Hello everyone! This month, I am participating in NaNoWriMo for the first time (in the Young Writer's Program). My goal is set at 30,000 words, but I'm aiming for 50,000 anyway. At the end of each chapter I will state my current word count, without the author's notes. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this!

Dusty morning light filtered through unwashed windows, illuminating a grungy carpet and an even grungier teen. One arm was flung out listlessly, the other draped across his eyes. His open mouth indicated that he had fallen asleep.

His face twitched as the window opened, but he woke up when a newspaper was dropped on his face. The boy grabbed it and sat up, disoriented, one hand scrabbling until it found a wand. Seeing the owl perched on the couch he had meant to sleep on did not lessen his confusion.

The owl hopped toward him and let out a soft hoot, startling him. When the owl patiently held out its leg, he finally showed signs of recognition and got up, muttering.

Harry Potter had been living at Number 12 Grimmauld Place for six days. During that time he had walked upstairs to where he had stayed when Sirius was alive, walked back downstairs, nibbled on what the Hogwarts house elves brought him, and slept on all the living room couches in an attempt to find the most comfortable one. He refused to leave the living room. In any given room, he might see the dust and remember a time Mrs. Weasley had forced him and Ron and Hermione and all the Weasleys and Sirius to attempt to clean. He would see cupboards formerly full of strange treasures Fred and George had tried to nick. He could barely breathe in this house of ghosts.

He was glad that the Dumbledore dust-ghost, and the other hexes in the entryway, were gone. Harry had enough ghosts in his head as it were.

Harry found his tattered bag by the door and shuffled back to the living room with it where the owl was waiting. It was a barn owl, he noted absently as he searched for Knuts to pay the owl. He hadn't seen a snowy owl since-

No. He couldn't think about Hedwig. In an effort to distract himself, he looked back at the owl. Perhaps that wasn't the best way to not think about owls, but Harry chose to reflect on its presence rather than its similarities.

"You're the first visitor I've had since the Aurors put me here," Harry told it. "I wondered if any news would show up- I never cancelled my subscription. But I suppose it's been hard to find me, this last year." He frowned. "Hang on- how did you find me? I thought this place had wards!"

Harry abruptly stood up and started pacing, ignoring the reproachful hoot at the unnecessary delay in payment. "They thought I would be safe here. I thought I would be safe here. Why are the wards down?" He froze. "Are there any wards left?"

With a nasty taste in his mouth, Harry recalled how he had been able to move as soon as he fell off the tower. Moody's work- the traps in the hallway- had disappeared. Who had cast the other wards?

Harry paid the owl and watched it fly off, alone again with even more ghosts.

Hermione ignored the "For Sale" sign in her yard and marched to the door. She raised her hand to knock, hesitated, and lowered it to the doorknob instead. Walking in, her first impression was that nothing had changed. The furniture sat untouched, and family pictures smiled at her from every direction. She almost managed to smile back, until she noticed it.

She wasn't in them.

Of course. She had Obliviated her parents and removed every reminder that they had a daughter. This was no longer her house- she was the ghost here.

Her musings were cut short when voices floated down from upstairs. Her heart soared even as her mind spat that it was only some family touring the house in hopes of making it their own. Her parents were in Australia, where she'd sent them.

Hermione wanted to scream, but her mind coldly put her heart back in its place and announced that they were leaving.

And so she left.

Ron sat in his room, alone. His Chudley Cannons posters seemed too bright, and he thought about redecorating. He quickly dismissed the idea. No one needed more change right now. He thought about going outside. He dismissed that idea too. Outside he would have to notice that no one else was outside. Everyone in the house was in their own room, trying to sort out their messy world by sorting themselves into separate rooms. It wasn't working. Whatever they needed, it wasn't in their rooms.

Ron made himself stand up. His creaking bedsprings were the only noise he had heard for hours. The noise, any noise, made him think of the way the house used to be, bustling with activity at every level, every family member vying to make the most noise, explosions from the twins' room…

He had to stop remembering how things used to be. He had to stop trying to stop remembering. He knew he had to face the way things were, but that didn't mean he had to do it alone.

Ron grabbed a quill, an inkpot, and two pieces of parchment. With them on his desk he paused indecisively, then tentatively started his letters.

Day Eight of Harry's stay at Grimmauld House was hardly different than the previous seven, except he had changed his routine for the owl. He woke up just before it came and made sure to give it a bit of his breakfast. After this brief bout of activity, his day would cease to be interesting and he would sit on the floor and avoid thinking.

This day started no different. The owl came and left, and Harry mentally prepared himself for another day of doing nothing. He tried to convince himself that he liked his routine the way it was- uneventful.

His routine and excuse that he liked it were shattered when a Great Grey Owl fluttered through the window and collapsed. He jumped up, running to it. "Errol!" he exclaimed, then coughed. He hadn't spoken that loudly all week.

The feeble owl managed to stretch out a talon, offering him a letter. Harry's heart twisted. It had to be from Ron. Why hadn't he written sooner? He was probably perfectly happy with his family. Well, that was fine. Harry didn't need him to pretend to be concerned. He wouldn't even read the letter.

But as he looked at Errol gasping, yet still trying to offer him the letter, he knew he was being unfair. Harry couldn't just brush off Errol's effort like that. The valiant owl had done his best, and Harry couldn't bring himself to be callous enough to make him fail now. But before he took the letter, he brought over his barely-touched breakfast. Errol was the one who had worked, not him.

Finally, Harry couldn't put off taking the letter. He slit it carefully and fixed an unimpressed look on his face. But as he started reading, his hungry eyes made his face more hopeful than disdainful.

At the Burrow, Harry couldn't believe he'd almost refused to read Ron's letter. Mrs. Weasley's hug was familiar, and she didn't ask how he was or what he'd been doing with himself. She just sat him down for a late lunch. Harry didn't dare question how quiet the house was but the silent atmosphere was pressing down on him. Luckily for him, Ron's long nose poked around the corner of the stairs, and upon seeing him, Ron whooped and jumped down the last flight of stairs, barreling into Harry.

They couldn't help but laugh. It seemed jarring in the quiet house but Harry wouldn't let himself be ruled by the oppressive stillness. He was at the Burrow with Ron and he would be loud if he wanted to!

A knock sounded at the door and Harry and Ron both ran to it. Ron flung it open to reveal Hermione. Stress pulled at the corners of her eyes, but melted at the sight of them. Ron and Harry grabbed her in a bear hug, and she shrieked playfully. The silence didn't stand a chance.

After that, they couldn't stop talking. Not that they were talking about anything important. Ginny joined them, and eventually Harry asked her if she would be repeating sixth year or moving on to seventh when she returned to Hogwarts.

"Well, both," Ginny said.

"How would that even work?" Hermione asked. "There's simply no way to fit two years of curriculum into one."

Ginny shrugged. "The professors promised us that we'd have hardly any homework but longer classes. That way, the entering first-years won't be held back by everyone else."

"It should work," Ron added. "If the professors teach the essentials well enough, they can definitely fit two years in one. Besides, since there'll be less students they'll be able to work with specific people more."

"Ron!" Hermione hissed, glancing at Harry.

"What? OH! No. I don't mean the people who died," Ron awkwardly attempted to explain. "I just mean, well, the Death Eaters are in Azkaban, right?"

"So?"

"Well, with the Slytherins gone, there'll be more time for everyone else."

"Not all Slytherins are Death Eaters," Harry said.

Ron waved a hand. "Enough of them have Death Eater families."

"That's not their fault." Harry didn't know why he was arguing this. And he didn't know if "he" was himself or Ron.

"Nobody's going to want them," Ron warned.

"No," Hermione said quietly, "but they'll be there anyway. They deserve an education too."

Ron scoffed and fell silent moodily. Harry was quiet too. He knew plenty of the Slytherins were innocent, but what about Draco Malfoy? He had literally led the Death Eaters into the school. Would he be back? Did he deserve another chance?

"Dinner!" Mrs. Weasley called from downstairs, making the four of them jump. They hadn't realized that they'd allowed themselves to become quiet. They all stood and made their way downstairs, making the necessary comments to break the silence without mentioning their disagreement.

Word count: 1668

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