Separate Ways

The last seven years, Harry had looked forward to September the first with almost a frenzied anticipation. This year, he'd dreaded it. He'd tried to stave off its coming with the sheer force of his mind. Yet it had arrived, mocking him with its inevitability, just the same.

The only good thing about it was the snog of a lifetime that he was in the midst of receiving. Ginny's lips had been glued to his since about seven o'clock that morning.

At first, when she'd launched herself at him at the breakfast table, it had been embarrassing. Her parents were both standing right there, after all. But by the time they had settled into the car for the trip to King's Cross, he'd gotten over his discomfort. The Weasleys, sitting in the front seat, chatting about the day ahead, didn't seem to mind. In fact, he thought he'd caught Mrs. Weasley averting her eyes and chuckling with a wistful smile. And, Harry supposed, so long as the kiss remained a kiss, and they refrained from actually groping each other, they were presumably on safe ground.

Every once in a while, Ginny would seem to get a hold of herself and would pull back from him for a moment. But then her eyes would meet his, she'd make a small whimpering noise, and she'd attack him all over again.

Presently, they were standing just beside the train, probably putting on a real show. Ginny's hold around his neck had become slightly more desperate, and Harry was a little worried she might actually strangle him before they were done.

He realized he should probably be concerned about the flashes of light he thought he saw, but with the feel of her lips moving against his, it was hard to think about much else. He had no idea how long it would be until she would be kissing him again.

Finally, Mrs. Weasley coughed. "If you don't mind, dears, I would like a chance to say goodbye to my only daughter."

Ginny broke from him to hug her parents.

Usually, on this day, Mrs. Weasley was a picture of crazed manic energy, shouting instructions and madly trying to get everyone on the train on time and in one piece. Today she was standing still, holding her last child in a mama-bear hug with tears in her eyes. Mr. Weasley stood beside them, his arm around his wife's shoulders, a sentimental smile on his face. And it suddenly occurred to Harry exactly what he was witnessing.

He quickly did the math in his head and figured out that for seventeen years Molly and Arthur had been bringing children to the Hogwarts Express - and this was their last journey. This day marked the end of something significant, and Harry wasn't sure if it was a happy or a sad moment. As he watched Ginny kiss her father on the cheek, he decided it was probably a bit of both.

As the train's whistle blew, Ginny turned back to him for a last breathless kiss. Nearly clutching the life out of him, she whispered, "I love you, Harry."

Harry murmured against her ear, "I love you, too, Ginevra."

Ginny leaned back and smiled at him. Harry knew he didn't say if often enough. Somehow he was still a little uncomfortable with the whole declaring his feelings thing, but he knew the occasion warranted it.

The engines started to rumble.

Harry motioned to the carriage behind her. "You need to get on."

"I know." Ginny gave his hand a final squeeze then turned and climbed up the steps and pulled the door closed behind her.

As the Express started to pull out of the station, Harry was stuck by the memory of the first time he had seen Ginny, just ten years old and running alongside the train. That was before he had even met Ron. Before he had any idea how important the Weasley family would become. Considering how fascinating he had found them, he probably should have known. Sometimes, he thought, if he ever paid close enough attention, he could tell how important someone would be in his life, just from the first glimpse.

Now their positions were reversed. But Harry didn't want to run. He didn't want to look like a school girl. So instead he walked briskly. All the way to the end of the platform.

Ginny leaned out her window, laughing at him and waving. And crying just a little.

For the rest of the afternoon, Harry was left to his own devices, and it was horrible. He was trudging around Diagon Alley and trying to keep himself from falling into a terrible funk.

He had spent the last two weeks lazing about the Burrow with Ginny - making the most of the dwindling summer. Ron and Hermione rather annoyingly kept insisting on acting like responsible adults and actually going to work. Hermione was really getting into it - even staying late a few times. Ron, however, could always be depended on to come home for supper and go for an evening fly.

Now for his days, Harry would be left rather depressingly alone. And soon the Quidditch season would start, and he would be seeing even less of Ron.

As Harry thought of the coming ten months stretching out endlessly before him, he was starting to realize he really did need to figure out what to do with himself.

Quidditch was out. Ron had suggested it. Repeatedly. But if Harry was trying to stay out of the limelight, playing Seeker on a professional team didn't seem like the best idea. There was being amenable and allowing his picture to be taken occasionally, and there was putting himself in the spotlight before a giant crowd several times a week, seeking additional fame. Harry remembered how the girls used to follow Krum around - and the very idea gave him the willies.

It was too bad he couldn't play under a secret identity. A little Polyjuice before each match, and he could fly as some unknown, atrociously ugly git. Maybe he could sneak back to Privet Drive and steal a few of Dudley's hairs. Of course, the extra weight would throw off his game. And Harry knew, no team would let him play and not cash in on the Potter name.

And that left him with precisely nothing.

Harry sighed tragically and opened the door to Florish and Blotts. He could poke around and maybe find something decent to read.

Randomly pulling a book off the shelf, he remembered he didn't even have an evening of losing at chess to look forward to. Hermione had decided it was time her family got to know Ron. And as a result, the newly engaged pair were spending the rest of the week at her parents' home.

Harry had spent the night before watching Ron comically trying to pick out his best clothes for the occasion.

Harry didn't get why Ron was so nervous and had said so. "You've met Hermione's parents before, haven't you?"

"Yeah," Ron had answered, knocking the dust out of a rather old looking carpet bag, "but then I was a harmless school chum. Now I'm the suspicious bloke that's trying to shack up with their daughter."

"Hardly," Harry had scoffed. "You did ask her to marry you, remember."

Ron had glared at him. "I realize, that this is an experience that you don't get to have, because Mum has naively adored you since you were eleven, but trust me, it's bad. Nerve-rackingly awful."

Harry had laughed, and made a mental note to suggest to Hermione that she keep Ron away from anything electrical.

Now though, he was annoyed. He didn't see why his best friends couldn't have considered his needs a bit more and put off their visit a week. The fact that he himself hadn't realized just how glum he would be feeling was a detail easily enough ignored.

Not all was lost. Lupin, thankfully, had sent him an owl the night before, inviting him to tea. He was just back from two weeks abroad and had decided it was time for a visit. Harry wondered if his old professor had known how listless he would be feeling today.

But that wasn't until four. And he still had, Harry looked at his watch, three hours to spend.

He decided to head over to Florean Fortescue's and try to drown himself in ice-cream.

At precisely four o'clock, and not a minute later, Harry was standing in Remus Lupin's brand new one-bedroom apartment, holding his rather painfully full belly and trying not to moan. Apparating on a stomach swimming in sweets turned out not to be the brightest idea.

Apparently misreading his expression, Lupin greeted him with a laugh. "Hey, it's a lot better than of few of the other flats I've had. The beds not even tucked into the wall."

Harry eased himself into a chair. The place was a bit small. Smaller than he had expected, now that he thought about it. "Aren't you using your inheritance from Sirius?"

"Yes, that is how I can afford this place. But that money has to last for a lifetime." Lupin smiled grimly as he poured the tea. "I'm afraid there still isn't a wealth of employment opportunities for werewolves." He held out a plate. "Sandwich?"

Harry groaned, leaned forward and rested his forehead on the table.

An hour later, after Lupin had disclosed all the details from his first ever vacation, and Harry, conscious of not sounding too pathetic, had described the morning's events, he decided it was time to share his biggest news. "I've decided I don't want to be an Auror."

Lupin steepled his fingers under his chin. "That is probably very wise, Harry."

It was strange, Harry had hoped for Remus' support, but when it came so quickly it hurt a little. "You don't think I would have been any good?"

Lupin openly scoffed. "I think you're brilliant. You have a natural aptitude for fighting the Dark Arts, such as I have never seen before. But I have also worried your, shall we say, apathy for authority, doesn't make you a very good fit for the Auror Division."

Harry grumbled, "You don't think I could have followed the rules."

"It's not just the three years of training that I'm talking about," Lupin answered. "When you finished that, you would still be a rookie. And there are a lot of rules and orders to be followed. And the person giving those orders, depending on who it turned out to be, may or may not be someone YOU would decide to respect, but you would still be expected to follow them - without question."

Lupin selected a chocolate biscuit off the tray on the table and started to munch. "You make your own decisions, Harry, always have. Even walking into the forest to meet Voldemort by yourself this summer - it was very brave and turned out well, but if you had been an Auror at the time, your superiors would not have approved. They might have even felt inclined to have an inquiry about it, after the fact."

Though it sounded like criticism, Harry knew that wasn't how the words were intended. He smiled. "So I would have made a really terrible Auror?"

"Ghastly. A formidable independence, such as yours, only makes for trouble. You would have been buried in paperwork, explaining yourself." Lupin sat back in his chair and regarded him. "No. You always struck me as more of a free agent."

Harry huffed. "Yeah, but a free agent doing what?"

Lupin shrugged casually. "Don't know. Take your time, Harry. It's not like you need to be in any hurry to figure this all out."

Harry felt the gloom of the morning return. "Except I don't have anything to do in the meantime."

A moment of silence stretched on as Lupin appeared to think. For want of anything else to do, Harry decided to see if it was safe to try a biscuit. His stomach didn't seem to protest too strongly as he took a small bite.

Finally, Lupin leaned forward and asked quietly, "Have you ever thought about writing a book?"

Harry coughed, nearly choking on his mouthful. "A book? Like Lockhart?"

"Of course not!" Lupin exclaimed. "Nothing self-congratulatory like that pumped up braggart. But think of everything you could reveal."

Harry took a sip of tea, still trying to get the last crumbs down. "What do you mean?"

"Well, to start with, what really happened to your parents. Take the mystery out of that night - tell the world why Voldemort wasn't able to kill you." Lupin looked a little more solemn as he added. "And you could finally tell everyone the truth about Sirius. Clear his name."

Feeling a slight lump in his throat at the possibilities, Harry merely said, "I guess."

Lupin reached across the table and squeezed his arm. "Look, Harry, someone is going to write an unauthorized biography, whether you like it or not. There are probably already a dozen Wizards scribbling away, trying to beat each other out. Maybe you ought to take the chance to show your side of the story."

Hours later, Harry was in bed, unable to get any rest. He was far too excited about the opportunity to finally make the world understand. He would start with the prophecy - and how Voldemort had chosen him. That it wasn't the other way around. How he wasn't some hero for surviving as a baby - but it had been his mother's sacrifice to save him. Really, in the end, it would probably be the most self-deprecating biography ever written.

It was strange how quiet the nearly empty house was at night. All of Harry's previous stays at the Burrow had been marked by their constant state of commotion. Now everything was still. Even Mr. Weasley was out - called in to work for an emergency. Harry and Mrs. Weasley were totally alone in the house - and the resonating silence, on top of his own nervous energy, made it nearly impossible to sleep.

After a couple of hours of tossing about and trying every trick he could think of, he finally gave up and decided to go downstairs for some milk or pumpkin juice. And maybe a piece of pie, leftover from supper.

As he approached the second landing, the silence was broken by the distinct sound of muffled sobs. Harry stood outside Percy's old door, unsure of what he should do.

After a minute's debate, Harry opened the door. He could just make her out in the dim light, sitting on the bed and crying into a pillow. "Mrs. Weasley?"

"Oh, Harry." She jumped, visibly startled. "I'm - I'm sorry dear. I thought I was finally alright to come in here." She looked about herself. "We're going to have to clean it out soon. If you leave these things too long, the room just becomes a shrine. And that's worse. That's worse."

Harry glanced around the room. Percy hadn't left much behind - it was mostly things from his childhood. "Mrs. Weasley, can I get you some tea?"

After he sat Mrs. Weasley down in a chair, and started searching the cozy kitchen for the things he would need, Harry couldn't help but let his mind wander back to a year ago, when he had first arrived at Headquarters after Percy's death.

When he entered the dark basement kitchen that night, he found Hermione at the table, her head resting on her arms.

She heard him come in and looked up, mopping at her eyes with her sleeve. "I'm sorry - now that everyone else has gone to bed, I was finally letting myself have a good cry."

Harry nodded. He suddenly realized that he had never seen Hermione cry when Sirius had died, and he wondered if she had done the same. "How is everyone?"

Hermione sniffed. "Mrs. Weasley took to her room and she's been in there most of the day. Ginny has been looking after her. Bill and Charlie have been making arrangements and trying to figure out who needs to be contacted."

She took a deep breath, seeming to steady herself before she continued. "Fred and George are really angry. And they keep switching back and forth - one minute they're swearing revenge on whoever murdered him and the next they're furious with Percy for getting himself killed. I'm worried about them, Harry. You know there has always been some sort of weird sibling rivalry between Percy and the twins, even before he left the family. They always picked on him the most, and I don't think they know how to handle it. Mr. Weasley had to put some sort of charm on the house, so that they can't leave for three days."

"Ron's," she paused, looking as though she were about to start to crying again. "Ron's been absolutely silent. He has barely spoken a word. Mr. Weasley is trying to hold it together for the rest of the family, but he looks so old and tired. He finally told everyone to go to bed about an hour ago."

Her speech done, Hermione moved over to Harry and hugged him. He patted her back a little and asked, "Why are you still up?"

"I was waiting for you. I figured someone should be up to greet you." She squeezed him tighter. "And I'm so happy you're here, Harry."

A few minutes later, he went looking for Ginny. Knowing almost instinctively where she would be.

When he found her in the drawing room, she was already curled up on the couch, asleep. He kneeled beside her, carefully pushing a lock of fiery hair off her face. Harry decided he wouldn't wake her.

Ginny must have sensed another presence in the room though, for a minute later she stirred and opened her eyes. She blinked at him and smiled, happy to see him. And Harry could tell the precise moment when the memory struck as her face crumbled and her eyes started to well. "I forgot," she whimpered.

"I know," Harry said, in what he hoped was a soothing voice.

He climbed on the couch and pulled her into his arms. He noticed a cup of sleeping potion on the table beside them. "Did you drink any of this?"

Ginny nodded against him. "Just a sip. I wanted to be able to wake up when you got here."

He pushed the cup into her hands. "You should finish it."

She looked down into the purple liquid. "I get now why you used to sleep so much last year." She tipped her head back and downed the draught in one go.

They arranged themselves on the couch, facing each other, Ginny's head tucked under his chin, her hands clutching his shirt. "Harry?"

"Hmm?"

Her voice was already drifting. "Don't let me sleep too late, okay? I want to get up early to make breakfast for Mum."

Of course, Harry didn't wake Ginny up. He extricated himself as carefully as he could from her embrace the next morning and headed for the kitchen - determined to be of some use.

Unfortunately, cooking in a Wizard kitchen had its own complications that Harry hadn't considered. To start with, no matches. And he couldn't start a fire with his wand. He'd be damned before he caused the Weasleys anymore trouble with something as frivolous underage magic.

He was standing on a chair, gingerly holding a piece of kindling in the flame of a wall lamp when Mrs. Weasley came in and caught him. She appeared only mildly shocked to find him in such a position. "What are you doing?"

Harry hoped he didn't look like too much of an idiot as he answered, "Cooking breakfast."

She tutted and walked towards him. "Get down from there, before you set yourself on fire." She pulled out a chair at the table for him to sit and started putting on her apron.

Harry was torn. He was strongly tempted to insist on doing it himself, on telling Mrs. Weasley to take it easy, and let someone else do the work for a change. But he also remembered Hermione once telling him that some people find comfort in routine, and he didn't want to mess with that. He wished he knew which was the right answer.

A few minutes later though, Mrs. Weasley sharply pulled her hand back from a boiling pot, muttering a rather shocking, "Jesus suffering fuck."

Harry was momentarily stunned. Mrs. Weasley had lost her temper and nearly shouted the house down in his presence a number of times before, but he had never once heard her curse. He was up out his chair and by her side in an instant. "Mrs. Weasley, please let me do it."

Looking down into her hand, she merely nodded, fresh tears already threatening to fall. She moved over to a cabinet and removed what Harry assumed was ointment for her burn, and then sat down in a chair close to the fire.

Molly spread the salve onto her hand as she watched over Harry. She gave instruction on how to cook over an open fire and uttered the occasional spell as he needed them. And Harry found his way to help.

Now as Harry pointed his wand at the kettle in the Burrow kitchen, and deftly boiled the water, he thought of yet another oversight of the Hogwarts curriculum. They taught Muggle Studies for the kids from Wizarding families, but what about Wizard Home Economics for those who had grown up with Muggles?

Mrs. Weasley's voice pulled Harry out of his thoughts. "I didn't protect my baby."

Harry brought the teapot over the table and sat down. "I'm sorry?"

"Percy." She frowned. "I didn't keep him safe, like I should."

At a total loss for anything appropriate to say, Harry poured the tea.

Watching the steam rise from her cup, Molly told her story. "Percy never fit in with his brothers. He was the only one who was terribly physically awkward and I think he felt he was the odd man out, stuck between Bill and Charlie and the twins. The one thing he knew he could excel at was school, which is why he made such a big deal out of it all the time. He was never as strong as the others and he found some strange sort of comfort in rules." She smiled a little at the memory. "It all made him a bit of an oddball, and oh how his brothers teased him for it, but it made me happy. I had one child I knew I didn't need to worry about so much. I knew I could rely on him to always make the right choices and he would make something of his life."

She blew on her drink and carefully took a sip. "He didn't even fit in with Ginny, she always took more after Fred and George. Though Lord knows that didn't stop Percy from trying to take care of her. He felt so guilty after her first year. He thought he had failed her, when the truth was, we all did. I'm not sure he ever stopped blaming himself."

Molly shook her head. "He wanted so badly to prove himself. To show how he stood out and demonstrate his worth to this family. When he got that job with Fudge, he was so excited. I know he came home believing he was going to make his father proud. Instead Arthur warned him, had to warn him, about the truth of the situation. And it broke Percy's heart. He thought we were undermining him the same way his brothers had his entire life. That's why he said all those horrible things and stood so strongly against us. He wanted so much to feel as though someone was loyal to him that he gave his own loyalty away blindly and devotedly."

She looked at Harry sadly. "I'm his mother. I should have tried harder to reach out to him, but I didn't know how and he was so stubborn."

Harry was tempted to interrupt, but Mrs. Weasley raised a hand, keeping him quiet. "When the truth about Fudge finally came out Percy was destroyed. He came back and Arthur and I tried to make him understand that he was always welcome, that there were no hard feelings, but I know the kids gave him a hard time. Everything is so black and white when you're young. He wanted to make amends, but he still had his pride. That's why he joined the Order. That's why he went out on that mission."

She let out a deep sigh. "And I let him. I let him go."

Harry didn't agree. He rather thought that Percy was responsible for his own actions. But he also knew he was hardly the person to tell anyone not to blame themselves. And he figured it was probably a mother's prerogative to feel responsible for her children. But there was one thing he knew for certain on instinct, and it had to be said. "Mrs. Weasley, I think you're a fantastic mum. All of your kids are lucky to have you."

She chuckled a little, ruefully. "It's nice of you to say."

Harry insisted vehemently. "It's true."

Mrs. Weasley took another sip of her tea. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't unload all of this on you. But I haven't been able to say these things to the other children. Not even Arthur."

Harry was about to tell her he didn't mind, but just then the door opened. Arthur walked in, looking concerned to find them both still up. "Molly?"

Mrs. Weasley rose from her chair and walked to him. "The house is too quiet. We couldn't sleep."

"Ah, the empty nest again, it always takes a while to get used to," he said good-naturedly. But as he hugged his wife and sadly eyed the empty tea cups, Harry got the distinct impression that Mr. Weasley knew more than he let on. "Come on, Molly, let me take you up to bed."

Author's Note: Sorry for the depressing chapter. The rest of the story still has plenty of angst - but this is it for the serious mourning. Now look forward to dragons, ghouls, fun fights and falling in swamps. Next chapter - new apartments and snogging via Floo! Chapter Five will be released before the break for Half Blood Prince.