Harry traced his finger along the waving flag that read Ginny Weasley on the Marauder's Map. Maybe it was just a product of his wishful thinking but she seemed to walk past the beach tree that overhung the black lake frequently, or at least more often then she would need to with daily life at Hogwarts. The same tree where they had spent many hot afternoons last spring, watching the squid lazily wave its tentacles towards the sky and, much to Ron's chagrin, snogging.
He sighed, how could everything have gone to hell so quickly? Or maybe his whole life had always been awful and he'd just recently taken the time to notice it. Ron's moaning certainly wasn't helping.
Neville Longbottom and Ginny Weasley were sitting beside each other in the Gryffindor common room. Harry could almost hear the fireplace crackling, rain pelting at the windows, the pops of Fred and George's latest experiment amid laughter and screams of delight.
The tent was pitched up in Dalby forest, a place where Harry had once been dragged to with the Dursley's. Back then, he had been scraggly, unhealthy, and wearing clothes that were too big. Now he was lean, bordering on unhealthy, and wearing clothes he had once fit in. Quidditch and Hogwarts food had given him some muscle, but a month of living in the tent and stealing from muggle markets, where they could, had worn all three of them down.
Hermione was pouring over a book titled Dark Magic for the Faint Hearted followed by a series of ancient runes that Harry couldn't decipher. He admired her no more than he had since the disastrous wedding. She was always prepared, always trying to be strong. The problem was that she seemed to be crumbling. But Harry wouldn't crumble, not now. Not when Ron and Hermione, Ginny and all the rest needed him so much to be the hero they expected.
If Ron would only stop complaining like the ghoul that used to live in his attic, and now lived in his bed, then maybe Harry might feel a little bit more productive as he read the daily prophet that he had managed to swipe for a careless wizard who was sitting at a muggle café in Chester. Ron was always hungry, or cold, or bored. Harry was far past the point of being irritated with his best mate.
Harry had thought, more than once, about going off on his own. It might be easier, he mused. All he'd need was the locket, his invisibility cloak, which had once belonged to his dad, and his wand. He figured that he could steal the rest. Ron was no help so far in there quest and Hermione had deep bags under her eyes from staying up late and reading. Never before had books failed her for so long.
He was a poison in their friend group; without him then they would be at the burrow. Maybe the two would hide in the attic or in a bunker. They would be happy, well fed with Mrs. Weasley nearby. The twins would be good company, and Ginny would visit during her holidays. They'd have a purpose beyond feeling miserable and trying to solve this impossible puzzle Dumbledore had given them.
Harry had all the pieces, he knew he did, he just needed to figure out how they all fit together.
As his eyes listlessly fell across the prophets propaganda Harry made the decision that would change his story forever. He pictured Hermione in the morning, panicking until she found the note he was planning on writing, Ron looking far too pale and silent. They would be better off without him.