Mrs Weasley came running out into the yard as they arrived. Neither of them had been able to remember the spell for repelling water – Harry had briefly wished Hermione was there, and was then very glad she wasn't – so they were soaking wet.

"Oh no," Ginny mumbled as Mrs Weasley shouted incoherently up at them.

"It's OK," said Harry. "We'll just tell her what happened."

"It's OK for you!" she retorted. "She loves you no matter what you do."

They landed, dismounted, and Mrs Weasley grabbed Ginny before they could say a word.

"Ginny, you're so wet! And cold! Are you alright? What were you doing out in this rain? I don't believe it. And where's your broom, Ginny?"

"Sorry, Mrs Weasley," Harry said quickly. "It's my fault."

"It's not his fault," Ginny interrupted, frowning at him. "We went out this morning and the weather was fine, and then my broom went crazy and smashed itself to bits."

"Smashed itself to bits?" Mrs Weasley said in disbelief.

Ginny nodded, and Mrs Weasley hugged her harder.

"Mum! Air!" Ginny said, choking. Her mother pulled her away a little to look her over. "Are you sure nothing's broken? Are you sure everything's alright?"

"I'm fine." She hesitated. "Harry got me just in time."

Mrs Weasley whipped around to Harry and swept him into her arms. "Oh Harry, thank Merlin you're alright too. Thank Merlin you were there to help Ginny."

"It – really wasn't that bad," Harry tried to say, but Mrs Weasley had one arm draped over each of their shoulders now and was hustling them inside.

"Still," she said, as she sat them down at the kitchen table, "you could have tried to charm the water off yourselves."

"We couldn't remember," Harry said feebly.

Mrs Weasley tut-tutted, and pointed her wand at the fireplace. "Incendio!" A bright flame sprung up from the wood, and she sighed in satisfaction. "I'll get towels," she announced, and hurried off.

Ginny shook her head. "Sorry," she said. "I told you."

"It's alright." Harry grinned and shrugged. "She doesn't get to do it much anymore, I guess."

Fred and George chose this moment to walk in from the living room. They both stopped when they saw Harry and Ginny smiling at each other, soaked through.

"Well, well, well," said Fred, jabbing George in the ribs. "Looks like we're a bit behind the times."

"Harry," George said, putting on a patient, instructional voice. "What have I told you? We go swimming without clothes, not in them. Particularly when girls are involved."

Fred wrinkled his nose. "George. Sister."

"She's not Harry's sister," George said pointedly.

Ginny was blushing furiously, and Harry had a feeling he might be doing the same. Fred and George looked supremely satisfied.

"How's things, old chum?" Fred said, sitting opposite Harry.

"Not bad," he replied warily.

"Fought any more dark wizards?"

Harry said nothing. George made a show of buffing his fingernails against his collar. "I bumped off two just last week," he said breezily. "Nothing to it."

Harry couldn't help but smile.

Fred leant forward a bit and said, in a more serious voice: "Holding up?"

Harry nodded.

Fred leant back, nodding, and George promptly pulled his chair out from under him.

Just then, Mrs Weasley came back in, saw them, and shouted something about dirty shoes and leaving Harry and Ginny to get dry. Fred got up from the floor as gracefully as he could manage and George managed to steal five just-cooked biscuits before they were gone.

Mrs Weasley began to towel a resigned Ginny's hair down, and Harry quickly stood before she could pounce on him.

"Ah – I'll just go upstairs and get changed," he said.

"Oh. Certainly, dear." She threw him a towel, and Ginny threw him a 'save me' look. He shrugged helplessly, and she rolled her eyes. Mrs Weasley set to searching through the laundry basket for Ginny's dry clothes, and Harry ran upstairs.

He opened the door to Ron's room, and was immediately confronted with a very messy-haired, red-lipped Hermione, sitting on the floor and reading a book upside-down, and a bright-red Ron, breathing hard and lying back on his bed.

Harry entered slowly, feeling distinctly weirded out.

"Is this a bad time?" he said.

"No, no!" Hermione replied shrilly. "No, I was just going." She dropped her book and left, avoiding Ron's eye.

Harry dried quickly, changed into pants and a T-shirt, and then looked at Ron, who was fighting to keep the grin off his face.

"Was I interrupting something?" Harry asked mildly.

"Um – nothing," Ron said, waving a hand at him. "Don't worry about it."

Harry laughed. "You two are ridiculous."

Ron shrugged, looking both embarrassed and pleased. Then he eyed Harry. "That's the first time you've laughed in weeks."

Now it was Harry's turn to look embarrassed. He turned away to put his broomstick up against the wall. "I feel better after flying."

"Right," Ron said shrewdly. "How did Ginny fly?"

"Good," Harry said, still not facing him. "She could make Captain this year. Her broom's trashed though." He told the story, and Ron was suitably impressed.

"Always bloody saving people," he said, shaking his head. "You're a worry, mate."

"What was I going to do?" Harry protested. "Let her fall?"

"No," Ron said. "Course not."

"Well, then."

Harry moved to the end of Ron's bed and leant back against the wall.

"So," he said eventually, mostly for want of conversation, but also because he was curious. "Have you and Hermione – you know."

"Ah – no," Ron said, flushing. "Not yet."

"Not yet?"

Ron kicked him, and Harry ducked away. "We've only been properly together a month, and she wants to take things slowly. And that's fine."

"Yeah, you really looked like you were taking things slowly before."

Ron kicked him again, and it hurt, but Harry was too happy to care.

"Harry," Ron said after a while.

"Yeah?"

"Good to have you back."

Am I back? Harry thought. It struck him that Lupin and Sirius and Tonks and Percy and maybe even Dumbledore wouldn't ever be back, and he felt suddenly, terribly guilty. How was it that he could be so happy, when so many people weren't ever going to feel happy again? Feel anything again? When so many people were lost or dead or gone.

"Harry?" Ron said uncertainly.

Harry looked up, rather blankly. "What?"

"Are you OK?"

"Yeah." He sat in silence for a few seconds, and then got up. "I think I'll just go to the bathroom."

He left. Ron wondered what he'd said wrong. Harry went to the bathroom – the only place where a person could really be alone in the Weasley house – and sat there for almost an hour. He wasn't crying, he wasn't even thinking. He was just sitting, and feeling inexpressibly ashamed.

~

Dinner was a noisy affair. The rain had eased off, so they ate outside, once Mrs Weasley had forced Fred and George to float the tables outside.

Charlie wasn't around – he was in Syria, supervising the births of certain desert dragons – but Bill and Fleur Delacour, his fiancée, came around. They were sitting in the kitchen when Harry came down. Bill shook Harry's hand, and Fleur kissed him on both cheeks with much exclamation – she hadn't seen him since his sixth year. Mr Weasley was also home, having left work via the Floo Network, and Mrs Weasley was relating the entire mad broomstick debacle.

"It was a good thing Harry was there, or Ginny would be – be –" She trailed off, looking upset, just as Ginny came in from the living room. She was wearing a skirt and light cotton shirt, and sighed as soon as she heard her mother.

"Can we please stop talking about it?" she asked exasperatedly. "

"You should be more careful," Mr Weasley said sternly.

"I was being careful. It was the broom."

"What was the broom?" George asked curiously, coming in through the kitchen door.

"Ginny's broom went mad this afternoon," Bill said matter-of-factly. "When she was flying it."

"Went – mad?" George asked slowly.

Mrs Weasley's face immediately darkened with suspicion. "Yes. Why?"

"Oh – ah, nothing," George said, a little too casually. Fred came in behind him, and George tried to signal him with one hand to back out, but Fred wasn't catching on.

"What's happening?"

"Fred, dear," Mrs Weasley said, in dangerously sweet tones. "Did you by any chance charm one of our brooms to buck?"

"Oh, that!" Fred said, sounding pleased. "We were going to develop it as a kids' ride."

George groaned.

"What?" Fred asked, looking at him. George shook his head, and then Fred caught on.

Ginny grabbed Harry's arm and hustled him out through the kitchen door. Bill and Fleur followed and headed for the table, which was set up with plates and cutlery.

"Sorry," Ginny said. They were standing under a tree, about five metres from the table. Ron and Hermione were looking down at the set-up from his bedroom window and talking together.

"That's alright," Harry said. He knew he sounded different, and Ginny noticed.

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing."

"You sound upset."

"I'm fine."

"Is it Mum?"

"It's nothing, OK?" he snapped. "It's nothing you'd understand."

There was a brief silence while he wished the earth would swallow him up. Why did he say that? He risked a look at her face – she seemed very cool and collected, but her eyes were hurt.

"Well," she said stiffly. "I'm going to sit down."

She moved away to do so, and Harry inwardly kicked himself.

You're a dick, his inner monologue said scathingly. Just because you're angry doesn't mean you have to take it out on everyone else. Especially not Ginny, who's never done a thing to make you angry, anyway. Dick, dick, dick.

But by the time he'd worked up the courage to apologise, Mrs Weasley, Mr Weasley and two very chastened Weasley twins were filing out of the house with full serving dishes, Ron and Hermione following close behind.

Harry was placed between Ron and Bill, while Ginny was next to Hermione on Ron's other side. He wished they were closer, but he couldn't very well shout: "Ginny, I'm sorry!" across the table to her, so he decided to wait till later.

After dessert, the adults sat back while Hermione, Ron, Harry and Ginny cleared up. It was a ritual thing, and they did it happily, considering Mrs Weasley made all the food. Harry was the last to finish gathering up his stack of plates, so when he went into the kitchen, Hermione had already filled the sink with soapy water, Ron was slipping dirty plates into it, and Ginny was at the counter sorting instant-clean cutlery.

Harry put his pile of plates down and moved to stand behind Ginny.

"Sorry," he said quietly. She pretended not to hear him. He tapped her on the shoulder and she turned, looking angry.

"What?" she snapped.

Hermione and Ron were staring whilst attempting to look like they weren't. Harry tried not to pay attention to them.

"I'm sorry," he said again.

"For what?"

"For being nasty before."

"Are you sure you're sorry? Maybe I won't understand."

"Ginny …"

"You're not the only one who's lost people. You not the only one with problems, either. I cope, we all cope. You pretend like you're alright, and then I think maybe even you're coping, but the next time I talk to you, you bite my head off."

"I can't help it," he said, angry himself now. "I can't pretend just to suit everybody else."

"God forbid you just let yourself be happy."

"You try being happy when so many people are dead!"

"I have tried," she said coldly. "I do try. All the time. And it's hard, but you get on with things. If you don't open up, you're never going to be yourself again. It's – it's inconsiderate."

And with that, she stormed out.

There was a long silence in which all that could be heard was the sloshing of dishwater as the plates quietly washed themselves.

Then Hermione and Ron broke into forced chatter, and Harry moved to put cutlery away, feeling about as low as he ever had.