When Douglas and the others returned, they found the yard completely cleared of weeds.
Harry and Dobby were sitting together, sipping hot tea. Dobby was absorbed in his book, while Harry gazed at the ruins now revealed by the absence of tangled grass.
The sight of the battered, fragmented remains—timeworn and forlorn—stirred a deep, inexplicable loneliness in Harry's heart.
Through the dusty windows, he could see old furniture and scattered belongings, as if each item whispered tales of bygone days. A thick layer of dust cloaked everything in a pale, icy shroud. On the walls, wallpaper hung in tatters, peeling away to expose mottled, yellowed bricks. Every room was steeped in a suffocating silence and desolation.
He couldn't summon the courage to step inside. The sight of all those crumbling, abandoned things—neglected for so long they seemed beyond repair—awakened a profound sense of sadness and loss.
In this derelict house, abandoned and empty for more than a decade, Harry felt the sting of being forgotten, the ache of lost belonging. This place had once been filled with warmth and harmony, the sanctuary of a loving family. Now, it was little more than a backdrop for loneliness, a silent monument to all that had been lost.
Sitting in the middle of the yard, surrounded by a faded, rotting fence that seemed to sag beneath the weight of years, Harry realized Douglas was right. This shouldn't be a place for mourning the past and honoring the dead. He was determined to restore this house—to bring back its warmth and glory.
Standing in the empty, echoing hall, Harry looked out through the window at the trees—faded and worn by time, yet still standing tall. Quietly, he made a wish: that one day, this house would shine with its former splendor, filled with life and laughter, a true home once more.
When Douglas approached, Dobby quickly stood up and offered him his seat, conjuring two more chairs for Sirius and Lupin as well.
Douglas picked up the teapot, conjured three teacups with a flick of his wand, and poured hot tea for the others. Noticing Harry lost in thought, he asked, "What's got you so deep in thought?"
Startled, Harry snapped out of his reverie. "Oh! I was just thinking about how to restore the former glory of the Potter family."
A sly smile flickered at the corner of Douglas's mouth. He gave a meaningful "Oh?" and turned to Sirius. "Look at your godson, Sirius—already planning to bring back the Potter family's glory. But I'm willing to bet he's never read up on the family's history. Why don't you tell him a bit?"
Sirius took a slow sip of tea, falling silent for a moment before speaking.
"I ran away from the Black family when I was sixteen. Fleamont and Euphemia took me in, treated me like their own son. Even after I inherited my Uncle Alphard Black's estate and bought my own flat, I'd still come here for Sunday dinner…
Sorry, I'm rambling. Old Fleamont once told me the Potter family could trace its roots back to the twelfth century, to a pioneering potioneer named Linfred. Some of his inventions are still in use today—Skele-Gro, Pepperup Potion…
The Potters are an old pure-blood family—well, they were, before James and Lily. Don't get me wrong, Harry, they weren't obsessed with blood purity. It's just that your grandfather's line happened to stay pure until then.
I can't speak to the distant past, but Fleamont's father, Henry—most of his friends called him Harry, which is where your name comes from—lived through turbulent times in the Muggle world. He once publicly declared that wizards should support Muggles.
But if you want to talk about the Potter family's glory, you have to mention your grandfather, Fleamont Potter. He invented Sleekeazy's Hair Potion—hugely popular even now. He sold the patent after he retired, but that potion alone quadrupled the family fortune. He was always proud of that…"
Hearing Sirius mention his grandfather, Harry's mind flashed back to the family members he'd seen in the Mirror of Erised—especially the little old man with knobbly knees, just like his own.
Before Sirius could continue, Douglas cut in, "So, in summary, Harry, if you want to restore the Potter family's glory, the most important thing is to excel at Potions…"
Lupin couldn't help himself—he spluttered his tea in surprise. He hadn't realized Douglas had been waiting for just this moment.
Harry and Sirius both caught on. Harry's shoulders slumped at once, remembering who his Potions Professor was—Snape.
Sirius patted Harry's shoulder. "Don't worry. Lily was brilliant at Potions—Professor Slughorn never stopped praising her. I'm sure you've got her talent. And if Snivellus gives you any trouble, I'll challenge him to a duel, see if he dares!"
Douglas chuckled, then grew serious. "It's getting late. Let's talk business. Since we've decided this place won't be some tourist attraction anymore, it needs proper protection. I suggest the Fidelius Charm. What do you all think?"
Though he addressed the group, Douglas's gaze lingered on Sirius. Lupin and Harry also turned to look at him.
Sirius instinctively shrank back, then let out a long, shaky breath.
Douglas turned to Harry. "Next, I'll cast the Fidelius Charm on this place. Sirius will be the Secret-Keeper. For the next few summers, he'll bring you here to help repair and restore the house. How does that sound?"
Sirius glanced at Harry, breath quickening. He wanted to make up for the regret that haunted him—years ago, in this very spot, he'd almost been James's Secret-Keeper…
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