Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Let Me Be Your Voice	By : Queenie_Mab Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Draco Views: 8661 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations from Harry Potter, created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers: Bloomsbury, Scholastic, and Warner Bros. No money is being made and no copyright infringement is intended

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A/N: Please don't comment if you're only going to request I update soon. I update twice a day. That should be soon enough.

Harry was secretly relieved to have George with him when he climbed the steps of number 12. He hadn’t returned to the house since Yaxley had got in and he wasn’t sure what sort of state it would be in when he arrived.

“Need a hand with anything?” George asked once they crossed the threshold into the hall. The jinxes Moody had put up against Snape had apparently broken, and nothing stirred in the dust on the floor.

“I think I can manage,” Harry said, turning to look at the disarray. The drawing room had been ransacked, and furniture lay overturned, cushions ripped open; feathered down blanketed piles of random objects like a fluffy layer of snow. “I just need to check… Er, Kreacher?” he called.

Kreacher appeared before him in an instant with the customary loud crack. It woke the portrait of Sirius’s mother.

The hall rang with her shrieks. “Mudbloods, filth, stain on the house of my fathers!”

“On that note,” George said, offering Harry a salute. “I’m off. See ya at Hogwarts, mate.”

He left as Harry forced her curtains closed with his wand.

“What can Kreacher be doing for Master Harry?” Kreacher asked, his bullfrog voice croaking as he bowed low.

Harry was pleased to see that he had continued with his improved hygiene. The fake Horcrux locket gleamed with fresh polish on Kreacher’s thin chest.

“How are you, Kreacher?” Harry asked fondly. “I’m sorry I haven’t had time for a chat since the battle.”

Kreacher gave Harry an appraising look, his heavily wrinkled forehead creasing further. “Kreacher is well, Master,” he said. “Kreacher wants to know if Master Harry has come home to stay this time.”

“I have,” Harry answered. “I was hoping you could help me tidy up a bit,” he said, glancing quickly again at the travesty that had been the drawing room. “Is the entire house as bad as it is in here?”

Kreacher nodded his head heavily. “The Death Eaters came in while Kreacher was cooking in the kitchen,” Kreacher explained. “Kreacher heard them, and Kreacher watched as they destroyed my mistress’s house. But when Kreacher realised Master Harry and his friends were not in immediate danger, Kreacher returned to Hogwarts. Kreacher fought the Death Eaters with the Hogwarts house-elves for what they did to the noble house of Black, and Kreacher was proud of his master when he defeated the Dark Lord once and for all.”

Kreacher stopped talking and wandered away from Harry to examine the state of the room up close. He turned back. “Master Harry, Kreacher wonders if Master would allow Kreacher to ask for some assistance from the Hogwarts house-elves. This job is too much for Kreacher to do alone at his age.”

“Of course, Kreacher. I don’t want to put you out, and I’m planning on doing my own share of the work.”

Kreacher reached out and took Harry’s hand in his own small one. His skin was paper-thin and saggy, though he was warm to the touch.

“Master Harry is not to be doing any of the work,” Kreacher said insistently. “Master needs his rest for the restoration of Hogwarts.”

Another loud crack rang through the room like a gunshot, but fortunately Harry had thought to close the drawing-room door, so the portrait of Sirius’s mother didn’t awaken again.

Another small elf bowed low before Harry, wearing a starched white tea towel emblazoned with the Hogwarts crest. He looked to be barely an adult, though Harry really didn’t know much about the life cycles of house-elves. He spoke with a squeaky voice.

“Dipsy has received Kreacher’s summons, Harry Potter, sir,” Dipsy said at once. “The Hogwarts house-elves is delighted to be offering their services to you for the night.”

Dipsy stood up and took hold of Harry’s hand, pulling him towards the door. “Harry Potter must be sleeping now,” Dipsy said firmly. “So Dipsy and Kreacher and the others can work. Harry Potter’s bed is made up with clean sheets for sleeping in,” Dipsy went on, and Harry allowed himself, bemused, to be dragged up the stairs to Sirius’s old room.

Dipsy pushed him through the open door. “Sleep now, Harry Potter.”

“Er — yeah. Thanks,” Harry stammered, and Dipsy closed the door in his face.

“Kreacher?” he called again and was instantly joined by Kreacher, who had his ears tied up with an elastic band to keep them out of his eyes, fluffy white hair stuck out of his ears making it look as though he was wearing ear muffs.

“Yes, Master?” Kreacher croaked.

“Um — You’re in charge of the clean-up, Kreacher,” Harry said, yawning. A thought came to his mind as he heard Mrs. Black’s shrieks from floors below. “Oh, and Kreacher, there’s something else I’d like to ask of you. I’d like you to have Regulus’s old room to stay in.”

At his words, Kreacher sank to his knees, his large round eyes filling with tears. He looked ridiculous with his ears tied up, like an ugly child with a grotesque ponytail giving in to the need for a long cry.

“I’d like it if you could make it…” He thought quickly, trying to word what he wanted properly so Kreacher wouldn’t think he was asking him to live in a storage room. “Make it a shrine,” he invented, “to the Black legacy. Take the Black family tree and your mistress’s portrait, if you can move it, and everything else in the house that celebrates the Black family and display it proudly in there. Can you do that for me?”

Kreacher was so overcome with emotion, he couldn’t answer. He burst into tears, and sobbed for several minutes, hiccoughing and nodding, so Harry at least knew he wasn’t displeased with the instructions.

Harry wondered if he’d made a mistake, as Kreacher rocked back and forth on the filthy carpet on his knees, crocodile tears leaking from his eyes. He readied himself to retract his words, when Kreacher finally stopped crying and climbed to his feet.

“You is a good wizard, Master Harry,” Kreacher said, wiping his leaking nose on the back of his hand. “Kreacher thanks you. Now get some sleep.” He disappeared with another loud crack.

Relief coursed through Harry’s veins. His entire body ached with fatigue as he looked at the crisp white sheets laid out on Sirius’s old bed. He stripped off and quickly got under the covers, claimed by sleep the instant his head hit the pillow.

~x~

When he next became aware, he heard whispering voices, and it took him a moment to remember where he was.

He sat up. His body felt rested for the first time in ages. He didn’t even recall having any dreams.

Two sets of pointed ears were just visible over the edge of his mattress, and he crawled forwards to see Kreacher and Dipsy whispering to each other. They looked up at him with their comically huge round eyes.

It was then that he took stock of what had once been Sirius’s room.

The change was remarkable. The old grey silk had been torn from the walls, along with the posters of the bikini-clad Muggle girls. The walls glistened with a fresh coat of eggshell-white paint, making the room look larger than it already was and pristine in its cleanliness.

He looked to see that the large wooden wardrobe had been polished and restored and there wasn’t a hint of dust anywhere. Lying atop the bedside table was the photograph of the Marauders in their heyday in the Hogwarts grounds.

He picked it up, eyes instantly soaking up the image of his father, younger than Harry was now.

“It looks brilliant in here!” he told the elves enthusiastically. “Thank you for your hard work!”

Dipsy bowed quickly. “Harry Potter needs to be seeing the rest of the house and Dipsy is telling him that breakfast is waiting in the kitchen. Dipsy needs to be going to join the others at Hogwarts now, but Kreacher can show Harry Potter to his breakfast.”

“Wait, Dipsy,” Harry said, overcome.

The little elf stopped, having been preparing to Disapparate, and looked at Harry through wide eyes.

“How can I pay —”

Dipsy shut his eyes tight at the sound of the word “pay” and Harry knew he’d forgotten himself.

“No, no, no, Harry Potter,” Dipsy said, stamping his foot. “There is no paying for Dipsy. Dipsy is an honourable elf that is not accepting paying!”

“Wait. That’s not what I meant,” Harry amended at once. “I meant to say I want to show my gratitude to Hogwarts for my appreciation of …” He racked his brain, looking for the words. “Of how nobly you defended it during the battle. Not just you,” he corrected himself again, when it appeared Dipsy was growing offended. “Not just you, but all the house-elves. You showed true dedication to Hogwarts that day and I want to honour Hogwarts for having such good and reliable house-elves in its service.”

Dipsy peered at Harry through his fingers, as he’d covered his eyes with his hands. “If it is to be a gift to Hogwarts, that is acceptable, Harry Potter,” Dipsy said, calming down. He dropped his hands. “Dipsy is saying goodbye now.” With another loud crack, he was gone.

~x~

On his way down to the kitchen, Harry marvelled at the change that had settled over the house. The ancient peeling wallpaper in the hall had been torn down and the wall shone with a fresh coat of rose-coloured paint, making the house look as clean and tidy as Aunt Petunia kept her kitchen.

Harry followed Kreacher as the elf led him down the stairs, stopping occasionally to pop his head into rooms to sneak a peek. When they reached the kitchen, Harry’s stomach growled loudly at the scent of freshly-cooked bacon wafting through its open door. He stepped inside and took a seat at the now-polished wooden table laden with bacon, scones and a pitcher of pumpkin juice.

“You elves have really outdone yourselves,” Harry told Kreacher. “Would you like to join me for breakfast?”

Kreacher gave Harry a curious look, eyes widening slightly with disbelief. “Kreacher has had his breakfast, thank you, Master Harry,” his deep voice croaked, coming out a little deeper than usual with what Harry suspected was emotion.

The doorbell rang. Harry stood up, his mouth full.

“Kreacher will get the door, Master,” Kreacher said, and Disapparated.

Harry sat back down, swallowed, and took a long drink from his glass of pumpkin juice.

“Wow,” Ron’s voice said from the stairs, coming ever closer. He arrived at the kitchen. “Have you been at this all night? I hardly recognise the place. Was afraid I’d called at the wrong number, but for Kreacher answering the door.”

Harry grinned at him. “Looks good, doesn’t it?” he said, pulling the chair beside him out for Ron to sit. “Come on, have some breakfast with me.”

Ron’s face went pale at the suggestion, and he dropped into the empty chair. “I think I’m good,” he said, sighing. “There’s something I want to tell you, Harry. Something that’s been weighing on my mind for a while now.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, wondering what was coming. He didn’t have the energy for another row, but considering Ron was not exuding a dark mood, he figured he’d hear him out.

“Yeah? What’s up?”

“It’s … It’s about Hermione,” Ron said, after a deep breath. “You know she’s returning today for the restoration. She’s found her parents and returned their memories. I guess she’s had quite a lot of explaining to do to get them to see that she’d done the only thing she could have to keep them safe.”

Harry wiped his mouth and hands with his napkin. “So what’s troubling you?”

“Well,” Ron said, face turning a shade of pink. “Look there.” He placed a small square box on the table in front of Harry.

Harry opened it to find a lovely ring set with a small red stone, which sparkled against the gold band. He looked up at Ron’s watching face. “You’re not proposing to me, are you?” Harry asked with a smirk.

Ron’s face went scarlet as he snatched the ring back. “Not funny, mate,” he said seriously. “It’s for Hermione. I’m going to ask her. I want to do it before somebody else does, well, and I dunno. It feels like the right thing to do, you know? But I’m all nerves. What if she says no? Merlin, what if she says yes?” He stared at the ring in its box, slumping a bit, lost in thought.

“Have some bacon,” Harry offered again, pushing the plate of bacon so it sat right under Ron’s nose. He thought about saying something about how young they were and marriage seemed like an awfully huge step, but kept his thoughts to himself when he remembered how young his own parents had been when they married.

“Nah, I can’t eat,” Ron exclaimed, giving a forlorn sigh.

“You know she’s not going to say no,” Harry added, taking a slice of bacon off the plate and popping it into his own mouth.

“Why am I so nervous?” Ron continued, as if he was having the conversation with himself. “We’d be brilliant together. It’s just now that the war is over and everything, it really puts things into perspective, you know? What if something happened to one of us, and I never asked her?” He stopped, eyes drawn to the plate below him. “Well, maybe one slice,” he said, taking three and shoving them into his mouth. He chewed a moment, eyes closed with enjoyment. “Mmmm, ’s’good,” he said, swallowing. He opened his eyes again and looked at Harry. “Well, what about you?”

“What about me?” Harry asked, bemused.

“Well,” Ron explained. “Now that the war is over and all. Are you going to get back together with Ginny or what? It’s all right with me if you do.”

Harry watched as Ron fed himself more bacon before answering. “Yeah, um, about that … Gin and I have had a talk, and we’re not getting back together,” Harry said, carefully measuring his friend’s reaction.

Ron seemed close to choking on his bacon as he struggled to finish chewing and swallowing. “Why the hell not? Don’t you like her? You’ve been leading her on this whole past year!”

Harry felt his defences rise. “No I haven’t,” he insisted. “Not on purpose, anyway. I love Ginny, Ron; you know I do, but really it’s not … I’m not … I just need some time, yeah? Besides, we are all really young still. I don’t think rushing into marriage is in my best interest right now.”

Ron appeared to relax, appeased by Harry’s words. “I get it,” he said, nodding. “It’s been a hell of a year for all of us. You need some time. Yeah, I can understand that.”

“So when were you planning to ask Hermione?” Harry asked, nudging Ron in the side with his elbow. It seemed to do the trick of getting Ron’s mind off Harry and Ginny.

“Merlin!” Ron exclaimed. “When should I? How? Where? I’m pants at this.” He looked ill again, and was tugging at his hair absently, and slumping in his seat.

Harry didn’t know the first thing about romance or what to say to somebody who was planning to get married. He hoped one day to be able to experience the same thing, but for now was satisfied with finding himself and making his way in the world.

“Um, have you thought about talking to Bill?” Harry suggested. “He’s the only person I can think of that may have something productive to offer you. I’m pants at relationships too.”

Ron looked up, his face suddenly happy and hopeful. “Harry, you’re a genius! I will talk to Bill about it.” He picked up the last three slices of bacon and bit the ends off them, chewing thoughtfully.

Harry poured himself another glass of pumpkin juice and sat comfortably quiet, listening to Ron eat.

Ron stood up, his confidence restored. “So I’ll see you at Hogwarts later today then?” he asked.

“I will be there as soon as I’ve had a shower.”
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Let Me Be Your Voice