Veritas Vos Liberabit [Drarry Fanfiction]

Ogden's Finest

"Blimey, Harry! How did you manage to make this house even more unlivable?" asked Ron incredulously, stepping out of the fireplace and onto the sheet of plastic that was covering the floor in the living room of Number 12 Grimmauld place.

He was surrounded by the disarray that reconstruction of the house entailed, there were heaps of rubbish in the corners, old wallpaper hanging from the walls like loose skin and there were too many muggle supplies: buckets of paint, wood planks and electric tools in the bright orange cases. Whatever the late Walburga Black imagined the freaks and mudbloods had done to the house, it was way worse.

"In here!" bellowed Harry from another room, he was in the middle of a conversation with the muggle contractor, who was gesturing wildly and showing something on the floor plan. He himself was covered in paint and dust and wood shavings and wearing ghastly muggle jean overalls.

"Can't you hire someone... else" Ron finished lamely when he noticed a curious look the muggle was giving him.

"And risk people finding out about this place? Ronald, you must be joking!" he heard another brisk voice coming from the hall and in a moment Hermione Granger ran into the living room, she carefully hugged her boyfriend, trying not to leave any paint on his robes.

"You guys are mental! It has been three weeks already and the more I look at it the further it is from being done!" sighed the ginger, returning the hug.

"You have no idea how much work we have actually done," said Hermione, and she went on to ponder over the blueprints with the muggle, chattering away about measurements and budget and electrical wiring.

Harry finally was able to greet his friend, he peeled away the plastic covering from the sofa and gestured to some muggle soda cans on the coffee table.

"Sorry, Ron, no butterbeer... Only cola"

"It all looks like my dad's wet dream, a bit surreal" exhaled Weasley, he sniffed the muggle drink suspiciously then shrugged his shoulders and took a tentative sip from the can.

"Don't tell me you've never tried cola before," Harry elbowed him playfully.

You know mum and junk food... How's old Mistress Black with all these muggles out and about the house?"

"She is in the attic. Had to demolish the wall to take her down," Harry shook his head.

Despite it being the middle of summer, he still looked sickly and pale, almost no sun had touched his skin, his eyes looked a bit wild and glossy, framed by dark circles. He had spent almost all June trying to purge old Black estate of its mold and junk and dark artifacts. With Kreacher working in Hogwarts' kitchens, and the place being under a Fidelius charm, Harry had no choice but to employ a muggle construction company. Most of the suspicious objects and pieces of furniture that would have been an outrageous breach of The Statute of Secrecy were safely stored in the attic or under layers of plastic protectors.

The worst part was trying to convince the poor workers that the house that wasn't on any of the city plans suddenly existed and was in dire need of repairs. Hermione had spent most of her time taking down muggle repelling charms and booby traps set by the Order back when they were trying to protect the house from Snape and the lot. It didn't go according to their plan, of course, the building just wasn't visible to muggles so the first couple of weeks they had to climb through a hole in the wall between house number 12 and number 13, where Mrs. Black's painting resided before.

Harry would take casting multiple Confunduses at next-door neighbors any day to being swarmed by the press had someone known where the Savior of the wizarding world actually lived.

"Mate, you need to finish soon," said Ron eventually, "The portkey to Australia is on Monday, so 'Mione and I had better start packing already. Mum is going to be barmy as it is with Fleur being pregnant and us leaving."

"I know Ron... I just need to look for the cellars. The construction company should be done this weekend." although Harry understood Hermione's need to reconnect with her Obliviated parents, he felt as though everyone was leaving him this summer.

He had started this meaningless project only to stay together with his friends and stop bloody thinking about the events that happened this May. They had lost so much and so many people died because of him.

He almost got used to the dull pain he always felt in his chest every time he walked around this house and reminded himself of Sirius, pranks that Fred and George pulled, and the members the Order. The overwhelming guilt was his familiar companion and somehow this foggy feeling had become the new norm for Harry these days.

"Ginny's leaving too," said Ron cautiously. "She was scouted by the Holyhead Harpies and will take part in the tryouts next week. And with you and your charity case now... Well, you know how she feels about the git."

Ah yes, Malfoy... Harry had hoped that his schoolyard rival wouldn't be mentioned at least today. But no such luck, every time he was trying his best to be absorbed by the monotonous work of painting the door frames or gluing the wallpaper he was rudely reminded of Malfoy. Ginny would come over a couple of times, guns blazing, waving a copy of "The Daily Prophet" in front of his face, trying her damned best to dissuade Harry of speaking at the Malfoys' trials. At times like that he wished he had found that secret Black's wine cellar that was hiding somewhere in the house, so he could at least numb the headache with something other than muggle fizzy drinks. She just couldn't understand why it was so important for him.

Sometimes Harry couldn't get it either. Hermione said that he should visit a Mind Healer before getting involved yet again in the ex-Death Eater business. But Harry just wasn't able to bring himself to go, and after "The Prophet" had started publishing one outrageous article after another, he wasn't sure there would be a person he could trust in the first place. That's why despite all the arguments he had with Ginny and all the lectures Hermione had given him while simultaneously trying to mask the woodwork on the walls, he still felt obliged to be there, to speak on their behalf.

He couldn't care less what would happen to Malfoy senior but somehow knowing that Draco or his mother could end up in Azkaban after everything that they'd gone through just wasn't fair. Harry unsuccessfully tried to convey this message to Ginny a couple of times and ended up drowning his sorrows at the Leaky Cauldron into the small hours. One day he came home only to find the empty chest of drawers and an angry note on the kitchen table. He simply turned around and headed back outside and sat on the bench in the muggle park until the sunset. Thus, his teenage romance had ended in bitterness and tears and constant misunderstandings and relentless headache. That was another of Harry's familiar companions.

"Harry, we're going to pop out to the curry place for a bit, do you need anything?" called Hermione.

"No, I am fine," he said thinking bitterly about Ginny and his best friends leaving him all alone in this house.

Harry glanced into the drawing-room making sure that the muggle worker didn't get into any trouble and wandered upstairs to the library. The books there were mostly old Black heirlooms, many of them cursed and seeping with dark magic. However, his eyes wandered toward a small leather-bound book on the second shelf to the left. It was oddly out of place there and it looked like it had been touched more often than the others. He thoughtlessly reached out to touch it and barely put his index finger on the spine of the book, when the shelves moved to the side, uncovering a secret passage.

The cellars, Harry thought triumphantly. He took out his wand and checked for any protective spells that might have been placed there. Everything seemed fine, so he lit the end of his wand and stepped inside. The walls were narrow and the ceiling was dangerously low, the passage must have been made for the house-elf. Harry felt a bit claustrophobic, almost crouching down to pass through. Finally, he was inside a rotund chamber, lined with rows upon rows of dusty bottles and oak barrels. It was like discovering a vault in Gringotts but instead of gold it was liquor.

He smiled to himself and studied the labels of the bottles closest to him. There was goblin made wine and the rarest single malt firewhiskey and some concoctions he dared not to even touch. But he found what he was looking for, an authentic bottle of Ogden's 1945. He felt giddy and nervous at the same time; if Hermione found out that he was drinking again, he wouldn't hear the end of it. Ron and her would even postpone their trip to Australia to stage an intervention of some sort. He hid the bottle in the pocket of his overalls, hoping to stash it somewhere safe for later consumption.

Harry emerged from the cellar, cautiously moving the bookshelf back in its place and hope that the muggle didn't go wandering around the estate. Luckily, Hermione and Ron had already returned, the spicy smell of curry lingering in the living room.

"Mind if I steal your naan?" asked Harry, chewing on a buttery piece of bread already.

"What've you got in your pocket?" asked Hermione suspiciously.

"Oh... erm, the solution for the floor varnish?" he replied lamely.

"Didn't know Ogden started making floor varnish now..." said the girl, unamused. "Alright. Hand it over!"

Harry cursed under his breath and gave his insufferable best friend the firewhiskey.

At least there's more where it came from, he thought darkly.