Harry lay awake listening to the soft patter of rain against the pitched tent ceiling. The storm that he had watched roll in from the west had almost diminished completely by the time it had made landfall but that did not stop the torrential amount of rain that followed in its wake. It had come down in sheets, hammering the tent for hours on end; had they not been perched high on a cliff, Harry might have feared being washed away. Now, however, it had tapered off into a calming drizzle.

Tossing over onto his back, Harry tried again to push away that uneasy feeling that had plagued him all night. He had dozed on and off but the gnawing ache of dread had kept him from truly falling asleep. What if the Weasleys turned him away? Could he live with knowing they hated him? If they let him in and Voldemort found them, could he live with the guilt that he had led him there?

The dull light of morning was finally beginning to seep through the clouds and Harry watched as the beads of collecting water streaked down the sloped canvas wall. He realized that it would do him no good to worry. Snape was determined to reconnect with what remained of the Order and Harry could not deny that this was the best place to start. And yet...

Snape gave a grunt in his sleep and Harry started, head swiveling towards the source of the noise. He corrected his glasses and then narrowed his eyes, peering through the dim light. The vague outline of the Professor's body was just visible in the bed adjacent to his, a blanket pulled up nearly past his head. Familiar resentment swelled inside of Harry, breaking the last of his fragile nerves.

Swinging the patched blanket aside, he pushed himself from bed and stalked towards the kitchen. He couldn't just lay there anymore while his emotions ran rampant through his mind.

"What're you doing?"

Snape had propped himself up on his elbow, his voice thick from sleep. He was glaring at Harry through squinted eyes that had not yet had the time to adjust to being open.

"I'm not going," Harry declared boldly despite the clenching of his stomach.

Snape let out an annoyed grown and dropped back to his pillow, hand coming up to massage his eyes. It was apparently too early for him to deal with such defiance.

"Potter-"

"No," interrupted Harry, fully aware of the argument he had dove into. He pulled himself up straight and turned to face Snape fully. "It's too risky. It's the first place they'll-"

"We've been over this," Snape seethed to the ceiling. He seemed incapable, or perhaps unwilling, to look at Harry directly. "The Death Eaters have already raided the Weasley's home."

"But now they're looking for me-"

"They will assume you would not risk going back there."

"But you even said that since the Weasleys were the last of the Order-"

"Potter,"Snape barked as he sat up and swung his legs over the side of his bed. He drug his hands down the front of his face, scrubbing away the remainder of drowsiness, and then fixed Harry with a cold stare. "The Weasleys have no will left to fight. The Death Eaters know this."

"How," Harry pressed on, still unwilling to accept defeat. "How can they be sure they aren't just doing it in secret?"

"After finding..." Snape's words seemed to falter here and he pursed his lips. After a minute he continued though it seemed he was choosing his words very carefully."They were not willing to risk losing anymore children to this war."

Harry dropped his gaze to the table in front of him. He couldn't say he blamed them. If it were left up to him he would have been far away by now; there was nothing left worth staying for.

"And you want me to convince them," Harry asked indignantly.

"It is a place to start," Snape said forcefully, echoing Harry's earlier thoughts. "If they are still unwilling to fight we can at least gain some information on those who are willing. We can regroup and find out what resources we have."

It had been worth a shot but Harry knew defeat when he saw it. Plucking a handful of grapes from the cluster on the table, he resigned himself to the nearest chair without another word. He was sure he looked like a petulant child that had lost an argument but that was the least of his worries.

"I think it best if we leave immediately," Snape said, taking Harry's sudden silence as an agreement. He stood, stretching his arms over his head with a grown and then began to bustle around the tent, collecting stray items and stowing them in their correct places. "The cloud coverage will be in our favor and it will give you less time to think of arguments."

Harry acknowledged this with a grunt and popped a grape into his mouth. The sooner they left the sooner he could get rid of the looming feeling of dread.

Half an hour later they were standing atop the hill overlooking the valley where the Burrow was safely nestled. On a clear day, the top of the chimney would have been visible from here; however the rain was now falling in heavy grey sheets around them. Snape was right, they were unlikely to be seen in this weather.

"You couldn't have apparated us closer," Harry asked incredulously as he pushed his already soaked hair out of his eyes.

"It will be better for us to walk down," replied Snape, pulling up the hood of his cloak.

"Easy for you to say," Harry muttered, casting a disgruntled look towards the warm cloak. His torn clothes were already heavy and clinging to him uncomfortably.

Their descent was agonizingly slow. The ground had become a muddy mess with all the rain and each step brought on the risk of sliding down the hillside. Twice Harry had nearly placed his foot in the wrong spot and both times Snape had saved him from an embarrassing tumble by grabbing him under the arm. He had quickly yanked himself free, frustrated with himself for seeming weak.

Finally, they stood, mud splattered, at the fence that separated the garden from the field they had just trekked through. Harry lay a hand on the rickety gate, his eyes traveling up the misshapen home before him. He tried to place the feeling spreading through him. Relief at the sight of something so familiar? Grief, knowing that everything that wait inside had changed? Fear of being turned away?

Before he could decide on what exactly it was, the door swung open letting out a warm amber light across the rain-swept garden. Voices rang out from inside and Harry could see a tall balding man standing in the entry way.

"Can't it wait till after the rain," a woman's voice called out from somewhere inside.

"I'm just going to chuck it in the shed," the man called back as he slung a bag over his shoulder. "It'll only be a se-"

Mr. Weasley's words fell away as his gaze landed on Harry, eyes widening and mouth parting. The bag he was holding landed on the floor with a loud clatter of what sounded like metal parts and he shook his head.

"Arthur," Mrs. Weasley's worried voice called and she suddenly appeared beside her husband, a dish towel draped over her left shoulder. "What's..." She didn't have to finish her question as she followed her husband's shocked gaze to the two standing at the gate.

Harry felt his stomach roll at the sight of her. She was thinner than he had ever seen, face almost hollowed out by what could only be grief. Grief that he had caused. He would have given anything to turn and run then, to forgo the questions that they would surely want answered; but, as if reading his mind, Snape pressed a hand to his back, edging him forward.

"M-Mr. Weasley," he stammered out, pushing the gate open. It gave a low creak but the sound was lost to the rain now pounding down mercilessly against the battered ground.

"Harry?" Mrs. Weasley was the first to speak, her voice little more than a whisper. She stepped forward and it seemed as if she were ready to run and embrace him, but Mr. Weasley grabbed her, pulling her back despite her attempts to break free. "Arthur let go-"

"I thought you sick bastards could stoop no lower. But this, " he seethed, motioning up and down Harry's body. The look of shock was gone, replaced with a twisted grimace of hatred Harry had never seen before; it was a stark difference from the usual jovial smile.

"It's me, Mr. Weasley," Harry said, his voice on the verge of pleading. "I-I swear."

"Prove it then!"

"I...we.." Harry's scrambled mind seemed incapable of finding a single memory that could verify his identity. There were so many he had shared with the Weasley family but none sprang forth. "We stole your car, a-a Ford Anglia, and-"

"Everyone knows that! It was in the bloody Prophet!" Mr. Weasley yelled out and he withdrew his wand from inside his pocket, brandishing it like a sword. "I told you lot we were done fighting but this-"

"Wait," Harry cried out, raising his hands to show them empty. He was quickly searching for something, anything else, to convince them. And then it came to him. "You- you call Mrs. Weasley 'Mollywobbles' when you're alone," he said, fresh embarrassment reddening his cheeks. He couldn't explain where the memory had come from but it seemed to be enough; Arthur was lowering his wand.

Mrs. Weasley pulled away from her husband's slackened grip and was running across the slippery garden. She nearly stumbled once but she soon reached Harry and pulled him into a tight hug. She was as warm as he remembered and Harry found himself burying his face into the side of her neck. It was the first true affectionate embrace he had had in nearly a year and it brought tears streaming to his eyes.

"I'm sorry," he whispered and he felt her clutch tighten, hands clenching into the worn fabric of his jumper. "I'm so sorry."

"We need to move this inside," Snape said from behind them, a nervous edge to his voice.

Mrs. Weasley pulled away and gave Harry a small smile as she patted his scruffy cheek. Though the rain had washed away her tears, it could do nothing to hide the puffy, red eyes. "Let's go in. I have some porridge made."

Harry returned the smile and nodded. He followed her back through the garden and onto the stoop where Mr. Weasley still stood. Arthur did not smile or welcome Harry, instead, he pressed his lips together and led the way inside without a word.

They gathered in the small kitchen, Harry and Snape sitting on one side of the long table and Arthur directly across from them. Molly busied herself with ladling porridge from a pot on the stove into four bowls and handing them out before joining her husband. Harry couldn't help but notice that Snape's portion was significantly smaller than the rest.

Gathering a large amount into his spoon, Harry blew the steam off of it and was about to poke it into his mouth when Mr. Weasley broke the silence.

"How is it that you two are here," he asked sharply, his narrowed pale eyes fixed on Snape.

"It's a long s-," Harry began but Arthur quickly cut him off.

"Then you better start explaining," he said coldly.

Harry felt his heart begin to race. He had never seen Mr. Weasley like this before. His usual calm, goofy demeanor had been replaced with a hard bitterness that Harry would have never expected to be directed towards him. Swalloing the lump that had formed in his throat, he dropped his spoon and tried to find a place to begin.

"Arthur," Mrs. Weasley scolded but before she could say anything else Mr. Weasley brushed her off.

"I have a right to know why this man," he brandished a finger at Snape, "is in my house."

"Let me start at the beginning," Harry said, trying to deescalate the situation. Snape, who had been on the verge of speaking, leaned back in his chair and took a bite of porridge.

It was no easy task trying to retell the story while also trying to show Snape in a positive light. He started after Dumbledore's death, knowing that it would be impossible to sway them if they knew Snape had been the one that had killed him. He stumbled through most of it, trying to omit anything that would make it harder for them to trust the man sitting beside him but Mr. Weasley saw through his revisions.

"No," he said flatly, stopping Harry with a wave of his hand. "I'm sorry Harry but you can't expect me to believe he's innocent in all of this."

"No one said I was innocent," Snape said lazily. He had finished his small amount of porridge and was now reclining with one leg crossed over the other. "I did what I could-"

"What you could?" Mr. Weasley spat back. "You-Know-Who made you Headmaster of Hogwarts! All of this," he flourished a hand at Harry, indicating the story he had told, "all of this happened because you let it."

"What would you have me do, Arthur? Helping them risked revealing myself as a spy, something I was not prepared to do at the time. Steps had to be taken to ensure the safety of those that are still at Hogwarts."

"Yes, it sure sounds like you were protecting them," Arthur said sarcastically. "Torture, death-"

"I can guarantee," Snape seethed as he leaned forward. "that it could have been much worse. Do you wish to know what kind of classes some Death Eaters wanted to include this term? Or perhaps, why a great majority of muggleborns were allowed to attend? Let me give you a hint; there is a sick correlation between the two."

Snape's voice had dropped to a cold whisper and Harry shuddered at the thought of what his words implied. Mrs. Weasley turned her head, a hand coming up to cover her mouth while Mr. Weasley stared, obviously disgusted, at the man in front of him.

"So yes, students were hurt but I ensured that the worst of it was kept outside of the school."

"Mr. Weasley I know it's hard to believe," Harry said, finding his voice after what felt like an eternity of silence. It seemed quite ironic that he was the one now defending Snape after all those times he had accused him. "But Professor Snape is the reason I'm not still stuck in that cellar."

Mr. Weasley brought a hand up to rub his bloodshot eyes beneath his thick framed glasses. It was easy to see the internal war raging inside him but when he lowered his hand there was a more recognizable softness in his tired face.

"If this is true, then we need to get you out of the country. Charlie..."

"No," Harry quickly dismissed with a shake of his head. "That's not why I'm here. I'm not leaving."

"Harry, the war is over," Mrs. Weasley said gently. "After Dumbledore's death and your disappearance The Order completely fell apart. We tried to continue but..." She trailed off, her eyes filling with tears as she cast them down to the porridge she had yet to touch.

"That's not quite true, is it?" Snape interjected. "What about your sons?"

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley shared a brief glance before quickly looking away.

"Charlie returned to Romania," Arthur answered. "And Bill went to stay with Fleur's parents in Paris. We haven't heard from the twins since..."

"Charlie returned to Romania in hopes of finding supporters beyond The Dark Lord's circle of influence," amended Snape, his eyes fixed intently upon Arthur. "And Bill and his wife seem to have made a detour on their voyage to France. They have been seen in the accompany of both Mad-Eye Moody and Kingsley on more than one occasion; though, they have been quite effective in avoiding capture."

"It seems you know more about our sons' whereabouts than we do," Arthur said coldly, his jaw tightening as the suspicion returned. "Why come here then?"

"We just want to help," Harry said. He dropped the spoon back into his empty bowl and looked from Arthur to Molly. "If we can regroup-"

"We're done," Mr. Weasley said, a firm finality in his words, but Harry would not be stopped so easily. An indescribable anger was spreading through him.

"So you're just okay with what's happening to the muggleborns around you," he asked incredulously. "Just because your pure-blood status keeps-"

Mr. Weasley slammed his fist down on the table, rattling the bowls and upturning a couple of glasses. Harry jumped in surprise and flinched away as a wave of fury seemed to roll out of the man across from him. He had thought that a little guilt might persuade them like it had him but instead he was now facing a rage that he couldn't help but shrink away from.

"My pure-blood status," he snarled the words in pure disgust as his eyes filled with tears and his voice became thick, "earned me two dead children. I got to wake up one morning and nearly trip on their bodies that were dumped on my doorstep."

Harry felt the blood drain from his face as his heart skipped a beat. He hadn't realized that the Death Eaters had simply dropped off their bodies as if returning some unused item. When Snape had told him that they had been returned to their parents he had assumed- actually he hadn't assumed anything. He had always forced himself not to think about it. He turned a wide-eyed gaze to Snape who stared back with an unreadable expression.

"He didn't tell you, did he?" Mr. Weasley's voice shook as he fought to hold back the mixture of rage and sorrow. At his side, Mrs. Weasley was doubled over, her face hidden in her hands as her shoulders shook with suppressed sobs. "I'm sure he didn't tell you that Ron was completely untouched but Ginny-"

"I know," interrupted Harry. He clenched his eyes close as his leg began to shake rapidly underneath the table. He had watched that memory countless times, enough to know exactly what sort of injuries Ginny had.

"I know," he repeated and clasped his hands together on top of the table. He wanted to explain, to let them know he would have given anything to save her but all he could manage was a simple, "I was there."

"You were there?" Mr Weasley asked slightly taken aback. He leaned back in his chair, eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

"We made a plan to escape on Halloween," Harry said, picking up where he had left off after Mr. Weasley's interruption. "Things didn't go as planned. He... he killed her. I-I couldn't... there was nothing-" His leg began to shake more violently and he dropped his head into his hands, smashing his glasses against his face.

"Harry we don't blame you," Mrs. Weasley managed to croak out. She had reached across the table to grasp his forearm and gave it a small squeeze. "But after everything-"

Harry brought his gaze level with hers and found pity hiding behind her puffy eyes. Of course he understood, hell he had had the exact feelings earlier that morning but now something else was stirring behind the anguish. A spark had ignited, thawing the cold inside him.

"Then help me," he said almost pleading. He covered her frail hand with his own. "Help me make sure that another family never has to feel this pain."

A small smile broke across her lips despite the tears still rolling down her reddened cheeks. She turned a questioning glance to her husband who was still sitting back in his chair, lips pressed firmly together. He looked from her to Harry and then gave a deep sigh.

"Okay," said Arthur, pulling his glasses from his face to rub at his eyes. "Okay, we can take you to Bill's in the morning. I'll need to send word ahead or they may not be so accepting, especially with him." He nodded his head in Snape's direction without looking up.

Relief rushed through Harry's veins. "Thank you," he said breathlessly, hardly believing his luck.

"Don't thank me yet," Mr. Weasley said wearily as he replaced his glasses. "We have to get there first."