After putting his things away and adding some dried meat to Hedwig's bowl, Harry deftly retrieved the cleaning supplies from the cupboard under the stairs that had once been his bedroom.
Thanks to Petunia and Vernon, he had learned to clean from a very young age.
He had always done it with anger and resentment before, but now Harry discovered that he was actually willing to do it.
First, he packed the rubbish into large black plastic bags, fighting back his nausea as he dealt with the vomit-stained bottles and carpet.
Meanwhile, his mind wandered. If only I could use magic. Hermione taught me how. All it would take was Scourgify...
But then he thought of Aunt Petunia's condition. This place had always been spotless before, gleaming like a mirror.
Harry had never really understood how much Vernon's death had hurt Petunia.
Only when he saw that Petunia, who was obsessive about cleanliness, had let her life fall into complete disarray did he realize what that round, heavily mustached, bad-tempered man had meant to her.
The place was such a mess that even after Harry worked himself into a sweat, he had only managed to clean the living room and kitchen.
As he wiped away his sweat and massaged his arms, he discovered that Petunia had arrived at the door at some point, carrying a large bag of things.
She looked at the living room, tidy once more, and awkwardly reached up to smooth the hair hanging beside her ear.
She set down the things she was carrying.
"It's quite clean."
Petunia changed into her slippers, picked up the mop beside her, and headed upstairs.
"Prepare the-could you please prepare those vegetables?"
She paused, as though trying to explain something.
"I mean, it's a mess upstairs, and I-I'm afraid I