A/N: Alright let's get this started. This is my first story that will be multi-chaptered so bear with me (Jay, I heard that and it was very unkind), I'll do my best to do this properly ya'll can mind your manners okay? Xale do the disclaimer.
Xale:"She owns nothing and knows nothing about any attempts by her representatives to acquirer Harry Potter for her. Happy?"
Not really but we'll talk later. To the rest of you, Enjoy!
Repetition is the Mother of Annoyance
Prologue- Running
That's it. He0 was finished. It just wasn't worth it. His parents, Cedric, Broderick, Dumbledore and now Ron and Hermione- who if not for their belief in him would be populating the world with little- red headed children with uncertain tempers and lots of intelligence- were dead.
A small voice in the back of his head said, 'At least they didn't die in vain.' Harry's twisted into a bitter smile. No they hadn't died in vain. Voldemort was dead and during the past few weeks he often caught himself wishing that he could bring the man back and give him a much longer and more painful death. One that wouldn't end until the madman realized the enormous cost that had been demanded on his insane quest for immortality. But... Harry always pushed those thoughts out of his mind; no matter how long he lingered on them because he knew that no matter how appealing the idea appealed to him they weren't ever going to happen. He refused to cheapen the sacrifices of his loved ones by acting in the same manner as those they had fought against.
He shook the wet out of his hair and wiped his glasses in a futile effort to improve his vision, it failed miserably as the rain re-soaked and speckled him within seconds. He was standing under a large ancient oak before the two headstones that had been raised only a few hours earlier to his two best friends. The rest of the mourners had disappeared, even the officiating priest had retreated to his small home on the edge of the graveyard grounds, respectfully leaving him alone with his grief.
He was grateful for that. The privacy that only a month ago he would have been hard pressed to get was now given to him with out a second thought, Harry had never hated silence so much. In the silence of his reclusive wanderings around his godfathers' ancestral home Harry found himself remembering the deathly silence that had reigned when Ron and Hermione had died, the terrible silence that Voldemort had maintained even in his death throes and all the other times in his life when silence had reigned supreme. He had found himself eventually reliving all the events in his life that had lead to him becoming a recluse at seventeen with all those close to him dead. It seemed fitting to him that after nearly a week of remembering the things that had happened to him, most especially those beginning with his entrance into the wizarding world, that he would put an end to that part of life with the two people that had truly made the wizarding world home for him.
Harry looked at the two grave-stones, watched as the rain trickled down the simple white marble slabs- engraved only with their names and dates, a rampaging lion their only decoration. He idly wondered how long it would take for the elements to wear those sharply defined symbols away. Hopefully never; he didn't want them forgotten, unlike himself whom he wanted be forgotten as soon as possible. The first steps towards that plan would be set into motion within a few hours but first he had to say goodbye. The dark- haired teen swallowed dryly a few times before he was able to speak.
"R-ron, Hermione, hell this feels weird, I guess if you guys can hear me- where ever you are- I just wanted to say thanks for so many things. For being my friends, for believing in me when I really needed you to, for everything really but most especially for stay with me. And I just wanted to say I'm sorry, for everything I didn't and should have done." He stopped for a second to clear his throat and wipe the tears that were unnoticeable in the downpour. "And I guess I just wanted to say goodbye."
Harry looked down at the soaked ground for several more seconds before looking up and around before looking down at his wristwatch, after noting the time he silently turned and made his way from the graves and out of the burial grounds pulling the hood of his cloak over his head as he went. Finally he came to the road picked up the two small but thickly wrapped bundles he had placed there in the shelter of a sprawling root system and with a loud crack disappeared.
The rain which had been coming down in a continuous torrent of celestial weeping, slowed then stopped as a soft breeze sighed through the branches of the oak setting the leaves to whispering. As the small wind died off so too did the noise of the leaves leaving the place where dozens of generations of Weasley's had come to be laid to rest silent.
According to witnesses at about a minute past midnight on July 31, Number 12 Grimmuld Place, went up in flames spontaneously and instantly. No warning flicker or concussion to alert anyone, just a sudden sprouting of flames that burned furiously for a little over five minutes despite the Ministry of Magic's best efforts to put them out. The flames never made any attempt to spread to the neighboring homes despite how close they were, they simply sprouted, raged for several minutes and then died out, just as suddenly as they appeared. It was later confirmed that the single casualty was a male positively identified as one Harry James Potter.