HRA# CHAPTER 118

When they first stepped through the door, Harry noticed a line of text shimmering on the right side of the entrance. As they drew closer, it glowed brighter, revealing the words: “Sealed by the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, 1981.”

Inside, Harry’s eyes fell on a dusty parchment atop a cabinet near the right side of the entryway. With a snap of his fingers, the dust vanished without a trace, clearing the text for reading.

“Nice wandless, wordless Cleaning Charm, Harry,” Dumbledore remarked, his expression peculiar. “If we were at Hogwarts, I’d award you at least twenty points for that. But if memory serves, you signed a certain notice before leaving school.”

“Keep it quiet from the Ministry, thanks,” Harry replied without looking up. “I doubt casting a spell in Godric’s Hollow would summon their owls, but if one shows up, could you vouch that it was you?”

“Ha, another use for my name,” Dumbledore said with a humorous glint. “Plenty have used me as a scapegoat, but you’re the first to ask so bluntly.”

“Scapegoat duty.”

“Two favors.”

“Deal.”

In a few words, Harry and Dumbledore struck an agreement.

While they spoke, Harry examined the parchment in his hand—a record left by the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes:

November 1, 1981: Confiscated Dark Magic items: 0.
November 3, 1981: Removed hazardous magical plants: 3 Venomous Tentacula, 1 small patch of Devil’s Snare.
…
January 15, 1982: Applied maintenance spells: Permanent Sticking Charm.

The entries were sparse, spanning longer intervals over time. The final record, dated September 3, 1984, noted that the Ministry had inspected the Potter Cottage, removing a Boggart and a few Dark creatures that had taken residence.

“No need to worry, Harry,” Dumbledore said, his face unusually serious. “I can assure you, even in those dark days, the Ministry didn’t take anything valuable from this house. Despite the hardships, they never sided with Voldemort. Many brave Aurors fought on the front lines against him and his followers.”

“It’s not about the possessions, Dumbledore,” Harry said, shaking his head. “I’m debating whether to tear this place down and rebuild or just patch it up. It’s been nearly eight years since the Ministry last checked. Who knows what’s living here now? Any advice?”

“Oh, I can answer that one,” Dumbledore said with a smile. “Setting aside the house’s historical significance, rebuilding from scratch would take at least six months before you could move in. But repairs? A few days, and you’d be settled.”

“Then I’ll go with repairs,” Harry decided instantly.

“I thought you might,” Dumbledore nodded. “Considering you’re standing before an old bachelor who knows nothing about housework, why not ask your friends for help? Mrs. Weasley would likely be delighted to lend a hand.”

“That might upset a new friend of mine,” Harry said earnestly. “Alfred?”

With a pop, Alfred appeared at Harry’s side, dressed in his usual attire.

“Alfred is thrilled!” the house-elf shouted, practically vibrating with enthusiasm. “Alfred will clean this entire house spotless! Not a single speck will shame Master Harry’s name!”

The house-elf was brimming with energy. The thought of restoring the Potter Cottage to its former glory, allowing Harry to live in his true home and leave his relatives’ house behind, moved Alfred to the brink of tears.

This, incidentally, was a major reason Uncle Vernon had agreed to embark on this magical outing today.

“Alfred?” Dumbledore studied the house-elf’s outfit, then smiled. “You’ve dressed him like a gentleman, Harry. Is this the one from that day—?”

Dumbledore trailed off, referring to the events at MAlfredoy Manor. Fawkes had relayed everything it witnessed to him.

“Yes,” Harry nodded. “Alfred’s my steward now. I hired him for eleven Galleons a month—a bargain for what he can do.”

“That’s too much!” Alfred shouted, already bustling about, his eyes gleaming. “No house-elf has ever earned as much as Alfred! Never! Most don’t get paid at all!”

“That’s wonderful,” Dumbledore said warmly, nodding in approval. He seemed about to say more when Dudley’s shout from the living room interrupted.

“Harry! Come quick! Fairies! There are fairies!”

“…I bet he means Doxies,” Harry muttered. He pulled several vials from his pocket, handed them to Alfred, and headed toward the living room.

Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia were already gathered around Dudley, all staring intently at a tiny creature. It had a humanoid shape but was very small, covered in dense black fur, with two extra arms, two extra legs, and thick, curved, beetle-like wings that shimmered faintly.

“Definitely a Doxy,” Harry said, rubbing his temple.

“Doxy? What’s that?” Uncle Vernon asked, his rare curiosity about magic surfacing.

Since entering the Potter Cottage, Vernon had been quietly comparing everything around him.

“Also called a Biting Fairy. Careful, Dudley,” Harry said, smacking Dudley’s back as the boy reached out, entranced by the word fairy. “Didn’t you hear me say Biting Fairy? They’ve got two rows of venomous teeth. The venom’s not lethal, but it hurts like hell.”

At that, Dudley, wary of pain, quickly retracted his hand.

“So, there are other fairies?” Dudley asked, still curious. “And why’d you give me this?”

While they spoke, Harry had handed each of his aunt’s family a vial of potion.

“Antidote,” Harry explained, noting Aunt Petunia’s tense expression. “If a Doxy bites you, drink this immediately.”

“…Can’t we just stay away from these awful things?” Vernon asked, eyeing the potion and the Doxy, which was baring its sharp, glinting teeth. His scalp prickled. “Do we have to mess with it?”

“This is my home, Uncle,” Harry said with a wry look. “If I want to live here safely, they’ve got to go. You don’t need to do anything—Alfred will handle the cleanup. The antidotes are just in case you get bitten by accident. In a neglected house like this, Doxies are everywhere.”

“Er, don’t you need help?” Aunt Petunia asked, surprised. “This is your home… I mean, if you need assistance cleaning, I could.”

“No need, Petunia,” a voice interrupted from a portrait on the living room wall. “This is a wizard’s house. You wouldn’t want to get hurt by something unknown while cleaning.”

It was Lily, her wedding portrait with James hung on the wall, now beaming with joy.

James, in the portrait, was enthusiastically waving at Harry.

“Exactly, Mrs. Petunia!” Alfred said, popping up between them with a tray of five steaming cups of tea, one for each person. “Everyone, please sit and rest!”

In this part of the living room, the coffee table had been blasted to pieces in the incident years ago, but part of the sofa remained intact. Alfred had diligently cleared it of dust and glass shards, revealing a sun-bleached, grayish-white slipcover.

“Oh, alright,” Petunia said. Unlike Vernon, who was still adjusting, Petunia had some familiarity with magic from years past. Still, chatting with her late sister’s portrait was a bit beyond her expectations.

Surprisingly, Vernon hadn’t argued with James’s portrait—a rare occurrence, Harry noted. Perhaps Vernon felt he’d already won.

The two men had clashed bitterly in the past, parting on bad terms. But now, Vernon was alive, while James was just a portrait, and his son had relied on Vernon to grow up. This reality left Portrait James somewhat subdued, his words cautious around Vernon.

Harry had no interest in meddling in their old grudges. He was busy directing Dumbledore to mend the damaged roof.

“There, and there’s another hole,” Harry said, pointing to the right corner of the ceiling.

“You know, Harry, I thought today might bring some change,” Dumbledore said, his expression complex as he waved his Elder Wand. “But it seems I was overly optimistic at the door.”

“No choice. The Potter Cottage was clearly reinforced with spells when it was built,” Harry said, puzzled. “You saw it—my Reparo Charm does nothing here, but yours works. Why’s your magic so much stronger? It’s like it’s fundamentally different.”

Harry was no longer a novice in the wizarding world, but his studies were still basic due to time constraints. He focused on common, practical spells and hadn’t delved into magical theory. While he could cast simple spells like the Cleaning Charm wandlessly and wordlessly, he believed it was just a matter of stronger will, steadier magic, and precise control—nothing fundamentally transformative.

Yet, even when he cast Reparo with his wand at full strength, he couldn’t match Dumbledore’s results. It wasn’t just about improving those three factors; it was something Harry didn’t yet understand.

Who’d want to camp outside the Headmaster’s office in the middle of the night waiting for Dumbledore to appear unless they had to?

“Oh, when you’ve lived as long as I have, you’ll manage it easily,” Dumbledore said vaguely. “Honestly, Harry, you’re already impressive. At your age, I was still mastering the Levitation Charm.”

“Fine, keep your secrets,” Harry said, rolling his eyes.

He wasn’t buying that Dumbledore, as a first-year, had only studied the Levitation Charm. Even Hermione’s progress surpassed that.

Once Harry abandoned the idea of demolishing and rebuilding the heavily fortified Potter Cottage, things became much simpler.

Twelve years ago, Voldemort had killed James in the living room. James had fought valiantly, but courage couldn’t bridge the gap in power. After killing James, Voldemort had headed straight for the nursery, intent on eliminating the child of the prophecy.

In the nursery, the event every wizard knew occurred: Voldemort killed Lily, then tried to kill Harry, only to be destroyed by his own rebounded Killing Curse.

This gave the wizarding world a brief period of peace.

As a result, the Potter Cottage’s major damage was concentrated in the living room and nursery. The other rooms mainly needed a thorough cleaning.

Near the entrance hall, Harry peeled off damaged wallpaper and found, to his surprise, a scrawled message beneath: Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs’ Exclusive Passage.

Without a doubt, Harry knew this was his father’s teenage graffiti, the wallpaper plastered over to hide his youthful mischief from his future children.

Harry could almost see James’s grin as he put up the wallpaper… and before he realized it, his own lips had curved into a smile.

In the nursery, Harry found teeth marks on the rail of his old crib—definitely not human, more like those of a dog or wolf. Next to them was another scrawl in James’s messy handwriting: Godfather Inspected and Approved, August 1980.

Harry burst out laughing.

What kind of inspection was this? A bite test?

Though he’d never met his godfather, between his parents’ stories and these little discoveries, Harry was piecing together an image—playful and lively, at the very least.

Oddly, those didn’t quite sound like words for a godfather.

The Potter Cottage was remarkably well-preserved, a testament to the Ministry’s care. They’d maintained nearly everything as a memorial, so returning after twelve years, Harry found the house almost exactly as it was when his parents lived here.

Cleaning these old belongings warmed Harry’s heart. For the first time, he felt his parents’ love, their hopes for him, and the unspoken care they couldn’t convey.

In the nursery, a padded table held an open notebook with Lily’s neat handwriting: Remember to put a Cushioning Charm on Harry’s toy broom. He nearly crashed into the chandelier today.

Bit by bit, the fragmented pieces of Harry’s understanding of his parents were coming together—memories and impressions taking shape.

As Harry left the nursery, Alfred was battling a swarm of Doxies with Doxy-killer spray. They lurked in cabinet corners, curtain folds, even inside hollowed-out furniture.

True to their reputation as the wizarding world’s top household pest, spotting one Doxy meant they were everywhere—much like cockroaches in Muggle homes.

The hallway was piled with Doxy corpses Alfred had cleared from one room. Dudley was curiously pinching one between two fingers, trying to inspect its sharp teeth… or maybe pull off a leg or two.

“Careful, don’t eat it,” Harry teased.

“Get lost. You’d eat it first,” Dudley shot back, rolling his eyes. “I’d only try if you did.”

Harry wasn’t about to take that bet.

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T/N: If you find any typos or incorrect names, please leave a comment. Thanks, and enjoy reading!