The narrow hall stretched ahead, dimly lit by a single, struggling lamp. Faded wallpaper peeled away in long, curling strips, and the carpet muffled their footsteps as though it were trying to keep secrets. Then they heard it. A sharp intake of breath. A split second of silence. And then-
"Filth!"
The portrait curtains burst open as if yanked by invisible hands. A wild-eyed witch exploded into view, her face twisted with fury, mouth already forming another scream.
"Half-breeds! Blood traitors! Scum in my house-"
"Don't look at her," Harry said quickly, already reaching for the cord. He yanked hard. The curtains slammed shut, cutting off the shrieking mid-word. The silence afterward felt fragile, like glass.
Teddy blinked. "What-who was that?"
"My great-aunt," Harry said flatly. "She hated everyone."
Daryl let out a short breath. "Charming family."
A soft shuffling sound came from farther down the hall. They all turned. From the shadows near the base of the stairs emerged a small, hunched figure with oversized ears and skin the color of old parchment. He clutched a ragged tea towel, his watery eyes flicking up toward Harry with unmissable disdain.
"Kreacher lives to serve the noble House of Black," the house-elf croaked, bowing just enough to be insulting. "Though the house has fallen into disgrace… allowing undesirables to soil its floors."
Teddy stiffened. Daryl's eyes narrowed.
Harry sighed. "Hello, Kreacher."
Kreacher's lip curled. "The master returns," he muttered. "Bringing strangers. Kreacher does not approve."
"Noted," Harry said evenly. "They're guests. You'll treat them with respect."
Kreacher straightened, eyes flashing. "Kreacher obeys the master's orders," he said, each word clearly costing him something. He bowed again, deeper this time- but his gaze lingered on Teddy and Daryl with open contempt. The house seemed to settle around them, as though satisfied the proper rituals had been observed: the screaming ancestor silenced, the servant acknowledged, the hierarchy restored. Grimmauld Place had accepted them. That didn't mean it welcomed them.
Teddy curled up on the sofa with his wolf and promptly fell asleep, ice cream forgotten, magic flickering lazily through shades of blue. Harry tucked a blanket around him before turning back to the others.
"Do it," he said simply.
They moved fast. Daryl set the perimeter first, anchoring privacy wards into the building itself, then piggybacking them onto the Fidelius like thorns woven into silk. His magic was precise, legalistic-every exclusion named, every loophole sealed. George took the internal wards with a grim efficiency Harry had only ever seen during the war. Old Black-family enchantments resisted him at first, snarling and suspicious, but he talked to them as he worked, half-muttered commentary, half-charm work.
"Yeah, yeah, I know," George said under his breath as the house groaned. "No Weasleys. I'm offended too. Get over it."
The exclusions were explicit. No members of the Order of the Phoenix, past or present. No Weasley. No Ministry officials acting in any capacity. No exceptions by intent, blood, or proxy. Allowed access was pared down to four names, spoken aloud and bound in magic that hummed like a held breath:
Harry Potter.
Teddy Lupin.
George Weasley.
Daryl.
When it was done, the house settled-not warm, not kind, but quiet. Like a beast that had decided, reluctantly, to accept new handlers. Harry stood in the hall afterward, hand resting against the familiar wallpaper, feeling its weight. Sirius's laughter echoed faintly in memory. Kreacher's muttering. The way the place had once been full of ghosts, some literal, most not.
"This isn't running," George said quietly, as if answering something unspoken.
"No," Harry agreed. "It's narrowing the field."
Daryl closed his notebook. "If anyone tries to force entry, they'll know they've been excluded. That alone will send a message."
Harry nodded.
"Good."
From the sitting room came a small, sleepy sound. Teddy stirred, then settled again, magic smoothing itself against wards that accepted him without question. Harry exhaled, slow and deep. Grimmauld Place had once been a prison. A burden. A relic of someone else's war. Now it was a line drawn in old stone and newer resolve. Let the Order knock. Let the Ministry rage. They would find no door.
"Get some rest, we're going to need it," Harry said.
The words settled over them like a quiet spell. Even Grimmauld Place seemed to relent, the house creaking and sighing as they were shown to their rooms. Harry placed Teddy in the room that Hermione and Ginny used, then he led George to the room he shared with Ron rather than letting him sleep in the same room as before, finally leading Daryl to the third floor to the room George used. When Harry turned back to the second floor to Sirius's room, Kreacher muttered complaints, but stopped when he realized that no one was sleeping in Regulus's room, and he dimmed the lamps in the corridor. Teddy was still passed out from when he was on the sofa, and George took a bit longer but ultimately passed out from not sleeping enough. Daryl took longer, sitting on the edge of the bed with his arms braced on his knees, listening to the house breathe-pipes knocking, floorboards ticking, something skittering far above the ceiling. Eventually, even he gave in.
Harry lay awake the longest. When sleep finally came, it was thin and restless, full of half-formed dreams and the sensation of being watched.
———————————————————————————————
A sharp flutter of wings snapped Harry awake. He bolted upright, wand already in hand, heart pounding. Afternoon light filtered weakly through the grimy window. His alarm charm hadn't gone off- but an owl was perched on the bedpost, feathers ruffled, eyes sharp with impatience. Then another owl swooped in, landing hard on the dresser.
And another.
Within seconds, the room was alive with the sound of winged and indignant hooting. Harry swore under his breath. He grabbed the nearest letter.
Where have you been? Was written in Hermione's handwriting. Harry rolled his eyes before crumbling it up, then reaching for another one- the Ministry is asking questions. You cannot keep him hidden. The boy must be turned over immediately.
Harry's jaw tightened as he skimmed message after message, all different handwriting, all the same demands. Some were edged with barely concealed panic. Others with authority. A few with something colder.
Hand over Teddy.
Across the hall, Daryl woke to a similar assault. An owl slammed against the window frame before flapping inside, dropping a letter directly onto his chest. He sat up with a startled grunt just in time for a second owl to follow, then a third, crowding the room like impatient messengers at a siege. He tore open the first letter.
We know you're with Potter. Bring the child in. This doesn't have to be difficult.
Daryl's expression hardened. He crushed the preachment in his fist, then reached for the next without hesitation. By the time Harry stepped into the corridor, his arms full of letters, Daryl was already there, leaning against the wall, awake and fully alert.
"You too?" Daryl asked.
Harry gave a humorless smile. "Looks like we beat the alarms."
Another owl swooped past them, dropping yet another demand at Harry's feet before fleeing back out. Somewhere downstairs, a portrait curtain rustled. Grimmauld Place was awake now. And the world had officially noticed where Harry was- and who he had with him.