Where Do I Go From Here?

After spending a considerable amount of time in Godric's Hollow, Harry had come to the sad conclusion that the little town held nothing but old, burnt-out memories for him. He had frequented the local pubs, where some of the people had cast him strange looks. A couple of older men had even asked him if he was related to James Potter, seeing the obvious resemblance. Feeling he would be unable to explain the strange circumstances under which his parents had died and his living with Muggles, he merely shook his head. Despite this, though, some people were kind enough to recount their own pleasant memories of the Potters to Harry.

"So young to have died," an older lady said one rainy night.

"Didn't live here long, the Potters, but always such a nice, charming couple."

"She was so lovely."

"He was quite helpful."

Now, looking at the desolate field of over-grown weeds that had long ago taken over the space where the Potters' house had once stood, Harry clung onto those precious words about his parents, feeling they were more valuable than gold. He kept them close to his heart, and with a slight shake of the head, he apparated away from Godric's Hollow.

There was nothing left for him there.

When he reappeared at his destination, he noticed the Burrow off in the distance. He forlornly thought of apparating to almost this precise spot with Dumbledore a year before, how Dumbledore had explained it rude to merely apparate directly into somebody's residence. One light was still on in the house, in the kitchen. Walking toward the home, Harry felt exhausted beyond belief, like every step was a challenge, as if his feet were made of boulders.

Finally, he reached the front door and knocked twice. Someone stirred within, and a shadow moved in the light coming from the window.

"Who- who's there?" asked Mrs. Weasley's voice, trembling a bit.

"It's Harry, Mrs. Weasley," Harry replied.

"Prove yourself," she insisted. "If you're really Harry, then what is my youngest son's favorite color of underwear?"

Harry felt a blush rising in his cheeks at the question. What kind of question was this anyway? Supposing that Mrs. Weasley would know what color underwear Ron preferred, having done his laundry for all these years, Harry found himself less inclined to know. He thought (albeit not wanting to) of what color underwear Ron usually had on whenever the unfortunate incident of his undergarment showing over the top of his pants occurred.

"Erm... purple?" Harry asked.

"That's right!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed, throwing open the door. Before Harry could reply, he was being pulled into a bone-crushing embrace. "Oh, Harry, dear! We were so worried about you!"

When Harry was able to extricate himself from the embrace, Harry said with a slight pant, "It's good to be back, Mrs. Weasley. I gotta admit, though, I'm awfully knackered."

At the sound of the words, Mrs. Weasley turned into the stern, well-meaning mother and practically commanded, "Well, then, off to bed with you, Harry. You can use the twins' old room again, and be sure to get up in time for a hearty breakfast in the morning."

With a nod and expressing his thanks, Harry went upstairs and promptly fell asleep. When morning came, he didn't even have a moment to wake up when Hermione, Ginny, and Ron came bursting like mental patients into his room.

"Harry! You're back!" Ginny exclaimed, hugging the barely conscious Harry much in the same manner her mother had.

Hermione hugged him next, almost as tightly, and Harry wondered if his lungs would still be functional. Seeing Ron, who was much larger and much stronger than the girls, Harry said weakly, jokingly, "Please tell me you're not gonna hug me, too."

Ron grinned and gave Harry a friendly jab in the arm, saying, "All right, not this time, at least. It's good to see ya, mate. Tell us all about what happened."

Over breakfast, Harry told the Weasleys and Hermione about his trip to Godric's Hollow, and although it had been fruitless as far as finding any evidence to point him in the right direction was concerned, he didn't think it had been a waste in the least. When asked where he intended to go next, Harry had to pause and think for a minute. To him, the next logical place would be Grimmauld Place, and he hadn't yet been there since inheriting the broken down house.

"Any news about Hogwarts?" Harry asked.

Mrs. Weasley nodded sadly. "I'm afraid it's not going to reopen this year. So tragic, so unbelievable." The matron wiped a couple of stray tears from her freckled face.

The whole table was silent for a while. Harry wondered how Hermione had reacted to the news about Hogwarts, for a bookworm like her surely couldn't imagine not returning to school. To be completely truthful, however, no one could imagine Hogwarts not reopening. This year, the year that was to be Harry's seventh and last year at Hogwarts, would be so vastly different from every other year before.

He had not changed his mind about his decision not to return, though. He knew he had a quest, and this quest was one of the only things he had to keep his mind off stewing about the events of the end of his sixth year. Thinking about Dumbledore always led to thinking about his death, but he was Dumbledore's man, his chosen disciple, and he would carry out and finish what Dumbledore had started.

Later that day, the four Gryffindors were sitting in Ron's room.

"How long will you stay?" Ron asked.

"Probably just a couple of days, but then I need to move on," Harry said, feeling restless.

"We're still coming with you," Hermione stated, leaving no room for argument.

"I'm coming, too," Ginny piped in.

Suddenly, the door burst open, and Mrs. Weasley came bustling into the room. "You most certainly will not!" she exclaimed shrilly to her children and Hermione.

"But we're his best friends!" Ron argued, standing up, looming over his mother. "Besides, Hermione and I are of age. There's little you can do to stop us, Mum, and c'mon, think about it: D'you really want Harry to go at this alone?"

"Well, well... n- no, of course not," Mrs. Weasley said, her lips trembling, "but I can worry, can't I?"

Harry nodded. "I think they've already made up their minds, Mrs. Weasley. I don't want them putting themselves in unnecessary danger either, but they are my closest friends, and if anyone's going with me, it's them."

Mrs. Weasley sighed, nodding in defeat, but then focused in on Ginny. "You, however, young lady, are NOT of age. You are staying home."

A fury rose in Ginny's cheeks unlike anything Harry had ever seen. "That's not fair!" Ginny hollered. "You think Harry doesn't mean just as much to me?"

"I'll not hear another word, Ginevra!" Mrs. Weasley bellowed, slamming the door shut.

Ginny sulked, angry beyond words. Harry tried to comfort her, saying she would be safer this way, but Ginny glared at him and shrugged him off, leaving the room.

"She doesn't even know how to apparate," Ron pointed out. "She'd just be in the way."

"Ron!" Hermione exclaimed indignantly.

"Well, it's true."

Hermione, annoyed with Ron's apparant insensitively toward his younger sister, left the room.

"Oh, she'll find a way to come with us if she's that determined," Ron said about Ginny.

Harry nodded. "That's what I'm afraid of."