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Typical Mondays | 1

The sun's rays managed to penetrate through Grimmauld Place's dark curtains and enlightened the bedroom that once belonged to Sirius Black. Even though the man had passed away tragically years ago, the house wasn't completely empty nor lacked an owner. In fact, its new owner slept peacefully on his godfather's bed, snoring softly. Harry Potter, age twenty two, slept as if he had no other concern in this world, which was a lie. The only reason he was sleeping like that, released from the constant and all too familiar nightmares, was his medication that kept them away for a while. The light kept exploring the dark dusty room, climbing over the bed and scratching Harry's young bearded face. He stirred in his sleep and turned his back to the window, not giving the chance to the sunrise lights to disturb his sleep.

Instead, his alarm clock did so by going off.

He groaned as he reached to shut it off. Then he turned on his back, rubbing his eyes. He blinked several times, his emerald green eyes staring at the dark ceiling for a few moments before he threw the sheets away and abandoned the warmth of his bed. He walked over the bathroom wearing nothing but his underwear, exposing his well-built body to no one but Kreacher to see, but the old house-elf was probably too busy preparing breakfast downstairs. Harry walked over the bathroom with a grumble and shut the door behind him. The first thing he noticed was his reflection in the mirror, even if it was still blurry, for he didn't wear his glasses. He came closer to the mirror to see better the image he had already gotten used to.

The auror training and generally his job as one reflected on his body. He wasn't the thin tall boy he once used to be. Now he was taller and more muscular than he had ever been before. However, there was that nasty scar on the left side of his chest, similar to the one he had on his forehead, a “gift” given by the killing curse for the second time. It wasn't his only scar however. He had several others, less major than this one and of course numerous bruises. Also his beard had grown a lot. He needed to shave but he kinda liked it there. He decided to leave it up until he chose otherwise. Sighing, he opened the tap to throw some cold water on his face.
After he finished his business in the bathroom, he returned back to his room to get dressed into his auror uniform, put on his glasses and pull his long hair into a bun. Then he headed downstairs, trying to keep quiet. After all these years, he still hadn't figured out how to get rid of Mrs Black's annoying portrait. Even though no one had triggered her in years, Harry simply didn't want her there. She reminded him of Sirius and so did the house elf, but he couldn't kick Kreacher out. But as long as he didn't have a solution, she stayed.

He headed to the basement and found Kreatcher finishing off his eggs. The house-elf wasn't anything like he used to be. He had changed to the better, reminding of Harry the little period they had spent there him with Ron and Hermione during the Horcrux hunt. When they had accidentally betrayed the location to Yaxley, one of Voldemort's Death Eaters, the house-elf managed to flee away before he was captured, something that Harry praised him a lot for. It was a clever move to return to “Hogwarts”. The Death Eaters didn't care about the house-elves that worked there, who wss going to search there? Up to this day, he remained a happy old servant that loved serving his master, even if said master was quite reluctant with this type of slavery, but Harry knew he couldn't free him for various reasons. Besides, he was the only company he had around the dark house.

“Good morning, master,” Kreatcher greeted him. “Your eggs are ready.”

“Thank you, Kreacher,” Harry thanked him as he took a seat. A plate with the eggs appeared in front of him alongside a fork and a knife and Harry immediately digged in. He had almost finished his breakfast when owl croak's came from upstairs. His morning mail.

“Kreacher go and fetch me the mail, please,” he asked the house-elf kindly.

“Of course, master.” Kreacher bowed before rushing upstairs. He returned momentarily holding the morning paper of the Daily Prophet and a Quibbler. Xenophelius Lovegood had resumed the publishing of his paper once the war was over with the major help of his daughter, Luna. Even though the paper remained as eccentric as its owners, Harry had a monthly subscription and he enjoyed thoroughly their articles that covered most subjects. Sometimes they even had more serious articles about him, tributes about the war and “Hogwarts” in general. It was definitely more enjoyable than the Daily Prophet. The only reason why Harry even bothered was because he needed to be informed about what was going on in the Wizard War and what was said about the Auror Department. The good thing was that Rita Skeeter had remained true to her word and wasn't working for the Prophet.