By unspoken agreement that evening, the three of them all trudge up to Ron's room.

"Sorry, mate," Ron says to the ghoul still happily rattling around up there with his shock of red hair and pocky face.

Harry helps him wrestle the ghoul back up to the attic while Hermione sets up bed space for them all. They do it without much conversation, falling back into the patterns that have governed their lives for months.

By the time they get back down, Hermione's cast cushioning charms and spread sleeping bags on the floor, three in a row.

"If anyone wants the bed…" she says, face a little pink.

"Nah," Ron says. He glances at Harry.

"Looks good to me," he agrees.

After taking turns in the bathroom, the three of them settle in, piled up together on Ron's floor.

Harry easily drifts off to the familiar sounds of his friends' slumber—rustling covers and quiet whispers.

It's still dark when he wakes with a start, the pressing blackness absolute and for a moment he is back there, in the Forest. He sits up, fighting to free his arms of the sleeping bag.

He sucks in a breath, the room slowly coming into focus, the moving figures on the poster-covered walls like ghosts. Next to him on the floor, Ron and Hermione have shifted towards each other in their sleep, her face pressed up against his shoulder.

Harry forces himself to relax, scrubbing his hands over his face. He lies back down, but despite the fact that it's only been a few hours, he knows he won't get any more sleep.

Without giving it much thought, Harry gropes for his moleskin pouch and the map hidden away inside.

Only, he doesn't need the map anymore, he remembers.

Slipping out of his sleeping bag, he carefully crosses over to the door. He eases out into the hall, climbing downstairs, past Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's room where a faint line of light shines out from under the door. He keeps going down past the bathroom to the next landing where soft snores emanate from Percy's room. Fred and George's door is firmly shut and very quiet.

Harry's steps quicken as he nears the first floor landing. Bill's door is closed, but Ginny's stands open. Harry crosses over to it, glancing inside. Her bed is empty, covers neatly made. He frowns, going down the last flight of stairs, wincing a bit as he hits the creaking step, the sound unnaturally loud in the quiet house.

He finds Ginny in the sitting room. She's still stretched out on the couch, face soft in sleep. He supposes no one wanted to risk waking her up by moving her.

Above her is a large window, and beyond that, the stretch of the front walk. It's dark enough that he can't make out anything beyond the gate.

There could be anything out there, really.

He sits in a chair, turning it slightly to face the couch.

There are wards in place. Aurors are keeping an eye on the place. There is no reason to worry. But he's awake anyway.

He sets his wand across his lap and stares out the window.

The sky is beginning to light with false dawn when Harry feels his eyes finally getting heavy. It's been hours, but Ginny hasn't so much as stirred.

He can make out the road beyond the gate now. It's empty.

Getting to his feet, he goes back upstairs, lying down next to Ron.

He wakes to Ron and Hermione's hushed voices a couple hours later.

"How did you sleep?" Hermione asks, seeing that he's awake.

"Fine," he says, reaching for his glasses.

He rolls out of bed.

Mrs. Weasley is in the kitchen with Fleur, the two of them quietly making breakfast. Percy sits at the table, looking a little out of place.

Mrs. Weasley looks up at them as they file in. She's wan, her eyes red despite the smile she gives them.

She pulls Ron into a fierce, lingering hug. "Good to have you back home, dear," she says.

Ron doesn't even bother to look embarrassed, grabbing his mum back and hugging her firmly. "Hey, Mum," he says, brushing her cheek with a kiss.

"Did you sleep all right?" she asks, smiling at Hermione. She clucks over the small cut on Hermione's face. "I have something for that."

Hermione smiles, accepting her own hug. "Thank you."

Mrs. Weasley turns to Harry last. She touches his face, hands on his cheeks as she just looks at him, like she's so proud , and it's hard to hold her gaze.

"Harry," she says, and then pulls him into a hug.

He's been taller than her for a while now, but it's still weird to think of Molly Weasley as small. He feels tall and ungainly as she hugs him, and he wishes he weren't so awkward at this.

There are probably things he should say, I'm so sorry. I never meant for any of this to happen this way. But his throat is thick and all he can do is pat her on the shoulder a bit.

"Well," Mrs. Weasley says, finally pulling back away. "Breakfast?"

Ron nods enthusiastically. "I'm starved."

She looks them all over again, before nodding firmly.

It hasn't been long since they were staying at Shell Cottage, but Fleur still takes the time to kiss each of them on the cheek. Harry vaguely notes that Ron even manages not to blush, crossing over to sit close to Hermione.

"Where is everyone else?" Ron asks as they work their way through an impressively large breakfast.

Mrs. Weasley sits down with a sigh, a cup of tea tucked between her hands. "Your father went into the ministry. Bill went to help McGonagall."

"Charlie and George?" Ron asks, voice hoarse.

Mrs. Weasley's face creases. Fleur reaches out and squeezes Mrs. Weasley's hand.

"Still at Hogwarts," Percy reports.

"And Ginny is still sleeping," Fleur says.

Harry frowns, craning his neck, but he can't see into the sitting room from his seat. She's probably exhausted from everything, but that still seems like a lot of sleep.

After a brief, impatient knock, the back door pulls open, the same Auror from the day before—Butler, maybe?—striding into the kitchen. "Oi, you ready, Potter?"

Still as charming as always.

Mrs. Weasley pushes to her feet. "Well, good morning, Mr….?"

The Auror looks her over. "Bailey," he supplies.

"Mr. Bailey," she says, giving him a smile that Harry would never want aimed at him. "Thank you so much for keeping us safe. For looking out for Harry. But please keep in mind that in my home, we say good morning when we first enter it."

Bailey looks taken aback, but quickly recovers. "I apologize." He looks around at everyone. "Good morning."

"Good morning," Mrs. Weasley responds, retaking her seat. "And Harry will be ready when he has finished eating and not a moment sooner."

Bailey scrubs at the back of his head, smart enough to look slightly scared. "Uh, yeah. Of course. I'll just wait outside."

He beats a hasty retreat.

Harry is pretty sure he hears Ron snicker into his eggs.

"What was that about?" Hermione asks, looking at Harry.

"Kingsley told me to come back this morning. See what I can do to help."

"Already?" she says, looking alarmed.

"As opposed to when?" Harry asks. After every Death Eater has escaped or been caught?

"It's just so soon," Hermione says, and Harry notices that despite a long night of sleep, she still looks pretty exhausted.

Still, it rankles.

"And you've already…"

"I've already what?" he asks, voice hardening.

Fleur is the one to speak. "Done so much."

Harry feels his irritation flare. "I see. Because that was all I was good for."

Raised like a pig for the slaughter.

"Might as well put my wand up and go back to Privet Drive."

Fleur simply raises an eyebrow at Harry's rudeness.

"Harry, mate," Ron says, stepping in. "That's not what anyone meant."

Harry shakes his head. "Sure. Fine," he says, itching to get going. He pushes to his feet. "Are you coming?"

Ron's eyes widen, glancing at Hermione and then his mum.

Mrs. Weasley is staring down at her teacup, her earlier energy seeming to have drained away.

"I think I'm going to stay around here today," Ron decides, looking tense like he's waiting for Harry to blow up.

Ron hasn't seen in family in months. And Fred…

"Of course," Harry says, meaning it. "That's fine. I'll let you know where I end up."

Ron doesn't look convinced. Harry pats him on the shoulder, giving Hermione the best smile he can muster. "I'll see you later."

Ron and Hermione share a look.

Grabbing his coat, Harry walks out of the house, meeting Bailey by the gate. "Let's go."

The Auror doesn't argue.

St. Mungo's is slightly quieter today, though no less crowded. Everyone seems less frantic, or maybe just more exhausted. Harry can't quite tell. He just ducks his head and makes a beeline for the makeshift office.

The office is also quieter, the Aurors scattered off on assignment, no doubt.

There's a door off to one side that Harry isn't completely convinced was there yesterday. The Auror heads for it, and Harry follows. As they near, he can hear voices raised in debate.

Right before they get to the open door, Bailey puts a hand out, stopping Harry.

A voice Harry doesn't recognize floats out.

"I'm not saying that we don't owe him a debt. That he didn't do something great. But he's a kid. An untrained kid. And frankly, at the moment he's arguably the most important thing going for us, him being alive and victorious. If we have to take him out into the field, he's going to get people killed. You know I'm right."

Harry looks at Bailey, but his face is carefully blank despite the fact that Harry suspects his overhearing this was planned.

Bailey walks forward, knocking on the open door. "Potter's here, sir." He jerks his head at Harry, gesturing for him to go in.

The room is an office with a large wooden desk, behind which Kingsley sits, looking much more like a Minister of Magic today.

Harry isn't convinced that's a good thing.

"Harry," Kingsley says, getting up. He gestures at the other wizard in the room, a stern-looking man with grey-streaked brown hair and austere robes. "This is Robards. He's overseeing the Auror department for me."

"Potter," Robards says, holding out a hand, and Harry forces himself to shake it.

The handshake lingers, the Head Auror taking a moment to look Harry over and not even bothering to pretend otherwise. Harry just meets his gaze.

"Had a good enough look?" Harry asks.

Robards expression doesn't shift, but his eyes do dart up to Harry's forehead. After another moment, he drops his hand and glances over at Kingsley. "Do you need me to stay, sir?"

"For a moment," Kingsley says, shifting through the parchments on his desk, eventually picking one up. "I've had an owl from Minerva."

It takes Harry a moment to realize Kingsley has aimed that comment to him. "Yeah?" he says, not sure what this has to do with him.

Kingsley walks towards Harry, still reading the letter. "She's overwhelmed and needs some help."

Harry shouldn't be surprised, but he still is. He's really getting sent back to school like a naughty kid. Something of his annoyance must show on his face, because Kingsley puts a hand on his shoulder.

"It's no lightweight assignment, Harry. Minerva needs help and I don't have anyone else to spare. You wanted to help, so help."

Part of Harry feels like he's earned the right to stand there with them, to know what is going on. But it's never been clearer to him that he's never really been a part of this. In their eyes, he's someone to be protected, not someone to do the protecting.

"Fine," Harry says. He glances at Robards. "After all, I've probably already gotten more than enough people killed."

Kingsley sucks in a breath, but Robards doesn't even flinch.

Harry heads for the door, passing by Bailey. "You should stay here. I'm sure there's a lot more important things for you to be doing."

"Harry," Kingsley starts to say.

Harry just gives him a curt nod. "Minister."

He walks out, not slowing down enough to see if Bailey follows.

Harry considers not going to Hogwarts, to blow it off out of spite, but only for a minute or two. He really does want to help. Wants something to do. Besides which, the idea of going back to the Burrow is strangely suffocating.

He Apparates outside the gates and walks up to the castle. There are more people on the grounds than he would have suspected, a series of tents set up on the grass like people are camping here.

He peers at some of them as he passes and realizes they are mostly students. Some people climb out of tents, staring as Harry walks past.

"McGonagall?" he asks the first student he comes across in the castle.

The student points down a hallway.

He enters a small room that it takes him a moment to identify as the teacher's lounge. McGonagall is standing behind a desk with what looks like a large map of the castle in front of her, Flitwick and Bill standing next to her.

They all look up as Harry walks in.

"Mr. Potter," McGonagall says, looking surprised.

Harry comes to a stop in front of the desk, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Kingsley said you could use some help?"

She regards him for a long moment, her gaze sharp like she's x-raying him, and if she tries to put him off for his own damn good he thinks he very well may lose it.

He needn't have worried. "Yes, we certainly can," she says, voice crisp and matter-of-fact. "We'll begin in the Great Hall momentarily."

Harry nods, retreating back out into the hall. Other students are gathering there already, and there's a loud smattering of whispers and heads turning as he walks in. He pretends not to hear his name being murmured throughout the hall.

Seamus and Dean wave from across the room, and Harry gives them a thin smile.

"Hey, Harry."

He turns to find Neville standing with a younger girl Harry thinks is in Slytherin. Neville doesn't look any better today than he had when Harry first saw him at Aberforth's. His face is difficult to look at straight on.

"This is Nicola," he says, gesturing at the girl next to him.

"Hi," she says, not looking particularly starstruck, thank goodness.

"Hi," Harry says.

They are saved from further polite talk by the arrival of the professors.

"First off, I would like to thank you for all volunteering to help." She glances around at the stones surrounding them all. "Putting Hogwarts back to rights will be a long, arduous process. Before we can even begin to repair, we must neutralize the lingering threats."

She turns to Bill standing next to her.

"Mr. Weasley has offered to lend us his expertise." Her lips press together as she regards Bill. "And from his time as a student here, I can tell you he excels at getting around boundaries and obstacles."

Bill widens his eyes, pressing a hand to his chest as if to profess his innocence, and there is a smattering of tired laughter from the students.

"We will start with a review of important spells and precautions."

Seamus lets out a dramatic groan. "More schooling?"

McGonagall's lips press together. "This is a school, Mr. Finnegan, in case you have forgotten. But if you prefer, you may proceed ahead and get yourself eaten by an acromantula with my blessings."

Seamus pauses as if seriously considering it. "Nah. Carry on, Professor."

"Why, thank you," she says wryly.

Seamus grins, Dean leaning into him to say something.

McGonagall teaches them what to look out for, the basic diagnostic spells and wards and neutralizing charms needed to sweep the castle clean before they can even start thinking of repairing anything.

Neville helps McGonagall put students in teams, many people shooting Harry speculative glances.

"Harry," Bill says, appearing by his side. "You mind sticking with me today?"

His shoulders bunch, assuming this is yet another attempt to keep him safe.

But then Bill says, "Honestly, there is some scary shite out here. I thought maybe we could handle most of that?"

"Yeah," he says. "That sounds fine."

Harry spends the day with Bill, learning the feel of a death spot, of a lingering tangle of volatile magics just out of sight, or a booby trap. He carefully marks maps with mandrakes and devil's snare and walls too damaged to stay standing.

Every time anything starts to intrude, any painful thought or reminder or the acid of guilt in his stomach, he starts working twice as hard.

He keeps moving.

"Excuse me?"

Harry looks up to find the girl from the Great Hall regarding them from down the hallway.

"Nicola, right?" Harry says.

She nods, but doesn't seem to have any interest in him. "Are you Ginny's brother?"

Bill turns. "Uh, yeah, I am," he says, and Harry can tell he isn't used to being referred to that way.

"Is she okay?"

Bill smiles down at her. "She's fine. Nothing a little rest won't fix."

Nicola doesn't look like she believes that. "Well, I have her trunk. I thought she might want it. But I didn't know how to…"

"Oh, yeah. Thanks," Bill says. "It's a good time to stop anyway."

Harry frowns. "Already?"

Bill scrubs a hand over his face. "You really are relentless, you know that? But I'd quite like to see my wife again before I'm eighty."

Harry winces. "Of course."

Bill puts a ward up. "We'll pick up in the morning."

"Sure," Harry says.

Bill crosses over to Nicola. "Where's the trunk?"

"Our common room," Nicola says.

He gestures for her to go ahead. "Lead the way."

Harry doesn't move, still staring at the rubble.

Bill glances back when he realizes Harry isn't following him. "Are you coming?"

"What?" Harry says. "Oh. I think I'll check in with Neville and the others before I head back."

Bill's eyes narrow.

"I'll see you back at the Burrow," Harry says.

"Okay," he says. "But don't miss dinner or Mum'll have my head."

Once Bill is gone, Harry turns back to the rubble. With a flick of his wand, he lifts the ward.

He'll just fix one more thing.

It's late by the time he makes his way back to the Burrow.

As he comes up the walk, he realizes George and Charlie are sitting out on the porch.

"You're late," Charlie says.

George doesn't even look his way.

"Yeah," Harry says. "Guess I lost track of time."

He opens his mouth, wanting to say something to George, but there really isn't anything to say. Instead, he nods at Charlie and walks inside.

Ron and Hermione are in the sitting room with Ginny. She's awake now, but still doesn't seem to have moved far, propped up on pillows as she stares out the window.

"Hey," Harry says.

"There you are," Ron says. "Hermione was about to send out a search party."

Her lips press together. "I was not." She still gives him a careful once-over. "How are you?"

"Fine," he says. "I'm just going to run up and take a shower." He's covered in dust and soot, and can't smell very good.

He glances over at Ginny, but she hasn't so much as looked in his direction.

He showers and changes, and no matter how exhausted he is and how tempting his sleeping bag looks, he forces himself back downstairs.

"Mum left you a tray," Ron says, gesturing at a plate on the table.

Harry's stomach lurches in protest, but Hermione is watching closely, so he leans over and folds some ham into a piece of bread. He sits down at the foot of the couch, leaning back against it.

"So what did you two do today?" he asks.

"Mostly helped Mum. Cleared up a few more things around here."

Harry nods.

"Charlie finally got George to come back from Hogwarts." Ron looks down at his hands. "I think he thought that if he left without Fred, then it was really…"

The small amount of food Harry's eaten twists painfully in his stomach.

Hermione reaches over and takes Ron's hand. He gives her a watery smile.

"Goyle's been arrested," Hermione reports, clearly trying to give Ron a moment to recover himself.

"Yeah, okay," Harry says grimly, not all that surprised to hear it.

"Caught him trying to use an illegal cross-apparition point to France," Ron says.

"They've caught quite a few people that way apparently," Hermione says.

"And Crabbe?" Ginny asks.

To judge from Ron's expression, this is the first she's spoken in a while. Harry cranes his neck around to look at her.

She's looking at Hermione. "Was Crabbe with him?"

There's an uncomfortable silence in the wake of the dead boy's name.

Hermione shakes her head. "He died in the battle."

"Did he?" Ginny asks, and there is something unnaturally still about her.

Ron and Hermione give each other shifty looks.

"How?" Ginny asks.

"Ginny…" Hermione says, apparently taking this as morbid curiosity.

"Crabbe," Ginny says, like the name is a little hard to get out. "How did he die?"

Neither Ron or Hermione say anything, and Ginny turns to Harry.

He has no idea why this matters to her so much, just that it clearly does. "There was a scuffle in the Room of Requirement. He was shooting killing spells at us, darting around, and then he cast fiendfyre."

"Fiendfyre," Ginny repeats, horror in her voice.

Harry nods. "I don't think he knew how to control it. The whole room went up."

"Destroyed by his own magic," Ron says. "Strangely fitting, innit?"

Ginny's face is ashen, one hand pressing to her chest, fingers curling in.

"Ginny?" Harry asks, reaching out and touching her leg.

She looks away, wincing as she shifts her weight, her legs pulling up under her. "Do you think I could have some more potion?"

"Of course," Hermione says, pushing to her feet. "Let me get it."

She fetches the bottle while Ron and Harry continue to uneasily watch Ginny.

But rather than pouring a dose when Hermione gives it to her, Ginny tucks the bottle in against her body, shifting as if to get up off the couch.

"What are you doing?" Hermione asks, frowning.

"I'm going up to my room," Ginny says, struggling to find her feet.

Harry pops up, reaching out to help her.

She lifts her hands, staving him off. "I've got it," she says, voice sharp.

He drops his hands.

They watch as she slowly makes her way across the room.

"Has she said anything?" Hermione asks once she's disappeared up the stairs. "About what happened at Hogwarts?"

"Not a word," Ron says, his expression troubled.

That night when Harry wakes, staring up at the ceiling as his mind absolutely refuses to quiet down, his feet carry him down to the sitting room without much thought. He stands in the doorway a long time, staring at the empty couch.

He sits and waits for the sun to rise.

"McGonagall says it's time for you to take a break."

Harry doesn't stop, not turning to look at Neville. His spell spreads out over the corridor, a few areas lighting up. At least three more active magical spots, waiting to pull in the unsuspecting passerby.

"Harry," Neville says.

"When I'm done," Harry says.

Neville doesn't seem deterred. "How about now instead?"

Harry tilts his head, eye squinting as he tries to make out something a little further up the space. It looks like it might be the telltale green sheen of a death spot.

"She told me I could curse you if I needed to."

At that, Harry finally turns to look at Neville. He's got a flask and a paper bag in one hand, and his wand in the other. For a moment Harry considers calling his bluff, but Neville just looks baldly back at him despite the rather bashful smile on his face, and it occurs to Harry that this isn't the same Neville from before he left.

Neville wiggles the flask as if in invitation. "Yeah?"

"Fine," Harry says, blowing out a breath. "Five minutes." He puts up a ward across the hallway so no one will go down it until after he's done.

Harry reaches for the flask, but Neville is already moving away. "Let's go outside."

Harry doesn't have time for a bloody picnic, but Neville's halfway out the nearest gaping hole in the wall. Biting back an irritated sigh, Harry climbs out after him.

Outside, there are a dozen tents set up in a close little defensive-looking circle, people wandering between them. Thankfully Neville doesn't head towards them, instead moving a short distance away.

They sit in the grass, staring out over the lake. The surface still has some sort of oily substance in patches here and there, someone kneeling down and talking to a Merperson in a small bay.

A small clutch of maybe a dozen students sits nearby, passing food around as they take a break as well. Occasionally one of them glances over in their direction, but Harry can't honestly tell if they are looking at him or Neville.

Neville follows his gaze. "A lot of the DA members came back to help." His brow furrows. "The ones who could, at least."

Harry feels his throat close up, passing the pumpkin juice back to Neville. At latest count, six DA members died in the fight, another dozen at St. Mungo's recovering. It's a miracle it wasn't more, considering how many underaged students stayed to fight.

"They say they want to help, but I think some of them don't have anywhere else to go," Neville says, watching them with a pensive expression. "We're still trying to find out what happened to a lot of their parents."

Neville feels responsible for them, Harry realizes.

"At least here the underage ones have the right to their wands, right?" Neville turns to look at him, like maybe he wants Harry to tell him he's doing the right thing.

But Harry hadn't been here. Neville was.

"We tried to carry on for you the best we could," he says.

Harry considers pointing out that the DA had never really been his. "I'm sure you did a great job," he says instead.

Neville shrugs. "Never could have done any of it without the others."

"The others?" Harry asks.

"Yeah. Hannah, Luna, and Ginny. It was the four of us, from the very beginning. And Terry Boot. He helped a bit after we lost Luna." He leans back on his hands. "But it was really Hannah and Ginny that kept us together, though both of them would deny it. I don't know what I would have done without them." He huffs. "Probably gotten myself killed. Merlin knows Gin saved my life more than once just on her own."

Of course she did, Harry thinks.

"Is she doing okay?"

"What?" Harry asks, looking up from the biscuit he's crumbling between his fingers.

Neville frowns. "You're staying at the Burrow, right?"

"Oh, yeah," Harry says. He thinks about her face last night as she asked about Crabbe, the way she didn't come down for breakfast. "Ginny's… I think she's getting better."

He isn't sure if that is more wishful than anything.

"Good," Neville says. "I'll stop by to see her when I get a chance."

"I'm sure she'd like that," Harry says mostly because it seems to be what he's supposed to say. "I'm going to get back to work."

Brushing his fingers free of crumbs, he pops up to his feet, ignoring the slight light-headedness from moving so quickly. He strides off towards the Castle before Neville can say anything.

It's only been a couple hours when he hears someone coming up the hallway behind him. He braces himself for another forced break when a much more familiar voice speaks.

"Can I help? Or have you finished it all yourself already?"

He turns to find Ron regarding him, a rush of something like relief flooding his body.

"Left you a few things," Harry says. "Wouldn't want you to feel left out."

Ron rolls his eyes and slaps Harry on the shoulder. "Lucky me."

Together, they make their way up the corridor, putting everything to rights as they go.