Running Year 2

Chapter Six

Grimmauld place was looking jollier than Harry had ever seen it; as soon as he had arrived, Remus and Sirius had excitedly pulled out a box of old Christmas decorations - the fairy lights levitated by themselves, little glowing pixies glowing in every room, frost made specially to decorate each window, snow falling perpetually atop the Christmas tree in the living room which was decorated in furls of red and gold tinsel. They had attempted to make gingerbread, but after their first attempt nearly burned down the kitchen, Kreacher had somewhat begrudgingly provided them with the baked gingerbread and icing to do as they pleased.

Through much encouragement from Harry, Sirius had been working on his manners towards the elf - and though Kreacher clearly still held a lot of disdain towards his new master, he wasn't nearly so hostile as he used to be. However, according to Remus, after the removal of the wall carrying Walburga Black's portrait, he had refused to speak directly to Sirius for weeks. Since his freedom, Sirius had seemingly taken up home renovation - skylights in the uppermost rooms of the house, an open plan for the kitchen and living room, the house was spacious and alight constantly. The wall carrying his mother's portrait had to be removed; he absolutely refused to live with her - after many weeks of attempting to unstick it from the wall, he gave in and got rid of the wall entirely. Now, in some rubbish dump somewhere out of sight, Walburga rests fitfully, often woken by the sounds of compacting and incinerating rubbish, surrounded by muggle artefacts, awaiting the day her portrait can finally be destroyed.

Most of the house had been redone by the time Harry had returned for Christmas, although, they had found a room they couldn't change - they couldn't get in. A large ominous door loomed at the end of the corridor on the second floor. Harry didn't know why he hadn't noticed it before, though he supposed they'd been preoccupied in the previous timeline. They'd tried everything - every key in the house - none fit the lock, trying to break the door down - it stood strong as steel, they couldn't get around it through a window or the wall - looking from the outside of the house, it didn't even look like that room should exist. There wasn't a wall they could break down to get in, or a window they could smash, it was like it barely existed.

Beyond that, the lead up to Christmas was happy and festive. The three of them took plenty of time to explore London's magical and muggle Christmas scenes. A wizarding winter market opened up nearby, selling magical mugs that kept your hot chocolate always hot and stars for Christmas trees that glowed all winter; there were mittens that were perpetually heated and boots with anti-slipping charms for the icy nights ahead. Though the magical world never failed to impress, Harry much preferred the muggle attractions. They visited a local theme park that had opened up for the holidays where Harry realised he'd never actually had an opportunity to ride a rollercoaster before, but looking at Sirius and Remus' faces as the ride got higher and higher he realised they hadn't either. Harry loved it, the little adrenaline rush from plummeting at such speeds from such a high place was exhilarating; his guardians seemed to have a greater preference for sitting down on the park benches looking a little sickly. Still, most of his time spent with them was fun.

Once or twice, Harry was awoken from the sound of screaming. The first time, he'd jumped out of bed, on high alert, but the screams quickly stopped after the sound of footsteps crossing the hall and low murmurs were heard from Sirius' room. Yes, Grimmauld Place was spacious and light, during the day time at least, but Sirius could not bear the dark. He was doing what he could to make this place his home; he wanted to take it back, a big 'screw you!' to his mother as he tore down and changed around the home she'd loved so much. But all his worst memories had been here. Over a decade in Azkaban of reliving them, it was hard when the sun went down to not feel like he was a child again, under the abhorrent reign of Walburga Black.

Remus had told Harry that he had managed to break Kreacher's silent strike, by asking why he cared so much for a portrait that just screamed obscenities at him so often. "The master is ungrateful. She wept when he left. She loved him."