Chapter Two - With the Weasleys
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The day of the funeral was suddenly very close. One morning at breakfast, Harry nearly choked on his eggs as Mrs. Weasley gave him a tight hug from behind.
"All packed, Harry dear?" she asked.
"Er, packed?" he asked once he had swallowed. Ron looked guilty.
"Oh yeah, didn't I tell you? We're going home today, mum wants some help getting the house in order, you know, since we have some relatives visiting..."
"Of course, you needn't worry about helping," Mrs. Weasley said immediately. "You've already done quite enough."
"No, I'd like to help," Harry said, and she gave him a watery smile, patting him on the back.
"Well, we'll be leaving about noon so make sure you have all your things together."
"Alright."
With all that needed to be done in the wake of Voldemort's attack on Hogwarts, Harry had found it easy to lose track of time. It seemed to take an age for each day to end, but now it had been nearly a week since it all happened, which seemed unbelievable. He turned to Ron.
"Do you think she's expecting us to stay the rest of the summer?"
"I dunno, I told her we should probably come back here to help with everything, but there might not be that much left to do after all…."
Harry felt an unexpected stab of nerves, even when Ginny sat beside him and took his hand under the table. The Weasleys were the closest thing to family he had left; it was only right that he be with them while they mourned Fred together. And it would be nice to escape from Hogwarts and the masses of people who seemed intent on constantly congratulating him. He knew that being at the Burrow might give him the time and space he needed to truly face the losses without being watched by every eye, but at the same time, the prospect of staying all summer in a place where Fred's absence would be so keenly felt….
Immediately after breakfast, Harry got all his things together. It wasn't hard; he had, after all, been traveling light for nearly a year, and the bulk of his stuff was still at the Dursley's. With a guilty pang, he checked again to make sure the Elder Wand was safely packed, telling himself he would put it back at the next opportunity. Then with a last fond glance at his old four-poster, he went to go meet Hermione and Ron in the common room so they could go down to the entrance hall together.
"Leaving, Harry?" Neville asked. "I saw Ron's mum talking to you at breakfast."
"Oh, yeah," Harry said, looking at Neville and Dean and Seamus as well, who had turned from their conversation to watch. "I might be back soon, though."
"We'll look forward to it," Neville said proudly. "Are you repeating seventh year then? Like the rest of us?"
"I dunno yet, I haven't decided," Harry admitted. He felt he should thank Neville again for killing the snake, for being so amazing during the fight, but he thought it might be a bit redundant by now, so he just said, "I better run. Take care, guys, okay? See you later."
"See you."
"See you later, Harry!"
"Yeah, come back soon!"
He climbed out of the portrait hole, Ron and Hermione silently following. As they made their way down toward the entrance hall, Harry found himself wondering where Luna was. He would have liked to say goodbye to her too. Some part of him—quickly silenced—whispered that she too, could just as easily die before the next time he saw her. He told himself that was nonsense, impossible in this new, Voldemort-less world.
Ginny was already packed and waiting in the entrance hall with her mother, George, and Percy, who had stayed at Hogwarts since the battle to help clean up. He tried to return Ginny's greeting smile but was interrupted by Mrs. Weasley rushing closer to exclaim over their scanty belongings.
"Is this really all you've had packed? How did you ever survive the winter, camping out all over the country?" Now that the worst was over she seemed to want to voice all the worry she must have felt since they'd left the Burrow last year. "It's a wonder none of you got sick!"
"Mum, Hermione's bag—" Ron tried to say, but she wasn't listening.
"Well we'd better be off then, perhaps after we settle in I can give both you boys a haircut—Ron, you're starting to look like Bill!"
By the look on Ron's face, he seemed to take this as a compliment. They marched down the steps onto the grounds and began their quiet walk toward Hogsmeade, and Harry glanced over his shoulder a few times at the broken castle, hoping he would see it again soon, if only to return the wand to its rightful place.
Soon enough they were beyond the boundaries of the school, and a few moments later Harry was looking at the Burrow, realizing that the last time he had stood on this property was at Bill and Fleur's wedding, moments after the ministry had fallen and Death Eaters had scattered the panicking guests….
He tried to dispel the prickling on his skin by thinking further back to the many happy memories he'd had here. They made their way inside, and Mrs. Weasley shut the door with a loud groan.
"Of course, leave the house to Arthur and Charlie—you would think with only two of them here—but it's an absolute disaster—!"
The house was indeed looking a bit messier than normal, but all in all Harry didn't think it was too bad. After leaving Hogwarts, where some corridors were still impassable due to the ceiling falling in, it was hard to think of the Burrow as a disaster in any sense. A mingled sense of relief and sadness moved through him like an unsteadying gust of wind. Here, at least, was one place left undamaged. But it was only the building that remained untouched. The people that lived here had seen their share of harm. More than their share, Harry thought.
"Well hurry up and put your things away, we'll need to get the kitchen tidied before we can even start on making lunch!"
They hurried up to their rooms. Since none of them had been staying at Hogwarts before the battle, there were no heavy trunks to pull up the stairs, and Harry only got one quick glimpse at Ron's familiar room before he'd tossed his bag in a corner and headed back down into the kitchen. Ginny was already there, as was Percy.
"Where's George?" Ron asked, once Hermione had joined them.
"In his room I suppose," Mrs. Weasley said with a worried look. "I'm sure he'll be along. Now, let's see—Ron, you get that mess off the table; Percy, find some way to organize the shoes and coats over there, it's getting quite out of hand—Ginny—"
Harry had to ask a couple of times to be given something to do before Mrs. Weasley allowed him to start cleaning and cutting potatoes. He had never really learned any household spells but soon found that with a little coaching from Hermione, he could get most of the dirt off with a scouring charm, though this did not remove the eyes.
It was only once they'd sat down to lunch that George finally showed up, wearing a very old set of velvety purple and black dress robes that stank of mothballs. He swept into the room with his hands together under his sleeves, a painfully solemn and haughty look about him. Everyone paused with their forks hovering, staring as he took his seat.
He cleared his throat emphatically. "Well?"
Ginny stifled a snigger in her hand. Mrs. Weasley looked quite shocked.
"George, dear, where did you get those?"
"Mother," he said, in an excellent imitation of Percy at his worst, "I think I've finally realized the solemnity of this most gloomy occasion, and I thought it only fitting to dress accordingly. I've also decided that, since I have already taken the first step toward holiness, I shall put my irresponsible ways behind—"
At this there was a general outcry from around the table. Ginny burst into giggles, Ron gaped and said "put them behind you? You're joking", and most shocking of all, Mrs. Weasley jumped to her feet.
"George Weasley, you go straight back upstairs and put on some normal clothes!" She looked horrified, and Harry thought to himself that the idea of a solemn George who had put his "irresponsible ways" behind him was too tragic to contemplate.
"But mother," George said, clicking his tongue. "I have my reputation to think about now, you know! After all, I can't have people thinking I'm not properly in despair like I should be—"
"Oh George," Mrs. Weasley wailed, making to reach over the table and hug him, but nearly knocking over the juice jug as she did so. "Don't even joke—no one could possibly think—oh just… go change your clothes!" She fussed over the bit of juice that had spilled on the tablecloth, and George gave a somber bow and swept from the room, winking at Harry and Ron, who doubled up with laughter.
A minute later he was back in his normal clothes and Mrs. Weasley took her chance to kiss him on the cheek.
"If Charlie's staying with us," Ginny asked once they were almost done eating, "Are Bill and Fleur coming too?"
"Oh, they'll just be in and out," Mrs. Weasley said vaguely. "They didn't want to overcrowd us, they said—nonsense—been very helpful…."
"This meal is excellent, mother," Percy announced. "I'd quite forgotten how wonderful a cook you are."
"Oh, thank you Percy, dear." She suddenly lunged for another napkin to dab her eyes with, and blew her nose as well.
"How about we play some Quidditch, eh George?" Ron asked tentatively. "Er, once we've done cleaning."
George looked up from his potatoes. "We could play three-a-side so long as Ginny and Percy and Hermione are on a team," he said with a shadow of a smirk. "Then you can join me and Harry in creaming them, Ron. Unless Perce secretly learned to fly while working for the ministry."
"That's hardly fair!" Ginny protested.
Percy seemed torn, and glanced at his mother for some indication, but Mrs. Weasley smiled. "Oh go on then, you can all play a round or two after lunch…."
"Perhaps it ought to just be two-a-side," Percy suggested. "Ginny and I can get a start on the living room—"
Ginny made a noise of objection, but Hermione cut in. "No, Ginny can play; I'd rather help out with chores."
"We don't have to play after lunch, mum," George said. "Not sure we're all up for Quidditch after all."
"No, no, you all need some fresh air and time together." And Mrs. Weasley continued to insist they play Quidditch until she was practically shoving them out the door.
With Ginny and Ron on one team, and Harry and George on another, the match was fairly close; it seemed most of George's Quidditch talent was not of the sort that made an excellent Keeper. Either that, or he was just not feeling his most competitive. At one point, George let out a startling laugh when Ron missed blocking his goal by a mile because he had mistaken a passing butterfly for the worn-out Quaffle they were using. He kept laughing for longer than anyone expected, and they all found themselves laughing too. To Harry, this felt wonderful, but ultimately strange. It really was funny, he really was laughing—life was almost normal, but for the absence of Fred, and the constant heaviness which hovered in the background, never lifting, even at moments like this.
When Ron got hit in the face by another shot, George called out "That butterfly was pretty vicious, eh Ronnykins?" After the first game was over (won by Harry and George) they all hovered for a moment, wondering aloud whether they should do another. Finally they all voted in favor, and spent another hour in a close game that finally ended when George purposely let in a goal to break the tie.
"That was a close one, eh?" George mused as they walked back toward the broom shed. Harry was much more exhausted than he should have been, and had a momentary feeling as if the others walking along were part of a rather slow but ultimately meaningful television show he was watching. He wondered—did the others feel the same?
"You let it in!" Ginny insisted. "You flew in the other direction!"
"Well it was moving so slowly I thought it was another butterfly!" said George.
"See? Not so easy, when they're both red—" Ron muttered.
"Don't be stupid, Ron, he knows it wasn't a butterfly," Ginny sniffed. "He's just saying I throw like a girl!"
"Well, you are a girl," George said. "Unless you and Harry are keeping a big secret, but then I reckon mum would never allow that, she already throws a fit about Bill having long hair…."
When they all came inside, still laughing a little, Harry was shocked to see that the kitchen table had several people sitting at it, with a couple of large bouquets of flowers in the middle. He thought he recognized one of the guests as being from the ministry, and three from Bill's wedding. There were two others still he had never seen in his life. Ron's Aunt Muriel was arguing with Mrs. Weasley at the front door.
"Nonsense, Molly, I'm sure the last thing you want to be worrying about is organizing all of this. I've been to a good many funerals in my time, I know how things are meant to—"
"We're all going to decide as a family how things are going to go," said Mrs. Weasley, a little red in the face. "Now please sit down with the others and I'll get you a cup of tea."
A few of the wizards at the table had just finished off their tea in a hasty way, and were rising. "We don't want to be a nuisance, Molly, but if there's anything we can do—" one of them began.
"Oh no, no, you've done quite enough already," said Mrs. Weasley tearfully.
Several of them got up and hugged Mrs. Weasley or shook her hand before leaving. Soon the only ones left were one of the visiting witches and Aunt Muriel, who hurried off upstairs, perhaps eager to shape the house into her idea of order.
"Let me stay and help with dinner, Molly," the dark-skinned witch asked. "It's the least I can do!"
"Well alright then," Mrs. Weasley said. "Thank you, Mrs. Johnson."
"You're Angelina's mother?" George suddenly burst out.
"Oh yes," Mrs. Johnson said, suddenly rising and embracing George as if he were her own son. "Angelina's told me all about you and Fred."
"Where is Angelina?" asked George, and Angelina came out of the bathroom with an uncertain look on her face.
"Hi George," she said, grinning a little, and Mrs. Johnson let go of George so that he and Angelina could greet each other.
Mrs. Weasley quickly said, "Harry, Ron, Ginny, you three should go join Hermione and Percy in the front, they've been weeding..."
As he shut the door behind them, Harry heard Mrs. Weasley calling Aunt Muriel back downstairs, saying that she needed someone to run to the store for dinner. Immediately he wished he were back inside, for Percy was walking quickly away from where Hermione was pulling the last weeds, rubbing his face with one hand. Ginny ran to him, but Harry and Ron gravitated toward Hermione.
"How was Quidditch?" she asked, her eyes wandering to a point beyond Harry's shoulder from whence soft choking noises were coming.
"It was fine," said Ron, shooting Harry a warning look to ward off mention of butterflies. "What's wrong with Percy?"
"What's wrong with him?" Hermione gaped. "Ron, Fred—"
"Right," Ron blurted hurriedly, turning red. "I know. I just meant, well, if something set it off…."
"It's obvious, isn't it?" Hermione whispered, a little wet-eyed herself. "He feels really guilty. All this time that he's been with the ministry could have been spent with Fred and the rest of you, and I think, well, he was there when Fred died, and I'm sure he knows it's ridiculous—he couldn't have done anything—but he still feels responsible…."
They stood there in an awkward silence for a moment until Harry said, "So are you two done out here?"
"Yes," Hermione said. "Did Mrs. Weasley say she wanted us inside now?"
"No, she said to go help you and Percy," said Harry. "Angelina's come to visit George."
"She was sort of dating Fred, remember," Ginny put in.
They were saved from another silence by two more visitors coming up the drive. Hermione dragged Ron out to greet them, and Harry tagged along behind. As the day went on, guests came and went, bringing flowers, food, cards, and, Harry gathered from the whispered protests of Mrs. Weasley, money. They tried to stay out of the way, drifting around the house tidying whatever they could find and rearranging things that were already organized.
A bit before dinner, Hermione and Ginny were downstairs helping cook, and Angelina and George were taking a walk around the garden. Harry could hear them through the window of Ron's room, throwing a few gnomes over the hedge here and there and laughing about something or other. Harry and Ron were making an attempt at cleaning Ron's room, but had only got it passably tidy when Ron suddenly sat down on the bed staring at the replacement dress robes he'd got from Fred and George.
"Ron? You okay?" Harry asked quietly, thinking of the joke shop he'd helped fund, the shop Fred and George had planned to run together.
"Yeah, 'course," said Ron in a quavering voice, clearing his throat. "I just… you know…do you reckon I ought to wear these to the f… to the… or do you—maybe I should wear something funny… but then, they did buy these for me…."
"I suppose, if it's formal…." Harry trailed off, thinking of George's joke earlier. "D'you think it is?"
"Dunno," Ron sniffed. Harry sat down on the camp bed with a squeak of springs, and after a pause Ron said, "Never thanked him properly, did I? This is probably the most decent thing I own now, you know, 'sides my broom I suppose..." he trailed off, mumbling something that sounded like "deluminator."
Ron's voice was quickly becoming ragged. During their nights sleeping in the Gryffindor dormitory, Harry had heard Ron crying into his pillow once or twice, and had left him with his family several times when it was clear they needed a moment. Ron swallowed, and Harry, his own throat annoyingly tight, decided this wasn't the best time to ask whether or not George intended to continue with the joke shop.
"I'm sure he doesn't mind," Harry said lamely. "He wouldn't want you feeling guilty for it at any rate."
"Yeah," Ron said. "Yeah, you're right…sorry, mate. Guess this should go over here…."
He went and put the dress robes away and was just starting on cleaning Pigwidgeon's cage when Ginny poked her head in the door. Harry, who had been fiddling around with stuff on Ron's shelves, quickly put down Ron's copy of Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches. The inside cover looked like a note had been written by the twins, and he had almost been tempted to read it.
"Mum says to come to dinner," Ginny said, mostly looking at Harry. He immediately followed her out and down the stairs, thinking that for the first time in his life, he was not hungry for Mrs. Weasley's cooking. Perhaps it had something to do with the fact that his insides, which had been aching constantly for nearly a week, had now seemed to vanish.
During dinner, once Mrs. Johnson and Angelina had left, George relentlessly teased his siblings, imitating a younger, shier Ginny when Harry walked into the room, recounting Ron's Quidditch blunder, and predicting that soon the masses would demand Harry be inaugurated as the youngest Minister of Magic in history. It stopped abruptly when George wondered aloud whether Percy would go back to being an assistant to the Minister in that case, and Percy quickly left the table, mumbling about the bathroom.
"Oh no," Mrs. Weasley cried. "I hope he's alright…."
"Dunno what's got into him," George said. "He used to take compliments so well, you know? Thanks for dinner, mum." He left the table, and Mrs. Weasley soon followed, saying she wanted to get a start on laundry.
"Good thing mum sent Aunt Muriel away," Ginny whispered to Harry. They were holding hands under the table again, a fact which made Harry feel even more comfortable than the excellent food sitting in his stomach, the first steaming spoonful of which had reminded him that his stomach did, in fact, still exist. "She probably thinks it's improper for anyone to laugh at a time like this. Did you hear she wanted to put us all in dress robes for the funeral?"
"What'd mum say about that?" Ron asked.
"She said Fred and George's friends could dress however they wanted."
"Fred did say," Harry began, but faltered when everyone looked at him. "At Bill's wedding, he said if he ever got married, he'd let everyone wear whatever they like. He'd probably say this should be no different."
"Exactly," said Ginny. "Actually I'm thinking of setting off some of their fireworks at the funeral, since George might not feel up to it himself… I've already snuck some out of their room, but don't tell mum…."
"Brilliant," said Ron. "Honestly I think Fred would die if he—w-well, I mean, he wouldn't like it if… things were all stuffy and boring." His voice dropped to a feeble mumble at the end, his face burning.
Hermione patted him, tactfully ignoring his blunder. Harry took a deep breath—the words Fred would die had made his heart flip over and set it pounding hot blood through his veins.
That night, they all went to bed without waiting for Mr. Weasley to get home. Mrs. Weasley had explained that he and Bill and Charlie were putting in extra time in the aftermath of everything. Harry wondered what that meant. Bill might be helping to get Gringotts put back together, while Mr. Weasley had his job on top of anything the Order of the Phoenix might still be doing. Perhaps Charlie was helping with that. He thought of Mrs. Weasley waiting downstairs, and all the nights she'd spent going mad with worry, wondering whether another family member was not going to make it home. He thought that now, he might finally understand what that was like. She had lived through Voldemort's first age of power, where disappearances and deaths were every day events. Now, even though it was all over, Harry couldn't help worrying, too….
He rolled over on the camp bed and tried to break that train of thought. Voldemort was gone now, and the Death Eaters would all be scattering like cockroaches into hiding without him around. Very soon, no one would need to fear for their loved ones again; the worst was already over—there would be no more Freds, no more relatives dying prematurely. The Death Eaters must know they had lost. He tried to let that thought comfort him as he fell asleep.
ˆˆˆ
The next morning, they were roused by the sounds of shouting, and for one brief moment Harry thought someone must have broken in, the house was under attack—but then he heard what George was yelling.
"HE'S MY BROTHER, I KNEW HIM BEST, I KNOW WHAT HE WOULD WANT!"
"Honestly, Molly, it's completely improper—"
"IMPROPER! IMPROPER? YOU COMING IN AND TELLING US WHAT TO DO, THAT'S WHAT'S IMPROPER YOU OLD—"
"GEORGE! Please, calm down!"
"MUM, YOU CAN'T SIDE WITH HER—"
"I'm NOT—"
"What the—" Ron asked, getting up off the floor after falling out of bed, his legs tangled in the covers. "What's going on?"
"Dunno," Harry said, and found himself opening the door a crack so that Mrs. Weasley and Aunt Muriel's angry voices hissed up the stairs more clearly.
"This is not some circus, this is a funeral, Molly! Do you enjoy the idea of your own son dressed up in some ridiculous—"
"WHY DO YOU CARE?"
"George, please! Muriel, I appreciate your helpfulness, but Arthur and I have agreed that it should be up to George—"
"How can you possibly appreciate my helpfulness if you have barely given me any chance at being helpful?" Muriel was clearly offended. "I came all this way, knowing you must be overwhelmed—funerals are exhausting affairs after all—but I've barely come in the door, barely been allowed to help with dinner, when I find I'm not welcome in my own relations' house! I must say your claims of including the entire family in your decisions are fairly hollow from what I can see! I should think my experience—I am a hundred and eight after all—"
"I've told you." Mrs. Weasley made a gallant attempt at keeping her voice kind and patient. "We would have loved to have you, but you would have had to sleep with Ginny and Hermione, or else on the couch, there simply wasn't room—"
"You wouldn't even have me for dinner!" Muriel screeched. "You've got two of your children's friends staying here, but blood relatives come second to that high and mighty Potter boy and whoever that bushy-haired unsightly girl is." Harry heard Ron growl wordlessly behind him as Muriel continued. It was no great surprise if Muriel didn't like him—she had positively loved slandering Dumbledore at Bill and Fleur's wedding last year, and Harry had noticed that those who disliked Dumbledore often ended up disliking him as well.
"Don't you go insulting Harry!" Mrs. Weasley and George shouted at the same time.
"If it weren't for him, we could have lost more than—"
"He killed You-Know-Who you stupid, smelly—"
"George, don't call names! Muriel, really, I don't mean to be rude, but it really is not your concern!"
"Never mind then!" Muriel's voice was high and brittle. "You can go dress his body without me if you're going to be this insulting and absurd about it! Go on and make bigger fools of yourselves, dress him however you want, but don't say I didn't try to help you!"
Harry stepped back from the door. Fred's body. He'd forgotten that he might be seeing it again. It seemed silly now, to have forgotten that it was still out there somewhere, waiting to be put into the ground. Would it be put on display? The thought of parading past it seemed somehow terrible to Harry and made him want to go back to bed and forget about breakfast altogether. Seeing it once had been enough for him, seeing Cedric and Dumbledore and Lupin and Tonks and Colin Creevey, it had been more than enough….
He sat back down shakily on the camp bed, and realized Ron had left the room. He looked at Pigwidgeon's empty cage, and the image of Hedwig, lying dead in hers, flashed across his mind. How stupid to be worried about seeing a body when he had seen so many before—when he knew it wasn't really Fred. He put his face in his hands for a moment, trying not to let his mind stray to that night, thinking instead of what he could do for the Weasleys. He felt he ought to give them a gift, and realized he could easily visit Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade this afternoon and try to find something… something for Mrs. Weasley and George. Maybe Ginny and Ron too. His heart swelled with fondness for every single Weasley (except perhaps Aunt Muriel), and he was able to get up and go to breakfast.
Charlie joined his family and Hermione in saying hello as Harry sat down. George was no longer yelling, since Muriel was gone, but was determined to go with his mother and father to dress Fred's body after breakfast, and all of Mrs. Weasley's "are you sure about this, dear?"s and "you don't need to come"s were to no avail. He ate his oatmeal with record speed and then loudly announced that anybody who came to the funeral in "some fussy outfit" would be made to sit in the back and he would give free joke items to anybody who wore something that made him laugh.
"Oi, Ron, you should put the frills back on your old dress robes and wear them," he suggested.
"I'm not wearing that!" Ron burst immediately, but then seemed to reconsider. "What'll you give me? Mind, I think I threw out most of the lace."
"Well then it's no deal, you'll have to come up with something better!"
Mr. Weasley's appearance interrupted their bartering, and Harry was alarmed to see that he looked nearly as pale as when he had after being attacked by Voldemort's snake two years prior. He gave Mrs. Weasley a hello kiss and patted each of the children on the shoulder, then collapsed into a chair and began savoring the steaming cup of tea and bowl of oatmeal in front of him.
"How's work, Mr. Weasley?" Harry asked.
"Oh, the same as it has been. It should slow down soon, I suppose. I've got today and tomorrow off, of course, and I could have more but… well…."
"I was thinking of going to Diagon Alley today," Harry said. "To do some shopping."
"What, by yourself?" Mr. Weasley asked with an alarmed look. "No, no, Harry, that's not possible. Maybe I can get you an escort later in the week—"
"An escort? What?" Harry stared. "What do I need an escort for?"
"Yeah, Dad, Harry's safer now than he was all last year!" said Ron.
"No, no." Mr. Weasley kept shaking his head. "It's already been arranged you'll have one for the funeral."
"But why?" Harry asked. "Voldemort's gone!"
"Because, Harry, we still haven't caught all the Death Eaters!" Mr. Weasley's look was so intent that Harry almost slumped back in his seat. "They'll be after you now, the most loyal ones. They'll want to get revenge. No, I'm afraid it's not time to let ourselves get too complacent yet."
Harry suddenly remembered Neville's parents, Alice and Frank Longbottom, and how they had been tortured out of their minds right after Voldemort's first disappearance, when everyone had thought they were safe. "But then," he said, "that means that no one else is safe either. No one who was there at the fight, anyway. I wasn't the only one fighting Voldemort that night."
"No, but you're the one who finally beat him. If they can get you, anything is possible. If Bellatrix Lestrange were still alive, would you put it past her to try to catch you, especially now when your guard is down?"
"No," Harry answered right away, and knew he would have to resign himself to this for now. He decided not to ask whether he would continue to require escorts wherever he went until every single Death Eater was captured, but focused instead on finishing his food and imagining what he could possibly wear to the funeral that would make George laugh.
George and his parents left quickly after breakfast. He gave them a last wave at the door, clutching a bundle of clothes which included a dragonskin jacket and a feathered, sequined lump of bright green cloth Harry could only assume was a hat or bag of some kind. Then they were gone, and the rest of them set about cleaning up the kitchen.
"Is there something I can do to help?" Harry asked for what must have been the tenth time since his arrival.
"Come on, Harry." Ginny's hand slid into his again. "We'll do the dishes."
Ten minutes later, Harry was sheepishly watching Ginny mop up a spill of soapy water he'd caused by flicking his wand a little too eagerly at the sink.
"Sorry," he said. "Why don't we just use a scouring charm for the dishes?"
"Mum says that only gets the surface clean… besides… 'Brittle's makes dishes sparkle beneath your vittles'." Ginny rolled her eyes and pointed at the bottle of dish soap on the counter, which was labeled Brittle's Bubbles.
"I don't really mind it taking longer anyway," she whispered, as she passed him a clean dish. "You dry."
"I don't suppose I should be using a cloth," Harry said.
"The charm's Exaresco."
"Right…." Harry lifted his wand. "Exaresco!" He put the now-dry dish in the cupboard.
They went on like that for a minute or two, until Harry blurted, "Do you think your parents would accept if I said I wanted them to have Kreacher?" It was the only decent gift he could think of without going out to shop.
"I dunno," said Ginny. "He's not a very good house-elf, is he?"
"He's been loads better since… well, he's been better lately," Harry said, not wanting to talk about anything that had to do with Horcruxes or people who had died because of Voldemort. "You'd never recognize him now."
"You don't need to give us anything," Ginny said firmly. "You're practically a Weasley yourself."
"I know." He felt a brief ripple of warmth through him as he put away a handful of spoons. "I just feel like I should do something…."
He wished he had an excuse to cover up the sudden damp heat in his eyes, such as steam from the hot dishwater, but Ginny was draining the last of it—he couldn't believe how quickly they had finished.
"Harry…." Ginny held back the last pot from him, forcing him to look her in the eyes. Her face was stern, but not unkind—much like her mother. "You don't feel guilty, do you? You're not responsible at all."
Harry was glad the others seemed to have vanished from the kitchen. He didn't know what to say, and so he stared at the pot instead, wishing she would just give it to him so he could put it away and go hide in Ron's room until this moment passed.
"I'm alright," he said, angry at the way his voice wobbled. "Let me just—this is the last one—"
She let go of it and watched him as he said "Exaresco" one last time and set it up on the shelf. When he turned back to her, he said, "I don't suppose that charm works on people's eyes does it?" then forced a laugh he instantly regretted—it was awful and unconvincing. The joke seemed really stupid too, now that he'd said it.
"Oh, Harry," she said, leading him by the hand out the door into the yard. And Harry was back in his sixth year, following her away from Dumbledore's broken body at the foot of the astronomy tower, and to his frustration a few tears spilled over and went cool on his cheeks. They went their way through the tangled shrubs until they hit the stretch where they usually played Quidditch. It was far enough away from the house that it was reasonably private and quiet.
She patted the grass to make sure it was dry and sat down, tugging on his arm so that he would sit too. "Ginny," he said, feeling ashamed. "Don't worry about me… you're the one who's lost a brother."
"Yeah," she said calmly. "And I'm trying not to feel too angry that I wasn't able to help fight. I keep thinking that if I had been there, I could have done something, stopped Fred from dying, you know?"
Harry finally sat down—it was easier than standing—and shook his head. "I'm glad you didn't get to fight much. Enough people died trying to protect me." His throat felt as if a wad of nails were stuck in it—he swallowed with difficulty.
"You do feel guilty!" Ginny leaned forward. Harry avoided her eye. "But you're the reason it all ended, Harry, you're the reason no one else needs to die now. It's not that they died because of you; they died because of Voldemort. You know that. You've got to accept that there's nothing more you could have done, just like I need to accept that I probably wouldn't have stopped Fred from dying… if Lupin and Tonks died, being Aurors, it's really just luck, isn't it?"
"Yeah," Harry meant to say, but it came out in a creaky whisper. "You've no reason to feel guilty…." He wanted to be the one comforting Ginny, not the one shedding tears. The same sort of pain which had driven him to trash Dumbledore's office after Sirius had died was pushing its way up into his throat, but he couldn't throw a fit like that in front of Ginny, who had lost so much—it would be selfish, not to mention embarrassing. He gritted his teeth, trying to think of something nice to say, something that would turn the tables.
"You're right," he said, staring between his knees at the grass. "Everything can only get better now. It's lucky we didn't lose anyone else, actually. I can't imagine how it is for you, and Ron and George and your mum and dad… is your dad okay? He looked really ill."
"Mum says he's not sleeping much," Ginny shrugged, but her brow was furrowed. "He works a lot. I think it's easier for him to keep busy, but it won't last at this rate, he'll crash, and I'm afraid of what will happen when he does."
"You and George seem to be doing really well." Harry picked some grass to shreds and waited for his thoughts to form into words. "Fred wasn't even my brother, but it seems like you've been stronger about it all than I have."
She grimaced. "Says Harry Potter, who spent an entire year in hiding while hunting Horcruxes, went to sacrifice himself to Voldemort—and did I mention all the horrible stuff you've been through before all that? If anyone has a right to be upset right now, it's you."
Harry gave a hollow laugh that sounded more like a strangled cough. "None of that stuff really feels like it matters. If I went around talking about all that, it'd only be a matter of time before the Daily Prophet picked up a list and started telling everyone how much of a martyr I am—"
"Who cares what they think?" Ginny growled suddenly, and a tear dripped off her chin. She wiped it on her shoulder with gritted teeth. "Fred's gone. People died. Beating Voldemort didn't bring them back. The world's better off now, but… they're still gone, and they were your friends, too. Is that nothing to be sad about compared to all the good news?"
"No," said Harry. "It's definitely not nothing."
He was sure Ginny was going to cry, but she just stared at him.
"So how are you feeling, then?" His voice croaked a bit.
"I'm not going to say I'm alright, because I'm not. Fred and George were… well…" Ginny struggled. She hugged her knees, looking everywhere but Harry, squinting and blinking more than was entirely necessary. "It's odd, I feel closer to them and Percy than to Ron. I'm worried about George, I don't know how he's making it. He goes to his room a lot to be alone, and I don't think he wants us to see how miserable he is. And of course mum and dad are completely devastated… everybody is. It's just hard to believe… to think we'll never see him again."
Ginny went very tense, and Harry had the impression she was nearly holding her breath. He felt the urge to say something to her about meeting Dumbledore in King's Cross, wished he could remember the exact words of what Luna had told him after Sirius had died, but the lump in his throat was getting harder as his mind kept flashing forward to the funeral tomorrow. Then he saw Mrs. Weasley weeping over the boggart in Grimmauld Place as it had become every single member of her family in turn, all dead. She would be sobbing tomorrow. Would George forbid himself to cry? Would Ginny? Would he also fight his feelings until it was over?
With nothing to say, Harry scooted over on the grass to sit beside Ginny and put his arms around her. She was shivering a little, though it wasn't chilly yet.
"Sorry," Ginny growled, wiping her eyes as she leaned into him.
Harry opened his mouth to laugh, to say "don't be stupid" or something that would make Ginny know it was alright, but all that happened was that his lungs sucked in a bit of air that hurt his throat even more, and his eyes felt a bit like they were recovering from a stinging hex. He swallowed repeatedly.
After a long moment, which left a few damp spots on Harry's shoulder where Ginny's cheek rested, and Harry's throat seemed determined to dislodge the lump in it by sucking in more sudden breaths (swallowing did not do any good), Ginny's voice wobbled out from his chest.
"I miss him."
"Me too," Harry managed to say, though the next moment his throat threatened to close itself permanently. When he could breathe again, they were both crying, and still fighting it quietly.
He thought of handing his Triwizard Tournament winnings to the twins, saying that everyone would need a laugh soon. He thought of George trying to put on a brave face, joking with everyone. What Fred would say if he could see them like this? What sorts of teasing would he subject them to, trying to make them laugh instead…?
After a minute, Ginny got up to go inside, and Harry was grateful for the walk back to the house and how it seemed to make it easier to breathe again. They hurried to the bathroom to wash their faces while everyone else was in their rooms. Then Ginny wordlessly shared some of her Honeydukes chocolate with Harry in the living room while they waited for George and the parents to come home. Hermione and Ron came down—Hermione gave Harry a feeble smile and Ron seemed to be suffering from a runny nose as he was carrying a wad of tissue in one hand. Turning on the radio to ease the silence, they all sank onto the carpet to watch a chess match or two between Ron and Ginny.
Perhaps an hour later, much later than Harry had expected, the front door opened, and George came in, followed by his parents. Mrs. Weasley was not crying, though her eyes were a bit red as usual. Mr. Weasley pushed her gently into a chair and set about making tea. There was much clattering and a crash of breaking glass, but Mrs. Weasley barely seemed to notice Mr. Weasley's mutterings. "Oh drat it—don't know what I—well it's a simple fix." George, who was also a bit red around the eyes, came into the living room, leaned over the chess board, and turned to Ginny. "I wouldn't waste my time with that bishop, he's trying to get your king, see?"
Then he hurried upstairs, leaving Ron to mutter behind his snotty tissue about unfair hints while Ginny swallowed and glared at the board, trying to figure out how exactly she'd gone wrong. Harry hovered in a sort of blank state, watching the match but not really taking it in, listening to the radio but not understanding the lyrics, and feeling a sort of irritation he couldn't place, but decided to ignore.
