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Chap. 63: Aftermath

He followed the fear, pain, and regret currently centered in his heart, and pointed. "Through there, there's a crowd of people, mostly students, accusing three Slytherins of being behind or coordinating the attack. They aren't, they are entirely innocent. I'll vouch for them. Pansy Parkinson, Millicent Bulstrode, and Cassius Warrington. My friends will look after them. Susan will, too."

"On it. Brooks, Dunne, Under, Oveir, with me!"

Four maroon-robed Aurors left whatever tasks they were doing without question and fell into step behind their boss, and Harry exhaled with relief. They would be safe again soon, with their new family. His family took care of their own, even if they were adopted. Especially, because he knew what being an orphan was like.

A minute later, just as he was falling back into his own heart's eye to seek out more, he heard distant shouting as the Aurors and Amelia gave the growing crowd a severe dressing-down, and sent them about helping their fellow wounded or clearing the hell out, and leaving innocent students alone. As his attention left Pansy, all he felt was surprise, gratitude, and a small, rekindled glimmer of hope. He grinned against the dragon's slowly-cooling scales once more, as he felt out Lavender, worried but far distant. Word had gotten to her, he could tell, but the Browns had left before the attack had begun.

Parvati and Padma, he felt, were with her.

Luna, too, was gone, but her father had Apparated them home in the first moments, before the train-car had erupted once more. They had some injuries, but they were minor from splinching, and Xenophilius, for all his oddities, knew a bit about healing charms. Luna felt safe, anyway, and that was enough for Harry.

Katie... Katie was still here, even close.

He opened his eyes, and as he turned in her direction they immediately locked onto the sobbing witch just a year older than he, who knelt next to the body of a young man who resembled her closely, while her parents further surrounded him. "Katie's brother," he whispered, "he's gone."

Standing a bit further back, her dark hand bloody as well, stood Angelina Johnson, the Captain of their team last year and one of the women Katie had wanted to enter a group marriage with. She was crying, sobbing, but unhurt. His bond as her friend was at least enough to tell Harry that she only felt pain for the lost and those who already mourned, especially Katie's brother, Katie herself, and a crushing sense of loss where Alicia Spinnet had once been.

Tears hit the dragon's scales then, hot and wet, and boiled away almost at once, further scalding Harry's cheeks, but he did not care.

Hannah and Neville were injured as well, but they were relatively minor. Each had, he felt, shielded each other admirably. Seamus... Seamus Finnegan was gone. Not nearby, not far, just... gone. Dean Thomas was dumbstruck, not too far distant, next to the smear of blood left by the locomotive beyond the dragon's head.

"Seamus is dead," Harry whispered, "Dean is in shock over there."

He didn't bother pointing, knew that Lilith was with him in spirit, knew where Dean was as well as he.

"I'm so sorry, Harry."

He sobbed quietly. He knew at least one of his friends would be gone, and still counted himself lucky that so far he was the only one. Even if he felt worse than before as he recalled the words Seamus had said early the previous year. He's dangerous!

He was, Harry knew. Dangerous. It followed him like a hunter, killed so many of those he cared for. But Harry was past blaming himself. There was danger in being near him, yes, caused by those who truly hunted him.

Harry was tired of it.

From now on, he resolved, thinking it to himself and Lilith, for the words would come out loud soon enough to his friends, the danger comes to the enemies around me. I will not let them do this again. We hunt them as we can.

"No, Master," Lilith said softly, her own voice trembling with echoed pain, "Not yet. Soon, but not yet. You did amazingly, brilliantly, but you are not ready yet. Your army is not ready."

He paused, still crying silently, then nodded, scraping his burned forehead over the scales roughly. "You're right. But soon."

"Yes."

That was it.

Fay Dunbar, Romilda Vane, so many members of the D.A., flew through Harry's mind faster and faster as he grew more used to the skill, using even the decreasingly strong bonds to flicker through them.

After perhaps twenty minutes, he lifted his head, his eyes dry from the heat of the dragon's still-warm jaws, and turned to face the Succubus again. "I count at least seventy-one dead, using the minds of only those I know."

"Fuck," she whispered back, "what a waste."

"We're going to pay him back, and then some."

"Good, Master. When we're ready."

"Yes."

Again, that was it, until his friends began to gather around them. First, as always, were Ron and Hermione, she helping him to walk with a hand around his shoulder and waist and no longer in need of a trip to the hospital for now, Ginny on the other side, while his mother fretted over the large patch of blood on his side, and his father scanned the crowd both warily and wearily, still on the watch for a threat. Bill had left, it seemed, or was back with more wounded.

Then Neville, Susan, Hannah, and several more members of the D.A., two of whom went to help Dean toward them.

He stumbled as if drunk, unseeing, but moved.

Seamus had been his best friend, and though Dean was uninjured, the young man right next to him had vanished in a blur of red steel and screeching metal on brick. It still had not sunk in, and he had been staring at the smear of red waiting for his friend to pop out of it.

Harry sighed as the dragon lurched once, its entire head shaking, and the pink light shining from its eye went dark. Lilith stood then, stretching, and turned to survey the crowd from her greater height, no longer caring that several of them were pointing and looking at her, whispering to each other. "He's gone," she said quietly, "I felt echoes of it... more of the Killing Curse. That magic is so foul."

"Not illegal to use it on a killer dragon, though," Harry whispered.

"Still."

A short while later, a very tired-looking Amelia Bones left a glut of Aurors and still half-panicked people who wanted answers and right now, dammit, to move toward the larger crush of students, who, almost as one, moved to block her from Harry.

"Let her through," he said quietly.

It took a moment, and Amelia had actually come to a halt on the other side of the human wall, before the word had gotten to the outliers. She strode through the narrow space made for her with purpose, coming to a stop before Harry as the gap closed around her with an appraising look. Then she turned to look over Hermione, Ron, gave a stern but grateful nod to Arthur and Molly, then looked to Susan. There, her gaze, steely and eagle-eyed, softened a bit, before she nodded to her niece, too.

"Potter. I said it before, but it bears repeating. You did damned good work here, keeping these people focused and fighting, or helping the wounded until we got here. Damned fine work."

"Er, thanks," Harry murmured quietly, "but all I did was-"

"All you did was give them direction. That's what a leader does," Amelia said sternly, her sharp eyes boring into his, "Susan's already told me about it. You didn't hesitate once you figured out the threat. Picked your targets well, directed those around you. Changed focus as needed, too. That's work most Aurors that've been in the field for ten years can't manage in a firefight. Moody's impressed, too."

"Wow," several of the students gasped, a sentiment that even Harry echoed.

"And you lot," she turned her head to look around, swiveling to take in most of the crowd, which was about half of the active D.A., "You lot did pretty well for yourselves, too. A lot of wizards and witches cut and ran today. It might've been foolish to stay, put yourselves at risk, but you did it to save others. That's important. That's the only way we're going to win this fucking war. Standing up for each other, and for what's right. You've got each other, and that's worth fighting for, too. Keep it up, and I don't doubt we'll have a huge class of Aurors in a few years, if that's what you lot want."

Excited whispering broke through Harry's attention, but he found his own desire for that path continuing to wane. Already, he was sick of violence and death. Even now it made him want to retch; the stench of blood, feces, and the knowledge that even the once-noble alpha dragon he leaned against was a wasted death too? It was too much.

He could only stand there and listen as she continued to talk up the crowd of students a few moments longer, then turned back to him with another glance at Lilith. "Dumbledore told me at the start of the year we'd have another so-called 'dark creature' at the Castle. Didn't expect it to be a Succubus. Contracted, too, by the look of Potter's fireballs."

"For a while, yes," Harry told her, not bothering to hide it. He doubted he could successfully lie to Madam Bones anyway, if he'd wanted to.

"Good."

That was not the response he expected.

"My brother had a Succubus," she told them, not bothering to lower her voice, "before he died. Not Susan's father, our other brother, Samuel. Happiest days of his life. Enjoy them, Potter, while they last. If I'm right about your Contract, it can't come soon enough."

Harry couldn't help but crack a grin at her almost-rueful smile and wistful look, as private details of the history of one of wizarding Britain's most influential and powerful witches became public knowledge without a care.

"But now Voldemort will know about you," she said to Lilith, "Best be on your guard. He might even steal the tactic. He's not above doing that."

"Which is why we tried to keep it secret," the Succubus said softly, "but in a situation like this, I felt there wasn't much choice."

"Then you made the right call. Just be careful, as I said. As I understand it, Potter's had a tough go of things up 'till you came along. Stick around until he's gone, if you don't mind. We could use the help."

"I aim to," Lilith agreed with a respectful nod, then reached out to take Harry's hand. "I wish I could stay longer."

Amelia gave their joined hands, the Succubus a bit taller than Harry still, a poignant look. "Understood. Alright, I've got to get back to work. The rest of the dragon was in the castle at Heathbridge, by the way, the one the Muggles don't know about. Poor thing looked tortured."

Harry nodded. Not too many would likely put it together, and Harry gently patted the now-deceased dragon's snout, in the vain hope it would help others to remember that just because it was a dragon, it was not necessarily evil. They were simply trying to exist, for the most part, the best way they knew how. Like himself, like all of them.

"Ma'am, thanks for- for showing up. We were struggling."

To his shock, Amelia snapped off a crisp salute of her own, quite sincerely if he had a read on her, which raised more than a few eyebrows. "Didn't seem all that bad to me, Potter, but we are glad to have made it. This is still our job, we aren't ready for your generation to take over quite yet. Your injured should get to St. Mungo's. They're packed of course, but doing what they can as fast as possible. They're getting pretty good at taking care of those big influxes lately, unfortunately. Still not as bad as last time."

Harry nodded, knowing she was referring to the last time Voldemort had risen. "That's some good news. Thanks again, Madam Bones."

"Thank you, Potter, and the rest of your friends. You saved a lot of lives by fighting back. You're all fuckin' heroes in my book, every last one of yah."

Then she was gone, a storm of activity whirling around her stern but determined face, back through the students and toward her Auror command team once again.

Harry sighed, closed his eyes in exhaustion as a wave of it struck him now that the moment was calming, and opened them again to find what felt like a hundred eyes boring into him. "What? You heard the woman," he said quietly, "I'm proud of you, all of you. But get your wounded asses to treatment. The hospital if it's severe, or home if not, wherever you can go. If you're unhurt, go home. Talk to your family and friends. Don't blame yourself for any of this shit. This is all on Voldemort and his flunkies. And it's the last fucking time. He's not getting away with it again."

"Harry," Hermione said quietly, catching his other hand, "Most of them can't leave. There's no Floo, and they, we're, all too young to Apparate, even if we know how."

"Fuck," Harry groaned, turning his head to the still snow-laden clouds, even if it had begun to taper down now.

"We'll help," Arthur volunteered, "We've got Ron patched up a bit. Molly, you can take him home, get him settled, then come and help us Apparate people home, right?"

"I'm with you, Arthur," Sirius said over the crowd, an arm around the waist of a much older, vulture-hatted witch that Neville sighed to see. "Let me get Madam Longbottom home, and-"

"I'm perfectly capable of apparating myself now that the ward's gone, you lout," the aged witch grumbled loudly, "Let me get my grandson and we'll go, already!"

There was a clack, a sharp cry of pain from his godfather, whose head vanished behind the students with a whimper. A few seconds later, the hunched but imposing form of Neville's grandmother made its way through the crowd, which parted easily for her as it had not for even Amelia Bones.

"I'm staying to help, Gran," Neville told her quietly, his hand twisting with Hannah's.

She gave him an appraising look in turn, glanced at the blood-stained blonde to his right, and then nodded, "I guess I'm staying too, then. Not letting you out of my sight today, young man, but... I'm proud of you. Come on, then, let's find more wounded."

Harry watched Neville's eyes widen in surprise, but not as much as his mouth did. It hung open for several seconds as the dowager Longbottom turned from the teenagers and, wand still in hand, started moving back into the mess of the platform. "Did I just hear that, Harry?" Neville asked, voice almost inaudible with the surrounding noise and cries of pain or alarm.

"If you didn't, I can repeat it," Harry told him seriously, "because I'm proud of you, too. You're a truly great wizard, Neville."

The shy boy might have turned scarlet, but Hannah was beaming at Harry as she tugged him away, leading her boyfriend after the woman who was likely to be her grandmother in a couple more years.

Over the next three hours, the Weasley parents, Sirius, Remus Lupin, who had arrived too late to do more and felt terrible for it, and several other Order members arrived to Apparate the students in groups of one or two home, or, in the case of too many, to friends or neighbor's homes. Not a small number had lost their parents, yet lived on.

More orphans created by Voldemort's insanity.

More tallies on the board, as far as Harry was concerned. More reasons to bring the fucker down.

The volunteer operation lasted until well into the dark hours, when Sirius wrapped his arms through Harry's, pulled him into a hug, and whispered, "To the Burrow for tonight."

"No," Harry grunted, yanking himself free, "There's more to-"

"You're flagged out, Harry," his godfather said quietly, "It's time to rest. You've done enough. Look around you, only the Aurors are left."

Torches and magical lights floated through the air around them by the score, leaving Platform 9 3/4 well-lit, but darker than he had ever seen it before. An exhausted, worn Arthur Weasley and Remus Lupin stood nearby, flanking Hermione and Katie Bell, the last two students he could see. All around them, though keeping a respectful distance, swarmed thirty or more Aurors, and a few other wizards and witches beyond them who worked to clean away the rubble and ruin of the short battle.

They were it, then.

Maybe it was time to go.

At least, he could find nothing else that needed doing.

Maybe it was time to rest.

"My parents were picking me up from the Burrow anyway," Hermione said quietly, "tomorrow. They were in Exeter for a conference, you see. We can go, Harry."

"Alright. I... the Burrow. There's no Floo." That seemed important, somehow. "Can't Apparate."

"No, but I can, pup," Sirius said, sounding as tired as he felt.

"No," Lilith spoke up for the first time in over an hour, and pushed herself to her feet behind Harry, snaking her arm through his and wrapping her tail around his left leg while her opposite wing curled around his back. "I'll take him there. No offense, Dogfather, but you're as tired as he is. I can't risk you splanking him."

"Splinching," Harry slurred, then giggled almost hysterically.

"Yes, that," Lilith replied, "Go on. We'll see you there. Probably beat you there."

Hermione nodded toward the Succubus, then rested a hand on the obviously very worn out Sirius' arm. "Come on, perhaps Professor Lupin can take you. I don't want you getting hurt, either."

"Moony's shite at apparition," Sirius grumbled, but held out a hand to his oldest living friend anyway, "But I am a bit knackered. You good, mate?"

"Better than you," Remus said quietly, pulling his friend into a hug instead, then reaching out a hand for Hermione.

She shook her head, threading her arm through Arthur Weasley's tired, even exhausted, arm instead. "I think I'm good enough to help Mr. Weasley, and I'm not too tired."

"Alright, love," Sirius murmured. Remus in turn only gave her a trusting nod, then looked to Harry.

"See you in a moment, kiddo."

Then they were gone, the latest in a long line of pops. Arthur looked at Lilith once, then down at Hermione, who had squeezed his own arm reassuringly, and spun on the spot for what felt like the thousandth time in the last few hours.

Once they were all gone, Lilith pulled Harry into an even tighter hug, this time encircling him with tail, both arms, and both wings, leaned down to kiss him, and then stepped into the realm between their worlds.

Again, there was the soul-crushing emptiness and cold. It incongruously felt like less time then the much shorter jaunt he had experienced in the Department of Mysteries last year, but Lilith unfolded herself from him in the crisp, dry air of Ottery St. Catchpole, just outside the porch.

"Intruder!" a voice cried out, "Someone's gotten inside the wards!"

"It's me," Harry shouted loudly, not daring to step onto the porch itself. He knew the voice, though they'd only met briefly.

Charlie Weasley.

The stockiest of the family opened the door warily, a wand pointed at his head almost at once. "What'd-, uh, what did the twins offer to bring back for Ginny in, um, your first year?"

"It's fuckin' him, you idiot," George's, or maybe Fred's, voice shouted from the kitchen a ways behind him, "if he's got that hottie with him!"

From further away, the distant cracks of Apparition had been muffled by Charlie's first shout, but the thick man scowled as he felt more intruders out at the edges of the wards. Some of them he knew, some he did not, but the magics that yielded some authority to him were stripped by the presence of his father, who yet retained the ultimate control of the household's defenses. Slowly, Charlie relaxed, lowering his wand. "Alright, alright, Potter, and uh, M- Ms? You can't blame me for bein' careful after the fuckery that happened tonight."

"No," Lilith said almost cheerfully, "it's deserved and understood, right, Master? Oh. He's asleep. Huh."

Harry did not hear any more of the conversation.

He didn't hear much of anything until he woke, a full thirteen hours later.

For the first time in several months, Harry woke up truly slowly, over the course of perhaps an hour. There was not the usual pressure on his cock, no slurping, no moisture, and not even any morning wood, though someone had undressed him, for the young wizard felt the same soft, comfortable material both above and below, every which way he moved. Eventually, as he opened his eyes to an unfamiliar room, he realized the birds chirping outside were not the only sounds. Below, distant chatter of several voices was audible but muted, and more conversation was happening below the window.

The room was... almost familiar, as if he'd seen it before but never like this, or from this angle, but the furnishings were mostly new to him. Harry sat up, throwing the checkered black and blue bedspread and sheets off of himself and sliding to sit on the bed. Feet clambered up a staircase just outside the door, but no one disturbed him, and about thirty seconds later what sounded like the same person dashed back down, skipping several of the wooden stairs.

He looked around passively for more than a few minutes, taking in his own school trunk, the only truly recognizable item in the room, which sat at the foot of the bed he occupied, and another bed in the corner to his right, covered in the same bedspread pattern but with eggshell blue and silver colors instead. Another trunk, fancier and more ornate, sat at its foot, just a meter or so from his own. Between them was a tall window with old, somewhat bubbly glass panes, out of which he could see even at this angle a clear blue sky with a few high, wispy clouds. There were a pair of dressers too, which were worn and used but in good condition, a long desk with two chairs, a large mirror on the other side, and a collection of makeup along with a small jewelry box, open to display a few earrings and bracelets, organized neatly on that half as well.

Slowly, hesitantly even, Harry reached down for his glasses, not that he had needed them really since gaining the ability to alter his body at will, and slipped them onto his head from the bedside table. His familiar holly and phoenix-feather wand was there too, though it appeared someone had wiped off the blood from the battle, for it was clean and even oiled.

He did not know what to think. There was no sense of danger, which the frustration and pain the last time he was awake told Harry to expect. In fact, even though he could not identify the room, the place felt positively safe. The voices downstairs were several, but they were not shouting or fighting, or speaking with the aloof, cold tones he mentally associated with Death Eaters. Oh... The Burrow. I remember Lilith bringing us there, and... Charlie? Then... what happened? I must've passed out. Good job, Potter, show everyone you can't handle shite again.

Despite his mental self-recrimination, Harry did not feel embarrassed, or ashamed. He didn't even feel much about the battle that replayed itself in his mind, for what felt like the thousandth time. Every detail, every death on both sides was fresh, and especially the ones he had caused himself.

Yet Harry felt no emotional connection to it at all, as if someone had stripped that from him.

Not sure if I should be mad, or grateful, he thought to himself, then stood up, scratched an itch on his ball-sack, and turned toward the window after smelling his armpit briefly. Ugh. Definitely need a shower, I still smell like ash, fire, and blood, but with several hours-old sweat on top of it. Even Lilith would probably be turned off.

Even thinking of the Succubus did not produce much in the way of emotion. No lust, nor affection, worry, or anything much at all, only a vague hint of closeness, though for once he could not pinpoint her direction or distance.

Outside the window, Harry finally saw something that told him exactly where he was, not that he was unsure anyway now. The familiar orchard, over which a few people flew on the Weasley's borrowed brooms, though they didn't seem to be playing Quidditch, and were too far away to identify except for Ginny, whose hair shone in the afternoon sunlight like a beacon of flame. Below, the voices he had heard through the window were gathered around a pair of long tables a dozen or so feet from the house, with a cluster of students helping set places for a meal. More than thirty of them, by Harry's estimation, given the places out already and the closeness they had.

He didn't feel hungry either, he realized, but some part of his brain told him that he needed to drink, and eat too, before long. But the shower and a trip to the loo would have to be first.

He would face the Weasleys and, he suspected, everyone else that had no more home to go back to when he was ready to. Fortunately, he was able to gather clothes, slipping into his pyjama bottoms without bothering with underpants, and make it down the single flight of stairs he recognized easily into the Weasley's lower bathroom, the closest to his loaned room, without being seen. Or was it a loaned room? The decor suited him, he thought, without being so ostentatiously Gryffindor as he suspected most of his friends would think he wanted. He loved the colors of his House, of course, but did not swear by them. Hufflepuff's black and yellow looked great together, as did Ravenclaw's and Slytherin's colors. In fact, if he had to pick a pair, it was the Eagle's which he liked to look at the most, and the Serpent's the next.

His shower was long, the water piping hot as always, and more relaxing than he would have cared to admit. Harry was even lucky enough, after relieving his too-full bladder a second time, to return to the room without spotting anyone who had noticed him, and get mostly dressed before the door opened without knocking.

He turned to give them a look while straightening the plain white t-shirt he had selected, and felt his first true emotion since waking at who was stepping into the room, watching him casually, and shutting the door behind her.

"F- Fleur?"

His last memories of her from the summer were ravaging her senseless several times, being caught out by Bill doing so, and then having her break off her engagement with the older wizard due to Harry apparently proving himself 'the one' by matching her Succubus-enhanced sexual appetites. While he had enjoyed the sex immensely, he had not expected to see her again. Ever, in fact.

"'Ello, 'Arry," she said warmly, stepping into the room and pulling him into a firm embrace. He was as tall as her now, he noted, maybe even a little taller, which pressed her chest against his own rather nicely. But again, he barely felt lust or arousal swell within him at all, along with a commensurate, very faint feeling of friendship and affection.

"Not that I mind," he said after she separated and stepped past him, "But what are you doing in here? Or, you know, here?"

She didn't look his way, instead stepping past him into the space between the two trunks, then crouched to lift the lid of the eggshell-blue one, slid a few things around, and then stood with a small book, a muggle novel by the look of it, in one hand. "Eet eez my room too, 'Arry," she replied easily, "And az for why I am at zee Burrow? Mrs. Weezley azked me to come back. Your... Your paszionate friend, I theenk, is the one who azked that of 'er. You will 'ave to azk her ze full story, I am afraid. Eet iz good to see you awake, zough."

Then she was gone, her gorgeous hips and arse swaying in her very white capris-length jeans as she strode quickly from the room.

"Well, fuck," Harry whispered, another faint emotion returning: anxiety.

Mrs. Weasley had not been happy about Lilith's existence in the first place, and less so on learning her children were involved with Harry and his, he imagined she would call it, debauchery.

Which is a fair word, he acknowledged.

Nothing for it, though. I've showered, peed. Drink and food are next.

All noise inside the house stopped as he reached the last few steps of the long, twisting staircase, and was spotted.

"Harry," Mrs. Weasley's motherly tone was the first to speak, and she bustled across the Burrow's busy kitchen, throwing her apron over the back of a chair before pulling him into a very tight hug. Over her shoulder, taller now, he could easily see Ron, who looked exhausted as well, speaking to Hermione. Or he had been, because both, like everyone else he could see, was watching him carefully, as if he might explode.

Only Lyra, seated in Mr. Weasley's favorite armchair and knitting, of all things, didn't give him more than a few seconds' look, though hers was filled with a warm smile a lot like Fleur's had been.

"Bit peaky," Mrs. Weasley said as she backed away, her hands on his shoulders, and gave him a little shake, "I... come on, no work for you today. Are you lot about set up?"

She left him alone as her attention was drawn to a half-dozen other students, some he knew well, like Katie Bell and Demelza Robbins, the other new Chaser this year, but most of them he knew only by sight. Their attention, in turn, was swiftly stolen back by the matriarch of the house, who had them carting out great platters of food and pitchers of drink to fill the tables outside. This must be costing them a fortune, Harry realized, if they're feeding everyone. I've got to help.

There weren't that many adults around, he realized with a quick glance around again, only Mrs. Weasley, Tonks, Fleur, and Charlie were visible, the currently pink- and purple-striped haired Auror helping to direct the placement of foodstuffs on the tables outside, while Mrs. Weasley put the last finishing touches on a couple of other items.

Harry did not know what to do, who to talk to. For a moment, he debated simply going back upstairs and climbing into the bed once more, since someone had clearly told everyone to leave him alone, not pester him with questions.

Or perhaps, he realized, they knew exactly what was going through his mind.

This time, he was far from the only one to live through the trauma.

Even the battle at the Department of Mysteries, while dozens of students had been involved, had not been anything like this. Almost the entire student body of Hogwarts had been put in danger by this attack, and none of them had likely gotten away unscathed. Even those who had left the platform and station before the explosion had lost people they knew, he was certain of it.

He wanted to ask, of anyone who was nearby, how many the death toll stood at, but as the conversation slowly picked back up, he realized that now was not the time. It was too soon, everyone, like himself, was still trying to process it all, to come to grips with the tragedy of it.

So he sighed, stepped into the living room, wound his way through several other people, many of whom were chatting about House-Elf rights of all things while sitting on the floor, and took up a place at Lyra's feet, leaning back against her legs.

A moment later, her soft hand ruffled through his hair, "Good to see you, Master."

"To right," Ron added from a few spots away, turning from his conversation with Hermione and, he could now see, the boy he had seen watching Ginny and himself have sex in the common room just a few days before. And Ron even seemed interested, now that she wasn't talking about S.P.E.W., while the boy seemed utterly engrossed, asking several questions as the chatter wound on.

A few minutes later, all of them were called out to the back yard by Mrs. Weasley, who pulled Harry aside and out of the press of people as he passed through the kitchen. She waited, thankfully, until everyone had gone before asking in a quiet voice, "If you aren't ready, Harry... no one will think less of you if you want to eat in here."

It was a kind offer, and he knew it, but as Harry looked out the open back door to the darkening sky and the people who sat in view, most looking inside at him expectantly, he shook his head with a wane smile. "No... I'm actually doing alright, I think. No guilty feelings. I want to be with my friends. But before we go... are you and Arthur paying for this? Are all these people staying here?"

Mrs. Weasley blushed, and looked down, "It's just been the one night, but... a lot of them don't have family left to go to, anymore, and one boy, the one talking to Hermione and Ron when I came in? His parents are... well, let's just say the kind of people that hate our family. A lot like the Malfoys."

"But he's a Gryffindor," Harry protested, genuinely surprised.

"That may be, but the Selwyns are a pure-blood family with a great many ties to the Death Eaters," Molly answered quietly, "I understand Marcus got a lot of guff for being sorted into our House. Bit of a black sheep, I think."

Understanding swelled within Harry, "Like Sirius."

"I think, yes," Molly answered, "So, Harry, in or out?"

"Out," he told her, "I'm fine... being around people. I can't explain it, but this time..."

"I think I understand," she replied back softly. "When my brothers were killed, my friends... they didn't understand. But as more and more were lost in the last war, they slowly... well... that gulf between us closed. It's tragic, but there you are."

Harry nodded. He had not expected that level of understanding from Molly Weasley, who seemed most often like a devoted mother and housewife. It was easy to forget she had lived through a war herself, one where she had lost her twin brothers. He pulled her into a hug himself, the first time he could remember doing so, and while she was in his grip, he whispered into her thick, graying but still mostly-red hair, "I love you, all of you. Let me help. I'll cover the food, help with lodging, anything I can do."

"Sirius said you would," she hiccupped, "but I don't know if we can-"

"Molly," he interrupted, pushing back to look her in the eyes. Ginny, he realized, very much had her eyes, though the girl's mother was a lot older and her eyes more world-weary. "Your family is my family. You've said as much yourself. There isn't charity here, not between us. You've taken it on yourselves, you and Arthur, to house orphans, to feed a huge group of people. I know you struggle. Let me help, please. I have no one else to spend my money on."

"Not yet," Mrs. Weasley hiccupped as tears welled in her eyes. But Harry thought, for once, that they were happy tears. "Alright, alright, Harry. We can discuss it later, but I'll agree for now unless Arthur puts his foot down. But we're doing a lot better, now that he's been promoted and most of our children are grown, you know."

"I believe it," he told her honestly, "but I remember how you have treated me and Hermione for five summers, without asking for a thing. It didn't go unnoticed, and you are my family, as much as Sirius is. At least, if... if you still want me, after..."

Molly sniffled, grabbed at her nearby apron that still hung from the back of a chair, and dabbed at her eyes, then beamed up at him, "Harry, your new friend is... a delightful young woman. I understand things.. are different, and it's not what I'd have chosen, but I've learned in my years that things have a way of working out. If you brought her here, it was for a reason. I can see she cares for you, and not just... in that way. She cares for your friends, too, and they, her. I've... I've even let her go up to Ron's room with him a few times, since... well, the cat's out of the bag, there, isn't it?"

Harry snorted with a grin, "Before our O.W.L.s, actually, yeah. Uh... is she...staying with Ginny and Hermione?"

For a moment, Molly seemed confused as she asked, "Well, she did last night, wh- oh. Oh." She blushed deeply, something Harry had rarely seen on the more mature woman, then shook her head, "I shouldn't think about that. I don't want to know. It's fine. I- I hope you are all happy. I mean that, Harry. That's all I've ever wanted for my babies, and that includes the two- I suppose I may as well say three, now- that I didn't give birth to. That's you and Hermione, and Lyra, if you weren't sure."

Harry chuckled and reached out to pull her into another hug, "I figured. Come on, let's eat. I'm starved."

"Oh! I totally forgot, come on, you must be so hungry!"

Most had not waited for them to chat, for which Harry was grateful, as the meal was in full swing as he and Molly stepped out, her leading the way. To his surprise, the moment he cleared the door into the darkening back yard, every single person there rose and turned, if they were looking the other way, to face him. Then, as one, they started to clap.

He felt himself flush. Of course embarrassment was the first emotion he would feel at full strength since waking up. What else would it have been, happiness? Joy? Not in his life.

With a shaky smile, Harry shook his head, then clapped himself, vigorously, as his eyes swept the table, meeting every single attendee's gaze for a moment. As he did so, he tried to convey the respect, admiration, and love he had for each of them in turn, but wasn't sure he had pulled off the effect when Ron shouted, "Alright, that's enough, you lot! Let the man eat, he missed dinner, breakfast, and lunch!"

All along both sides of the long table, Harry suspected people were eager to slide aside and make room, but there was only one space already cleared, between Lyra and Fleur. The moment he sat, chatter resumed, animated and excited. Some, he was surprised to overhear, were even discussing details of the battle that had happened what he guessed was about a day ago now, but most were talking about more mundane things like school, the Quidditch League, or other more 'normal' topics.

Across from him, Tonks gave a wink, then turned to Molly and asked her when Arthur and Remus were expected back. Harry didn't catch the answer though, as Lyra's comforting hand moved to his thigh, at the exact same time Fleur's left hand moved to the small of his back. "Er..."

"Later, Harry," the Succubus said quietly, "Fleur and I have a temporary understanding, but we'll talk more about it later. There's time. She isn't staying here for long, though, and I shouldn't, either."

"Which means I can't, but that's... alright, I suppose," Harry murmured. "I have a place with Sirius."

"That," Lyra acknowledged, "but before long I will have a surprise for you. Likely shortly after the new year. For now, just eat, drink. I know you're famished."

He nodded, giving her a grateful look, and dug in.

It took more than an hour before he was satisfied, and he'd even out-eaten Ron, something that had made Charlie Weasley laugh, clapping Harry on the back as he passed, on the way to 'stand watch' as he had been the night before.

Too soon, most of the group around the tables began to filter off in groups of two or three or four, and the only light filling the yard as clouds began to pick up for another late-night snowfall, were the single gas lamp the Weasleys had above the rear door, and the much warmer, brighter light spilling through many of the lit windows in the crooked house.

But Fleur and Lyra stayed with him, both nursing drinks, even after the chilly air came along with true darkness as it fell over the British Isles. Eventually, it was too much for even him, so Harry sighed, picked up his plate, the last on the table, and stood, with both girls following him, like they were escorting him. "I'm not going to have a breakdown, you know," he informed the pair as he stepped into the kitchen to find the dishes washing themselves eagerly under the direction of Molly, who also spun her wand at her large clothing mangle, which was wringing out a large sheet. "Thanks, Molly," he told her earnestly, "It was amazing, as always."

"Thank you, dear," she said with a pleased smile, "Go on, talk to your friends. We can finish that conversation tomorrow. I expect Sirius will want you to go to his place around noon, he gave us a Floo about ten minutes ago, but doesn't have your room clean, yet."

"A- Ah. Okay. Are you sure you don't need help?"

The matriarch shook her head, seeming almost happy to be doing so much, "No, dear, thank you. Believe it or not, Ginny's been loads of help all night and day, that's why I told her she could go for a fly instead of help with dinner, and of course Hermione is always a dear. Go on, your friends are waiting, in Ron's room, I think."

Harry leaned in to give her a quick side-hug anyway, waved to the several dozen students in the living room who were listening raptly to a news report about the attack the previous night on the Wireless, and headed upstairs.

"We'll be in your room," Lyra told him from behind as they reached the second landing, between Ginny's room and the lower bathroom, "But take your time, Master."

He looked back, feeling oddly concerned, but Fleur only waved him on, so he shrugged, "Alright. I'm... not walking into a hornet's nest, am I?"

"No," Lyra giggled, "Go on, they just want to talk, as do we. I'll need a feeding very soon, though, Probably several. One tonight, but the rest can wait until we get to your Dogfather's. I'm very tapped out, even maintaining this form all day is almost too much, and I mastered shapeshifting decades ago by your counting."

"R- Right. Do you, uh, want to get that out of the way now?"

"Yes, of course," Lyra giggled again, actually pushing him toward the upper stairs, "but go talk to your friends, dummy."

"I would do az zhe says, 'Arry," Fleur added with a strange, amused smile, "Zhe is quite perzuazive."

"Alright, alright," he chuckled, then turned around and continued up.

Ron's room was the highest bedroom in the Burrow, and only the Ghoul's room in the attic, if it could actually be called a room, stood higher, accessed by a pull-stair in the roof of the landing. For a moment, as always on his first visit each summer, Harry felt a rush of vertigo as he realized that, due to the home's uniquely magical construction, even on the landing facing the door he was beyond the lowest walls of the house, standing over bare grass or even lilac bushes that lined that side of the home. But he shook it off easily, knocked once, and stepped in without waiting.

It wasn't like he cared if they were starkers, after all.

But while Ron was resting on his bed with Hermione laying across his lap sideways, her feet on the floor, neither were undressed. Ginny was actually wearing the least, her tank-top and shorts that she had been flying in despite the cold winter, showing a little side-boob and even a bit of cleavage. She was still small in the breast department, but still growing, at least a little. And honestly, Harry preferred that to Mrs. Weasley's mammoth chest, not that Ginny had her mother's build in most ways, aside from height and her eyes.

"Hey," he murmured, shutting the door behind him and crossing over to his cot, which was not dusty and even appeared used recently, currently occupied by Ginny. She scooted over for him, and twined her smaller, slender hands in his as he did.

"How you holding up?" Ron asked quietly, one arm over his eyes to shield them from the bright light overhead.

"Emotionless, mostly," Harry admitted, "Like... like someone's taken everything I should be feeling, except embarrassment apparently, and turned it from 'one hundred' to three or four. Maybe even less."

"That'd be Lyra," Hermione supplied, giving him a concerned look, "She said she was doing something to help you cope, but didn't elaborate even when I asked. I'm not sure how she would, but... that's not normal. I hope it's safe. Many people feel numb after something like that, but..."

Harry shook his head, "I trust her. It's fine. I'll... deal with it when I can. I'm not... how I was even last year, you all know that. I don't think that attack was my fucking fault, for one thing. I know it was Voldemort's."

"Good, because that's true," Ginny said quietly, seriously, "but you can't blame us for worrying. We've... we've all been through a lot. Ron and Hermione more, because you're daft and didn't realize how amazing I am until last year, but this..."

Harry grinned at his girlfriend's bravado (true though her statement had been), and leaned over to kiss her cheek. "Look, I'm serious. I'll process. I think that's what Lyra's trying to do. Give me a little at a time, so I can handle it easier, but... I'm not worried about me. I'm worried about you. How are you guys doing?"

"Oh, no," Ginny murmured, "This is about you."

"I'm fine," Harry chuckled, "and I actually mean it. I'm not feeling anything strongly right now, not a thing really, but what I do feel is... anger, directed at Voldemort and the cowardly fucks who attacked a crowd of innocent people and children. I don't feel guilty, I don't think it was my fault. I just want to hunt them down and destroy the fuckers."

"The Order's working on that, according to Tonks," Hermione said, "Moody came in late last night and told her, and I overheard since I was... well, up drinking tea. Couldn't sleep. And don't give me that look, Harry Potter. I promise I won't nag you about it for a month, just... just stop. I know. Let me get back to the point."

He shrugged, choosing not to press the issue for now. She was a big girl, and had suffered through his nightmares too, if indirectly. Now, even more than after the Ministry, he knew she, all of them, would have more.

He hated it, but there was nothing he could do about it, so he forced the matter from his mind, except as a reminder to check on their well-being, to watch for sleepless nights. He had learned a few tricks to help with that, after all.

"The... the Stamina Runes are helping, too," Hermione added quietly, then turned her attention back to what she'd been talking about. "Anyway, they found a few clues in the old basement where they were trying to force the dragon through the Floo. The keep was an old Wizard's home, back from the second century from what I understand, and they had connected the Floo through a contact inside the Ministry the day before. That person's under arrest, of course, but apparently didn't suspect anything was wrong or suspicious about it. Maybe they were under the Imperius. Anyway, those clues lead them to a few safehouses for the Death Eaters, but only a few arrests, and nothing concrete that suggests they even knew about the attack."

"What about that Giant?"

Ron answered that one, still with his hand over his head, "Took about five hours to track down. Deaths are being blamed on a trio of mad terripists who had Arpeegees or something."

"Terrorists, and RPG's," Hermione told Harry, who had given her a confused look, "Rocket-propelled grenades. Think rocket launchers in movies, though they aren't really the same, from what I've read."

"Ah."

Ginny still looked a bit confused, but didn't ask for more details.

"So covered up, and no one but wizard-kind know the truth."

"Basically," Hermione admitted, sounding quite an annoyed by that as Harry felt.

"Okay, that's the news," he said after a few seconds, "but how are you doing? Hermione said she didn't sleep last night, or at least well."

No one answered for a while, until the bushy-haired witch raised up from her boyfriend's lap to lean over her own knees, "I... I'm alright, I think. Terrible, but alright. All those... those people. Children. The blood... even the Giants didn't have to die. Not- well, they didn't have to attack us. I agree with your philosophy, Harry. Once they attacked, they had to be stopped, by any means necessary. But before that..."

He nodded.

Eventually, Hermione shook her head, wiped her eyes, and then shifted to curl into Ron's side, her hand on his chest. Ron, in turn, snaked a hand around her shoulders and pulled her close, "But... no, I didn't sleep much. I tried for about two hours, but... every time I closed my eyes, I saw them. The... the bodies, the giants, the train... both fucking times," she sobbed, "Seamus... So many more."

"There, there," Ron said a bit lamely, his hand now rubbing small circles on the girl's shaking back, "I know. It's shite, the ugliest, smelliest kind. 'S why we have to stop 'em as soon as we can. And as for your question, Harry...

"Like Hermione, I'm surviving. One fucking day at a time, I suppose. I'm angry, so angry, like I bet you'd be without Lilith helping, but I haven't... got a way to let that go. I blew up a few trees this morning, before Ginny came out and we chatted a bit."

"Mum's going to be pissed when she sees the stumps," Ginny giggled, but it sounded almost hysterical, even if it wasn't loud. "I want to be there, I want to see it."

"Show her, then," Ron muttered.

Ginny leaned into Harry's side, "Nah. You... how's your side, Ron?"

"Fuck," Harry gasped, bolting almost upright, before Ginny yanked him back down, hard, "I forgot!"

"'S alright," the taller boy grunted, his free hand reflexively coming up to cover the spot where there had been so much blood around a hole in his clothes, "that piece of steel went right through, I reckon, and the Healer that treated me there said it'd be alright in a day or two. I just have to keep putting Murtlap on it every few hours, and change the bandage when I do. Tomorrow it's only twice a day, do that for a week, and Bob's your uncle."

"That phrase never made sense to me," Harry groaned, "and hearing it from you makes it worse."

The three others chuckled, but no one offered an explanation of the old phrase. After a few seconds, Ginny sighed, "I missed you, Harry. I didn't sleep much either, until Lyra came in and... well, helped me out. Then she did something with her hand on my head, and I was out all night."

"I should've stayed there, then," Hermione muttered, "Instead of sneaking up here."

"Nah," Ron chuckled, "I was pretty pent up, I needed that blow-job, Hermione."

"Maybe, you prat, but I would've gotten some sleep."

"Sleep tonight. Lyra won't say no. But I don't know what I'm going to do until after Christmas, without... well, someone to be with."

No one said anything for a little while, until after Harry noticed Ginny giving him a curious look. He cocked his head, and she jerked hers toward the other bed in response. Then the red-head rolled her eyes with a mischievous smile growing on her face and asked quietly, "Well, Ron, if you want somebody to blow you to help you sleep, you only have to ask. But I'll expect payment before-hand."

Harry could not help but grin, and watch as his friend lurched up onto one elbow, wincing as his hand went to his pained side again, which did not stop him from staring at his sister. "You... you mean it? Er, I mean.. that's, uh... well, if... if you don't mind, I mean..."

"Fucking teenagers," Hermione groaned against him, "Both Harry and I don't care, do we have to go over this again?"

"It's- it's not that," Ron muttered, still watching his sister's face as he tried to explain, "It's just, well... I mean... isn't it sort of... the thing you'd do for, I don't know, a special occasion, or... just once in a while? A t- treat, or something?"

Harry watched as Ginny's face heated to match her brother's with growing glee, "Are you saying, dear brother, that me sucking your cock is a special occasion?"

He turned nearly as maroon as his pyjamas, but nodded almost shyly.

"That's one of the sweetest things you've ever said to me. I think it's pretty special, too. But there's no reason we can't have a special occasion more often. I... I think it's kind of hot," she finished, her voice very quiet at the end.

"Gods," Hermione groaned, "Stop talking about it, Ron's too sore to shag, and I'm getting horny, but I'm too tired to do much anyway."

Ginny's smile widened, "I'm up for doing it to both of you."

"And on that note, as much as I'd like to watch this play out," Harry told them, standing up and willing his growing erection back down for the moment, "I did promise to have another conversation. I'll talk to you lot tomorrow."

"Oi, it's still early," Ron protested, "And you've slept ages!"

"But if I start shagging," Harry reminded him, "I won't stop for hours. It's fine, you lot have fun."

The last thing he heard before the door closed was Hermione telling Ginny, "Fine, fine, but we should probably wait until most people are in bed, and when you do, give it to Ron first. I want you to smear his stuff all over my pussy, you filthy slut."

He moved down the several flights of stairs with a growing grin, feeling better than he had in the few hours he'd been awake.

Harry passed the borrowed room first, though, heading down to the kitchen where Arthur was now sitting at the table next to Molly, both nursing tea while the older man also had a large plate of leftovers before him. "Oh, hello, Harry," he said, looking bone-weary. "Alright, son?"

"I am, I think," he said quietly, "You have any of that tea left? For me and Fleur?"

"Lyra doesn't want any?"

He shook his head at Molly's question, "She doesn't technically have to eat food or drink at all, even if she can. I'll take a cup if there's enough for everyone, but I figured she wouldn't mind giving it a pass."

"Well, she did enjoy it earlier," the witch told him as her wand flicked through the air, sending a few saucers and cups clattering together in a line for the pot on the stove to pour the steaming liquid in. "Go on up, dear, I'll send them behind you."

"Thanks," he said with a happy, tired smile.

Despite it only being around seven-thirty, the hubbub in the living room had mostly died down, with several people crashed out on the furniture, and not a few sleeping in blankets or worn sleeping bags Harry recognized from the Quidditch Cup. For a moment, he wondered why they weren't sleeping in the tents themselves if the Weasleys still had the old things, but then remembered. Winter. Probably uncomfortably cold. At least it's warm inside, even if it's crowded.

As Mrs. Weasley had said, the saucers and teacups followed Harry in a wavering line up the stairs, along with a small plate of biscuits.

Again, he rapped once on the door of what was once Bill and Charlie's room, and stepped inside.

Glossary: