Dear Fox,

I hope you know that I have tried my best to respect your silence, but recent events have left me at a loss. Albus is dead. You have knowledge and experience that we lack. I am writing to you, not on behalf of myself, but for Harry. I cannot help him by myself. Lily and James would have wanted you here. Sirius would have wanted you here. Please come home.

This owl is resourceful and trustworthy. I will see you soon

With all my warmest regards,

Remus J. Lupin

Sun was breaking through the curtains above Harry's bed. He was already awake. He'd been awake for hours. Across the room Ron's deep rumbling breathing continued in an even unbroken stream. With an internal groan Harry rolled over and let his bare feet fall to the floor. The boards were worn almost soft and felt cool and soothing against his skin. He sat for a moment curling and uncurling his toes against them. Heaving another sigh, he leaned over and picked up a thin gray t-shirt from where he had discarded it next to the bed the night before. Slipping his arms into the sleeves, he pulled it over his head and stood up. The mattress creaked loudly as it was relieved of his slight weight. Ron snorted in his sleep but did not move. Harry gave him a cautious look and, padding quietly across the floor, slipped out the door.

He hovered on the landing. It ran in a square shaped aisle around an open space in the center of the house that housed numerous staircases. Running one tired hand over his face, Harry's other hand trailed along the worn banister opposite him. He turned the corner and started down the steps. Each one creaked threateningly under him, no matter how slowly he moved. At the bottom of the stairs, he turned left and pushed open the door to the kitchen. He stopped short at the unexpected glow of lights and life from inside.

Ginny was at the stove setting a tea kettle on the burner to boil. Harry hesitated, then cleared his throat. She looked up and gave him a tired smile.

"I heard you coming," she said. "Hi."

"Hi," Harry's hand wandered up to the back of his head and threaded his fingers uncomfortably through his hair.

"What're you doing up?" Ginny asked.

"Couldn't sleep," Harry shifted on his feet and leaned back against the wall next to the door.

"Nor me," Ginny flicked a few strands of strawberry hair over one shoulder with her fingertips and arched an eyebrow. "You can sit, Harry. I promise I won't bite."

"Oh," he responded intelligently, his hand moving to rub absently at the back of his neck. "Ok."

He eyed the table skeptically and settled for a chair half way across from her. She watched him for a few minutes then sat down with him, leaving one empty chair between them. Harry felt a dull pang underneath his ribs.

"Any word from Remus?" Ginny asked, her index finger absently tracing geometric patterns across the woodgrain of the table. Harry found it very distracting, but her question startled him and he looked up.

"How did you-?"

She gave him an incredulous look.

"The house isn't that large, Harry. It's not hard to be observant."

Harry frowned.

"No. No word," his voice was tight with concern and a little resentment, "He said a few days but I thought I might have heard something by now."

"Antsy, are you?" Ginny smirked, but Harry narrowed his eyes.

"Well, yes. Of course I am," he said. That seemed to stop her cold. She blinked and looked down at her hands.

"Of course you are," she said, more to herself than Harry. "Maybe he doesn't have anything to tell you yet?" she shrugged lightly, but her shoulders seemed heavy as they moved.

"He could tell me that at least, then," Harry grumbled, the frown deepening as he stared decidedly at a point on the wall over Ginny's left ear.

"I don't think Remus is much in the habit of volunteering information," Ginny said, and Harry met her eyes. "Just an observation."

"And that would make him unlike the rest of the Order how?" Harry said bitterly. Ginny's lip curled and she stood up to turn again to the stove.

"Yes, Harry. You're right. Your indignation is completely warranted, since you are so very open with everyone," her sarcasm was painfully evident even with her back turned. Harry felt a rush of guilt spin through his ears as Ginny shifted the kettle on its burner.

"Ginny-"

"Don't, Harry," she sighed. "I know why you don't want to talk about it. I think you're wrong, but I do understand." She turned to face him, but her eyes were fixed on the ceiling. "I do." She said, but Harry wasn't sure it was true. He opened his mouth to say so, but closed it abruptly as Ginny closed her eyes.

"I can't, Ginny."

"I know, Harry," her eyes tightened. Harry swallowed.

"It doesn't seem like you do," he said.

"I know you think you can't," she opened her azure gaze on him then and his breath hitched, "That's all that really matters isn't it?"

Harry felt his face twist in a grimace of frustration, and his hand climbed to the back of his neck again. The kettle whistled a low note behind Ginny's back and as she turned to move it from the burner, Harry sighed deeply. This was like torture. For both of them. It wasn't right.

Ginny set two cups of tea on the table, and sat down in the chair next to him. He wrapped his hands around the chipped mug and glanced at her sideways. Her long hair was tucked behind her ear on the side closest to him and he could see the sorrow in her face. He wanted to take it away. He wanted it gone. Without thinking, he reached out and took her hand.

"What can I do, Ginny? I don't know what else to do," he lifted their hands together in a gesture of futility. Ginny shook her head, but her fingers tightened around his. A long heavy silence settled comfortably over them for several minutes, then Ginny looked up at him with radiant shining eyes.

"How can you not be afraid?" she said, "How are you not terrified? I'm terrified for you." Her beautiful face was open and earnest and Harry smiled sadly.

"I am," he said.