A/N: The second chapter...that's all I have to say.

Chapter 2

Back to the Burrow...Again

Brilliant yellow sunshine poured in through the windows of the Hogwarts Express. The whistle of the train blew shrilly as it started to move along its tracks. Harry Potter pressed his forehead to the window, looking out of it at the massive mountains and the green forest. And at the great, towering castle that was Hogwarts. Its many turrets and towers seemed to wink at him in the bright sunlight. As the train turned a corner and Hogwarts began to drift out of sight, Harry could not help but think that this would most likely be the very last time he would ever see the place that he had called home for six years.

Harry shifted his gaze from the vanishing castle, and gazed around the compartment. Directly across from him sat Hermione Granger, whose legs were underneath her as she sat, staring down at her lap but not really seeing, her amber eyes full of emotion. To her left sat Ron Weasley, a lanky, brilliantly red-haired teenager with his chin resting in the palm of his hand, looking blankly across the compartment and out of the window. Harry turned his gaze to his right and set his eyes upon the youngest of the Weasley children, Ginny. Her long hair, the exact color of her aforementioned older brother, was cascading down her back gracefully, and a few locks hung in her eyes. She was staring at a spot on the ceiling, her body swaying back and forth with the movements of the train. Harry felt a dull pain in his chest and swallowed, tearing his eyes away from Ginny. Instead he focused down on his hands which had balled themselves into fists in an effort to stop the burning that had started in the corners of his eyes, the burning that he felt every time he looked at her.

The entire train ride was silent, which only seemed right. Harry knew that everyone needed time to think, including himself. His head swirled with thoughts and images. His hand had slipped itself unconsciously inside the pocket of his jeans and grasped the hard piece of gold that lay there, as it so often did lately. He fingered the locket carefully, as he had done so many times already. Initials suddenly floated unwillingly across his mind...R.A.B...His head seemed to spin faster, thinking of all of the possibilities, but coming up empty. It was the first time that that note had come into mind since Dumbledore's murder. Yes, thought Harry acidly. Dumbledore's murder. He placed the locket back into his pocket and felt a scowl don itself on his face. He had realized that it was not just a death, as so many people referred to it as being, it was a murder. It seemed that everyone was trying to desperately to avoid to real truth, to let this event pass as though it was some sort of accident, preferring to try and forget about the fact that it was, in reality, a cold-blooded murder.

After a long while of this unusual silence, the train whistle finally sounded again as it began to slow. Harry stood, turned and dragged his trunk down from the luggage rack with one hand, and grasping Hedwig's cage with the other. He watched the others do the same, and followed them out of the compartment and off of the train.

The mood on platform 9 ¾ was extremely somber. Every voice had taken on a remorseful sort of tone as parents ushered their children away from the train; many of whom were never to be seen on the platform again. Harry caught sight of a kindly-looking woman with hair that matched her children's; she was quickly bustling over to them, a tall, thin balding man hurrying along in her wake. As she reached them, Harry noticed a forced smile plastered on her face.

"Ron, Ginny, Harry, Hermione! Thank goodness you're all okay...I've been worried out of my mind, you have no idea. These horrors are becoming more and more real with each day, I don't know what I would have done if any of you had been..." her voice trailed off and she took each one of them in turn to squeeze them tightly, wiping tears away from her eyes as she went. "Well," she said as soon as she had composed herself. "The Ministry's sent a car and a couple of Aurors to accompany us home...of course now they're wanting to do anything they can to help after everything that's happened...started hounding us as soon as we brought Bill back from Hogwarts...Well, come along now, you lot."

The four of them followed Mr. and Mrs. Weasley out of the station to a large black town car flanked by two men that Harry had never seen before. Their luggage fit easily into the trunk of the car, and the men ushered everyone inside. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley sat in the front next to the driver and the four teenagers fit comfortably in the back seat. The car was enormous, compared to its outward appearance.

The car ride was short, as traffic seemed to move aside for them as they sped down the street. As soon as the car stopped, they all piled out quickly. Mr. Weasley flicked his wand toward the trunk, and the luggage filed out one by one, and trailed in a neat line behind Mr. Weasley's wand.

"Inside, inside everyone," said Mrs. Weasley, ushering them along. "Bill is here already, he's resting of course; Charlie, Fred and George will be here shortly."

The Burrow looked the same as ever: full to the brim with oddities and informalities. A mop dragged itself along the kitchen floor and a rather old looking feather duster was flapping around the room of its own accord. They passed through the kitchen into the sitting room, where it seemed books were stacked three deep everywhere and the furniture was mismatched and worn out, but comfortable looking. The mantle was weathered and faded, the crackling, dying embers of a fire lay beneath it, evidently from a fire the night before that no one had bothered to put out.

Mr. Weasley, who had not said a single word to anyone besides an exhausted hello when they had first met at King's Cross, led the luggage into the middle of the sitting room and immediately took his glasses off, rubbing his eyes tiredly. He seemed to lack most of his usual energy and spunk. Mrs. Weasley looked at him with concern.

"Arthur's been working nonstop ever since...you know," she said softly. "The Ministry's in complete chaos. It doesn't matter what department you're in now, everyone is just doing whatever they can. Poor Mafalda Hopkirk had a nervous breakdown the other day; they had to take her straight to St. Mungo's, I still don't know if she's been put completely right yet...Well, you lot had better take your stuff up, I expect the others will be arriving soon."

They obeyed Mrs. Weasley, grabbing their trunks and making their way up the rickety, zigzagging staircase. Hermione and Ginny stepped off at the third landing; Hermione was sleeping in Ginny's room for the time being, as she was only staying for a couple of days before she would go back to her parent's house to collect the rest of her things and move out for good. As Harry and Ron climbed the stairs all the way up to the very top, Harry knew that he had to do the same. Dumbledore had wanted him to visit the Dursley's for one last time before he left. His birthday was in a few weeks; he figured that he would go after he turned seventeen, that way he could legally pack up his things with magic and bid the Dursleys a final farewell.

This thought weighed heavily on Harry's mind as they finally reached Ron's room. He was going to be staying with Ron, as the house would be packed to full capacity when everyone arrived. Fred and George would be staying in their own room, Bill had a bed made up for him in Percy's old bedroom, and Charlie would not be staying the nights: he had his own house to go back to.

Ron's room looked the same as the first time Harry had ever set foot in it. The walls were plastered with posters of seven riders on brooms, all dressed in bright orange: the Chudley Cannons Quidditch team. Though, a few of the posters looked as though they had been ripped down in frustration, and then Spellotaped haphazardly back onto the wall. The only difference was that a small twin bed had been conjured next to the wall near the door, making the room appear even smaller than it really was. Harry set his trunk near this bed, assuming that it was for his use.

"Mum didn't want you to have to kip on a camp bed again," said Ron, noticing Harry, who had sat down on the bed. He opened his own trunk, and began chucking things, pell-mell into the tiny closet. "So she set that up for you. Sorry, mate, it's a bit cramped, but I expect we'll have to manage..."

"It's perfect," said Harry, who swung his legs up onto the bed and laid his head onto the feather pillow. He felt a rush of gratitude toward Mrs. Weasley; the camp bed that he usually slept on while he was at the Weasley's was none too comfortable, but this bed was soft and warm and...He had to sit up to keep himself from falling asleep right then. Then it hit him how thoroughly exhausted he felt; he had not slept the night before, and his head felt very heavy as it was crammed with so many worrying thoughts.

Harry opened his eyes and saw Ron looking at him, a worried expression on his face, as it seemed everyone was doing these days. But as soon as he had seen that Harry had opened his eyes, Ron looked away and began digging busily in his trunk again.

"I'm alright, Ron," said Harry, and Ron paused to look at him, a pair of mismatched socks suspended in his hand. "Just tired."

A skeptical look crossed Ron's long, thin face. "Really?"

"Yea, really," Harry lied.

He watched Ron go back to emptying things from his trunk. Harry didn't like lying to his best friend, but there was no possible way that he could try and explain all of his feelings. At least not now, anyway.

"Girls, boys!" came a shrill voice from downstairs. "Fred and George have arrived!"

Ron closed his closet door with difficulty, heading out of the door, and Harry followed. As they headed down the stairs, a door to their right burst open and Hermione and Ginny came out of Ginny's room and got onto the staircase ahead of them. As they headed into the sitting room, a voice came from the kitchen.

"In here, we're in here!"

Hermione, Ginny, and Ron preceded Harry into the kitchen. As he walked through the door, he saw the twins wearing black robes of an expensive, silky-looking material. They each smiled and waved, but Harry noticed that some of the youth and energy that he had come to expect from the twins was missing.

"Well, sit down, sit down everyone, I'll go and get Bill while you all wait for Charlie, then we can all have a spot of lunch. I expect you must be famished." Mrs. Weasley bustled out of the kitchen, and they all pulled up chairs at the large, rickety wooden table that was situated in the middle of the kitchen.

"So," said George, leaning forward across the table. "All right, Harry, Hermione?" he asked in a somber tone.

Harry nodded and tried to smile, but found that he couldn't.

"Oh yes," said Hermione, managing to beam a little too brightly. "Gorgeous day, isn't it? How's business going?" Harry could tell she was trying her best to keep the conversation light, and he was grateful for that.

"Booming," said Fred, grinning at her.

"Yeah, we really have more money than we know what to do with," said George. "We were thinking about buying Ginny and Ron new brooms, Nimbuses, but then we didn't know when you'd use them, now that you won't be..." He trailed off, looking uncomfortable, and they were all left with an awkward silence which was something Harry had never heard in the Weasley's kitchen.

Fortunately the silence was broken quickly as a loud crack came from outside the door followed by Charlie Weasley who came through it, smiling at all of them. He stood near the end of the table and looked down at them.

Charlie looked more weathered than the last time Harry had seen him. He had several large, shiny burns on his arms and one across the bridge of his nose. His red hair was tousled, and he looked slightly windswept.

"Hello, everyone. Harry, Hermione." Harry managed a smile this time. "Where are mum and dad?" Harry saw him glance toward the place where Weasley's odd clock usually hung on the wall near the doorway, but it was not there as Mrs. Weasley had taken to carrying it around with her.

"Mum's upstairs fetching Bill," said Ginny. "And I haven't seen dad since we got back from King's Cross...I expect he's upstairs somewhere."

"He didn't look good," said Ron, drumming his fingers nervously on the tabletop.

"Well, thank you, Captain Obvious," said Fred, scowling at Ron. "How do you think you'd look if you hadn't slept, or even stopped working for the last week?"

"I was just saying," said Ron. Just as he was opening his mouth to add something else, Bill came through the kitchen door followed closely by Mr. And Mrs. Weasley.

Bill was looking slightly better than when Harry had seen him at the hospital wing at Hogwarts, but not much. The deep gashes that covered his face had lessened slightly, it seemed, and they were covered with a thick, purple-tinted substance.

The second awkward silence that Harry had ever experienced in the Weasley kitchen occurred then.

"So," said Mrs. Weasley, clasping her hands together. "Shall I cook us all some lunch, then?"

They all began to chatter at once, pretending they hadn't noticed the embarrassed pause.

The next couple of weeks progressed without a lot of eventfulness. Mr. Weasley was always gone at work before anyone else got up, and was never back in time to eat dinner with them. Hermione left, as she had said, after only a few days at the Burrow, heading to her parent's home. This left Ron, Harry, and Ginny to be company for each other. This was slightly discomfited, as Ron had noticed the distance between Harry and Ginny, and had no idea how to go about solving it so he had resorted to ignoring it instead. But this made the situation worse, if possible. Harry told himself countless times over and over again that he did what he had to do, what he knew was right. But these thoughts didn't stop the lump that rose in his throat whenever he thought about what he was giving up.

As Harry's birthday approached, the mood in the Weasley home became slightly less suppressed. Mr. Weasley was not at the Burrow for the celebration, for which he apologized countless times to Harry. But the small party was fun nonetheless; a welcomed break to the constrained atmosphere of the house. Even Hermione came by, just for the night, which cheered Harry up considerably.

"Go on then, Harry, blow out your candles."

Harry did so, and each of the seventeen candles that had been placed on Mrs. Weasley's homemade cake flickered and died in Harry's puff of air. He took a piece of cake and sat back in one of the wooden chairs that were placed around the table. He was feeling unbelievably cheerful, but guiltily so. He tried to tell himself that he deserved to have a little fun.

Dumbledore's dead, Voldemort is at large, people are dying left and right, and you are the only person who can stop it all. You don't deserve to have fun or eat cake or have a birthday party. There's no time.

He shook his head, trying to clear it. Today was his day. He deserved to relax today.

"Are you alright Harry?" came a quiet voice in his ear from his left. Hermione looked at him concernedly.

"Yeah," he said, grinning at her just to prove it. It seemed people were asking him this question all too often. "I'm great. Thanks for coming."

She beamed at him and continued talking with Fred and George about their shop; she had never ceased to be amazed at all of the magic they had learned to do.

"Everyone thought all of our years at Hogwarts were wasted," said Fred loudly. "But we proved everyone wrong, didn't we? We were using those years to come up with all this magic...and a lot of it was seriously complicated, mind you."

Hermione laughed, and Mrs. Weasley looked on the verge of a disapproving look, but instead busied herself with the kettle that was sitting on the stove top.

That evening, Harry lay awake in bed long after Ron had fallen asleep. Dust was swirling in the moonlight that streamed in through the tiny window, through which he could see the distant field beyond the Weasley's garden. The feeling of happiness that had filled him during his party was slowly draining out of him, as the thought of what he had to do next pressed upon him.

A/N: Hmmm, was it a little slow to you? I don't know, I got a bit bored writing it which usually means the readers got bored reading it. But hey, it's still only the second chapter; it gets more exciting I promise! Well, tell me what you think...the next chapter is probably going to take a little while, I still need to work it out in my head. I hope you liked this one.