Harry woke up tangled in his bedcovers. For a split second he wondered what he was doing there, and then reality crashed upon him and his panic subsided. He freed his arms from underneath him, rubbed his eyes and fumbled around for his glasses. When he could finally see, Ron's room came into full focus, down to the bright orange on his bedcovers. Harry averted his eyes. Burnt orange was not the best colour to see upon waking. He listened intently for any hint as to what was happening around the house. The ghoul in the attic – he'd sulked back to the attic when they'd arrived back, the clanging had been even louder than usual – was skulking around, and a few faint voices floated from downstairs. Although he couldn't make out who it was, he was certain it was not Mr or Mrs Weasley. Ron was still sprawled on his bed, his mouth hanging open his eyelids flickering softly. Harry debated taking one of the Owl treats from the pile on his bedside table and hovering it precariously on his nose, but he soon came to the realisation he just couldn't be bothered.

Instead he dived into Hermione's beaded bag – for what he sincerely hoped was the last time in his life – and extracted a pair of jeans and an old top. He dressed hurriedly and tiptoed out of the room. Downstairs he found Bill and George at the kitchen table, with a large pile of sandwiches between them.

"Harry!" cried Bill, leaping out of his chair and seizing Harry's hand while George smiled at him. "Never really got a chance to congratulate you!" he shook Harry's hand then waved it in the direction of the sandwiches. "Mum and Dad left a little while ago – didn't have the heart to wake you and Ron, you all got in so late!"

"Err yeah - we didn't want to intrude on Hermione's reunion." He plopped himself on a chair and grabbed a sandwich. He wasn't hungry yet, but he needed to keep busy. Bill sat back down and turned to George his expression solemn.

"As I was saying, it's going to be tomorrow morning. Andromeda's said that Remus and Tonks will be buried near them, so they're near Teddy." Harry's heart almost stopped beating, and he suddenly wanted to throw up what little of the sandwich he'd eaten. They were talking about the funerals. "She thinks that is what they would have wanted." He paused, and blinked rapidly. "Mum and Dad want Fred buried at..."

"Hogwarts," croaked George. He sounded as if he'd been crying all night; his voice was hoarse and raspy. "He should be buried at Hogwarts." He looked at Bill. "Tell me that is where he's going to be."

Harry felt severely uncomfortable, the guilt set in his stomach felt like lead and he wished he'd remained upstairs. It was his fault Fred had died; his fault that Remus and Tonks would never see their son grow up; all his fault that countless others lost their lives. He hadn't mourned yet, yet it was only a few days ago. Caught up in the whirlwind of celebrating with the survivors, sleeping in Gryffindor Tower, finding Mr and Mrs Weasley and telling them they were going to Australia, finding Hermione's parents – all the time and no time to mourn. He sat at the Weasley's table. He remembered the first time being in here – meeting the whole family for the first time. It seemed like a different time – a time when Bill's face didn't have a huge scar, when George still had both of his ears and his twin...

He shook his head and focused back on the conversation. He seemed to have missed a lot of it, as Bill was stood up, pulling on a travelling cloak.

"I've got to get to the Ministry, Kingsley needed help and I have a few more hours to spare." He fastened the cloak and patted George on the back.

"See you Bill," he muttered. Bill patted Harry on the back, grabbed his dragon hide gloves – a wedding gift from Charlie – and left leaving Harry and George in the kitchen.

Harry got up to leave George alone but George told him to stay a while. Reluctantly, he sat back down, only for George to stand up and stand beside him, leaning on the table. George studied him for a moment, debating what to say.

"You're not blaming yourself are you Harry?" he finally asked. Harry swallowed the lump in his throat.

"They died, because of me."

"No they didn't," said George, firmly. "We all knew the stakes, we all knew the cost. We did it because it needed to be done. You know that. Don't beat yourself up about it."

"But, Remus...Fred...Tonks!"

George's expression faded, but when he spoke, it was with a certainty and seriousness Harry had rarely associated with him. "They knew the cost too. Their family, our family, was in danger. That is what we fought for. It's what everyone at Hogwarts fought for. No-one was safe while he was alive. It had to end, but you seemed to be the only one who could." He pushed back off the table and walked toward the stairs. "I mean it Harry; we're all so... so proud of you. Slightly terrified too, I mean you did just bring down the most evil dark wizard of all time, but proud nonetheless." He smiled faintly and swept up the stairs, leaving Harry to his thoughts.

It was true. If Voldemort had lived, no family would have been safe- no family was. He was forcibly reminded of the Malfoy's. Draco was a selfish, spoilt child and he had voluntarily sided with Voldemort: yet Harry had never forgotten the night Dumbledore had died – how nervous and hesitant he had been. Draco had never been evil; he'd just always wanted to be the biggest bully in the playground. And yet, at Malfoy Manor, Draco had not sold them out. He had bought them time. Even Draco had realised that not even he was safe when Voldemort was alive. Could that have been the case? The thought jarred him.

Tonks had been an Auror. She'd spent her life trying to track down dangerous wizards and witches. There had always been a chance she wouldn't have come home. But she'd never had a son before then. And Remus: his dad's friend. He remembered what Remus had said to him last – how he hoped Teddy would one day know why his father wasn't coming home. When he was younger, Harry had hated his parents for leaving him with the Dursley's. He'd never understood then – though then he'd been led to believe they'd died in an accident. Now, knowing how they had truly died, he couldn't help comparing them to how Remus and Tonks had died. They had died for their son too- it had stemmed from the same love.

Harry went over to the sink and splashed cold water on his face. It took a while, but finally his face was blotch free, and his tears down the drain. He turned around. He came face to face with Ginny. His heart stopped.

She had obviously just woken up. She was wrapped in a dressing gown, clutching an empty bowl. She must've had cereal for breakfast. Cereal? Why on earth was he thinking about what Ginny had had for breakfast? She was looking at him just as Ron had looked at the spider that bit him in Australia – a mix of horror and awe. She carefully set the bowl on the table, managed a faint smile, and ran out of the room, leaving Harry alone in the kitchen, very confused.

He wished Hermione was there, she'd know just how to handle this situation. How do you get back together with your best friend's sister after you've just spent the better part of the last year cooped up in a tent trying to defeat an evil wizard? Despite himself, the thought made him laugh. He'd never watched any films at the Dursley's, but they had shown a few on lazy days at school and when he thought about it like that it sounded like one of the cheesy film plots from when he was nine. He wondered briefly if that was where Hermione knew so much about relationships – from watching films – when Ron thundered down the stairs, reached blearily eyes for a sandwich, took three – and stuffed as much as he could in his mouth.

"O affin!" he tried to say when he spotted Harry.

"No thanks," Harry replied, joining Ron at the table. Ron shrugged, swallowed the half chewed sandwich in one and quickly demolished the rest in his hand.

"I feel like I haven't eaten in ages!" he declared, helping himself to another two.

"At least a day ago," confirmed Harry, whose stomach had began rumbling at the thought. He reached for his unfinished sandwich and devoured it just as hungrily as Ron. In no time at all, the sandwiches had gone, and Ron and Harry were regretting eating so much food in such a short amount of time.

"What now?" asked Ron, looking around happily as though directions would appear from the cupboards.

"No idea mate."

Ron slid back on his chair, and reached for the post. He riffled through it, seemingly randomly picking out letters and reading them. Or, it seemed like that until Harry, reading the letters upside down on the table, began to understand them.

"Kingsley wants me to go to the Ministry?"

"Looks like it," agreed Ron, skimming another letter. "Not yet, but very soon." He looked up at Harry. "Looks like he knew you'd come back here, all these were addressed to The Weasley Family and Harry Potter." Harry shrugged.

"This is my second home."

Ron grinned at him, and tidied the letters back. He looked out of the window.

"Want to go play some Quidditch? We haven't played in forever. I'll get George and Ginny to play."

Harry felt a little chilly.

"I don't have a broom."

"We'll probably have an old spare one," Ron assured him, standing up in his eagerness. "What do you say?"

Harry sighed and looked out the window. He couldn't remember the last time he'd enjoyed being outside, though he wasn't too sure if Ginny would play.

"Sure, let's see if they want to play."