A/N: Chapters 6 and 7 have some overlapping events. The end of chapter 6 and the beginning of chapter 7 cover the same moment and have some of the exact same lines of dialogue. However, there are some of Harry's thoughts sprinkled into this section that are relevant, so I felt it necessary to include the scene twice. I don't often do this, I promise. There is also a fair portion of this chapter that IS new, original content.

Enjoy!


Chapter 7- Harry

Harry was having a rather good day. He woke up in his room at The Hideaway, as usual (though he still sometimes cracked his eyes open cautiously, expecting to see his old room at Privet Drive). He had an uneventful morning (a pleasant change from the endless chores he used to do over the summers). He had even joked around and talked with his dad (someone he could finally match wits with). And now, he was twirling around the dance floor with his girlfriend, who mercifully didn't care that he was doing it rather unskillfully. They were more interested in having fun and sharing laughs than actually dancing, anyway.

All-in-all, he thought this would probably go down as one of his favorite days of the summer, and possibly his life so far.

Which is exactly how he should have known that things would go wrong. When, in Harry's life, had he been allowed to have a good day? All the previous good days he'd had this summer had tipped the scales. He should have known something was coming. Something big.

Still, he had been just as surprised as everyone else when that patronus burst through the tent. He'd had that familiar swoop in his stomach, the tingling in his fingers, the sharpening of his senses. He drew his wand almost before he knew he had done it.

Ginny, his dancing partner of only seconds ago, still with one hand grasping his arm, had also pulled hers, though where she had hidden it in that slip of a dress, Harry couldn't fathom.

His eyes sought out Ron and Hermione automatically, a reflex honed by seven years of teamwork. He knew he stood a better chance if they were fighting together. He saw Ron first, which wasn't surprising, given his height. He was across the tent and Hermione was with him, but she was already breaking away and running across the room to a table where her parents were sitting, looking confused, but not nearly scared enough. She had reacted quickly and was racing through the throngs of people even while many still stood stunned. Ron jumped into action himself, shouting and pointing, directing people out of the tent and towards the house or the apparition point.

The tent. Sweet Merlin, the tent. If Death Eaters came…fish in a barrell.

Ron and Hermione were fighting their own battles. There were too many people between them, and too many problems to worry about joining with them. Two-thirds of the attendees at the wedding were Order members, anyway. He didn't need to worry about Ron and Hermione. He had bigger things to worry about.

The Death Eaters had arrived.

The non-Order members were panicking, running every which way, but through the chaos his father was cutting a path. It was a familiar sight. Face smoldering. Robes billowing (as much as they could in this crowd). People moved out of the way without quite knowing they were even doing it. He was as intimidating as any Death Eater as he crossed the tent to protect his son.

Harry felt his presence as much as he saw it. His heart soared with the knowledge that for the first time ever someone was coming to defend him. He wasn't fighting on his own.

He also knew what his dad's best form of defense would be, and he couldn't afford that right now. There were people here that needed help and there weren't enough wands as it was. But…

He hadn't forgotten about his companion. She'd clung to his arm as he'd started cutting his own path through the tent, but she wasn't doing it out of fear, she just wanted to make sure they stayed together. Her wand moved with purpose as she blasted chairs and tables out towards their attackers, simultaneously clearing the path and creating a distraction. If he wasn't so focused on staying alive and protecting these people, he'd show her how incredibly impressed he was. Even with everything going on around them, he couldn't stop himself from watching her out of the corner of his eye.

A spell zipped past his left ear, missing by millimeters. He whipped his eyes back around and shook himself.

Focus. He had to focus.

He was only steps away from his dad now. He called out. Dad reached out his hand. Harry met his eyes and hoped he understood. Saw the moment he realized what Harry intended to do. Too late.

He had already twisted, slammed Ginny's hand down into his dad's outstretched one and ripped his out of her grasp, all in one smooth motion. They vanished with a pop.

He allowed himself a small breath of relief. Ginny was formidable, but she was a distraction he couldn't afford. As long as she was here, he'd have one eye on her, and he needed to be able to keep both eyes on his enemy. Yes, Dad's disappearance also meant they were down one of their best fighters, or so he'd heard, but keeping Ginny safe was worth it, to him.

That small breath of relief was all he got before the chaos enveloped him.

He wasn't entirely sure what happened next. It was all a mess of adrenaline-tinted pandemonium. He threw hexes and jinxes. He tossed out stunners left and right. He ducked and dodged and Protego-ed more spells than he could count. Eventually, he met up with Charlie. Charlie's work with dragons had given him reflexes that even Harry couldn't match.

But the odds were not in their favor. Those that had apparated away with non-combatants hadn't been able to get back through the apparation wards, so they were outnumbered two-to-one, at least, and were surrounded, pinned down in the tent. They'd tried to get back to the house, but it was clear that it wouldn't work.

That's when Harry learned about Plan B.

It wasn't Plan B as in "the plan we try when Plan A doesn't work." No, this was Plan B as in "Plan Blow-up-the-Burrow."

Despite its innocuous name, it was a last-resort option, but they were out of other alternatives. Bill had worried that this might happen at some point, but he'd hoped maybe it would be later in the war. Blowing up the house had been Fred and George's idea. There wasn't any strategic value to the house, in particular, but there was strategic value in using it as a bomb. Bill and his brothers had spent the last couple of weeks charming the various family heirlooms with trigger-activated transportations charms. Then they'd rigged it to blow.

Charlie brought Harry up to speed while they were pinned down behind a conjured wall. He told Harry what signal to watch for, but Harry had missed it. In his defense, he'd been a bit busy at the time.

He felt the explosion before he heard it. Then he felt Charlie yank his arm out of its socket as he hauled Harry to the ground and covered them with a shield charm Harry had never heard or seen before. A shining silver dome surrounded them and what he assumed were bits of wood and stone pinged off its surface.

When things finally settled, Charlie lifted the edge of the dome and peered out. He canceled the spell with a flick of his wrist and Harry surveyed the world around him.

Where the Burrow once stood, now there was only a bit of scorched earth. Detritus spread out from the epicenter like a sunburst of devastation. Suddenly, he realized his ears were ringing and something warm and wet was dripping into his eyes.

Blood.

He winced as he felt the sting of a cut on his forehead. He pulled a splinter of glass from it and the blood flowed more freely. Charlie looked at him and said something that Harry couldn't hear, but it must have been a healing spell because he felt his skin knit itself back together. It tingled.

Charlie was still talking to him, but Harry's ears still sounded like he'd stuck his head inside a bell. Eventually, Charlie just gestured for Harry to follow, so he did.

The Death Eaters had gone. Portkeyed away, most likely, as they felt the blast. Some were wounded on the ground, he saw. Or maybe they were dead. It was hard to be sure, and Charlie wasn't stopping to check, so Harry didn't either. The ringing in his ears was disorienting and his head suddenly felt as if it was full of cotton.

They walked into the woods a ways. Harry couldn't be sure how long they walked, exactly. Things like time and directions had all gone a bit fuzzy. Finally, Charlie stopped. He said something to Harry. Harry just shook his head. Charlie frowned, then waved his wand. Harry's hearing returned with a squelch.

He cried out and clutched his ears.

"Sorry," Charlie apologized. "I know it hurts, but there's nothing for it. Anyway, we're clear of the apparation ward. Can you apparate to Headquarters or do I need to Side-Along you?"

"I should probably go to the Hideaway. My dad's probably worried about me."

"You took a nasty cut to the head, and I didn't get the dome up fully before the blast. I'm worried you have a concussion. You need to see a Healer. There will be someone at HQ that can look you over."

"My dad–"

"Will be raging mad either way. I don't fancy being in your shoes when Severus Snape gets his hands on you, I'll tell you that. Might be better to do it somewhere public, anyway. We'll send someone over to yours to let him know you're okay when we get to Grimmauld. It's the best I can offer."

Harry wasn't entirely sure a public venue would save him from the scolding he was certain to get, but he thought Charlie was probably right about his needing to see a Healer. His head still felt like it was filled with cotton, only now it also felt heavy. Heavy cotton? Would that be wool? Maybe more like sand. Or heavy clouds. Rain clouds.

He shook his head to clear it. It took a moment for things to come back into focus.

"All right," he acquiesced. "But I think it might be best if you take me side-along."

"No problem. Grab on."

Side-along apparation would never be Harry's preferred mode of travel. His already messed up head was so turned around when they landed that he wasn't entirely sure which way was up. It wasn't helped by the sheer volume of the place.

He hadn't realized how quiet it had been in the forest until he was back amid all the hustle and bustle. Charlie shuffled him off to the makeshift infirmary, which Harry thought was actually the dining room. He deposited him in a chair, then grabbed Remus (who had been hovering over Tonks) by the elbow and dragged him out of the room.

Harry sort of drifted after that. He let his head rest against the wall behind his chair and allowed his eyes to fall shut. He thought that he might have heard something about not falling asleep when you might have a concussion (and Harry was definitely thinking he really did have a concussion), but he also couldn't really help it. He was brought back by a sharp slap to his face.

He nearly toppled off his chair. His eyes flew open to see an irate Ginny Weasley standing in front of him. With her gold dress and red hair combined with the way things were a bit hazy in Harry's vision, she looked a bit like an actual flame. The look on her face only heightened the comparison. Her eyes were also red and her cheeks were flushed–with anger or adrenaline, Harry couldn't be sure.

"How dare you," she growled. Anger, then. Her eyes flashed and suddenly Harry couldn't look at her any longer. He dropped his eyes to the floor. "You had no right to send me off like that. I am not a damsel in distress. I do not need you to whisk me away to the high tower while you stay and defend the kingdom. And if you ever pull a stunt like that on me again, Harry James Pott– Snape, so help me, I will tear you apart myself. If we're going to be together, we have to be together. This is a partnership. You do not make decisions for me. It's my choice whether I stay or go. If that's not something you're interested in, then you can just bugger the hell off! Don't talk to me until you're ready to apologize."

Harry raised his head and called after her, but she was already storming away, ignoring him. He turned his head and met a pair of deep blue eyes across the room.

Dad.

He knew he was in a world of trouble. He knew Dad was going to be angry, possibly angrier than he'd ever been (and that would be saying something). But the sight of him still filled Harry with a deep sense of peace and safety. The heaviness and fog in his head receded a bit and he stood, too eager to embrace his father to stay in his seat.

His dad wrapped him in a hug and Harry returned it. His left arm, he suddenly remembered, seemed to be out of joint, so he hugged him all the harder with his right.

"Harry," Dad breathed onto the top of his head, stirring Harry's hair with his breath.

"I'm okay," he said, reassuring the both of them. The hugs got tighter. "I'm okay," he repeated.

They hugged for a while after that, the embrace chasing away the last of the adrenaline and bringing Harry back down to Earth. When he finally felt like himself again, he pulled away slowly.

"What happened?" Dad questioned as he brushed a thumb over Harry's forehead. The spot still tingled and the dried blood was beginning to itch.

"Just a bit of debris. Charlie healed it in about two seconds."

"And your arm?" Dad asked, looking concerned.

"Charlie yanked me down pretty hard right before the Burrow blew. I think it may be dislocated."

Dad reached up to and gripped his shoulder, twisting it around and pulling it out at a strange angle.

"Brace yourself," he said, then leaned his whole body into it and shoved it back into place.

Pain took Harry's breath away and he doubled over, gasping. Stars danced behind his eyes. He blinked quickly in an attempt to clear them, his arm still tingling sharply. He swore, and it came out louder than he intended, but nobody reprimanded him for it.

"Surely there's a way to do that with magic," he complained.

"The wand work is needlessly complicated and the result is exactly the same. I find the muggle method to be superior, in this case. Do you have any other injuries?" Dad asked, matter-of-fact.

"No, I think that's it."

"Good. Come."

Harry followed him from the room and up the stairs, suddenly feeling as if he was heading towards the gallows. He briefly thought about dragging his feet, forcing the confrontation to happen in a more public place, as Charlie had hinted, but he knew that would only make his dad more frustrated. Severus Snape was a very private person, and airing the dirty laundry in an overcrowded Grimmauld Place would not improve his mood or Harry's outcome. He followed him into the first room at the top of the stairs and closed the door. The tell-tale buzz of a muffliato dulled the rest of the house's noise to a low hum.

For a while, they just stood there. Later, Harry would privately feel that this was the worst part. He already knew his dad was mad at him. Why did he need to drag it out and make Harry wait to hear what he had to say?

Finally, he spoke.

"Explain," Dad growled. Harry was getting a little tired of being growled at.

He dropped his eyes to the floor and thought about it. But even as he opened his mouth, apologies and platitudes ready on his lips, he hesitated. He wasn't sorry. Not really. Being sorry meant he wouldn't do it again, and Harry knew that, given the right set of circumstances, he absolutely would do it again. And that's who he'd always been. Someone who acts. Someone who doesn't run away from a fight. Surely his dad knew that about him. And if he didn't, it was time for him to learn. He squared his shoulders and raised his head, meeting Dad's eyes with confidence.

"I did what I had to do," Harry said fiercely.

"Insufficient. Try again."

Insufficient? Harry thought it explained everything, actually, but if Dad wanted more, he'd give him more.

"There were still too many innocent people and too many Death Eaters. They needed my help. I couldn't just run away."

"Retreating from an ambush is not 'running away.' It is strategic regrouping."

Seriously? Harry barely held himself back from scoffing.

"No, those are just fancy ways of saying running away. We were surrounded, but we weren't terribly outnumbered. And there were people that needed saving–"

Dad's face curled into a sneer and his eyes flashed with a look Harry had never seen before. He stepped forward aggressively and Harry instinctively stepped back.

"Oh, yes, there it is," he snarled. "Potter always has to be the savior. How many times must I tell you before it penetrates your skull? You are not solely responsible for the salvation of the wizarding world. You are a child–"

"I'm not a child! I'm an adult! I can make my own choices! I can–"

"YOU. ARE. A. CHILD!" Dad roared, looming over Harry. Suddenly, his dad's face was replaced by his uncle's, red, snarling, spittle flying. He flinched automatically. His heart raced.

Dad's eyes widened, then softened. He stepped back hurriedly until his back hit the door. He leaned heavily against it for a while, looking almost haunted. Harry brought his heart rate back under control.

"Damn it, Harry. I thought you were dead," he finally whispered.

Harry could hear the pain in his voice. The fear. And suddenly Harry felt it, too. He understood. He wasn't sure how, since nothing like this had ever happened to him before, but then he sort of wondered if this was uncharted territory for his dad, too. Or maybe it was too familiar. What had happened the last time his dad had loved someone? And today Harry had brought that same fear back to him. That same helplessness.

How could he have been so selfish?

"I'm sorry," he finally whispered back.

"I know," Dad replied, barely audible.

"I couldn't…I couldn't just leave. You get that, right? They were there because of me. I know they were. And it wasn't right for all those other people to have to suffer because of me."

"They weren't there just because of you."

This time, Harry couldn't hold back the scoff.

"Of course they were. You've seen the Prophet. They've been trying to draw me out all summer with their attacks."

Dad rolled his eyes.

"They are not 'drawing you out.' The attacks are meant to sow fear, and that is precisely what they have done. If they are drawing anyone out, it is the Order, but we are very deliberately not taking the bait, as difficult as it is. They were not there for you. They were there because that wedding was the single largest public gathering of known members of the Order of the Phoenix. You were just the proverbial icing on the cake."

"Oh."

Harry hadn't thought of it that way.

"Indeed."

"But, I–" Harry sighed. He had done it to keep people safe. He had done it to give them time to escape. He had done it because that's what he had to do. What he always had to do. Wasn't it?

Or was it?

"Tell me what happened to the Burrow," Dad commanded gently, pulling Harry from his thoughts.

"Bill blew it up."

"Excuse me?"

Harry wondered if his face had looked that shocked when Charlie was explaining it to him.

"I don't have all the details, but apparently Bill, Charlie, and the twins rigged it up ahead of time, just in case it was ever needed. Some of it was spell work and some was actual explosives, but it did the job quick. That's where I got the wound, actually. I missed the signal to get down and a piece of debris hit me in the head before Charlie hauled me down by the arm. A few of the Death Eaters weren't so lucky. They got out of there as quickly as they could after that. Then we had to hike beyond the apparation ward before we could get back here. I wanted to apparate straight home, but Charlie wouldn't let me go until I'd seen a Healer about my head. I still need to get checked for a concussion, but Fleur's mum was busy with other people."

"I see. Well, concussions and dislocations notwithstanding, I am quite pleased that you made it out without major injury."

"Thanks."

"I am, however, not pleased with your decision-making."

"Yeah, I figured that."

"Harry, when we agreed that you could help, was not our agreement contingent upon you following my instructions, even when you did not wish to?"

"Yeah, but–"

"And is that what you did today?"

"No, but–"

"You may be an adult in the eyes of the law, but you still have much to learn. You cannot yet compete with wizards and witches who have been flinging dark spells for the better part of two decades. It is imperative that you rely on the wisdom of those who are older and more experienced, rather than charging in, bull-headed and blind. Do you understand?"

Harry sighed.

"We made an agreement about me helping with the horcruxes. This is totally different."

"In that case, I would like to modify our agreement."

"No."

"Very well, then I shall continue seeking and destroying horcruxes without your assistance."

"Wait, what? No!"

"Those are your options."

"I'll just do it myself!"

"And you think you will succeed? After what happened the other day? You think you and your friends are equipped to handle such magic?"

"Absolutely," Harry replied, stubbornly. But he didn't believe it. Not after the way that horcrux had wormed its way into his head the other day. They weren't equipped for that. Harry didn't even know the first thing about making a still room like Bill did. Maybe Hermione did, but he couldn't always rely on her to know everything.

"Maybe," he conceded.

Dad looked at him, eyebrows raised in a clear show of skepticism. Harry knew when he was defeated, even if he didn't like it.

"Okay, probably not."

"I think that is a wise assessment."

"But I can't just sit around and do nothing while my friends are being attacked! I can't read Quidditch magazines and snog my girlfriend while the Ministry is in Voldemort's hands."

"I quite agree."

"I can't–wait, you do?"

"I do. As much as I am loath to admit it, it has become clear that your carefree summer must come to an end. Starting tomorrow, we will begin working on defense."

"Seriously? You're going to let me do this?"

"I have little choice in the matter. If you recall, my intention was never to cut you out of anything. I know better than to ask you to let others fight your battles for you. I ask merely that you accept guidance and allow those more experienced to do what they do best. However, I have also failed to prepare you adequately for what is coming. Your Defense classes have been dreadful, at best, for your entire Hogwarts career. Though you are skilled in this area, your repertoire of spells is far less than what it should be. I have been remiss in neglecting to correct this error until now. I desired for you to have a summer free of obligation or stress, but I perhaps buried my head too far into the sand. If I promise to prepare you for the coming war, will you promise to stay out of it as long as you possibly can?"

Harry considered this carefully. His experience with his dad as a teacher had been overwhelmingly negative, but it had seemed to be improving after, well, everything. He didn't know exactly how much Defense Dad knew, but it had to be more than what Harry already had mastered. And he'd certainly have insight into how the Death Eaters operated. On the one hand, he wasn't looking forward to the end of his very relaxing summer. On the other hand, he really had been irresponsible with how he was spending his time. He had a lot to learn. His dad could help teach him.

But it also meant that he had to abide by the second part of the agreement, and that would be the real challenge. Staying out of things wasn't exactly Harry's style. It wasn't for lack of trying, at least not entirely, but there could be no denying that Harry always seemed to be wherever the action was. If he agreed to this, it would mean taking a backseat in this fight that was, in the end, about him. Could he allow others to fight, and possibly die, while he twiddled his thumbs and bided his time.

But if he didn't, wasn't he ensuring his own failure and condemning them all to die anyway? Did he really think he was equipped to face Voldemort right now, horcruxes aside? So far, he'd survived almost entirely on luck. It might be nice to have a little more skill the next time they met. Luck could only take him so far.

So, really, there was only one answer he could give.

"Okay," he said. "I promise."

He nodded. Dad nodded back.

"Thank you," Dad said.

"You know I'm not going to be able to stay out of it forever, right? Eventually, Voldemort is going to come for me. I'm not going to have a choice."

"I am aware. I do not seek to avoid the inevitable. But by delaying it, we give ourselves time to strengthen our defenses so that we may emerge in victory rather than defeat."

Harry wrinkled his nose and quirked his head to the side.

"That's a very Dumbledore-ish thing to say. Been practicing that one?"

"I have no need of practice."

Harry scoffed.

"If you say so." Harry suddenly remembered what his dad had said earlier. He smiled conspiratorially and his dad frowned as he said, "Oh! I almost forgot! Five points from Slytherin! My name, Professor," he said, cheekily, "is Harry Snape, not 'Potter.' And I'll thank you to get it right next time!"

Then, he turned and walked out the door, still smirking.

His smirk didn't stick around for long, though. As soon as he opened the door and stepped out of the range of the muffliato, sound came roaring back, and with it, the unmistakable sounds of an argument.

Harry crept down the stairs cautiously, but it didn't seem to matter. The entire house was focused on pretending not to be listening to the sound of raised voices drifting out from the room with the tapestry where he'd talked to Sirius last year.

"-should have told us! A war, Hermione!? This is a blooming war! Can't believe you kept this from us!"

"I was trying to keep you safe!" Harry recognized Hermione's voice.

"No, you were trying to keep us ignorant so we wouldn't stop you going back to school. But that's it! This is enough! We're going home and you're coming with us. End of discussion!"

The door was ripped open and Mr. Granger stepped out, followed by his wife. He stopped suddenly in the hall, nodding uncomfortably at each set of eyes. The house had given up the pretext of not listening. Hermione peeled out of the doorway shyly.

Mr. Granger cleared his throat and spoke authoritatively.

"Thank you for your hospitality, but we'll be on our way."

"I'm sorry, David, but that's not going to be possible." A thin, blonde man stepped out from his place against the wall.

"I'm sorry, do I know you?"

"Sort of. My name is Martin Olson, I'm the Order member that's been watching your house. We've chatted at the corner shop now and again."

"Yes, I remember you. You've been watching my house?"

"Yes, I have."

"For how long?" He turned to his daughter. "Did you know about this?"

Hermione shook her head in the negative as Martin answered.

"Oh, a few years, now. Ever since You-Know-Who came back. Dumbledore was worried he'd try and go after you or your girl to get to Harry. It's no secret they're friends. It's been quiet though, until… Well, I hate to be the one to tell you this, and there's no easy way to do it, but, listen, your house. It's gone."

"Gone?"

"Burned. To the ground. They hit your house at about the same time they got the Weasley's. Crew of them apparated in, set the thing ablaze, and were gone again quicker than you can blink. The fire took everything in moments. By the time the fire service arrived, all they could do was try and save your neighbor's houses. I'm sorry, but there's nothing left."

It must have all been too much for Mrs. Granger. She swayed, then collapsed, Hermione just managing to catch her before she hit the floor, but the weight of her was too much, and they both fell together. Tears shone on Hermione's face. Mr. Granger was breathing heavily, his hand braced against the wall. He didn't speak for a long time.

"I–I had some documents in a fire safe. Insurance statements, financial documents, personal records, things like that. I'll need those. Do you think I could go get them?" he said, finally. He spoke without emotion and Harry could see that he'd gone quite white.

"I've got them here," Martin said, and pulled a case the size of a matchbox from his pocket. "Just let me know where you get settled and I'll enlarge it for you."

"I–I don't know. I don't know where we'll go. We have a holiday home in the Peak District. I suppose we could stay there for—"

"The safest place for you is here," a calm voice interrupted. Harry turned to see Professor McGonnagal striding forward. He wasn't sure when she'd arrived.

"Hello, Mr. Granger. I wish we'd met again under better circumstances. Perhaps you remember me. I'm Professor Minerva McGonnagal, and I've had the distinct pleasure of teaching your daughter, as well as being her Head of House for the last six years. I gather that there are some things she may have left out of her conversations with you. In short, your daughter is best friends with Harry Potter," she gestured to Harry and continued, "who is, unfortunately, the primary prey of the radical leader of a group known as the Death Eaters. I'd be happy to explain more later, but to keep it brief for now, her proximity to Harry has made her, and by extension you, quite a target. This is why we have been monitoring your house. Even your daughter did not know. However, things have gotten more complicated and I'm afraid we no longer have the resources necessary to ensure your safety. Therefore, it would be most helpful and wise for you to remain here, in this house, which is our headquarters. I assure you, it is not typically this busy, though I imagine it will be significantly more lively now that it will be housing so many people. I cannot, of course, force you to do this, but I would impress upon you the severity of this situation and implore you to consider it. If you'd like to discuss it further, we can adjourn to another room. And this time, Miss Granger, let us not forget our privacy charms."

"Yes, Professor," Hermione mumbled, sheepish.

"Don't fret, child. You've had quite the day. Mr. Olson, bring that safe and follow me, please. Molly, would you get Mrs. Granger to the dining room? Excellent. Come along, now."

Professor McGonnagal chivvied Hermione and her dad up the stairs, followed by Mr. Olson. Mrs. Weasley gently levitated Mrs. Granger into the makeshift infirmary. As they heard the door upstairs close, the sound gradually returned to the house. People went back to their tasks, coordinating, planning, and analyzing the events of the evening. Harry tried to find a place to help out, but the heavy feeling had returned to his head and he swayed.

Dad caught him.

"Come on. Let's get you home."

"But there's things I need to do here."

"They will manage without you. You have a concussion."

"I'm sure it's fine."

"I am equally certain it is not. You will need a potion for the swelling and a Wakefulness Draught to keep you from nodding off until it has healed. I have both in my stores at home."

"I need to talk to Ginny."

"Yes, I am certain you do. I imagine she is little pleased with you."

"No. She's not."

"I fear it would be imprudent to talk now. You are concussed and exhausted. She is frustrated and afraid. The outcome would likely not be as you desire."

"I can't just leave without talking to her. She'll think…it'll make her upset. Also, stop talking like that. My head hurts."

His dad rolled his eyes in a long-suffering sort of way and conjured quill and parchment.

"Write her a note. Keep it brief."

Harry took the writing supplies and turned to a low table in the hall, scribbling out a short note.

Ginny,

I'm sorry. I shouldn't have left you like that. Can we talk more about this tomorrow?

Harry

He folded the note in half and handed it to his dad. With a wave, Dad charmed it into a little bird shape and sent it flying through the house in search of Ginny, much like the bird memos he'd seen in the Ministry.

"Satisfied?" Dad asked.

Harry nodded, but it made the room spin. Long-fingered hands reached out and steadied him again.

"Time to go."

His dad shuffled him off towards the floo without another word. Harry was glad. His head really was pounding. He leaned heavily on his dad as they spun from one grate to another, eventually closing his eyes to quell the churning in his stomach. When they finally emerged in their sitting room, Harry remained upright, but only due to the strong grip Dad had on his arms. His relief at a successful dismount was short lived, however, as he immediately leaned over and emptied his stomach onto the carpet.

"I'll add an anti-nauseal to the list," Dad muttered as he pushed Harry towards the bathroom in case he became sick again while he went to find the potions. He entered the bathroom a few minutes later, four phials in hand. Harry had leaned back against the wall next to the toilet, eyes closed.

"Here. Start with this one."

He handed Harry a small phial filled with purple liquid. Harry unstoppered it and downed it in one gulp. Immediately, his stomach settled. He breathed a sigh of relief.

"Better?"

"Much. Thank you."

"This one next."

Harry unstoppered the next phial, which he recognized as the same headache potion he'd taken that morning. He massaged his forehead as the pounding in his head dulled to a manageable level. He closed his eyes and leaned his head against the wall where he still sat. Suddenly, he felt so tired.

"None of that. Wake up."

He snapped his eyes open. His dad was holding a garish orange potion in front of his face. He sluggishly reached up a too-heavy arm to take it from him.

"Why can't I just sleep? I'm so tired."

"I know. But I need to monitor you after your concussion to ensure the swelling does not worsen and damage something vital. Heaven forbid you suffer brain damage and become even more useless at potions."

"Only you would consider my potions skills to be the top priority," Harry replied as he took the phial and drank it. "Not, you know, my Quidditch abilities, like everyone else."

Dad chuckled lightly as he tipped back his own orange phial. Suddenly, Harry's exhaustion bled away. He felt as if he had slept for a full night.

"Whoa," he said, awed. "This is crazy. Why don't we use this stuff more often."

Dad was shaking his head as if to clear it of cobwebs.

"Ask me again in about six hours."

"Why?"

"As the muggles say, 'what goes up, must come down.'"

"What?"

"You'll figure it out. Now, I need to restock my healing potions, but I also need to keep you in my sight. You'll have to help me. Come. We shall start with blood replenishing potion. We did this one in 5th year, so it shouldn't be too much of a challenge, even for you."

"I'm shattered by your lack of confidence in me," Harry quipped, sarcastic. His dad quipped something back and the battle of witty banter was begun.

And so, they passed the hours brewing together in the potions lab. Harry wasn't sure he'd ever had quite so much enjoyment making potions as he had that night. It certainly helped to have the right teacher, or at least to have the same teacher with the right attitude. Sometime in the middle of his third batch of blood replenishing potion, Harry suddenly understood what his dad had meant. He felt like he'd been run over by a lorry. He swayed and yawned, and saw his dad do the same. Dad cast a stasis spell over both cauldrons (he was brewing his special pain-relief potion) and they blearily climbed the stairs to the upper floor, bid each other goodnight on the landing, and collapsed into their respective beds, barely taking the time to change clothes. Harry slept until noon.