ᵗʰᵉ ʷᵃʳ ᵒᵛᵉʳ ᶤᶰ ᶰᵃᵐᵉ ᵒᶰˡʸ , there wasn’t a place to turn in the wizarding world that didn’t bear the scars . every day a new death eater was found , the survivors scattering like RATS as voldemort’s body fell cold , and even magic couldn’t rebuild overnight . even grimmauld , after a summer spent redecorating ( overhauling ) , held reminders . there was no escape from the ᵗᶤᵍʰᵗᶰᵉˢˢ in their chest / the memories replaying behind tightly closed eyes . well , almost no escape . with blythe , in this little corner of isolation , it all melted away and he was under no impression it was because of the distance . it wasn’t like the stories , he was keenly aware of how much had changed , and YET ... like puzzle pieces , they still fit even after all this time . not perfectly / not seamlessly , but they ᶠᶤᵗ . “ are you sure ? ” little more than a whisper , mouth suddenly dry at her offer . feels like a step TOO BIG to tackle blindly , after all that has happened between them ( all that he did . it was he who HURT her , after all . ) “ i don’t want you to feel forced to offer - i can get home fine - not that i don’t want to ... just . are you sure ? ”