“Burn it.”

Harry James Potter was never just Harry James Potter; he was always the Saviour of the Wizarding world, the Golden Boy of Albus Dumbledore and the Boy Who Lived, among other inane titles. What he was right now was too old; too old to be able to think, too old to be able to shout and much too old to be able to care.

“Harry, be reasonable,” Dumbledore’s soft voice was gradually losing its calming effect on Harry, he brought to mind the times when he was sure that everything would be fine once the Headmaster was there. Now, however, he knew that nothing would be fine anymore.

It was a few weeks after Sirius’ death. Dumbledore usually came to visit Harry at the Dursley’s but they agreed to come to Hogwarts to formally discuss the issue of number twelve, Grimmauld Place. Harry decided to wear worn-out jeans that he didn’t bother to replace and the jumper Mrs. Weasley gave him in his 4th year, the green one with the dragon motif. It was very short and ill-fitting but that was the first thing that he had grabbed from the pile on the floor of his room. All throughout the summer holidays, Harry remembered with a lights smile, Dumbledore would wear the same set of traditional midnight-blue robes with little stars hopping about.

They were in Dumbledore’s office now; the auburn sky outside gently illuminating the deep ruby curtains. Resting on the windowsill was Hedwig. He’d wondered why she was there; Dumbledore must’ve summoned her earlier.

Was he planning to ask me to send a letter to the Dursleys? Maybe he’s finally allowing me to stay in Hogwarts for the rest of the summer, he thought, his mood lightened briefly.

He shifted a bit in his favourite chair, feeling as if a Dementor was perching on his shoulders, he knew that was wishful thinking.

Of course he wouldn’t ask me to write them, that would go against wanting me to stay miserable and alone, he considered darkly.

Harry spotted some unfamiliar trinkets and charms scattered about the shelves. The memory of his last time here still brought shame even after Dumbledore accepted his awkward apology. Had he been that reckless? To risk angering the Headmaster wasn’t one of his well thought of plans. He didn’t notice Dumbledore watching him through his half-mooned spectacles, cautiously calculating his next words.

“Harry, number twelve Grimmauld Place and all that is left of Sirius’ possessions are yours, my boy. Not the Order’s and most certainly-”

“I... I don’t want it, Professor,” Harry begged, voice breaking after an hour of this discussion; the topics just going around in circles. He knew Dumbledore was trying to manipulate him once again, tiring him until he gives his consent.

He stood up, desperation flooding his thoughts with suggestions. Pacing the length of the room, he cried, “I keep on telling you to use it as Order Headquarters. All of it would be yours! Hell, I’ll give it to anyone who offers! I know Mundungus would love to have it. Not to mention the gold he’d get for anything in it...” He mumbled that last bit but he knew from prior experience that Dumbledore heard it anyway.

His eyes wandered the room hoping to find something, anything, to look at. Not looking Dumbledore in the eye was all that was preventing Harry from making a fool of himself and frankly, he could live without the added embarrassment. Settling his gaze onto the multiple silver instruments on the table beside him, he sighed deeply.

“Thinking of destroying my office once again, Harry?” Dumbledore replied softly with a shade of amusement, “Don’t worry; I’ve made sure that these replacements are easier to throw across the room.”

His urge to throw a fit subsided, he felt embarrassed to be thinking of doing that again. “Reading my mind doesn’t make me feel any better, Professor,” said Harry in what was meant to be a sharp tone but instead came out weary.

Harry couldn’t face Dumbledore anymore, he abruptly walked over to the east window, seeing that the night sky didn’t hold any stars that night; a promise of rain. He patted Hedwig’s snow-white feathers and she hooted warmly, looking even more beautiful than usual. Eyes shining with the reflection of moonlight, she looked as if she was trying to assure him that everything would be just fine.

Feeling defeated, he let go of Hedwig and turned to sit down again, failing to grasp the words he so wanted to voice out. His hands seemed to have a life of its own, his right hand trailing the edges of the Headmaster’s table while the other grasping the edges of his jumper.

Harry noticed that tiny little wands and wizard hats were dancing about the edges; the ornate carvings on the oak desk matched the ones on the doors. He knew that magic was used to carve all the intricate designs, they were practically miniscule!

Dumbledore glanced upon the single candlelight on his desk. It was charmed to illuminate only half of his office; he found out early on in his days as Headmaster that too much light makes him slightly dozy.

He smiled faintly, his weary eyes revealing the age that no one has noticed so far. “Harry, you must be aware that it would be unwise to continue using Grimmauld Place for headquarters. Fidelius alone won’t thoroughly secure Grimmauld Place from Voldemort and his Death Eaters; you know that they won’t stop at trying to kill everyone on the side of the Light, Harry. Severus-”

“I told you that I never want to talk about that – that – no good, overgrown –” his breath knotted though the vehemence in his tone clearly visible.

“My boy,” Dumbledore clasped Harry’s hands, shaking with the urge to strangle Snape until all the grease in his hair dried out; he carried on, “blaming Professor Snape hardly gives you more closure. We’ve talked about this for innumerable times, my boy. You should feel –”

Opting instead to wrench his hands from Dumbledore’s grasp, he bashed his fist on the Headmaster’s desk. Harry exclaimed, “Don’t you dare tell me how to feel! You’ve been pushing me to do everything else so don’t even think I’ll let you manipulate me this time.”

Harry could feel his composure vanishing entirely. “I thought you understood! I’m too damn tired of blaming myself for everything horrible that happens in the Wizarding World! I don’t want to spend every single night in my life, twisting and turning, trying to figure out where I’ve gone wrong! Now, when I finally realize that I am nowhere near the one to blame, you try and make me feel at fault!” he shoved his hands in his pockets.

Dumbledore stood up so quickly that Harry almost jumped. The urge to beat Snape into a bloody pulp subsided a bit when the Headmaster lightly held Harry’s shoulders to face him. His eyes twinkling with an emotion that resembled impatience, he said, “Harry, let us not refrain from the matter at hand. What shall we do with number twelve, Grimmauld Place?”

Regaining his composure, Harry thought quickly of a solution that would make both he and Dumbledore satisfied. A few moments later, he answered, smiling brightly, “A compromise; I give Professor Lupin the ownership of Grimmauld Place while I get Sirius’ possessions.”

Dumbledore seemed unfazed; it was as if he was just waiting for Harry to realize what to do on his own.

Harry continued, “See, Professor Lupin needs a large space for his…” remembering his father’s words, he smiled, “‘furry little problem’ right? When I give him Grimmauld Place, he could go about the rooms when he transforms without fear of getting caught or damaging anyone!”

The Headmaster smiled genuinely, “That would be doable, Harry. I would like to tell you that I am very pleased that you would take ownership of Sirius’ possessions. You of all people should have them.” Dumbledore walked over to Harry and clapped his shoulders happily.

Harry, however, had other plans. The easier it is to chuck everything into Gringotts, the happier I’ll be. He stood up, walking around the Headmaster’s office, glancing at everything and nothing at the same time.

After what seemed like hours, he heard Dumbledore whisper, “Harry, it’s time.”

“Fine,” he admitted. He strolled over to the Headmaster’s fireplace, bracing himself for the trip to the one place he’s been avoiding more so than the Dursleys.

Just before Dumbledore threw in the Floo Powder, he suddenly realized a fact that made him roar with laughter.

For the love of Merlin, Dumbledore’s done it again.