She raised her wand to hex him again, but quicker than she could blink, faster than humanly possible, he was holding her wrist, his grip firm but not painful, her wand suddenly, inexplicably, in his other hand.
"Look, Daphne," he said, his voice serious now, all traces of his earlier nonchalance gone. "I know you don't like this. I know it sounds crazy. But… I can only go around performing miracles and pretending everything is fine for so long before I just… devolve into some kind of emotionless, detached husk. This isn't something I really want to do, not deep down. But it's something I feel like I should do, something I need to do, before it's too late and I'm not… not ME anymore. I know this sucks, believe me, I do. But I'd rather have everyone remember me as I am now, flaws and all, than have them see me when I eventually go completely crazy because I have nothing left, no purpose, no challenges. It's… it's the best of a really bad set of options, Daph. Who knows," he added, a faint, wistful smile touching his lips, "maybe one day, far in the future, I'll even come back and see what's been done about this old place."
Daphne felt tears, hot and unwelcome, pooling in her eyes. She absolutely hated it when the infuriating prat was right!
As much as she pretended he wasn't, as much as he drove her crazy, Harry was one of her closest, dearest friends, and the thought of him leaving, possibly forever, made her incredibly, deeply sad.
She had learned to truly appreciate him, to understand him, during the dark, desperate days of the war.
She'd gotten to know the real Harry then, the one behind the headlines and the hype, and all the unbelievable shit he constantly went through because of the biased media and their corrupt, incompetent government.
The way he had simply powered through all of it, the relentless pressure, the constant danger, the betrayals, and still successfully led a ragtag army of mostly underage kids against one of the darkest, most powerful Dark Lords of all time.
The way he had somehow mastered the almost impossible art of appearing so otherworldly and inspiring, a beacon of hope, while also seeming like a completely common, ordinary man who struggled with normal, relatable problems, just like everyone else.
He was a rock. That was the only way she could truly describe him. Not just for her, but for so many people. It would be incredibly hard for many of them to accept his leaving. Harry gave her a small, sad smile, his own eyes suspiciously bright.
"Come here," he said softly, holding his arms out for her. "Let me have a hug."
She slowly walked over to him and buried her face into his chest, her shoulders shaking. She let slip a few of the tears she had been trying so desperately to hold back.
"Hermione is going to absolutely kill you when she finds out about this, you know," she mumbled into his shirt, her voice thick with tears.
Harry laughed at that, a soft, rumbling sound in his chest that was both comforting and heartbreakingly familiar.
~~~~
Year 2022, Summer
Harry's POV:
'Is it wrong,' Harry wondered, surveying the absolutely packed room, 'to secretly wish that most of the people who supposedly came to see you off for probably the last time ever… didn't actually show up?'
He seriously doubted that this many people had ever even been in this particular chamber in the Department of Mysteries before today, much less all at the exact same time.
It looked like everyone and their mother, grandmother, and second cousin twice removed from the entire British magical community, and then some, had shown up to see him off on his grand, interdimensional adventure.
There were even prominent magical figures from different countries, dignitaries and officials he vaguely recognized from old newspaper clippings.
He could see the tell-tale glint of multiple video cameras, apparently live-streaming this whole spectacle all over the wizarding world.
He'd been quietly informed by a flustered Ministry official earlier that literally thousands were watching online. All of them, to see him off.
Harry sighed internally, a deep sense of weary annoyance settling over him. He knew, with absolute certainty, that this ridiculously over-the-top public farewell was Daphne's rather elaborate and very effective way of getting her revenge on him for springing his sudden decision to leave on her the way he did.
Which, in retrospect, was probably a terrible, insensitive way to break the news to one of his closest friends. He probably deserved this.
He spotted Daphne in the crowd, standing with her husband, Blaise Zabini, and their bright, bubbly nine-year-old daughter, Evelyn, who always, without fail, referred to him as 'Uncle Harry' with a mixture of awe and affection.
His gaze then shifted, finding Ron and Hermione standing nearby. They were with their own little girl, Rose, who had her mother's bushy hair and her father's freckles, and their younger son, Hugo, a miniature Ron in the making.
Both of them also referred to him in the same fond way as little Evelyn. He made his way over to them, navigating through the throng of well-wishers and curious onlookers.
"Well," Harry said, trying for a casual tone as he finally reached Ron and Hermione. "This is it, I guess."
They had already said their proper, tearful goodbyes earlier that morning, in the quiet privacy of Grimmauld Place, since they'd found out that this public… event… was going to happen.
That didn't stop Hermione from immediately enveloping him in another tight, tearful hug, her shoulders shaking slightly. Ron, looking unusually somber, gave him a rough, heartfelt side hug, his own eyes suspiciously red.
"You know you don't actually have to go, mate," Ron told him, his voice thick with emotion, a few stray tears escaping and trickling down his cheeks. "I mean, you could always just… stay. Even if it's just for a little while longer. We'd… we'd like that."
Harry smiled, a genuine, though undeniably sad, smile. He did his absolute best not to join his best friend and start crying himself.