Bright blessings for the Winter Solstice and a Merry Christmas to you! And a Happy anything else you might be celebrating!

Chapter Six – News

The next morning brought heavy dark clouds that stretched across the sky, effectively covering it from view. There was a rumble of thunder far off in the distance and the city of London prepared itself for a decent downpour. Harry woke to the same guilt that had been clawing at him for a few days now, but also to a fair amount of expectation that he could not really tell the source of. Ron had already dressed and sat cross-legged on his bed leafing through yesterday's Prophet.

"You know," he said when he saw Harry was awake and had found his glasses. "Hermione was right. All they rant about is how fantastic you are."

Harry rolled onto his back and groaned. "You'd think they'd be concerned with other stuff..."

"You saved the nation, mate. Possibly the world."

"The world?" Harry shoved his glasses further up his nose.

"Yeah. Most likely the universe." Ron winked at him, "Listen to this: 'Harry Potter is a name to teach your children and your grandchildren. It is a name to remember when troubled; it is a name which will strike a spark of hope in our hearts should Darkness once more come upon us. Harry Potter is a name to comfort future generations of wizards and witches – it is a name to remember and honour for eternity–"

"Honour for eternity" interrupted Harry. "You're kidding?"

Ron shushed him. "And it goes on like that for a few more paragraphs... Now, it says here (he indicated a smaller article further down the page) that you defeated Voldemort by brandishing a wand especially made for you by Ollivander who's been working on it ever since he met you for the first time in Diagon Alley, on your eleventh birthday..."

"What?"

"Yes, and that it is very likely that, while the Triwizard Tournament was under way at Hogwarts, you picked up a few Dark secrets from Karkaroff to better help you in your life's mission to destroy You-Know-Who."

"I didn't–" protested Harry indignantly.

"And now," Ron cut across him, "that you've succeeded at the only thing that ever mattered to you, you will probably settle down in Hogsmeade – close to Hogwarts, you know, the 'only place where you ever felt loved'; it's all very tragic – and lead a quiet life, shunning publicity but living through your memories of a 'certainly more dangerous, but undeniably more stimulating time'."

"'Stimulating'?" spat Harry, in a completely unintentional but not too bad imitation of Kreacher. "They call it stimulating to be hunted day and night by Voldemort?"

Ron pretended to check the paragraph again. "Yes."

"But only days ago people were dying–" He broke off, colour rushing to his cheeks. "Ron, I'm sorry..."

Ron's grin had faded and some colour had drained from his face. But he shook his head. "It's OK... really." He sighed. "I've been talking to Hermione a lot... She's good to talk to, you know, when she isn't going on about house-elf rights or homework or logic. Fred's really dead – hey, that rhymes – and he isn't coming back." A weak smile flashed across his face. "'Fred's dead', I bet he would've laughed."

Suspecting it was really inappropriate, Harry found himself smiling, too. The first raindrops began pounding on the window and he lay listening to it for a while, trying his best to ignore the Prophet in Ron's lap. "So," he said at last, "you and Hermione, then...?"

Ron's ears acquired an impressive shade of red. "Yeah... didn't see that one coming, huh?"

Harry shook his head against the pillow. "You took me completely by surprise."

"Shut it."

He grinned. "Don't I have a right to know? I'm your best friend..."

The effect of Ron's glower was somewhat reduced by his wide, and slightly silly, smile. "I really like her, Harry. I just hope I don't fuck it up."

Harry raised his eyebrows.

Ron coloured some more. "Don't tell mum I said that, OK? If she hears us cursing she goes berserk. Some idiot told her this ridiculous story about some Muggles that used to wash their kids' mouths with soap every time they cursed. She says it's likely to be the smartest thing Muggles ever came up with."

"Soap?" said Harry disbelievingly. "That must have been something like two hundred years ago..."

"Yeah, well, do you think mum would care about such a tiny little detail?"

"All right," grinned Harry. "Do you reckon she knows about you and Hermione?"

Ron shrugged. "Don't know. She hasn't mentioned aunt Muriel's tiara yet..."

His words gave Harry's heart a little push and it plummeted into his stomach. "You... you think you'd like to marry her?" he managed.

"Hey!" Ron threw his hands up in a defensive gesture. "It was a figure of speech. It's not like I've proposed or anything."

"But you've thought about it?"

Ron cast his eyes down and chewed on his lower lip. His ears shone bright red again. "Yeah," he conceded after a while. "I mean, we've had this war, right? It just makes you think... What if one of us had died, you know?" He looked up, an anxious air about him. "Listen, I know we're only eighteen, me and Hermione, but I'm not saying right now, just that..." He trailed off, looking pleadingly at Harry.

"Yeah, no..." Harry pushed himself into a sitting position. "I get it. It's a big step..."

"It is," Ron quickly agreed. "That's why we're not taking it today, or tomorrow... or next week, for that matter." He grimaced. "I bet Hermione thinks I'm not even capable of... thinking about it, you know."

"Right." Pasting a smile to his face, Harry pushed aside the covers. He felt oddly empty. Sure, he'd considered Ron and Hermione a couple since before they did so, but the idea of them getting married and... settling down – having kids even? - was a frighteningly uncomfortable one.

As they trudged down the stairs sometime later, fragments of what sounded very much like an argument of sorts sifted towards them from the basement kitchen. They exchanged a look and silently crept closer. The door was firmly closed but some light and Mrs Weasley's almost hysterical voice easily drifted out from underneath it.

"...won't be going to work!"

"But Molly... sitting around doing nothing." Harry strained to hear; Mr Weasley had raised his voice too but unlike his wife, he was not screaming.

"Nothing? Grieving for your son is doing nothing?"

"...know I don't consider-"

"You'd leave your family at such a time to sort out some... some – I don't know – idiocy of the Muggles... and..."

"Only for a few hours," Harry heard Mr Weasley plead with her. "Kingsley says that–"

"Kingsley!" Mrs Weasley bristled, but she sounded close to tears. "He can't demand your presence at the Ministry."

"Actually, Molly..."

But the rest of Mr Weasley's answer was lost to Harry as the stairs gave a creak and George and Ginny appeared in the semi-darkness behind them. Harry's heart sank even deeper when he saw the dark circles under her eyes. George looked pretty much the same – as though he had not slept for days – but there was a hint of his old self about him when he spoke:

"We believe Kingsley took pity on dad at last, and told him he was needed at the Ministry today," he said in hushed voice. "They've been arguing back and forth for half an hour at least. Sirius is in there now, trying to calm them down."

Harry's eyes shot towards the forbidding door. "Sirius is in there too?"

"Yeah... But whatever tactic he's employing it doesn't look like it's working."

"We thought about waking Mrs Black, to interrupt them," offered Ginny. Her brown eyes met Harry's and he smiled tentatively at her.

"It's not a bad idea," he conceded.

"No," said George, "but we didn't want to upset Kreacher. He's been looking so perky these past few days."

"Perky?" said Ron, in a voice that suggested they were not talking about the same house-elf.

George shrugged. "Less wrathful, then. Best not chance it. His cooking really has improved."

Ron was about to reply but the door was suddenly flung open and Mrs Weasley came charging out of the kitchen, her robes swirling about her. She came to an abrupt stop at the sight of Harry, Ron, Ginny and George on the stairs before her. "Oh!" She dragged her hands over her face, brushing away the tears that spilled from her eyes. Her curly hair was matted and there were angry red blotches on her cheeks and throat.

"Molly, what–" Mr Weasley appeared in the doorway with a set of blue Ministry robes folded over his arm. "Right." Glancing at his wife and then at the others, he decisively cleared his throat. "Children, your mother and I have been talking and I'll be going–"

"You won't be going anywhere, Arthur Weasley!" his wife cried, spinning around to face him. "You will be staying here and–"

"Mum, let dad leave," George cut across her.

"We'll be fine," added Ginny quietly.

Mrs Weasley's seemed to have forgotten what she had been about to say. Her eyes flickered from one to the other. "But..."

"We'll be fine. Go to work, dad," said George.

With a little cry, Mrs Weasley leapt for him and enfolded him in a hug. Ron threw himself against the wall to dodge his mother but many years of training had made Mrs Weasley quite the expert at catching her fleeing children. Soon, even Harry was pulled into a tight embrace and when he felt her arms around him, something in his chest that had been frozen ever since the last battle finally melted.

"Oh, Harry, dear." She smiled up at him through her tears. It did not matter to Harry that she apparently was rather at loss for words; more than anything, he realised, he had needed to know that she did not blame him for Fred's death and he thought now that maybe she didn't, after all. He felt as though a heavy weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

"Well," Mr Weasley beamed at them, his eyes too somewhat glassy. "I'll be off then."

The rest of them filed into the kitchen to let him pass. Harry thought he caught a look of relief on Mr Weasley's face before he was gone, but he could not be sure. Breakfast had already been served and there were plates with toast magically kept warm, a pot of tea and various lidded pots strewn out upon the large table. Mrs Weasley immediately turned her back to them and busied herself by the sink though there were no dirty dishes and Harry suspected she was trying to collect herself. Or possibly crying again.

Sirius was seated near the stove, looking weary but pleased. There was a half empty cup of tea in front of him. He smiled at Harry and pushed out the chair next to him, indicating that he should sit.

Harry happily sank down beside him, fleetingly admiring the way his godfather's dark robes contrasted against his pale skin. Sirius looped an arm round his shoulders and gave him a squeeze. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yeah." Harry would have liked to remain pressed against Sirius' side but must accept that this was the kitchen and not his godfather's bedroom upstairs, and that it was morning and not some anonymous hour of the night. Sirius' presence comforted him, he supposed, and just like Mrs Weasley's hug, it made him feel loved despite everything.

"Where's Hermione?" asked Ron, reaching for some marmalade.

"She said she was going out for a bit," said Ginny offhandedly.

"Out?" Ron echoed her, his hand hovering in mid-air. "What do you mean out?"

"As in leaving the house?" Ginny snatched a piece of toast from his plate.

"Why would she be leaving the house?"

"Yeah, why would anyone want to leave this place," muttered George. As soon as the words had left him, though, his eyes shot to Sirius' face, "Sorry..."

Sirius only smiled in return. "Apologise to Harry, it's his house."

Ignoring this, and rather intrigued by this tidbit of news, Harry turned, and not without a nervous flutter of his stomach, to Ginny. "Did she, um, say where she was going?"

He was quite sure that no one else noticed how he held his breath during the very long silence that preceded her answer, and still he felt as though all eyes were on him. What he and Ginny had achieved today, conversation wise, was more than they had spoken to each other in days.

Ginny regarded him intently. "No. Only that she had a couple of things to do," she said.

"Right."

Ron snorted as he drenched his toast in marmalade; there was a sort of irritated feeling about the way he was brandishing his spoon. Harry gratefully turned to watch him. If only Ron could drown the whole kitchen in marmalade Harry would not have to look into Ginny's pretty brown eyes and feel so... traitorous. He had never wanted to break up with her – not until now and now they were not even a couple. Which, of course was the problem. There was nothing any more that hindered them from picking up where they had left off. Except that he did not want to.

"Harry?"

Torn from his depressing musings, Harry looked up at Sirius. Years ago, Harry had understood that he would have no choice but to come to terms with the fact that he was rather short for a male, and probably always would be. That, however, did not stop him now from feeling quite like the child he'd been when he first met Sirius, the latter being both taller (even when he sat down) and older.

"You OK?" Sirius lifted a hand and brushed some of Harry's ink black hair off his forehead, messing it up just a little. The gesture was so foreign to Harry, who had spent most of his life trying to flatten his fringe in order to hide his scar (when he was not dealing with his 'life's mission' to destroy Voldemort, that was), that he almost did not understand what his godfather was doing. Even so, it was a touch that – after his initial confusion – seemed to assuage the anxious churning in his stomach.

"Yeah." He wished Sirius would do it again but his godfather fished out his wand and Summoned a cup of tea for Harry instead.

They ate in silence; the only sounds were plates scraping against the worn wood or the clinking of cutlery. Ron was halfway through his second helping of scrambled eggs when the kitchen door opened and Hermione entered. She was wearing a set of robes Harry was fairly sure he knew to be Ginny's and she looked flustered and yet grim. There were still a few raindrops trapped in her hair.

Ron pointed his fork at her accusingly, but did swallow before he attempted to speak, "Where have you been?"

"In Diagon Alley," Hermione said obligingly.

Harry, who had sat through more sessions of their bickering than he cared to account for, was pleased but also somewhat surprised by her immediate response. As he watched her slide into a chair next to Ginny, he noticed that there was a light frown playing in her features, and that it was paired with a streak of sadness.

"Hermione, dear," said Mrs Weasley weakly, "have some breakfast, won't you..."

But instead of answering, Hermione glanced around the table. She seemed to draw a deep breath and then she said, "There's going to be a funeral."

The silence that followed was so dense that Harry was momentarily tempted to try and reach out to touch it. A funeral. Of course there would be a funeral. Something very cold wrapped around his heart.

"It's to be held in Hogsmeade next Friday," continued Hermione in an odd voice Harry had never heard before. She sounded a little afraid and almost apologetic. "That's in a week's time," she added quite unnecessarily.

"Oh." Mrs Weasley clasped a hand to her mouth and tears welled up in her eyes.

George's face was blank but both Ginny and Ron were staring at Hermione with slightly puzzled expressions. Harry chanced a glance at Sirius. His godfather's jaws had tightened and he was gripping his fork so hard his knuckles had whitened.

"Why Hogsmeade?" asked Ginny finally.

Hermione shrugged helplessly. "I don't know. It's close to Hogwarts..."

"You don't know?" interjected Ron. "You don't know?"

"I don't know everything, Ronald!" Hermione suddenly exploded. Red stains appeared on her cheeks.

"Then why didn't you ask?" he demanded.

Mrs Weasley had half risen from her chair but sank down again.

"I didn't think to ask! I wanted to come back here as soon as I could to tell you!" cried Hermione, her voice breaking. "You don't know what Diagon Alley is like – the air is so heavy there one can hardly breathe. People don't speak." She turned to George, tears rolling freely down her cheeks, "There is a sea of flowers outside your shop..."

Ron opened and closed his mouth. George was looking at Hermione as though she had grown an extra head.

"Flowers?" he repeated, incredulous.

"Yeah..." She sniffed, wiping the tears from her eyes. "Loads... and there are cards too." A tiny, bleak smile curved her lips. "Although some of them say 'George' instead of 'Fred'..."

At first, Harry thought George would cry too but then he snorted. "Idiots. Fred had two ears."

Beside Harry, Sirius pushed out his chair and got to his feet. Without a word he strode out of the kitchen, the door swinging shut behind him with a loud bang. There was a moment of surprise during which Harry's gaze met Ginny's and he was not sure what he saw in it. But whatever it was, it chased him from his seat and he charged after Sirius even before he knew what he was doing.

It did not take him long to find his godfather. Sirius stood, shoulders hunched, before the yellow curtains in the drawing room. The rain was battering the windows and drenching the shabby square outside. The room was gloomy and Sirius looked like a shadow in the dreary light.

Harry swallowed as he skidded to a stop in the doorway. His heart was beating madly but he could think of nothing at all to say. Sirius did not turn to look at him and he did not speak either. Carefully edging closer, Harry wanted nothing more than to comfort his godfather but did not really know what he should do.

He drew nearer and nearer, until they stood side by side. Together they watched the silvery rivulets rushing down the window-glass.

"Harry?"

"Yes?"

"Will you promise me something?"

"Yeah, sure."

"Promise me..." Sirius sighed, "that when the funeral is over you will turn every curtain in the entire house yellow?"

"What?"

"I like it."

Harry looked up into his face, expecting the tears but not the fragile smile that accompanied them. "I promise."

He was not sure who moved first, all he knew was that Sirius' arms wrapped around him and brought him close. His godfather's dark robes were well-worn but soft, and somewhere beyond was a firm chest guarding a beating heart. Harry wished he could dive even deeper into the embrace but that would crush his glasses and possibly make it very hard for him to breathe. Therefore he wound his arms as firmly as possible around his godfather's waist, getting slightly lost in the fabric but conquering it in the end. Sirius' hands ran up and down his spine incessantly, comforting. Harry closed his eyes and for a while knew only the tapping of the rain and the flow of his and Sirius' breathing.

"I don't want to go, Harry." It was no more than a whisper. "I don't want to go to the funeral."

Harry swallowed down the lump in his throat. "We'll go together... right?"

Sirius did not answer but he buried his face in Harry's messy locks and inhaled deeply. Pressing even closer, Harry felt his skin tingle as his godfather fingered the hem of his t-shirt, at the small of his back. He felt the sensation of skin against skin but then the moment was over and Sirius' hand shot up to cup his shoulder. A disappointment he scarcely understood flooded Harry and it took him a few seconds to register that Sirius lips were pressed against his brow.

"I'm not going without you."

An hour later, when Harry passed the shrunken house-elf heads mounted to the wall on his way up to the first floor, he found himself smiling up at them for really no reason at all.

TBC