When Harry finds him, Alfred is letting the wind whistle through his horns, listening to the song it creates.

He hasn't really been - okay, since that day. Sure, he has managed, he has carried on, but...in his nightmares he has revisited again and again what happened, the scent of burned feathers, the taste of Harry's soul on his tongue, the feeling of pleasure when he -

Well, he hasn't been okay, is the point.

And it's with no small amount of shock that he jerks his crimson gaze upward as his name is called by a familiar voice, watching the harpy come in for a landing - and then embrace him. He freezes there, arms held out at his sides for a long, long moment before he gingerly winds his arms around Harry in return. Immediately he starts to cry, hiccuping on sobs.

"...You - you have nothing to be sorry for, it's - it's my fault, Harry, I - I'm so sorry, I'm SO sorry...."