A/N: I haven't written anything in a long time, but this pretty much clawed its way out. It's different from what I've written before, and maybe some would call it OOC!Harry but I think this is a reasonable reaction. I've never been a big fan of that epilogue, anyways, except for the exciting new characters it provided for us to work with.
We thought everything would be better after the war. Surely once the battle was over, once Voldemort was vanquished, we could pick up the pieces and life would go back to how it should have been.
It wasn't that easy.
There had been so many deaths, and worst of all were the ones close to us. Fred. Tonks and Remus. Even Colin Creevey. The first two weeks were a haze of tears and memorials, but at least everyone emerged calmer. Things had changed, of course. Andromeda Tonks had quietly gathered Teddy into her arms and stated that she was taking him home. Nobody argued with her iron tones. George was mostly silent, his smile horribly brittle, but he (and Percy!) had eventually gone to rebuild Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. Molly could often be found looking at the family clock with tears in her eyes, but she still mothered everyone around her and cooked up a storm of delicious food. Things were going back to normal.
Ron and I went to Australia to fetch my parents, and on our way back, he turned to me after staring out of the airplane windows with child-like fascination. His blue eyes were solemn.
"Hermione," he said quietly. "Will you marry me?" I stared at him, my mouth open in shock. "Not right away!" he added hastily. "Just…some day? I don't want to pressure you," he went on earnestly. "I—Merlin, this is probably the worst time to ask, and I haven't even bought a ring yet, but I just—" he broke off, gazing at me. "I wasted so much time before, and all I can think about is how I could have lost you. And I love you, Hermione, no matter how much we argue. I'm done being a thickheaded prat about it."
"Oh, Ron," I whispered, fighting back tears. "I don't care about the rings. I love you too!" He grinned, looking relieved and infectiously happy and altogether adorable. "You aren't pressuring me at all," I added. "But there's one thing I disagree with you about."
"What?" he asked, looked quite confused.
"I do want to get married right away. Next month—next week, even! Like you said…I love you, and I'm done waiting."
We decided to have a small, intimate ceremony in early June, with just our families and closest friends. It was quiet, simple, and perfect on a beautiful summery afternoon.
It was perfect, and then everything fell apart again.
We hadn't seen Harry much after the final battle. He'd been there, certainly—he'd gone to every single memorial ceremony, even the ones for people he didn't know. He'd helped to clear up at Hogwarts, and then…
He was quiet and subdued, of course. We all were. It had been horrible, but for him it had been worse than anyone else. To actually die…not that many people knew about that. Still, it seemed perfectly reasonable for him to want to spend some time alone and think, and of course, he wanted to hide from the press, specifically, from one nosy beetle by the name of Rita Skeeter. Nobody was quite sure where he went, but we knew he was fine. After all, the Death Eaters had been defeated.
He came to our wedding, of course. He seemed more relaxed—different, of course. Nobody could be unchanged by war. But he was much better than the exhausted shell he'd been after the final battle.
Later, once the ceremony was over and everyone was dancing, he came up to us.
"Congratulations, Ron, Hermione," he said quietly, green eyes glinting happily. "I always knew you'd end up together." He smiled.
"Thanks, mate," Ron grinned in response. "It's nice to see you again. How are you?"
"Good," Harry replied, with a strange, faraway look in his eyes. "So much better. So much lighter, like I've never been before." He blinked and grinned at us, suddenly. It was so unlike him—it reminded me of Sirius, the Christmas before he died.
"I came here for your wedding, of course," Harry said. A sudden chill struck me, a sense of foreboding. "But," he continued, "I also came to say goodbye. I might not see you guys again for a long time."
"What? But why, mate? Where are you going?" Ron asked, his voice rising. Everyone else fell quiet, turning to look at us. Ginny's face was white, her eyes wide.
"You're leaving?" she whispered. "But I thought—but what about—" she broke off, before striding up to stare directly at Harry. "The war's over now." Her voice trembled slightly, but was still forceful.
"Yes, it is, and—I'm sorry, Ginny, but I don't think you should wait around for me," Harry said extremely gently.
"But I lo—well, you've won, haven't you? There's nothing left to do. What is there to leave for?" she asked wildly.
"Everything. There are so many things left to do." His voice was calm.
I didn't understand, not at all.
"But Harry," I asked, "I thought…we'd all move on together. Don't you want a family, like your parents?"
"Like the mirror in our first year," Ron added. "Your heart's desire."
"I do have a family, Ron," he laughed. "I have all of you. The people in the mirror—those were my ancestors. I know I'll see them again some day. But in the meanwhile…" He turned to look out over the garden, into the horizon, and was silent for a moment, before glancing back at us. "I died once, and I could have gone on, but I came back. And I came back to live. There's so much out there—so much to see, so much to do. The whole world, and I intend to see it all."
He looked at us, and his eyes were burning. I thought I had seen Harry determined before. I thought I had seen him full of energy, ready to fight—but that was nothing. That was sheer necessity, a survival instinct, the desperation of a dying man. This new Harry was full to the brim with the flames of life; they burned through his body and his gaze, burned up the idyllic visions I had of our future lives together, Ron and I with Harry and Ginny. And I knew there was no stopping it.
"Where are you going?" I whispered, but what I really meant was where have you gone, the Harry that I knew? What I meant was, where have you gone, that we cannot follow?
He smiled at all of us, and it was a great and terrible thing to see.
"I'm going down the rabbit hole," he said, before he turned and disappeared. We were left standing in shocked silence.
"I loved him," Ginny whispered. "I thought we would have a family and grow old together." She looked at me, her eyes pleading for comfort, for reassurance, but I had nothing to give.
"So did I," I said. "So did I."