Namesake

A Harry Potter Fan Fiction

Written by Gale

Disclaimer - same goes. The characters belong to JK Rowling. I'm merely playing with them for the sake of my, and I hope your, amusement.

Author's Note - I think I'm starting to get better. Another longer chapter for you, that's not filler like the last one! Some plot twists, some inner musings, and just more stuff all around. I hope you enjoy it. (Thanks to Ryccachan for helping me with a few things!)

Chapter #5: Back to the Burrow

Although it had seemed that Molly and Arthur Weasley were intent upon hurrying Harry off to Grimmauld Place as soon as possible, he found that more time than he first expected could be spent at once of his favorite places on Earth, the Burrow. It was just coming to sunset outside, the countryside awash with an orange haze. It had rained earlier that day, and a ginger mist blurred the distant hills and trees with the artistic flourish of a painter's brush. Despite the thickly feel of the air, Ron and Ginny had more than the spirit to play a Quidditch scrimmage, now that they had Harry and the Twins to keep them company. To be true, Harry did not object to a chance to mount his broom again. Since his trip to Grimmauld Place would involve another flight accompanied by a guard again, it would be nice to have a few hours of practice in before another long journey.

The Weasley Family had been particularly quiet about the goings on in Hogsmeade. The dinner had been so pleasant that he hadn't the heart to bring it up. He was too afraid to even bring up Percy, who he was sure was continuing to be a prat, seeing as how earlier letters had indicated so. Everyone seemed too happy at the idea of a simple quiet dinner at home, and when Molly and Arthur followed the troupe of teenagers outside, Harry wondered if it was their desire to watch the fun that brought them out or a need to chase away the grim events of the outside world.

The Dursleys had always been the kind to pretend bad things were not happening. The worst of inconveniences that they ever talked about were neighbors who created trivial annoyances. This was different. The goings on here at the Burrow were not the same sterile, cold attempts at normalcy that his family was prone to.

This was surviving.

As it was, the newspaper and namely the photo from the Daily Prophet remained burned into the back of his mind with as much depth and permanence as the lightning bolt scar was cut into his forehead. He wanted to talk to Ron about Malfoy, only thinking that perhaps if he could hear his best friend's thoughts, he might be capable of forming his own on the situation without forming a sickened feeling in the pit of his stomach, a kind of nausea that he hadn't felt since the week of lines Professor Umbridge had forced him to write.

For now, he could only play along, and hope that perhaps he would have a few minutes alone with Ron before he had to leave.

Ginny was admirably sportsmanlike, allowing Harry the position of Seeker...until the lot of them realized there was no snitch to catch. There really weren't enough people to make a full team as it was.

"We might as well just throw the ball around," Ron suggested. "No positions. No points. Just play."

"Soon as I can find the ruddy thing!" they heard Fred shout from the Barn. "This is what happens when we're away for too long, George! Everything gets moved around!"

"Might be wasting your time, Fred; I think we nicked it when we moved to the shop!"

"Where did we put it there, then?"

"Why are you asking me? You packed it!"

Groaning at the ever-growing prospect that they would be without even a quaffle to add to the sport, Harry sank down nearer to the ground on his broom. Fred emerged from the barn, hands empty and looking defeated. "Doesn't mean we can't have a game of it, though. We can improvise."

"What do you suggest?" Ron asked flatly.

Fred grabbed his broom and alighted to join the group. Harry floated upwards to hear better. Soon the lot of them were perched in a floating circle over the garden.

"Whatever you decide!" they heard Molly call up from the ground, "you'll not be mucking about over my vegetables! Out to the field with you!"

George looked down and held up a hand to the side of his mouth. "Not to worry, Mum! We'll move!" Lowering his palm, he glanced at each in the group. "I have an idea." A slow smile climbed across his face as his gaze followed his siblings and Harry, stopping on Ron, who wisely looked afraid. George pointed a long finger at him. "You're the snitch."

Ron's wide eyes turned narrow with understanding, and a smile matching his brother's came about before he steered his broom down, zoomed under the lot of them and out toward the field. It took a moment to realize he was even gone, and admiring his speed, Harry swept after him, neck and neck with Ginny. They afforded one another a competitive glance before pressing on. Feeling oddly generous, he allowed the youngest Weasley child to press ahead of him, and when she caught up to her brother and tapped his shoulder, the two rounded to face the other approaching players. Harry slowed.

"You let me do that," said Ginny as she wrinkled her nose at him.

Harry shrugged. "Maybe..." He broke off with a gasp and dove sideways when she tore at him. He had to pull on the neck of his broom to curve away from the grassy earth, all the while knowing full well that Ginny was at his bristles. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Ron was pursuing his brothers in a similar manner, and thus a game of "catch the snitch" degenerated into an elaborate go at "tag". Feeling the need, then, to appease Ginny and let her know he would not simply allow her to win, Harry monitored his speed as well as the way he was going, breaking into flashy loops and turns at any chance he could have in order to throw her off.

Once or twice he could afford glancing back toward the house, and in split seconds saw Molly and Arthur watching at the fence; Arthur's arm was wrapped comfortably around his wife, her head against his shoulder. The few glances he got helped to form a stronger image of it in his mind, and by the time Ginny managed to touch him, he was lost in the moment and the game, without worry, or age, or goal save to catch up to his target.

All in all, the high was better than the one he got playing Quidditch. Perhaps it was because playing this, he knew the only people who were watching and taking part were people he loved, people who knew him, people who could just be happy being there. There were no real sides, no winners and losers. Just a game.

The last threads of golden sunlight died away, and a waning moon hung a blue mist on the field below them. Harry had but a second to note a few balls of blue light that dotted the grass along with the blink of fireflies, but he hadn't the time to ask what had conjured them. He pulled up, barely a few meters from Ginny, now. In the game, the ones to be chased tended to vary. Sometimes, when he tagged Ginny, she'd chase Fred or George instead, and Ron would take after Harry. Until now, as she glanced back at him with a challenging laugh, he hadn't realized that anytime he'd been caught up to, he took the game full circle and returned to Ginny again. She was making it harder for him this time, taking her broom higher and higher. The temperature was dropping, and Harry could feel gentle moisture clutching at his cheeks. Ginny looked back again as she leveled, realizing he was coming up next to her, but she did not act immediately. He had a moment to note how the moonlight cast a cool shade on her; even her fiery red Weasley hair appeared calmer.

Taking his opening as he had it, Harry reached out to touch her arm. The motion startled her, and she jerked away. Fearing she might lose her balance, his hand shot out faster, and he caught her wrist to pull her back. She grasped the neck of her broom with her free hand, face and ears shading a soft pink; it reminded him of how she'd behaved her first year at school, before the mechanizations of Tom Riddle dictated her actions, anyhow. "Thank you," she said breathlessly.

Harry smirked. "Your turn," he said, and he dove again.

He followed the dotted lights down, reveling at the wind whistling in his ears, coming down, down, finally screeching to a stop when he found that the rest of the group was hovering quite still. At first he suspected they were waiting for him and Ginny to come back down, but as he heard her come up behind him with a swoop, he realized they were staring grimly off into the dark and away from the Burrow. A fleeting look at Molly and Arthur told him they were doing the same.

Turning to Ron, he spoke. "What is it?"

"Shh!" Ron, looking paler than Harry had seen him in a long time, pointed out across the field again. "Listen."

His breath stopped as his eyes followed them, squinting in the dark, though Ron's indication told him that there was nothing really to see at all. The night was filled with the familiar noises. He could hear an owl in the distance over the whirr of insects and frogs. With the din, he wondered what there was to hear if it was so far away they could not see it. He looked at the twins, opening his mouth to speak again, and the attempt died in his throat before air was even drawn.

A sound rolled in on the breeze like a storm cloud. When the first cry reached his ears, he thought it the howl of a dog, or a wolf, but he realized it was too high-pitched, almost a moan. The longer it drawled on, the higher the sound rose. A keen. A wail. Harry felt icily the fairs on his arms and the back of his neck stand up despite the heat, thinking grimly that it sounded almost human.

"What...?"

"A Banshee, no doubt," George murmured.

Ron turned in place to look back at him. "This far east again?"

Arthur's voice was faint over a particularly insistant croak of a nearby toad. "It's late, and the guard will be here soon. Let's all go inside for now."

Given the most eerie disruption of their game, none of the children objected. Sullenly, each landed and trudged back into the firelit house, Arthur waiting at the door to usher each and every one inside before shutting the door behind them. He sat quietly at the kitchen table while Molly clattered about the kitchen in a distracted manner.

Harry exchanged glimpses with Ron and his siblings. Fred and George waved at the lot of them to follow them upstairs, and understanding, each trailed after them up to their old room. Their beds still waited, dressed, the room kept tidy and hopeful for occupancy by their mother. Fred bolted the door and motioned for everyone to sit down somewhere. Harry, not wanting to put anyone off from a place on one of the two mattresses, settled on the floor near the foot of one.

"Best to let Mum and Dad alone a while, I think," he said, then turned toward Ron. "Has this happened a lot since we left?"

Ron shook his head. "No."

Ginny agreed. "No Banshees."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Has this happened before?"

Fred nodded, continuing to speak in a hushed tone. "Most I can remember unless it happened again while we were at school we heard one last summer, too, just before we went to stay at Grimmauld Place."

Ron looked sadly down at his hands. "Mum panicked; Percy'd just walked out on us, and she kept begging Dad to go and find him. Turned out he was fine, but it took forever to get her calm again. It might be a bit touchy even now, a year later. So yeah. Best not to make the matter worse."

George stood with his ear to the door, listening possibly for the sound of voices. The house was completely silent for a moment, and with a shift, Harry remembered the newspaper article again, and the thought wouldn't leave him alone. He realized the lot of them would probably hear later anyway, and a subject changer seemed the thing. Besides, he did not know how much time he had before the guard arrived.

"Listen," he said. "I've been thinking a lot since you showed me the newspaper, Fred George. About Malfoy."

Ron hitched in a breath, looking morose as he fought back a reflexive snort at the mention of their longtime enemy. By the frown there, Harry knew he'd read the article too. And Ginny.

There were downcast eyes all around. It never occurred to Harry that his closer friends would probably respond to the news with mixed feelings just as he had. "Am I bad for not wanting to feel sorry for him?"

"Of course not," Ron returned, though one could tell he couldn't raise his voice to the proper level of indignation he was searching for. He was quiet, hesitant even. "He never gave you much pity for your parents, did he?"

"But it's not something to wish on anyone," Ginny added.

"And I don't," insisted Harry, blanching. Being unsure of his feelings, it was twice as difficult to form any sort of explanation. He glowered to himself. "But I can't help but think he had it coming."

Fred sounded troubled, but he did not look up at him. "Harry, that isn't the type of thing you do to people to give 'em just desserts. Turning him and his cronies into snails, maybe, but..."

"I know," he ground out. "But was it fair for him or anyone to mock my mother for being who she was and how she died?"

He could practically feel Ron wince in the bed next to him. "No one is saying it was fair, Harry."

Hermione would say I was only sinking to his level, Harry thought, but he shook the idea away. He chose not to speak more on it, seeing that this could only turn into something likened to the shouting matches he had been prone to the year before, and with effort he bottled his frustration inside. He could feel his hands shaking.

"I'm only making the evening worse," he uttered, managing a half-hearted smile with the subject change. He looked up at Fred and George, then back at Ron and Ginny. "The game was good while it lasted."

Ron nodded. "It's not your fault it ended like that. We'll do it again sometime."

TO BE CONTINUED…