The kitchen remained quiet for a rather long time after Percy had gone. After a while, Mr. Weasley sat himself back down at the table. He looked very much older, and weaker. Harry noticed where his signature red hair was receding slowly but sure along his scalp. Mr. Weasley pinched the bridge of his nose and then mopped his face with his hand.

"I apologize, everyone," he said, "You shouldn't have seen that. That wasn't...very good form, I suppose."

"Percy's a git Dad," said George, "He got what was coming to him." "Took our house burning down for him to bother showing up, didn't it?" Fred said caustically.

"That's a fine way to talk about your own brother!" said Mrs. Weasley, "The first time we see each other in a year!" But she didn't follow her thought to its logical conclusion, for Mr. Weasley still seemed to be not quite calm. Instead, she tutted under her breath, and Scourgified the assorted cake, ash, and floo powder off the floor.

There was a knock at the door, and Mr. Weasley made as though to stand. Charlie pushed him back down into the chair.

"S'only Professor Snape, Da', I've got it," Charlie said, walking towards the hallway.

"Snape!" said Ron, and he, Harry, and Hermione shared a look of chagrin.

"Behave," Mrs. Weasley said quietly, but her heart wasn't really in it.

Charlie and Snape came walking into the room. Rather, Harry remarked to himself dryly, Charlie came walking in, and Snape came sweeping in, in his usual Draconian manner. Not even the subtle look of alarm on his face could assuage Harry's anger towards him.

"Ah, Severus. Pull up a chair," said Lupin reservedly. Harry thought he could detect just the slightest hint of confrontation carefully concealed in Lupin's normally mild voice.

Snape ignored Lupin completely and remained where he stood. "Arthur. Molly," he said crisply, "I came as soon as I could."

"Came a bit late, didn't you," Ron whispered under his breath.

"Excuse me?" Snape hissed silkily.

"Ron, go to your room," Mr. Weasley said evenly, "Err—Order only for a while, kids. Might as well go with him."

Ron stood to go, and Harry automatically stood to follow him. As he stood, Snape met his eye. Harry gave him a hard glare, and thought, "I hope you're reading my mind right now, Snivellus." He then followed Ron out of the room.

Hermione half-stood, with an anxious look around the room, and offered a mumbled, "Professor," before taking Ginny's hand and following them out into the hallway.

They mounted the stairs, careful not to wake Mrs. Black. Harry's feet seemed to weigh fifty pounds each, but his heart was ticking and whirring with anger.

"Fine job he's doing," he hissed between his teeth, "Spying for the Order is he? Don't suppose he could have come up with anything useful before this happened..."

"Voldemort is probably still suspicious of him," Hermione said sadly, "I doubt he would tell him about it. Snape is so tied to Hogwarts, that knowledge of the attack wouldn't be safe with him."

"Still," Ron added darkly, and that seemed to conclude the discussion. They reached the boys' room, and there was an awkward pause.

"Erm...g'nite," Ron said, "See you tomorrow...I guess."

They all muttered their goodnights and went their separate ways. Harry and Ron began changing automatically. Harry felt like his fingers had swelled in size, rendering them useless as he fumbled with his jeans button. He finally just trod on the pants leg, and pulled them off. He climbed into bed, and a moment later heard the springs creak as Ron got into bed. There was a click as Ron turned off the lamp, and more creaking as he settled into bed.

They were quiet for a long time, but Harry could hear Ron's breathing. He doubted either of them would get any sleep tonight. When he couldn't bear the silence anymore, Harry screwed up his courage.

"Ron?"

For a while there was no answer.

"Yeah?"

"I'm...really sorry mate."

"It's just a house," Ron said, though they both knew it was much more.

"No," Harry said, "I mean...I'm sorry. It seems like...I dunno...that I'm always the bearer of bad news."

There was another long silence in which Harry prayed for Ron to say something, anything that might take away some of the guilt he was feeling.

"Well," Ron said quietly in the dark, "You sort of are, Harry. I mean...it does always seem to be...you, you know? It always comes back to you for some reason."

Harry's insides turned to ice. Part of him was angry with Ron for saying something like that, and part of him secretly knew it was true, and the guilt was more than he could stand. He thought surely, he would be swallowed up by the floor and die.

"But," Ron continued, "It has come in useful, hasn't it? I mean, without you, my Dad would've died last year. And unless you'd contacted me in the fire tonight, we might've all died. So, I mean, yeah, it is a bit...well, dangerous being your best friend. But you've always been there to watch out for us all, as well." Ron heaved a sigh. "Don't sweat it, Harry. It's not you, it's..." He gulped. "It's He Who...It's V-Voldemort, not you. He's the one who burned down our house, not you."

He rolled over, and gave Harry a weak smile. "Mates for life, right?"

Harry swallowed hard as a lump came to his throat. He thought Ron forgiving him would make him feel less guilty, but now he felt, if possible, worse. It would almost have been easier if Ron had behaved like a real prat and yelled and cursed and thrown things like he probably would have, but he hadn't – Harry realized yet again, that had the best friends in the world, and he was constantly putting them and their entire families in mortal danger, just because he existed, just because he had been born in the right month, of the right year, to the right parents. Just because of the stupid prophecy that either spelled his doom or Voldemort's.

There was a timid knock on the door.

"May we come in?" came Hermione's voice.

"Sure," Ron said quietly.

Hermione appeared in her flannel nightdress, holding Ginny's hand, who was wearing one of Charlie's old Chudley Cannons T-shirts. Harry could just see a bruise and a scrape on one of her knobbly knees – probably from Quidditch, he thought.

"We can't sleep," Hermione said, "Ginny – err, well, we thought that we might take you up, Ron, on your offer."

"Oh," Ron said, quietly, "Yeah. Hang on."

Ginny stood by, trying very hard not to cry. Harry and Ron fumphered with the old iron beds for a moment, then Hermione took out her wand.

"Wingardium Leviosa," she said quietly, with a small flick of her wand, and Harry's bed levitated slightly, and placed itself neatly next to Ron's.

"Aren't we supposed to use magic only in emergencies?" Harry said in a lame attempt at humor.

"Official Order of the Phoenix Business," Hermione said smiling, an arm over Ginny's shoulders.

There was a creaking of springs, and a tangle of blankets, arms, and legs. Ron threw an arm over Ginny, who had curled into a little ball, her knees digging into Harry's back. Hermione seemed to waver for a moment, then climbed into bed and put her back against Ron's. They squirmed for a minute, trying to get all their toes and shoulders covered, and then, as though one being, heaved a collective sigh.

"So...tomorrow, I suppose we'll head over there," Hermione said.

"Why," Ron said darkly, "Not bound to be much left, is there?"

"We'll help you look," Harry said, "Maybe we can fix some stuff. You know, with magic." But he knew that there was only so much they could do. The damage was done, and the scars on Ron's arms were a testament to what Harry already knew – thoughts could leave the worst wounds of all. The real attack hadn't been on the Weasley home – it had been on their sense of safety.

"I hate Him," Ginny said bitterly, and no one needed to ask who. It hurt Harry to hear Ginny sound so vulnerable. She had really come into her own, especially last year, he remembered...plucky and implacable in the face of danger, playful and supportive with her friends, assertive and quick witted...Tonight, she seemed like a timid first year again.

Harry suddenly reflected on the past few years through her eyes...Voldemort possessed her and nearly killed her in her first year...nearly all of her friends narrowly escaped death several times over because of Him...Percy left the family because of Him...Her father was attacked and nearly killed because of Him...and last year, her ankle was broken and nearly lost her life to His Death Eaters. Tonight, the only home they had ever known was lost forever.

Her breath was hot on the back of his neck, and he could hear her stifled snuffling. Ron patted her hair.

"Try to sleep, Gin."

"I c-can't."

"What do you think they're talking about down there?" Harry asked quietly.

"Snape's probably giving his report," said Ron.

There was a loud crack, and the bed creaked ominously as Fred and George clambered over them.

"'Ere, budge up." "Lookit – bookends."

Harry chuckled weakly, as the twins sat on either end of the bed. Fred put his arms behind his head, and leaned back on the headboard, throwing his feet over everyone else.

"Get your smelly feet out of my face," Ginny said, a hint of a smile in her voice.

"Count on Fred and George," thought Harry, smiling gratefully.

"How'd the meeting go?" asked Hermione, pushing Fred's legs off of her.

"Snape just held court looking very grim and dire, like usual," George said, "He reckons Voldemort didn't tell him as a kind of test. Had to act all happy about it."

"Act?" Harry said darkly.

There was an awkward beat. "Err...Harry, nobody here likes Snape, but that's a bit much," said Hermione gently.

"Yeah, I guess," Harry admitted begrudgingly, "Would've been nice if he'd been able to do something useful though, wouldn't it?"

"Well," said Fred, "In his defense, he actually did apologize. Said, 'There was nothing I could do – I'm sorry.' Never thought I'd see the day."

"Anything else?" Harry pressed.

"Not really," said Fred, "We are sort of...sworn to secrecy, you know."

"But we'd tell you if there were anything really important," added George quickly,

"Mostly just talk about the house, and security measures. The Daily Prophet's going to go mad."

"Brilliant," said Ron dryly, "Our names in the paper."

"It's really started then," Harry said simply, "The war."

There was a long silence as each sat with their thoughts. They had known for a while now that Voldemort was returning to power, but they had never really considered it an impending war.

Ginny's breathing had gotten slow and rhythmic, and soon, Ron was snoring lightly as he dozed. Downstairs, they heard the kitchen door swing open, and a muffled crack, which must have been Snape Apparating. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's muffled voices were offering Lupin a coffee.

"No, no, I'll get it," he said, "I'm going to stay up a while longer, just in case. You two ought to go to bed..."

There was more muffled conversation, and then quiet creaking on the staircase.

"'Night," said George, getting up gently, so as not to wake anyone. "We'll head 'em off at the pass," said Fred.

"Goodnight you two," whispered Hermione.

"Thanks guys," Harry said.

"See you in the morning, then."

Harry lay awake for a while longer, wondering whether Hermione had fallen asleep yet. Ginny's knees were still pressed awkwardly into his back, but he welcomed it – it would keep him awake. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to close his mind, empty it of all thought. His friends' lives depended on it. But it was his friends' lives that were filling his head at that moment.

"No," he thought sternly, "Think of something else. Someone else."

Sirius's face appeared in Harry's mind – his bark-like laugh...Sirius had lost friends, Harry thought. He had lost a home – everything he ever owned, when he was sent to Azkaban. He also blamed himself for his parents' death – he would know exactly how they were all feeling, know exactly what to say. He wished, for about the thousandth time that he could talk to him.

Ginny's breathing was slow and steady in his ears...

Just before he fell asleep, Harry realized what he must do. He knew in his heart that would do anything to protect these people. He knew it just as simply as he knew his name. It was not about killing Voldemort, or being killed by Voldemort – whatever was going to happen, was going to happen eventually anyway – it was prophecy. But in the moment of lucid calm before slipping into a deep, dreamless sleep, he knew that he would have no qualms marching up to death's door to protect his friends.

Sirius was smiling at him...

His mind turned over once or twice, like a car starting, and slowly he became aware of a uncomfortable knot in his back. He took a deep, waking breath, and sighed quietly, as he rolled over. Ginny made a sleep noise in the back of her throat, and Ron muttered, "Fi' min'tes," sleepily. Harry opened his eyes, and saw Hermione smiling at him over Ron's shoulder.

"Morning," she whispered.

"Did you sleep?" Harry mouthed.

"A little. I'm used to waking up early," she said, "I...well, after the Ministry...I had trouble sleeping. I started doing yoga every night and every morning at home. Helps me concentrate when I study, too. Clears my head."

Something about the phrase triggered something in his memory.

"Could you teach me?"

Hermione looked surprised, then smiled wryly, "You don't seem quite the type."

"I think it might help with Occlumency."

"Well, I don't know if I'm the best person to help," Hermione said, "I'm only just starting myself. I think it's a great idea though."

Ron grumbled crankily, and rolled over, flinging his arm over Hermione. He muttered "Gotcha...broomstick," and began snoring again.

"Err...Ron. Ron!" hissed Hermione. Harry stifled a chuckle at Hermione's reddening face.

"Oh don't laugh at me, Harry, help!" Hermione said, clearly embarrassed beyond belief. Ron was drooling on his pillow, brow knit in concentration.

"Oi – Ron!" Harry whispered. Ginny yawned widely, and gave Ron a sharp elbow in the back.

"Ow! Wha—" Ron stammered sleepily. He blinked owlishly at Hermione's exasperated expression, "Hullo...what's this?"

"Get off," Hermione said, pushing his arm abruptly. Harry smiled as Ron's ears went as red as Hermione's face.

"MMm...Breakfast," Ginny murmured happily. The smell of pancakes and bacon was now wafting up the stairway, and in the quiet, they could hear the homey sound of clanking plates and a sizzling fry pan.