Only Ash Remains

Chapter 5

Harry soon found he'd grown used to having the Malfoys around. It was nice having others living with him again; Grimmauld Place had felt empty since Ron and Hermione had left. Narcissa was cheerful and friendly, Lucius was quiet, spending much of his time alone; Malfoy was who knows where. He didn't seem to wish to make an appearance. Which, of course, made Harry wonder about him all the more.

It was distracting; he couldn't seem to let it go. Where was Malfoy? The thought ran through his head, over and over, a ceaseless niggling irritation. Like a loose tooth, he thought, poking at it again.

Since his mind was busy wondering about Malfoy, he was caught unprepared when Narcissa asked him at breakfast the next day if she could "help the house shine brighter."

He immediately thought of the way the sitting room seemed warmer and friendlier now that she'd claimed it, and, confused and distracted, mind still busy puzzling over Malfoy, said, "You already do." The house did shine brighter around her. Then his words registered and he felt his cheeks heating.

She laughed, eyes twinkling. "I thank you for that, Harry, but what I have in mind will involve a bit more effort than merely existing."

He stared at his plate, mortified, and was relieved when she took pity on him.

"Shall I show you what I mean?"

He nodded, grateful that she wasn't prolonging his embarrassment, and followed her into the sitting room, abandoning his half-finished breakfast to Kreacher's eager hands.

"Before we tackle the house itself," Narcissa said, "I'm afraid we'll have to start with a deep cleaning. The spiderwebs must go, as must the dust and mildew. You wouldn't know it, as you've only ever seen it like this, but there's a layer of grime over everything, including the portraits."

He started as he guiltily remembered Walburga. "Ah," he said, rubbing the back of his neck, "about that."

"I noticed that you keep Walburga's portrait covered," she said, sounding amused. "I don't blame you. I've chatted with her a few times since we arrived and she's amenable to being moved into the attic with the other portraits. I suspect she's missing her regular gossip sessions."

Harry frowned. "But we can't move her — the sticking charm—"

"I was thinking," Narcissa said, eyes alight with a private amusement "What would you think of knocking down that wall she's on? It's not structural. In fact I don't know why it's there at all. It doesn't make any sense.

"Not that Wizarding houses have to make sense, of course," she added, "since they can expand in all sorts of directions, as you probably know. But I'm not convinced she didn't have that wall put in just to hang her portrait on. Why, I've no idea."

To scare anyone she doesn't approve of out of the house seemed the obvious answer to Harry. Instead of saying as much, he said, "What did you need me for?"

"Well, it is your house," she said, and then added, "But, leaving the issue of the wall aside, as that won't come until much later, there's actually quite a bit of physical labor involved, and I thought your younger body might take to some of it better than mine."

Harry took a moment to really look at her, then. She was still lovely, but she'd aged since he'd seen her in the Forbidden Forest. It struck him then how frail she'd become.

"We're doing it by hand?" he asked, startled and a bit daunted. The house was huge.

"Some of the cleaning can be done by magic," she allowed, "but most of it will have to be done the Muggle way, I'm afraid. Magic will interfere with the process."