Chapter 25: A Very Different Burrow

A/N: Sorry this one took so long to get up but I've been away for a week.

Harry stepped out into the pre-noon sunlight and looked around the Hogsmeade station. Ribbons of snow were lying in soggy heaps against the edges of buildings and the seats were shining with melted sleet. Hermione stepped out behind him, Ron after her and Ginny last. The thestral immediately left, his hooves crunching and the wheels scratching on the gravel, as Harry looked around for someone who might be picking them up. Stepping out from the waiting room was a very weary looking Arthur Weasley. Harry felt a rush of relief at the sight of a very alive Weasley. Instantly his heart lurched again as his mind ran through the remaining possibilities.

"Dad!" Ginny croaked, rushing towards him. He smiled at her, but Harry noticed with another plunge of his stomach, that it did not reach his eyes. "Is it Mum?"

Instead of a reply he looked at her sternly, his lips pursed and his eyes reproachful.

The walk to the Port Key, although it lasted only minutes was something Harry never wanted to experience again. Not a word was spoken, and with each second of silence the ominous tension increased. They reached the Port Key and gathered around it, waiting for some sort of instructions. It was odd how one's thought process seemed to slow down at times like this. Staring at the golden sphere balanced in the middle of table, Harry mind seemed to be thinking only one thing over and over.

When you touch that you'll know who died.

"All together," Mr Weasley said. Everyone stretched their hand out in silence. Harry's eyes flickered over to Hermione's and he saw his own apprehensive fear reflected in them. But there was no time to decide against touching it, there was no time to back out, no time to gather the thoughts rushing crazily through their minds – before he knew it, Harry's trembling fingers were scraping the cold metal and he felt the familiar tug from behind his navel. The world spun and Harry struggled to keep his breakfast down. Like Floo powder, this momentary dizziness wasn't something you could be prepared for. When the blackness faded and his mind stopped spinning, Harry found himself in the front lawn of the Weasley's house.

There was a crash from inside and a desperate, tearful plea, "FRED, PLEASE!"

Harry jerked his head around to Hermione once again. It wasn't Arthur, it wasn't Molly and it wasn't Fred.

He had little time to wonder whether they should enter the house because Arthur had already started walking to the front door.

"Dad," Ron said suddenly. "Wh – who ... um ... who is it?"

He sighed and looked down at the grass. Through the corners of his eyes he saw both Hermione and Ginny tense.

There was another yell from inside the house, Fred's voice this time, screaming swear words followed by another smash.

"FRED! FRED, STOP IT!" Molly begged.

Mr Weasley ran his hands through his flaming hair and coughed. The 4 children were absolutely still, the wind was playing howling, not even the hens were making a sound.

He opened his mouth slightly and looked at his children. Harry stood rooted to the spot. Not wanting to hear the answer.

"George."

Harry's stomach disappeared and he felt a lump clog up in his throat. He heard Ginny gasp.

Suddenly the door crashed open, "Arthur! You're back! Ron! Ginny! Oh my babies come here!" Neither needed telling twice and they were both running towards her, Arthur close behind. Hermione looked awkwardly at Harry. They both felt extremely unwelcome as Molly pulled Ginny in her arms and kissed Ron on the forehead.

"Maybe we should – er, wait here?" Hermione whispered tentatively.

Harry nodded, unable to do anything but agree right now.

"Harry! Harry I didn't think you'd be here. I'm so glad you are. And Hermione! Come in," she said. Their eyes met for a second again and neither refused the offer.

The door clicked behind them and Fred stormed into the hallway. Harry had never been this frightened of him in all his life. Sure, he'd pulled some freaky tricks, and made him jump a few times – but the Fred in front of him now was anything but the joking, care-free prankster he'd known. His eyes were flashing with anger, his hair was streaking out into the air wildly, his ginger stubble accentuating his taught jaw line. His entire body was tensed, every muscle usually complimenting his build, was now contributing to his rigid posture. He didn't have to be red with fury, or screaming at the top of lungs, he didn't have to thump the wall or glare for Harry to feel intimidated. Hermione took a small step backwards as his eyes roamed furiously at the crowd of people. Harry found he couldn't look at him; his eyes were far too grief-stricken.

Charlie appeared from a door at the other end of the hall. His face was completely devoid of tears although his eyes were highlighted with a similar agony to Fred's. Upon closer inspection Harry also noticed faint bags hanging under them and thin lines spanning from the corners. He obviously hadn't slept the night before. After the news, Harry doubted any of the Weasleys in this house had – and chancing a look at Fred, he observed a similar wariness although it was almost completely hidden by the anguish and desperate confusion marring his features.

Arthur took a deep breath and said, "Harry and Hermione will be staying with us until late tomorrow afternoon."

*

It was strangely surreal walking around the Burrow now. As Harry travelled up the creaking stairs leading to Ron's room, he distinctly remembered George falling down the flight above him and landing in a guffawing heap in the 2nd floor landing. And he'd tripped again on the very step Harry was standing on now, and Fred had caught him with lightening-speed reflexes. The last time he'd ever seen him was at Platform 9 and ¾. 'See you in a few months' Harry had said. It was impossible to believe he'd never see him again. He couldn't be dead. Harry hadn't seen him die. He hadn't seen the body. George had been in this very house 24 hours ago. His after-shave still lingered around the bathroom and the twins' bedroom. His clothes were still hanging on the washing line outside, his old school books were still piled up in a corner behind a box of pranks, his slippers were still waiting beside his bed. 

George Weasley. The George he'd played Quidditch with for 3 years, the George who'd tormented Umbridge the year before, the George who would trick McGonagall into believing he was Fred, the George who always finished his brother's sentences, the George who knew exactly what conniving plan his twin was plotting, the George who'd joked about Harry having tea in the Chamber of Secrets with his fanged servant, the George who'd tricked Kreacher into eating a Canary Cream, was now lying dead – struck by the Killing Curse issued by a Death Eater who couldn't care what sort of devastation they were about to cause.

He had intended to go and see Ron, but Ginny's head peeking out from her door distracted him. "Harry. Can you come in here, please?" she asked timidly. He didn't even think of refusing. Once inside he looked at her, wondering what to say.

Her sheet of red hair slipped slightly to the right as she titled her head and looked up at him. "I – I thought that because..." she swallowed and paused for a second, obviously trying to complete her sentence before crying. "Because you... you know what it's like," her voice was growing unsteadily higher, "That you'd know how I was feeling and-" she gulped again, not trusting herself to say another word. Unable to watch her suffer anymore, Harry stepped forward and draped his arms around her body, hugging her close to him.

Instantly she burst into tears and clung to Harry's shirt. He didn't know what to say. He'd gone through this himself and there was nothing anyone could say to make him feel better. Only lies – and lies wouldn't help the pain in the long run.

She remained standing there, enveloped in his supportive embrace and wept. Several times she tried to apologise but instead ending up gasping for air and burying her head in his shoulders once again. He didn't know how many minutes slipped away but he stood there, holding her and stroking her head. She didn't need someone to tell her it was alright. It wasn't alright. She just needed someone to care.

"Ron, I'm so sorry," Hermione whispered. Ron shrugged, leaving his back facing her. "I – I can't imagine. I've never had ... I'm sorry." He shook his head. "Maybe you should talk to Harry he'll know what you're going through." He sighed and turned around and Hermione was surprised to see his eyes red and swollen. When was the last time she'd seen Ron cry? She hadn't. Ever.

He shook his head again, "No, no it's ok. Um – can you just ... sort of ... stay?"

"Yes of course I will!" she said softly. "But are you sure you don't want to talk to Harry?"

He nodded. "Yea, I just – wanna ... er be with you."

Hermione knew exactly what he meant and wished it wasn't so hard for him to say it. "Me, why?" she asked quietly.

Ron shrugged, unable to find the words and scared that if he did, he wouldn't be able to say them without breaking.

Understanding that although he couldn't say it, he still meant it, Hermione smiled and whispered, "I love you, too." It could have been the light, but she thought she saw hints of a tiny smile playing at the edges of Ron's mouth. "Do you want to talk or just hug me?" she asked. Another flicker of a smile. "Hug now, talk later," he croaked. Hermione nodded and gently placed her arms around his shoulders and rested her head on his chest as he squeezed his own arms around her waist.

She got an awful shock when she heard him gulp and moan. Biting her lips desperately to stop herself from following suit, she stroked the back of his head slowly and gently kissed his cheek and neck.

Dinner that night was a very subdued occasion and Harry made an effort not to make eye contact with any of the Weasleys. He was starting to think coming here hadn't been such a good idea after all; he and Hermione only seemed to be in the way. Ginny alone, seemed to be the only one who appreciated him being there.

He felt bad enough for all the Weasleys at the table, but it only got worse during his conversation with Charlie later that night. They were both in his study, on the bottom floor and he was sitting on a straight backed chair facing Harry on the couch. He rubbed his hand on the top of his messy red hair, a habit out of nerves, and his shiny burns contorting his upper arm flickered in the light.

"I saw you were a bit er – awkward at the table."

It was true, Harry had dropped his cutlery and although something that small would never normally embarrass him in front of his favourite family, his entire face had flushed red and he had mumbled apologetically. He'd also found it very difficult to respond to Ron's request for the butter – and in the end Fred had snatched the butter dish off him and shoved it to his brother. Obviously Charlie must have a pretty keen eye, and a good insight to people, because he had guessed what Harry's discomfort was due to.

"Yea," Harry agreed, unsure of what he was supposed to say.

"I'm guessing you feel a bit out of place at the moment," he said. Harry shrugged. "Don't worry about Fred – he's in shock. He saw George die you know."

At this Harry's eyes snapped up, "What?" he exclaimed.

Charlie nodded, "Yea the Death Eaters were destroying the shops around 'Weasley Wizard Wheezes' and the twins went out to see what was going on. Then they saw the scene of course and got their wands out ready to defend themselves and anyone else if they could. Fred fired a jelly legs curse at one of the Death Eaters who had their back turned and it worked – but he still managed to spin around and fire something else back in the direction of his attacker. And the killing curse got George square in the chest."

Harry was staring, stunned. He vaguely wondered why he hadn't made the connection. Of course Fred and George would have been fighting by their shop and of course Fred would have been there when his twin brother fell over dead. What would he have done? Probably flung all his rage into getting the Death Eaters back. It was a wonder he survived. Then Harry wondered how Fred and managed to get away from Diagon Alley almost uninjured. Obviously the first thing to come to mind was disapparation but surely he wouldn't have gone without George.

"Then what did he do?"

Charlie swallowed and grazed his hand roughly through his hair again. "He threw every curse he knew at any Death Eater he saw. He knocked a few out but they got up again of course. Amazing team, ennervated each-other as soon as they noticed they were down. Fred got scared – he hadn't realised how much power they had – and how senseless they were – and how fast they reacted. They were blowing the shop to pieces around him. Incredible he managed to keep his head; he grabbed George's wand and his hand and disapparated. Not before he sent one of them crashing through Eyelops though. And then he turned up here."

Harry's throat went dry. Of course he had come back here with George. And imagine the look on Molly's face when she saw her son hanging limp and lifeless from her other son's arms. He didn't want to imagine it. Ever.

"What did you do with George?"

Charlie coughed and massaged his left arm muscles, which looked extremely tense. "Nothing. He's in the shed in the garden."

Harry's entire stomach disappeared and he couldn't stop himself from staring. His jaw fell open and it took a while before he could manage to even say, "Oh."

Charlie nodded. "Yea – Mum's going crazy. Don't know if you noticed. She can't think. I had to make dinner for us. And Fred's too shocked to care about anything else around him. Dad's keeping it together, same way I am I guess. I don't know about Ron or Ginny. Have you spoken to them?"

"Ginny," Harry replied, trying to clear his mind enough to think straight, "She's upset and confused – and just needed someone to spill to."

Charlie nodded gravely, leaning forward to prop his elbows on his knees and cup his forehead in his palms.

"And Hermione was in Ron's room for ages," he added unnecessarily.

Sitting up again and leaning back in his chair so the front legs tipped up Charlie rubbed his nose absently.  "If you don't want to stay in his room – because of how he is at the moment – Percy's is spare."

Harry nodded, "Yea, maybe. Thanks."

Charlie nodded and smiled, linking his intense eyes with Harry's own. "Sorry you had to see the family like this," he said raising his eyebrows. Harry shook his head and told Charlie not to worry. He was saved having to think up something to say next when Arthur called for Molly for the kitchen. He sounded pretty emotional and Charlie indicated to Harry that they should go and see what had happened.

Molly and Arthur were leaning over a piece of parchment as Hermes lay, feathers neatly groomed in perfect symmetrical lines, posed rigidly on the window sill. As their second eldest son walked in, Mr and Mrs Weasley handed the note to him.

To whoever is left to read this,

Sorry about what happened. Who was it?

Percy

It was the first letter they'd received from him in over a year and despite the lack of friendliness, they still let themselves hope that perhaps the fact that he wrote this showed he still cared for them. Looking away from the parchment, Harry saw Mrs Weasley's face streaked with tears and immediately looked away again.