whispered.

Harry shook his head. 'Remember that Bludger that hit Ginny early in the game?'

Ron started to shake his head no, but a vague memory of seeing something hit Ginny from the corner of his eye surfaced. 'Sure...'

'Broke her leg, so she's in the hospital wing until tomorrow. I thought I'd stay with her.'

Hermione leaned a little closer to Harry. He wasn't quite focused on them. 'Are you all right, then?' she asked worriedly.

Harry blinked several times, then squarely met her gaze. 'Kreacher's gone,' he said simply.

'Didn't do a bunk, did he?' Ron asked suspiciously.

Hermione studied Harry closely. 'No, I don't think so.' She reached out and gently touched Harry's arm. 'He's died...?'

'Yeah.' Harry didn't seem too perturbed by it, which made Ron and Hermione exchange a worried glance. Harry had fretted about how they'd had to leave Kreacher at Grimmauld Place last autumn.

'You don't seem to be all broken up about it,' Ron commented, with his characteristic bluntness. Harry usually took death personally.

Harry's face cleared. 'Actually, I'm not,' he replied. 'It was sort of nice, you know?'

'How is someone dying nice?' Ron asked.

Harry ran a hand through his hair. 'I was with him. The other elves came to get me from the hospital wing. And after the last three years, it's almost nice to see someone die a natural death.' He looked up at his friends. 'Really does mean it's over, doesn't it?' He slowly exhaled. 'You planning on walking her back up to Gryffindor?' he asked Ron.

'That's the idea. Mum tells me it's what blokes do after a date.'

Harry dug into the pocket of his jeans and handed a small bundle to Ron. 'Don't get caught.'

Ron unfurled Harry's Invisibility cloak with a smile. 'Thanks, mate. I'll give it back to you tomorrow. You are going back to Charlie's, yeah?'

'Yeah. After Madam Pomfrey lets Ginny out.'

Ron nodded. 'Right. I'll get this back to you then. Don't forget. We're leaving for home at eleven for lunch.'

'Why so early?' Hermione inquired.

'We promised Mum we'd be home by noon,' Ron mumbled.

'And on that note...' Harry started to walk past Ron and Hermione. 'Don't keep her out too late, mate, all right?'

Ron snorted quietly. 'What are they going to do?' he muttered to Hermione. 'Give me detention?'

*****

George sighed and pushed the carton back onto the shelf. 'Twenty-six Venomous Tentacula seeds,' he murmured to the Dictation Quill that hovered over the ledger. 'I'll need to get some more...' He stretched, arching against the strain in his back. He scooted the stool to the next row of cartons on the shelf and peered inside. 'Two bottles of essence of dittany.' George rubbed the back of his neck, then scrubbed his hand over his face. His eyes burned from the full day in the shop, followed by the late hour of the night. Once the shop had closed for the day, George began to clean the shop with a vengeance. Not just with magic - he pulled shelves away from the walls and scrubbed the floors behind them; repeated the action in the back room; and began the painstaking process of creating an inventory list of their ingredients. He wouldn't have admitted it aloud, but he was trying not to think about why he hadn't gone up to Hogwarts with Ron and Harry to see Ginny's game. He kept hoping the busier he was, the less he'd think, and he wouldn't quite feel so guilty.

'George? Are you in here?' Katie's head appeared in the doorway between the shop and the back room. 'What are you doing?'

'Just trying to stay organized,' George muttered, pulling out a small box. 'We're low on things anyway. Don't have time to do this during the day...'

'Do you have any idea what time it is?' Katie asked casually.

'No...'

'It's after midnight.'

'Oh.' George counted packets of puffapods. 'How'd you know anyone was in here?'

'You can see the light from the street,' Katie replied. 'And you're the only one foolish enough to still be up in Diagon Alley.'

'You're awake,' George pointed out. He glanced up at Katie and snorted in slight derision. 'He sure does like it when you get all dolled up, doesn't he?'

Katie shrugged noncommittally, pleating the hem of her skirt between her fingers. 'Yeah, well, swotty French restaurants sort of like it when you dress up a bit.' She caught George's puzzled expression. 'And no, I wasn't exactly chuffed about going there. Meager portions that wouldn't keep a flobberworm alive. I'm starving.'

'Doesn't know you very well, does he?' George jabbed his wand at the lantern, turning it up, making the room brighter.

'What's that supposed to mean?' Katie kicked off the high-heeled shoes she wore and began to flex her toes, sighing in relief.

'Means that if What's-His-Name was really interested in you, he'd know that you'd prefer a nice plate of Thai noodles. A place that doesn't make you put on shoes that pinch your toes,' George added pointedly.

'We've been through this before...' Katie grumbled.

'Why do you like him so much?' George asked suddenly.

'Because he's easy,' Katie retorted. 'What's-His-Name doesn't require much in the way of thought or effort on my part.'

'The earmark of a healthy relationship,' George snickered. 'Get it? -Earmark!'

'Cute. How long did it take you to come up with that one?' She hoisted herself to the top of the table. 'It's not a relationship,' she informed George. 'I keep telling you that. It's just for laughs.' She looked at George critically. 'How long have you been here today?'

'Dunno. Since nine this morning, I guess.'

Katie braced a hand on the table and examined the ledger. 'I thought you were going up to Hogwarts for the match,' she said casually.

'I was,' George said wearily. 'Couldn't leave the shop, though.'

'Rubbish,' Katie declared. 'Absolute rubbish.'

'It's not,' George huffed mulishly. 'There were things that needed to be done around here, and with Ron away, and the front busy, they weren't going to get done until we closed up.'

'Sounds like an excuse to me,' Katie said.

'I just didn't want to go, Katie, all right?' George snarled. He slid off the stool and reached across the table, slamming the ledger shut. 'You can see yourself out,' he informed her. 'Just make sure you lock the door.'

Katie jumped off the table and ran outside. George was preparing to Apparate, when Katie grabbed his arm. George's mouth opened, as they spun into nothingness. When they reappeared outside the stone wall that separated the paddock from a neighboring field, George shook off Katie's hand. 'Are you mad?' he yelled. 'You could have Splinched us both!' He looked down at Katie's bare feet. 'You must be,' he sneered. 'Running out without your shoes like that. You've got less sense than Ron's bloody owl.'

George turned and headed not for the Burrow, as Katie expected, but toward the small cemetery tucked into a clearing of the woods. 'Of course...' she murmured. 'I should have realized...' She started to follow George, but her feet wouldn't move. She stood on the spot, watching until his bright head had long faded into the darkness, only returning home when her feet grew painfully cold.

*****

Unlike most of the people he worked with, Harry didn't really mind Mondays. Walking into Level Two on a Monday morning was a reminder that things were, well, normal. Going to work without fear. He loved it. Even when he didn't always love what went on in there sometimes.

He passed Christianne Gibson in the corridor. 'Morning,' he said, determined to at least get the woman to stop glowering every time he walked by. Her eyes narrowed and she swept past. 'Can't win with some people,' he muttered. He tossed his bag into his cubicle and snaked through the maze-like warren until he found Peter Wilson rifling through his papers, preparing for the day. He stood just inside the cubicle's entrance, unwilling to disturb his supervisor.

'I can do more than one thing at a time, Potter,' Peter chuckled.

Harry started slightly. 'How'd you know I was here?' He didn't think he'd made a sound.

'I'd make a damn poor Auror if I can't hear an average eighteen year-old hover like that.' Peter looked up. 'What can I do for you, Harry?'

Harry hesitated, then plunged forward. 'Could I not come in tomorrow?' he asked in a rush. He hated to ask for favors, especially at work.

Peter waved him to one of the small, hard-backed chairs in front of his desk, then jabbed his wand toward the entrance. Harry grinned slightly as a light buzzing sound began to hum. Muffliato was becoming popular when people didn't want conversations overheard, and finding privacy at the Ministry was almost impossible at times. 'You haven't been here long enough to need a mental health day,' Peter mused. 'What's going on?'

Harry traced the weave of the trousers over his knee and took a deep breath. 'I have - had - this house elf,' he began. 'I mean, I inherited him from my godfather. I didn't want to, and I didn't really like the idea of having an elf to begin with, and well, he didn't like me, either, see, but last year, he and I came to an understanding of sorts, and he's been living up at Hogwarts, because I don't really need a house elf, and...'

'Harry,' interrupted Peter gently, 'get to the point.'

'Oh... well... you see, Peter... it's just that...' Harry bit his lip. 'Kreacher, the elf... He's died...' he finished lamely.

'All right... So why do you need tomorrow off, then?'

'So I can... Take care of... Things...' Harry made a vague gesture toward the window. 'I've caught up with my paperwork, and I can take some of it with me and do it tomorrow, and...'

'Harry, stop. You're making my head hurt...' Peter squinted at Harry's tense face. 'It's fine. And you don't have to take the paperwork home. The trials won't start until January anyway, so you've got time. You just need to let Gibson know you'll not be here tomorrow.'

Harry made an involuntary moue of distaste. 'Do I have to...?'

Peter smiled sympathetically. 'I can tell her. How does my sister say it...? Like throwing petrol on a fire, the two of you...'

Harry's mouth dropped in shock. 'How do you know about petrol?'

Peter laughed, wiping tears from his eyes. 'I'm Muggle-born,' he explained. 'Remind me, and I'll tell you how I evaded capture and registration last year,' he intoned dramatically.

'That sounds like a fun tale,' Harry said sarcastically.

'It's actually quite boring,' Peter commented. 'I was visiting my sister in Perth when the Ministry fell. Kingsley snuck in one night, right after they made Muggle-borns register, and sort of made me 'disappear'. Charmed the file so anyone looking for me, other than him, would pass right over it.' Peter shrugged. 'That's how some of us managed to survive in hiding. Good thing, too, because too many didn't...' He cleared his throat. 'Don't forget Lucius Malfoy's investigation is starting today.'

'Yeah. They're going over the initial charges at three this afternoon.' Harry couldn't quite meet Peter's eyes.

'You think it's unfair,' Peter stated.

Harry shrugged. 'It doesn't matter what I think,' he replied.

'It does to me,' Peter said quietly.

Harry rose from the chair and began to leave. 'If you had seen the way Riddle treated Lucius Malfoy after he got them out of Azkaban...' Harry sighed explosively. 'Maybe they've suffered enough.'

Peter's eyes widened, but he said nothing.

*****

Harry stole down the stairs first thing in the morning. He knew Molly wouldn't be busy at this time of morning. He didn't want her to open the back door, and find a group of Hogwarts house elves on the stoop, bearing Kreacher's body. She was sitting at the kitchen table, wrapped in her ratty dressing gown, feet propped up in another chair, sipping a cup of tea, with her nose buried in Witch Weekly. 'Molly...?'

Molly looked up from the magazine. 'You're up awfully early,' she said lightly.

'Yeah... Listen, you remember Kreacher...?'

Molly's lips thinned. 'I do.'

'He died when I was at the school Saturday. I told the other elves I'd take care of things. They're going to bring him over this morning...'

'Oh.' Molly peered at Harry over the rim of her cup. She set it back in the saucer with a nod. 'That will be fine.' Molly laid the magazine on the table. 'What are you planning on doing with him? Surely you're not going to add... erm... him to the collection at Grimmauld Place, are you?'

'No,' Harry said immediately. 'But other than that, I don't really know...'

Molly hesitated, then said, 'You didn't want him with the other school elves?'

Harry shrugged helplessly. 'He wasn't a school elf. Not really. And he wasn't happy at Grimmauld Place. And the one place where I think he might want to go isn't a very happy sort of place.'

'That's quite a conundrum you've put yourself into,' Molly chided.

'Story of my life,' Harry muttered, slouching in the chair.

'What feels like the right place?' Molly asked.

'Truthfully?'

'Of course.'

Harry let his head fall to the table. 'Grimmauld Place...' he groaned.

Molly pushed a cup of tea toward Harry. 'I'm not sure how well you know the house,' she began delicately, 'but there is a small garden in the back.'

*****

Harry stood with Ron in the small, somewhat dingy back garden of number twelve Grimmauld Place. 'Not very cheery, is it?' Ron whispered.

'But appropriate,' Harry said.

They had dug a small, but deep hole under the shelter of a rather scrawny ash tree. Harry knelt next to the small, plain coffin holding Kreacher's remains and gently drew a pair of small child's socks over the elf's bare feet, before tucking Hermione's quilt around him. 'What did you do that for?' Ron asked curiously.

Harry closed the lid, and tapped it with his wand, sealing it. 'So he can be a free elf.'

'I didn't think Kreacher was particularly interested in his freedom,' Ron said.

'No, he wasn't.' Harry used his wand to guide the coffin into the ground. 'But it's just the idea that he won't have to do what he's ordered to do any more.'

Ron nodded, and flicked his wand at the pile of earth next to the hole, and it gently settled over the coffin, rounding slightly. Harry picked up a roundish stone with one word engraved on it: Kreacher.