Harry was back at the burrow. It seemed like an eternity since he had been here last. The battle of Hogwarts was only three days ago. At times, it seemed like a horrible dream, and other times it felt so painfully real he had to actively stop himself from shaking when the memories hit. More than anything, everyone was recuperating from the war. He had spent most of his time sleeping thanks to the sleeping droughts Madam Pomfrey had sent his way. The only people he had really seen were Ron and Hermione, and even then it was brief. On one hand, it was incredible to be able to sleep mostly peacefully again. It had been over a year since he had experienced that luxury. On the other hand, he would be lying to himself if he didn't admit that he was avoiding everyone.

So much had happened and he was not yet ready to talk about it. Besides, everyone was rather wrapped up in their own grief and he didn't know how he could help them when his own wounds seemed all too fresh. He had lost….so much...He had barely managed to recover from the death of his godfather and now it was like a landslide. Tonks….Lupin….Fred….and so many more students, friends, and members of the order. It hurt too much to face the Weasleys, who lost their beloved Fred in a battle that he bore responsibility for. Logically...he knew better...but still, it was his prophecy to see through to the end and so many people had died for it.

The grief inside the house was blatant. Mrs. Weasley cried frequently. Arthur put a lot of his energy into comforting her, but he seemed so lost himself. Hermione had gone to his shed where he liked to tinker with muggle things to call him in for dinner just the previous night. She found him on the floor, sobbing. His muggle projects were scattered in shambles around him. Mrs. Weasley had patched his hands up without question. No one seemed to be asking many questions lately.

Bill, Fleur, Charlie, and Percy all returned home for the time being. Fleur felt horribly out of place, but she made herself useful any way she could. She made tea often, provided the family meals, and cleaned. She checked on the family periodically, but mostly remained by Bill's side, comforting him to the best of her ability. Charlie preferred to keep busy and helped Fleur with the household upkeep. When he wasn't doing that, he was constantly reaching out to work to check on the dragons, advising the newcomers on how to care for them. When he couldn't find distractions that way, he left the house for long periods of time, though no one was quite sure what he did.

Percy felt a tremendous amount of guilt. Everyone expected him to manage himself in the way that Charlie was, but he was a shell of a person. He walked about the house, completely distracted. He hardly spoke with anyone and all the coloring had left his face. Occasionally his face would twist in a pained expression and he made an odd sound as his breath got caught. When he did sleep, he often woke in a sweat and was unable to return to his slumber.

George had been staying at the burrow since the family had to go into hiding during the war and he could not bring himself to return to the shop to see what condition it was left in. He had locked himself in the old room he shared with Fred and hadn't come out since the night they returned. Mrs. Weasley and Ginny would often plead with him to eat something, but George had lost his voice. They often heard him pacing the room at night, and occasionally they heard his cries. Still, he would allow none to enter the room.

Ginny could be found sitting outside his door, trying to talk with him through the wooden barrier. She even fell asleep there the few times when she could no longer force herself to stay awake. She begged him to let her in. She pleaded with him to hang in there. She tried to distract him by telling him stories, or reading to him when she couldn't recall memories that wouldn't hurt him further. She rolled dungbombs under his door to get his attention and when she heard his sobs she san quietly to him. Her own cheeks remained stubbornly dry as she had not felt safe with her own emotions to cry, herself.

Ron spent a lot of time sleeping in the room he was sharing with Harry and Hermione. Whether it was her grief or something else, Mrs. Weasley permitted the share of the room. Hermione was especially grateful as she had a lot of trouble sleeping without the presence of Harry and Ron after spending months confined to a tent with them. It outright gave her anxiety to think about sleeping in her own room and at the slightest of sounds, the three of them were still very quick to jump up with their wands drawn. Ron could not process the grief of losing his brother and friends. It had not fully hit him yet. This reality didn't feel real, and he wasn't actively seeking to change that perception.

Harry felt that he could not, in good conscious, continue to hide out in his room. The funeral was the following morning, and he had yet to have a conversations longer than a few seconds with anyone. He exhaled deeply, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. The vertigo hit him hard, and he curled over, holding his head in his lap. After steadying himself for a moment, he stood slowly. He dragged his feet to the door, unsure of what would be waiting for him on the other side seeing as he hadn't left that room in days. When he opened the door, Hermione stood, awkwardly reaching for the door knob at the same time he swung it away from her.

"Oh, Harry! You're up!" She cried, throwing her arms around him in a hug.

"Yeah, it was about time. Where's Ron?" Harry asked, looking over her bushy hair for his other friend.

"He's downstairs...he's sitting with his mum." Hermione said. After a closer look, Harry saw that her eyes were red and puffy.

"You alright, Hermione?" He asked, cautiously.

"Yeah...you know." She gave a small jerk of the head, which Harry knew to mean that she was as well as could be expected given the circumstances. Harry comforted her with another hug before descending the stairs.

He stopped short when he saw Ginny leaning against George's door, reading him stories from Hermione's copy of Beedle and Bard Children's Stories. He had not seen her since coming to the Burrow and they had not had a moment to themselves to say anything. Ginny stopped when she looked up to see Harry. He offered her a small smile, which she struggled to return. Her face suddenly crumpled and she broke into sobs. Harry sat next to her, wrapping his arms around her as she cried into his shoulder.

Harry sat with her like that for a long time. It seemed like hours before she pulled away from him, wiping the tears from her face.

"Jeeze, I'm a mess." She mumbled, taking the handkerchief he had summoned for her. "This was not the way I imagined seeing you again." She said before blowing her nose rather noisily.

"No...you look your best when you have snot dripping from your nose and your eyes are all red like that." Harry assured her with a kind smile. She bumped him playfully with her shoulder before picking up her book again.

"Ginny….it's ok.." Harry said, taking the book from her and setting it down.

"No! It's for George." She cried, reaching for it.

"George is in there?" Harry asked, quietly.

"Yes. And I have to...he needs…." She couldn't seem to quite find the words, but understanding came to Harry's face.

"Do you mind if I read for a while?" He asked her, opening it up.

"I-ok….I'm so tired, I'm not thinking straight. It's probably for the best to tag team for a while." Ginny said with a yawn. Harry began to read Babbity Rabbity and the Cackling Stump. Before he was into the second paragraph, he was startled by the soft sound of Ginny snoring. She had leaned her head against the door and fallen asleep. She shifted slightly and her head fell on his shoulder. Harry's heart was nervously pounding, but he continued to read on, as he promised. Though he read the words on the page, he couldn't help but be distracted. This was the closest they had been to each other in almost a year and, despite the circumstances, it was wonderful. It was comfort of familiarity, it was the safety of her presence, and everything else he had missed this past year.

Hours passed before Ginny woke. She lifted her head and rubbed her eyes, disoriented. She jumped a little when she saw Harry.

"Oh! I didn't mean to fall asleep," She said, a note of anxiety in her voice as her eyes darted again to the door.

"It's alright." Harry assured her. "You needed it."

"You kept reading?" She asked him, gesturing to the still open book on his lap.

"Yeah. I told you I would." Harry said, looking at his knees. Ginny just looked at him. They both jumped a little when Charlie's voice called up the stairs that dinner would be ready soon.

"I actually need to find Ron. I haven't really talked to him since coming here." Harry told her, apologetically. "Are you going to be ok?" He asked.

"Me? Oh, yeah. I just needed to sleep a bit is all." She replied as Harry stood to leave. He swooped down and kissed her forehead before walking off to find Ron. Ginny sat for a moment, processing, before turning to the door. "Please, George...please come out and eat...you need to eat something." She talked through the crack. She was surprised to find herself on the verge of tears again. It seemed that once the flood gates were broken, there was no stopping it. "George….I love you so, so much. Please come out...please…"

There was no response, and Ginny was wiping her eyes, about to resign herself to reading him the next book when she heard it. A soft humming; the song she sung to him when she heard his sobs that morning. It was so quiet, she thought she was mistaken at first, but it became clearer. And then, all too quickly it stopped- then nothing.

...

So that's my first one shot. (Although I might continue it; not entirely sure what I want to do yet)
I don't know I have this desire to write about sad things right now. Seriously, if you met me, you would know that I am a ridiculously happy person. But I think it's because it's comforting thinking about how people process grief differently. I've had a lot of death in my family this past year and I think that writing about the grief of another family helps me make sense of it and make my peace with this part of life. It's funny how the story of Harry Potter is beneficial even after reading the books. I promise I will eventually write something less depressing!