A/N: I'm sorry this has taken me such an obscenely long time to get up. :/ I've been terrifyingly busy over the past week, buried in school work and all. But I absolutely swear I will keep updating this. It's just a matter of finding the time and inspiration to write. I'm juggling four WIPs right now, so it's a bit difficult to keep track of it all. But I hope you like this, and please review! :D

A/N 2: This chapter doubles as my entry for The Letter Competition over on the HPFC Forum.

—CHAPTER SIX—

Moving Forward and Looking Back

"I've decided I'm not going back to Hogwarts."

Mr Weasley raises his eyebrows and blinks a few times, nodding. "And you're sure?" he asks carefully.

Harry nods, glancing around the kitchen of the Burrow. He leans forward, resting his elbows on the scrubbed-wood table and lacing his fingers together. It's a beautiful August afternoon; sun is streaming in through the windows, dishes are washing themselves merrily in the sink and he can hear Ginny laughing with Ron in the back garden as they degnome the flower bushes.

"I need to move forward with my life," he says, taking a deep breath and running his hand through his hair. "If I go back, it'll just be like standing still. I've got to find a way to make some progress."

"Well, I can tell you Kingsley'll be pleased," Mr Weasley says, smiling at him across the table. "If you want, I can speak with him tomorrow and we can get you into the training programme first thing next week."

"I'd like that," Harry says, feeling a bit of relief run through him.

He's felt stuck lately, like he's wasting away here at the Burrow. He's endlessly grateful to the Weasleys, of course, but it's just…it's hard to move on with his life when he's constantly reminded of how much is missing. Even though they've all begun to heal, all begun to laugh again, there's still brief, sombre pauses every now and again when George turns to his left and finds Fred missing or when Harry reads something in a book that he thinks Lupin would find interesting. It's tough, knowing that he'll never have those people back again.

"I'm very proud of you, Harry," Mr Weasley says quietly after a moment. "Not just for this…but for everything you've done. You're going to make a great man some day. I hope you know that."

Harry shifts uncomfortably in his seat, his face going red. "Thanks, Mr Weasley," he says honestly. Though that had been unexpected, it means a lot coming from the man that's been like a father to him for years. "I really —"

But just then, Mrs Weasley bustles into the kitchen, brushing a bit of dirt from her apron and smiling at them both. She peers out the window at Ron and Ginny and tuts reproachfully.

"Still working on the degnoming?" she mutters to herself, sliding the window open and raising her voice. "Oi! You two! Move it along. We've got to start getting the tables out there for dinner soon."

She slides the window shut and points her wand at a pile of carrots, which begin to chop themselves into smaller pieces. She reaches for something on the counter and turns, smiling, to Harry.

"This came for you earlier, dear," she says, handing him a letter. "I'm not sure what it's about, but I think it came from Gringotts."

Harry turns the heavy, official looking envelope over in his hands and sees the bank's logo embossed in gold leaf on the seal. A feeling of dread washes through him as he slides his finger under the top to open the letter. He really hopes this isn't what he thinks it is; the last time he dealt with the bank, he'd been robbing the place, and goblins aren't ones to quickly forget things like that. He pulls the thick sheet of parchment out and unfolds it carefully.

Mr Potter, it reads.

There are a few financial matters of the utmost importance that must be discussed with you at your earliest possible convenience. Several estates, placed in trust until you came of age, have recently been transferred to your vault, and it is our duty to make you aware of the conditions surrounding these accounts.

It is your right to elect for these accounts to continue to be handled as they have been in the past. We recommend this option, as we have some of our best goblins working to ensure the safety and continued growth of your fortune. If this is your decision for the time being, simply send us a return owl authorising our continued management of your accounts.

More importantly, though, is the letter included in this document. As a part of your parents' last will and testament, they asked that it be passed on to you when you had reached legal age. As per their request, we have enclosed it for your perusal.

Normally, these matters would have been handled on or immediately after your seventeenth birthday, but due to certain extenuating circumstances, that was not possible. We hope you will forgive the delay in these proceedings, as I am sure you understand the difficulty in securing a meeting with or contacting you during the past year.

Hoping you are well,

Rakespier

Head Goblin, Gringotts Bank, London Branch

Harry frowns down at the letter, rereading it carefully. Not once does it mention his theft, his break-in, his disastrous escape from the bank on the back of a dragon. The only bit that sounds remotely hostile is the last sentence, but considering everything he knows about goblins, even that is almost friendly.

"What's it say?" Mrs Weasley asks him, coming to stand with a hand on the back of his chair.

"It's…they just want to discuss my accounts with me," he says, shaking his head in confusion, consciously leaving out the part about his parents. He wants a chance to look that over on his own. "They say I've come into my inheritances and we need to speak about it."

"Well, that's good, isn't it?" Mrs Weasley asks, turning back to the stove. "You could find yourself a place to live with that. Not that we mind having you, of course, but I know what being eighteen is like. I'm sure you want your own space."

"Yeah, of course," Harry says distractedly, sliding the bank's letter to the side slightly and peering down at the handwritten, careworn piece of paper beneath it. He stands from his seat, glancing up at the Weasleys. "You know, I think I'm just going to head upstairs for a bit…look this over…"

"Of course, dear," Mrs Weasley says, looking at him curiously. "Don't forget, dinner will be ready in a bit."

Harry nods slightly as he turns toward the door, his hands shaking as he folds the letter carefully and places it back into its envelope. He hurries up the stairs to Ron's room, closing the door behind him and sinking onto the bed, staring down at the parchment in his hands, heart knocking around in his chest.

His parents…they'd written him this letter. It's different from all the other times he's been able to see them through memories or as echoes of who they'd been. This is something just for him, something that they wrote out specifically intending that he see it. His fingers tremble as he pulls the parchment back out of its envelope and shakes it open, quickly laying Rakespier's letter to the side.

He begins to read, his throat suddenly feeling very tight.

Dear Harry,

If you're reading this, then I can only assume that he's found us and that we weren't able to hide you away from all the danger in the world. But as sad as I am about that, it also means that you've done it — you've made it to your seventeenth birthday. I'm sorry that I wasn't there to watch you grow up, but I hope you know that everything I've done since the first time I held you was out of love.

As I'm writing this, I can see you tottering about in the back garden with Sirius, and he's swinging you round in his arms. You've just learnt to walk, and your mum is afraid that you're going to fall and break your neck, so she's gone through the house and charmed all the corners and steps to keep you safe. You're only fifteen months old right now, so I suppose you won't remember any of this, but I hope you're as happy now at seventeen as you were here.

We're going into hiding soon, so maybe I'll be around long enough for you to know me. I hope that one day, I can watch you go off to Hogwarts and be sorted into Gryffindor. (If you aren't, I'll disown you, I swear.) I want to be there when you get a dozen OWLS and all your NEWTs. I want to stand up at your wedding and smile. I hope I can hold my grandchildren someday like I've held you. But I know none of that will happen.

I hope you've had a good life so far, Harry. I hope that it hasn't been sad or painful, because no parent wants that for his child. I hope that Sirius and Remus and Peter have been able to tell you stories about us, and that they've done a bang up job of raising you. I still worry, though. Of course I do. I'm your dad. That's my job.

Did Sirius teach you to fly well enough to make it onto the house team? Did Moony make you read too many dusty old books when you were small? Has he turned you into a Ravenclaw?! Have they taught you to use the map and the cloak yet? (I hope they have, or they aren't the friends I thought they were.) Do you all live in a big house in the country with lots of space to run and laugh and play Quidditch? Because these are all the things I want for you if I can't be there to do them myself (except the Ravenclaw bit, of course) and I really, truly hope you have an excellent birthday.

I love you, Harry, and I'll spend the rest of my life, however long that may be, doing everything in my power to prove it. You've brought so much joy into our lives, even during these dark times. I can only hope that you're able to find a bit of joy for yourself. Have a great life, Harry, and live it as fully as possible. Love as many people as fiercely and as truly as you can. Laugh a little every day, even when things seem like they've gotten too bad for you to smile. Make your life a good one, and always keep us in your heart.

All the love in the world,

Dad

Harry lowers the letter slowly, tears stinging in his eyes. Despite the ache in his heart, though, he can feel a real, genuine smile beginning to spread across his face for one of the first times since the end of the war. It's as though a part of him that had been missing until now, a part that he's been longing for his entire life, has suddenly been patched up and filled in.

"I love you too, Dad," he whispers quietly, folding the parchment and placing it neatly back in its envelope.

He feels as though this is a turning point for him. He can finally begin to make his life whole again. Love fiercely and truly. Laugh every day, he repeats to himself. He stands from his spot on the bed, wiping a hand over his face to clear away any lingering tears. It's time to go find Ginny, he thinks, and have a long-awaited conversation.