Alone Again Or

Harry knows something is wrong as soon as he steps through the door.

There is a silence, an accumulation of dust in the air that speaks of abandoned rooms, hurried departures, deserted places.

"Ginny?" he calls out, not really expecting an answer. He finds the note on the kitchen table, weighed down with the ring he'd slid on her finger the day they'd married.

He sits down heavily, his mind going blank.

After awhile, he thinks to open the letter, reads it numbly, not understanding a word even after three, four readings.

He sees the date is some days ago, and gets up, Floos to the Burrow.

Molly Weasley is in the kitchen when he stumbles out onto the hearthrug, and she gives him a worried look.

"Where's Ginny? I think I need to talk to her?"

"Sit down, Harry. Cup of tea?"

"No, thanks, I think I'd better .."

"Sit down. I need to speak to you."

He knows that tone of voice, and sits down. Molly passes him a mug, sits holding one herself.

"Ginny hasn't told us everything that happened between you two, but she's been here quite a bit since you've been married."

"Yes, I know."

"Why do you think that is?"

"I - I'm not sure."

Molly gazes at him for a long moment.

"Why did you get married?"

"Because Ginny wanted to."

"Did you think about - do you know what you wanted from your marriage?"

"Um - I don't know. To be normal, I guess."

"Harry, dear, how did you think that was going to happen?"

"I don't know; I guess I thought it just would ..."

The questions don't make a great deal of sense to him, and he feels a bit lost in the conversation.

"I guess I don't really know how this all works - I sort of thought, you know, that you got married, and had kids, and it all just sort of happened."

He looks beseechingly at Molly, not quite sure what she's asking, what she's trying to find out. She takes his hand across the table, biting her lip.

"Oh, Harry. It takes effort to make a marriage work. It very rarely just happens. I should have realised - we should have thought - I'm very sorry, but Ginny wants some time apart from you. She doesn't want to see you at the moment - "

Harry grimaces down into his mug, and Molly takes both his hands.

"I'll get Arthur to drop by and speak to you. Will you be home tonight?"

When Harry nods, she squeezes his hands.

"Tonight, then. Would you like to see James?"

He nods again.

Holding his son, sitting in the warmth of the kitchen, he thinks, this. This is what he wanted. This welcoming, calm, relaxed place. Where he could come and let his soul be warmed. He absorbs the sensation, his cheek resting on his sleeping son's head, arms protective around the precious small body.

Arthur comes over, and they talk.

He understands, somewhere that evening, that he is lucky to have these people, this family so willing to give him their regard and understanding.

Arthur finally says, as he's leaving, "It was too soon. I wish I'd been able to convince Ginny to wait; you've had too much to deal with."

"I don't know if that would have made any difference. I don't know how to be, how to do this. I love James. I think I love Ginny, but I don't know if I can be what she wants me to be. I don't know if I'm that person, or ever will be."

"I know," says Arthur, his hands heavy on Harry's shoulders, "Just - let it be for a bit. Ginny doesn't know either. She knows how her brothers are, she knows how Molly and I are. But that is nothing like the way you grew up. You may not be able to do this - I'm not saying you won't, but maybe - "

"I don't know. I know I haven't been what she wants, but I don't know what it is she wants. And I don't know what I want, either. I do know that I want to be part of my son's life, though."

"You will be. You are part of our family. When you are part of a family, that doesn't stop, you know. People have difficulties, and they may not get on all the time, but they are still part of that family. That doesn't stop."

Ron and Hermione come through the Floo the next day, and he tells them a bit about Snape's situation after swearing them to secrecy. The dressing down about Ginny he gets from Ron is easier to take than the searching questions from Hermione, but neither of them seem to understand about Snape. Harry supposes that isn't strange, as he doesn't understand either, so probably isn't explaining it well. Hermione, however, suggests he talk to Bill, and also suggests he needs to decide if he wants to make his marriage work or not. Hermione agrees to speak to Ginny, to arrange a meeting between them. When they're gone, Harry floos to Shell Cottage.

Bill sits him down at the kitchen table, makes tea and hears him out.

"Dumbledore assigned him to the place?"

"That's what Snape told me."

"And he hasn't said what he's guarding?"

"The Beast - that's what he called it. We went underground. It felt - malevolent. My scar hurt, not as bad as with Voldemort, but it definitely hurt. Snape was afraid."

Bill draws in a long breath, looking worried.

"That - I've never seen Snape afraid. Through all the time he was spying on Death Eaters, I never once saw him afraid."

They stare at each other across the table.

"I'll get some books together. Are you going back there now?"

Harry nods.

They go up to the study, where Bill has filled two walls with shelves of books. A few hours later, he has a vague idea of the sort of thing he needs to know about about the Beast.

"Owl me anything more you might find out. And come back in four days - I should have some more information by then."

Harry's almost to the door when Bill says, "And Ginny? James?"

Harry looks back at him, "I don't know. I just don't know. I'm not easy to be with. Ginny always made allowances for me -."

"It's never one sided, you know. It's never just black and white. Think about it."

Harry nods, and goes.

His house feels very empty and strange; he doesn't feel like he's spent two years living here. The hall he moves down has photographs on the walls, but he can't seem to recognise the people in them. He looks in the sitting room, but it isn't welcoming, the chairs and sofa seem to crouch in the half-darkness, ready to trap any passing body, and he turns away, shuddering. The kitchen is cold. He thinks back to the kitchen in the Burrow, the one in Shell Cottage, and he can't see why this is different. Making himself a cup of tea, he sits at the table, but there is no feeling of peace.

He goes from room to room in the house; the only place he feels any kind of warmth is in his son's room, that he and Ginny spent days doing up. Painting the walls a cheery yellow, finding a light green rug, installing the old cot Arthur had hauled down from the attic of the Burrow and painted, Ginny and he had sat at the kitchen table and made light, floaty curtains and a lampshade that was a mobile of dragons and hippogriffs. He brings the blanket from the cot to his face, inhaling deeply, filling his senses with the memory of James. He curls up on the green rug, holding the blanket to his damp cheek, and sleeps.

Later, once he's gotten together all the food in the place and repacked the books from Bill, a duvet, pillows and firewhiskey, he Apparates to the base of the tower, and again senses something is wrong when he opens the door. It is not the presence of dust; there is an amplitude and was before he left. The silence, too, is no different. Rather, there is a sort of satisfied hum about the place. A satiety, a relaxation which certainly wasn't there before.

Harry runs up the curving stairs to the kitchen, sees the pots are all clean and hung in a neat row above the range. No bubbling porridge waiting on the hob.

The net is on its hook; Snape's threadbare cloak isn't.

He goes up to the bedroom, just to make sure, but the narrow cot is tidy, the room empty. On the table in the kitchen, Harry sees with a feeling of déjà vu, there is a note under a smooth black pebble. He sits abruptly, feeling as if his knees have turned to jelly, and stretches his hand to the parchment.

The scrawl is familiar, perhaps more straggly than he remembers from his potions essays, but spiky and spattered where the quill has dug into the surface.

No more hope. Beware the Beast. I have gone to feed his hunger. I pray it is quick.

Harry finds he has crumpled the parchment when he looks at his hand.