A/N: 11-18-11: A reader pointed out that in this chapter Harry is mourning someone/something that died in canon but not in my series. So I've removed "Hedwig" from the list. I'm still glad she made it!

Chapter 2:

When Ron and Hermione visited they sat together with Harry, and sometimes with Harry and Severus, chatting in the old front parlor, sitting on the porch while one of them swung in the hammock, walking along the shore, wading in the shallows, picking up shells and rocks. Sometimes Harry and Ron played chess while Hermione found yet another fascinating volume from the bookshelves full of tomes that had once belonged to Albus Dumbledore. With Harry, Ron and Hermione, togetherness was about being together, not about doing things together. It was quiet and comfortable and, in Severus' opinion, healthy. It promoted recovery.

The first time they took their shoes off and waded in the ocean, Severus was sitting in a lounge chair on the porch, lap and legs covered with one of the large towels they used on the beach. He'd been reviewing qualifications and credentials for the applicants for the three positions open at Hogwarts—Defense Against the Dark Arts, Muggle Studies and Potions. The Board of Governors had accepted Horace Slughorn's resignation but miraculously, every other professor and staff member had signed new contracts. Well, everyone that had lived anyway, and the Carrows were not among those. He looked outside every now and again, watching Harry and his friends, keeping an eye out just in case. He knew it wasn't rational, knew that these three had been independent for a year now, and had faced dangers far worse than a rising tide. But when he saw them sitting in the sand removing their shoes, he set aside the stack of parchment in its crisp green file folder, folded the over-sized towel and stood up and leaned against the window.

Ron, it seemed, was the instigator. He was wearing blue jeans and had them rolled up past his knobby knees. He stood a few feet out in the water, facing the shore, laughing and beckoning to Hermione. Harry was already standing in the water, but just in it, facing the horizon. Severus watched until Hermione braved the cold and of course, of course, Ron tried to chase her and ended up on his bum, sitting in the ocean. And Harry was laughing, laughing so much he was holding his side.

And when he straightened up he must have caught sight of Severus standing there watching him because he stilled and then, seemingly oblivious of the splashing chaos around him, lifted a hand, smiled and waved.

Severus returned the smile, and the wave, then turned from the window. He wondered if all parents felt like this, like voyeurs, when they watched their children at play.

/

When Ginny Weasley visited, the atmosphere in the cottage was entirely different.

Ginny and Severus had a history that was unlike the one he shared with Ron and Hermione. And Ginny was a different creature than either of them. When Ginny visited, there were two people lying side by side in the hammock, and there wasn't as much talking, or as much laughter. The visits were not uncomfortable, though it was clear that Ginny Weasley had a lot of healing to do, but her scars were different than Harry's, and different than Ron and Hermione's too. While Harry and Ron and Hermione seemed to flourish by carrying on with all the normal parts of life they had missed this past year, by eating a quiet lunch together, wading in the ocean, chatting in the parlor, playing chess, even studying for the coming year, Ginny's healing came from touching. She would lean into Harry on the sofa, or she would sit on the sofa and he would sit on the floor between her knees. Her hand would idly comb through his hair as she sat and read, trying to catch up on what she had missed of her sixth year before the seventh began. Harry would always greet her with a kiss, not seeming to care that most of the time Severus was in the same room, and he would cup her head in his hands and look at her before he'd fold her into his arms in a hug. He seemed to understand what she needed, and she, Severus could tell, was something that Harry needed too.

Not that Harry didn't touch Ron and Hermione, and Merlin knew Ron and Hermione did plenty of touching on their own. They hugged each other when they arrived and when they left. Ron and Harry even hugged. Hermione, in fact, had taken to kissing Severus on the cheek, bending down to greet him—he was nearly always sitting in the easy chair in the parlor or on one of the lounges on the porch—and pressing a light kiss to his cheek. He wasn't sure how the tradition had started, or why he hadn't stopped it before it became a tradition, but he accepted it now and always nodded in return. "Good day to you too, Miss Granger." He was the Headmaster, after all. Some level of formality was still required.

Ginny didn't kiss Severus on the cheek the first time she arrived at Shell Cottage to visit Harry. Nor did she hug him, or shake his hand, or get near enough to him to touch him. She wasn't quite seventeen yet, so George apparated with her. Strangely, while Harry kissed her then hugged her tightly, he hugged George even longer and harder. As George shook in Harry's arms, Harry's hand rubbing his back in small circles, Ginny looked across the room at Severus.

She didn't smile. She looked weary, stretched thin, older than she was. But then, it had only been a month since she'd lost her brother, and she'd been residing at the Burrow in a home engulfed in grief. Severus nodded to her in greeting and she gave him an appraising look, glanced around the parlor, through the landing into the kitchen, back at him. And nodded in return. He wondered who she saw when she looked at him, through him, like that.

She had accepted what he had had to do and had believed in him when the situation was much worse than it was now. When the Carrows had terrorized the school. When the Ministry seemed to have abandoned the children of Hogwarts. When the children had fled into the walls. But while Severus and Ginny had had an unspoken agreement, a quiet trust, they now had to fall into a different relationship and it would prove to be awkward. Severus as parent, protecting Harry. Ginny trying to reconcile the professor, the Headmaster, with this adult in Harry's life, this caregiver, this father.

Severus and Harry had prepared a picnic lunch the morning of Ginny and George's first visit, but in the end Harry couldn't convince Severus to come down to the beach to share it with them. Severus sent them out of the cottage with the lunch, a six-pack of butterbeer and the big beach blanket then stood at the porch window watching them make their way down to the ocean. He was a bit worried by the level of emotion the boys had already shown. Severus sighed. He was ready for a nap. He turned and looked warily at the hammock then walked over to it and tentatively sat on its edge. An instant later he had tipped backward and was struggling in the clutches of the monster. Struggling, however, got him nowhere so after a futile attempt to scoot up so that his feet and head were approximately at the same level, he gave up, relaxed, closed his eyes and within five minutes was enjoying one of the best midmorning naps he'd ever had.

/

By unspoken agreement, they didn't talk about the Battle of Hogwarts. They talked about Molly though, and how she was faring coping with Fred's death. About Percy—back home and working at the Ministry, but now in a position in his father's department instead of with the Minister.

"He's still a right git," said George as he picked up a white stone and tossed it side-armed out into the water.

"He's not trying to be a git," said Ginny. "It's just how he is. At least he's home." She smiled tightly and Harry wondered what she was thinking.

"He's damn lucky everyone is so depressed," said George. "He's been gone all this time and then he comes home and slides right in…like there was an empty slot just waiting….just waiting for him."

"It's not like that," reassured Ginny. "He would have come home…even if Fred hadn't died. He didn't want him gone."

"Well, Mum likes him there anyway," replied George, picking up a shell now and tossing it out in the water.

"Mum likes us all there," said Ginny with a sigh. "I'm surprised she hasn't shown up here to make sure we haven't drowned.

Harry laughed. "Come on," he said. "She wouldn't do that!"

Ginny rolled her eyes while George snorted.

"No? She tracked me down in Diagon Alley last week because I wasn't home by ten and she was worried about me. I was in a pub, Harry! A not-very-nice pub either. She barged right in the door and came at me, claiming the family clock said I was in mortal peril. The nice young lady sharing my bar stool ran away in terror. Mum's adjusted the sensitivity sensors on that damn clock. She needs to just ditch that thing. I can't stand looking at it anymore…" His voice trailed off and he kicked the sand with his bare foot.

"Fred's hand has been stuck on 'traveling' for weeks," said Ginny, glancing at Harry with a worried expression.

"Oh," breathed out Harry. He looked sideways at George, who was staring out to sea now, a far-off look on his face. "I'd forgotten about the clock." He swallowed and shut his eyes against the tears that welled up behind them—again.

"It's OK," said Ginny with a small smile and a shrug. "It's just that we all thought it wouldn't take him so long to get there…wherever that is…"

Harry remembered again—how could he not?—the brief trip he had made after he sacrificed himself. King's Cross Station. Arrivals and departures. He imagined Fred there now, sitting on the bench alone, or perhaps with some of the other dead, waiting for the next train, or perhaps haunting the platform—unwilling, yet, to move on. Did 'traveling' mean that Fred would be a ghost?

He hoped not. He hoped that Fred would move on—to that place his mum and dad had come from, and Sirius, and Remus. And Dumbledore. The afterlife was too great and his mind too small to understand it, but he knew they had seemed content, and well, and at peace. He could not help but remember how he had felt in that great bright place. Free of pain. Completely calm despite not knowing where he was, what was happening, whether he was alive—or dead.

"I think it must take some souls longer than others," said Harry at last, reminding himself to stay positive, to not discuss the battle, the deaths, and especially that unfathomable time he had spent with Albus Dumbledore on Platform 9 ¾. "What's new in Diagon Alley?"

George shrugged. "I hear more stores are beginning to open back up," he said. "Lee says one of the Fortescue girls is back from France and cleaning the place up. And Ollivander is planning on reopening too."

Harry exchanged a quick glance with Ginny. "You've not been back then?" he asked quietly.

George shrugged again. "Angelina is helping Lee. I've given her our…" he shook his head as if trying to clear it. "…my flat over the shop for the time being. I figure I'd better stay at the Burrow with…" he trailed off and resumed looking at the ocean, hugging his knees.

"With your Mum?" asked Harry quietly. "I imagine she does need you there."

"Yeah," said George, but Harry knew that wasn't what was keeping him at the Burrow. He'd been to Fred's funeral, had seen him buried in the little family plot, understood what George hadn't said.

"Fred loved it here," said George suddenly. "We came out here a few times when Bill and Fleur were living here, you know." A raw, guttural sound escaped him. Harry thought he meant it to be a laugh, but it came out a half sob. "He charmed the hammock to sink lower and lower the longer you laid in it. Bill kept waking up on the floor and couldn't figure out what was wrong with the darn thing. You'd think he could have fixed it—curse breaker and all. He never did figure it out."

Harry smiled. "It's fine now. It must have worn off…"

He realized why it had worn off as he spoke. George sighed.

"Fred had charmed the toilet seat at home to make a fart noise whenever you opened or closed it," said Ginny. The taboo on talking about Fred appeared to have been lifted. "I miss it," she added, her voice beginning to break.

"And the shower losing pressure as soon as you're ready to wash the shampoo out of your hair," added George.

"That was Fred?" asked Harry. "I always wondered what that was all about..." He looked skyward and said "Fred, wherever you are, thanks for all the times the toilet squirted water back up at me when I flushed it."

"Uh—that wasn't Fred," said George, a smile reminiscent of the old George a distant light in his eyes.

"You!" exclaimed Harry. "That's disgusting, you know!" He pushed George's shoulder and George pushed him back. Harry retaliated by tousling George's hair then George shoved a handful of sand down Harry's shirt. What started as a friendly, teasing scuffle quickly evolved into something altogether different, however, with both friends suddenly rolling on the beach, pummeling each other, George quickly getting the upper hand with his larger frame and deeper anger. Ginny scrambled out of the way, shouting at them, her wand quickly drawn, trying to get clear aim to break them up but Harry grunted out "No! Get Severus!" as he struggled to break free of George's hold, bucking up and kicking out as Ginny ran toward the cottage.

This is for George,he thought with the small part of his mind that could still think rationally, or that thought it could. He needs this. He needs to get it out. The anger. The hurt.But he could not help but struggle and fight back during those interminable minutes, landing an occasional blow, actually managing to roll himself on top once and hold George's arms down but only for an instant before George broke his hold with a sudden surge of energy and rolled on top of him again.

"Enough boys." Severus' voice was loud and commanding but not angry.

Harry stopped struggling and George froze.

Seconds later, Severus, wearing his house shoes, had pulled George off of Harry and was forcing a calming draught down his throat.

Harry rolled over onto his side and cradled his head.

He hurt everywhere.

His glasses were gone. He remembered hearing them break. One eye was closed, his nose was bleeding profusely. His shoulder hurt whenever he moved. There was blood in his mouth. He spit it out.

"Merlin, Harry." Severus' voice was low, disbelieving.

"I'll go for help, Headmaster." Ginny. Her voice was hoarse. Harry imagined she had been screaming. It seemed odd to hear her call Severus 'Headmaster.'

"Thank you but no. Not now. Sit with your brother. Keep him calm. Talk to him. Do not let him go anywhere."

His voice sounded again near Harry's ear.

"Move your hands, Harry. I need to see your face."

Harry sobbed. The beach had disappeared. The ocean. The cottage. His friends. Suddenly he was on the floor of Moaning Myrtle's bathroom again, fighting with Draco. Disappointing Severus. In this state, his turbulent mind could only connect Severus' disappointment with his fighting, forgetting that it really revolved around his pursuit of Draco and not trusting that Severus would handle the situation.

"I'm sorry…"

"Harry. It's alright. I'm not angry. Move your hands."

He obeyed reluctantly, moving his hands and allowing Severus to roll him gently onto his back. He winced. Severus pushed his hair back out of his eyes. "Merlin, you're a mess. Definitely lost this one, didn't you?" Severus' voice, with the distinct breathy quality he'd had since Nagini nearly killed him, was nonetheless soft and soothing to Harry's ears. He felt the gentle tingle of a healing spell. Magic. A tear dropped down his cheek. Severus wiped it away with his thumb.

"Broken nose." Severus sighed and Harry moaned. Another spell, a spike of pain.

"Augh." He grabbed his face.

"Put your hands down, Harry. This is going to get worse before it gets better. It looks like your shoulder is dislocated." Severus continued to work, talking softly. "I hope you both got this all out of your systems. You might not survive another altercation like this. If any more of your friends need a human punching bag to work out their anger and grief, don't volunteer."

Harry winced again as Severus pushed up his t-shirt and pressed against his abdomen with the heel of his hand.

Harry hissed at the pressure. "You're not mad?" he managed to breathe out.

Severus seemed to ignore his question. "You're going to have a rough couple of days. I should probably have Poppy out to run some scans." He pulled Harry's shirt down. "I'm going to go check on Mr. Weasley. Do not get up yet."

Harry closed his blurry eyes, vaguely wondering again about his glasses. A moment later, Ginny knelt down next to him, smoothing back his hair. "You're a mess, Harry," she said, her voice a good deal lighter than it had been ten minutes ago.

"How is he?" asked Harry, eyes still closed.

"George?" She laughed in apparent disbelief. "Better, I'd say. Better than you for sure. What was that all about anyway? I thought he was going to kill you…" Her voice trailed off.

"Don't really know. Just seemed like he needed to beat someone up. And I was there. Felt good to hit him back."

Ginny settled on the sand beside him and squeezed his hand gently. "I know what you mean. I wouldn't mind hitting something myself."

/

"Harry?"

Harry groaned and buried his head in the pillow on the sofa where he'd been since Severus had helped him inside several hours ago. Severus had given him a pain potion but he still felt sore and achy. Despite his attempt to cover his ears and appear to be unconscious, he heard Severus settle into one of the chairs.

"Are you ready to talk about it yet?"

Harry mumbled something into the pillow.

"Was that a yes or a no?"

Harry turned his head to face Severus, staring at him with one eye open and the other a mere slit. "Do we have to?"

"Eventually, yes. And now is as good of a time as any. You are awake, I am awake. You've just allowed someone to beat you up with their fists when a third person was standing there with a wand. You sent her to find me instead of letting her use that wand to break up your fight. Explain."

Harry rolled his head back into the pillow.

"Harry."

He turned his head again to face Severus. "We were talking about Fred," he said with a sigh.

"Of course you were. How did that conversation engender a pub brawl?"

Harry shrugged—a difficult gesture considering he was lying down. "He admitted he'd hexed the toilet at the Burrow to spit water up when you flush it. I thought it was Fred. I gave him one of those friendly little punches in the shoulder. He shoved me back and the next thing I knew we were fighting. Only it wasn't friendly anymore—he was mad. I don't know—it was like he needed someone to punch."

"And you let him punch you."

"Well, I couldn't really stop him. He's stronger than me."

"Miss Weasley could have stopped him. She could have stopped you both." Severus was leaning forward, hands steepled. Voice calm. Too calm. Why was he taking this so well?

"I don't get why you're not mad," said Harry, exasperated. "We beat each other up. You had to have Poppy come out and she lectured you on over-exerting yourself and made you go to bed." He moved his shoulder experimentally. Still sore.

"Why didn't you let Miss Weasley stop him?"

"You didn't answer my question."

"And you didn't answer mine."

"Fine. I wanted him to punch me. I did punch back you know. It wasn't like I just laid there on the ground and let him pummel me."

Severus stared at Harry a long moment. Harry stared right back. Severus gave in first.

"Why did you want him to punch you, Harry?"

Harry wished he could adequately vocalize what he intrinsically knew, what he felt. Then Severus would stop talking, and go lie down, and he could close his eyes again and sleep. "It felt right," he said at last, staring at Severus with his good eye as he spoke. "He was angry. He needed to get it out. It felt like the right time."

"He wasn't angry at you, Harry."

Harry shrugged and closed his eyes. He wasn't completely sure that was true.

He heard furniture scooting. Severus had pushed the sofa table to the side and had pulled his own chair closer to the sofa. His hand came down to rest on Harry's head and he pushed the long, scraggly hair back away from his face, a gesture of comfort, a gesture of love.

"George is not angry at you, Harry. And you are in no way responsible for his brother's death. Deep down you already know this. I agree with you on many points—George was angry and he needed an outlet. I expect he's feeling better now." His hand continued to card through Harry's hair. He sighed. "I'm going to have Poppy send over a stronger bruise paste. Your eye is a mess."

They were both silent for several moments. Finally, Harry spoke, his voice low, broken. "I know it's not my fault. My brain knows it. But I can't help but feel responsible. At least in part." He let out a painful laugh. "So I guess you could say I did my part today. With George anyway."

"Grief is a process, Harry." Harry heard the rustle of Severus' robes as he fumbled in his pocket, heard him unscrew a lid. As cool fingers touched his face, smoothing on a soothing cream under his eyes, on his bruised cheek, around his mouth, he listened to Severus' calm, measured voice. "And anger is a part of that process. I've been a bit worried about you actually. I expected this to happen before now. So there's the answer to your question. I'm not angry because I'm actually relieved."

Another bark of pained laughter from Harry. "Relieved? You're relieved George beat the crap out of me?"

A long silence as Severus continued to rub on the salve. "You know that's not what I meant. Be fair, Harry. I'm relieved that you're beginning to show some emotion other than gratitude and relief."

"But I am grateful…and relieved." Harry reached up and grabbed Severus' wrist, stopping the soothing, circular motion.

"I know you are. I am not challenging that or trying to belittle those feelings. Harry—look at me."

Harry opened his eyes slowly and stared, once again, at Severus' tired face. He blinked his eyes.

"We're going to have to go get you new glasses soon," said Severus with a sigh.

"I don't think that's why you asked me to open my eyes," said Harry.

"No. It's not. As grateful and relieved as you are that we both survived and are here together today, the reality is that you have lost friends. And you deserve to grieve them. You don't have to be upbeat and happy all the time for me. Harry—I'm here for you just as you are here for me. I do not expect you to be my rock, and I am sure your friends do not expect that either. Trust me in this, Harry. When have you gone wrong trusting me before?"

Harry blinked his eyes again and looked at Severus' pale, tired face.

"Alright, Severus," he said. He turned on his side and bunched his pillow up under his head. "I'm really tired. Do you mind if I take another nap?"

"No. Go on. You've had a hard day. We'll talk later." He stood and moments later Harry heard him slowly climbing the stairs up to the bedrooms. Good. He needed the rest. Harry turned on his side. Fifteen minutes later, he was still facing the back of the sofa, eyes closed, wide awake. Thinking that no matter what he said, Severus still looked like he needed a rock. Thinking that he did need to deal with all those feelings welling up inside him, but that more importantly, he still had to be strong for Severus.

/

Harry had woken up that morning with his face still swollen and bruised, but looking infinitely better than he had the day before. Severus had checked him over, making him raise his arm and rotate his shoulder. He seemed to be pleased that Harry could raise his arm without screaming.

Harry was quiet all morning, sitting with Severus at the table on the porch with a pile of textbooks in front of him while Severus reviewed staff contracts. Kreacher arrived at noon with lunch from Hogwarts. They ate lunch quietly on the porch, corned beef sandwiches, apple and walnut salad, crisps. After lunch, while Severus reviewed the incoming student list that Minerva had owled that morning, Harry lay quietly in the hammock, staring out toward the ocean.

Severus let him be.

Late in the afternoon, Harry went down to the water with beach chair, towel and seventh year N.E.W.T Potions textbook in hand. Severus looked up from his work from time to time to find Harry in the same position, head bent, book open, wind blowing his hair around his face. At five o'clock, Severus went in the kitchen to start dinner. Thirty minutes later he came back to the porch to check on Harry.

Harry was no longer in the chair. He was standing near the water, a long stick in this hand, writing in the sand. Severus had stopped in the middle of the room but walked now to the window, watching Harry. The boy was making long and broad slashes in the sand, left to right, letters as tall as he was, right at the very edge of the water.

Severus squinted to read them.

Opened his eyes wide in understanding.

Watched as the waves slowly washed the letters away. Watched Harry stand back, straight and tall, until the sand was once again perfectly smooth.

Then pick up the stick and start over again.

Fred.

Remus.

Tonks.

Dobby.

Dumbledore.

Sirius.

Mum.

James.

Severus swallowed a lump in his throat so big it pressed on his heart and settled like a weight in his gut. Harry was mourning his losses. Acknowledging his grief and letting the waves wash those losses gently away.

James. Not Dad.

Severus placed his hand on the window, leaned his forehead against the cool pane of glass and watched Harry hurl the stick far out into the ocean then sink down onto the sand, bury his face in his hands and weep.

Staying there on the porch and letting Harry cry out his grief alone on the beach was one of the hardest things Severus Snape had ever done.