Harry stepped lightly down the stairs, the squeaking steps masked by the Burrow creaking in the warm night breeze. He had just awoken, a silent scream clawing his throat, as he was thrown out of the grip of a nightmare. Ever since the final battle, he had been plagued by nightmares, struggling to get more than a few hours each night. The days were just as hard; with Ron and Hermione it was easy—they knew him, understood him without him having to say a word. Attempting to talk to Mrs Weasley and George was impossible—he had spent so long talking about horcruxes or survival or not talking at all, he now struggled to connect with people at all. Ginny was helping—slowly—she never pushed for more than light hearted conversation. He could tell however, that she was becoming more concerned and frustrated with his inability to open up about the war.
Gliding down the last few steps, Harry wearily pushed open the kitchen door, blinking in surprise. Sitting at the table, illuminated by a single candle, was Mr Weasley, clad in his ragged dressing gown. Mr Weasley looked up at his entrance, his grim countenance turning concerned at Harry's arrival.
'Tea, Harry?' Mr Weasley offered, smiling gently as he waved his wand, prompting a steaming teapot to float off the stove. The tea cascaded into two mugs, which floated down to land before Mr Weasley and the seat across from him. Mr Weasley gestured to the seat, prompting Harry to move from the doorway.
Feeling somewhat trapped, Harry sat, grasping his tea with white-knuckled fingers.
'Having trouble sleeping, Harry?' Mr Weasley asked, his voice soft and concerned but hitting Harry far harder than he would like.
'It's nothing, Mr Weasley,' Harry replied, taking a quick sip.
'Harry…' Mr Weasley started, before pausing, looking unsure on what he should say next. 'I know why I'm down here, and it's certainly not because I'm having a good night's sleep.'
Harry averted his eyes, not excited for where this conversation was headed. Mr Weasley followed the movement, and perhaps sensing his unwillingness, scrambled for another topic to pursue. His eyes alighted on the Hogwarts letters stacked on the kitchen counter, he quickly changed tack.
'So, Harry, what are your plans for the year?' he asked, not making it easier for Harry in the slightest. 'I know Ron hasn't decided whether he's going back to Hogwarts yet.'
Harry, his mouth dry, stared at the flickering candlelight, trying to figure out how to respond. Perhaps… perhaps I could talk a little, Harry thought, this is Mr Weasley, maybe he could help.
Taking a steadying breath, Harry looked at Mr Weasley before responding. 'I never really thought about after, you know?' Harry stared into the earthenware mug, trying to ignore the burning in his cheeks. 'I never let myself really.'
Mr Weasley lifted his own mug to his lips and took a sip, not reacting to Harry's words but waiting to see if that was all. When Harry remained silent under his contemplative gaze, the closed in, weary, look on his face smoothed out into familiar laughter lines, seen far too little since the war had come into their lives.
'I don't think that's necessarily a bad thing, Harry,' Mr Weasley chuckled, his fingers playing with the chipped edges of his cup.
Harry's eyes shot to Mr Weasley, feeling irritated his worries were being laughed away. His mouth opened for a sharp retort, but he struggled to find anything to say in response to the fond look Mr Weasley was giving him.
'Every year you came to us, a skinny little thing, polite as anything, every year just a bit more angry, sad, afraid…' Arthur sighed, the creases on his face becoming prominent once again. Harry said nothing, momentarily dumbstruck by the new direction of the conversation.
'One of my biggest regrets is not being there for you when you needed it most, and I don't think Molly or I will ever forget that,' Mr Weasley said, taking off his glasses and polishing them with the frayed edges of his dressing gown.
'Mr Weasley, don't say that' Harry said, shaking his head furiously, 'you can't… you were there for me, you let me come every summer, it was fine.'
Mr Weasley cut across him, laying a hand on his arm, and signalling for him to stay quiet.
'Harry,' Mr Weasley said firmly, 'let me finish this, okay?'
Harry nodded slowly, noticing the older man's face was set in tense lines and his hands had started playing with edges of the table.
Mr Weasley let out a long breath, easing the tension from his body.
'We failed you,' Mr Weasley said, 'We had absolutely no idea how to help you, and every way we tried, well, it never really worked out in the end. Every year you came to us, you became a part of our family more and more but as time went on…' Arthur paused for a moment, his eyes resting on Harry's pink face.
'Each year you came to us, we were terrified that one of those years would be the last time,' Arthur said shakily, his voice growing tight, 'And we had no clue how to deal with that.'
'So we tried our best to make the Burrow your home, to make sure that no matter what happened, you would always be welcome with us,' Mr Weasley finished.
'You did,' Harry blurted, before clearing his throat and returning Mr Weasley's gaze.
'I… it meant a lot to me that you would do that, and I, well, next to Hogwarts, I always thought of coming here as coming home you know, and you guys as well, as my family,' Harry spoke haltingly.
With a sigh, Mr Weasley grasped Harry's shoulder. 'That's all we ever wanted. So please Harry, let me help you now. We all fought the same war as you. You're not alone.'
Harry chest felt remarkably heavy, but much lighter at the same time. Perhaps tomorrow, he could come to breakfast and look Mrs Weasley or George in the eye. And as he ghosted back up the stairs after sharing a brief hug with Mr Weasley, maybe, he thought, he could start moving forward again.