Disclaimer: Harry Potter and his world belong to J.K. Rowling. This story belongs to me.

Sticks, Stones and Broken Bones

Chapter 13: A Sympathetic Ear

"Where are the kids?" Arthur asked wearily as he sat down at the kitchen table, the small flickering candle at its centre doing nothing but extenuating the lines of worry on his face. It was late and the house was quiet; the only noise was made by Molly as she put the kettle on the stove, her actions automatic by this point in their marriage. Arthur had been at work for most of the evening, trying to deal with an emergency raid involving Mundungus Fletcher, and now he wanted nothing more a cup of tea and his bed.

"They're all asleep," Molly replied softly as she bustled around the kitchen for two mugs.

"And Harry?" Arthur asked with concern, his eyes fixed on the flickering flame. After the meeting at Hogwarts, the floodgates appeared to have opened in Harry's mind, and nightmares were now a common occurrence for the young boy. Although he rarely woke anyone else up, it was clear that Harry was struggling to get any restful sleep at all.

"Same," Molly replied, and Arthur let at deep sigh leave his lips at the answer.

Since the meeting that had taken place at Hogwarts between Harry and the Hogwarts staff, Harry had been more withdrawn, quiet and nervous than he had been even in the first two days he had been at their home. He barely spoke now, although sometimes Molly and Arthur could see Ron and Harry speaking quietly together in some corner of the Burrow where they wouldn't be disturbed. At least, it seemed, Ron had noticed that Harry appeared to be troubled too, although in all honesty he seemed to be having as little luck as the rest of them in drawing the boy back from wherever his mind had taken him.

Harry still joined them for meals, although he still ate much less than the rest of them. He played chess with Ron and he even went outside with the children to play by the river a couple of times, but in each of these activities, regardless of how much everyone tried to include him, it was as if his mind was elsewhere.

Arthur, who had had more luck than any of them in getting Harry to talk, had tried drawing the young boy into conversation, but so far it had been a largely futile endeavour. Harry was polite, overly so most of the time, but in the end he almost always vehemently refused to say another word. Something was clearly bothering him, something triggered by the meeting at the school, but for the life of him, Arthur didn't know what it was.

"What can we do, Molly?" Arthur asked somewhat desperately as she placed a mug of steaming hot tea in front of him. "How can we help him, if he won't talk to us?"

Molly sighed. "I'm sure there's anything we can do," she said softly as she joined her husband at the table. "He's been through a lot, Arthur. It's going to take some time to settle in."

"He's been with us a week now," Arthur pointed out. "At first, he was scared...that was understandable though. But now...I'm worried Molly. He's obviously bothered by something, but how can we help him deal with it if he won't tell us what's wrong?"

"He's not used to having people to rely on," Molly said gravely. "It's going to take time for him to realise that he's not on his own anymore."

"But something's clearly bothering him now, Molly," Arthur said gravely as he took a deep swig of the calming hot liquid.

"Well," Molly began, brow furrowed in thought. "Didn't you say that Albus was going to try and find Harry a therapist?"

"Poppy did suggest that talking to someone neutral would help him," Arthur nodded. "I'm not sure Albus has had any luck though. It's difficult. Harry can't talk to anyone in the Wizarding World because quite frankly we can't risk anyone else knowing that he's been found just yet. And he can't talk to a muggle because with everything that he's just discovered about our world, he'll need to talk about it."

"Albus, for all his faults..." Molly began, but she paused as she tried to push past her anger for the mistakes Dumbledore had clearly made towards Harry. She still hadn't forgiven the old man for leaving Harry at the Dursleys in the first place. "For all his faults, Albus is an intelligent man. If anyone can find someone to help Harry, he can."

"I might nip round to his office tomorrow morning," Arthur mused as he drained the last of his tea. "To see if he's had any luck."

"That's a good idea, dear," Molly said as she pulled herself wearily up from the table. "It's painfully clear that Harry needs someone to talk to, and at the moment...well, we're simply not enough."

Tears began to pool at the corners of her eyes but she pushed them away, desperate not to give up on the boy just yet. She wanted to help him, but she that the important thing was that they did what was best for Harry, not her.

"Come on, then, Molly Wobbles," Arthur said softly as he slipped his hand into his wife's and pulled her gently towards the door. "Bed time, I think. We can check on the kids on our way up."

On their way out, Arthur bent over and blew out the candle, leaving behind only a wisp of grey smoke. As darkness came upon them, they silently made their way out of the kitchen and up the stairs, tiredness clear in their weary bodies as they slowly pulled themselves to bed.

Neither of them noticed the black-haired boy as he silently crept ahead of them in the darkness, quietly making his way back to the room that he shared with their son.

Hogsmede was quiet that evening.

Arthur and Harry walked quietly down the deserted side street, the cool evening wind buffeting against their clothes as they made their way over to the old, dodgy looking pub that sat slightly off the beaten track.

This was Harry's first experience of a Wizarding village, so he couldn't help but be curious to see how it was different to the streets of London he knew so well, but he showed no excitement on his face. Nerves gripped at his stomach but he pushed them away angrily. Ever since that disastrous meeting at the school, Harry had vowed to become stronger and harder.

He didn't want to feel weak anymore.

He knew the Weasleys had been somewhat alarmed by his recent behaviour, Ron in particular, but he also knew it was necessary, and he forced himself to ignore the niggling feeling that he was doing the wrong thing.

Almost like a mantra, he told himself, convinced himself, that he couldn't let himself get attached to the family. Not now. They were kind to him, kinder than anyone had ever been, and he knew that they would not let him down, and yet they had a way of undoing him so emotionally, that he couldn't help but feel like a helpless little boy. The same helpless little boy who had almost met his end on that first night on the streets...

He stayed at their house, simply because he couldn't bear to leave the comfort he found there, no matter how much he tried not to get attached to it, but he couldn't talk or engage with them, for fear that his resolve would break. He couldn't let himself care anymore. Caring was weakness, and he wouldn't and couldn't be that naive little boy anymore. He knew that he was safe with the Weasleys, but that wasn't the problem, not really. He just didn't want to let go of the independent street boy, who had survived for years on his own. He clung to it now, almost to remind himself that, although the nightmares still haunted him nightly, he had survived.

It was scary to think that he was changing; that that part of himself was being lost somewhere amongst the kindness and caring and family life. He feared that he was beginning to revert back to that little boy again, that naive child who had run away with no real idea of what he was about to face. He was as unknowing in this new world, exactly as he had been all those years ago; he knew nothing of the magical world, just as he had known nothing about life on the streets. And the thought terrified him.

He couldn't let it happen, he told himself fiercely. He couldn't let himself become weak.

Harry dragged himself out of his thoughts, his back slightly more straightened as he pulled his head up to look at his surroundings. They had arrived at the pub – a place called the Hog's Head. Oddly, it reminded Harry of his pub a bit. This one was clearly still open, and the windows had not been boarded up, but the place had the air of abandonment about it.

As they walked through the threshold, Harry's opinion didn't change. The place looked haggard, with worn out chairs and tables, dirty looking walls and a broken sign. The floor looked as if it was made of earth and grime, and until Harry stepped on it, he could've believed that there was no floor at all.

Of course, that was nothing compared to the owner.

Harry had to bite back a gasp of surprise when he found himself looking into the eyes of an old man, grey hair running wildly off his head, the colour matching that of his long, scruffy beard. Blue eyes, hidden behind grimy glasses, met green and Harry found himself struck oddly by déjà-vu, as if he had seen this man before.

But that was impossible, Harry reminded himself, shaking his head. Harry had a thing for faces, and he was certain he had never met this man before.

"Arthur," the man greeted gruffly, and Harry noticed the warmth in his voice, a warmth Harry had not expected to hear. "I was about to close up. What can I do for you?"

"Albus didn't tell you..." Arthur said uncertainly, as he glanced apprehensively over to Harry. That did little to calm the nerves of the black haired boy. All Mr Weasley had told him was that they were going to meet 'someone' today. The rest of the Weasley brood had stayed at home, so Harry thought in reality this meeting was probably something to do with the conversation he had overheard the other night. He couldn't work out, though, how this dingy looking pub and this strange old man fit into those plans.

"Come to think of it, he did mention something," the old man replied, his gaze moving towards the boy standing stock still behind Mr Weasley. "Is this him, then?"

"Erm, yes," Arthur said, slightly put off by the old man's rather abrupt attitude. "This is Harry Potter. Harry, this is Aberforth."

"Nice to meet you, lad," Aberforth said with a nod. Harry nodded back, but he didn't say anything in return. Despite his time at the Weasleys, he still wasn't completely comfortable around strangers. Harry moved closer to Mr Weasley, his actions subconscious, as Aberforth moved closer to the pair of them.

"I see what Albus meant," Aberforth muttered quietly, as he seemed to inspect Harry with those light blue eyes. Harry stood his ground at the scrutiny, his resolve about being strong still clear in his mind, but he couldn't help but glance around the room for a quick exit if necessary. It was a habit he had apparently been unable to shake as of yet.

Aberforth shook himself. "So what can I do for you, tonight?" he asked, turning his attention back to his two guests.

"Could I have a private word with you, Abe?" Mr Weasley asked nervously, nodding over to the corner of the room. Aberforth glanced between the two of them, but then seemed to come to a decision and nodded in agreement.

Harry watched their conversation with no small amount of curiosity. It was obvious they were talking about him, and Harry felt anger rise up in his chest at the thought. He had had enough of people making decisions for him. He had been living on his own for two years, and as hard as it had been, he had at least been free. He didn't want to give that up for anything. With his oath to be strong still ringing through his mind, Harry spoke up, careful to keep his voice sure.

"I...I know why I'm here," Harry called, and the two men turned immediately to face him.

"What do you mean, Harry?" asked Mr Weasley, walking over to him with no small amount of concern.

"You think...I'm - I'm crazy," Harry choked out, desperate not to let the betrayal he felt show on his face.

"Harry, that's not – "

"He's," Harry interrupted, jerkily nodding his head towards Aberforth, "some sort of therapist. You want me to spill all my past...as if...as if that would help..."

Harry clenched his eyes shut, trying desperately to hold back the tide of emotion that was threatening to pour out of him. Nightmares had haunted him all week, but apart from that first night, when Arthur Weasley had comforted him enough to fall back to sleep, he suffered through them alone. Exhaustion ravaged his mind and body, but still he suffered alone, resolving to be strong. He didn't need help.

"I'm no therapist, lad," Aberforth scoffed. "I'm a pub landlord."

"Look, I'm not...an idiot," Harry ground out, ignoring Aberforth as he turned back to Mr Weasley. "I...I overheard you and Mrs Weasley talking to each other the other night. You can't...deal with me anymore, so you're trying to pawn me off on someone else..."

Harry clenched his eyes shut, desperately trying to push back the doubt that clouded his mind. He was so confused, and had been since the day he had left Hogwarts after the meeting. He just couldn't work out why they cared, or why they wanted him to still around. Mr Weasley had heard his story, had no doubt told his family all about it, and yet no one treated him any differently. But he was different, and his mind screamed at him that they would soon realise that he didn't fit in with their lives and would ask him to leave...

When he had overheard their conversation, all his fears about abandonment seemed to have been confirmed and solidified into something real, and he hated the hurt that it caused within him. He should be stronger than this, he told himself fiercely.

"Harry, that's not –"

"Arthur, why don't you give me and Harry here some time to talk?" Aberforth interrupted gruffly, giving Arthur a meaningful nod towards the door of the pub. "In fact, could you do me a favour and give Albus a message from me?"

Mr Weasley nodded, although he looked warily over to Harry as though he was reluctant to leave him alone. This only served to confuse the young boy even more.

Quickly, the old man jotted a short note onto a dirty looking piece of parchment before folding it up and giving it to Mr Weasley. The patriarch then turned and began to make his way towards the door.

"Wait..." Harry said, almost against his will. However much he was angry with Mr Weasley for bringing him without even discussing it with him, he still didn't want to man to leave. Being alone with people, particularly adults, was an issue that hadn't gone away during the duration of his stay with the Weasleys. Even more scary was the prospect that he would be made to talk about his life; the meeting at Hogwarts had been bad enough, and Harry would do anything to avoid a repeat of that.

"I'm sorry," Mr Weasley said, and it seemed to Harry as if he was genuinely regretful. "This is...for your own good. Please, just give this a chance. You say you overheard us?"

Harry nodded in answer.

"Then you know that we're only worried about you," Mr Weasley continued sadly. "Talking might help, and there's no one better at listening than Aberforth. You'll be safe here, I promise, and I'll be just a Floo away if you need me. For any reason at all, Harry."

Harry nodded jerkily, but he turned away from Mr Weasley as he took a deep shaky breath. His head was in two minds. On the one hand, trust had always come to him hard, but the week he had spent at the Weasleys had taught him that if there was anyone who he could trust, it was the Weasleys. They were the first people in his memory who had actually shown any interest in him and in what he wanted, and he wasn't quite ready to let that go just yet.

He could handle this.

"O-Okay," Harry choked out before he changed his mind. Arthur left, his movements clearly reluctant, but soon Harry and the old man were alone in the grotty pub. Harry stood nervously by the door, wariness clear in his stance as he kept his eyes fixed on the other man.

"I told Albus you'd catch on quick enough," Aberforth sighed, but if Harry wasn't mistaken, there was a hint of amusement in his eyes.

"Albus...as in Dumbledore," Harry asked, trying to keep the bitterness he felt from being seen by this stranger. Emotions were weakness, he reminded himself. Instead he kept his feature cold and stony. Aberforth frowned, but he didn't comment on Harry's obvious anger with the man. "Why would he have anything to do with me being here?"

"He's my brother," Aberforth stated bluntly, looking towards Harry as if to challenge him to refute the statement.

"I thought...Your eyes- they're the same," Harry said quietly, his own green eyes rising to meet the blue ones that belonged to both the Dumbledore brothers.

"You're observant, aren't you boy," Aberforth said, shooting Harry a considering look. "Albus always did underestimate people..."

Harry didn't know how to reply to that one, so he stayed quiet, choosing instead to observe the man in front of him as he made his way behind the bar.

"To answer your question," Aberforth continued, as he started to wash some of the glasses by hand. "You're here to talk with me. My brother, in his infinite wisdom, seems to think it might do you some good. Apparently your new guardians agree."

"Why...you though?" Harry stuttered as the overwhelming need to leave rose up in him. He didn't want to talk about his past. He didn't even want to think about that.

"I'm not doing it as a favour to him, if that's what you're asking?" Aberforth said shrewdly.

"But..."

"I'm talking to you because I want to," Aberforth said as he bustled about behind the bar. Harry stayed on the other side, where he could better escape if needs be. "You need someone to talk to who won't judge you on what you have to say. I'm a barkeep, lad. I spend my days listen to people tell me their darkest secrets, and I never say a word to anyone else. I just listen, and you know, it helps I reckon. It's good to have someone to talk to every now and then, don't you think?"

The words barely registered as the anger built and Harry clung to it, eager to replace the doubt that still haunted his mind with something much more tangible.

"I don't believe you," Harry snapped angrily, before Aberforth could reply. "Spying on me for him, are you? Well you can tell him to piss off, because I'm...I'm not telling him a thing -"

"And there, I thought you were smart boy," Aberforth sighed, apparently unsurprised by Harry's outburst. "If I was spying, why would I start by telling you what I was doing?"

"Oh," flushed Harry, his gaze dropping to his feet once again. The anger left as suddenly as it had come, leaving only confusion in its wake. "Well then, why...why did no one just tell me? Why keep it a secret?"

"Would you have come, if you'd known you were coming here to talk things out?" Aberforth asked in reply.

Harry didn't answer out loud, but his silence was answer enough. Aberforth nodded to himself, before he began to speak once more.

"From what I've heard, you've had to look after yourself," Aberforth continued. "Somehow, I don't think, given time to think about it, that you'd agree to do anything you didn't want to."

Harry didn't reply. "Why...you then? Why not...someone else?" he asked instead.

The old man shrugged. "It what I'm good at, I suppose. I'm a bartender. People talk, I listen."

"But I...I don't want to talk," Harry insisted desperately. "I don't need to talk. There's nothing to talk about."

"There's always something to talk about," Aberforth said gruffly, "But I'm not going to make you. I'm not my brother."

"O-Okay," Harry said nervously, thrown slightly by the admission.

"Come on," Aberforth said, gesturing Harry to move away from the doorway. "Since you'll likely be here for a bit, do you mind if you help me clear up the place? I was shutting for the day anyway."

"Erm...okay," Harry agreed. Immediately he began to collect up the empty glasses he could see before taking them over to the bar.

"Arthur mentioned you ran into a bit of trouble in a meeting up at the school," Aberforth began casually as he picked started to pick up the stools and put them on top of the tables.

Harry didn't answer, choosing instead to simply shrug as he continued to carry empty glasses back to the bar. If Aberforth wasn't going to make him talk, then he'd just stay quiet.

"He said that Snape was being his usually bastardly self," Aberforth continued casually, raising his eyebrow at Harry's silence. "Would he be right?"

"How would I know?" Harry said quietly, his head bowed down. "I've only met him once."

"Yet he still doesn't like you, it seems?" Aberforth prodded gently.

Harry shrugged again, as he brought the glasses carefully over to the bar.

"That doesn't surprise you?" Aberforth asked with a frown, noting Harry's unconcerned attitude.

"Loads of people don't like me..." Harry mumbled.

"Well you seem alright to me, lad," Aberforth said, giving Harry an odd appraising look, that Harry did his best not to quail under. "Yeah, I reckon I like you. You remind me of me when I was younger."

Harry almost smiled, but managed to stop himself before he did. He had to stay strong, and staying emotionless was a big part of that. Letting his emotions get the better of him was a pathetic, childish response, one that he should have crushed a long time ago.

A faint whistling interrupted his thoughts, and Harry turned to face the source of the noise, confused for the moment by the cheerful tune that seemed so out of place in the grotty pub that smelled faintly of some sort of farmyard animal.

It was Aberforth, whistling as he went about his cleanup work, apparently having already forgotten he had company.

Harry looked, really looked at the older man now, watching as he began to tidy up behind the bar. His movements were stiff, an effect of his age no doubt, but he moved with a sureness that most people didn't possess. He was confident, not in an extrovert way, but in a way that suggested that he was completely comfortable in his own person. He had the attitude of a person who simply didn't care what other people thought about him.

Harry couldn't help but be jealous of the man for that. He had never felt more uncertain in his life. Everything he had known, everything he had worked so hard for, had now gone, no longer useful in his new life. But at the moment, he didn't know what to replace it with.

Harry took another handful of glasses over to the bar, glancing up at the old man whilst he did so. There was something else about him, Harry realised. Something that his brother definitely did not possess. There was something about Aberforth that made him almost...trustworthy. He had an air about him that gave off the feeling that no matter what you said, no matter what you admitted, he wouldn't judge you for it.

Maybe it was because he had lived, really lived, and probably knew the way of the world better than most. That was the impression Harry got of him, anyway. Maybe it was his age, but Harry didn't feel as threatened being alone with the man as he had perhaps expected he would.

Thinking about it more, Harry realised what it was. Aberforth, despite his age, reminded Harry of himself. Tired, world-weary and worn down, but accepting. As if he knew the world was a bad place, but had not yet given up on it. He even lived in an old pub, and Harry, despite himself, found that he could almost begin to trust the man. Because he had seen life at its worst. Looking into those blue eyes, so similar to his brothers and yet so different at the same time, Harry knew that the man had a few horror stories of his own.

Maybe Aberforth could understand.

"He tried to make me go to Hogwarts," Harry admitted quietly, taking a deep breath to steady his nerves. He had never voluntarily opened up before, and it was harder than he's ever imagined it would be. "Dumbledore, I mean. But I didn't want to go. I wanted...to stay where I was."

"And you told him so, I assume," Aberforth commented, his tone carefully neutral.

Harry nodded warily, but to his surprise Aberforth just chuckled.

"Oh, we're going to get on just fine, you and me," he said with a laugh.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, his brow furrowed in confusion. "Don't...don't you like him? He's your brother..."

"And Petunia was your Aunt, but that doesn't mean much now, does it?"

Harry flinched slightly, but Aberforth moved an aged hand across the bar to reach for Harry's chin, gently coaxing the young boy to raise his eyes. Harry restrained the urge to run at the contact, but it was a close thing.

"There's more to family than blood, lad," Aberforth said with a sad smile. "Me and Albus...let's just say we never really saw eye to eye."

"What did he do?" Harry asked quietly, sensing that there was more to the story than Aberforth was telling him. He was curious, and he figured, if he was supposed to spill his guts to a stranger, the least he could do was get to ask questions himself.

"Something I still haven't forgiven him for," Aberforth said gravely, and Harry almost flinched at the anger that was barely being restrained behind those bright blue eyes. Harry knew he'd been right in his assessment of the old man. He definitely had some bad memories of his own. Harry was dragged away from these thoughts, however, when Aberforth began to speak again.

"Neither of us are blameless though," Aberforth continued gruffly. "You notice how Albus' nose is all crooked?"

Harry nodded, a little unsurely.

"Well," continued Aberforth, motioning for Harry to sit at one of the bar stools while he continued to work behind the bar. "I broke it. Punched him right in the face. It was at a funeral as well."

Harry frowned, but remained silent. Aberforth, lost in thoughts, didn't seem to care about a response anyway.

Aberforth grimaced slightly. "Reckon I shouldn't have done that."

Harry didn't know what to say to that. Questions pushed at his mind, but he got the feeling that they wouldn't be welcome at this point. Aberforth seemed lost in his memories, so Harry fiddled with a loose thread on his jumper, at a loss of what to say or do.

"So, tell me about yourself, lad?" Aberforth asked suddenly, and Harry's head darted up at the unexpected question.

"I don't..." Harry said, trailing off when the words failed him. He had no idea what the old man wanted him to say.

"Come on," coaxed Aberforth gently. "I want to get to know you if we're going to be having these chats every so often. What's your favourite thing to do?"

Harry paused for a moment, thinking hard. "I like reading," he answered eventually.

"Reading, huh?" Aberforth replied gruffly, but Harry knew that he wasn't judging him for it. "I was never much of a reader myself. Albus was the book-smart one of the family."

"Well what's your favourite thing to do then?" Harry said boldly, although his heart beat rather loudly in his chest.

"Me?" Aberforth said with a slight hint of pride in his eyes at the small show of confidence from Harry. "I like goats."

"Goats?"

"Yes, goats," Aberforth replied gruffly. "You know, as in the animal."

"I know what goats are," Harry said with frown. "I just meant...well, what do you do with them?"

"I look after them," Aberforth replied shortly, but Harry noticed a small smile playing on the older man's face, the first time he had seen such an expression there in the entirety of their meeting. "As if they were my own children."

"Don't you...you know...have any kids then?" Harry asked, curiosity overcoming fear for the moment.

"Me?" Aberforth scoffed, although there was no malice in his voice. "Nah. Never found the right lady friend, I'm afraid."

"Oh," Harry said. He had no idea how to get out of this awkward situation now that he had gotten himself into it. He couldn't help but be reminded of yet another similarity between himself and the old man though; they were both alone, really.

"It's a bit lonely being on my own, but I get by. I reckon you know something about that?" Aberforth asked shrewdly, although his attention was fixed on the glass he was trying to clean. Somehow this made it easier for Harry to answer.

"Yeah...Being on your own is hard..." Harry mumbled, but there was no doubt that Aberforth had heard him.

"You're not on your own any more though, are you?" Aberforth pointed out.

"I'm staying at the Weasleys house at the moment," Harry replied quietly as he got up from the stool he had been perched on and walked over to a nearby table to collect more dirty glasses.

"At the moment?" Aberforth prodded.

"I don't think I'll ever fit in there," Harry admitted quietly. He kept his gaze down, his heart beating madly as he tried not to panic. These were his deepest darkest fears, and he almost couldn't believe that he was admitting them to an almost complete stranger. He had to admit though, letting the words out, verbalising them, was actually helping.

"Haven't they included you?" Aberforth asked with a grunt of understanding.

"Yeah, but...I'm just a stupid misfit," Harry said bitterly, shame building to the point where he had to look away from the older man, scared that he would just have his fears confirmed. "An orphan street kid – "

"Not anymore," Aberforth interrupted with a frown. When Harry looked to speak up again, Aberforth quickly intervened. "You've been adopted, have you not?"

"Only temporarily," Harry answered, a faint sense of longing in his eyes.

"It doesn't seem temporary to me," Aberforth disagreed with a frown, nodding absently towards the door where Mr Weasley had left him.

"They say I can stay as long as I like," Harry began tentatively, his eyes fixed on his own hands as he wringed them nervously. "But..."

"But?" Aberforth prodded gently.

"But what happens when they get sick of me?" Harry mumbled, his head lowering in shame. He hated feeling like this; he hated doubting the Weasleys when they had been nothing but kind to him, but experience had taught him that nothing good came easy in life.

"What makes you think they'll get sick of you?" Aberforth asked with a frown.

"They've only known me for a week," Harry muttered, talking to his hands. It was easier to keep his gaze down than to admit it to Aberforth's face. "Eventually they'll see that I'm too much trouble."

"You don't know them very well yet, do you?" Aberforth said abruptly, and to Harry's surprise the older man let out a gruff laugh before explaining. "That family doesn't know the meaning of too much trouble."

"What...what do you mean?" Harry asked unsurely.

"Well their eldest I know for a fact works as a curse breaker in Egypt, or somewhere like that," Aberforth began, his brow furrowed in thought. "Their second eldest works with dragons..."

Upon seeing Harry's face at this little gem of information, Aberforth let out another hearty laugh.

"Now let me see," Aberforth continued, deliberately choosing not to explain the concept of dragons. "I'm not sure about the middle boy, but those twins create more trouble up at the school than the rest of them combined, I reckon. And the youngest two aren't much better. I've even heard rumours of fights with trolls, but I'm not sure how true they are. The amount of times I've had Arthur in here, though, complaining about some dangerous stunt one of his children pulled..." He looked at Harry with a grin on his face. "Well, if I'd had a galleon every time it'd happened, I'd be able to buy myself a nicer pub."

Harry felt a smile tugging at his lips despite himself, and for once he didn't bother to hide it.

"Molly and Arthur Weasley aren't the type to give up over a bit of trouble," Aberforth concluded.

And with that thought, Harry felt the brick wall he had erected in his head fall, as effectively as if it had never been there in the first place.

"I don't know how to act like them," Harry said desperately, gulping deeply in his effort to hold back the sob that was fighting to escape him. "I can't be...normal."

"Then don't be," Aberforth said simply, before shrugging unconcernedly. "Normal's overrated anyway. Be yourself. Nothing more, nothing less. I reckon they like you just the way you are, anyhow. All they seem to want if for you to be happy."

"I don't know how to be," Harry choked out.

"I'll take time, lad," Aberforth said gruffly, but with such strength of feeling that Harry jerked his head up to meet the eyes of the old man.

Sensing that there was still some doubt in the boy's mind, Aberforth began to speak once more.

"You are not 'just an orphan street kid' anymore than I'm just a barman, Harry," Aberforth said, his gruff voice softened considerably as he looked towards the vulnerable young boy. "We are what we choose to be. I reckon when you're ready to be part of a family, there's a group of redhead's waiting for you."

Almost as if on cue, the door to the pub opened and in stepped Mr Weasley, his eyes uncertain as he looked to the two of them. Relief was clear in his face though, obviously pleased that they seemed to be getting along.

"Are you okay, Harry?" Arthur asked the young boy, hopeful and worried in equal parts.

"Yeah, but..." Harry replied, but he paused as he glanced over to Aberforth who gave him an encouraging nod. "But I'd...I'd like to go home now."

"Home, Harry?" Arthur said, slightly surprised by the forthrightness of the boy, something that had been missing in the last few weeks. He didn't know what Aberforth had said, but the result was nothing short of a miracle.

"Yeah," Harry said nervously, but he relaxed slightly when Mr Weasley's face broke out into a smile. "Our home. M-My home. You know...Home."

"Home it is," Mr Weasley said with a proud smile, gesturing Harry towards the door.

As they left, Harry called out a goodbye to the barman, but he received no reply. When Harry glanced back, he saw Aberforth, standing stock-still and staring at a painting on the wall of a young girl, grief and pain clearly etched on his face.

Harry left without another word.

A/N- So, this is definitely not one of my best. I've re-read and re-worked this scene so many times and I'm still not sure I've got it completely right, but in the end I just posted it as it was.

Ah, well. I hope you liked it anyway? And how was Aberforth? Did anyone predict him taking on the role of therapist for Harry? Did it work well?

I'd love to hear some feedback on this chapter. I appreciate all the reviews, favourites and alerts I receive so much, and they really do help me when I write the next chapter. So thanks to everyone who's supported this story so far! I hope it doesn't disappoint!