Where the rest of his family would be late for their own funerals, and thanks to a rogue April blizzard, his father had been, Harry would have to arrive at least two hours early. Probably even six, just to be certain, as time had a habit of filling itself and his was always all accounted for.

And that he sometimes sat in the garden for hours and simply stared at the plants. That particular behavior, she had assured Georgie with a shake of her head, was a sure sign that their master had taken too much on and no longer knew which way was up.

Harry had thought that the pit of despair he had been wallowing in could not possibly get any deeper, but he was wrong.