Summer '96
Harry Potter gazed dismally out of his second story window on Privet Drive. It had been two weeks since his departure from Hogwarts and, though conditions with his relatives had improved greatly following the incident at Kings Cross, Harry had never been in worse turmoil or misery.
He couldn't stop thinking about that veil. It constantly fluttered through his dreams at night, along with visions of that uncomprehending expression his Godfather's face had worn as he fell through the black curtain. His stomach was often twisted into a knot of guilt and loneliness. Harry did feel slightly uncomfortable around his friends now, but he was beginning to miss their company.
"I wish it could be like it used to be Hedwig," Harry muttered absently while stroking the owl's snowy white head, "when Voldemort was barely alive and there wasn't so much to worry about. Now it feels like everything's falling apart, even my friendship with Ron and Hermione."
Harry reached across his desk and picked up the old photo album Hagrid had given him in first year. He sat on his bed and opened the book, flipping through the pages filled with pictures of his smiling parents. "They were so happy," he thought, I don't think I remember what it's like to be that happy."
"That's it," Harry spoke out loud, reaching a decision. "I need a break."
He closed the book and looked at his clock. Almost midnight. He would write Ron tomorrow ... then they would work out a plan.