Chapter Six.

Adamant on not delaying his conversation with his friend any further, Harry woke up early the next morning. He showered, got dressed, and then hurried down to the Great Hall for breakfast. On his way there, he noticed that the castle looked even better than it had the previous night, as if it had been repairing itself as its inhabitants slept.

Most students were already at breakfast. Some had gone home after the feast to heal, be with family, or simply to enjoy the summer, but many had stayed and offered their help. As such, students from all four houses sat with whomever they wanted. Harry, however, opted for familiarity, and sat down next to Neville.

'Morning', Harry said. He grabbed his plate and, feeling rather hungry, layered it with a bit of everything that was within his reach. Toast, scrambled eggs, scones, sausages, pudding, fresh fruit… Harry hadn't had a proper meal in what felt like ages, and he'd missed Hogwarts' cuisine immensely.

'Morning', Neville said, staring intently at the paper in his hands.

'Any news?', Harry asked. He stuffed a spoonful of scrambled eggs in his mouth and rejoiced quietly at the taste.

'Well', Neville said, putting the paper down. 'Only that The Boy Who Lived defeated the world's darkest, most powerful wizard. Seriously, that's all they're saying!'

Harry glanced at the paper and spotted his name, written in bold, at least ten times before he stopped counting.

'Seriously?', Harry asked. 'Nothing else?'

'Oh, only that Hogwarts is being restored, as we know, and that they're purging the Ministry. They're making arrests left and right. It's chaotic, apparently.'

'Needs to be done, though', Harry said, taking a bite from his sausage.

Neville grunted in quiet agreement and took a sip from his juice.

Harry, who suddenly remembered last night's events, asked: 'Where's Luna?'

Neville, despite his newfound and proven heroism, flushed bright red. 'She's, eh… She's with Hermione.'

Harry frowned and bit down on a piece of toast. 'In the common room?'

'No… not exactly.'

'She's not in the common room?'

'No.'

'Where is she?'

'I can't tell you', Neville said, making all possible effort to avoid Harry's eyes.

Harry swallowed his toast, put it down, and studied Neville closely. He was fidgeting nervously, refusing to look at Harry, and blushing still.

'Neville', Harry said, seriously. 'Where are they?'

'I can't tell you!', Neville burst out, suddenly overcome with the pressure of keeping a secret. 'Please don't ask me. I promised not to tell.'

Harry squinted. When he opened his mouth, Neville grabbed the paper, jumped from the bench, and hurried from the Hall, leaving Harry with a terribly confused mind, and an open mouth.

After Harry ate so much he thought he'd burst, he waited for Hermione. Five minutes passed, and then ten, and fifteen, and Harry realized finally that Hermione wasn't coming to breakfast, and that he would have to do this alone.

As he twisted a cup of pumpkin juice in his hands, Harry imagined the Burrow. He imagined the smell of grass and pumpkins, and the voice of Molly Weasley as she reprimanded one of her sons for turning the other into a small horse, again. He imagined his best friend's face, and the land, and the sunshine, and Harry found that there was no place he'd rather be.

But when he finally found himself between rows of corn, there wasn't any sunshine, and the Burrow looked unusually quiet. The sky was cloudy and grey, and the sunflowers under the kitchen window hung their heads in mourning.

Harry knew he was foolish to assume that things would be the same, but he'd hoped for it nevertheless.

When he approached, one of the sunflowers lifted its leaf like a man would raise his fist in anger. The one next to it knocked it with its head.

Harry breathed in, slowly and deeply, and knocked on the door thrice.

It opened shortly after and he was met with Ginny's face. Her eyes looked tired, but accused him of nothing. 'Hey', she whispered.

'Hey.'

She stepped back and allowed Harry to enter. He half expected to be greeted by Molly's excited voice. She would hug him too tightly and squeeze his face, and hand him a bowl of soup without Harry needing to ask for it, or wanting it. Fred and George would pop in and make some silly joke about him, and Ginny or Molly would tell them to shut it. Arthur would welcome him, then, and begin a story about a curious object he'd taken from a Muggle's home that he suspected was bewitched but he hadn't quite figured out what it was just yet and- then there'd be Ron, saying: 'Stop it, dad. He just got in.'

But there was none of that this morning.

The kitchen was desolate and dull. There wasn't any music playing, or voices speaking. There weren't any invisible hands washing the dishes, or brooms sweeping the floor, or scissors cutting flower-stems, and when Ron appeared in the kitchen, he said nothing for a while, and then: 'What are you doing here?'

Harry looked at Ginny, who'd stepped to a place by the fireplace, her arms crossed as if she were angry, but her face exuded only sadness.

'I need to speak to you. Both of you, really.'

'Like hell you do!', Ron muttered. 'There's nothing that needs talked about.'

'Ron-'

'I'm telling you, Harry, leave!'

'Ron, I'm only trying-'

'Trying to screw things up, you mean! Leave!'

Harry sighed, clenched and unclenched his fists, and considered for a moment how he would approach this. He knew Ron would be angry. He knew he wouldn't want to listen. But he also knew his friend was fair, when it really mattered. Harry understood that he wasn't angry as much as he was hurt, and mourning.

He softened his voice when he tried again. 'Look. I know it looks like I've messed things up, but-'

'LOOKS?', Ron shouted, stunned. 'You DID mess things up, you two-faced bastard! I'm telling you one last time, Harry. Leave!'

Harry, who now realized that he should have waited longer, sighed softly and turned his eyes to Ginny, who was still standing cross-armed by the fireplace, her eyes shimmering with tears not yet quite formed.

'Ginny, I'm sorry-'

'Oh no you don't! Don't you ever speak to her again. Don't even look at her, you hear me?!'. Ron's voice was loud but brittle, like wood creaking under pressure.

'Ron!', Harry shouted, finally upset. 'I haven't done anything! You need to listen to me. Both of you, please, just-'

Ron stepped forward with an angry roar, and Harry suddenly felt the sting of a fist bashing against the bridge of his nose. He stumbled backwards, stunned. Ginny gasped, her composure lost completely. Harry felt his nose. Blood stuck to the tips of his fingers. He looked up at Ron, expecting him to look shocked, too, but he just stared back angrily.

Suddenly, Harry felt furious. He hadn't done anything. He hadn't stolen his girlfriend. He hadn't gone behind his back. Nothing had ever happened between Hermione and him, and if he would just – listen – but Harry made no more attempt at explaining himself. He was overcome by such indignation and anger that he launched himself into his friend, swinging his fist.

Soon enough, the pair found themselves crashing into furniture. Ginny jumped out of the way when Harry pushed Ron into the fireplace, and Ron broke a porcelain vase when he shattered it against Harry's shoulder. They slipped over the spilled water and soon found themselves on the floor, raising and throwing fists, hitting and missing. Suddenly, right as Harry was about to land a clean shot to Ron's eye, he found himself flying backwards as a jet of light flashed through the room.

He crashed into a wall and fell down with a loud thud.

'Guys-', Ginny started, but the damage was done.

Harry jumped to his feet and sent a flash of light Ron's way, which was quickly returned. Ginny only barely avoided Flipendo as she ran upstairs. It hit Ron square in the chest. He knocked against the ground, cursed loudly, and came running at Harry, who ducked beneath his arm, only to be attacked by a series of flying objects that Ron sent his way.

Glass shattered and broke, and the room was halfway ruined when Ginny finally brought back Arthur and George. Each of them constrained one of the boys, taking their wands from them as a precaution.

'Ronald! Stop it!', Arthur yelled. 'Restrain him, George, come on!'

George struggled, but finally managed to get a hold of his brother and stop him from flailing his arms about.

'Get off me!', Ron yelled.

'Calm down now, son!', Arthur answered.

Harry shook Arthur's arms off him. The rage was over. Now he just felt embarrassed, and tired, and sorry. He should have just left. Ron was feeling too much to have a calm conversation, and Harry wasn't even sure if the Weasleys had had a funeral for Fred yet. Harry suddenly felt very stupid.

Ron, however, was not about to stop fighting.

'NO', he roared. 'This is all his fault, don't you see?! All of it!'

'Ronald!', Arthur protested.

'No! It is all his fault, dad!'

Ron turned to face Harry, a thin line of blood trickling from a cut in his right brow. His face was contorted with fury, his fingers clenched into white-knuckled fists, but his eyes gleamed with something else, too. Harry stayed quiet, preparing for what Ron was going to say.

He couldn't have prepared for it if he had stood there an hour.

Ron's eyes bulged when he yelled it at Harry: 'If you had just died when You-Know-Who needed you to, none of this would have happened!' On the last syllable, the rage in Ron's voice mixed with the sound of tears struggling to break free.

Arthur protested again, louder, but Harry said nothing. He had only seen Ron this mad once before. He'd been cruel, then, too, with bulging eyes and a throbbing vein in his forehead. Only now, he wasn't wearing a horcrux.

'Is that how you feel?', Harry inquired.

Ron opened his mouth, but George interfered.

'Listen-', George began, sensing the beginning of a grave gravitational shift.

'It's true, isn't it?', Ron continued. 'ISN'T IT?! Fred would still be alive! And Dumbledore! And Dobby, and Sirius and Snape and Cedric and… and - and I wouldn't have to worry about my best friend going behind my back and canoodling with my girlfriend!'

Harry felt suddenly nauseous.

From the corner of his eyes, he saw how Molly hugged Ginny tightly by the staircase, both of them with horrified expressions on their faces. George had let go of his brother and stood with his back towards Harry, his head hanging and his hands buried deep in his pockets. Arthur stood, open-mouthed, and looked from Ronald to Harry, who looked at his friend. Ron's eyes, just for a brief second, were wide with disbelief, as if he couldn't believe the words that he'd just said. As if he didn't believe them.

Or maybe that was what Harry wanted to see, because Ron's face hardened, and his jaw clenched, and nothing else came rolling from his lips.

There was nothing to say, Harry decided, and so, he turned and left the Burrow. He was halfway across the field when he heard Arthur, running to catch up. Harry didn't stop, but the man caught up to Harry with considerable effort, and put a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

'Harry… please, wait', he said, breathing hard.

Harry stopped, but said nothing.

'Your wand, son'.

He looked at his wand and took it from Arthur. 'Thanks.' He started walking.

'Harry, wait, please! I'm too old to chase you around!'

Harry stopped and reluctantly turned to Mr Weasley.

'Listen, Harry.' Arthur hesitated for a second, glancing awkwardly around. 'Love is a tricky thing', he said finally. 'You don't choose who you love. It just happens. And this time, you happen to love the same person.'

Harry swallowed.

'We don't blame you, son. We know you can't choose. And Ginny, well, she'll come around, Harry, don't you worry. And as far as Ronald goes… yes – that might take a while longer, or a considerable while longer, b-but, the thing is, he will come around, too! Truly! You're best friends.'

Still, Harry said nothing.

'And about what he said, just then', Arthur continued, quietly. 'It's not right, Harry, and not a word of it is true.'

'It is', Harry answered, calmly. He didn't even feel angry or sad. It was a logical conclusion. 'He's right. None of this would have happened if it weren't for me. You could have had a normal life.'

'But what kind of a life would that have been, Harry?', Arthur answered, lifting and dropping his hands as if to say: Don't you see? Don't you see what I mean? 'A life… ruled by the Dark Lord. Oppressed.' He sighed, running a hand through his red hair before stepping closer to Harry, and, after some consideration, taking him by both shoulders.

'Your life secured our freedom, Harry', Arthur whispered, staring hard into Harry's eyes. 'And freedom is never inexpensive.'