Chapter 3: Angst

And everyone began to smile. Through the tears and the grief, smiles were breaking through. Harry was overcome by a sudden urge to laugh. He felt free of all the sorrow that had been bearing down on him since the battle. There was no need to mourn the lost; wherever they were now, they were happy, and safe from harm.

"A cheering charm," Hermione hissed beside him.

Harry's bubble popped.

"Well, it's a bit more complex than that'" She continued to say, "I think it's something sometimes known as a silver lining charm. It makes you see the good sides of bad things. It's really rather clever."

"Hermione," said Ron from her other side, "do us a favour, and shut up. You're ruining the magic of it." Harry snorted.

"Well, you know what I mean. It's no fun when you know how it's done. Oh hey, that rhymed!"

"You're not helping yourself sound intelligent, Ron," said Ginny, leaning around Harry to join the conversation. "In fact, you appear more stupid for each word that comes out of your mouth." Ron's ears reddened.

"Yeah, quit while you're ahead, mate." Harry agreed. Ron scowled, and the four fell back into silence.

"Let's go and see who's been buried here." Hermione said finally, in a small voice. Harry nodded, but to be honest, was afraid to see the names of those who laid down their lives because of him, and not be able to put faces to them. Ginny tugged lightly on his hand, pulling him towards the rows of sparkling marble. Each grave they passed, Hermione conjured a large yellow sunflower out of the air, and laid it to rest at the base of the headstone. At the fifth grave, Harry stopped, unable to look away from the name that seemed to be shrieking at him from the rock.

"Harry?" Ron asked, seeing his expression. He turned to look at the name on the stone. "Oh."

Colin Creve

Born May 31st 1981

Died May 2nd 1998

Inside, Harry was screaming. He wanted to run, get out of here; it was too much. He had never given much time to getting to know Colin, and yet the boy had practically hero worshipped him, and had sneaked back into the school to fight because of him. Harry had never reiterated enough how different the real thing was to simply practising the spells in Dumbledore's Army. In the real thing, you don't have time to think about pronunciation, what spell would work best against the enemy at hand. You're under pressure, you're fighting for your life, and it becomes so difficult to think clearly under these circumstances; you just start yelling out spells and hope for the best. That's what Harry had done, at least. He hoped Colin had really understood that before deciding to return; he wouldn't be able to live with himself otherwise.

A strangled sob from behind Harry cut off his train of thought. He turned to see Ginny, tears streaming down her face. Ginny, he thought, of course, she would have been good friends with him. They were in the same year, after all, and he had seen them walking to lessons together on occasion. He tried to embrace her, but she pushed him away, taking steadying breaths to try and stem the flow of tears. Harry knew he shouldn't be worried. Ginny rarely cried, she was tough, but now it was understandable. They had all been through so much.

"Mrs Weasley, honestly, it's fine, I can stay at Number 12; I don't want to inconvenience you." Harry tried again to reason with her.

"Don't be silly, dear, you're staying with us. Besides, Grimmauld Place hasn't been checked by the Aurors yet, and I'm not letting you anywhere near that place until it has," said Mrs Weasley, effectively ending the conversation.

They were walking the familiar path to Hogsmeade, so they could disapparate to the Burrow. Harry knew the house would be overcrowded with the Weasley clan alone, let alone Fleur, Hermione and himself. Though, of course, there would be one of the Weasleys missing.

"Stop fussing, Harry," Ginny whispered, "Bill and Fleur will are going back to Shell Cottage, there'll be room."

They reached Hogsmeade, but no one made any move to disapparate. They all glanced at each other, and saw in each other's eyes their reluctance to leave. For what was next? Where did they go from here? For some the path onwards was clearer, but for Harry, Ron and Hermione, it was like stepping into a new life, options sprawled in front of them. Harry turned and looked up at the castle, watching the speck that was a large owl flutter through a window into the owlery. Bye, home.

Crack. George had disapparated. But not completely. Mrs Weasley screamed.

"Molly, disapparate! We need to get to the Burrow." Mr Weasley ordered, but she seemed too hysterical to be able to. He grabbed her by the arm and turned on the spot. Within seconds, the rest of the Weasleys were following suit. Harry caught Ginny's hand and spun. The Burrow, the Burrow, the Burrow. Her grip on his hand tightened as the suffocating pressure pushed down on them, and then they were tumbling onto the grass outside the Burrow's back gate. Ron and Hermione had arrived a second before them, and were scrambling to their feet and running through the gate. Harry dashed after them.

"He splinched himself? But how? Him and... were always great at apparating? Weren't they?" he asked Hermione, catching up with her.

"He probably wasn't thinking about it," She was frantically searching through her beaded purse. "There!" She withdrew her hand, the small bottle of dittany clutched in it.

"Hermione, it's not going to work." Mr Weasley told her softly when she offered it to him, "He'll need to go to St. Mungo's. I'll take him now."

Behind him, Bill was scooping George into his arms, Fleur at his side. There was so much blood...

At the same time, Bill, Fleur, Molly and Arthur disapparated. Silence fell. Harry and Hermione exchanged meaningful glances. How could this happen? They'd been through so much already. The Weasleys had lost too much. Charlie broke the silence.

"I should go."

"Me too." said Percy.

"You guys should stay here. We'll send a patronus soon." Ron nodded woodenly; Harry suspected he wasn't really listening. Another two cracks, and the four of them were left on their own, standing in the back garden.

The kettle began to sing, breaking the reverie that had held them, as they each sat in the sitting room, staring at the carpet. There had been no news, yet. Hermione leapt up and dashed into the kitchen. Harry followed, just to escape the atmosphere that hung in the room.

"Need help?"

"No, no, I'm fine." She was bustling around the kitchen in a Mrs Weasley type fashion. He would have laughed if it were not for the situation they were in. He sat down, and glanced up at the wall, to discover Mrs Weasley's clock no longer sat there. It must have been taken to Aunt Muriel's, he thought, before realising that Mrs Weasley probably would not go and get it back; the thought of where Fred's hand on it would be inevitably pointing was bad enough, let alone actually seeing it.

"Okay. Need company?" He tried again. She gave him a weak smile.

"That would be nice."

Harry watched as she dropped teabags into mugs, and then reached for the kettle. Her hand was shaking so much that, on trying to pour it, scolding water splashed all over the counter.

"Whoa," cried Harry, rushing over and taking the kettle from her. "Here, I'll do this." Reluctantly, she collapsed into a chair.

"He will be okay." she said, but it sounded more like she was trying to convince herself of this, rather than him.

"I know," He said softly.

They carried the mugs of tea back into the living room, and settled back into silence. The hours ticked by, and gradually, they each fell asleep where they sat, waiting for news.

Harry's eyes snapped open. A huge, silvery dragon stood before him, its horned tail waving back and forth across the carpet. It opened its jaws and spoke in Charlie's voice.

"George is okay, we're coming home," The patronus disintegrated.

Harry noticed that the others had woken at the voice. There was a collective sigh of relief.

"I'll make breakfast." Hermione announced, and dashed off to the kitchen. Ginny turned to Ron, grinning.

"Congratulations, Ron, she's our mother." Harry couldn't help laughing out loud.

"I heard that!" Hermione yelled from the other room. Ron chuckled, but his ears reddened.

A few minutes later, when the house was full of the smell of sizzling bacon, there was a series of pops in the distance, and the other six Weasleys and Fleur appeared beyond the gate. Ginny threw open the back door, and ran out, throwing her arms around George. Weakly, he hugged her back. Ron greeted him at the doorway.

"Nice going," He joked, "Really, truly skillful." Harry coughed.

"How many times have you splinched yourself in the past year, eh, Ron? Let's see, in your test, you lost half an eyebrow, you told us about splinching a couple of fingernails...oh, and I seem to remember you losing a large chunk of your arm, as well." Ron scowled, but Mrs Weasley whitened, and Hermione flinched at the memory.

"Shut up, Harry," He mumbled, embarrassed.

They filed into the kitchen, but the table really wasn't made to sit eleven, so after a lot of "No, you sit, I'll stand."ing, Bill, Charlie, Mr Weasley and Ron stood leaning against the kitchen counter, balancing plates of eggs and bacon in their hands, though no one was really eating but George, who was being forced to by his mother, looking as though all he wanted to do was bury himself somewhere nobody could reach him; nobody that reminded him of...

The talk was light hearted. This wasn't the Burrow Harry remembered. The atmosphere was tense, as if fighting to get back to its normal, cheery warmth, but unable to, because although the small kitchen was crowded, it was impossible to notice the gaping hole in the family that Fred Weasley would have filled.