“nothing,”iswhathesays,beauseallthatwouldtaketoolongandwouldkillthemoodandmaybeharrystilldoesn’tthinkit’sgoingtohappen,anyways.“justyou.”

“beauseyou’reoneofthelukypeoplewhoanaffordtobuyahousewithoutsellingtheoldone.”draotilte

see,thethingaboutmovingonthatharrydidn’tknowisthatit’ssortofjustanotherwordforgoodbye,whereyouhavetoloosenyourgriponallthosememoriesthatyou’reafraidoffettinginordertokeepfaingthefuture,inordertokeepputtingonefootinfrontoftheother.anditshouldbeeasy,intheory,butthatwasbeforeyoutakeintoaountallthethingsthathadhappenedinthismiserableoldbuilding—howitwastheonlysafespotfortheminthewar,thepartywhenronandhermionewereprefets,geeandfredtogether,whereremusandtonksfellinlove,wheresiriuswas.

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heisnotsureifhe’sreadytoleavethemallbehind.

harryjumpsatthesoundofdrao’svoie.he’dbeenaughtinthemiddleofstaringatthepewheretheportraitofsirius’motherusedtohang.

he’sstartedwalkingthroughthehouseagain.

“andwhywouldn’tigetridofit?”

bigpiturewindowinourbedroom.andmaybeadog,too,anolddogwithabumlegthatwegetfromamuggleshelter,thehathadbeentheresolongthatithadgivenuphopethatanyonewasgoingtolovehim,weanbetheonestoresuehim,an’twe?it’dbeagoodlife,that.

sometimes,ifharryisnotareful,heantrikhimselfintothinkingthathewillturnaornerandseethemwathinghim,waitingtoseeifhehadliveduptotheherothattheyhadtakenhimtobe.sometimes,hewantstoripthishousedownwallbywandbrikbybrikinthehopesthatoneofthemwillgettogofree.sometimes,hethinksofstandinginthedoorwayandsreamingthatheissorry,justinasethereisanyhhattheywouldbeabletohear.

“youdon’thavetogetridofit.”