I crept downstairs, unable to sleep. Things had finally calmed down here at the burrow, ever since the memorial service for those lost in the war a few weeks ago things had seemed to start to get better. Percy had returned to his apartment earlier tonight after long stay here, Bill and Fleur had gone back to Shell Cottage a few days ago, Charlie was long gone, back to Romania, and George had left a week ago. Ron, Harry, and Hermione were still here, until school starts again I suppose. Hermione said that being here with us really helped her, but Harry…well, I'm not sure anyone really knows how to help him. Maybe one of us would be able to help him if he just bloody opened up to us once in a while! I guess that's not fair, its not really his fault, but still!
Hermione had said something about Harry mentioning returning to Grimmauld Place soon and that had me worried, he can't leave! I need him here. I also watched him fight Hermione about returning to Hogwarts, as did half of my household. Of coarse Hermione had won, but Harry had put up quite a fight. I can understand him there though, Hogwarts held so many horrible memories now, ever since the final battle. It just seemed like Harry was escaping time with us if he could, with most people really. Harry probably thought it was some big secret that he blamed himself for Fred's death but most of us new that he felt that way, even if it was completely ridiculous.
"He's just being stupid," I murmured to myself as I stepped quietly down the last few stairs onto the bottom flight.
But I stopped short and held my breath as I saw someone in the living room, by the fire that was dieing out from earlier. I could see it was Harry by the dim light the fire produced and I kept extremely quiet, wondering why he was down here. As I was about to ask him something happened that shocked, saddened, worried, and scared me more than I'd like to admit.
The Boy Who Lived, The Chosen One, the savior of the wizard race…all that went out the window and all that was left behind was Harry. Simply the seventeen year old boy who had seen too much pain for his years sat quietly in my living room. I watched as he crumbled before my eyes. His jaw clenched and his hands moved to cover his face, he let out a long low breath and his shoulders slumped forward, as if, finally, too much weight had been put on them.
Tears streaming down my face, I slowly backed upstairs. Maybe this was the beginning of Harry's healing process or maybe this happened more often than not, but one thing I was sure about. Tomorrow I would be talking to him about this, I would do my best to help him.