Once all the letters were sent, Harry, Hermione, Kreacher and Winky set about cleaning the house from the ground up. After three days, Hermione was banished to the library, having never gotten the knack for household charms, despite her usual method of practice-until-the-subject-gives-in. After a week, the funerals began, and Harry had to be disguised as best as they could.

So, dressed in a mousy brown wig, with make-up over his slightly diminished scar, contact lenses to make his eyes a muddy brown, with Kreacher attending to quietly tell the families in public hearing that "Master Potter will not be attending, he doesn't want anyone to forget who this day is about." (a code established during prior visits to the families that he was there, honouring the dead, despite appearances) and dressed in a series of unremarkable outfits, Harry attended a multitude of funerals, of acquaintances, of friends, of those close enough to be family.

Colin Creevey's funeral hit Harry particularly hard. When he and Hermione returned from the graveyard, he bolted into his room, removed his disguise at speed, and changed into the clothes he used while cleaning, before racing into the one room no one had yet dared touch. The attic. Hermione and the house-elves looked at each other, then walked into the kitchen. They had come to an unspoken agreement to let Harry have what space he needed, and just check on him occasionally to make sure he ate.

Half an hour later, there was a knock on the door. Hermione rose from her seat in the library and went to the parlour, where Kreacher had no doubt led the guest. She walked in and saw Andromeda Tonks.

"Mrs Tonks, hello. Would you like me to go and get Harry?"

"Please." Andromeda's tone was polite, but tense and strained. Hermione wondered what was going on as she walked up the stairs to get Harry.

Harry himself had made quite good progress cleaning in the attic while channeling all his feelings. He'd discovered a large old trunk, and after checking it for curses, had opened it, to find it filled, with a letter sitting on top. He'd just picked up the letter when Hermione walked in.

"Harry, sorry to disturb you, but Mrs Tonks is downstairs, and she wants to see you." He nodded, dropped the letter into the chest and closed it, then stood.

"Ok. I'll just drop this in my room then we can go see what she wants."

As he went to walk past her, Hermione grabbed his arm. He half turned and looked at her quizzically.

"I'm worried Harry. She sounded really... I don't know. Off." He put his arm around her and she leaned into his neck.

"I'm sure it's nothing, 'Mione. She's probably just stressed with helping Tonks with the baby. It'll be ok."

"How can you still be so positive Harry?" He pressed a kiss into her hair.

"Because if I wasn't, they'd have put me in St Mungo's." She looked up at him sharply, and saw the true depth of despair, bereavement and pain in his eyes. She wondered how one person could hold all that emotion and not explode. Unlike Ronald, she would never accuse Harry of having the emotional range of a teaspoon. An ocean, possibly, but never a teaspoon. She flung her arms around him and crushed herself to him.

"Hey," he wheezed, laughing a little, "I'm ok, I'm not going anywhere, I promise." She held him tighter. "Come on, let's drop this off and go see Mrs Tonks, she probably thinks we got eaten by a wardrobe by now." As much as it sounded like it, that wasn't entirely a joke. She reluctantly let go, and they made their way downstairs.