CHAPTER THIRTEEN: Picking Up the Broken Pieces

In years past, the residents of Ottery St. Catchpole have often noted the many red-headed children running through their streets. A large, happy family lived on the outskirts of the town, but they didn't socialize with the other families in the neighborhood. It was a large family with another toddler tearing around the city every few years. And even if they didn't know it, loud enough to be heard on the outskirts despite a very impressive set of silencing charms. They were regarded as strange. Nobody when questioned were quite sure exactly where their house was or what it looked like. Though they were certainly less strange than that depressing Diggory fellow who had been muttering about town for the last several years. Weasley; that was their name.

The neighbors may have never known of or understood the type of world the Weasley family lived in, or the burdens they bared over many years without complaint. And they would never know what they were going through this particular Friday evening.

Fred and George Weasley, the two most jovial lads of the family, were not in the house tonight. They were down the street at the local cemetery, supervising the preparations for the burial of their mother which would occur in a matter of hours. It was a completely depressing and painful duty. It was also one they would let no one else perform; a final duty to the most important person in their lives.

So there was a set of red-headed twins standing in the Ottery Cemetery with mirth and humor the last things on their minds.

"Daddy, did you want anything to eat?"

Back at the Burrow, Ginny stood in front of her father, planted in a recliner and his head in his hands. He didn't seem to even notice his only daughter or the plate of food she held out to him. Ginny wiped her puffy read eyes on her handkerchief and looked down at the plate. She certainly wasn't her mother. She remembered huge, delicious meals with Mum, Dad and all the brothers. She really tried to put together a good supper; something worthy of her mother's kitchen. But she had only helped her mother a few times and… well One Minute Feasts became One Hour Struggles for her.

Still not receiving an answer, she set the plate on the end table next to her father and returned to the kitchen. Harry was diligently tearing into his roast beef like a starving Ron. He may not have been terribly fond of it, but he certainly made the effort for her. She sat next to him and leaned on his shoulder, happy at having a boyfriend who ate stringy, incredibly dry roast beef with gusto to make her feel better.

"I'm lucky to have you, Harry," she whispered. Grinning slightly, Harry kissed her forehead. The two of them were alone in the room. Ron and Hermione had been outside for a while and Bill, Fleur and Charlie had left mostly untouched plates on the kitchen table. They were on the porch discussing the funeral. Bill had at least eaten all of Fleur's mashed potatoes. It was the kind of thing people did if they…

"I love you, Harry."

Choking on his food, Harry looked at an expectant Ginny and her sad eyes. Having no other easy option in front of him, Harry grabbed a napkin and spat out about two-thirds of his mouthful. As quickly and sounding as assured as possible with a piece of roast beef hanging from his lip, he explained, "I lugh u."

Laughing, Ginny pushed the food back into his mouth and kissed it. Rubbing his cheek, they looked into each other's eyes. Harry was unsure about his less than impressive response, but Ginny just smiled and ate a piece of Harry's dinner.

"Wow, I really can't cook," she remarked.

Chuckling, Harry remarked, "Well, I guess we can eat out a lot."

"Gee," his girlfriend replied with a smirk, "that sort of infers you plan on us spending a lot of time together someday."

Rubbing the top of her head, Harry murmured, "Well, it's an idea."

Ginny smiled warmly and shut her eyes, dreaming of happier days ahead of her. She knew that she wouldn't be making it through this as easily without Harry. Since her first year, the idea of surviving the war became an uncertainty. Its the type of feelings that take hold in an 11-year-old girl when she's possessed by the most evil wizard of their time. But Harry had the same sword hanging over his head. Part of what helped her get past her crush on him was the seeming likelihood of loving him only to lose him. She had forgotten about all the other people in her life she had… had to lose. First, Bill was nearly taken, but now… somehow Mum was worse than all the rest.

Outside, while Fleur hugged a weeping Charlie, Bill barely had the energy to stand up, instead seemed to pull himself into a tight ball leaning against the side of the Burrow. Across the street, Ron and Hermione sat out in the field, watching a joyous hinkypunk bouncing in her bog. Ron was struggling to contain tears that had been flowing throughout the day. His father was like a ghost, refusing to speak with anyone, his children included. The twins had each other to confide in and rely on. Ginny had Harry and, as Ron remarked about to no end, they could disappear into their own little world together at the drop of a hat. In pretty much the same way, Bill and Fleur had one another. Charlie had been away so long, it wasn't exactly like he was the first person Ron wanted to share his feelings with. That person was… No, that just wasn't going to happen.

A small, soft hand holding his own made Ron at least feel glad he had two best friends. Hermione always had a way of pushing down anything she needed and just being there for someone else. It was the type of sweetness that few people possessed. In Ron's opinion at this moment, there was one person who definitely did nothing of the kind. The only other person that was supposed to be with them and he was nowhere to be seen.

"It's not like I want him here anyway!" Ron screamed. "You and Harry came. Of course, you're practically family, not like him. He could have come though; you know… to talk to someone. Not that I want to!"

Hermione chuckled slightly and added, "Of course not, Ronald. I'm sure none of us do."

"No, Harry does. I know it! Ever since that stupid Ferret showed up this summer… sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry about," Hermione assured with what Ron considered her trademark reassuring smile. For all the times she could critique little details and the opinions of other people (including her dearest friends), this wasn't the day for that.

"It's okay, I know you both are friends now, too."

"W—wh—what are you! We are NOT friends! He… you know he hates me!"

Most people consider Hermione the smartest of their little group, but only those closest to them really knew how blind she could be to certain things and every so often Ron more than amazes her with an insightful bit of information.

"No, he doesn't. Even I like the git nowadays. He's good to Harry and doesn't tease us anymore or anything. Well, mostly."

"Why Weasel, I never knew you cared," came a familiar drawl from behind them. Ron and Hermione turned to see a by-now-familiar auburn head of hair and a cocky smile. Still wearing his Hogwarts robes, Draco stood there looking as superior as he could manage.

"Where have you been!" Hermione screamed. Even Ron looked shocked at her response.

Chuckling at her, Draco answered, "I'm doing something romantic. A bit out of character for me, but I thought you needed it."

"Y—y—you want, but… it's, you just c—ca," Hermione stuttered as her face became as red as Weasley hair.

"Not for you, Granger. I was talking about Weasel."

"Ferret, you really don't know—" Ron's retort broke off quickly when Draco stepped to the left and revealed his traveling companion. It was now Ron's turn to blush, tentatively stand up and walk quickly to the beautiful blonde girl with a tight smile. By the time he reached her, Luna leapt into Ron's arms. Ron offered a brief nod to Draco before walking back towards the house with the girl who without a lot of people noticing had become important to him; almost as much as Harry and Hermione. It looked like now Ron had someone to talk to and someone to be there for him.

Looking at Hermione and then past her, Draco remarked, "Bog's getting bigger."

"Well, it was a rather nice piece of magic," she added. "He seems to like it."

The hinkypunk seemed to be smiling as it bounced up high only to sink low into the bog and come flying out again. Draco thought of offering some words of comfort. Surely Hermione missed Mrs. Weasley, an almost surrogate mother to her and Harry, as much as anyone. But sweet words of comfort weren't something he had a great deal, or even any, experience using. So there he stood, halfway out in a field that was now anything but solid with nothing better to do than watch her fight back tears.

Draco tried not to shutter when Hermione blasted the contents of her nose into a napkin and rubbed her wet eyes on the sleeve of her slightly over-sized pink sweater. This of course only made Hermione feel worse. Not only had she apparently offended the standard rules of society, but the real problem was her last sweater from Molly Weasley now had the stains of her leaking face all over the cuff. She furiously wiped it on her own jeans. Somehow, it entered her mind, it can be alright if she cleaned off the sweater. Things could be okay again. The world of dozens of people wouldn't be shattered and life could go on and WHY WON'T IT DRY OFF!

At her failure, tears only returned in force and everything she had held inside the entire day… from hugging Bill in the headmaster's office to sitting quietly with Ginny to smiling at the stone-faced twins to holding Ron's hand… was now coming out. And all of its ruining the sweater.

A firm hand grabbed her wrist and any erratic movements were halted. A stone-cold expression only made sympathetic eyes stand out all the more. Draco tried extra-hard to seem rough and unaffected when he shoved his handkerchief into her hand and pushed it up to her face. Almost immediately, Draco assumed this met every nice guy standard that was expected of him. Turning he walked to the house without a word and failed in his attempts to stop grinning at what he heard: a girl blowing her nose, quickly rising and running to catch up with him. Hermione stayed a few paces back and to the left of him all the way to the Burrow.

Late that night, as the rest of the house slept or made some vague attempt at it, three young men sat up in the highest bedroom. They were awake, not because of the ghoul raising a particularly large ruckus just over their heads. Instead of curled up in sleeping bags on the floor, Ron's two guests were sitting up on his bed with him.

"I mean a cot in some rickety shed that's a sturdy wind away from crushing the last hope of the wizarding world is one thing," Draco complained. "But a… what is that thing?"

"A sleeping bag," Harry mumbled.

"A bag!" Draco tried to stay just quiet enough not to wake the rest of the house. "You want to throw me in a bag."

"For years now, you slimy git," Ron replied with little emotion.

Draco huffed dramatically and leaned over Ron, not-so-covertly whispering to his brother, "He's been plotting against me from the start."

"We all have," Harry answered with a smirk.

"Hermione drew up a diagram of our plans to humiliate you," Ron added. "The sleeping bag one is mine."

Draco laid back on Ron's bed, stretching over three-quarters of the space. He remarked, "Well, now you've done it. I've been made a fool and humiliated by the Weasel."

"Well, that's one less life goal," Harry offered, budging a smile out of Ron. "You can cross it off the list."

Suddenly actually concerned, Draco asked, "There's a list?"

"Well…" Ron paused and thought it over. "I'm sure Hermione has one somewhere."

"Probably," Harry agreed.

"So, where'd Lovegood run off to?" Draco asked.

"Ginny's room," Ron explained calmly. "And you aren't going to put me off either. I'm not embarrassed. I like her. There."

"Who said you didn't? Honestly, the only one at school blind enough to even consider anything besides that has been Potter. Acting quite the fool about it, he was."

Leaning back so his head fell off the left side of his bed, Ron nearly cracked a smile, "The important thing to remember from tonight is that Ferret admitted he was a fool."

"I hate you, Weasley."

Despite the complete and utter serious tone of the statement, Ron's smile simply dissolved as he replied, "Yeah, I kind of like you too, Potter."

"Not you, too," Harry whined. "Bad enough when it was just Hermione; Not You Too! There are TWO Potters. You can't just give him the name. I had it first."

"That's your great analytical argument?" Draco asked. "You've devolved to arguing 'firsties'. Granger would be so disappointed in you, Potter."

"Stop it," Harry grunted.

"Well now, Potter," Ron said with a slight smile. "I think Potter has a good point about what I can call Potter… or Potter. I mean a Potter is a Potter is a Potter."

"He has a point, Potter."

"Thank you, Potter."

"Why Weasel, you're as good as any Potter I've ever met. An honorary Potter, I think. Do you approve, Potter? Potter?"

"I won't ask either of you again." Harry now pulled out his wand and began twirling it in his fingers. An almost cruel and maniacal smile plastered on his face. Ron and Draco both looked at one another. And perhaps they both felt like tempting fate that night. Or perhaps on some sad days, young men need to laugh as much as boys do. The two looked straight at Harry and at the same time chorused, "Potter."

Were the main streets of Ottery St. Catchpole just a bit closer to the Burrow, they might have noticed the incredible indoor fireworks show that took place that night on the top floor.

There were no fireworks the next morning, however. The local cemetery was once more the home of loss and pain. Harry thought back to the last time he was in a cemetery at the end of the fourth year. At least this time instead of being surrounded by an army of Death Eaters, it was friends and family. But he would go through that again in a heartbeat, if it saved the Weasleys being here and stop this suffering. Along with the full Weasley family and their closest friends, most members of the Order of the Phoenix were present. Dumbledore wore as sad an expression that day as any had seen on him. The sun that shined brightly brought no comfort to him or any of the others gathered. Moody, McGonagall and, of all people, Mundungus Fletcher all sent their regards, but were charged with the security of Hogwarts for the day.

Minister Scrimgeor sent a letter of condolences to Arthur. It seemed more than hollow when accompanied by the letter admonishing him for bringing his wife unauthorized into the Ministry offices and defiantly absolving the Ministry of all responsibility in the matter. It also informed him that they would provide no compensation to the family of one Percy Weasley, convicted posthumously of high treason. Bill had set the letter ablaze and very nearly the owl that had delivered it. The document seemed to stop just short of informing them that no further advancements would be available for Arthur under the current administration. His career, it seemed, was over.

Even that was no comparison to that morning's copy of the Prophet. The headline run across the entire front page "Ministry Sting Nabs Death-Eater" reported how spy Percy Weasley was captured in a Ministry-approved sting operation. The operation had apparently been quick and thoroughly successful, confirmed Minister Scrimgeor's long-held suspicions about the unconfirmed Death Eater. Fleur had torn the paper to shreds and tossed them into the fire before Arthur had seen it.

Bill and Ron had raged at the insults and wished most profusely that their father would as well. But still, silence was his response to the world. In less than two months since the students had seen him, Arthur seemed to age fifteen years. They were all quite certain the change had only set-in over the last several hours.

Also in attendance were a few of Arthur's Ministry colleagues, but not as many as were expected. The only one to actually speak to him and offer condolences was Perkins. Tearfully, the old man patted the shoulder of his cohort from the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office, where he in fact remained to this day, carrying on alone.

It was Fleur who, when Arthur could not stand to offer any words at the service, stood and spoke for Molly.

"Molly, vas a remarkabal voman. And a loving mother, even if zou vere not her child. I 'ope to believes that ve live on through our children. Zat Molly lives on in 'er children. Reborn eternal. I vill always remember meeting 'er for ze first time after ze Tournament. Bill 'ad brought me to vizet and she came 'ome late, carrying flowers, 'air wet from ze rain. She vas so quiet, sizing me up quietly. 'Ew could love 'er Beel az much az 'e deserved. I thenk I did not know vat love really vas until I saw Molly and 'er family. And blood mattered to 'er not von bit. Molly loved 'er husband and all 'er brotherz and sisterz, even with names like Prewitt or Black or Tonks and 'er children, even if their name vere Weasley or Potter or Granger or… I thenk, Delacour. If only ve all love our children zhat much. I vill remember… I v-vill remember… she had ze beautiful violet flowers."

At the end the slim, blonde girl bent down and set a long, purple flower before a gravestone. Walking quickly to her husband, Fleur buried her head into his chest and wept.

In all the years when the surviving Weasley children and their children came to visit the family plots, all were bare of wildflowers. The lone exception was a simple stone marker that was surrounded by fresh grape hyacinth every spring and throughout the growing seasons. Even in the pale of winter, the stems were never driven back to the ground, never all the way.

No flowers ever grew on the grave of Percy Weasley, who was committed to the family plot out of respect to his mother's sacrifice and the love of a father who could never fully forgive him. The service for Percy was quick and none spoke for him, but even betrayed they knew where he was supposed to be; the only place where Percy belonged. After only a few precious moments of silence, Ron huffed and led the way back to the Burrow.

But in the end, this day past as all sad days do: with tears and the comfort of old friends. While Bill, Charlie and their father accepted the best wishes from friends and visitors in the living room. The younger brothers and their friends sat quietly in the kitchen, quiet save for the gentle humming tune from Luna. None of them recognized it, but it seemed familiar to them all… like something from when they were all terribly young.

As Ginny walked back from the living room, she smiled tightly at the fact that her father had at least nodded and taken the plate from her. A sudden clinking noise caught her attention. Looking at the base of the family clock, she picked up two fallen handles for Molly and Percy Weasley. Tearing up slightly, Ginny placed them in her pocket. The clock itself glowed a faint red before returning to normal.

Shortly before dark, Dumbledore gathered up his students and brought them back to Hogwarts. Each had their own reaction to the funeral and though they had been offered the following day off from classes, not even Ron accepted. Though perhaps it was the glower of his dear friend, Hermione, that still had the strength to choose duty over fun… no not fun, not for a good long time, but some measure of peace.

Hermione found her peace in the routine of schoolwork, sitting in the Head's Common Room tearing a very brisk face through her Ancient Runes book, trying not to smear the pages with her tears. Across at the other end of the fireplace, Draco was reading… or at least looking at the same page of his own copy of the book. Suddenly and without reason, he found Greek symbols no longer made much sense and his vision seemed blurry. He slammed the book shut and marched quickly into his bedroom.

In Gryffindor Tower, Harry went right to bed, far before any of the other students… even the younger ones. He lay there crying in silence, trying not to draw any attention to himself, even when he heard the other boys come to bed. The familiar sound off to his left meant that his best friend was now the last to join him; and still Harry couldn't find the words. So Harry remained silent. When there was a near silent creaking noise an hour later, it had him clutching his wand. His concern for his safety released as a pair of strong, thin arms wrapped around his chest and squeezed him as if holding on to life itself. But Harry remained quiet until the girl's grip slackened. Slowly, the raven-haired lad raised a hand and slowly caressed her hand, eventually intertwining their fingers.

When even-paced breaths started blowing across the back of his neck, Harry was certain that Ginny was asleep. Eventually, Harry worked up the strength to stretch out his hand and pull an opening in his curtains. Seeing only the curtains of the next bed, Harry still spoke in an even, quiet voice, "I'm sorry."

"It's okay, Harry," a disembodied voice answered. "I just… I figured… after Sirius…"

"Yeah, but still I never thought—"

"Mom," Ron answered still behind his own curtain, looking upward. "I never even thought… I mean I know there are the ones up front. You, me, Hermione, Dumbledore, maybe even some of the Order… you know… the risktakers like Tonks or Bill. Part of me…you know?"

"The ones we accepted we might lose."

"Yeah, can't say how many times I've wondered what the bloody hell I'd do if you didn't make it out."

"Same here. You or Hermione or Gin… I suppose even Draco… the ones you don't know if you'd get past losing. So I suppose, we just have to see if this is one we can get past and survive… so we never forget but…"

"So it doesn't hurt so bad someday. I'm going to try and sleep now, Harry."

"Ron... I'll be up if you need me."

"I know."

The night did end, even if Harry never found sleep until the sun had risen, passing out only minutes before Ginny planted a quick kiss on his cheek and retreated to her own dorm. And they made it through that day and the next and the one after that. Bill would push his Defense classes harder than most thought necessary or wise and Fleur sat like a ghost through Transfiguration and Charms classes, assisting students only brave enough to interrupt her private ruminations. Ron retreated into Quidditch since there were no shortage of students willing to discuss it and the activity occupied his mind. Hermione scheduled out her NEWTS studying schedule and included time for her secret projects, even forcing Draco to agree to stick with it. Draco had become Harry's unofficial shadow, with him even more than Ginny during the day. He never offered an explanation for his actions and absolutely refused to let Harry within a hundred meters of the library without himself, Ron or Hermione alongside him. He had even taken to checking up with Miss Pince to ensure his brother wasn't checking out any books he shouldn't.

But nevertheless the days turned into a couple of weeks, until the day before the opening Quidditch match had arrived. This afternoon, Harry somehow managed to escape his brother's pursuit and took the opportunity to come knocking on the headmaster's door.

"Come in, Harry," he replied with a tight smile. "How may I help you today?"

"I just… I was… I needed some advise and it's not the kind of thing I can talk to my friends about."

"Not even your brother?"

"Especially not him," Harry replied emphatically. "He already thinks me a complete idiot for considering this idea over the summer. That I should… well break it off with Ginny."

"While I try not to get too involved in the school romances, I did think you cared for the lovely Miss Weasley a great deal."

"I do! I do. It's not just her… it's… everyone."

"I certainly hope you aren't planning to walk through life alone Harry. I don't think my journey would be nearly as tolerable without my companions and friends to see me through it."

"It's just… first my parents, then Sirius and now Mrs. Weasley are all gone and………it isn't me trying to protect them. I know that's what Draco and the others think. It's…"

"You're afraid, Harry, of loving," Dumbledore stated clearly. "I… I know I'm supposed to be this great, brave leader and a Gryffindor and the strongest warrior against Voldemort and—"

"Oh, Harry," Dumbledore chuckled. "That is not the truth… not nearly. You are only supposed to be who you are. You are a young boy now entering the cusp of adulthood. It is a time of great change and change often walks hand in hand with fear. Despite what the Ministry, the Daily Prophet, or your fellow classmates or the world in general expect or want you to be, you need by nothing but Harry."

"I thought Harry Potter was brave."

"Bravery may be a quality you possess, but certainly not the only one. Do you honestly believe by stopping yourself from loving others you can save them, or even lessen the heartache you feel if they pass on? Oh, my dear, Harry, death holds so much fear over you."

Harry leaned back in his chair and rubbed his eyes, saying, "As much as I love Mom and Dad and Sirius and Molly, there are people… people that I couldn't survive losing."

"Fear is alright, Harry, but don't fall into despair. There is always hope. There is always love. As long as you live, and I believe that will be a great long time. Life and death are only more adventures, my boy, but neither can change that one thing."

"Love."

"Indeed. Love does not hold away or stave off death because it doesn't need to. It proceeds onward regardless. You worry over what you have lost."

"My parents and my brother, I lost them and it hurts. Even finding Draco means feeling… feeling the way I do about not having him all those years."

"But you did find one another, Harry. Your love survived dark magic and time apart and even years of animosity. I think that is a great love indeed. The love for your parents… my that has become one of your defining characteristics. Love survives with you Harry because you wield as a fiery shield. Many would fall into despair after all you lost. But your love of your parents sustained you. Somedays………"

"What, Professor?"

"Somedays I marvel at the sheer amount of love you have built despite your pain. Your love that you give and receive in turn from the Weasleys, Miss Granger, your brother, classmates like Mr. Longbottom, instructors like Hagrid and… if I may say, myself."

"I appreciate it, sir."

"As do I, but it is as always, freely given and received. I know I sometimes sound like… well an old fool when I go on like this… but I believe in the strength of love, more so than any other magic. It is radiant about you, my dear friend, that sometimes I can barely make you yourself out from the shining light."

"Really?" Harry questioned, an eyebrow quirked.

"Oh yes, Harry. Remember love does not just extend out from us. It interconnects all around us amongst others. Miss Weasley and her mother. Molly and all her family. Professor Weasley and Miss Delacour. Lily and James. James and each of his Marauders. Sirius and Professor Lupin. Sirius and Tonks. Remus and Tonks. Lily and her sister. Your grandparents. Your parents and your brother. So much love, revolves around us everyday. It drives us, encourages us, sees us through the darkest of wars and further brightens even the sunniest days of joy. You could not shut out this love even if you tried. It is too much and too strong, Harry. Could you ever convince yourself to stop loving, Miss Weasley or any of the others? Could you do that in your heart?"

Leaning forward, Harry held his eyes closed a good long time. Perhaps he gave it some attempt, but at the end he opened them and gave the only answer Dumbledore knew he could.

"Never."

"Not even in the face of their deaths or your own?"

"No, not even then… not after either."

Waving Harry off, Dumbledore insisted, "Well, then please desist spending all your time with a silly teacher when you should be off with your friends. I dare suspect Draco has begun assembling a search party to find you."

Harry laughed at the statement and how true it probably was. "Yes sir, he is a bit attached."

"He dotes on you, Harry. Draco… he still desires to control things… to prevent the pain and death of those he loves. One day he will have to do as you all must."

"What's that?" Harry asked as he rose.

"Live, Harry. Just live."

Just as he opened the door, the young man was stopped by a frail voice behind him, "Remember Harry, death can never stop love. Those you lose will be with you until your own bitter end and the unknown beginnings beyond that."

Harry pondered the headmaster's word for the entire long, slow walk back to Gryffindor Tower. He had just offered the password and was about to enter when a new voice screeched out, "Where the bloody hell have you been, Potter!"

Turning to confront his enraged brother, Harry attempted to calm him, "I was just talking to Dumbledore. I'm fine."

"You could have let me know where you were going and not—"

Harry raised his hand and interrupted, "No, mate. You need to stop this. I gave my promise not to do anything foolish without the rest of you. I mean it, you have to trust—"

Walking away abruptly, Draco called out, "I won't stop trying… but… I'll try to be less obvious about it."

"I know how you feel!" Harry yelled after him. "We have to pick up and go on."

Stopping just before disappearing out of sight, Draco muttered something about "stupid Gryffindors" and disappeared around a corner.

The next morning before the first classes, Hedwig soared into the Great Hall alongside the rest of the post owls, but instead of heading for her normal drop along Gryffindor table, swung hard and without paused, dropped a long, thin box at the end of Slytherin table. No sooner had Draco peeked inside, and then he slammed it shut and read the card. I really prefer the one Sirius gave me. This is for you from me. If you want to watch over me, you better be able to keep up.

Draco smirked and wouldn't even risk a glance at the far table, for fear of forever losing what little respect he had in his own House. Next to him, Sarah whispered to Mary, "What's a Mach 2?"

All afternoon classes that Friday had been cancelled in order to hold the first Quidditch match of the season. Saturday had been designated a Hogsmeade weekend for the students to make final purchases for the Peace Ball the following week. More than a couple of nasty glares were sent from the players, who preferred early matches and the extra day of preparations and the general convenience of not attending morning classes and then having to compete. The glares were directed at the most suspected ringleaders of organizing this last minute Hogsmeade weekend: the Patil sisters and a very pleased seventh year Gryffindor prefect by the name of Lavender.

The last remnants of a sad pair of weeks were coming to an end. Sitting in the changing room and making some final adjustments to his gloves, Harry glanced around. He preferred to wait until just before heading out onto the field for his pre-match speech. Oliver Wood used these last precious minutes to cram as much knowledge and strategy in as possible. But this was a different team with no shortage of leaders. He always felt it better to give them these moments to perfect their plans in smaller groups. Practice had beaten the mechanics into them, but now Harry was getting into his seeker mode. He wouldn't be down there with his team fighting the battle. He had to sit back and make sure they won the war.

Ginny and Demelza were speaking in rapid hushed tones with one another and their rookie counterpart Marie. Despite being a bit of a suck-up, she knew how to play Quidditch. It was less than a half hour into the tryouts before both his returning chasers had cornered him and pressed for her appointment. She wasn't a tremendous shooter and not overpowering in close-quarters with other players. Harry hadn't really figured out why they wanted her until a couple practices had past. She had decent enough abilities on a broom and combined with some Gryffindor courage about getting bounced around, let her get in close and steal the quaffle. But her greatest value was passing around the opposing side and getting Demelza and Ginny easy shots.

The Slytherins and their young keeper weren't going to be a match for these girls. Sitting across from him, Jimmy Peakes and Richie Coote were being far less quiet and secretive. They planned on smashing the other team's players as much and often as possible. Harry sighed slightly, they weren't even in the same league as Fred and George in covering their own team, but each had a mean strike and solid aim.

The combined attitudes of the team had Harry coaching them to be as aggressive as possible. Their game plan was simple, run up the score early and pound away, keeping the pressure off of Ron, letting their beaters worry about attacking instead of defense and as always keeping the attention on the game and off of Harry – letting him find the snitch on his schedule. Even Ron's nerves had lightened, accepting they were the dominant team more so than any year since Charlie was Captain. Knowing he didn't have to win the game himself just made Ron all the more potent a player. Harry smirked, thinking the 'Good Luck' kiss on the cheek from Luna might have helped too.

Glancing at the clock above the front door, Harry rose and addressed his team, "We've practiced just as much as we have every year…well at least since Wood left."

The team chuckled slightly. Harry noted the twins would find it hilarious, but he was the senior player here. No one else had known Wood by more than reputation.

"Practice might make us sharp, but it can also pull us into routine. I'll tell you before anyone this is a game of emotion. You know your jobs, but don't lose the fire. We have to be every bit the goal-scoring, speed-driven team we make ourselves out to be. Especially opening up against the Slytherins. We all know what kind of team they generally field: slow, mean and dirty. But don't forget these cheater tactics won them more than their share of House Cups."

"Now this is my seventh and last year on this team! I don't plan on ending it by handing that Cup off to anyone else. Least of all Marcus Flint's little brother! Now, chasers I want you on the offensive early. Tear into them and run that score up quick. If this game lasts anywhere near an hour, I want the snitch to be irrelevant on the scoreboard. Jimmy, you and Richie do what you do best. Keep those bludgers after the Slytherin chasers and clear out attack lanes for our scorers. Don't worry about Ron and I, we've been doing this long enough to look after ourselves."

"Damn right, mate," Jimmy agreed.

His shorter cohort added, "Bash the snakes, proper!"

"Go out there and don't just beat 'em. Crush those buggers!" Harry nearly yelled. "We're the more experienced team and everyone in this bleeding school knows it. Now let's go prove to them for the fourth year in a row, we're the best!"

The comforting cheers from the three largest sections of the stands further exhilarated the team as they made their way onto the pitch. Especially loud were the Gryffindors, since there wasn't a one among them that didn't remember this was the great Harry Potter's last year. A familiar and enjoyable roar tore across the stadium, followed by a familiar and pleasant voice yelling, "It's the Gryffindor Team! They're lead out by their returning captain, Harry Potter."

The cheers seemed to grow even louder, so Harry even forgot there were far fewer students in the stands than in previous years. "And of course, we have the very handsome keeper Ron Weasley! And the lovely Ginny Weasley, Demelza Robins and the newest addition Simmons at chaser. Peakes and Coote will once again try and knock fellow students unconscious without even breaking school rules!"

Between Ron's blushed cheeks, Ginny's giggles and Jimmy and Richard bashing each other playfully with their fists, Harry knew his team was ready. The Slytherins were led onto the field with their captain, Thomas Flint and his two fellow chasers, Urquhart and Vaisey. Draco trailed slightly behind the rest, his Firebolt Mach 2 swung casually over his shoulder as he smirked at Harry. The cheering for this team was drowned out by the jeers of the other Houses, despite the ardent attempts from the first year seats at the top of the Slytherin section.

"Here come the Slytherins, who all look quite upset. Their captain is chaser Thomas Flint, their keeper William Capulet seems both upset and porcine. I hope it doesn't put off his game. The beaters Cochran and Porter seem anxious and unhappy. Oh on, they might have been stung by a North Tibetan firewasp! Watch out for them! They seem like very intense young men, except for the unusually happy seeker, our own Head Boy, Draco Potter."

On Madam Hooch's insistence, Flint begrudgingly shook the hand of the much-taller Gryffindor and both teams took to the air. Harry, as was his custom, swung wide and high until he could look down on most of the pitch. He wouldn't see the snitch as easily, but it kept him from getting in the way of the chasers and out of range of the opposing team's beaters. By the time he looked back down, a great cheer went up and Ginny celebrated her first score of the season and an early Gryffindor lead. Things went even better when Marie intercepted the inbound pass and dropped it off to Demelza, securing the early lead.

Glancing around quickly, Harry found Draco dodging a bludger sent off in his direction by one of his own beaters then dropped ten feet in an instant to avoid being rammed by Flint. Harry searched for the snitch in earnest; it might not be that bad for all concerned if the seekers could end the match quickly.

His attention was directed back to the Quaffle by the cheers for an apparently stupendous save by Ron, who chucked the ball half the length of the pitch to Marie who drove it close before sending a pass zipping over the grasp of a Slytherin and into the waiting hands of Ginny, who faked out the keeper for an easy score. Shortly after another score from the youngest Weasley, Draco cruised up to Harry's level, rubbing what would turn into an impressive welt on his lower back. The two went their separate ways, each hoping to have an edge to go after the snitch.

After a half-hour, the little bugger still hadn't shown up when Ginny sent in her eight goal. Followed shortly thereafter by another steal by Marie and her first goal for Gryffindor. The young girl showed the most emotion she had all day, nearly leaping off her broom in celebration of her score and a 140-10 Gryffindor lead. Draco grunted in frustration and zipped off towards the space over his own goalpost ten minutes later when Gryffindor pushed their total to 180 and the snitch no longer would give the Slytherins the lead or a tie.

By this point nearly everyone in the stadium had become as distracted as the Slytherins, who's most daring strategy was keeping the bludgers out of Gryffindor control long enough to send one up, zipping past Draco's broom. In the stand, Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw had mostly lost interest and were just staying around for the race for the snitch. Hermione had kept most of her House on their feet cheering for every save by Ron and score by the chasers.

Luna's commentary had long since left the game and even McGonagall didn't have the inclination to direct her attention back to it. She had gone off on tangents discussing everything from the early chill to her least favorite type of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans. The groans in the crowd indicated mucus was an equally hated and surprisingly far too common flavor. One of the few Slytherin goals came just after Luna remarked on Ron Weasley's lovely shoulder-length red hair. But Harry nearly fell off his broom when the following comment roared through the stadium, "You know from what I hear Draco Potter doesn't have a date yet for the Serenity Ball. Perhaps he'll still ask one of the fine girls of Hogwarts. I myself have an escort already. Oh, coincidentally, the Head Girl, Hermione Granger, is currently just planning to go with friends."

Draco, Harry and Ron all nearly fell off their brooms at the comments and Ginny laughed so hard that she nearly dropped the Quaffle. In the Gryffindor stand, Hermione sat between a sheepish looking Neville and the insanely giggling duo of Parvati and Lavender. She simply buried her head in her hands, as if to block out the embarrassment.

Flying past the Slytherin stands, Harry noticed the frantic cheering of the younger students still thinking they had a chance. But what truly stood out were the consistent quick glances Blaise Zabini had been sending Draco throughout the length of the match.

In an instant it was forgotten as the entire crowd stood on their feet, Harry's broom was turning as fast as his head and there was Draco, pulling himself into almost a straight dive at the base of his own goalpost where sure enough, there was a flash of gold. Draco was far closer and on the faster broom, but Harry pushed hard, laying flat on his broom willing himself faster. He was saved when the snitch bolted up and straight across the field toward the Gryffindor goal, towards Harry at midfield. At the same time Draco had to swing hard left to avoid hitting Ginny in the top of the head as she took another shot on the goal.

By the time he pulled up, it looked like Harry had an easy catch as Harry reached out for the easy victory, a rogue bludger grazed his forearm slightly. By the time he turned and was after the snitch again, Draco was exactly even with him. Draco roughly nudged Harry, attempting to force him to go wide or run into Jimmy Peakes. Instead Harry performed a flawless barrelroll underneath his brother to come up on his left.

When about a meter away, Harry right arm and Draco's left extended. They only had a few precious seconds before they would have to split to avoid the goalpost. Both hands closed in and reached the extra distance at the same time, fingers seemingly intertwining around the snitch. With no time left, Harry stretched a millimeter further, snapped his hand shut and pulled up hard and to the left.

Before his second fist-pump into the sky he knew something was wrong. There were no cheers, even from Gryffindor.

Turning, he saw the misshapen pile of green robes and red ground. Diving fast enough to make the snitch race seem as if run by turtles, Harry was rolling onto the ground and crawling desperately toward what he could only assume… what he knew was his brother. Hooch made it to him first, seemingly calling for someone. Ron grasped Harry by the shoulders and had to hold him back. He couldn't fully be stopped until Jimmy and Richard each had Harry by the arms. By the time Ginny and the chasers reached Harry and pulled him to a stop, Madam Pomfrey, Fleur and Bill were already over his brother, waving their wands quickly over his fallen body.

"Wh—what… who?"

"That snake beater Cochran got a cheap shot off at you two, smashed Mal… your brother's broom," Jimmy explained.

"All the blood… How?"

Ron was able to pull Harry off a bit and whisper in his ear, "He wasn't aiming for both of you; just Draco. Bastard smashed Draco's broom apart from the right side, might have got him in the hip too, I couldn't see. He… fell off at full speed, the post nearly tore him in tw—"

"Shut up, Ron!" Ginny screamed. Grasping Harry and not slackening when his grip became fierce, she went on, "He did hit the post hard and came down on his head. But it's okay, Pomfrey's here and Bill is a right wizard at fixing up hurts and scrapes. Twins have made it to Hogwarts intact without him. Even Fleur knows a thing or two as well."

Harry looked around briefly, wishing to find Cochran and his wand as soon as magically possible. He saw Bill nodding and standing up, in a flash Hagrid lifted the small, limp man in his arms and marched quickly up towards the castle with Pomfrey and Bill walking quickly in his wake. Fleur walked toward them and all Harry could see was the deep crimson of blood standing out on her pale arms and light blue robes.

"'Ello, 'Arry," she spoke softly. "Draco iz still unconscious, but ve 'ave healed the damage to zhe shoulder and heep as vell az can be."

"When will he wake up?"

"Ve do not know. Eet iz zhe injury to zhe 'ead zhat concerns us most. Please go shower and change. By ze time you are done if 'e 'as not woken on his own, Pomfrey vill enervate 'im."

Reaching to touch Harry on the shoulder, Fleur stopped abruptly when she saw her hands and withdrew them. With a sympathetic nod, she started off up to the castle. Before turning to pull Harry towards the showers, Ron noticed Hermione racing towards them with Neville trailing shortly after her. "Is he—"

"He'll be okay," Ron assured, though his voice lacked confidence. "They already patched up the worst of it. We'll know for sure when he wakes up. They'll enervate him in a bit, so we're going to get Harry cleaned up."

"I'm sure he'll be alright, Harry," Neville offered. "Why just last week he was licked by TWO Bolivian Death Frogs and he was up and about in an hour."

"Thanks, Neville."

"I—I'll go up to the Hospital Wing and let you know if anything happens." Neville jogged off toward the school and the three Quidditch players turned to head for the changing rooms, Hermione called out, "Harry!"

"Go on," he motioned to Ron and Gin who reluctantly did so.

"They were aiming for him all day," Hermione stated calmly. "They'll keep doing it. Zabini was talking to Flint while he was on patrol last week… I should have realized… I'm so sorry, Harry. It's my—"

"No it isn't, Hermione. Draco saw them too and we've known for a while in practices they were trying to get him hurt. I saw Zabini watching him all day long. We just pushed our luck too far."

"Draco can't---I mean we can't let Potter keep playing with them. I don't care what he wants, we can't let him."

"I know. I'm going to get changed. I'll see you in the Hospital Wing?"

"Of course! I'll head right up."

As Harry walked quickly up to the changing room, Hermione found herself walking slowly, then quickly and then racing back to Hogwarts Castle.

A/N: Thanks for reading. I wish I could say the loss and suffering was over, but freedom isn't always won cheaply. The story from Fleur describing meeting Molly is inspired by part of T.S. Eliot's "The Waste Land." The Hyacinth is associated with rebirth and the grape ones that are on Molly's tomb are also called baby's breath. Just a bit of background, I thought you might like to know. Also, I hope the funeral and a Quidditch match in the same chapter weren't too much of a shift, but I definitely wanted to get through the Ball next chapter. So please, keep reviewing and the next chapter will hopefully be up within a week.