The date was May 3, 1998, and Harry was lying on his bed in Ron's room, enjoying the silence of a near-empty house and at the same time feeling that it was much too loud. Finally, he heard a bedroom door open down the hall, then the squeak of the bathroom door and the sound of teeth-brushing. He never thought he'd be so happy to come back to the Burrow. After last night, he was half-convinced he'd never be back.

"You look a lot better when Hagrid's not carrying you." Ginny sank down next to him, laying her face on his chest. "What time is it?"

"Seven-thirty."

"AM or PM?"

"PM," Harry said.

"You should have woken me."

"I don't think anyone got any sleep last night."

She yawned against his chest. "Where is everybody?"

"They went to get Hermione."

"All of them went?"

Harry nodded. "And I thought I was the popular one."

For a moment, she just enjoyed the warmth of his arms around her, the feeling of his heartbeat against her body, and the silence that encased him. But, like for Harry, the silence quickly became too loud for her.

"Where were you last night?" she asked, and he knew she was preparing herself for an answer that could fall anywhere on the spectrum from "blowing off steam" to "cheating on you with five Slytherins and Malfoy."

"I just…."

But nothing followed. She decided his silence was benevolent and spared him.

"I knew you wouldn't want to talk about it right away. But you should have at least told us where you were. Every single one of us went looking for you. I didn't think Ron was gonna make it."

Though it wouldn't happen on his face just yet, Harry felt a laugh generating somewhere in some abandoned part of his brain.

"I know," Harry said. "That was stupid."

"Well, you are stupid," Ginny said, placing a small kiss on his chest. The brief moment between them, one of complete normalcy and gratification, gave her a strange hint of relief. She somehow found that she cherished this relief so much, in that moment, that she felt compelled to do it again. She felt his hand run through her hair, moving it away from her face and letting it fall slowly through his fingers, and she turned into his hand and kissed.

"Ginny," he whispered, dreamlike. Hearing him say her name, in any way, even if it would be in anger, brought such passion and emotion and just plain motivation into her body again that, for a happy moment, she reveled in feeling alive again.

So alive, in fact, that it was as if Fred had never existed in the first place, and she was unencumbered, free to do or say whatever she felt compelled to do, at any given moment, even if there was no reason for it, even if it was just for fun, without the horrible sadness flooding her lungs and making her want to give in and stop fighting for another breath.

Suddenly, her fingers were between his, and he was leading her up on the bed so that they were at eye level again. Her confusion over the move was brief when she watched tears drip onto his tee shirt and realized she was crying a lot more visibly than she'd thought. She pulled at his shirt to inspect the damage and found a sizeable wet patch where she'd been laying before.

"Sorry," she said, then wondered why she was apologizing and immediately tried to cover it up. "I'm sure you're used to wet spots on your stomach."

"There's the Ginny I know," he said, unaware that he was grinning.

"I can't stand this," she said now, curling over onto the bed, her hair gathered wildly in her fists. "I just want things to be normal. I can't stay stuck like this. I can't handle it, I don't have the strength for it. And I know how I must sound to someone who's lost so much more than I have."

"I haven't lost anything, not really," he said, kissing her fingers. "What gets lost can always be found."

"That's sweet," she said. "What the hell does it mean?"

"I have no idea. Which tells me that I don't know how the hell to talk about this any more than you do."

"At least it's not just me."

"They have a way of coming back to us in the end, even if not in the way we expect."

"What?"

"That's what I was trying to think of," Harry said. "What we've lost can always find us again, if we want it to."

"That sounds like something Luna would say."

"It kind of does," he said. "Make sure you notate that I thought of it first."

She gently traced his scar with the back of her finger. "I can't stand that this is happening. Really happening. And I try to help Mum and I can't. I don't want her to see me like this. I just feel like I can't breathe."

At that moment, the noise from the front door opening echoed through the hallway, followed by instructive voices.

"Wanna go get some air?"

She took a deep breath. "Okay."

"I love you."

She punched his arm. "I'm not saying it back," she said. "I don't want people to think I only said it to get you into bed."

"Don't worry, I think everyone knows it's a lot easier than that. Including your brother, unfortunately." Only then did he seem to realize whose bedroom they were in. "We have to move out. You almost just got me castrated."

As they started down the stairs, Ron appeared on the landing diagonal from them, his arms crossed, as if on cue.

"That's nice," Ron said. "Where were you two? In my own house? And is there something else you can rub in my face, Potter? How about we go out back and you hit me between the legs with a broomstick until dinner's ready? Does that sound all right with everybody?"

Ginny punched him in the stomach and wordlessly headed to hug her mother. In her absence, Harry took the opportunity to shake his head in a resounding No.

Ron's frustration seemed to deflate.

"Speaking of family violence," Hermione said, "when is your mum giving everyone their wands back?"

"Who knows," Ron said. "She only took them from us once before, when George and Percy had gotten so far into it that Percy ended up puking slugs and it took George's legs three days to finally stop dancing."

"Puking slugs," Hermione repeated. "That's not a commonly-known spell, is it?"

"It's…it's known to happen from time to time," Ron said, ignoring the familiar feeling that her eyes were burning a hole into his skull. "I didn't have anything to do with it."

"I'm sure you didn't," Hermione said.

"Hi," Harry said pointedly, displeased with Hermione's lack of enthusiasm at seeing him. Hermione had developed a habit of gushing over his presence, and he was surprised to find that he actually missed it.

"Don't even get me started on where you've been."

"I've been here for two hours, waiting for you."

"Okay, so that covers the last two hours," Hermione said. "And what about all the hours since you disappeared last night and no one's seen or heard from you since? Until just now?"

"I got stuck in some Peruvian Powder and got lost."

"Well, it sounds like you're half-right," Hermione said, giving in and throwing her arms around him.

"Harry," Mr. Weasley said, spotting them from the kitchen, and Harry could tell by his tone that it was a mixed gesture. There was a look of great relief in his eyes, but also one of anger. "Good to have you back," he said flatly.

For some reason, Harry suddenly felt far too much tension to continue to be present for. Wordlessly, he headed for the door.

"And he's off again," Mr. Weasley said, skillfully engaging in a parent-child battle while unloading the groceries without losing focus. "Shhh, Harry, stop talking. You don't owe me an explanation."

"You're right, I don't," Harry said crassly, intentionally not pausing to question the source of the foreign insensitivity he knew he was projecting.

"I don't mind looking the other way while my children overindulge after a great Quidditch match or a rough day at work. But I felt relatively confident that I had hammered it into you over the years that alcohol is not how you handle grief."

"I know that."

"Do you?" Mr. Weasley said, not allowing Harry to distract him from chopping vegetables, and it was surreal to Harry now to watch him in this role, one that had so been perfected by Mrs. Weasley in all the years he'd known them. "Because when we were running all around town looking for you at midnight when you didn't come home, one of the barkeepers told us you were there and had racked up quite a bill. He did mention that you're a very generous tipper, so at least I did something right. I'd hate to watch a young man under my care, with so much potential, ruin his life with poor tipping."

"I'm allowed."

"Without even being under the invisibility cloak."

"I don't have to – I'm tired of having to hide from everything," Harry shot, finding that his voice was raised but also finding that he didn't want to do anything to control it. "I didn't do anything you wouldn't have done."

"And that's why I spent all those years trying to raise a family that would make better decisions and understand that there's happiness to be found all around us and that there's no need to go searching and reaching for it in artificial places."

"It doesn't matter. None of this matters. You tried your best and look where it got you! We're all standing in the same room crying over the same damn thing and wishing we could have just died with the rest of them."

Ron and Hermione were watching intently but saying nothing, not knowing what to say or how to say anything, really.

"Finally," Mr. Weasley said. "I've been honing my hidden ability to trick you into revealing how you really feel since the first time you came in here yelling."

"Why does everybody keep saying that? I don't need to talk about it. If you can't figure out how I 'really feel' about losing someone, then you need to be taken to St. Mungo's to have your head examined by the same people who admitted Neville's parents." Harry paused. "Holy hell, that does work."

"This is different than losing Sirius and Dumbledore, Harry. You're not alone this time. And I think that's what's bothering you. When you thought it affected you the most, you were okay with that. But now that there's others that are affected just as much or more, it kills you that you can't lead the others through this."

Harry said nothing, but his jaw was clenched.

"We're all angry about how things had to happen. But this house has been in chaos and if Molly sees that, she's going to lose it. Everyone needs time to cool off. Including you."

"I don't need to cool off, I just need to get out of this house."

"Harry, sit down," Mr. Weasley said crossly. "You're not in your right mind and I don't need something to happen to you too."

"Now you're concerned?" Harry said. "This wasn't your fight and none of you had any right to be there. Maybe if you were protecting your family like you were supposed to, it wouldn't have happened."

Mr. Weasley knew to dismiss the comment, but Ron, who had been up with his mother all night, flew at Harry.

Calmly, and very consciously making a point not to intervene, Mr. Weasley raised his voice only a shade over Ron's belligerent cursing. "Do you think this is what your mother needs to come downstairs and see right now?"

"I'm glad I spent four hours looking for you last night, you self-righteous bastard. Everybody's on edge, not just you. I'm not letting you blow up at my family like you blew up at Lupin."

Something changed in Harry.

"Fuck you, Ron. You're not worth it."

Ron's drawn fist shook, and after what felt like a long silence, released. He let Harry up, and took enough steps backward that Hermione, who had just seconds ago felt so far away from him, now had both arms wrapped around his at his side, staring at Harry with pleading eyes. Understanding this furtive request, Harry got to his feet and, without a word, walked out the front door of the Burrow.

As expected, Harry heard footsteps behind him, but only briefly.

"You're a grown adult and I'm not chasing after you," Mr. Weasley called softly. His absence of anger or confrontation made Harry stop. "I know you're trying to start a fight to make this easier," Mr. Weasley offered. "But letting my son bloody your face isn't going to bring any of us a break from all this."

"Then stop following me."

"You need us, Harry."

This was it. The statement made Harry unafraid to face him, and he turned and locked eyes on Mr. Weasley for the first time since the wedding. "You don't need one more person who needs you right now. What about Molly? You don't need to be down here with me."

Mr. Weasley gave a perceptive smile. "A man knows his place in his family. And, right now, mine is right here teaching you to accept yours."

Harry didn't answer, but his stance had relaxed some, his body no longer tense and his heels no longer dug into the ground. Mr. Weasley took this opportunity to take a few steps toward him, until he had closed the distance enough that he could place his hand on Harry's shoulder.

"Come home."

After a few seconds, Harry nodded. Drying his face on his shirt, he allowed Mr. Weasley to lead him back into the living room, where Ron and Hermione still sat, side-by-side, resting on each other as if both were the only thing in life holding the other up.

"I'm sorry," Harry said to Mr. Weasley, but his eyes flickered over Ron for the briefest moment, and Ron nodded.

"You have nothing to be sorry about," Mr. Weasley said, his hand on Harry's shoulder again. "But I do know that this family could do with some food. I don't think anyone's had anything to eat in about 36 hours, and if Molly knew I'd let that happen, she'd be sending me flaming divorce papers and riding off into the sunset with that Chaser from the Chudley Cannons she fancied while we were dating." He gave Hermione the briefest look, and she kissed Ron's hand before releasing it.

"I should go help," she said.

Ron nodded and watched her walk away. Though still beside himself with the all-encompassing grief and torment of reality, from somewhere on the other side of his brain, the side that existed before the war, Harry couldn't stop a grin from forming.

"What?" Ron asked.

"And you get on me for staring at Ginny."

"That's different," he said, trying to fight a flush he knew was forming across his nose, for no real reason other than his sister's name being brought up in a conversation that under no circumstances should relate to her. "You and Ginny have a ridiculous, perverse relationship that you can have with any girl," he said, his eyes falling over Harry in an almost threatening way now.

"I didn't go home with anybody."

"That's not what I was asking."

"It's exactly what you were asking," Harry shot.

"I'm not saying you should or shouldn't take advantage of your popularity while you can, or that Ginny couldn't handle something like that, I'm just saying…what's stopping you?"

"Family," Harry said finally, not wanting to have to spell it out in the way that he knew would create a smug satisfaction in Ron. "Sometimes literally."

"Don't get on me about that. We were about to leave to face who the hell knew what, and you should have never been in that bedroom with her and you know it."

"I'm not disagreeing," Harry said, finding that his voice had learned to almost replicate Mr. Weasley's calm wisdom. "I went back to Little Whinging."

"Right."

"I did," Harry said. "Walked up and down the streets I used to as a kid. A new family moved into the Dursleys'. The bars over my bedroom window are gone, and there's a crib in front of the window instead. And I bet a baby sleeps in it and not under the stairs."

"You couldn't have walked around there for very long; you'd have been spotted."

Harry looked at the floor. Not because it was painful to look at Ron, but because he didn't want Ron to see him smile. "I went to the playground. Laid in the grass in front of the swingset."

"All night and all day? Without your cloak?"

Harry nodded. "No one saw me. The grass is high there. And then I puked in it."

"Nice."

"And then I realized that because of all the people that have been fighting this war since 1980, generations exist and life exists and I exist enough to be lying in grass that also exists. And to show my gratitude, I throw up in it." He looked at Ron now. "I don't want the rest of my life to be like that."

"That's good." Ron smiled. "Although I don't know how you could even stomach that in the first place. After that mead in Slughorn's office, I'm not too eager to touch the stuff."

"It was poison."

"Isn't it all?"

A door opened then, and Ginny, George, and Mrs. Weasley walked into the living room. He had been avoiding Mrs. Weasley's eyes, but now had no choice as she pulled him into her arms. "I'm glad you're back," she whispered. "I would normally say I was worried sick, but it's you I never worry about. You feel hungry," she said in the same breath, pulling him into the kitchen, and somehow, that one smile from Mrs. Weasley told him that she understood everything that he couldn't say.