My Ending for Harry Potter, Book 7

According to J.K. Rowling, the last word in Book 7 is "scar." So, last Friday LaShawn Barber issued a challenge: to write the last several paragraphs of Book 7.I was under the weather last Friday, but I still want to play. Rather than hijacking her comment thread, I thought I'd post my ending on my blog.If anyone else would care to play, please be my guest! Either post in the comments or Trackback.

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Harry, Hermione, and Ron stood on the platform at King's Cross Station, between No. 9 and No. 10. Their trunks, rather the worse for wear, were beside them. A large, empty cage stood on top of Harry's.

"What will you do now, Harry?" Hermione asked softly.

"Dunno," Harry answered, shrugging his shoulders. "There isn't much call for wizards who've lost their magic."

"You know Fred and George will hire you at the shop," Ron chimed in quickly. "And there's room at the Burrow now with Bill married and Percy gone. Mum'd love having someone to fuss over."

"Or stay with my Mum and Dad. They're used to not having magic about." Hermione tried to keep her voice light, but her eyes betrayed her.

Harry smiled. His two best mates, always concerned. Always loyal.

"Thanks," he answered. "I mean it. But I'll make do. Just let me know when the wedding is."

Ron and Hermione exchanged a quick glance. Ron's neck and ears matched the color of his hair.

Hermione cleared her throat. "But how will we find you, Harry?"

"I'm sure you'll find a way," Harry said. "After all, didn't someone once say you were the brightest witch of your age?"

Hermione's eyes were suddenly bright with tears. She hugged Harry, hard.

"Take care of yourself," she whispered.

Harry stuck out his hand to Ron. "Good luck in..." he began and found himself locked in a bear hug.

Ron quickly released him, sniffed, and said, "Thanks. You, too."

He left quickly, dragging his trunk and the empty cage across the station to the taxi stand. Despite his assurance to Hermione, Harry really didn't have a place to go. Without his magic, he'd never find 12 Grimmauld Place and returning to No. 4 Privet Drive was out of the question. But he couldn't live in Diagon Alley, either. If the wizarding world had made a fuss of him before, now he'd never a moment's privacy. He needed to be alone, to grieve for those he had lost: mother, father, Sirius, Professor Dumbeldore, Ginny, even Professor Snape. He needed to learn to be a Muggle again.

Harry blinked in the bright sunlight.

"Taxi, guv?" a gruff voice asked.

"Oh... uh... Sure," Harry answered. He climbed in while the driver wrestled his trunk into the boot.

"Where to, ‘Arry?" the driver asked.

Surprised, Harry glanced up at the rearview mirror. There was something familiar about those blue eyes. Something about the twinkle…

“I’d know you anywhere, Harry,” the voice was familiar now. “Even without your scar.”