Harry felt lost. Completely, and utterly lost. And not in the usual, "The Dursleys forgot the road atlas when we went to Southampton so we have to ask for directions," kind of lost. No, right now Harry couldn't even tell which solar system this was. He had woken up the Man-Who-Won, happily engaged to the love of his life, finally free to sort out what post-war life should look like, and then the entire planet had gone up in smoke.
A few paces in front of him, somehow not privy to his internal crisis, Fleur Weasley nee Delacour (newly widowed, but apparently unconcerned) strode confidently across the spaceport without a care in the world. She seemed to have a plan, but every time he asked about it she just insisted that said plan would "take too long to explain" and "need a lot of context." Worst of all, she justified it by waving what looked like an e-reader in his general direction.
After Earth blew up, things had only gotten stranger. After hitching a ride with the people who blew up his planet (rude and bureaucratic), they had quickly jumped ship to a passing ship crewed by equally aliens (surprisingly nice), and now they were bumming a ride to some coffeeshop Fleur wanted to visit on some moon of... Antares? Yeah. Harry was a little lost.
Yes, this is palette-swapped Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy.