The Lonely

For but a moment, there was peace. His mind was clear of all that had happened as he once again found himself where it all began in the greyish hue of the churchyard in Godric's Hollow.

Inevitably, the memories came flooding back and the hurt and the anger with it.

Harry had expected that Voldemort would one day return, that the Dark Lord would come for him. That was something he had accepted long ago, but everything else that had unfolded around him had not been, and it had left him in pieces.

Katie was dead.

He had seen her lifeless eyes for himself, the blood that pooled around her. There was no coming back from such a thing.

As much as he wished to be furious, in this moment, he could only focus on the heavy heart within his chest, every beat no less painful than anything he'd endured in the graveyard.

Harry had learned early on in life that crying solved nothing, but here, in the sanctuary of his own mind, he could not keep his composure. At first, the tears rolled down his cheek in a steady stream and he wiped furiously at them, only for more to follow.

Anger, he could understand and channel, but not this.

Nothing could release him from this prison of loss.

"It is always best to mourn. You can only heal if you accept it."

"You!" Harry snarled as he spotted the cloaked figure.

Without thought, he charged.

He had no wand to bear, only his hands with which he intended to throttle the figure. Of course, had he been thinking with any clarity he would have understood the futility of his efforts.

The figure simply vanished in a cloud of smoke and reappeared on the other side of the churchyard.

Again, Harry barrelled towards the figure, and once more, tripping and landing in a heap on the rune-marked stone where he choked back a sob. He couldn't be certain how long he stayed there with his thoughts having drifted to the unfairness of the world before he could only see Katie's face.

The way she smiled at him, the way she had teased him, and the way she had simply held his hand for no other reason than she wanted to…

It had all been taken away in the blink of an eye, and he would experience nothing of her ever again.

Swallowing deeply, he eventually stood. He felt no better for breaking down, but he knew he could not just remain on the floor forever, despite how much he wished to.

"Is she…?"

Harry could not bring himself to finish the question. In truth, he didn't even know what he was going to ask, but the figure seemed to know just what was running through the back of his mind.

"She is at peace," it answered. "Torment is only for the wickedest of souls. Where she is, there is no pain nor regret, only peace."

Harry nodded.

"Why?" he croaked.

"That is something I cannot answer. I only gather the souls; I do not choose when that is."

Sorrow.

Above all else, what Harry felt was sorrow, and though he took some comfort knowing Katie was at peace, it did little to ease his own suffering.

"I will be keeping you quite busy," he murmured.

"I expect that was why Fate decreed the girl was not to live. You are faced with monsters, Harry Potter, and often, you must become something akin to what it is you loathe."

"They are cowards!"

"And you are not," the figure pointed out. "You are bold, and you will need to be courageous in the days ahead. You are my chosen. You must become more than those who came before you. You cannot be only the wise nor the bold. You must be both in equal measures, and as cunning as your foe."

"He is better than me."

"For now," Death acknowledged. "It does not have to be so. Within you is everything you need to achieve victory. You are the best and the worst of your ancestors, but more than anything, you are the carrier of my legacy. Ignotus paved the way for you, but you can be so much more than he ever anticipated. It is my magic that flows through you. Use it to claim the souls of your enemies, Harry Potter. Use it and become what they fear the same way the world fears your enemy."

"How?"

"Embrace my presence within you, truly embrace it."

It made little sense to Harry, but he nodded tiredly.

"You will understand," the figure assured him. "Look for me in your heart of hearts. When you find me, you will know. Rise, Harry Potter. Your work has only just begun."

It was to the familiar smell of potions and ointment that Harry woke, the stark white ceiling of the Hospital Wing offending his clearing vision. It was almost reminiscent of when he'd come to from his time in the lake, though this time, his wounds were not so physical.

"Harry, can you hear me?"

"Unfortunately," he murmured.

Dumbledore looked over him with concern, the headmaster's eyes heavily bagged. Evidently, the man had not slept.

"How long this time?"

"Two days," Dumbledore answered. "Much has happened."

Harry nodded grimly.

"Moody?"

Dumbledore deflated as he shook his head.

"It was not Alastor Moody," he sighed. "Someone had used Barty Crouch to pose as him. He is dead, and we found the real Moody's body in the maze. It appears that someone had been impersonating him all year. Something I failed to notice."

"Katie?"

Dumbledore said nothing for a moment.

"Her parents have already collected her. They were… as you'd expect."

Harry did not have a response, and the two fell into a tense silence for some time.

"What happened, Harry?" Dumbledore eventually asked. "You disappeared and returned injured with a man most believed dead for over a decade."

"What happened to the rat?"

"Amelia Bones is overseeing the investigation. Naturally, Cornelius is doing his best to quash the circulating rumours, but too many witnesses saw the body. He did attempt to have you arrested for his murder."

Harry snorted humourlessly.

"Of course he did."

"His blustering came to nothing. With so many witnesses, he cannot simply dismiss what has happened. Besides, it took only one conversation with a certain Sebastien Delacour to change his mind. He made his appearance at the Ministry very publicly and stated his business for all to hear. He left the meeting pleased with the outcome, and Cornelius forgot all about his plan to arrest you."

"Well, I suppose it doesn't hurt having friends in high places," Harry sighed. "It's worked for Malfoy all these years."

Malfoy.

The very thought of the man and his ilk filled Harry with rage. Lucius would get his comeuppance. Of that, Harry was in no doubt.

Once more, Dumbledore was waiting patiently for a deeper explanation.

"He's back," Harry huffed as he sat up on his bed. "Pettigrew completed a ritual of sorts and brought him back, well, it gave him a body at least."

"I feared as much," Dumbledore sighed. "I have already begun preparing. You have allies, Harry."

Harry merely shrugged in response.

He didn't want allies. He wanted blood and any allies Dumbledore could give him would be loyal to the headmaster who would not approve of Harry's intentions.

They'd all but lost the war last time because they couldn't do what was necessary. Harry was not like Dumbledore nor those he would rely on.

"Amelia Bones is rather eager to speak with you. I have managed to prevent it thus far, but…"

"It's fine. I'll speak with her," Harry decided.

It would be best to do so soon. He did not intend on remaining here for long.

"What will you tell her?"

"Nothing," Harry answered. "With Fudge as the Minister, nothing will be done. I will be made to appear mad if I speak of what I saw, and probably thrown into Azkaban if I give Fudge a reason. I'm not stupid. Malfoy has Fudge's ear, and he will not allow himself or anyone else to be implicated in anything that is known publicly."

Dumbledore nodded his agreement reluctantly.

"I would ask that you provide the memory of what you saw, for my eyes only. Perhaps I can salvage something from it."

Again, Harry shrugged.

"Show whoever you think should see it," he urged. "You'll understand why I'm not sharing what I know with anyone else."

Dumbledore looked at him with concern.

"Harry, it is okay to mourn…"

"I am mourning!" Harry snapped.

He took a calming breath.

It would not do to lose his composure.

"Where is my wand?" he questioned.

"Given the circumstances, I thought it would be best to look after it for you," Dumbledore answered, drawing it from within his robes and handing it to Harry.

He accepted it and immediately felt better for having it back. Once again, it had proven to be invaluable to him when he'd needed it most, though he doubt Voldemort would be so eager to repeat the mistake of arming Harry if he were to hold such an advantage over him again.

"Is there anything else I need to know?"

"Well, as you can imagine, the students have been allowed to go home, but some have chosen to remain behind. Both delegations of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang have departed, and the castle is currently hosting a dozen or so aurors who are attempting to piece together what happened."

Harry nodded.

"I suppose I should speak with Bones then," he huffed. "Better to get it out of the way with."

"There is no rush, Harry."

"Yes, there is," Harry countered. "I'm going to be leaving here by the end of the day. I can't stand it here."

Again, Dumbledore appeared to be concerned, but he nodded his understanding.

"I will inform Nicholas…"

"No," Harry cut him off. "I have somewhere else to go."

Dumbledore offered him a sad smile.

"Do you think it wise to be alone?"

"I do not think it is wise for me to be around others," Harry replied. "I need some time to take everything in and I am asking you to respect that. I'm not going to go looking for him if that is what you're worried about. I'm not even close to being a match for him, yet."

Dumbledore did not like the idea, but he knew Harry well enough to know that attempting to force him into something he did not wish to do would only elicit a rebellious reaction.

"Very well, Harry, but I would like for you to make time to meet over the summer. Sirius is worried about you, and I believe it would serve you well to become acquainted with those who will be fighting beside you."

Harry had no interest in meeting them, but he nodded, if only to get the headmaster off his case.

He wanted nothing more than to be alone, to come to terms with what had happened, to mourn in peace and prepare for what was to come. Was that so much to ask for?

"I shall fetch Madam Bones," Dumbledore declared as he stood. "She is a firm woman, Harry, but always fair."

Once again, Harry found he couldn't care less.

Madam Bones could be the epitome of what the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement should be, but she was still a part of the Ministry of Magic to which, Harry had no faith in.

It was around ten minutes later that the stern, redheaded woman arrived, sporting a monocle and a tired expression.

"It is good to see you awake, Mr Potter," she commented as she took the seat next to Harry's bed.

Harry got the impression the woman cared little for his well-being. She was merely keen to question him about what had happened.

"As I'm sure you are aware, my name is Amelia Bones, I am the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement at the Ministry of Magic. I have some questions I wish for you to answer."

"Ask away," Harry urged cautiously.

Bones nodded and removed a sheet of parchment and a quill.

"Firstly, I would like to know what happened leading to you arriving at Hogwarts with the corpse of one, Peter Pettigrew."

"I got the cup. I was taken somewhere I didn't recognise. Pettigrew was there with some people in black cloaks and white masks. They attacked me, and Pettigrew didn't survive."

Bones frowned deeply as she noted down what he'd said.

"How was Pettigrew killed."

"I snapped his spine and made sure his death was slow and painful," Harry answered unashamedly. "It is within my right to defend myself by any means necessary when my life is imminently threatened, is it not?"

Bones looked at Harry calculatingly.

"Depending on the circumstances," she conceded. "What I am interested to know is why Peter Pettigrew, a man thought dead for more than a decade, would go through such trouble to get to you."

"If you cannot answer that then I can't say I have much faith in our law enforcement," Harry snorted. "Even an idiot can work that out."

"Are you suggesting Pettigrew supported the Dark Lord?"

"I'm not suggesting anything," Harry bit back. "He betrayed my parents, and then he framed Sirius Black. That is not a suggestion, that is the truth."

"That is a rather bold claim to make, Mr Potter."

Harry shook his head.

"You don't have to believe me, but I know for a fact that Sirius Black was never given an official trial. He was thrown into Azkaban and forgotten about until he escaped. How do you explain that?"

"He admitted his guilt," Bones defended.

"He admitted to killing thirteen muggles?"

Bones scowled at Harry, and he found he didn't like the woman much.

"Not in so many words."

"Of course not," Harry muttered. "But that's the Ministry all over, isn't it? Corrupted by useless politicians who would rather line their pockets and kiss the arses of people like Malfoy than do anything of substance. I've said everything I'm going to. Unless you're going to arrest me, we are done here."

Bones looked at him speculatively, her stony expression slipping somewhat.

"I am not here to arrest you, Potter, I just want to know what happened. After the World Cup incident…"

"Which nothing was done about!" Harry cut in. "I could name half a dozen people who were there and tried to kill me, but nothing would be done about it. I would sooner handle my own affairs than put my trust in Fudge or any of his lot. I would check on the Crabbe family though. He's the other one I got."

Bones almost looked at him apologetically before she stood and folded the piece of parchment up.

"I can assure you, Potter, I am not one of Fudge's lot. I lost several members of my family in the war, and if there is any way I can see those responsible brought to justice, I will do all I can. That is why I joined the aurors…"

"And you put yourself in an impossible position," Harry broke in. "If it was justice you wanted, you put your trust in the wrong place. I won't be doing that, but I will urge you to keep your ear to the ground. Fudge won't pay attention to it with Malfoy lining his pockets, but things are going to get bad, probably worse than the last war. If you really think a baby could defeat a monster like Voldemort, then you are just as gullible as everyone else."

Bones was taken aback, and she took a moment to take in what Harry had said.

"Are you saying that he's not dead?" she whispered.

"I'm not saying anything," Harry denied. "I'm just suggesting you should be cautious. Do you think Pettigrew would have the balls to do what he did if he didn't feel protected enough to do so? Do you think Malfoy and the others would put their old masks on again if they didn't believe they could get away with it. Come on, Bones, you can't be so ignorant of what is right in front of you."

"You know something."

"I do, but officially, I am keeping my mouth shut. It won't do me any good to share what I know, not with Fudge in office. Things really are going to go to shit soon enough, and he will find a way to ignore it and deny the truth. Maybe you can do something when the time is right. Someone will have to."

"What about you?"

"I'm just a kid," Harry replied innocently. "What could I hope to do against that lot."

Bones narrowed her eyes before nodding.

"This has been a rather informative discussion," she murmured. "I may need to speak with you again."

"I will be unreachable until September," Harry replied. "Given the circumstances, I think it is best if I keep my head down, don't you?"

"It may be for the best," Bones sighed. "What a damned mess this is," she added before taking her leave of the Hospital Wing.

Dumbledore waited for a moment after until he spoke.

"Amelia is trustworthy, Harry."

"In your eyes," Harry returned. "After everything that has happened, I choose to trust no one. He is going to keep coming for me until I am dead, and he will do whatever it takes. I will do whatever it take to make sure it is him who meets his end."

"Harry, I implore you…"

Harry held up a hand.

"I will tell you the same thing I told him. I am not you, Dumbledore, and after everything he has put me through, I cannot show any weakness. There is not a path I will not tread to make sure it is me left standing at the end of this. If I have to kill every last Death Eater, I will. If I have to personally drag the bastard to the other side, I will. There is nothing that is going to stop me."

Dumbledore's earlier concern had turned into outright panic as he looked upon Harry.

"Harry," he sighed.

Harry was already busying himself by removing the memory of what had occurred in the graveyard, and he placed it in an empty potion vial on his bedside table.

"He took everything from me," he spat. "He took my parents. Because of him, I grew up in complete misery where I was hated for what I am, and when I did make it out of there, he only kept taking. I'm tired of being the one to have anything good torn away from me. It is my turn to take, and I will not stop until he has nothing left! You might not like it, Professor, but this will be my war to fight, and I will fight it my way. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have somewhere I need to be."

Without waiting for an answer, Harry left the bed and took a few uneasy steps towards the door before the sudden dizziness began to fade.

Casting a disillusionment charm over himself, he headed to the seventh floor where he had left his trunk and the other belongings he'd not been allowed to take with him into the maze.

The tournament was finally over, and yet, Harry knew he was in more danger now than he had been throughout the duration of it, but as things were, he still could not bring himself to care.

It mattered not who would come for him or whom he would come across. He would give no quarter and he would grant no mercy.

He'd never been shown any, so why should he be so courteous?

His stop in his sanctuary was short, and the detour to the owlery even shorter as he told Hedwig where she needed to go. From there, he took comfort in the cloak being wrapped around him, and he hurled himself over the parapet, mounting his broom long before he hit the ground.

Flying was the only freedom that had not been taken from him, and though it brought him no joy in this moment, the rush of wind around him and the solitude was just what he needed.

Perhaps he would fly all the way south?

Adjusting his position, he felt something tucked into the waistband of his trousers. Retrieving it, a lump formed in his throat. It was Katie's wand and wrapped around it was the necklace he had gifted her.

If he so choose, he could maybe have convinced himself that the tears that broke free were due to the wind, but Harry knew better.

Up here, alone, he felt no shame for crying for the girl who had been taken.

He would miss Katie dearly, and he vowed he would find whoever was responsible for her death. When he did, they would suffer more than they could imagine.

Harry expected that would be feeling rather elated at their success, but one day, the sweet taste of victory would turn to ash in their mouth.

That was his vow, and with Death looking over him, for better or worse, there was nothing that would prevent Harry fulfilling it.

(Break)

"Hermione, he probably won't be awake yet," Ron grumbled.

"He's right, Granger," Cedric added. "It's only been a couple of days."

"I have to check," Hermione said impatiently as the sizable group approached the door of the Hospital Wing.

Of course, Hermione, Ron, and the twins had refused to leave the castle without seeing Harry first. Cedric had opted to stay too, along with the rest of the Quidditch team.

The mood had been one of shock initially, which turned into an inevitable grieving process that none could even begin remedying. It had been a difficult couple of days that showed no signs of improving.

Alicia and Angelina had been inconsolable, and Fred and George had been uncharacteristically solemn.

Hermione knew the Quidditch team had bonded closely, so it was understandable they had taken the death of Katie so badly.

She too felt the loss of the girl, even if they had never been close.

Hermione, however, was more concerned about Harry than any other. He and Katie had grown to be all but inseparable since the ball.

"Oh, Professor," she gasped as the headmaster exited the Hospital Wing just as they were arriving. "We were hoping for some news on Harry."

The usually spritely man looked exhausted and deeply troubled and the smile he offered them was devoid of any warmth.

"Physically speaking, Mr Potter is doing well," he replied, "but I am afraid it is impossible to see him."

"Oh," Hermione said disappointedly. "Could you tell us when we can?"

"I'm afraid I cannot, Miss Granger. Mr Potter woke a little over two hours ago and he has already taken his leave of the castle. I am sure you can understand that the events of the tournament have rather taken their toll on him. Now, if you will excuse me, there is much I must attend to."

The headmaster stepped passed the group of teens, offering them a look of condolence.

"Why would he leave?" Ron asked.

"Because he wants to be alone," Cedric answered. "I can't even imagine what he is feeling. He and Katie…"

He broke off as he shook his head.

"Will he be alright?" Hermione asked.

"Of course he bloody won't!" Alicia snapped. "Katie meant the world to him. Any idiot could see that."

The girl began to sob uncontrollably, and Angelina wrapped an arm around her shoulder.

"Do you think we should write to him? Just to let him know we are here if he needs us," one of the twins suggested. "It's not good for him to be alone like this."

"We should write," Angelina agreed, "and at least tell him when the funeral will be. Katie would be devastated if he wasn't there for it."

Hermione nodded.

"Give him a few days," she suggested. "Let him have some time first and then we will all write."

The others agreed and they headed back towards their Common Rooms with Cedric bidding them farewell when they reached the staircase leading down to the fourth floor.

Hermione was worried for Harry.

Everyone here at least had another they could grieve with, but he had decided to go it alone. What concerned her more was that, in his state, he could be quite unpredictable.

She hoped he would not do anything stupid, but with such a thing as the grief he was enduring, Hermione knew there was no promise of that.

(Break)

Albus and Nicholas emerged from the pensieve, the former sporting an expression mixed with horror and curiosity whilst the latter was pale, though proud of how Harry had handled himself.

"It was even less pleasant than expected," Albus murmured as he took a seat behind his desk, "and I have more questions than answers."

Nicholas nodded his agreement.

"He did not hesitate," he observed. "The moment his wand was back in his hands, he struck."

"A wise move," Albus sighed. "Given the circumstances, Harry is exceedingly fortunate to be alive. There are few who would have survived such an encounter."

"He thought he was going to die," Nicholas replied sadly. "The first thing he did was attack Pettigrew. He wanted to ensure his parents were given justice."

"Indeed. I am, however, curious as to what Harry meant when he mentioned the night of the World Cup final. He said that Lucius and those that ambushed him had not failed in their attempt."

"I cannot be certain," Nicholas said thoughtfully. "Do you think it possible he was killed?"

Albus hummed worriedly.

"I cannot see how he would have survived if that were the case. What troubles me is Harry's fixation on death. Come Death, come… what does that mean? He mentioned feeling death in the air. Was that purely theatrical?"

Nicholas was stumped.

It was as though Harry was speaking reverently of death, but not the act of passing. He had spoken of it as though it was a being of sorts, much like he had the very first night he had met the boy.

It was odd to say the least.

Did Harry know something others didn't?

"The cloak," Albus said uneasily. "I've had my suspicions, and with the blood of the Peverells in his veins, it is quite possible that there is more to it than I believed."

Nicholas nodded tentatively.

"Perhaps," he agreed. "If the cloak is tied to the blood, magic, or souls of the original carriers, but I do not see how there is a way to substantiate it unless Harry tells us for himself, which I have my doubts. If it is a secret past along the many generations, it is not something he will wish to discuss with any."

Albus's brow furrowed as he pondered the possibility, the wand concealed within his sleeve somehow feeling heavier to him.

If the Hallows were indeed tied to the Peverell line in any way that Nicholas had mentioned, the wand belonged with the cloak, as did the missing stone.

Nonetheless, given Harry's current grief, it was likely unwise to arm him with something Albus evidently knew so little about. If the cloak had influenced him so deeply, the wand could have rather dire consequences.

Regardless, the headmaster was in no doubt that Harry would need all the assistance he could get, and although the boy was troubling him, he could not justify keeping his legacy from him.

No. The wand should be given to Harry, even if Albus could not comprehend his intentions.

He would need it, after all.

"Do you know where he will go?"

Nicholas shook his head.

"We are unaware of any property he owns other than the house in Godric's Hollow. I do not think for one minute he will go there. Perenelle is, of course, fretting, and I will not be able to stop her writing to him."

"He needs time," Albus sighed. "He needs to come to terms with what has happened and perhaps being alone for a while is best for him."

"I expect it will be," Nicholas admitted reluctantly. "Anyway, I need to think more about what we have seen. Do you intend to show any other?"

Albus shook his head.

"No. I think this is best kept between ourselves and Harry," he decided. "Had he been thinking more clearly when he submitted it, I expect he would have omitted much of what we learned."

"He would," Nicholas conceded.

Harry would not be thinking clearly now, and likely would not be for some time whilst he grieved for the girl he'd lost.

Nicholas wished for nothing more than to have the boy home, but he'd promised he would not interfere with his journey. As much as he loathed to admit it, loss was all a part of growing, and though Harry had already experienced much of that, this was different.

He would either come out on the other side stronger for it, something that Nicholas firmly believed.

It was not in Harry's nature to remain broken, and if anything, what had occurred throughout the final task of the tournament would ignite an inferno within him.

The boy was resilient, and he would have to be more than ever to face what was coming.

Nicholas didn't doubt the boy, he just wished there was more he could do for him, but this was Harry's journey, the highs, the lows, the victories, and the defeats.

Harry must learn to deal with it all if he wished to emerge victorious, and Nicholas's faith that he would do so would not waver.

(BREAK)

"I would like an explanation, Barty?" Voldemort demanded as he glared at the man. "How is it that Potter managed to escape using the portkey you created."

"My time with it was limited, My Lord," Barty answered. "I had time to either undo the Ministry work or add my own. I could not do both. I did not anticipate that Potter would manage to retake it. How did he get it back?"

"Wormtail," Voldemort hissed.

Barty rolled his eyes.

"You put too much faith in the buffoon."

"Something that will not happen again. Potter has seen to that."

The Dark Lord had been apoplectic as he'd watched Potter slip from his grasp yet again. The resting place of his muggle ancestors would never be the same after his volatile explosion.

The Death Eaters had fled from his wrath, though they had returned when called upon mere hours later. Again, he had sensed the doubt amongst them, and in truth, he could not blame them.

Potter had indeed escaped, and despite the pain of admitting it, the boy had handled himself well.

It would not do to allow him to continue his growth. In only a few short years, the boy could be be problematic. Not that he would admit such a thing out loud.

"Very well, Barty. I am pleased with your work. Using your father to kill the Bell girl was quite the stroke of genius."

"And it means that none know who was behind it," Barty pointed out. "I can continue my work from the shadows without even our own knowing of my movements."

Voldemort nodded.

It could be quite useful having such a man acting on his behalf. Barty could not appear in public, but there was much he could do.

"I would ask that you watch Azkaban," the Dark Lord decided. "I wish to know the security measures in place, how many guards there are, and how long I should expect it would take to get inside the walls."

"Of course, My Lord," Barty complied nervously. "Anything else?"

"That is all."

With a nod, Barty took his leave of the room and Voldemort frowned at the retreating figure. He'd not followed his orders exactly as the Dark Lord had given them, but all had been well with the exception of Potter's escape.

Nevertheless, the boy would not be long for this world.

The Dark Lord would find him, and when he did, there would be no more games. Potter would meet his end without pomp and circumstance.

(Break)

Having arrived at the Potter house in Falmouth, Harry was at a loss as to what he should do. He was not motivated to begin the extensive renovation of the home and he felt as though he needed a day or so of recovery.

During his flight south, he'd began drafting plans within plans in his mind, but he was not quite ready to begin them.

Instead, he'd ventured into the nearby coastal town to buy food, despite having no appetite. Whilst there, he'd spotted a small café and purchased a large tea which he drank whilst looking towards the sea.

Only a few days prior, his life had already been complicated, but now, it was not comparable. The tournament had been quite the undertaking, but the road ahead would be fraught with much more danger.

"Would you like a refill?"

Harry was pulled from his thoughts by the young serving girl and he nodded gratefully.

"Thank you."

She returned only a moment later with a fresh mug of strong tea.

"Nothing interesting happens out there," she said, nodding to where the waves lapped against the shore. "It's quiet for the most part, until the tourists arrive over the holidays."

"I like the quiet," Harry returned.

The girl nodded and offered him a smile.

"You seem like the type that do. Are you here on holiday?"

"Something like that," Harry answered. "Do you live here?"

"Born and bred. I'd like to get away, but I don't know where I'd like to go."

Harry said nothing and the girl began cleaning the tables around him with a spray and cloth.

Finishing his second drink, he thanked her and made the unavoidable trip back to the house. It truly was in quite the state, but maybe fixing it up was the distraction he needed.

Well, for now.

His plans for the summer would see him exceedingly busy beyond the DIY project. He could not afford to remain so unprepared, and Harry knew there was much he needed to do.

Yes, the summer months would be time well spent, but there were things he would need to gather before he could get things underway.

First and foremost, he needed fighting experience. It was one thing to train with dummies in a room he had control of, but being taken out of that comfort zone was necessary.

There must be somewhere he could gain the much-needed experience.

It was the top of his priority list to discover them, and he knew the perfectly place to start.

Nonetheless, Harry knew he could not simply appear at these places as himself. No, he would take a leaf out of whomever had been impersonating Moody's book.

As with places to gain fighting experience, there had to be equally somewhere to get hold of regulated brews.

He didn't quite fancy attempting the difficult potion himself.

That was where he would begin, but until then, he needed to distract himself from the maudlin feeling he could not escape.

Drawing Katie's wand, he smiled sadly at the warmth that filled him from it.

When the time was right, he would return it to her parents, but as things were, it brought him a semblance of the comfort he was seeking within himself.

The necklace, he would keep, but for now, he felt as though he needed the wand as much as his own.

Releasing a deep breath, he shook his head as he set to work.

It was a long road ahead, in defeating Voldemort, and finding an reprieve from the grief that gripped him.

His own life being in danger had always been something he'd dealt with but losing someone he cared so much for who did not deserve the fate granted to her was another thing entirely.

Beneath it all, however; the loss, the grief, and all the questions of what could have been, there was a fury within Harry that was waiting to break free when everything else had abated.

Until then, he may shed a tear or two, perhaps dwell on the thoughts he wished he could ignore longer than he should, but the time for anger would come, and when it did, Voldemort and his followers would be in for a rude awakening.