Number 12 Grimmauld Place...
Harry looked out the window of the library at Number 12 Grimmauld Place and felt the weight of the world on his shoulders. He was used to the feeling. What he wasn't used to was the gaping hole where his heart had once been. It was the summer between his sixth and seventh years and Voldemort had been dead exactly three weeks.
If Voldemort had been the only death, then Harry might have been out celebrating like the rest of the Wizarding world. But his hadn't been the only death. Dumbledore, Ginny and Bill Weasley, Tonks, Remus, Flitwick, Fudge, a third of the student body of Hogwarts, the entire Malfoy clan. The list went on and on.
The final battle had lasted all day and it had pitted every Ministry Auror and every member of the Order of the Phoenix against the Death Eaters. Harry sighed and fought to keep the tears from flowing again. He had cried once, and only briefly, when he had stumbled upon the body of Ginny Weasley. She had been one of the two women who loved him for who and what he was, rather than the legend he had become. He had knelt next to her broken body and shed the only tears in public since he was a child. He was used to crying alone, although he fought that as well. He loved her, so much so he had intended to marry her.
Well, that's not going to happen now, he thought bitterly.
Harry lifted a silver chain and placed it around his neck. Attached to the chain was his shrunken warlock's trunk containing multiple compartments, all his possessions and all of his money. He had emptied out the Potter and Black family vaults earlier in the day. He had known days ago that he would be doing this, and he had been preparing since Ron and Hermione had left Grimmauld Place.
He was tired, dead tired, and he needed to go someplace where no one knew him or of his fame. He had come up with an idea. He wasn't sure if it would work, but he knew there could only be two results. Either the spell would take him to a place were he could be free, or it would kill him.
In the summer of his fifth year, when his Mage abilities began to emerge, Dumbledore had started to teach him about the nature of magic. It was that training that gave him hope for a peaceful life somewhere.
"Hedwig," he called softly.
Hedwig ghosted in from the kitchen and landed on a nearby table. He stroked his owl fondly, then handed her a note.
"Take this to Hermione, and then stay with her. She'll take care of you from here on, girl. Be good for her, for my sake, please?"
The large snowy white owl trembled under his fingers. If she could, she would have wept. Hedwig knew exactly what Harry had planned and there was nothing she could do to stop it. Her wizard had set himself on this path since the death of his mate.
With a mournful hoot, Hedwig bobbed her head once and flew out the open window.
He donned his cloak, pulling up the hood, and took one final look around. He then traced a series of complex runes in the air and a rift appeared in front of him. On his side was Grimmauld Place, on the other, total blackness. Harry summoned his staff and stepped into the rift. There was a sucking sound and then the rift closed up behind him, leaving only silence in the Noble House of Black.
The Burrow...
The Burrow was a much more subdued place these days. The deaths of Ginny and Bill had hit the Weasley clan hard. They had rallied around each other, taking comfort and strength from the survivors, but the joy, the merriment and sure knowledge of love, family and security had been shattered.
Molly was a changed woman. The deaths of two of her children had affected her deeply. She had dropped weight and had lost her loving smile. Shortly after the final battle, she had confronted Harry, who still lay in his hospital bed, and accused him of not trying to save Ginny. Arthur stopped her immediately, but the damage had been done. When Harry had finally been released from St. Mungos, he had refused to come to the Burrow. Molly came to her senses eventually, but the breech was wide and would be a long time in healing.
