Harry, the killer of lord voldimort, stared at the delicate, wooden door of the burrow. Guilt swayed to him as a vivid memory of Fred's laugh hunted him like a ghost on its dead day. Harry could imagine Fred, pearly white laughing with Tonks, Lupin, Colin, Dumberdore, Sirius, his parents, Snape and all the others who had died because of You-know-who. Harry turned at the rusty doornob... Treating him was...