Harry couldn't sleep. For once it wasn't nightmares, anxiety about Hallows or Horcruxes, or even bad weather. Well, not directly anyway. He sighed as he fumbled with his glasses before he quietly got out of bed and crept silently from Ron's room. He knew it was only a week since he defeated Volde-, no, Harry refused to call him by any nicknames. It had only been a week since he defeated Tom Riddle. It had only been a week since he had been on the run, a week since having to split the night guard, a week since he had to figure out the Horcruxes, a week since he had to wonder which of his friends might die if he didn't hurry up and end this war. No, tonight's insomnia was just from having such an irregular schedule for so long.
He still felt a pang of guilt anytime he thought about all the people that died protecting him, each of the people he loved that suffered because it took him so long to find the answers. Somewhere deep inside, he knew that people didn't blame him. After all, he was only a teen. He wasn't even a fully-qualified wizard yet. He did more in the last year to defeat Riddle than anyone else was able to do in the last 20 years combined.
But as he moved quietly down the stairs of The Burrow, he passed the door to Fred and Ge-, no, it was just George's room now. George, who bravely volunteered to Polyjuice himself into Harry this time last year. George, who took an accidental curse from Snape and had lost a small part of himself that night. George, who lost his twin - half his jokes, half his laugh, half his life just a week ago. There was no longer a 'Fred and George,' but merely a George.
George had come home after the Battle of Hogwarts. He couldn't stand to be alone in his flat above the shop. Not that he was much better here, Harry thought. George was trying - everyone gave him that. He still spent time with the family. He ate meals with them, sat with them in the family room and listed to the wireless, even helped his mom watch over the chickens in the mornings. But the spark just wasn't there. The jokes were half-hearted, just like the twins, Harry thought.
As he reached the final landing before the kitchen, Harry noticed the lamps were lit in the room below. He wondered who else might be up in the middle of the night. As he reached the last step, he was able to make out the back of Mr. Weasley sitting quietly at the table, sipping a cup of tea.
"Fancy a spot of tea, Harry?" Without waiting for an answer, Mr. Weasley summoned another cup and started to pour from the kettle.
"Uh, sure. Thanks," he said as he sat to the left of Mr. Weasley. There was a brief but comfortable silence as each of them just sipped tea and worked through their thoughts before Harry asked, "how did you know it was me?"
Arthur chuckled softly, "you'd be surprised by how much I know about what goes on in my home." Harry blanched at the thought. He and Ginny had certainly not been on their best behavior since they came back to the Burrow. Would Arthur approve of Harry snogging his daughter, stealing her away for brief, but enjoyable, kisses? "Some day, you and Ginny will know the difference in the sounds each of your children make as the move through your house. And I may have never told you as much, but I have long felt like you were already one of my sons. I've just been waiting on you to figure it out and make it official, whenever you're ready, of course."
Harry wasn't sure exactly how to respond to that. Had Mr. Weasley just given him permission to marry Ginny, even when they were still so early in their relationship? Had he really forgiven Harry for the attack he suffered at the Ministry? Could he forgive Harry for George's injured ear, for putting Ron in dangerous situations time and again, for Fred's death, for leaving his daughter unprotected when he disappeared after the wedding, for making his entire family targets for Death Eaters? Harry's expression changed to a deep frown as he thought about how much this family had sacrificed for him already. How could he ever think they would welcome him in?
Harry had set his tea back on the table as he thought through all of this. Arthur never looked up from the spot on the table that he had been speaking to as he continued, "Harry, I've said this before, and I meant it. I mean it now. The luckiest day this family has ever had was the day that Ron sat with you on your first trip to Hogwarts. This family owes you more than you can ever begin to imagine."
Harry looked upon shock. "But what about -" he hesitated, wondering which horrible thing he should bring up first.
"But nothing, Harry" he replied quickly and firmly. Arthur closed his eyes and said, "I remember having a cup of tea with Charlie when he was about eight. It was early spring, and he had been flying his first full-sized broom that he got the Christmas before. He was so excited to finally have a broom of his own. He was so careful with it. He flew slow at first. He flew around the orchard, down to the pond, over to the field... Around and round for hours." Mr. Weasley smiled as he watched the memory reply in his mind. Harry couldn't help but wonder how this had anything to do with missing ears or a dead son.
"As the spring went on, Charlie started flying faster, higher, and tighter around the trees as he tried to make laps in faster and faster times. He said he was practicing because he wanted to be a professional quidditch player. He told me that he was going to be the fastest and best seeker ever," Arthur chuckled. "He really wasn't that fast, or even that good. But he practiced hard and it made him happy, so Molly and I encouraged him to keep practicing. One day, a particularly nasty storm blew in quickly while he was out making laps and lightning stuck one of the trees, right as Charlie went to make his turn around it. A branch came crashing down and knocked Charlie from the broom. Fortunately he was low to the ground at the time and he wasn't hurt badly - a few scratches."
Arthur paused for a moment, as if deciding something. Harry was really starting to get confused. What did a broom crash by an eight year old Charlie have to do with anything? Harry picked up his cup and took another drink of his tea while he waited on Mr. Weasley to continue. "Unfortunately, his broom didn't fare so well. The branch that knocked him off fell right across the handle, snapping it into several places when it hit the ground. As I sat here and Charlie sat right where you are, he was crying." Harry couldn't imagine Charlie, who seemed always so tough, crying over a broken broom. "He was terrified. He was always a smart lad. He knew that brooms weren't cheap and he figured that it had been tough for Molly and I to get it for him. He sobbed and asked if I could ever forgive him for breaking the broom when he knew how much it cost us, how much we must have sacrificed to give it to him. Amazingly perceptive for such a young child, really."
Harry couldn't help but agree. He wondered if McGonagall was upset when Harry's first broom was destroyed by the Whomping Willow? She never let on if she was. Would Sirius have been upset about the Firebolt? It was a very expensive broom, even if it wasn't Harry's fault that it was broken. Harry could suddenly understand exactly why the eight year old Charlie was so worried.
Arthur topped off Harry's half-full cup of tea before he turned towards Harry and continued, "So I sat here with him, put my arm around him and gave him a hug," and he replicated the action with Harry. "Then I told him, 'when your mother and I let you fly, we supported you. We tried to teach you how to fly, and we watched nervously as you trained, as you flew higher and faster. We watched as you pushed yourself, as you took on harder maneuvers and trickier turns. We knew before you ever got on the broom that you may crash and that the broom may get destroyed some day. We knew that you could get hurt or that if something happened we may doubt our decisions. But we knew we made the right call. We knew there were risks with a broom, we knew the costs, we knew that we might lose it someday. But that's the risk we faced when we bought that broom. And when something bad happened, we didn't blame the broom, we didn't blame you.'"
Arthur was speaking more slowly knew, with emotion thick in his voice. He gave Harry a light squeeze around the shoulders before finishing. "like Charlie's broom, Harry, we knew the risks of supporting you. I knew the risk of standing watch in the Ministry. We knew the risk of standing with the Order and transporting you last year. We knew the risk when we came to Hogwarts to fight last week. When we crashed and lost," he hesitated slightly, "lost Fred, we all knew from the start it was possible. But we never once regretted our decisions, we never once blamed you. Charlie didn't control the storm, and you didn't control Vol- Voldemort. We weren't mad at Charlie and we aren't mad at you. We're all sad about Fred, Remus, Tonks, and a host of other people that died fighting, but we've never blamed you. Try to remember that, as I would hate to lose another son because of some misguided belief that any of this is your fault."
Arthur tightened his grip on Harry's shoulder again with his left arm briefly before standing and levitating his teacup to the sink. "Well, I think I could finally sleep again. Good night, Harry. See you at breakfast," Mr. Weasley said as he turned to head up to his bedroom.
Harry remained at the table for several more minutes, drinking the rest of his tea and mulling over what Mr. Weasley had just said to him. Harry couldn't understand why the Weasley family had been so wonderful to him, but he knew that he appreciated everything they had already sacrificed for him. Harry remembered that Oliver Wood talked about how Charlie eventually became a great seeker and could have played professionally - he didn't let a broken broom stop him. Maybe Harry could keep moving forward, not letting the memory of a dark wizard stop him from having the family he always wanted, as well.
Feeling oddly content and ready to sleep again, Harry cleaned up the tea cups, extinguished the lights, and crept quietly back up the stairs to Ron's room. Maybe Ginny and I should find a place outside to snog, Harry thought as he took off his glasses and drifted off to sleep.
A/n: While I have every intention of eventually creating a full-length book, I figured this would be a good way to get my feet wet. I have several other small conversations already planned. We'll see if I can manage to get them written out in a timely fashion.