Chapter Text
Something rather strange happened in Number 12, Grimmauld Place that night. None of the residents were particularly aware of it, wrapped up as they were in the process of closure and proper goodbyes. If any of them noticed, it might have been Harry or Al, who had a strange twinge at the back of their heads that told them the night wasn’t as ordinary. But they didn’t grasp the full picture: mainly, that everyone’s conversations happened in comfort and in full, despite the multiple different groups. There was enough time (and time to spare) for all of it, and by what appeared to be coincidence everyone was ready to begin another conversation just when another ended. It wouldn’t be possible under normal circumstances, even with the best of plans and a Time-Turner.
But Death had been wronged deeply by an agent of the Chaotic, wronged beyond the range of human comprehension. In exchange for that act, Death could create one place on Earth for one night that reflected the nature of the Afterlife. In that place people would find each other when it was necessary, and time was fluid, ready to bend to the whims of the worthy.
And giving that place to their Master and his family seemed to be the most logical choice.
The following is a partial recounting of selected conversations of that evening.