A/N: Hi everyone! This chapter is going to be a little rough. TW for minor character death. Proceed with caution, and take care. 💕 Everything's going to be okay, I promise.

🩵💛❤️💜🩷

HENRY:

I had just started playing my first song request of the evening when a sudden chill whipped around me. I knew instantly that it was magic on the air, not just a stray breeze from a door opening and closing, so I continued playing with one hand while the other reached for the wand hidden in my pocket.

It was Archie's gaze that I met when I looked up. He had a wildly smug grin on his face from where he was standing, pressed into the shadows on the wall, and I laughed and shook my head as I placed both hands on the keys again. Archie sauntered over, pride radiating off of him in palpable waves.

"You scared me, Graye," I said. "So, you liked what you heard last week enough to come back for more?"

"Yes, and I brought a friend," he replied with a wink. I cocked my head at him, making him grin wider. "He stopped dead in his tracks as soon as we walked in the door. I think he's a little starstruck."

And with that, Archie walked past me, and I glanced up toward the door to see who he had dragged along.

My fingers faltered on the keys for a moment, only one moment, but a moment nonetheless. George Weasley was awkwardly standing in front of the door, undeniably transfixed.

I offered him a shy smile and tipped my head down over the keys to hide the blush creeping into my cheeks. Apparently that small acknowledgement from me was all that he needed to be propelled into action, because rapid footsteps approached me, halted, then hurried past me.

"I don't want to distract him," George hissed from somewhere behind me.

"Oh please, Henry's a professional," Archie replied loudly. He didn't need to be quite so loud — it was obvious that they were sitting at the table directly behind me. "I talked to him the whole time he played last week, except for when I stopped to sing along."

"These songs have words?"

"Of course they — "

"Shh, shut up, I want to see if I can figure out what the words are," George interrupted.

I could practically feel his eyes boring into the back of my head as I kept playing. I fought the urge to sigh. Of course somebody had requested "Somebody to Love" by Queen. Of course I was in the middle of playing a song that I had put on George's Walkman.

I prayed he wouldn't recognize it, and the longer I played and he didn't say anything more, the more relieved I felt. And then right before the end of the song, a gasp.

"I know this song! It's on the Walkman we play in the shop!"

"Good for you, Georgie," Archie remarked. "Song title and band name?"

"Oh, bloody hell, now that I'm on the spot, I can't remember," George groaned. "I know every word, but I'm not sure what — "

"Henry, why don't you help a man out?" Archie called.

I played the last notes with a flourish and nodded at the man who had requested the song before I tossed the answer over my shoulder.

"'Somebody to Love,' by Queen." I stretched my fingers out, then started improvising softly, letting my fingers dance over the keys however they saw fit as I waited for the next request.

"Er — hi, Henry," George said. "You — play piano, then?"

I chuckled. "Hi, George. Yeah, I do. Surprise, I guess."

"You're really good," he went on. "I don't know how you're — doing that. You can play songs without looking at music? I thought — well, Hermione told me once that people who play music need to look at music the same way people who cook need to look at recipes. Ron told me she played piano too, as a child."

"That's not a bad analogy. I suppose, following that logic, I've memorized a lot of recipes, so I can make a dish without needing to consult something else to tell me how to do it."

"But — that's — I mean, I've spent a great deal of time with Lucy in the kitchen and she has a lot of cookie recipes memorized, but that's just a few ingredients in a bowl in a specific order. You're using both of your hands, and bloody hell, they're even moving at different times, and sometimes your left hand is on black keys and your right hand is on white keys and vice versa, and — how are you doing that?"

The tips of my ears were burning. George was making it sound like playing piano was a superpower or something.

"Lots of practice," I replied, "and I'm far from perfect — "

"Stop being so modest, I heard you play 'Bohemian Rhapsody' without missing a single note last week," Archie interrupted.

"Oh, wow. I know that one. That seems difficult." George was silent for a long moment. "What song are you playing now?"

"It's not a song. I'm just improvising while I wait for another request."

"Not a — it's not a song?" George spluttered. "It sure sounds like one! If it's not a song, it should be! It sounds great!"

"Ah, thanks," I replied, feeling as if I were on fire, about to burn to an absolute crisp. "Feel free to start transcribing. I'll never be able to play this again if I tried."

"Wait, what? Why not?"

I was torn between laughing delightedly and fleeing the pub and never looking back. George sounded appalled.

"I'm not really... thinking about this very much," I said. "I'm just playing notes I know will sound good together in a rhythm that makes musical sense. I'm repeating this idea occasionally — " I played an arpeggio in G major with my right hand, keeping my left on a sustained G major chord, then descended the G major scale note by note until I landed on a G major chord with my right hand as well. " — but that's nothing particularly special or unique, most people use something like that as a basic beginner exercise. I know I did, at least. Anyway, I just use it as a connection between ideas to give myself a little time to think about what to play next, since it's something simple and familiar. Most people don't pay too much attention to this filler I'm playing, anyway. They pay more attention when I'm playing requests."

"Well, then they're missing out," George replied with a huff.

Archie saved me from having to reply by announcing that he was going to go get a drink, and George followed suit, and the night went on, and I felt my flushed face begin to cool. Not entirely, though — I could feel George's eyes on me as I played, his words still ringing in my ears over the sound of the keys beneath my fingers.

It was hard to keep track of time while I was sitting at a piano, but I suppose that was something I'd always loved about it. Time didn't exist at the piano, beyond the tempo of whatever song was in your heart. There was something magnetic about the piano too. A crowd began to gather around me, people talking to me, making requests, talking to each other, sharing stories about why each song was so important to them. Even the suggestions that seemed silly had something special about them. Sometimes it was the favorite song of a lover, a best friend. Sometimes it was the soundtrack to a happy memory. Whenever I didn't know a song, or enough of a song, someone would start rifling through the overflowing, ever-growing box of music on the floor beside me, a haphazard collection of everything any musician had ever played or wanted to play at that pub. Thankfully I'd always been good at sight reading. With everything else in my life, I was cautious, hanging back, watching others do something first before daring to try it myself, scared of being wrong, terrified of failure. Not piano, though. Mum made sure of that. I had lessons, yes, and I learned music theory the same as anyone else learning piano, but Mum always understood that piano was something more dear to me than just a hobby.

"Your piano is your art," she told me every time I was frustrated about not being able to play a passage. "Never let anybody tell you it's right or wrong. It's an extension of you, sweetheart. Other piano players, the ones who don't love it the way you do, they can have their 'right' and 'wrong,' but not you. You take your gift, and you use it to make yourself happy first, others second. If you truly listen to the melody you have in your heart and follow it, you'll never be wrong. Alright?"

So I sight read with a confidence that grew over time, and I got to use that skill to make myself and others happy weekly.

I wasn't sure how much time had passed when I felt a gentle yet shaking hand on my shoulder and a soft yet anxious voice in my ear.

"I'm sorry, I don't know how much longer you have to play, but we might have a bit of a... situation," George said.

I felt my shoulders tense automatically. I kept playing, minor chords coming out a little louder than intended. "What's wrong?"

"Archie stepped outside to take a smoke, saying he'd be right back, but I just checked outside since he was gone a little longer than usual and he's not there. I know I'm most likely making a big deal out of nothing, but after everything with..."

Lucy.

"I understand," I said. "What time is it?"

"A little after midnight."

"Oh! I'm more than good to go, then. Let me just go tell Joseph I'm leaving because something came up."

George's hand disappeared from my shoulder, and I met his gaze as we exchanged a nod. Two minutes later, we left the pub side-by-side.

"I'm sure he's alright," George said, "he's quite mischievous when he wants to be, but with everything going on, I don't think he'd disappear on us just for fun, you know?"

"I understand," I replied. "Better safe than sorry. But let's assume for the moment that he's just playing a little joke on us. He'd be waiting for us somewhere he knows we'd look, right?"

"Yeah. You're right, as always. I'll check the joke shop, and you can check your flat, and if he's not in either of those places, we can sound the alarm and go look for him together."

I nodded. "Perfect. I'll head over to your flat in five minutes, ideally with Archie in tow."

"Alright." George reached out suddenly and squeezed my shoulder. He looked for a minute as if he wanted to do more, but he held back. "Stay safe."

"I will. You too."

We exchanged a nod, then headed our separate ways. I hurried down the street to my block of flats, then climbed the stairs to my flat, reaching for my keys with shaky fingers. I managed to open it after a momentary struggle, and I sighed with relief when a quick glance confirmed that Archie was standing in my entry.

"Oh, good, you're okay," I said as I fiddled with my keys, which were now stuck in the lock. "We were worried that something had happened to you."

"Henry."

"One second, sorry, my keys are stuck." I kept tugging, but to no avail. I glanced up at Archie with an exasperated See? gesture, but my stomach dropped when I saw how pale his face was and how wide his eyes were. "Archie? What happened?"

"Henry, I — here." He hurried over and wiggled my keys until they came free. He closed the door hurriedly, muttering a locking charm. He pressed my keys into my hand before grabbing my hand tightly in both of his. "I need to take you to the Order headquarters. Right now."

"I — what? Archie, what's wrong?"

Without answering me, he dragged me to the fireplace, drawing his wand and starting a fire in the same motion. He let go of my hand only to toss Floo powder in. Once the flames burned green, he seized me by the wrist and shoved me in, shouting something as he did.

A short Floo trip later, I found myself shoved into an unfamiliar kitchen. I looked around to find only two other people in the kitchen: Nymphadora Tonks, and my dad. Tonks was standing, arms crossed, hair a dull shade of brown, looking at me with the same pale-faced wide-eyed look Archie had directed at me. Dad was sitting in a chair, elbows resting on the kitchen table, shoulders slumped, face tear-streaked.

"What happened?" I asked around the throbbing in my throat.

At the sound of my voice, Dad shot up out of his chair and wrapped his arms around me without a word. I automatically hugged him back, not knowing what else to do.

The Floo roared, and Archie appeared in a blaze of green flame.

"What happened?" I asked again. "Where's Mum?"

I don't know who answered me. I don't know what words were said. I don't know how long time stopped. I don't know when it started again. I don't know anything about the moment I knew, except for the fact that I knew.

Mum was gone.

The war had claimed another person I loved.

As if claiming Cedric wasn't enough. As if claiming Cedric wasn't too much.

Time, always so fluid when I was sitting at a piano, screeched to a halt for a moment. Only a moment. Then it began again, strict and unrelenting, an agonizingly rigid march. My heart stopped then started right along with time, forcing my entire body to tremble with each and every laborious beat.

I came back to myself an uncertain amount of time later. I guessed I had only been spaced out for a couple of seconds at the most, but I forced myself to focus, to try to remain in sync with the march of time surrounding me, even though I wanted nothing more than to disappear.

As much as I felt like my life started the day I met Cedric, I had in fact known a world without him, as much as I preferred living in a world with him. I had never known a world without Mum. I didn't want to know a world without Mum, or without Cedric. And yet, there I was. I wanted nothing more than to disappear, so I didn't have to know that world.

Dad let me go after one more squeeze, and he steadied himself against the kitchen table, palms flat, arms shaking as he struggled to compose himself.

Tonks was talking. "We don't know exactly what happened or why, but the attack seemed oddly targeted. Order members are there with Ministry officials now, trying to figure something out. I'm so sorry, Henry."

"I couldn't have been gone for more than ten minutes," Dad choked out. He drew a ragged breath, looking down at the table with unseeing eyes. "I went to Tesco, the close one, because we were up late and wanted to eat a little something before bed and she wanted cereal but we were out of milk, and she told me that it was okay and that I didn't have to go out just to get milk for her midnight snack, but I insisted because it wasn't quite midnight yet meaning Tesco was still open and — I just wanted her to be able to — I had no idea that — if I had known that..."

I reached forward and laid what I hoped was a reassuring hand on his shoulder. "It's alright, Dad, it's alright. You couldn't have known."

"I'm sorry," he whispered, caving in on himself, pulling away from me.

I understood. I took a couple of steps backward until I found a counter to lean on. I was dizzy.

"It's alright," I whispered to no one in particular.

Archie stepped into my line of sight, looking more uncertain than I'd ever seen him. "I'm so sorry, mate," he said quietly.

"It's alright," I whispered again.

Archie shook his head and opened his mouth, but before he could say anything, a door to the kitchen opened to reveal Mrs. Weasley. I'd met her before, when I went with the twins to the Burrow for dinner while Lucy was staying there over summer.

She sniffled, then offered a sad, small, weak, wavering smile. "There are rooms available upstairs, with clean linens. You two can rest here, before you go to Hogwarts tomorrow to tell Gretchen the news."

Gretch. Oh, Gretch. I'm sorry I can't protect you from this grief.

Dad blinked and straightened up, shaking his head. "Oh, I — thank you, but — we really ought to go now." He looked at me over his shoulder. "She needs to hear it from us. We need to go, right now."

I shook my head. I couldn't protect her from this grief forever, but I could protect her for just a couple hours more.

"No, Dad, I think she... we need to let her sleep tonight." I swallowed hard. "It'll be a long time before she will be able to sleep again. We can go in the morning, right away. For tonight, we need to let her sleep."

"Yeah. Yeah, that's a good idea, Henry, that's a — a really good idea." Dad looked at me for a long moment, pain and understanding written all over his face. I knew in that moment that he saw in my eyes a similar grief to his own; he had remembered Cedric, and the many long nights I had spent the summer after losing him. It wasn't the same grief, because each experience of grief proves itself to be unique, but there was understanding between us in that moment regardless.

"You two should try to rest too," Mrs. Weasley asserted, gentle but firm.

I tried to will myself to nod, my feet to move, something, but I couldn't. I just wanted to disappear.

Dad started to walk, though, toward Mrs. Weasley, saying something. He glanced back over his shoulder, to see if I was following. When he saw I wasn't, he started to say something else, but he was interrupted by the Floo surging green again.

It was George who appeared, wild-eyed.

"Where is he?" George asked, looking around until he found me. One stride, two strides later, he had his arms around me, holding me so tight it was a wonder he wasn't crushing me. I think maybe he was holding me together. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, it's going to be okay, I promise."

I didn't let myself sink down into him. I knew that if I did, I would never want to move again. Fred arrived mere seconds later and joined the hug, and Archie did too.

I don't know how long it was before I came back to myself that time, but when I realized the hug was over, Dad and Mrs. Weasley were gone and Tonks was talking to the other three boys, who were standing around me in a loose circle. I stared into nothingness, nevertheless aware of everyone else's looks directed at me.

After a couple of moments, George looked at me and said something.

I blinked. "What, sorry?"

"That answers that," he said with a small, gentle smile. "C'mon, you should sit down, and these kitchen chairs are far from comfortable."

Not having it in me to protest, I followed George out of the kitchen and down a narrow hallway to a sitting room of sorts. He walked over to a sofa and gestured for me to join him, but my eyes were drawn to the piano in the corner.

My feet moved of their own volition. I only faintly heard George asking me what I was doing as I walked up to the piano and sat down. I kept my hands firmly on my thighs, not letting my fingers touch the keys.

George lowered himself next to me on the bench mere moments later. He didn't say anything, but the silence wasn't uncomfortable. I don't know how long I stared at the piano before I began to speak.

"I started playing when I was five, when Mum was pregnant with my sister. I was too little to reach the pedals, but my hands were finally big enough to play chords, so I started piano lessons. When I was practicing outside of lessons, Mum would sit with me and place her feet on the pedals for me. She'd always tell me that she loved my music, and that Baby Sister did too. I really took that to heart, and at the first lesson I had after Gretch was born, I begged my teacher to teach me every lullaby she knew, and whenever Gretch cried, no matter what time it was or what was making her cry, I'd dutifully head to the piano and start playing lullabies. I guess that's when I started to memorize music, really, because if it was the middle of the night, I didn't want to have to think too much about reading sheet music, you know? It was much easier to just play the songs so much I could play them even in the dark and even when I was more asleep than awake. Obviously my baby sister didn't stay a baby forever, and we both outgrew the lullabies. I had piano lessons twice a week up until the time I left for school, and I kept taking lessons over summers, too. I didn't really start learning Muggle songs until the summer Cedric had that internship at St. Mungo's. He had a Muggle-born flatmate who loved 70s Muggle music, and I knew my mom did too, so I spent the whole summer behind the piano learning as many songs as I could. Whenever Cedric stayed at our house for a couple of days, he'd ask me to show him what I'd been learning on piano, because he knew that he was the only person who knew I played piano and he always loved giving me an excuse to show off, even though I was always shy about it. Anyway, I knew he was gaining interest in Muggle music, and Mum always loved it, so it was a good excuse to try to make them both happy, because I thought Cedric would come spend a couple days with us after the Quidditch World Cup. He didn't get the chance, after the attack, because he had to stay and take care of Lucy. I... never got to play for him. I didn't play piano much the summer after he died, because, well, I didn't really see a point. Mum insisted that I keep taking lessons anyway, so I had at least one regular thing a week. I'm really glad she did, even though I didn't properly appreciate it at the time. Playing the piano at the pub started somewhat recently, and it was kind of on a whim, but I told her about it right after my first night, and she was so happy. She always knew how much I loved piano, even when I forgot that I did. I..." I inhaled deeply to keep the tears at bay. "You know, now that I think about it, I learned my first Muggle song before I started Hogwarts. I don't remember how old I was exactly, but my mum's favorite Muggle song had an easy enough piano part that I was able to pick it up when I was quite young. I — nobody's ever requested it, actually, which is kind of surprising, because I think it's a fairly popular Muggle song, but — I think I — no, I know I still remember how to play it, because — I — it..." I tried to take another deep breath, but it was getting harder and harder to breathe, let alone talk, as tears slowly crawled up my throat. "It was the last song I ever played for her. I told her a couple weeks ago that no one had ever requested it, and she was joking around about me forgetting how to play it, so I went and played it for her, not to prove myself, but just to make her happy, since I hadn't played piano at home for fun in so long. It worked, she was — so happy. And now she's..."

I swallowed hard, blinking rapidly, but it was no use. Tears rose to my eyes, but I didn't dare let one fall.

I lifted my hands to the keys, my fingers finding the familiar notes without me even needing to look.

I let my hands do the talking for me as I played the first chords of "Hey Jude" by the Beatles.

I didn't sing. I didn't want to, and I didn't need to. The world around me fell away, until it was just me and the piano. I let myself imagine that Mum could hear me, somehow. I let myself imagine that she was singing the words, since I would not, could not.

I thought maybe playing it would make me feel better. And it did, for a moment, but the illusion shattered as soon as I hit a wrong note due to a combination of my shaking hands and tear-blurred vision.

Panic and guilt ripped through me violently as I raced to correct it. Before I could, though, the piano itself fired a spell at me, grazing the top of my right hand, the one that had made the error. I yelped and toppled sideways off the bench, startled, clutching my injured hand even though it truly didn't even hurt, it was just the equivalent of a paper cut.

Then, and only then, did the tears begin to fall.

"What was that, what happened?" George asked, crouching in front of me in an instant, tugging at my hands. "Let me see, let me see."

"It doesn't hurt," I replied, tears still falling, "it really doesn't, it doesn't hurt, it's okay, really, it doesn't hurt, it doesn't hurt, it doesn't."

"Alright, Henry, it's alright, I understand, it's okay, you're okay, I know, but I'm going to heal it anyway," he murmured as he drew his wand and pressed the tip of it to my hand and whispered a healing spell.

The second the relief of the healing spell removed the sting in my hand, I only started crying harder, collapsing in on myself, grief sweeping me up in a crushing wave. I only vaguely recognized the choked sounds of despair filling the room as my own.

"It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts." I chanted this while sobbing, sobbing, sobbing, sobbing, sobbing.

George's arms wrapped around me, holding me up, as he chanted something of his own. "I know, I'm sorry, I'm here. I know, I'm sorry, I'm here. I know, I'm sorry, I'm here." He knew it wasn't my hand that was hurting, but he healed it anyway.

Even as I continued to cry uncontrollably, more words poured from my mouth. I couldn't help it, and I couldn't stop.

"I was alone that night. The night Cedric died. I watched Lucy jump over the railing and sprint over to Harry and Cedric before I could stop her, then I watched you two take off after her. Then I looked, really looked, at what was going on, and something just — broke. We all had to stay in our seats at first, so his parents and the professors and the Ministry employees could get down there, then they started having sections leave one by one. I was part of the first section that got to go, and I ended up leading the way back to the castle, but nobody followed me. I walked all the way to the castle, all the way to the Hufflepuff common room, all the way to our dormitory, and I kept waiting for someone else to come up after me, but nobody did. I was alone in the dormitory all night, sitting on my bed, staring at Cedric's, waiting for someone, anyone, but no one came. I don't know exactly how long I was just sitting there, staring, waiting, but it was the next day by the time I went down to the common room and found that almost everyone else in Hufflepuff had stayed there all night, and no one had even realized I wasn't there until I showed up however many hours later. They all looked like they'd been hit with Stunning Spells, which I remember thinking was odd considering I was certainly more stunned to see them than they were to see me. The silence... it was so quiet in there, no one knew what to say. I just turned back around and went back up to the dormitory, and it was Archie who followed first, because he'd arrived in the Hufflepuff common room just a couple of minutes after I'd made my awkward entrance and exit and he'd marched up to be with me right away. Gretch came a little while later, with her cat in tow, our cat, because she'd heard the story of my awkward entrance and exit from someone else when she went down to the common room after spending the night in her dorm with Nibbles and the other girls in her year, she was one of the only people that didn't stay in the common room with the others, because she was worried about Nibbles being lonely and she thought that my friends had gone up to be with me, since she found Archie with me. I've never told her the truth that I was alone all night, because she doesn't need to know. I've never told anyone this, not Gretch, not Lucy, not anybody. Almost everyone in Hufflepuff knew, of course, but nobody ever spoke of it again. I know that everyone felt sorry about what had happened, but none of us wanted to address it, so we didn't, and that's okay, but I was alone that night and I — I think I've felt alone ever since. I kept waiting for Cedric to come up and be with me, even if no one else would, because he always did, so we could be alone together, but he never did, and he never will, and realizing that was so hard, and trying to learn how to be okay with it has been even harder, and I was just starting to learn how to be okay with that when... when tonight... when Mum..."

Another painful sob escaped me, and I was too overcome to speak.

"I'm so sorry, Henry," George said softly, holding me tighter. "You're not alone, you're not, I'm not going to leave you alone, I'm here, I'm right here, you're not alone right now, I'm here, I'll stay here with you as long as you need me, you don't have to be alone ever again, you have me, I'm here."

Alone. What a strange feeling to have, even with someone else healing me and holding me. For fifteen months, I thought everything would be better if only I hadn't been alone that night. There I was, fifteen months later, still feeling alone even with arms around me, tethering me to reality, to the present, to the cruel onward march of time. A lifeline of sorts, a chain of sorts. A lifeline nonetheless. I was alone in my grief, yes, because grief was always unique. But I forced myself to look beyond that, just for a moment.

I wasn't alone. Not again. Never again, I hoped.

I hoped and I hoped and I hoped.