Harry Potter was on his back on the ground next to a camp fire, trying to get some sleep, but yet again too no avail. The young boy, well, not such a boy anymore had changed dramatically in the two years that had past since Dumbledore’s death. He was no longer the skinny boy everyone had known, but a sword wielding, armour wearing warrior, who had spent the better part of two years locating and destroying Lord Voldermort’s Horcuxes. He had developed rifting, but not really bulging muscles through fighting and all remaining baby fat was all but gone. He had grown tall indeed, about 180 cm high and if someone would see him, they’d not recognize him as Harry Potter. The famous scar was still ever so visible on his forehead. But after two years of constant fighting that lightening shaped scar was not the only one visible on his body. There ran a dark scar down his forehead and over his right eye, he had been lucky not too lose his eye in that attack. (He was starting to look a bit like Mad- Eye Moody, but he was still quite handsome, though battle worn). As our hero lay in the grass, he began, and not for the first time to wonder if he had in fact made the right choice in leaving his friends behind and taking on this mission alone.

God, how he missed them, Ron’s humour, Hermione’s light- headness and mabe most of all, did he miss Ginny, the love of his life. There could be no doubt of the fact that Harry Potter did indeed love Ginny Weasley. There was such fire in her eyes, and every time Harry thought of her his heart seemed to leap of joy. And now as the young warrior finally seemed to be falling into peaceful slumber he swore to himself that he would kill Voldemort, he had to keep the fire that set his heart a blaze safe at all cost…

Ginny, Ron and Hermione sat at the patio of the Borrow looking out into the distance. This had become some kind of a habit for those three, to sit there hours on end hoping to see Harry come walking out of the woods and into their lives again. They all missed him so much, their friend, who had really been the center of the friendship, the beacon of hope in the depts of the darkness witch seemed to be filling the wizarding world again. And now he was missing. The Prophet would contain endless stories from people who would swear they had seen Harry walking down the street, taking on fifty Death eaters and so forth and so forth. But the trio did not believe such nonsense. If Harry did not want to be seen, he would not be seen, not until he chose so. But not letting anyone know weather he was alive was something completely different. There had been no word from Harry in two years except that single note he sent to the Burrow saying that he wasn’t coming to either the Burrow nor Grimmauld place this year. But the most shocking statement of that cursed letter was the fact that Harry wasn’t even coming back to Hogwarts, he said he couldn’t waste anymore time schooling when the wizarding world needed him. It stated that he, Harry had been given the task of ridding the world of Voldemort by the now late Dumbledore. He could not let the people suffer for any longer than they had too. And with that he left and had not been heard from since.

Molly Weasley was in the kitchen, preparing dinner for the redheads and Hermione. She looked out the window and saw the trio, as usual sitting quietly on the patio looking at the trees. How she had gotten her heart ripped out of her when she found out what Harry, who’d been like a son to her since their first meeting, had done. He had done so much for the her, saved three members of the family, and yet he took no credit for any of it, merely stating he did what anyone would have done. That’s, Molly thought was where Harry was wrong, no one she knew had ever been so selfless, so ready too risk anything just too help someone in danger, even a stranger. Harry had brought welcomed love and laughter to the household when times were grim. She remembered the young boy who had staid with them the summer after the first year. The boy was famous and had gotten even more famous after saving the Philosopher’s stone and yet he didn’t make anything of it, just stated that he hated all the extra attention. She remembered fondly the magical sense of wonder that had always plaid on his face whenever he saw something new, like a child’s. Not really a strange thing, seeing how he’d been brought up by muggles, who treated him like dirt. Then she had noted changes in him. And they hadn’t been good ones. He had, over the years gotten a haunted look in his eyes, the weight of that constant fighting against Voldemort finally starting to get to him. Of course he was still the same old Harry, but when he smiled, it rarely reached his eyes. But he was strong, a quick thinker and powerful and he’d showed that time and again. Molly really missed him, but she held full confidence in him, believed in him…

Ginny sat alongside her friends at the patio looking at nothing in particular, well she was looking at the general direction of the woods.
“Here we go again,” she thought with a sigh. “Looking at those damn trees, expecting Harry to come running out of them and into our lives again.” She missed him so much, those emerald eyes, that charming smile. Things had been pretty dull without him. Ron had become moody and Hermione acted like she was walking on glass, she was so stressed out. How she herself was taking it, she didn’t really know. She did note that she had become quiet and distancing herself from Ron and Hermione. She remembered the last time she saw Harry and it really wasn’t a nice memory; Harry broke up with her and they went their separated ways. But how she longed for him to be with her now, his firm and yet reckless demeanour being nice and a source of confidence and he would be a pillar of strength for all of them, for all of the Order.

They were full members now, but Mrs. Weasley had not allowed them to do any work.
“You’re too young!”, she’d shout at them and they would yell right back; “What about Harry? He’s been out there for the longest time fighting, You- know- who!” Then Molly Weasley would sigh and reply so dully that the row usually stopped there and there; “Harry hasn’t been heard of since he left now has he? We do not know how things are going with him.”
That’s where they’d all lose their will to fight. Hadn’t Harry left so they’d be safe? Yes probably. So they would not dishonour him by not doing what Mrs. Weasley told them.

The Trio now went up to bed, having eating dinner, not really having the required strength of sitting on the patio. Ron and Hermione had gotten closer to one another after Harry left and they slept in Ron’s and Harry’s room together. When Harry left those two had really gotten too understand just how much they cared for each other. They were always together, taking strength in the fact that they could be together now and Ron quietly thanked his friend for helping him realize how much Hermione meant to him.

But Ron did miss his best friend. He hated the fact that Harry was out there alone. His place was with them at the Burrow, not on the frontlines of some damned war. He had seen what it was doing to Ginny. She had indeed distanced herself from Hermione and himself. She was brooding and it was starting to get to his nerves. He had tried to tell her that Harry would not have her acting like this, making such a fuss over something she did. The reply he got resulted in Bat Bogey hex, Ginny’s speciality. So after that he’d given up on trying to be understanding, knowing she would not accept it.

Then there was Hermione, the one who was taking it the best, even though she wasn’t really taking it well. She had gotten all stressed up. She understood Harry better than the other two. She had always been able to figure out Harry’s next move but not that last one. That had left her in a right state. How could Harry have been so selfish, leaving his friends behind and not letting anyone know whether he was alive or not. She knew he could take care of himself, of that there was no doupt. But she still missed him ever so much…

And as it was Harry finally fell asleep on the grass somewhere across the seas, in a foreign country, next to his campfire…