A/N: What's this, two updates within a month? I'm shocked as well.

I've also made a rewrite to an accidentally very heavy-handed scene in Chapter 17 (Thank you Mists for reminding me!). Honestly, I'm not sure why I wrote it in the first place. If anyone was annoyed by the scene that emphasised Hermione's blood status and race, that's now hopefully been fixed (though I might end up taking out the entire scene).

"But who'd be that desperate?" he wondered aloud. "If you're going to be cursed forever, death's better, isn't it?"

—Harry Potter, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone

Hermione had her 'Director of Magical Law Enforcement' face on. Ron quickly schooled his into a 'Head Auror' face. He also ignored Dmitri's chuckle, as a moment earlier Ron'd been arguing the merits of eating five Chocolate Frogs at once.

"Back to work Dmitri," Ron said importantly, dropping the sugary conversation at once. "You know how busy we are."

"Shush. Come on." Hermione saw through it in an instant, gesturing for him to follow her. He followed her: down the MLE corridor, past her secretary, into her office, and past the closing door.

Once Hermione had applied four different locking and secrecy charms, Ron spoke up as he took a seat. "So, Potter related?"

Hermione sat down at her desk, getting something from a drawer. "What I'm about to tell you is confidential. Properly confidential. This stays between the two of us and Kingsley for now. I even," she turned sheepish for a moment, "lightly obliviated the Hit-Wizard who found this. The Minister and I had both agreed. We've also been sitting on this for awhile, as it's delicate."

He wasn't shocked, he was more curious what all the hubbub was for. "Is this where you tell me that aliens exist? Because I really want aliens to exist." She sent him an unimpressed look. "I'm just trying to lighten the mood. Alright, what do you have that warrants a government conspiracy?"

She eyed him. "Why are you so desperate for there to be a conspiracy?"

"Don't you want to be involved in a government conspiracy? Sounds like fun." He shrugged. "So this isn't Potter related. Tell me there's no horcruxes involved?"

"No horcruxes." She took up a folder. "But this is Potter and Lestrange related. A partly hidden room was found in the Sweeney's cave. It's a bedroom, though separate from all the others and threadbare." She passed the folder to him. Opening it, he saw: pictures of a bedroom. He wasn't sure what he'd expected. "The bed is too small for an adult and the drawers had clothes in them meant for a young girl. Further, the door could be locked from the inside."

"So 'she' wasn't trapped. Threadbare you said?" Ron rifled through the photos. This was weird. "Lestrange's bedroom was a palace. Hey, what're these little things scattered about?"

"Animal feathers. From hippogriffs, veelas, phoenixes, and more." Hermione took in a breath. "That isn't the worst. Something was found that was beyond alarming."

"Apart from a creepy child's bedroom that's essentially full with our friend's skin? Urck, I shouldn't have said that." Ron said in disgust. He flipped through the photos, freezing at one full stop. It was of the top of the bedside table where a sole item sat. "Blimey. Tell me that isn't human?"

"It's a human skull," she said weakly. "I had it tested. Ron it, it's his."

"Whose?"

"Harry's."

Ron's stomach dropped out of him, panic growing. "No, no no no. He's a phoenix! He's okay! He's out of his mind, sure. But Lestrange's records say it's him. He's reacting to his family! This isn't a body!"

Hermione opened and closed her mouth before the words could finally escape. "Yes, Harry's okay. But, in the initial transformation…I didn't tell you this, because I didn't think it was relevant. Just traumatising."

"What the hell is it?"

"The records mention that Harry's transformation was different." Hermione seemed on the verge of tears. "Most of the others transformed directly into animals. Harry," she struggled to speak, "he, he burst into flames."

"Flames?"

She nodded helplessly, a long look in her eyes. "There were photos in his folder. It was just…bones and ashes."

"Holy f—"

"The Sweeney's apparently got a shock when they found a tiny phoenix amongst the…oh god, the rib bones." She looked about to be sick. "It's actually his skull. It's hidden right now."

Ron was silent for a moment. He set the photos down, having no desire to see them. "Sure, this is nightmare fuel. But why's it so confidential?"

Hermione couldn't quite look at him. "It's one thing for a phoenix to be reborn. If it comes out that Harry—human Harry—literally came back to life? It's not the skull that's confidential. It's the implication of…ah…"

Ron was dumb-founded. "He isn't immortal."

"Of course he isn't!" She snapped, voice high. "But this would fuel the rumours to a fever pitch. The rumours that have been around since he survived the killing curses!" She took a long breath, calming down. "Besides, there's another reason to keep this quiet. We have a missing child."

"Isn't one of the survivors a little girl?"

"Whose animal form was found in a cage. This girl," Hermione waved at the photos, "was likely still human and wasn't locked in. She was also nearby the room with a floo, which was the only way the Sweenies could escape."

"Alright, I'll bite. You think she escaped or one of the Death Eaters grabbed her." Ron frowned. "Was she someone's kid? It's not a luxurious room, but you're right. She maybe wasn't being tortured. Didn't you do fingerprinting and magical signatures and stuff?"

"I did." Hermione looked distinctly disgruntled. "Her fingerprints aren't on any record, nor is her magical signature. We can only guess she was one of the main Sweenies' relatives."

"You're saying a mini-Lestrange is still out there?"

"Not necessarily!" Hermione said quickly. "Even if there is, she's only a child. Still? You can see why this is confidential alongside the skull."

Ron thought about Lily's toothy grin. He thought about James' stubbornness to visit his dad. He thought about Ginny's teary voice as she told him how she'd tried to explain it: of animaguses and transformations. He thought about the skull and of all the other nightmares they couldn't talk about.

"I've been thinking," Ron petted the phoenix while Hermione read. It was a quiet afternoon at St. Mungo's, an oddly peaceful one. It was strange how quickly this vigil had become normal. "You know how werewolves can be chilled out with other animals?"

Hermione tilted her head up and gave him a long look. Finally, she spoke. "We aren't becoming animaguses."

"Now hold on," he said, "don't jump to conclusions."

"You weren't referring to the Marauders?"

"I was absolutely referring to them, genius wife of mine. But you're tossing my point," Ron argued. "You and me have a terrified phoenix. James Potter and Sirius Black had a homicidal werewolf. If a stag and a dog could de-murderify a werewolf, imagine what we could do for Harry."

"De-murderify?" she asked bluntly.

"Peter Pettigrew!" he said loudly, before the bird flinched. "Oops, sorry mate," he said more quietly before returning to his wife. "Even Wormtail could do the ritual. It only took him and his schoolboy friends a few years to learn. We could do it much faster."

"No, we couldn't."

"We totally could."

"Ron."

"Harry," Ron addressed the sleepy phoenix, "would you like some animal friends to play with?"

"Tweeee."

"Ya see?" Ron gestured. "Harry likes the idea."

"Harry's currently a bird." Hermione turned a page in her book. "He would be just as happy if we gave him some mouse treats."

"Twee?" The phoenix perked up at her words. "Tweet tweet!"

Ron groaned. "Now you've done it. We're trying for a liquid diet, he can't have too many of those things. Besides, they're gross."

"TWEET!"

"No more treats," Ron waggled his finger at the indignant bird. "You've had plenty today. How about some tasty medicine instead?"

"Squaaaawk."

"I know the stuff's rubbish, but it's good for you."

"Caw!"

"No, you haven't had enough medicine. You keep spitting it out!"

Hermione gave a long-suffering sigh. "You can't understand phoenixes. And no," she stopped his response, "you can't 'read Harry's body language'. He's a bird. Who's chirping."

"It's very expressive chirps." Ron was unconcerned. He returned to the main problem, closing the phoenix's beak when he again began begging for mice. "I'm becoming an animagus."

"You're helping him just as much when you're human and Harry will transform back soon enough. We're right on the verge of returning them to people, it's fine."

"Oh really. What about burning days, huh?"

Hermione froze. Ron instantly regretted his words. They'd been avoiding talking about this. "Not that he'll have burning days for sure," he said awkwardly, "but if he does, won't more comfort help? We could like, be comfy animal therapists if he's all twitchy. It'd be cool and weirdly cute."

Hermione's jaw tightened. "I'm not," she said icily, "talking about Harry dying. It's a hypothetical, nothing more."

"But we should maybe plan for—"

"He didn't turn to ashes in your lap!" Hermione hissed, slamming her book shut. Ron stilled. "I was chattering to him, overjoyed at having him back, when he burst into flame! I, I thought he'd…" she looked away, choking. "Well, I guess he did. But he's gaining weight and—it's—happening less often. The last thing I want to discuss is if 'burning days' will be normal once he's healthy. We can nearly return him to his old self. I'm not discussing this."

Ron bit his tongue, willing himself to let it drop. To not say the next thing. "It's important," his mouth betrayed him, "as is another point. Shouldn't we talk about immortality?"

Hermione glared at him. At everything. "Harry isn't immortal."

"I mean…with the skull…"

"His human body ISN'T IMMORTAL. NOR WILL HE CONSTANTLY DIE." Hermione breathed heavily, half out of her seat. Both Ron and the phoenix stared at her. "Harry will bloody well be fine, there's no need for us to be animaguses, and we'll shut up about this topic! HE'LL BE FINE."

Ron and the phoenix exchanged a concerned look. That is, Ron thought it was concern. The bird returned to pecking at his feathers. "Yeah," he said faintly, "Harry'll be fine. Totally sane."

Then, it was the day of reckoning.

There had been debate after debate with the Healers, though no one knew what they were going. They had a viable solution, which was good, and most of the survivors were enough in their right minds to eagerly agree. Though two weren't. One of which was a malnourished phoenix who didn't know what was going on and who maybe wasn't healthy enough.

But the families agreed so the treatment went forth. In the aftermath, the Head Auror was forced back to the press room (though he'd rather be anywhere else).

"Sooo." Ron coughed, as uncomfortable as ever in talking to reporters. He wished he was back in St. Mungo's. "I have a 'Sweeney Victim' update for you impatient people. First on the list? We've got to get a better name for this group. Magicy wizards? Magic-animaguses? Not-baked-into-pies-people?"

"I'm sure you can make a nickname for them, you always do." He didn't know how right he was. "Second! But really first, because this is important. Y'know we've been experimenting with different medications to de-creatureify these people? Last night, we finally got some success. By 'we', I mean the Healers at St. Mungo's, Headmistress Minerva McGonagall, and George and Angelina Weasley. The last two came up with the very stupid idea to mix: dah dah dah." He did a drumroll on the podium, as he felt it was appropriate. "The animagus reversal spell, combined with reparifarge, finite incantatem, the Reviving Spell, the antidote to the Draught of Living Death, the Draught of Peace, Wolfsbane Potion, a bezoar, and a healthy dose of pepper-up. I'm not making this up. Yes, this actually worked and none of the ingredients mixed horribly. We're as amazed as you. All of the people have transformed back into humans."

There was a burst of clapping. Ron put his elbows on the podium, his eyes adjusting to the cameras' blinding flashes. "You're right, that does deserve an applause! Though here's the kicker. Six of the people are doing alright: they're slowly talking, walking, and feeling like themselves. But two of the people are severely messed up. One is a minor, so that's confidential. The other is…" he let out a low exhale, "to no one's surprise, it's Harry Potter. He was with the Sweenies the longest and they took particular pleasure in hurting him." He didn't elaborate and the reporters didn't ask. He figured Hermione's earlier outburst had said enough.

He kneaded his brow, absolutely done with this. "Look, Harry's back in his human body. Which, yay! But he's kinda in a coma, so we're waiting to see how his mind's doing. We were on the fence about transforming him back, since his animal form was malnourished and our experts wanted to make sure he was cool. It looks like we guessed wrong. So he's unconscious but hopefully healing."

"ALSO!" he said loudly, making the melancholy room jump. "All of you people won't stop bothering us about something. There's an insane amount of rumours about what creatures these people were turned into. I have no idea if they can transform back and forth. But, including the minors, here's the animals they were transformed into: a phoenix, a Norwegian Ridgeback dragon, a boggart, a lethifold, a nundu, a basilisk, a dementor, and…" he frowned to himself, realising he was missing one. Or no, not missing: the Scamanders had weirdly refused to tell him. He wasn't entirely sure how that'd happened, "there's another our magizoologists are still, ah, debating about?"

"Yeah but, seriously, stop saying they'll kill everyone. They're survivors of a horrible crime, not criminals. I get that a basilisk is far from cute and cuddly—" he raised his voice over the reporters' shouts, "OI! They're humans, m'kay? Most are in their right minds. So chill with the conspiracies!"

The air was burning Ginny's throat. Maybe it was just in her head. But she couldn't inhale the air quickly enough and her throat had turned traitor. So yes, she was breathing, but not well. Not while she had her fingers clasped around her husband's wrist, tight enough to feel his beating pulse.

1—2—1—2—

Ginny knew her family was whispering about 'delayed reaction' and 'denial'. Let them, she didn't care. Without warning (even in Ron's case), they'd all been pounced by a phoenix who everyone swore was Harry. A phoenix who sang to her, hugged her furiously, and settled down for naps in her arms. He had resembled her husband just enough (in squints, in glances, in his eyes) to make her breathless. Had she believed it was him? She called him it, sure. But now the joyful, gleeful bird had vanished. In his place lay a ragged, comatose wizard.

It was Harry, she couldn't deny it. She'd slept by the man long enough to recognise his unsteady breathing. No polyjuice could fake that, no merry phoenix could hide it.

She wasn't sure how bad Harry looked. Her context was horrifically skewed, as anything was better than what she'd once expected: a corpse with blue lips and ashen grey skin, having been nibbled at as it decayed. Or a body so mangled she'd have to ID him from his magical scars. Or a few detached limbs, bloated and ghastly, dredged up from the Thames' depths.

Instead, he was lying on the bed. He was breathing (holy mother of Merlin, Harry was breathing), and he was so painfully familiar she had to stop herself from racing from the room. His fringe was matted down with fatigue and fever. The hair over his chin was a full-blown beard. The rest of his hair was also longer, where the new length had done wonders in taming his unruly hairdo. Curling her fingers through the dark strands, she felt a nostalgia for his spiky hair.

He was so thin. His pale skin was tightly stitched to his bones, every line of his shoulder blades and cheekbones all too visible. Ginny felt a twinge of terror that, if she hugged him, something would shatter. Yet she wanted nothing more than to hold him and never let go…but she'd never forgive herself if, after everything else, she was the one who broke him.

So she clutched his wrist.

—2—1—2—1—2—

The Healers had found it remarkable that most of human-Harry's old scars had vanished. The ones caused by the killing curses were still etched on him, but the rest? Poof. There was no mark of a basilisk's bite, a blade's cut, or a blood quill's carving. No trace remained of any of the scrapes and gashes he'd gotten on missions. His skin (though parchment pale and pulled too tight) was almost clear of injury.

There were only two spots with new blemishes. These were bruised, inflamed clutters of lines; one cutting across his neck and the other digging into his upper chest. Harsh red to faint pink, the Healers thought they could keep at least the most recent from scarring over. Ginny didn't want to think about why most of the old marks were gone, or how many scars now crossed his neck and heart. Most of all, she didn't want to think about how she'd been right after all. That Harry had died. And died. And died and died and died and—

—1—2—1—

Harry's right cheek and chin were wet. Ginny knew the tears were coming from her and couldn't bring herself to wipe them away. If it looked like he was crying, she could fool herself into thinking he was awake. The Healers said he'd be up soon. They said sooner or later his human mind would click in. Most of the other survivors had woken up and were healing. They hadn't been killed over and over again, but the Healers kept saying the root problem was the same.

They said Harry's memory might be spotty. At least the human bit, as that was the way with the others. They said to surround him with family. They advised talking to him about the past: strong memories, they insisted. Balance out the good with some bad. Hogwarts and the war, Ron and Hermione, Dumbledore and Voldemort, Ginny and their marriage, Teddy and James and Albus and L—

"We have a daughter." Ginny closed her eyes, her voice hoarse. Showing the phoenix Lily was worlds different than telling her husband about her. "I, I named her Lily. Lily Luna. I'm sorry! She's beautiful. Ron keeps insisting she has your smirk, don't listen to him. Though she does look like you. Not obviously like the boys, but the way she acts, even as a baby? The way all of them act and, oh Harry, you'll be so proud of them. They're wonderful and troublemakers and…I'm sorry. Again. About Lily's name. I know you didn't want it, but you weren't here and I thought, I thought?" Her throat clenched, her rambling coming to a sudden halt. The things she'd wanted to say all year were thudding in her throat, unable to escape. "I'm not sure what I thought."

Her voice petered out. Then it came back in with a new strength, albeit a trembling one. "Actually, I do know. I thought that Lily Luna Potter was a lovely name. Even if you think it's morbid I don't care. It's a tribute to your mum, what's wrong with that? Even if you don't like that reason, fine! Just because someone died doesn't mean their name's off-limits!"

Ginny finished this statement with a fury, her whisper having swelled to a harsh and jarring volume. Only as the silence fell back did horror set in. "Merlin, oh Merlin, I'm sorry. I can't believe I did that. I, I just screamed at my comatose husband! About his dead mum! Whose name I basically stole for my daughter. Our daughter, who you haven't properly met. You've never held her! Not, not that I'm blaming you, but…" she faltered, words halting. Her voice became even softer as she leaned in, murmuring in his ear.

"I've told them all about you. Teddy remembers, obviously, and James some. But the other two?" she gave a hiccough-y laugh, seeing how easy it was to talk to the unconscious man. "You're going to hate me, even aside from the name. The 'stories about daddy' have taken over bedtime. They can't hear enough about you flying around dragons or saving a 'damsel in distress' from a giant snake. You're their hero." She kissed his still wet and stubbly cheek. "I added and embellished some things. James' happy enough with the dragon stories, as is Teddy. But go along with anything they say about a massive dragon versus nundu battle. Oh no, I know what you're thinking! I didn't say a word to them about bloodthirsty dragons or violent warfare: that was all your kids. They're too smart for their own good and pesky hellions but oh, you'll love them. Try not to spoil them too much. Anyway, they can't wait to see you! Ah, most of them."

Ginny's cheerful smile faded. She kept her gaze on Harry's barely parted lips. She could see his teeth were a bit of a mess, but the Healers were planning on fixing that later in the day.

"I didn't realise how much it would hurt," she said after a few minutes of stillness. "I knew how dangerous your job was. Then with you being, you? A part of me always worried something like this could happen. But Harry, it hurt like mad. I was in denial for ages and, even then, it ached. It was nearly easier to cope when I, I gave up hope." Her hand shook, still caressing his wrist. "I could miss you but it was in the past. It was done. There was nothing else to do and, if there's one thing I'm used to, it's grieving."

She squeezed his hand while giving a wry, sad smile. "I owe Ron the biggest apology, but I'll probably just end up hugging and bawling on him again. I think he's getting sick of me. Oh, that amazing prat. He's determined as all hell and moved heaven and earth to find you. Once this has died down, Ron will never let us hear the end of it. It'll be, 'I told you so!' and 'See? I'm a ruddy genius' until the end of time." She gave a laugh tinged with hysteria, leaning in closer as though telling him a secret. "Don't tell him this, but I won't actually mind. I'm so grateful I can't care about anything else."

"So, there's me blubbering over Ron. But you? I'm not sure my apologies can be enough. You'll certainly wave them off and say I'm being ridiculous, but that's because you won't get it. I gave up on you! I missed you and loved you, but I declared you dead. I was a widow. I told our kids their dad was never coming home! How could I do that?"

Ginny ended with a stifled sob, catching her hand to her mouth to try and block the noise. The room fell back into silence as her hiccoughs weakened. "I love you. I love you I love you I love you. You need to rest and I know that, but I miss you. Though, I'll wait. I'll tell you how everyone is, blabbering your ear off with story after story. Don't worry if, when you wake up, you haven't heard a word. Because I'll say it again. I'll tell you about whatever you want. If you don't want to talk, that's fine. I can sit here like this. Or curl up beside you. Or hold you close and never let go. Or I'll sneak you out of here. You hate hospitals, the Healers are overzealous, and the food's as awful as ever. You'll be complaining about staying here the moment you wake up, so I might as well start plotting your escape now."

Ginny nodded to herself, deciding that the last option was probably best. She took Harry's continued silence as him being in full agreement with her hatching plan.

Jessica Monroe had been a student at Hogwarts. She'd been Head Girl, the star student and athlete.

Ron remembered interviewing her mother, dorm mates, team mates, and boyfriend back when she'd first vanished. Cassandra Monroe was now standing outside of her daughter's hospital room, looking in through the window. He'd been about to ask why she didn't go in when he saw her sobbing. He followed her gaze, glancing at the patient as well. The question died on his lips.

Aside from having awful taste in boyfriends, Jessica had been a smart kid. Hermione-smart. She'd been a Seeker through Hogwarts and had helped Gryffindor win House Cups two years in a row. Cassandra had been proud of that. Proud, too, of her fantastic grades and bundles of friends. Proud of raising such a girl by herself. It now struck Ron that maybe there'd been another reason this case had stuck in his head. Jessica had been the sort of person he hoped Rosie would be.

It had been obvious the girl had been taken by the Sweenies: she'd vanished right after Ron had announced Rodolphus Lestrange was behind the plot, and had disappeared the same day as four others, including Moira Green. It also hadn't been missed that Jessica had disappeared when she'd caught the golden snitch in front of all of Hogwarts, in a clear parallel to Harry Potter.

Still, using a portkey was just odd enough for the Sweenies that the Aurors had looked for personal reasons for her kidnapping as well. It hadn't been hard to find a possible culprit, since her boyfriend Wilson Wilkes was a piece of work. Stocky and talkative, the kid made up for lack of brains with heated intimidation. The prat had even boasted that she'd known he was cheating on her, but she still stayed.

Ron had come close to throwing Wilkes in lock-up for the hell of it. His indignation only got worse when Katherine, a dorm mate, told him she'd seen bruises on Jessica. Katherine had heard her best friend cry and throw up in the bathroom countless times, and nothing she could do seemed to help. There'd been no substantial evidence incriminating Wilkes for the kidnapping. As it turned out? Though he was a rubbish excuse of a person, he wasn't entirely a monster. Not like who had truly stolen Jessica.

"Miss Monroe," Ron said quietly, waiting until the woman's cries had lessened. "I'm not sure if you remember me…"

"Head Auror Weasley. Of course. But it's, it's Cassandra." The witch blew her nose, only taking her eyes off the window for a bare moment to glance at Ron. "You saved her."

"We tried." The Auror forced himself to look back into the room at the young woman. "I'm so sorry."

"Head Auror Weasley—"

"Just Ron, please."

"Ron, then." Cassandra closed her eyes, breathing heavily and almost choking. "I thought I wouldn't even have a body of my little girl. You brought her back and I can never thank you enough."

Guilt piled up in his throat. He wasn't entirely sure what it was for. "It wasn't only me."

"No, it was." Her hands clenched into fists, a thread of anger willowing through her weak tone. "I lost count of how many times my calls to the Ministry were rebuffed. You were one of the few who continued to give a damn!"

He stiffened, partly in shock and the rest in uncomfortableness.

"Oh, I know why." Cassandra's gaze hadn't left her shadow of a daughter. "It wasn't because of Jessie. No, you wanted to believe your brother-in-law was alive. That's fine. I thought the same for her."

Ron didn't nod. He didn't have to. He was reminded of Cho's words.

"I heard…there's whispers that the, the Sweenies left records." Cassandra's voice strengthened though remained strained. "Jessie had never missed the golden snitch. There were rumours, when she vanished, that it was…that because she was similar to…" she trailed off, not knowing how to say it.

"That it was because she was similar to Harry Potter?" Ron reluctantly finished for her. Cassandra nodded tightly. "You're right, we did find records. Harry was the first one who survived the potion, so the Sweenies kept trying to reproduce it in different ways. With Jessica, the Sweenies targeted another person known for their Quidditch abilities."

There were other things Ron didn't say. That kidnapping Jessica at Hogwarts had been a big 'f— you' to himself and to Hermione. That one of the Sweenies' goals was to create other phoenixes, hence the focus on 'goodness' and flying. He also didn't mention that most of the survivors had been people too good to be true: from a pro-bono lawyer to a social activist. This disaster couldn't have happened to nicer people.

He also prayed that, whenever Harry woke up, the bloke would never realise this.

"What is Mr. Potter?" Cassandra asked after a long pause, a small sob in her voice. She didn't seem truly curious, it was more of something to say. He was relieved she was able to fill the space and that she didn't seem angry. "I haven't heard anything about anyone. I, I suppose he's a bird of some kind, if they were going after Quidditch players?"

"A phoenix." Ron couldn't miss the wince that reverberated through the woman. He wished he could do anything to help. "He's in a coma. Likely out of his mind, but he's here. Though, with Jessica, I'm so sorry that—"

"A dementor." Her fists unclenched and her body seemed to wilt against the wall. Her strength diluted into a helpless voice. "A dementor! I thought she was happy. She was, she was happy. She was! I, I thought I was a good…a good mum."

Ron wrapped an arm around the woman to keep her from falling. But soon he found he had the older witch in an embrace, holding her as she sobbed and sobbed.

Ron had been meaning to visit another 'patient' for awhile, but he'd been blocked by Luna of all people. And not for any reason he could possibly guess.

"She's rather excited, you see." Rolf had explained apologetically, the two of them chilling in St. Mungo's with bad coffee (as he remembered this, he spelled his sweeter). "Not that Luna's running tests on the woman! But ah, it's complicated."

Ron took a sip. "What did Cecilia Tremaine even transform into? Everyone's being so hush-hush about it and I feel like I should probably know."

Rolf made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a sigh.

"…seriously, it's kind of embarrassing I don't know this." Ron repeated, feeling out of it. "I'm not sure how, but even Hermione doesn't know! It's driving her crazy. So, what's up."

Rolf shrugged. "You really have to ask my wife."

"It's odd kissing you when you're asleep…unconscious, what have you. Maybe I shouldn't be doing that. It's not like I'm snogging you or sticking my tongue places! It's rather innocent, all things considered. Also, I'm not sure if the weirdness comes from you being unconscious or from you having a beard. Facial hair makes a kiss all tickly! It's different from what I remember when you hadn't shaved for a few days. That was all scraggly bits and roughness. This is more smooth, like a pillow. It's mounds better from having no one to kiss, but it's odd."

"Our kids hate kisses. Or maybe they just hate my kisses. I'm a touch overenthusiastic. James says I strangle rather than hug him, and he thinks me kissing his cheeks is me trying to gobble him up, but don't listen to that. Our son is very silly. Al's better, at least he puts up with it. I think maybe Lily agrees with James that I'm trying to strangle and/or eat them, but she interprets that as a challenge. She even tried to take a bite out of you! So best see her after she's eaten, I'd say."

"Oh my GOD!"

So, Ron was happy he didn't have to console another grieving mother. But he wasn't expecting to be jumped by a beaming twenty-something.

"THANKYOUTHANKYOUTHANKYOU!" Cara Blakley made a very good attempt at breaking his ribs with her bear hug.

"Aggghhh." Ron got out, his breath escaping him. He also got whipped by her frenzied hair.

"You are the most wonderful person!" With a lower voice Cara nuzzled her head into his jacket, her grip thankfully getting a pinch lighter. Nuzzled? Alright then. "I can never say thank you enough."

"Ya could say thank you by letting him breathe?" Said another voice in the room. Ron instantly loved this voice and looked around for the body it matched. A similar-looking wizard in his twenties was lounging on the bed, feet kicked up on the railings. His features were darker and he wasn't as joyfully happy, though he was still smiling. "Just a thought."

Cara epped and rapidly pulled away. Ron took a thick gulp of blessed air, though stopped himself from massaging his chest.

"It's, it's fine." Ron wheezed. "Cara and Cameron, right? I'm—oh Merlin. I'm Ron Weasley. That's, ah, some grip you've got."

Cameron seemed distinctly amused. "For the question you aren't asking: the strength's new, but Cara's always been hyperactive and annoyingly cheerful."

"Oi!"

"I called you cheerful!" Cameron sent a grin at his ruffled cousin before turning back to Ron as he firmly recaught his breath. "Seriously, thanks mate. We owe you…well, everything."

Ron hated this even more than the rib-cracking hugs. Were his ears turning red? Was this why Harry had always disliked admiration? "S'alright," he said weakly. "You two did the hard part, surviving. We should have put together the clues and found you ages ago."

"There were no clues." Cameron plopped his head to the pillow. "Before, we saw all the headlines about the Sweenies. They were smart. Dunno how you saw through Lestrange, but I'm thanking my lucky stars you did."

Ron awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. "Yeah well, I'm just glad you two are doing so well. Any symptoms or stuff?"

Cameron shrugged. "Besides a craving for human flesh? Nah, I'm good." He caught Ron's look and grinned. "Only joking. But lemme tell you, no Sweeney would wanna take a nap around me."

Ron swallowed, recalling that the bloke had been a lethifold. That is, a terrifying creature who ate people while they were sleeping. "I gotta say, I wouldn't mind that."

"I thought as much." Cameron stretched back. "Oh, and Cara doesn't have poisonous nundu breath. Though it does stink."

Cara made a face at her cousin before returning to the other man. Her voice was soft and a bit embarrassed. "Ah, Head Auror Weasley?"

"Ron, please."

She looked even more hesitant. "They don't tell us much in here. Our family's visited and that was so good, but we haven't…" she twirled a strand of her hair, "how many survivors are there?"

Ron let out a low sigh. "Eight, including the two of you."

Cara bit her lip. "I'm sorry if I'm pushing, but a Healer mentioned…"

"She mentioned Harry Potter." Cameron cut to the chase. "Is he alive?"

"He is."

Cara's beam returned. "I'm so happy for you! At least there's some good news from this."

Ron sent them both a peculiar glance. They really didn't know what'd been happening. "Cara, Cameron, it seems like you're coping with all of this really well." He raised a hand at the wizard's snort. "I'm not trying to minimise your suffering! Merlin knows what trauma can do to a person. But you can both smile. You're roughly alright, you're talking, and you're interacting with people. That's damn impressive."

Cara's smile petered off. "Some of the survivors can't do that?"

Cameron tilted his head with an almighty groan. "Poor buggers. What'd Lestrange do ta them?"

She swirled to her cousin, irritated. "That is so not appropriate! Can't you see he doesn't want to talk about it?"

"It's even more personal for us than him. No offence." Cameron cracked open an eye to peer at Ron. "If it's all the same to you, I'd like ta know if we're gonna go mad."

"You aren't going to go mad." Ron ran a weary hand through his hair. "Whatever damage there is seems to have already been done. Two of the survivors are royally messed up. It's not going to happen to you." He met both of their nervous gazes. "Of the two cases, one's because she was turned into a dementor. Dementors suck out your happy thoughts and emotions. That thing's stuck inside of her. I know that a lethifold can seem similar, but your creature is classified as a 'beast'. A dementor is a 'non-being'. It's messed her up pretty badly."

The two stared at him. Cameron looked especially queasy and Cara kept sneaking glances at him.

"As for the second screwed up case, Harry Potter's in a coma." Ron gave a bitter laugh. "It won't happen to you lot. Lestrange took a particular interest in the man who defeated Voldemort, so we think his human mind retreated. When Harry wakes up we'll see how bad the damage is."

"Sir?" Cara spoke quietly, voice barely a whisper. "I know it's personal but, what did Mr. Potter transform into?"

Ron looked back up and saw that these two almost-kids were still innocent. He was grateful for it, but wondered how that was possible. "Harry turned into a phoenix. He was one of the few actual immortal animals out of the bunch. The Death Eater was thrilled at that and thought up some creative ways to have 'fun' with him."

As the implications dawned with terror, Ron regretted having said anything at all. Particularly as both cousins seemed to be morphing before his eyes. It wasn't much: Cameron's skin angrily rippled at the edges and spiky yellow hair sprung about on Cara's neck and hands. But it was enough for Ron to know never to test these two, and for him to be positive that the survivors could transform back into creatures.

Great. Like this wasn't complicated enough.

"Rose gave me these. I mentioned I was hanging up Albus' and Lily's pictures around here, so Rose scrambled off for her paints and baby brother. Crookshanks stepped in the green goo and trailed it around the house, so Hermione wasn't pleased. This one's a dolphin, I'm almost certain. As for Hugo's, it's…" she squinted at the paper, "a splotch. A very nice splotch, though. I think all the nieces and nephews have similar plans, so your walls will be covered with these soon."

"What. The hell?"

Ron looked at him sympathetically. "Dunno, it's your creature. If it helps? It's one of the nicer ones."

"What?" Jacob Lee gritted out, expression scared and hands jumping all around. "How's that even possible?"

"There's some pretty weird magical creatures." Ron felt it was best not to elaborate. "As for yours: do you play a lot of pranks?"

"No."

"Make fun of people's worst fears?"

"No! Jesus man, who'd do that?" Jacob seemed to be questioning having begun this conversation. Ron couldn't blame the bloke. It's not like he had any answers. The patient was also a few years older than him, so that was slightly awkward.

"Some of the creatures are just odd," Ron said, thinking of the bubbly Cara and wondering how on earth she resembled a nundu. "It might not be obvious."

"That's not an answer," Jacob leaned back with a groan. "I'm used to symbolic emotions and interpretations, okay? This creature is ridiculous. All the time I was in that cave, I was hoping it was random."

"There's another possibility," Ron hedged. Jacob's accent was a mixture of American and British. He vaguely remembered the man had gone to Ilvermorny but had moved back to England (there was something about a pureblood ancestral house, he could never recall that sort of thing). MACUSA was very interested that an American citizen had survived. Ron guessed that they were glad of anything that would distract from Serena Rowle. "Do you have many phobias?"

"As much as the next person," Jacob gruffed, incensed at the injustice of it all. The man was ragged and crumpled, but underneath it all Ron could kind of see the relaxed professional that was in their files. "Like spiders. It doesn't matter that arachnophobia is an irrational fear. Spiders are creepy, don't you agree?"

"Abso-bloody-lutely."

"Then mimes and clowns, you know those muggle things? My sisters brought home these 'films' with them once: nightmares for ages, I'm telling you." Jacob grimaced. "Not to say anything about actual 'horror films'. Or flying; holy jeebus, how you don't get vertigo is beyond me. Though it's not like Quodpot's much better. Also, You Know Who's terrifying. It's no wonder my mother insisted on moving in the '70s! Death Eaters are almost worse, because Lestrange is a nasty son of a bi—"

Ron was maybe starting to understand. He sat back in his seat as the patient continued to rant.

"If anything," Jacob got into the swing of it, hand tapping rapidly against his too-thin leg, "people who go through life without fears are fooling themselves. We give ultra powerful wands to eleven year olds. Eleven! I heard that Hogwarts literally has a place called the 'Forbidden Forest'. And a 'Black Lake' filled with merpeople and a giant squid? Not that Ilvermorny's much better. My old House, Thunderbird? It was up on the highest peak of Mount Greylock and the railings were basically nonexistent, let me tell you."

"…you were in Thunderbird?" Ron was surprised. He'd heard it was a similar equivalent to Gryffindor, though more focussed on adventuring.

Jacob paused in the rant. "I'm grateful to you, but you don't have to sound so shocked."

"I didn't mean anything by it," he said quickly. "Just, you don't strike me as the overly courageous type."

Jacob waved this away. "I'm used to it. I figure that bravery's about facing your fears rather than running from them. At least, that's what I tell my patients. Or, what I told them."

That was an absurdly good point. "Fair enough," Ron wholly admitted. "I'm only saying, I kinda see why you can turn into a boggart."

Jacob sighed. "My siblings think it's cool. They're convinced it's about reflecting people's inner depths back to them, which is an 'interesting' interpretation of my job." He criss-crossed his shaking arms. "My dad's just been sobbing—probably from relief, most like, and he'll barely leave my side. Hey. Wait, that's right. How're you here? Visiting hours were over ages ago."

"Head Auror, mate."

"Ah. Course." His gaze looked lost. "Sorry, I've been all out of sorts. I didn't mean to blabber on to you. I'm not usually this talkative; I guess I'm not used to being on this side of things."

"You're a Healer, right?"

"Psychologist." Jacob gave a rough laugh as he looked more off-edge. "You'd think I could deal with this."

"I don't think anyone could deal with this."

"Is it odd I keep expecting you to snore? Not that you've ever been a snorer, you were much more fond of muttering in your sleep. I wasn't as surprised at the lack of words. When you hear 'husband's in a coma', you don't start thinking about how talkative he might be. But snoring? I could picture that."

"You see what I've been reduced to? I must be the only person who's ever wished her spouse was a snorer."

Ron waited impatiently in the hallway, trying yet again to visit Cecilia Tremaine. He'd seen Jason Tremaine a few times; though the man had been too jubilant about the return of his wife to do anything but thank him. He was still in the dark about what creature she had turned into, which was just silly. Even the Aurors on guard duty only grinned and wouldn't tell him! Traitors, he swore.

Just when he was about to storm in—secrets be damned—a blonde strolled out of the doorway. When Luna caught sight of him she EEPED! (an actual, legitimate "EEP!") and leapt into a hug.

"ohMerlinohMerlinohMerlin," she exclaimed into Ron's robes, practically vibrating with excitement. Her flowing purple skirt skittered around their feet, and was she wearing fairy wings?

"Eh, Luna?"

"THIS IS THE GREATEST THING EVER!"

"Luna?" To be fair, this had been Ron's reaction as well. But it was disconcerting for the usually calm woman to be shrieking giddily into his ear. Also, the Aurors at the door now seemed to be cackling at him. "I know it's great that they're alive, but what's this about?"

Luna caught her breath and looked up at him, a beam stretching from ear to ear. "I found a Crumple-Horned Snorkack."

"What now?"

"SHE'S IN THAT ROOM!" Luna pointed happily, skipping in place. "Cecilia's the loveliest person, and SHE'S A SNORKACK. I KNEW THEY EXISTED!"

"Hold up. What's a 'Snorkack'?"

"I'M GOING TO FLY ON A SNORKACK!"

"…no flying on patients. But okay, this Snorkack thing can fly?"

"The Healers say we should let you wake up on your own. We tried that. But everyone's gotten impatient and there might have been one or two fireworks set off in your room. Your eardrums might also be tingling when you eventually get up: Angie says she's not sorry and she'll try screaming even louder tomorrow."

"My patience ran out yesterday. So I've locked the door, pulled the blinds, and am straddling your chest. Feel that? That, love, is my knicker's red silk. I'm scandalously underdressed, wanna see? All you have to do is open your eyes. Open your eyes, Harry, it's that easy. I'm right here in crimson and gold lingerie. Is that a smile I see? Oh yes, you're laughing at the colours. Here's my flat stomach with all the baby fat gone. My breasts now, my neck, my lips…I'm sure you can feel them, they're right beneath your fingertips."

"Open your eyes. Please open your eyes."

"So, you know Luna's 'make believe' creatures back at Hogwarts?"

"Yes?" Hermione looked up from her paperwork.

"Like 'wrackspurts' and 'nargles'?"

She seemed guilty at the reminder. "I've always felt bad about that, I never meant to bother her. It just bugs me when someone has no substantial proof for their claims. I think her imagination's wonderful, truly. And she's an excellent magizoologist."

Ron tried not to chuckle. "Well, Luna has more proof now. You know how we've been going batty not knowing what Cecilia Tremaine transformed into?"

Hermione froze, the implications trickling in. "You aren't seriously telling me that…"

"We have the first recorded case of a 'Crumple-Horned Snorkack'? Yep. Luna's over the moon." Ron considered this. "I'm pretty sure she wants to adopt her. Or marry her. Or just, something along those lines."

"Excuse me?"

"Honestly, I haven't been able to meet Cecilia yet!" Ron laughed. "If Luna isn't in there Rolf is, and frankly I'm a bit scared to interrupt whatever it is they're getting up to."

"I realised you might be confused about something." Ginny plopped herself and her purse down, shrugging her coat over the chair. She smiled at her unconscious husband. "Hello, sorry, I should've said that. You might be wondering why you've only heard certain people. If you are hearing us, of course. You see, Aurors and Hit-Wizards are guarding your room. It's only partly Ron and Hermione being crazy; the extra guards are here because so many people volunteered for the job. But because of that and tightened security, few visitors are let in. Tonnes have been turned away: press, fans, what have you."

She shuffled further forward, leaning towards him. "The downside to the security is that our friends aren't able to make it up. This whole ward is basically off-limits except to families and crucial Healers. Everyone understands and so many send their love. When you're better, you're going to be bombarded with well-wishers. I'll keep the crowds back, I promise."

Ginny hesitated. "I've declined all the galas, I'm sure you won't mind. Every politician and royal wishes you the best, and each owl was accompanied with some invitation or other. Feasts, parties, charity events, you know how it is. I hope you don't mind, but I'm also giving them polite declines. Honestly, you're in a coma and they're bullying you into fundraising? Unbelievable." She paused, remembering something. "I've put all the Quidditch-related offers to the side. If you feel up to it, we have box seats for most matches and World Cups for the next decade. It's a nice silver lining to the invites, I think. Even if the rest is a nuisance."

Ron was rather terrified of Tabitha Kells. She was a giggly little blonde who loved pigtails, ice cream, waterfalls, and talking away. She was seven years old. She was adorable.

Tabby wasn't the biggest fan of hospitals.

"Scary," she'd confided in Ron the first time he'd visited. The girl had brightened as soon as he'd walked into her room. She was even more thrilled when he spoke and she discovered he wasn't a Healer, or an Auror who'd question her. He guessed she didn't get many visitors. "Well, not as scary as the bad men."

"Not good, though." Ron agreed solemnly. Tabby grinned in triumph and he beamed right back, though he knew from the dark shades close to her eyes (and that she wasn't quite looking in the right direction) that she couldn't see him. "My brother's of the same mind, he hates being stuck in bed. He's in here as well. For the same thing as you, actually."

"Ohhh." The word rolled off the little girl's tongue. She became more serious and lowered her voice, as though not wanting to be overheard. "He grew fangs too?"

"Ah, no."

"Scales?"

Ron eyed Tabby, careful not to seem judgemental. Because he wasn't, of course not. But he was suddenly pretty curious, since he was blanking on what animal she'd been. He ought to have double-checked before visiting. By her questions, it seemed like a dragon. He knew one of the survivors was a dragon. Damn, he should have checked. "No, sorry. He's fiery, though."

"Oh." Her face fell. "I haven't met another like me. I just heard about a dragon."

"Which you aren't?" He clarified.

"Nah," Tabby pouted, crossing her arms. "Would be fun, flying 'round. Better than this. Stupid doct—Healers, and stupid 'safety measures'. Ssstupid."

"Uh huh." Ron eyed her askance, adding up the clues. Fangs, scales, not fiery, and with black shades…oh. Oh. "You aren't blind, are you." It wasn't a question.

"Ssstupid sssafety measssuresss," she huffed, annoyed words slurring into hisses. Wiggling her head the shades refused to move. He realised they were more like goggles than glasses. "Sss'not like I've killed sssomeone! Just, ya know, turned a few baddiesss to rock. Which wasss an accident!" She added, sniping her teeth as her neck seemed to grow. "Absssolutely an accident."

"Yeah, yeah. Sure. Of course." The wizard noticed that her teeth were not only sharp, but that they got sharper and glintier as her irritation grew. He made a mental note to stay on her good side. Actually, he probably shouldn't make an enemy out of any of the survivors. "Stupid Healers. Bad guys into stone. No big."

Ron was rewarded with a huge beam. He breathed a sigh of relief and didn't risk using his touch-and-go Parseltongue on her.

"Ron's being driven insane," was Ginny's opening statement. She'd been in the hospital room for ten minutes already and had spent the time trying (and failing) to read a book. She tossed it to the bedside table as a lost cause. "He's still whining to anyone who'll listen about being stuck as Head Auror. You think he'd be over it by now. But nope. The poor man, being piled under paperwork."

She played with the blankets, inspecting the healing cuts across Harry's neck. He'd gained some weight as well: the nutrients were working. Nodding, she straightened the sheets back out. "Ron's doing a great job, you should hear Hermione rave! Still, he doesn't see how you could stand it. I tried explaining that you were never a fan of the bureaucratic part, but that didn't help. If you don't wake up soon I think Ron might be driven to desperate measures. If he starts flinging enervates, I'd just get up if I were you. He's as determined as they come, so best make it short and painless. The man never stops."

"After all, you being here is proof of Ron's stubbornness." Ginny smiled. After a few seconds she frowned, fingers touching her husband's beard. "I'm itching to shave this. Also, sweet Merlin, you need a hair cut. It's long enough to hold a ponytail! I'm guessing you wouldn't be a fan. You've always kept your hair short, though maybe it was out of habit? I'd hate to cut it only to have you wake up and wish I hadn't. That's why the beard's still there, too. I know a hair growing charm would rectify it but…I don't know."

A grin crinkled her face. "The beard's driving mum and Fleur spare. It's hilarious, you'd love it. The most amazing thing is that they agree on something! Hermione's on their side too, believe it or not. I've caught all three of them sneaking in razors which, with the guards, is an impressive feat. I had to wrestle mum's right out of her hand." She turned thoughtful. "These were muggle razors, by the way. It was nice of them to remember you've never liked magical shaving. It's quite sweet of them, really, to take it into account. Especially when one spell would do the trick."

Tabby Kells wasn't in their database. She hadn't been on the list of missing witches.

A check with Scotland Yard had solved this mystery. She'd been reported as a missing muggle, an orphan shovelled into the cold cases within a month of her disappearance. She had lived in an orphanage outside London and had no one to visit or to raise a fuss about her. Everyone involved with the orphanage and police had thought she'd run away, as she'd been a known troublemaker.

Ron had no idea how this had happened. Forget about the oversight: Lestrange had made a point of kidnapping magicals for the past year, and almost entirely purebloods at that. What was he doing going after a muggle kid and hoping she was a muggleborn, at least after Harry had been nabbed? But another visit to Tabby cleared this point up. She'd been taken while she was skipping stones down by the Thames. 'Skipping stones' meaning skipping heavy rocks and boulders farther than any physics should allow.

He guessed one of Lestrange's people had walked by and seen her levitating and flinging stones. A check of Lestrange's records confirmed this: the lackey had been impressed by the powerful accidental magic and had snatched her up.

Tabby had never heard of magic before this disaster. Unsurprisingly, she now didn't like it much. Especially as, since everyone was giving her and her eyes a wide berth, the only people she saw was the occasional Healer, Auror, or social worker.

Ron had a quiet word with his mum. Right from the start she was muttering about the tragedy of a child having to go through this. By the time he got to 'orphan' and 'no one else' she was huffing about why no one had mentioned this to her sooner.

"Do you know her favourite treats? Does she have clothes with her? What do you mean you don't know! How can you not know?" Molly Weasley had exclaimed indignantly. The only reason she hadn't shouted was because the conversation was taking place in Harry's room. Neither wanted to disturb the 'slumbering' wizard. "The poor girl, I can't imagine. Oh no, don't you try to warn me off! She's as human as anyone. I'm well aware you know that, but—fudge! Of course not the politician, don't be silly. I have a batch of fudge in the fridge. Ron, be a dear and fetch it. I'll meet you in, what's her room number? It's past time she had some proper visitors. I can also ask what she needs, since Someone didn't Bother!"

As Ron made a dash to the Burrow he had a feeling that, by the end of the week, his mum would have taken in another orphan. Funny how that kept happening. Funny, also, how he kept instigating it.

Ron let out a low exhale. He'd been trying to visit the woman for ages, but had heard horror stories from the Healers and guards. "I swear on my brother's grave, I'm not here to interrogate you. I'm here because I give a damn."

Moira Green sent him a harsh look, sitting criss-crossed on the charred blanket of her bed.

She'd been another awful case. The Sweenies hadn't murdered her like Harry (Ron internally winced at the reminder), but dragon scales were worth a pretty penny. As was dragon's blood. And dragon's heartstrings. Moira had given nasty burns to more than a few Healers before and after she'd returned to her human mind and body.

"I'll leave if you want," Ron said softly, knowing the woman heard him. "I just wanted to visit."

"Why the fuck didn't you find us?" she hissed suddenly, black hair flinging as fire drifted around her fingers. "Months, you had MONTHS!"

He swallowed, his stomach dropping. "I'm so sorry."

"THEY RIPPED ME APART!" Moira screeched, fire sparking all around her. But it was her eyes that haunted him: big and black and unforgiving. "YOU STUPID HUMANS, SITTING ON YOUR GODDAMN ARSES!"

When Ginny got the emergency floo call, her first reaction was a furious rage towards Bill. Because her stupid brother, with his stupid earring and his stupid logic, had dragged her out of Harry's hospital room earlier. He'd cited her need for food and sleep, then proved his point when she'd been unable to fight him about it. She'd been forced home and he'd taken her place by the bed.

No matter what Bill had said, she'd been fine and not tired in the least. So she sent Audrey home from babysitting her kids with a thank you and a firm good bye. But the three children had been asleep amidst their toys and—suddenly unable to stop yawning—she thought it couldn't hurt to rest her eyes while reclining on the living room couch.

Ginny hadn't meant to fall asleep. She didn't realise she had until James was prodding her awake, talking excitedly about 'Unca Bill' in the fireplace. A bleary look around showed that Albus and Lily were still asleep, the sun was no longer shining through the window, and that her oldest brother's head was lounging in the flickering green flames.

Even for being in the fire, Bill seemed strange. He was beaming and ready to burst with news. Though, he was grinning so much he could hardly get the words out. It took a few minutes but, when her tired mind cobbled together the message, he told her Harry was awake.

Ginny hated her brother. She hated Bill, his stupid grin, his stupid excitement, and his stupid luck. She'd been about to tell him this when the full meaning of his words hit her.

Harry was awake!

She barely remembered to grab the kids (frantically strapping the youngest, yawning two into a hurriedly conjured pram) before leaping into the floo.

N/A: I had so much fun coming up with background stories for the other survivors! They're some of the few main OCs in this story, so I've been nervous about introducing them. Jacob and Moira are particular favourites of mine, though Tabby will prove to be every inch of cute and terrifying.

If anyone's curious about what the timeline has been for the past few chapters…I am too. I'm sorry? I think this might be taking place around late October. To be poetic, let's say that Harry wakes up around Halloween. I don't actually know if that works with my story, but it sounds nice.