Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling. If I ever found a genie in a lamp that might change, but until then, oh well.

Chapter Three

Heather's arrival at the Burrow had never felt more like coming home. As she, Hermione, and Proudfoot arrived at the edge of the house's wards, Heather looked up. Beyond Proudfoot's broad shoulder she could see the tall, haphazardly built house with its many floors and chimneys basking in the sunshine. There were more clouds in the sky here than there had been at Hogwarts, but they didn't interfere with the sun's warmth. That same heat suffused her chest, driving away any lingering feelings of nerves from the Godric's Hollow graveyard.

The house certainly looked none the worse for having been abandoned for the last month and a half. Smoke rose from several of the chimneys, and the only thing that looked neglected was the garden. "But," Heather thought to herself, "It always looks like that." According to Ron, the Death Eaters had left booby traps throughout the house that Mr. Weasley and Bill had cleared yesterday afternoon.

Proudfoot pulled her bodily forward through the invisible barrier that surrounded the house, done waiting for his charge to take those few steps herself. Heather's scalp tingled as the magical barrier slid over her. As though hitting a physical wall, the joy at her arrival was instantly replaced with sadness. It hung in the very air she breathed, driving away the day's warmth and the smell of flowers. She realized in that moment that the Burrow was a house in mourning, like so many others were today. That urge to blame herself for their deaths, for Fred's, returned despite Ron's vehemence to the contrary that morning. He had been adamant that it wasn't her fault, but would the rest of the Weasleys feel the same?

She noticed then that the house was much closer than it had been a moment ago. Had Proudfoot continued dragging her forward, or had her own feet carried her onward without conscious thought from her brain? Either way, they were already halfway through the garden now. Ahead of them, the kitchen door stood shut, and Heather was suddenly hesitant to reach it. Hermione was marching beside her, and from the stoop in her shoulders, Heather could tell that she too felt the weight of it all.

Before she could stop, turn away, even run, the door burst open and Mrs. Weasley rushed towards them.

"There you are!" the red haired woman exclaimed, throwing her arms around Heather's neck and clutching her tightly. "Ron and Hermione told us you had to meet with Minerva, but we expected you hours ago!"

"Hi, Mrs. Weasley" Heather gasped through the constriction of the hug and the pain in her chest, "I wanted to stop by Godric's Hollow first…" her voice trailed off.

Mrs. Weasley released her, took both of Heather's hands in hers, and held her out at arm's length for inspection. "Of course you did, dear" she said kindly. Heather saw that her eyes had taken on a far away look. Now that she could take the time to look, Heather noted the red, puffy look ringing her eyes, clear proof that Mrs. Weasley had just been crying. When the older witch didn't speak for several moments, Heather began to fear that she would be blamed for those tears.

"Skinny as always," declared Mrs. Weasley, blinking away whatever visions had just been plaguing her and bringing herself back to the present. She reached a hand up to Heather's collarbone and plucked a loose strand from her t-shirt. Looking past her, Heather saw that they had been silently joined by Ron and Ginny. They too had red eyes, and it looked like Ginny hadn't slept in days. Heather sent each of them a small smile, which both did their best to return.

"Come on in, dears. No sense standing around outside all day." Mrs. Wesley said, leading the way.

"Ahem," broke in Proudfoot, "I've actually got to report into the office." Mrs. Weasley shot him a concerned look, and he added, "I'll double check the wards before I go. Not to worry, if anything unwanted tries to get in, you'll have help here in moments."

"Oh, well alright then" replied Mrs. Weasley.

"Miss Potter," continued Proudfoot, "can I have a quick word?"

"Alright." Heather answered.

She followed him a short distance back into the middle of the garden while Hermione followed the Weasleys into the dark kitchen. "I've been asked by the Minister to secure your promise not to go wandering off without protection." Heather felt her irritation rise again, but Proudfoot headed off her retort. "Look, I get it. You're of age, you've been on your own, more or less, for a while, you don't want anyone telling you what to do. Just," he let out an exasperated sigh, "it's for your own safety. I've been assigned to you, and you alone. If you need to go anywhere, just contact the Ministry and I'll come. It's only a temporary security measure."

Heather felt a desire to refuse to make any such promise, but her good sense won out. "Yeah, alright." She said, crossing her arms.

Proudfoot looked like he had expected more of a fight. "Well," he said in relief, "that's that then. I'll check back in tonight, Miss Potter." He bowed, then turned to leave. Heather watched his exit, halfway not trusting him to actually leave her alone, the other half wanting to prolong entering as long as possible. When he had gone and she had no more reason to delay, she turned and walked towards the still open doorway. It was as though the sadness was radiating from it, hitting her like unblocked curse. Taking a deep breath, she entered the house.

Everyone was seated around the scrubbed oak table, Hermione, Ginny on one side, George, and Ron on the other. Mrs. Weasley was sitting at the end closest to the living room, but at the sight of Heather she got up and began bustling around the kitchen. Otherwise, no one spoke or acknowledged her entrance, their eyes each fixed on anything but one another. George looked the worst of them. His eyes were locked on a knot in the wood in front of him, seeing who knew what, his hands clenched tightly around a mug. Heather didn't need to sniff its contents to guess what was inside. Sitting nearby was a nearly empty bottle of Old Ogden's Firewhiskey. Mugs sat in front of the others too, but they looked untouched.

Heather settled into a seat between Hermione and Ginny, surreptitiously trying to make eye contact with Ron to no avail. Failing in this attempt, she let her eyes drift off, taking in the rest of the kitchen. It held an air of being recently inhabited after being abandoned. Dust lined the cabinets, shelves, and mantle. The Weasley clock that had fascinated her on previous visits hung once more on the wall. Each of it's hands, which had been pointed firmly at 'Mortal Peril' the last time she had seen it, were now pointing a 'Home,' with the notable exceptions of Mr. Weasley, Percy, Bill, and Charlie, whose hands were fixed at 'Work.' It took Heather a moment to realize that instead of the nine hands that had adorned the face of the clock, there were only eight. She didn't know if Mr. or Mrs. Weasley had removed Fred's hand since his death, or if it had vanished on its own.

Slow, awkward minutes turned into a quarter hour, then a half, then finally a full hour as they sat there. The mug of tea that Mrs. Weasley had poured for Heather had long gone cold after a couple of timid sips. The only noise in the room was Mrs. Weasley bustling around scrubbing down the counter for the fifth time, and the clunk of George's mug as he raised it to his lips and let it fall back to the table. Satisfied at last that the counter could be no cleaner than it was a present, Mrs. Weasley came back to the table and lowered herself into her chair.

Heather had to do something or she'd go mental in the stifling silence. Casting around in her head for something, anything, to say. She settled on, "I hope its ok if I stay here for a while, Mrs. Weasley. I'm not really sure where else to go right now."

"What?" Mrs. Weasley replied as though she coming back from a long way off. "Oh, of course it is dear. You're always welcome here, you know that."

"Err, where am I sleeping?" Heather continued. Now that the silence had been broken, she wasn't going to let it take hold again.

"Percy's old room. George is in Bill and Charlie's old room, and Hermione is in with Ginny."

"Where are Bill and Charlie?" She assumed that they must be at the ministry with Mr. Weasley and Percy.

"At the Ministry, I think. Honestly who really knows right now. Both of them still have jobs to get back to, or so we hope, but for now they're pitching in where they can. They'll be back for dinner tonight, and Fleur will be joining us."

"Err, right. Err…" Heather's voice died away as she failed to find a way to continue the conversation.

George saved her, taking this moment to unleash a loud belch, earning him a stern glare from his mother that he was far too inebriated to notice. Blearily, he looked around the table, catching sight of Heather for the first time. "-Lo" he grunted to her, his head sagging heavily to one side.

"Hi" replied Heather.

"Why there two you?" George asked, though it took Heather a moment or two to understand him. His speed was badly slurred with the effects of his drink.

"I think that's quite enough of that," said Mrs. Weasley, reaching forward to grab at the mug in George's hands.

"Oy! Gerrof!" George shouted, yanking the mug back and spilling most of its contents onto himself and Ron. The fumes coming off of them made Heather's head feel incredibly light.

"George!" Mrs. Weasley cried, then let out a weary sigh. More quietly she added, "Ron, take him upstairs. He needs to sleep this off."

Without a word Ron rose and shoved his head under George's arm, lifting him bodily to his feet, a somewhat difficult task because George was still trying to remain seated in his chair. "Oy!" shouted George, tripping over his own two feet in an attempt to get away. He stumbled and fell, landing hard on the kitchen floor. He hit with a loud thud and didn't move. Shaking her head, Mrs. Weasley helped Ron lift him up and carry him from the kitchen. Their heavy footfalls on the stairs could be heard easily throughout the house.

When they were gone, Ginny said in a small voice, "He's been like that since yesterday." Her tone was small, and her eyes bloodshot.

"It's understandable," said Hermione.

Ginny shrugged. "When we got home, Dad poured each of us a shot of firewhiskey, sort of a toast for Fred and everyone else like we did for Mad-Eye. Next thing we knew George had the bottle in front of him and he just kept drinking."

Heather nodded in understanding. She had been around Hagrid during a few of his rough nights with a bottle. It was easy to get lost looking for the bottom, or so she'd been told. "How are you doing, Ginny?" she asked.

"Me? Oh, I'm fine," Ginny replied in a tone that did not agree with her statement. Before she could continue, Mrs. Weasley and Ron returned to the kitchen.

"Well, he's asleep" Mrs. Weasley announced as she fell heavily into her chair.

"Is he going to be ok?" asked Hermione.

"I hope so. He shouldn't have drunk that much. Hopefully he'll feel better when he wakes up. I'm sorry you had to see that" she said to Heather and Hermione.

"There's nothing to be sorry for, Mrs. Weasley. We've all suffered, it makes sense to need something." Heather replied.

"Still," said Mrs. Weasley, "That's no excuse to empty a bottle. Just because we lost-" she stopped, and Heather could hear the rest of that sentence choke up in her throat.

"I'm sorry" Heather said. The image of Fred falling, that last grin still etched on his face, flooded her brain, replacing the sunlit kitchen with the darkness and horror of that night. Fred's face, still etched with that last grin, swam in front of her eyes, and before she could stop it, Lupin, Tonks, Colin, and other followed in rapid succession. "Oh, Heather." Said a voice, but she wasn't entirely sure who it belonged to. Arms enveloped her and lifted her into a close hug.

"We'll take her upstairs, Mrs. Weasley," said Hermione, grabbing hold of Heather and leading her from the room with an arm around her shoulders.

Heather barely noticed being led from the kitchen and up the stairs. At the first-floor landing she was led into Ginny's bedroom and the door was closed behind them. Ginny's room showed the same signs of neglect as the kitchen. Dust covered everything and hung in the air. She was settled onto the bed by Hermione. Ginny and Ron were both sitting on a low cot, Ginny resting her head on Ron's shoulder much as Heathe's lay on Hermione's shoulder. Hermione kept her arm wrapped tightly around Heather, letting her friend cry. They didn't speak for a while. Heather wanted to apologize, to take responsibility, to accept the blame for what had happened. She lifted her head to speak, but even as she tried to form the words in her throat, Ron cut her off. "I can see what's going on in your head, Heather. I told you already, it's not your fault, alright?"

"Yeah," added Ginny, "You need to stop blaming yourself." She lifted her head from her brother's shoulder, leaving a sizeable dark spot there. The sadness in her eyes had been replaced by burning flames.

"No one blames you" said Hermione kindly, squeezing Heather's shoulder tightly.

Heather tried again to accept these words. She nodded wordlessly, letting her head drift back down to Hermione's shoulder. There were no further words to say. Their grief was too deep and fresh for words, the only balm they had was to simply be together. To prove to each other and themselves that they were not alone in what they were feeling.

After a while, the smells of cooking began wafting up the steps and other voices were heard through the floor boards. Heather looked out the window and was surprised to see the sky had taken on a orangey-pink glow. They heard a pair of heavy boots on the landing outside, followed by Bill's voice. "Oy, you lot! Supper!"

The girls took quick turns in front of the mirror, doing their best to look presentable again. Heather thankfully noticed that while there were red bags ringing her eyes, they were not as pronounced as they could have been. They began piling out onto the landing when Mrs. Weasley's voice called up to them. "Ron, please go check on George. I doubt he's away but if he is he needs to eat."

"Alright, mum" shouted Ron before climbing higher into the house with a bemused expression.

They were greeted in the living with the sight of the rest of the Weasley clan in various stages of collapse. Mr. Weasley and Charlie were crumpled lumps in armchairs, looking comatose, while Bill was leaning heavily against his wife on the couch while she ran her fingers gently through his hair. Only Percy was still standing, off to the side and looking uncomfortable. At the sight of Heather, Mr. Weasley startled awake, rose, and crossed the small living room to meet her.

"Harry!" he said, reaching out to grasp her hand. Heather didn't have the heart to correct him right now, but she was saved having to by Mr. Weasley's next statement. In a whisper she doubted anyone but Hermione or Ginny might hear, he continued, "Sorry, I mean Heather. Molly told me that's what you wanted to be called now, but-" the rest of his sentence was cut off as he tried to stifle a large yawn.

"It's alright, Mr. Weasley," Heather said soothingly. "It's good to see you too," taking his proffered hand.

As Mr. Weasley shuffled back to his chair and began to doze again, Heather nodded at Bill and Fleur who replied with one of her dazzling smiles. Charlie was snoring, his chin rising and falling with each breathe. Hermione and Ginny had gone to help Mrs. Weasley with dinner, leaving Percy and Heather the only people still left awake. He gave her a halfhearted wave, "Um, hello," he said stiffly.

"Percy," Heather replied with a curt nod. While she had certainly forgiven him along with the rest of the Weasleys, she hadn't forgotten the things he had said about her during her fifth year.

Thankfully, Ron chose this moment to appear, skipping the last few steps and landing between Heather and Percy. "Mum!" he called towards the kitchen, "No point in waiting for George, he's dead to the…" his words cut off instantly. "Mum-" he breathed quietly, his face going white and looking aghast.

"Well," said his mother, coming in from the kitchen, "everyone out into the garden. Let's eat."

As was customary at the Burrow when everyone was present and they couldn't squeeze into the kitchen, tables and chairs had been set up outside in the garden. Heather settled into a seat between Fleur on one side and Hermione on the other. The food looked wonderful and smelled even better. Breakfast in the hospital wing that morning felt so long ago, and her stomach was craving real food. As everyone began passing dishes around and loading up their plates, Heather had to restrain herself from overdoing it.

Eating did two things that Heather was thankful for beyond filling the empty pit that was her stomach. It was hard to feel sad and depressed when there was delicious food in front of you. Small things like Charlie accidentally getting mashed potatoes on his shirt when his fork missed his mouth seemed funnier than they might have considering the circumstances, and everyone felt cheered by it. It was also hard to ask questions and get answers when everyone was busy stuffing their faces, so the awkward questions that might be asked of her were delayed, at least for the present.

During the second course, Fleur, who was already done eating, asked "'ow are you, Heather?"

"Err-, I'm a'ight" Heather said, swallowing a mouth full of pork chop a bit too quickly. "Only just woke up this morning."

"Of course," said Fleur. "I must say, though I do not miss ze reason why you and your friends had to stay vith us, Shell Cottage does feel very empty now."

"I can't even begin to say how much I appreciate you putting us up for so long." Heather said.

"Bah," Fleur exclaimed, waving her hand to bat away any further thanks, "It vas nothing."

"Still, if there's ever anything I can do to repay you, all you have to do is ask." Heather replied.

She returned her attention to her plate, knowing that the damn had now been broken. She could feel Charlie and Percy's eyes on her. Some explanation would be required, though if Mrs. Weasley had already told her husband, it stood to reason that she might have mentioned something to her sons as well. After all, both had been present in the Great Hall for her final duel and must have heard her declare her name there. Then again, with the wizarding world still in the leftovers of a war, there were far more important things for them to worry about.

Mrs. Weasley must have sensed a question in the offing, and took matters into her own hands. "For those of you who are not aware," she said loudly, mostly in the direction of Charlie and Percy, "this young lady is no longer known as Harry Potter. Her name is Heather. Whether she chooses to explain beyond that is up to her, but she is to be addressed correctly under this roof. Am I understood?" It was amazing how despite the fact that all of her children were fully grown, her voice still had the ability to shake them to their cores. Ginny, Ron, Bill, and Mr. Weasley accepted her words without issue, making various noises of ascent.

Heather's eyes met Charlie's first, as he was sitting closer and his opinion mattered more to her than Percy's did. His expression was puzzled, his eyes focused on Heather's face as though he couldn't place where he knew her from. "Heather…" he muttered quietly.

She felt strange with his gaze fixed so intently on her, and it took her a moment to realize that this was probably the first time she'd been able to meet his eyes without going bright pink. Deciding to spare his exhausted brain, Heather said "We danced together at the wedding last summer."

The moment it clicked was readily apparent to everyone. His jaw dropped, looking rather comical. "That was you?" he exclaimed. Chuckles broke the air, with even Percy managing a brief smile. "Blimey, you sure had me fooled. If I'd known it was you I might not have jumped in to rescue you from Muriel."

Heather blinked slowly, unsure of how to take that. Did he regret dancing with her now that he knew who she was? Other expressions around the table hardened at Charlie's words, and he must have realized that his statement had not come out correctly. "I only meant," he stammered out, "If anyone's capable of taking care of the old bat, it's certainly the most famous wiz-, I mean witch, in the country! Hell, asking you to dance probably saved her life. Though," he continued in a mock whisper, "I doubt anyone at this table would have minded too much if you had."

"Charlie Weasley!" shouted his mother as the table erupted into laughter. She levelled a finger at him, and he threw up in arms in surrender. Any further reprimand was drowned in mirthful laughter.

"Just, for the record," Charlie continued once the table had settled down, "I wholeheartedly approve of this new look. You look happy, and isn't that all that really matters?"

"Right," added Bill, looking over at Heather past his wife, "Besides, from the treatment I got when it looked like I didn't approve, most of this table would take serious offense to not accepting you. After all, you said it yourself, you are who you are whether anyone likes it or not."

"Right" said Heather, nodding emphatically. "It makes it easier knowing I've got people on my side, though."

Though no one explicitly said it was time for Percy's opinion, all attention at the table turned to him, lead by a stern looking Ginny. Like Charlie, he threw his hands up, either accepting her honestly or being unwilling to upset his freshly repaired relationship with his family, Heather didn't know and wasn't sure she cared. "No problem here," he said. "It's nice to meet you, Heather." This was met by the same noises of approval that had greeted Mrs. Weasley's statement, but they felt a bit more pointed this time. Here surrounding Heather were family and friends who would, and in many cases already had, fought with her against the world. It made her feel warm inside.

"I think it's time we talk about the next few days," said Mr. Weasley, drawing attention to himself. "Heather, I take all of this to mean that from now on you are going to appear as you currently do. What I mean to say is, female."

"Yes," said Heather fervently.

"Well then, first off, you and Hermione are welcome to stay with us for as long as you want to. Please consider this your house, and that you are members of the family. Molly and I have agreed that Fred's funeral should be this week, in three days. Other funerals are going to be held this week. Kingsley has requested that anyone who is intending to allow guests to please let the Ministry know so that everyone can be informed. I expect that you," he gestured at Heather, "Ron, and Hermione will be directly invited to most, if not all of them. Andromeda Tonks has written to tell us that Remus' and Tonks' service will be the day after tomorrow."

"I want to go. I have to" said Heather instantly.

"Of course, we'll all be there," replied Mr. Weasley. "We do need to give some thought on how to handle the possibility of others…err, not being quite as accepting of you, Heather."

"If anyone says anything, they can stuff it," said Ron.

"Can you find out when Colin Creevey's funeral will be?" asked Heather, brushing aside the issue. If anyone had a problem with her, that was their problem. And if anyone felt so strongly about it that they'd cause a problem at a funeral, then she would show them what fighting Death Eaters had taught her. "His parents are muggles, and they might not know how to reach the Ministry."

"It won't be a problem," said Percy. "I'll handle that myself."

"Thanks, Percy" said Heather, giving him a small smile.

Dinner broke up shortly afterwards. Charlie left with Bill and Fleur for Shell Cottage while Percy apparated back to his London flat. Inside the living room, Mr. Weasley pulled out a fresh bottle of Old Ogden's and poured everyone a glass. Silently, they raised a toast to their fallen family and friends. Heather downed hers in one go, blinking away tears as the liquid burned her throat. The warmth it caused in her belly felt pleasant. It was easy to see how George had drank as much as he had. When this was done, Mrs. Weasley grabbed the bottle from her husband and hid it, before sending them all to bed.

Heather's head was spinning from the whiskey as she unpacked her rucksack and readied herself for bed. The heaviness her heart felt thinking about the coming week was kept at bay by the warmth. She wondered if that pain would ever truly go away, or would it always be there like the scar on her forehead. The ache that nothing really seemed to sooth, that at time was almost nothing and at others was a gaping chasm waiting to swallow her whole. Maybe she would be able to find some measure of peace saying goodbye to everyone this week. Dumbledore had spoken to her about closure after Sirius' death, or maybe it had been after Cedric's. Perhaps she would find some of that. What mattered to her in this moment, was that she had a family that loved and accepted her, and her belly felt warm. With those thoughts in might, she drifted off to a restful sleep.