Enlighten me, siphon me of creativity
Wither me out like a husk
Frightening, tightening grip on reality
Sun's getting low now, it's dusk
Valiant Hearts - "Medusa"
Narcissa stood silent, Draco pulled close to her side, her fingers digging sharply into the meat of his upper arm through his dark robes as the ekphora* exited the tiny village mortuary and passed them by. They had flooed to the small wizarding village of Widowmere in Shropshire where her sister Andromeda had made a home with her husband and daughter. Unable to disillusion themselves without wands, Narcissa kept Draco and herself out of sight in a narrow alleyway near the village graveyard. Thankfully it was dark enough in the pre-dawn light that the two wouldn't be easily spotted by the procession, even with their fair heads.
Narcissa was less than sure of how her sister would receive them and resolved not to approach the grieving woman until after the burial.
The funeral procession itself was short; many of the friends and family of her niece and that werewolf either already dead or busy preparing for other funerals. The bodies, presumably already bathed and shrouded, galleons on their tongues, were pulled along in a plain black carriage and Narcissa felt her son flinch at the unfamiliar sight of the skeletal thestrals as they pulled it along the cobblestones.
Following the carriage were half a dozen Aurors in their robes, two elderly muggles Narcissa took to be Edward Tonks' parents, a number of strangers she didn't recognise, and Harry Potter alone at the rear pushing a shaded pram. Andromeda led the thestrals, looking drained and half dead herself, hair shorn months earlier in mourning of her late husband. Still, she had never more resembled their mad sister than she did now, wailing like a banshee and clawing at the black fabric of her mourning gown. Narcissa could see many villagers who lived along the road opening their windows to peer out on the ekphora as it travelled to the graveyard, weeping sympathetically at Andromeda's broken-hearted keening. Tears, too, travelled unimpeded from her own eyes as she watched them pass.
It wasn't until Harry Potter and the baby passed in front of their hideaway that they stepped out and joined the parade. Ever vigilant, Potter saw them in the shadows before they emerged, green eyes flicking from Draco to her and back, lingering on her son before nodding his head politely, uttering a quiet greeting for them both.
"Missus Malfoy. Draco. I don't know how happy Andromeda will be to see you here..."
Narcissa nodded her understanding while Draco remained silent. "Even so; now is the time to pay reparations for deeds past. It is my duty to show my respects for my sister's family."
"I'm glad," Potter said simply before turning once more to lead the way through the black gates of the village necropolis.
*
The ekphora wound through the worn paths of the graveyard to a lot near the far left corner where a pyre already stood near to a marble stele, carved and painted with the Tonks coat of arms. On the ground below were four slabs marking the graves of both Andromeda and her husband as well as her daughter and son-in-law. Of the four, only Andromeda's remained incomplete.
Once the group reached the plot, Andromeda ceased her screaming. As the undertaker lept down from the carriage, Andromeda fell to her knees before the funeral pyre, withdrawing an earthenware bottle which she uncorked, the content of which she poured into the ground in libation as she began to pray. The undertaker levitated the shrouded bodies one by one to the tall pyre, placing two finely carved pewter larnakes within the open graves while the lyrist began to strum a hauntingly familiar melody.
With a flick of the undertaker's wand, the pyre was engulfed in flames. Narcissa held her breath along with all the others assembled, watching as the shrouds blackened and turned to ash, showing the pale, dead flesh through the raging flames. Her sister barely flinched from her spot before the fire, in spite of the intensity of the heat that even Narcissa could feel in the back of the crowd.
Above the sounds of Andromeda's fervent prayers and the intermittent sobbing from the crowd, the sad yet hopeful melody of the Song of Seikilos rang out, a lament Narcissa recalled clearly from her aunt and uncle's funeral years ago.
"Hoson zēs, phainou
Mēden holōs sy lypou;
Pros oligon esti to zēn
To telos ho chronos apaitei."*
Narcissa cried silently, wishing she could be allowed to take her sister into her arms and offer what little comfort she could. From the corner of her eye, she saw Potter bend down to retrieve her niece's young son; though she assumed he must have cast a silencing charm around the infant as even now he didn't cry. Potter was, however, and he held the babe close to his chest like he could protect the child from the horror of seeing his parents burn. Or, perhaps it was young Teddy offering comfort to the Saviour. Narcissa would have shrugged it off, but Draco tugged free of her grip and stumbled over to stand next to the small hero. She watched, bemused, as the two boys stared at one another silently before Potter inhaled a shuddering breath and leaned his shoulder against her son's.
As the song came to a close, the undertaker extinguished the fire; the magic having allowed it to burn hotter and faster than ordinary flame, already reducing the bodies within it to dust and ash. He magically directed the ashes into their respective larnakes*, and Andromeda herself stood and stepped forward. Kneeling in front of the graves, she placed a wand into each larnax; the ones belonging to Nymphadora and Mr Lupin. She then closed the lids of the ash boxes and stood, heedless of the dirt on her already ruined clothing.
"Woe is me," Andromeda cried, voice hoarse from the wailing and sobbing, but strong nonetheless in the quiet of dawn, "that I have lost my only daughter so soon after the death of my beloved husband. Woe is my grandson who has lost both his parents in this terrible war and left us each with none but one another. My daughter," here her voice broke, tears streaming carelessly down her un-made face, "and her husband both fought valiantly for this country. To protect us from the dark wizards who would have destroyed us all. They lived and died as heroes, and they will be remembered as such in our hearts. They were good soldiers, but they were better people: kind, honourable, righteous. It is not only we who mourn their passing but all of Wizarding Britain, for they will never see their like again in this world. I know that they have passed by now into the Elysian Fields to live in aeternam among the heroes of old. I only pray that I may be with them there upon my own death. I do not mourn my daughter, nor my son in law, nor even my husband, as I know in my heart they will be well kept in the House of Hades. I cry now for myself and my grandson, that we must live the remainders of our lives without them. I pray that th- you!"
Narcissa flinched and forced herself not to take a step back from the anger and loathing in her sister's eyes as she flung herself towards her.
"How dare you come here!" Andromeda screeched, brandishing her wand at Narcissa who did retreat now, unarmed and unprotected. She raised her hands placatingly.
"Andie, I know that I have hurt you in the past-"
"Do not call me that! You have no right to be here! It was you that killed them!"
Narcissa shook her head, pleadingly, "No, Andromeda! We've already been tried, veritaserum and all – we're innocent! We made mistakes, yes, but we've killed no one!"
Andromeda only cast off her reassurances. "No. No, every one of you is the same. Every one of you is guilty of my daughter's murder. And my husband's! The Wizangamot was wrong, Narcissa! You and your whole family should be in Azkaban along with every other Death Eater! Or better yet: slaughtered like our sister!"
Narcissa cried, silently, trembling. "Andromeda, I'm sorry-"
"Leave! Both of you," here she gestured to Draco who stood clutching the Boy Who Lived like a lifeline, "or I will kill you both where you stand!"
"Andromeda!" Harry Potter cried, and Narcissa saw him push forward, but Gawain Robards beat him to her, holding her sister by the wand arm and lowering the weapon.
"Missus Tonks, Please. Don't make me arrest you," Robards reasoned while Andromeda shook in anger.
"She's your sister, Andromeda. She just wanted to pay her respects," Potter defended her again and Narcissa wondered what she had done to warrant such loyalty from the Saviour of the Wizarding World.
"No," Andromeda denied. "My family disinherited my when I was eighteen years old. I have no sister. She is an intruder and a criminal and I want her away from here."
Narcissa wanted to argue, but Robards stared sternly at her and she relented.
"Very well," she muttered with as much dignity as she could muster. "Come, Draco." She spun around on her heels, avoiding eye contact with any of the gathered mourners and reached for Draco who took her arm willingly, glancing at Potter who looked back with an apology in his green eyes.
As quickly as they could, they made their way out of the graveyard and into the small temple, flooing back to the Manor as soon as they reached the fireplace.
*
In Narcissa's opinion, the Manor had not been a home to anyone since Lucius' arrest after that debacle at the Department of Mysteries, two years earlier. Since then, a dark aura had settled into the very walls of the house, permeating the stones of the foundation itself.
Her Pureblood upbringing instilled in her a deep respect and for the history of the old home – nearly as old as Hogwarts itself, in fact – and none could deny the aesthetic appeal of the Gothic architecture, the 18th-century decor, the garden, the vineyard. Family clout aside, there was a reason why Malfoy Manor had always been a hub of social gatherings. However, Narcissa had never felt truly at home there.
Lucius' parents had disapproved
of their marriage, her father-in-law having betrothed Lucius to Corban Yaxley´s sister, Veleda, while they were still at Hogwarts. When Lucius broke his betrothal to marry Narcissa, instead, his parents refused to allow her to live in their home, and instead, the two moved to a property in Normandy which Lucius had inherited upon his coming-of-age. They lived in that house for years, raising their son until Lucius´ father, Aloysius died of Dragon Pox in 1996 and Lucius officially became Lord Malfoy and inherited the family seat.
Even though Aloysius was dead, and his wife Juliette retired to a villa in Provence, Narcissa could only associate her new home with the frigidity with which she had been met during the early years of their marriage.
Then the Dark Lord had appropriated the manor as his own stronghold, and Narcissa became a prisoner in her own house.
While a part of her mourned the loss of the ancestral home, a larger, guilty majority could not help but say "good riddance" to so many years of unpleasant memories.
The Dark Lord and his followers had laid claim to the west wing, ground floor, and library while they lived in the Manor, so Narcissa and Draco avoided those areas as they had done for nearly two years now, arriving instead in the second-floor drawing room.
Narcissa ordered Flipsy to bring them up a light breakfast as Draco pulled off his formal robes and cravat, unbuttoning his high collar and shirtsleeves. While she sat primly on her favourite chaise, Draco sprawled on the window seat, throwing open the casement window and digging his cigarette case out from his waistcoat pocket.
Narcissa disapproved of her son's habit, but she felt she had given up the right to scold him when she had failed him as a mother so spectacularly. She said nothing on the matter, therefore, just as she said nothing about the drinking or the abuse of sleeping potions she knows he has been brewing. Since the trial, Draco has been much more open with his unfavourable habits, rebelling against the etiquette and traditions she and Lucius had demanded of him from a young age. She believed he was doing so in an effort to garner a reaction from her, but Narcissa would not push. She and her husband had caused their son enough grief in pushing him to be more like his father; if Draco wished to rebel he could do as he pleased. Perhaps the man he grew into would be better than the one they had tried to mould him into.
"I meant to ask Potter to give me my wand back," Draco said casually as Flipsy placed a tray upon the coffee table.
Narcissa poured herself an espresso and spread a spread butter and orange marmalade on a thick slice of bread. "We will be in London next week, I'm sure we can find time to stop by. I don't believe Mister Potter will deny you your wand if you ask for it."
Draco shrugged, blowing smoke out of the window. "Well, I certainly can't go to Olivander's. How do you know Potter's in London?"
She blew on the hot liquid before taking a small sip, savouring rich, bitter flavour on her tongue. "Did he not inherit his godfather's family home? I know where it is, of course. My father took us, girls, to see our aunt and uncle many times as children. You've been once when you were very small. I'm not surprised you don't remember; I don't think you had quite started your lessons yet.
"Hmm," Draco hummed noncommittally as he flicked the butt of his cigarette outside, leaving the window open as he moved to the settee opposite Narcissa, mixing cream and sugar into his espresso.
As conversation petered out, Narcissa stared out onto the vineyard missing her home in France more keenly than she had in years. She wouldn't be able to return there until her probation was lifted at least. Perhaps not until Lucius himself was released. If she would remain with him when he was released.
She looked again at Draco and mourned the life they had tried to build for him as she mourned the life she had built for herself.
*
Harry held Teddy close to his shoulder while Andromeda raged through her cottage kitchen, shaking with emotion as she slammed her cabinets.
"Andromeda, would you like me to make the tea?" he offered tentatively.
Andromeda snapped her head around to glare at him. Harry tensed nervously, but the woman only nodded tensely before sitting stiffly at the kitchen table. With a silent sigh of relief, Harry lifted Teddy and pulled a pair of ceramic teacups out of the cupboard. Quickly spooning tea leaves into the pot and using a quick Aquamenti he charmed the pot to begin heating.
"You looked awfully close to Narcissa and her son at the funeral," Andromeda noted accusingly.
Harry shrugged guiltily, patting Teddy's small back. "They joined us when we came out of the temple," Harry explained.
Andromeda sneered and Harry thought she wouldn't appreciate how much like her sister she looked when she did that. "You seemed quite friendly with them."
Harry sighed. "Andromeda, you know that I advocated for them during the trials. I am the reason Narcissa and Draco didn't go to Azkaban. I've forgiven them for what they did during the war; in fact, they actually helped me against the Death Eaters-"
"Too little, too late," Andromeda protested dismissively.
"Maybe," Harry acceded, "but I trust them. They helped me when it would have been more to their advantage to hand me over to Voldemort. Draco and I have never been what anyone would consider 'friends', but we've come to some kind of understanding in the meantime and I'm willing to move on if he is. Which he seems to be, so, I mean..."
The witch snorted, "They could have stopped it. Ted. Dora. So much of the war was their fault."
Harry shook his head, "They were in the middle of it, yeah, but they were helpless against Voldemort. I saw what went on at Malfoy Manor, Andromeda. You know that I had visions, I saw through Voldemort's eyes. I saw him torment them. Torture them just as much as he tortured the muggles and Muggle-borns. Lucius fell out of favour years ago, Andromeda. They didn't have a say."
She pressed her lips together, and Harry ignored the wobbling in them, flinching when the teapot screamed. Shushing the baby when he began to cry, Harry poured the tea into their cups and brought Andromeda's to the table before going back for his own half-filled glass, nose wrinkling discreetly in distaste as he had never been a fan of tea, really. The smell reminded him of Aunt Petunia.
Still, he brought his tea back to the table and took a few polite sips as Andromeda moved the conversation onward. Harry took her up on her offer to stay for breakfast, "I've still got some canned beans in the cupboard. I can't stand the stuff, but Ted used to take them with his toast, but now..." before he relinquished Teddy back to his grandmother, kissing her on the cheek as he wished her farewell, flooing back to the Burrow to prepare for his second funeral of the day.
*
"Oh! Harry," Molly startled as he tumbled gracelessly out of the floo. "How was the Lupin... How was Andromeda?" the matron gave a tremulous but sympathetic smile, patting Harry's arm as he dusts himself off.
Harry shrugged. "It went about as one would expect, I think. The funeral was nice until Andromeda caught sight of the Malfoys and started screaming."
"Oh dear," Molly muttered worriedly.
"Yeah, so it ended on a bit of a bad note, but other than that..."
Molly furrowed her brow, "Why were the Malfoys there do you think?"
Harry blinked, startled by the question. "Narcissa said she wanted to pay respect and make reparations. I guess she figured her niece's funeral was a good place to start. Probably a bad decision on her part, but she really did seem like she was trying. It was just bad timing, I think."
Molly nodded uncertainly but seemed to trust his judgement. "Well, as long as it all went well..."
Harry wandered upstairs, peaking into the room Hermione was sharing with Ginny.
"How was the funeral, Harry?" Ginny asked as Hermione flittered around the shared space, folding and packing for the journey she would be taking with Ron later that evening.
"It went all right. Draco and Narcissa Malfoy showed up, so that was exciting."
"Oh, I'll bet," Ginny agreed wryly.
"Are you all packed, Harry?" Hermione piped up from where she was currently trying to pick out her underwear from the mixed stack that Molly had washed for the girls the night before.
He confirmed that he was, but Ginny frowned. "You know you don't have to go just because Ron and Hermione won't be here. You're welcome to stay as long as you like. This is your home as much as mine or Ron's or any of the boys', really."
Harry only shrugged, awkwardly. "Yeah, I know, but... I mean, with everything, I think I really just need some time to myself. I think I'm going to go on holiday somewhere. America or something. India maybe. Or to the continent. I've never even been to France." Harry had no real plans, but he couldn't stay at the Burrow. He did know that none of the Weasleys would ask him to leave, or even feel that he didn't belong there. It wasn't about that. It was that Harry didn't feel like he belonged there, with them. Not after the War. Not after Fred died.
Truth be told, the Lupin funeral had left him more shaken than he'd expected. Andromeda's fulmination against the Malfoys had hit him hard, as all the blame the woman had laid on the Malfoys, Harry held against himself.
While he knew the Weasleys didn't blame him for Fred's death, that didn't stop him from blaming himself. Like the Weasleys, he couldn't look George in the face. But unlike the Weasleys it wasn't out of grief for Fred, but rather the guilt he felt when he looked at George. He missed Fred for his own sake, of course. Fred was a good friend and, in all honesty, a good brother to Harry, and Harry missed him keenly. But the idea of facing George
when Harry had all but killed the other half of him... it wasn't something Harry could take. So rather than stay in the Burrow, Harry decided to go his own way while his friends searched for Hermione's parents. It would be easier if he were on his own.
"Well," Ginny said grudgingly, "just... You don't have to. I mean, I'll miss you while you're gone. Oh! And McGonagall sent out letters this morning while you were gone, they're taking volunteers to start restoring Hogwarts on the twenty-third. Do you think you'll be back for that?"
Harry nodded, that sounded perfect, actually. If only it were starting tomorrow instead of three weeks from now. "That sounds brilliant, yeah. I'll write McGonagall and volunteer. I'll see you then, yeah?" Ginny's eyebrows furrowed unhappily and Harry tried to back out before the argument he knew was brewing.
"I'm gonna go see how Ron's doing-" he excused himself, but Ginny interrupted,
"Actually, Harry can I talk to you for a second?" She pulled him outside and closed the door for privacy, looking down the hallway to check for any errant siblings before casting a quick Muffliato around the two of them. "Harry," she started and he sighed.
"Gin, do we really have to do this right now?"
Ginny only crossed her arms. "The fact that there's a 'this' means that yes, we really do. What's going on, Harry? You've been avoiding me for a month. The war's over, Harry. There's nothing left to 'protect' me from, or whatever crap excuse you keep giving for pushing me away, and with Fred..." her voice broke and Harry could only just hide a flinch, "Just... now's the time when we really need to be there for each other, support one another, and heal but we can't do that if you won't talk to me!"
Harry rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. "Gin, I told you. I just really need some space right now. I'm... I'm not in a good place just now. I'm just... not ready to pick back up where we left off," he admits, cautiously.
Ginny gasped, taking a half a step back. "Are you- are you breaking up with me right now?" she asked incredulously.
Harry shook his head and came forward, hands out placatingly. "No, not... I mean, we've been on a break all this time, right? I just need to – extend that, a little longer. Just until I figure some things out. I just... I don't know what I want right now. What I need. I just know that I can't really be with you until I know I can actually be with you."
Ginny scoffed, shaking her head. "Whatever, Harry. Let me know if you actually get things 'figured out'". Harry watched as she stalked back into her room, slamming the door behind her. Harry watched, resigned, coming fingers through his messy hair as he wished there was an easier way to just go back to the way things had been before.
If he was honest, he knew he wasn't getting back together with Ginny. Not after everything that had happened with Malfoy. He didn't know how he could ever admit that he had cheated on Ginny – because, yes, he knew now that that's exactly what he had done. How could he tell her that? How would the Weasleys react? He could lose them all. Lose Ron and Hermione even. Maybe he was a coward, but he couldn't face the idea of losing everyone he loved. He couldn't stand to be around the Weasleys right now, but he would get over that. He had to. They were his family now. They were all he had left.
*
Harry huffed with effort as he and the other Weasley boys bore Fred's casket up the stairs and into the small village chapel. He's momentarily startled by the strong smell of incense and doesn't quite make out what the priest says as he sprinkles water over the casket. The priest is dressed all in black as are the others with him, but Harry can't tell who is who. The Dursley's never brought Harry along with them to church, his Sunday ritual normally having been to have food ready by the time the family returned.
"Procedamus in pace," says one of the men, which Harry mentally translates to "proceed in peace", thanking the Latin foisted on him at Hogwarts as he and the other boys trail the priests and … altar boys? down the aisle, the choir singing hauntingly as they proceed:
"Requiem æternam dona eis, Domine:
et lux perpetua luceat eis.
Te decet hymnus, Deus, in Sion,
et tibi reddetur votum in Ierusalem:
exaudi orationem meam,
ad te omnis caro veniet.
Requiem æternam dona eis, Domine:
et lux perpetua luceat eis."*
Once they've placed Fred's body where they bid to, they're gestured to sit and Harry does so gratefully. After Remus and Tonks' funeral earlier, he was expecting more use of magic, and was vastly underprepared for physical labour, lamenting his poor shape. Although they had spent much of the last few months walking from place to place, his lack of proper nutrition and general physique made for weak physical prowess.
Harry sits close to Hermione, Ron on her other side holding her hand as the priest continues the mass. Harry wishes he could hold her hand as well, but leaves the couple to themselves instead.
He doesn't pay much attention to the readings, unable to take his eyes from the wooden box holding Fred's remains. Before his eyes flash the memory of Remus and Tonks burning into ash that morning. Ashes to ashes and dust to dust he recalls and imagines Fred disintegrating as they did. He supposes it wouldn't matter to them one way or the other what happens to their bodies; they won't feel the passage of time as it eats away at what remains of their flesh, nor did Remus and Tonks feel the heat of the fire as it licked them. They would feel neither hot nor cold, comfortable in the thick mist of the afterlife.
He wonders if they, too, would pass through the ghostly version of King's Cross as he did. If Dumbledore was there for them at the moment of their passing. He wonders which train they took and where they are now; if they are with their family and friends who came before them. He knows that Remus reunited with Sirius and Harry's parents. He wonders if Tonks joined him wherever they are. If Fred did.
He hopes that his mother takes as good care of Fred as Molly has taken of Harry all these years.
He wishes he could take Fred's place at her side and give George back his twin. His heart twinges in longing and mourning both. Stomach clenching around the guilt that has sat in him like a stone this past month while the bodies of the Dead have been processed and causes of death determined as if it even matters.
He wonders if, when it comes time to determine the cause of his own death, it will show the Slytherin-green evidence of Voldemort's killing curse; if his first death will confuse them. If there will even be proof of his second death at all, or if it will merely show that he has been dead all along.
An inferi.
A ghost.
*
He bears the casket once more out into the graveyard, breathing for the second time that day the scent of grave dirt and cool mist of unsettled spirits. Finally, the priest unsheathes a wand and lifts their heavy burden from their arms, lowering the casket into the open grave.
Stepping back, the Priest once again intones, "Commendamus autem misericordia tua, clementissime Pater anima fratris nostri abiit in terram suam iubemus tellus tellus cinis cinerem spargens cinerem. Et rogamus tuam infinitam bonitatem et da nobis gratiam vivere tuum timorem et amorem et mori in tuam gratiam, ut cum Iudicii dies advenerit, quæ operabaris tuo dilecti Filii, et hoc nostrum fratrem et nos may be found in conspectu tuo semper. Praesta, Pater piissime, propter Iesu Christi salvatoris nostri tantum, Mediatorem et Advocatum. Amen."*
Once he's finished, the Weasleys each bend to take a fistful of the black dirt, and Harry follows suit, as they toss the dirt onto Fred's casket.
"Et audivi vocem de caelo dicentem" the priest intoned once more, "'scribe: beati mortui qui in Domino moriuntur amodo.' 'Iam dicit Spiritus ut requiescant a laboribus suis opera enim illorum sequuntur illos.'* Regi autem saeculorum, inmortali, invisibili soli Deo, honor et gloria in saecula saeculorum. Amen "
"Amen," the crowd responds, and Harry in kind.
Molly is sobbing into Arthur's chest. All the Weasleys are crying, along with most of the other attendants, many of whom Harry even recognises. George is dry-eyed, but blank-faced in the same shock that has consumed him since Fred's death, as if he can't bring himself to accept that Fred is gone, let alone the ceremony of his inhumation. He is reminded in contrast to Andromeda's loud wailing. If he were to have guessed he would have attributed the dignified stoicism to Andromeda's pureblood upbringing, and the unselfconscious public mourning to the Weasley's usually boisterous natures. He wonders now about the cultures into which they've grown up. He knows he himself has lived a sheltered life, unaccustomed to the cultures of both wizards and muggles alike, but now he wonders just how different the world that the Purebloods inhabit truly is from the modern, muggle influenced one that Harry has seen living with the Weasleys, and to what extent it has shaped them.
They make it back to the burrow, eventually, the Sun low on the horizon. They have little time to settle, however, and Ron is forced to hold his ground as his mother pleads for them to stay and have one last dinner before they go.
"We've got to go, Mum," Ron entreaties, "our port-key leaves in half an hour."
"So take one tomorrow!" Molly begs, but Ron only shakes his hand, wrapping his long arms around the older woman.
"We've got to go," he says again, thickly. Molly hugs him tightly, releasing him only to pull Hermione and Harry into her warm embrace.
"You're sure you've got to go as well, Harry? There's no need for you to rush!"
Harry smiles thinly, awkwardly. "No, like I told Ginny, I'm actually going on Holiday for a while. Until Midsummer, at least."
"Oh?" Molly
inquires as Ron and Hermione eye him curiously, "Whereabouts are you going then?"
"America," he decides off the top of his head. "I'm taking the first port-key tomorrow morning, but I'll be spending the night at Grimmauld Place, making sure everything's all set for my leaving." Not that he's spent any time there since the War ended. Or as if he actually plans to leave at all. "I'll call 'round in a few weeks. When I get back," he promises before she can protest.
"Well, we've got to be off," Hermione cuts in, insistently. "We'll write to you once we get there, keep you all up to date with what's going on. Harry, you'll write to us when you get back, yeah?" Harry agrees, feeling the guilt at lying to his friends but unable to help it, needing the solitude after all this time.
"'Course."
With one last hug from Ron and Hermione and a pat on the shoulder from Arthur, they're off. Ron and Hermione flooing to the Key Port, bound for Australia. Once they've disappeared, he steps into the floo himself, and in a flash of green flame, finds himself in the dark, dusty parlour at 12 Grimmauld Place.
"Home, sweet home," he says to himself as the heavy silence settles in around him.