Harry walked aimlessly around a dreary landscape. The path was mostly dirt, with a few scraggly tufts of grass sporadically distributed around him. He could see for perhaps 25 feet, but everything beyond was covered by a thick fog. He was clad in an over-sized t-shirt and jeans that reminded him of Dudley's old cast-offs. They were thin, and did absolutely nothing to keep off the cold. He shivered as he walked, and while he wasn't sure where he was going, it was better than standing still. At least by walking he had something to do.

Do you hear them, Harry Potter?

He spun on his heel. The voice seemed to come from everywhere at once, and nowhere at all. His stomach lurched with dread. The voice was horribly familiar, and his skin crawled when the all-too-familiar voice spoke again.

Do you hear them calling, Harry? Do you know who they are calling for?

Whispers started to reach his ears, full of pain and malice. There were faint screams on the edge of his consciousness, like half-forgotten horrors. He gave up trying to locate the speaker, and started walking again as if hoping to outrun their words.

Who else could they be calling for, Harry? Who else is there?

He hunched his shoulders and sped up, almost breaking into an all-out panicked run. But somehow he knew it wouldn't help to run.

WHO ELSE TO BLAME BUT YOU?

A shape appeared out of the mist, and before Harry knew it he was trying not to run into the small form. He took a second look and his stomach lurched again. The figure was a small, mousy blond boy. The young man's face was a rictus of pain, his eyes were wide. He stood there like a statue, gaze fixed on Harry. It was Colin.

Oh, he worshipped you, Harry. The great Harry Potter, he would have followed you anywhere. He did, in fact, and where did you lead him?

Harry turned and ran away desperately. He could no longer keep himself in check. He had nearly bowled into another figure before he even registered its appearance. Even as he tried to back away, he was rooted to the spot. He took in the manic smile, the panicked eyes, the flame-red hair. Fred.

The prankster, eh? The joker, the jester. Such faith he had in you, Harry. Such trust, from the first time you met on the train. And after all of that, after all his family did for you, what did you give them Harry?

The mist dropped back, and next to Fred stood Colin. As the veil continued to retreat, it revealed more faces, more figures, more accusations. Tonks. Lupin. Lavender. Sirius. The fog revealed more and more people, until hundreds of figures stood in front of him. He realised many were Muggles, and they were all people who he had failed to save. They had all died for him.

Why did you sacrifice them, Harry? Why did you let them die?

Now Harry was running, sprinting, doing his best to get away from the accusing stares of his victims. He ran as hard as he could, but each time he looked over his shoulder he was no further away. Suddenly, the mist coalesced in front of him into a large, snake-like face. He was tripping, falling into its open mouth.

WHY WASN'T IT YOU?

Harry woke up just as he hit the floor. He upended his cot, banging his knee on the frame and his head on the wall. Ron was standing over him, his reaching out as if he had just fallen out of their grasp.

"Bloody hell, Harry! Are you alright?"

Harry looked up to see Ron's concerned face. His friend's red hair clashed horribly with the orange walls of the room behind him. Oh yeah, that's where I am, Harry thought dully, head throbbing. Before he could reply, the door flew open, catching Ron and throwing him into the nearest wall. Ron fell on top of Harry, and at that moment Harry could have sworn his friend was comprised of nothing but knees and elbows. Bill's face appeared from behind the door, followed closely by Hermione and Ginny.

"Blimey Ron, sorry! Sorry, Harry!" Bill said, as he tried to pull his brother out of the mess.

"Are you two alright?" Hermione asked.

"Bloody great!" Harry grunted from the bottom of the pile. Ron was a lot heavier than he would have expected.

Bill and the girls managed to pull Ron upright, leaving Harry free to climb back on his cot. "Really sorry about that," Bill said with a grin. He sobered quickly. "We heard yelling. Are you both okay?"

"Harry was thrashing around in his sleep!" Ron exclaimed.

"It was just a nightmare," Harry muttered darkly.

"Yeah bloody right it was just a bloody nightmare! I reckon you were fighting Riddle all over again, mate." The four of them looked at Harry apprehensively.

"Just leave it!" He snapped at them. The flinched, and seeing their expressions he forced himself to calm down. "It was just a nightmare. That's not exactly new territory for me, you know?"

Bill relaxed. "Yeah, alright," he said, stepping out of the room. "I'll leave it to you three. Sorry again, Harry."

Hermione murmured an apology and headed back downstairs to Ginny's room. Ron sat back down on his bed. Ginny just stood there for a moment, looking at Harry, before turning to leave. Harry fell back on his cot with a sigh.

"Sorry, mate," Ron said quietly. "You just didn't wake up right away. I was worried, you know?"

"Yeah, sure."

Ron sighed, and made to leave. "You slept more than I did, anyway. I was coming up to tell you, Fleur says dinner is almost ready." He paused for a second. "See you downstairs, alright?"

Harry tried to say he wouldn't make it downstairs for dinner. "Alright."

Ron left, and Harry remained on the cot, watching the light splayed across the bedroom wall. As the moments passed he returned bit by bit from the dream. He was in Ron's room at the Burrow, and it was the evening of the same day. The setting sun hit the stark Chudley Cannons hue of Ron's walls and turned them a burnt orange, almost a russet color at points. It was strangely beautiful.

Slowly, the spectrum of reds, browns and oranges pulled him out of the deep malaise from the nightmare. He couldn't fully shed his heart's disquiet, but the heaviness became bearable, at least for a little while. What had earlier seemed impossible now seemed merely difficult. His stomach rumbled and he sighed, pulled himself upright, and step by step made his way down to the Burrow's kitchen.

He paused on the landing between Bill's and Ginny's rooms, noticing that the latter's door was still shut. Harry took a deep breath and reached up to knock on her door, but lost his nerve. He winced as he descended the last flight of stars and forgot to skip the creaky step. He thought he heard a door open behind him as he entered the kitchen.

Fleur was busy transferring various dishes from the stove to the table, talking to herself in a rapid French. Arthur, Bill, Percy, Ron and Hermione were already seated at the table. As Harry found an open seat, Charlie disappeared up the stairs with two plates full of food, likely for Molly and George who were nowhere to be seen. After the events of the day, everyone seemed to have accepted that neither one would be joining them at the table.

Their absence made Harry feel even more out of place. As Fleur loaded up his plate with food in a way that would have made her mother-in-law proud, Harry tried to prepare a viable excuse that would allow him to take his food to his room. He had just opened his mouth when he heard someone coming down the stairs. Ginny emerged from the stairwell and stared him straight in the eyes as if she knew what he was planning. His resolve faded and he stayed put.

Ginny sat down next to him, apparently purposefully skipping the other available seats. She said nothing to Harry and made other move to acknowledge him, though she gave Fleur a small smile while her plate was being loaded up with food. She isn't ignoring me, exactly, but why does she have to be so close all the time? After holding her that morning, they still hadn't spoken. They had both gone upstairs after Arthur and Molly, but they'd separated on the first landing. Whatever thoughts they'd had at the time were left unsaid.

Ginny raised her fork to her mouth and paused, looking him straight in the eyes as she arched an eyebrow. There was a confused moment before Harry realised he had been staring at her since she came downstairs.

He blushed and turned back to his own plate. The meal passed by in silence. Fleur had made a lot of interesting French cuisine and Harry cleaned his plate, but if you asked him afterwards what he had eaten he could not have told you. His mental efforts had all been going towards trying to find the secret to the puzzle that was Ginny Weasley, and why she insisted upon such close proximity and yet said nothing.

Maybe I can learn Legilimency, he thought wryly. Then at least I could get some answers.

His musings were interrupted when Arthur spoke, and he jumped, flushing once again. By the tinge of red on Ginny's face, he wasn't the only one startled.

"We're going to have the funeral in three day's time," Arthur said in a monotone voice. "Your mother and I don't want to put it off. It's not something we can leave undone." He sounded as if he was trying to keep his voice from cracking.

"Of course not, Dad," Charlie said from across the table, causing Harry to jump again. He hadn't even noticed Charlie had returned. "We... We gotta say goodbye." Charlie wasn't as successful as his father, and Bill reached over to hold his younger brother while tears leaked out of his eyes.

Harry sat there, looking at his empty plate. Charlie's the last one I saw cry, he thought dully. He wondered why that mattered, or if it mattered. He couldn't come up with a reason. He wasn't sure, really, why the thought had occurred to him. Mr. Weasley spoke again, and Harry looked up.

"Harry, Hermione, could you help me with something?"

They followed him into the living room, where he stopped, looking a little lost. He didn't seem to be able to look them in the eye. "I know a bit about Muggle machines, but I figured the two of you..." He trailed off, but Harry couldn't see what he was getting at.

"You thought we could help you remove Fred's hand from the clock," Hermione finished for him, nodding. Arthur tried to give them a smile. "Of course we'll help, right Harry?"

He swallowed. "Right. Of course."

Arthur removed the clock face, but his hands were shaking so badly he almost dropped it. Hermione managed to grab it before he let it fall, and passed it off to Harry, gently telling Mr. Weasley to sit down. Slowly, deliberately Hermione worked on removing the hand, asking Mr. Weasley about the enchantments when necessary and passing parts of the clock to Harry. The work was agonizingly slow.

They managed to remove Fred's hand and pass it to Arthur, and then they reassembled the machinery. Between Arthur's knowledge and Hermione's smarts there wasn't a problem, and he thanked them sincerely before leaving the room. From what Harry had seen, however, it worked nothing like an ordinary clock. He certainly felt he hadn't been any help.

At some point during the process they had drawn a crowd. The Weasley children had watched in reverent silence, broken only by the occasional sniffle.

"It just looks wrong now," said Ron.

"Yeah," said Charlie, his eyes puffy. They all considered the clock in silence again.

"Better than seeing Fred stuck on 'Lost," Bill spoke up pragmatically.

"Well, yeah," agreed Ron.

"But it still looks wrong," Ginny said quietly. They all nodded their agreement, including Harry and Hermione.

They filed one by one back into the kitchen, until it was just Harry and Ginny in the living room. He knew she was looking at him now, but he couldn't look at her. He just kept looking at the clock face, its eight hands all pointing to "Home." He looked at each family member's hand, his guts churning, desperately wishing he could find the right thing to say. He looked at Ginny's face on the hand of the clock, clenching his jaw, still unable to get the words out. She finally turned away.

Harry stifled a sob, fists clenched at his sides, hands shaking. He turned around slowly, knowing he was alone in the room. He took one step toward the kitchen. Then another. And another. He pushed open the door and saw Ginny starting to climb stairs. He sucked in a breath, and then hurried past her, and out the back door.

As crossed the threshold he heard her say, "Harry!" but he didn't stop.

"Let him go, Gin," he heard Ron's muted voice through the door. Harry could feel her eyes on his back, but she didn't follow him.

He crouched at the edge of the pond until the light from the setting sun faded completely. The night chill descended upon Ottery St. Catchpole, and he began to shiver in his t-shirt. The feeling was so like his earlier nightmare that it shook him from his tumultuous thoughts. He stood, and his leg muscles groaned in protest. He turned around to look at the Burrow.

There was no one watching him from the back door. He thought he saw movement in Ginny's window, but he could have imagined it.

Harry's sleep came with more nightmares, and though they were still fraught with accusing faces he did not remember having the same one twice. He woke up many times during the night, twice to Ron's concerned face and once to find his friend thrashing about, and Harry had leapt up to return the favor. He had jerked awake after his most recent horror, and found he was unable to drift back off to sleep. He lay on his cot, staring at the ceiling as the first rays of pre-dawn light slipped their way into the bedroom.

He was tired. More like exhausted, he thought, or drained? Spent? I certainly feel spent. His body ached in that deep, insidious way that seemed to bypass his flesh and sink straight into the bone. He wondered if he would be able to summon the strength to put on his glasses, let alone rise from his cot and get dressed. His skin was covered in dried, sticky sweat, and in his discomfort he had the vague feeling that something was missing. There was some sensation absent in this familiar state of misery, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

Giving it up as a bad job, Harry put his efforts toward more achievable goals. He reached up for his glasses and his shoulder told him, in no uncertain terms, that it did not approve of the situation. He groaned inwardly as his scrabbling fingers initially failed to encounter his prize. When he finally encountered the desired object, he fumbled with the frame and knocked his glasses to the ground underneath his cot. He swore softly. Youngest Seeker of the century... Great job, Potter.

His rummaging had taken a lot of effort, and in the next moment he only tried to wipe that grimy feeling off of his face, his glasses abandoned on the floor. Shortly the sun crested the horizon, and Ron's bedroom wall alighted with fiery oranges and yellows. It was mesmerizing.

Morning light seems so much... well, lighter than in the evening, Harry mused. Can one light be heavier than another? Maybe I should ask Hermione...

His thoughts grew foggier, and he settled back down on his cot. He was still trying to wipe his forehead when he realised, It was my scar... I had nightmares all night and it never hurt once... With that comforting thought, he fell back to sleep.

Harry woke, showered, and dressed without incident, though it took a moment for him to remember where he'd left his glasses. After a couple of hours of dreamless sleep, he felt functional, if still mostly worn-out. The ache no longer felt quite so deep.

He was surprised to see he was the last to emerge for breakfast, that even Molly and George were present, at least physically. George's demeanor was unchanged and has Harry approached, Molly's disheartened attempts to make him eat were forsaken. She seemed to deflate until she noticed Harry in the doorway.

"Oh, there you are, Harry dear," she said, jumping to her feet and herding him into a chair next to Percy. "I was about to send Ron up to see if you were awake." Harry resisted for a moment before he let himself be mothered. One look at Molly's face had shown how desperately she needed someone to fuss over. She loaded his plate up with a large portion of eggs, bacon, and toast.

"Thanks Mrs. Weasley," he managed. She squeezed his shoulder and moved off to make another pot of tea.

Harry did his best to eat, trying to finish just enough that he could claim he'd had enough while avoiding the inevitable second helping that came with a clean plate. His efforts were in vain, however, and he gave Molly a weak smile as she served him another large portion.

"Best to eat up, you lot," Molly insisted. "You'll need your strength today." They all pretended not to notice how she had to force a smile.

After Molly had successfully forced altogether too much food into the rest of her family (except for George, who simply stared morosely), she chivvied them all back upstairs to change into their dress robes. The day's preparations made for a semblance of normalcy, if one didn't look too closely. Further inspection would reveal a deep sorrow in each person's eyes, and for all the hustle and bustle of a morning at the Burrow, everyone avoided actually having to speak with one another. To Harry's great relief, it wasn't long before the whole family was ready to go, and they were once again lined up to Floo to Hogwarts.

Author's Note: Not the most exciting chapter, but at least there weren't as many tears, right? Right? Anyway, I'm doing my best to show all the different sides of grief: The ups and downs, the mood swings and the numbness. These next few chapters will be full of memorials and funerals, so get ready.