Author's Note: This chapter is a little shorter, but I couldn't see it going past the stopping point I chose. Thank you for all the encouragement I've received, and I apologize for the delay between chapters. I wasn't as sure what I wanted to happen in this chapter, and real life happened, blah blah blah. On another note, I apologize for any spelling errors or inconsistency between English and U.S. spellings. I try to use the U.K. spellings but occasionally an autocorrect will turn them into U.S. spellings, depending on where I am writing.

As always, when it comes to Harry Potter, I own nothing.

Harry pushed the eggs and bacon around his plate absently, letting his mind wander. For the past hour or more, ever since they had left Gryffindor tower, he'd been unable to focus. He knew he needed to eat, but the normally decadent Hogwarts food seemed to be bland and unappetizing. He halfheartedly stabbed at some bacon, and his thoughts turned back to what had happened in the common room.

The next few minutes had been, well, awkward. Harry did not know how long he had wept on Molly's shoulder. He'd never been very comfortable being the center of attention, especially when it involved putting his emotions on display. Growing up, he'd learned to cry quietly, hidden away from the Dursleys. He'd held on to Molly until his sniffling subsided, dreading the sight of a room full of sympathetic Weasley faces. The dementors making me faint in third year was bad enough, he had thought before lifting his head.

To his immense relief only Molly had still been looking at him. Arthur, Bill and Fleur were speaking to each other softly, affording him a measure of privacy. Charlie and Percy were murmuring to George, who had returned to his state of grief-filled apathy alarmingly quickly. Hermione had retreated to Ron's gangly embrace, leaving Harry in the Weasley women's capable hands.

"Yes, well!" Molly had said with false cheer, still patting Harry's shoulder, "We all need to head downstairs for breakfast as soon as everyone is dressed." She then looked at her youngest son pointedly.

Almost on cue, Ron looked down and seemed to notice for the first time that he was clad only in his pyjama bottoms. He had released Hermione as if burned, a horrified expression on his face. His eyes flickered between her and his mother as he backed away."I'll just- I'll," Ron stammered, and he'd flushed as red as his hair before turning tail and fleeing up the staircase to the boy's dormitories.

Someone snickered, and the common room exploded with laughter. Charlie, Percy, and George were falling over themselves on the sofa, and Bill was holding onto Arthur and Fleur in an attempt to keep his feet. Harry could feel Ginny leaning on him as well, though he wasn't sure who was supporting who. Even Molly seemed to have trouble containing her mirth. Hermione, for her part, was blushing scarlet, giggling despite her best efforts.

Molly was the first to regain her composure, and she pushed Ginny off to change as well. It wasn't until she had let go that Harry realised she had been clinging to his arm the entire time. He watched her retreating form remorsefully until he remembered he was surrounded by her parents and brothers. Bill in particular seemed to have noticed the trajectory of his gaze. The awkward silence had lasted until the two youngest redheads had returned and the family had departed through the portrait hole.

Not for the first time since breakfast had begun, Harry shook himself in an attempt to return to the present. Giving the meal up as a lost cause, he set down his fork and looked around the room. The cots and their occupants had been removed at some point earlier that morning, and the four long tables were once again the focal point of the Hall. As before, people were sitting at each table with little regard for the traditional housing arrangements. The House banners and tapestries were absent, and the curse-marks and spell residue had been scrubbed away. Over all, the Great Hall felt bare, and a little too clean.

Probably good they removed the banners, Harry mused. Doubt anyone would want to sit at the Slytherin table.

In this moment of clarity Harry looked around the room for the Malfoys, who were nowhere to be seen. He could not have missed their trademark blond hair, it was almost as recognizable as the Weasley red. It was no surprise to him that the Malfoys had left. No one had seemed to object to their presence right after the battle, but with so many in mourning it likely would not have been long before someone made a scene.

As he continued to look around he noticed Neville was, once again, surrounded by a pocket of admirers. He looked more than a little uncomfortable, and Harry couldn't blame him. His grandmother, on the other hand, sat next to him smugly as girls fawned over him and vied for his attention. She had his arm in what appeared to be a vice-like grip, and Harry found himself wondering if Neville had likewise been avoiding the crowd.

Harry's mood darkened as he remembered his entrance into the Great Hall. There had been a moment of surprised murmuring before the diners had burst into applause, and he had tried to duck behind Ron as they made their way to the nearest table. To his extreme discomfort, a number of people had swarmed the table asking questions and giving thanks, until Bill had yelled, "Back off, you nutters!" They'd taken one look at the scars on his face and blanched, giving the family some room. Harry had muttered his thanks and the Weasley family had unanimously occupied all the seats around him, like some sort of bizarre honour guard.

Harry's well-being secured, the family resumed their dispirited silence. No one seemed intent on eating breakfast, and any half-hearted attempts at conversation died on the speaker's lips. Fleur leaned on Bill's shoulder, and Ron and Hermione clasped hands under the table. George had again returned to his near-catatonic state, and Percy seemed to be studiously cutting his eggs into smaller and smaller pieces. Arthur had wrapped his arms around Molly, who was just staring morosely. Ginny had sat next to Harry, but she was leaning on Charlie as he held his head in his hands. The gap between Harry and the little redhead beside him felt like a great chasm, and seemed to pull at his guilt and his fear. His shoulders slumped and his hopeful little candle struggled to stay lit.

Ginny had not resumed her tight hold on Harry's arm when she returned from her dormitory. Dejectedly, he had followed Arthur out of Gryffindor Tower and down the staircase. On their way through the castle he had felt her, never more than a few steps away, and once or twice he had thought she would reach for his hand but she never had. He had been so distracted by tracking her movements that he had failed to notice whether the bloodstains and scorch marks had been removed form the corridors.

She seemed set on torturing him with her presence, and while Harry knew it wasn't a rational thought he couldn't find a way to dispel it. After the battle, the night before in the common room, this morning in his bed; she seemed to always just be there. It was as if he would only have to turn his head to find her watching him with that expression on her face that never failed to make his insides squirm – a mixture of hurt, wariness, and... anticipation? He wanted so badly to pull her into his arms, to tell her how much he had missed her, how much he still missed her, and to never let her go. His heart ached as he thought of the previous summer, and he knew that, if left up to him, she would be an integral part of his future. But he had hurt her too many times. He'd left her behind, both physically and emotionally. He'd let her think he was dead. He was responsible for Fred's death, no matter what Arthur had said. There was no way she could forgive him, and any thoughts of reaching out to her were dismissed before he could even try.

The Hero of Hogwarts, they call me, Harry sneered at himself, The Chosen One. None of it matters. I can't even begin to defend myself. Why should she be any different?

Harry's self-loathing was interrupted by McGonagall's call for silence from the Head table. Harry noticed for the first time that Kingsley was sitting next to her. I thought he was at the ministry? Did he stay overnight? Has he even slept since the battle?

"Acting Minister Shacklebolt has some announcements to make." the professor said, and there was a scattering of applause before the deep-voiced man spoke.

"Thank you all for your attention," he began, eyes scanning the crowd. "Friends, comrades, families: It has been a rough few days for us all. Those of you here before me and those who are not, they are warriors and heroes – one and the same. Not one of those who defended our cause in the battle is anything less." He paused for few seconds, as if to collect his thoughts. Molly sobbed quietly into Arthur's shoulder and hers was not the only grief to be heard. At the next table Harry saw little Dennis Creevey weeping on his father's shoulder. "We lost a great deal here, and we will not let the sacrifices of our friends and loved ones be forgotten. Tomorrow at noon we will hold a memorial service out on the school grounds, and there we will dedicate a monument to the fallen. I hope you all will join me in remembering those brave souls who gave their lives to see Lord Voldemort's terror ended."

There was another pause, and the only sounds Harry could hear were the echoes of sorrow throughout the Hall. His heart sank into his stomach, and he was grateful when Kingsley continued speaking. "I am pleased to announce, as much lighter news, that the Ministry has issued two statements. First, we will be recognizing pivotal members of the Hogwarts defenders in an awards ceremony at a later date." There was some subdued applause, and many, like Harry, immediately glossed this over as an unimportant triviality. "Secondly, and more importantly, I am happy to announce that the house elves will be joined by a reconstruction team in the effort to restore this beloved institution. With that, I can happily say that I expect Hogwarts to be reopened for the coming school year in September, and the Board of Governors has named Minerva McGonagall as Headmistress."

Kingsley's last announcement was met with a much more enthusiastic applause, and as he clapped Harry felt his heart lift. Based on everyone's reaction, he wasn't alone in wondering if the damage to the school would postpone the coming term. He'd been worried the shadow of Voldemort's attack would linger in a number of ways. With Kingsley's proclamation, the world seemed to be a little brighter and people seemed to breathe more easily. Hogwarts' reopening would help the everything seem that much better. The applause faded and the people's chatter reached an almost-normal volume.

His speech over, Kingsley was shaking hands with McGonagall and the other professors seated at the table. However, instead of leaving the Great Hall Kingsley veered toward where Harry and the Weasleys were sitting. The Acting-Minister approached Harry directly and gave him a quick smile, saying, "Good to see you Harry. I'm glad you made it downstairs in the light of day. May I bother you a moment?"

Harry looked around at the Weasleys before responding, "Yeah, but you can say whatever you need to here." Kingsley hesitated a moment, but nodded.

"Indeed, and the more pressing issues do concern all of you," he said. "As part of the memorial service we are inviting the family of the departed to inscribe the person's name on the monument. We were wondering–"

"Can I do Fred's?"

Molly gasped, and as one they all turned to look at George. "I just... I want want him to..." George choked out.

"Of course you can, son," Arthur said gently, "and we'll all be up there with you." The rest of the family quickly agreed. George nodded, his face grim, and Molly bustled over to wrap him in a hug.

After a moment, Harry spoke up, "Kingsley, what were you going to ask?"

Kingsley shook himself from the scene and said, "Andromeda Tonks came earlier to collect Remus and Nymphadora. I asked her and she agreed to carve her daughter's name, but she offered that you might like to carve Remus'."

Harry was speechless, and his surprise mingled with unshed tears. After a few seconds he managed, "Oh! Of course I will. I'd be honoured..." He let out a big sigh of relief, and they all stared at him. "For a second I thought..."

"What?"

He barked out a dark laugh, "I couldn't figure out why you came to ask me. For a second I was afraid you wanted to put my name," He admitted, "but I don't think I really count." His weak joke got a small smile out of Kingsley, but Ginny grimaced at him. "Sorry," he said to the table in general, and he immediately felt awful again.

Kingsley gave them a nod and headed out of the Hall, undoubtedly on his way to more Ministry business. Harry watched him go, and thought to himself that the bags under the man's eyes proved he hadn't had much time to rest in the past few days.

It was shortly clear that no one had any intention of eating more breakfast, and Arthur left briefly to confirm the plan to move Fred's corpse with a ministry official. Before long they were back in Gryffindor Tower, where McGonagall had opened a Floo connection to the Burrow. Realizing that not one of them had any belongings to collect, they took turns stepping into the fire.

The Weasleys' mood at the Burrow was, in its own way, worse than the family's mood had been at Hogwarts. Surrounded by other survivors, other families, and ministry officials n the chambers and corridors of the school, they had hidden their grief away and reserved it for more private moments. At the Burrow, the silence was deafening, and their sorrow was much more personal. Even for Harry, it was impossible to look around the house without imagining Fred. For the Weasleys themselves it was a whole new brand of heartbreak.

George had retreated up to his room as soon as he exited the fireplace. His weeping could be heard until Charlie went up to check on him and sympathetically placed a silencing charm on the door. Molly had immediately began puttering about the kitchen distractedly, and she was followed by Fleur, Hermione and Ginny who were trying to help. Arthur and the rest of the boys filed into the living room and simply sat there, unable to break the silence. Only a few moments later Fleur and Hermione joined them, having been resolutely shooed away. After a while Ginny came in bearing tea and biscuits, and served nearly everyone when there was a crash of silver and china.

Molly had just entered the room when she dropped her tray. She stood stock-still, eyes fixated on one point. Fleur jumped up to clean the mess, and Arthur moved to his wife. "What's wrong, dear?"

Molly seemed unable to answer. Arthur shook her gently, but she did not respond. It was Ginny who first followed her gaze trying to figure out what had put her in such a state. She paled.

"The–The clock!" she gasped.

"What? What is it?" Ron said, moving to stand beside her.

Ginny swallowed fearfully, struggling to speak. Her response was nearly a whisper. "Look at Fred's hand."

Molly collapsed in her husband's arms. Arthur's knees buckled, the two of them lowered to the floor, weeping in each others' arms. Percy joined them, sobbing unashamedly. Ron sat down hard and covered his face with his hands, Hermione was rubbing his back. Fleur had wrapped her arms around her husband.

Harry had moved next to Ginny and she reached out to grab his hand tightly, fighting a flood of tears. He pushed the fearful, doubting voice to the back of his mind and pulled her into a tight hug before he could convince himself otherwise. She quickly buried herself in his shoulder.

He lifted his gaze slowly, fearfully, trying to brace himself for the pain and the guilt. When he found the clock face, it took every bit of strength he could muster to manage to stay upright. Of the nine silver hands on the family clock, eight of them were pointing to "Home."

Fred's was the sole exception. His hand pointed to "Lost."

Author's Note: Sorry about the sadness. There's still going to be a lot of it to come. Hope you're keeping chocolate on hand.