The Burrow was quite that morning, but then, it was only seven-thirty.
Harry got up and exited Ron's room. He showered hastily and made his way downstairs. The kitchen was entirely empty. It was rather stuffy, and the weather was performing it's typical ups and downs for this time of year. It had rained last night. Harry threw open a window and sat down in a chair. The leaves on the trees fluttered in the warm August breeze.
Glancing around, he noticed the pile of old Wellington boots was one pair short: The bright red ones that Ginny wore were missing. He vaguely wondered where she was, but wasn't worried in the least.
The front door burst open, and Ginny came in, trailing mud in her wake.
"Morning," she mumbled, hastily reaching for her wand to clean up her footsteps. She then did a rather epic double-take and nearly set her cloths on fire with surprise. "Harry! What're you...you're supposed to be..." She left the question hanging and ran to hug him.
"In case you've forgotten, it's your seventeenth birthday. I got here last night sometime around midnight. Just about when your dad got home."
"Why didn't you send an owl?"
"I did. Suppose your mum...er...forgot to mention it. So. What've you been doing?" He gestured rather unnecessarily towards her muddy boots and cloths.
"Oh, I was just...going for a walk. It's kind of wet, it rained here yesterday, you see."
"Yes, I don't suppose your mum will be to happy," he said smiling fondly and a bit sadly. He had noticed, despite her attempts to hide it, the tracks tears had made on her face and the fact that her chocolate brown eyes were rimmed with red. Fred's death was still fresh in everyone's minds. Then add on everyone else who'd...
"No, she won't!" Mrs. Weasley cried shrilly from the kitchen doorway, shaking her wand at Ginny as one might shake a finger, or perhaps - more appropriately - a fist.
She turned to Harry and asked in a kind, motherly voice, quite the contrast to the exasperated scolding she'd given her daughter, "I do hope you slept well, dear."
"Yes, Mrs. Weasley, thanks," Harry replied, glancing at his girlfriend and trying desperately not to smirk. He instead contented himself with a fleeting, pitying smile.
"Ginny, honestly! Haven't I enough to deal with? You had better-"
But they never did find out what Ginny had better do, as another, much taller figure appeared in the doorway: Ron, looking as though he had not slept well at all.
"Harry! Good to see you, mate! Saw your stuff in my room and figured you'd gotten here."
"Did everybody know about this except for me?" Ginny asked testily.
"Yes," George replied, grinning at her from just behind their brother. "Appropriate, isn't it, seeing as it's your birthday and he's your-" But he was cut off by scathing looks from both his friend and his sister. Mrs. Weasley, however, was paying them no attention and had started on breakfast, giving each of the kids except Harry an un-pleasant sounding task to do before the food was ready.
She was just instructing Ron to get eggs from the chickens, and this time not to break any, as he did not need to use magic for everything, and he could get them perfectly fine without a summoning charm. ("Oh, fine! Accio black Wellington boots!" said Ron.)
"Please, Mrs. Weasley, let me do something..." Harry trailed off uncertainly as Molly glared at Ron's use of "unnecessary magic".
"Nothing left to do, dear," Mrs. Weasley replied briskly with another rather unnerving change of tone.
"Then I'll...help Ginny clean out the spare room for Charlie..." Harry muttered, standing to follow Ginny upstairs.
"Why me, not Ron or George?" Ginny asked, trying to sound indifferent, but giving herself away by not looking her boyfriend in the eye.
"Well, I don't much care for chickens," Harry mumbled, fighting a smile, "and I don't fancy garden gnomes as company either. Though," he added hastily, "your brothers seem to have successfully taught them a rather large number of swear words."
"Yes, I suppose they have," Ginny said with a reluctant giggle, turning to wipe dust off the scarred surface of the wardrobe and glad for the excuse not to look at him.
"How - how are you?"
"Excellent," she said stiffly.
Inwardly, Harry cursed his stupidity. After all she'd been through...losing her brother... No. Don't think of Fred. It wasn't your fault, he told himself firmly.
"No, you aren't," he said bluntly. Ginny wanted desperately to agree, to cry, to stop pretending that she was dealing with everything fine and she'd gotten over it. But, of course, the Weasleys are known for their stubbornness.
"I don't want to talk about it," she replied tersely. She wasn't really angry, but Harry was really the last person that she wanted to see her cry. Which was probably stupid, she thought, almost as though scolding herself.
Harry nodded silently and helped her pull new sheets over Charlie's bed. Ginny didn't mention their conversation over breakfast, and Harry took his lead from her. It was, however, bound to come up again.
And it did, as they stepped outside into the muggy summer air to wait for Charlie's arrival - Bill and Fleur would come just before dinner.
They stood at the gate, feeling the summer rain pattering on their heads with refreshing coolness. "I'm sorry if I upset you earlier," Harry mumbled, not looking at Ginny.
"It's alright."
"But, you know, if you ever want to talk..."
"Yeah, I know."
It was worse when she didn't expect it, the large lump rising in her throat, hot tears stinging her eyes.
Harry wrapped his arms around her waist, and she rested her head on his shoulder. Perhaps it was better that way, just letting herself cry.
That was the day that the atmosphere really relaxed in the Burrow. When Mrs. Weasley smiled at the mention of Fred, when Ginny didn't cry herself to sleep, when George cracked a joke and a smile after his twin's death. That was the day things really started to get back to normal.
George stood at the window, watching as one of his best friends kissed his sister's tear-stained face and said, "We'll be okay."
Nobody replied audibly, but a voice, Fred's, from beyond the veil whispered, "Yeah, we will."
Harry got up and exited Ron's room. He showered hastily and made his way downstairs. The kitchen was entirely empty. It was rather stuffy, and the weather was performing it's typical ups and downs for this time of year. It had rained last night. Harry threw open a window and sat down in a chair. The leaves on the trees fluttered in the warm August breeze.
Glancing around, he noticed the pile of old Wellington boots was one pair short: The bright red ones that Ginny wore were missing. He vaguely wondered where she was, but wasn't worried in the least.
The front door burst open, and Ginny came in, trailing mud in her wake.
"Morning," she mumbled, hastily reaching for her wand to clean up her footsteps. She then did a rather epic double-take and nearly set her cloths on fire with surprise. "Harry! What're you...you're supposed to be..." She left the question hanging and ran to hug him.
"In case you've forgotten, it's your seventeenth birthday. I got here last night sometime around midnight. Just about when your dad got home."
"Why didn't you send an owl?"
"I did. Suppose your mum...er...forgot to mention it. So. What've you been doing?" He gestured rather unnecessarily towards her muddy boots and cloths.
"Oh, I was just...going for a walk. It's kind of wet, it rained here yesterday, you see."
"Yes, I don't suppose your mum will be to happy," he said smiling fondly and a bit sadly. He had noticed, despite her attempts to hide it, the tracks tears had made on her face and the fact that her chocolate brown eyes were rimmed with red. Fred's death was still fresh in everyone's minds. Then add on everyone else who'd...
"No, she won't!" Mrs. Weasley cried shrilly from the kitchen doorway, shaking her wand at Ginny as one might shake a finger, or perhaps - more appropriately - a fist.
She turned to Harry and asked in a kind, motherly voice, quite the contrast to the exasperated scolding she'd given her daughter, "I do hope you slept well, dear."
"Yes, Mrs. Weasley, thanks," Harry replied, glancing at his girlfriend and trying desperately not to smirk. He instead contented himself with a fleeting, pitying smile.
"Ginny, honestly! Haven't I enough to deal with? You had better-"
But they never did find out what Ginny had better do, as another, much taller figure appeared in the doorway: Ron, looking as though he had not slept well at all.
"Harry! Good to see you, mate! Saw your stuff in my room and figured you'd gotten here."
"Did everybody know about this except for me?" Ginny asked testily.
"Yes," George replied, grinning at her from just behind their brother. "Appropriate, isn't it, seeing as it's your birthday and he's your-" But he was cut off by scathing looks from both his friend and his sister. Mrs. Weasley, however, was paying them no attention and had started on breakfast, giving each of the kids except Harry an un-pleasant sounding task to do before the food was ready.
She was just instructing Ron to get eggs from the chickens, and this time not to break any, as he did not need to use magic for everything, and he could get them perfectly fine without a summoning charm. ("Oh, fine! Accio black Wellington boots!" said Ron.)
"Please, Mrs. Weasley, let me do something..." Harry trailed off uncertainly as Molly glared at Ron's use of "unnecessary magic".
"Nothing left to do, dear," Mrs. Weasley replied briskly with another rather unnerving change of tone.
"Then I'll...help Ginny clean out the spare room for Charlie..." Harry muttered, standing to follow Ginny upstairs.
"Why me, not Ron or George?" Ginny asked, trying to sound indifferent, but giving herself away by not looking her boyfriend in the eye.
"Well, I don't much care for chickens," Harry mumbled, fighting a smile, "and I don't fancy garden gnomes as company either. Though," he added hastily, "your brothers seem to have successfully taught them a rather large number of swear words."
"Yes, I suppose they have," Ginny said with a reluctant giggle, turning to wipe dust off the scarred surface of the wardrobe and glad for the excuse not to look at him.
"How - how are you?"
"Excellent," she said stiffly.
Inwardly, Harry cursed his stupidity. After all she'd been through...losing her brother... No. Don't think of Fred. It wasn't your fault, he told himself firmly.
"No, you aren't," he said bluntly. Ginny wanted desperately to agree, to cry, to stop pretending that she was dealing with everything fine and she'd gotten over it. But, of course, the Weasleys are known for their stubbornness.
"I don't want to talk about it," she replied tersely. She wasn't really angry, but Harry was really the last person that she wanted to see her cry. Which was probably stupid, she thought, almost as though scolding herself.
Harry nodded silently and helped her pull new sheets over Charlie's bed. Ginny didn't mention their conversation over breakfast, and Harry took his lead from her. It was, however, bound to come up again.
And it did, as they stepped outside into the muggy summer air to wait for Charlie's arrival - Bill and Fleur would come just before dinner.
They stood at the gate, feeling the summer rain pattering on their heads with refreshing coolness. "I'm sorry if I upset you earlier," Harry mumbled, not looking at Ginny.
"It's alright."
"But, you know, if you ever want to talk..."
"Yeah, I know."
It was worse when she didn't expect it, the large lump rising in her throat, hot tears stinging her eyes.
Harry wrapped his arms around her waist, and she rested her head on his shoulder. Perhaps it was better that way, just letting herself cry.
That was the day that the atmosphere really relaxed in the Burrow. When Mrs. Weasley smiled at the mention of Fred, when Ginny didn't cry herself to sleep, when George cracked a joke and a smile after his twin's death. That was the day things really started to get back to normal.
George stood at the window, watching as one of his best friends kissed his sister's tear-stained face and said, "We'll be okay."
Nobody replied audibly, but a voice, Fred's, from beyond the veil whispered, "Yeah, we will."