Harry was once again keeled over, this time he just gagged up nothing. Dumbledore patted his back, trying to be reassuring but it did nothing to help. Harry had to collect himself, tired of the look in Dumbledore's eyes. That look of pity made Harry feel so pathetic. They were in a field and just ahead was the Weasley's house.
"If you don't mind, Harry, I'd like a few words with you." Harry did mind, but Dumbledore would speak anyway.
"Forgive me for mentioning it, but I think Sirius would be proud to see how well you've been holding up." Dumbledore said with an encouraging tone. Harry couldn't control the scowl that found its way onto his face. How well Harry was holding up? He didn't know shit. Harry found it hard to eat, impossible to sleep, even hard to brush his teeth. Another person gone from his life, another empty spot where an entire being used to be.
He gnashed his teeth together to keep from spitting out vile words. Was this some sort of twisted test? Was this a game?
"It was cruel that you and Sirius had such a short time together. A brutal ending to what should have been a long and happy relationship." Dumbledore just kept going on, each word a lance through Harry's already bruised heart. Harry had to tune Dumbledore out or he'd cry, he couldn't afford to cry. It was like Dumbledore wanted to torture Harry. When Harry continued listening to Dumbledore, finally Sirius's name had left his lips.
"I see a light on in the kitchen! Let us not deprive Molly of her fussing any longer." Harry was dreading that; he didn't want to be picked and prodded at. Harry approached the back door of the Burrow anyway where Harry saw a figure looming behind the kitchen window.
"Who's there?" Asked the nervous voice of Molly Weasley, she sounded tired and scared at the same time.
"It is I, Dumbledore, bringing Harry." Declared Dumbledore calmly. The door swung open to reveal Molly, who seemed relieved to see them. She was plump as ever but looked more worn.
"Harry, dear!" She cried joyously, snatching Harry from beside Dumbledore to embrace him. He couldn't help but sink into it, she smelt of bread and something warm. That smell used to make him feel at home but now it hurts him. He pulled away from her gently just to see Tonks sitting at the table behind Molly. Her hair was no longer bubblegum pink instead it was a mousy brown that didn't suit her. It made her look sad and ordinary, two words you didn't think of when Tonks was mentioned.
"Wotcher, Harry." She greeted when she noticed him staring. She greeted Dumbledore more politely.
"Hi, Tonks." Harry managed to smile, she too let a faint one pass over her face. She had a mug between her hands.
"I better head out." She said as she stood, placing the tea down with a shaky hand.
"Don't leave on our count, Nymphadora." Dumbledore tried to reason, but Tonks shook her head.
"No, Molly has listened to me ramble on enough." Tonks chuckled; Dumbledore thinned his lips but didn't argue further. Tonks grabbed her coat from in front of the door, then turned to Molly.
"Thank you, Molly." Tonks said earnestly, a shine in her eyes that Harry couldn't identify. Maybe she was grateful, but Molly just nodded and smiled.
"I'll always be here, dear." And with that Tonks disappeared into the night. Molly ushered Dumbledore and Harry inside, shutting the door behind them.
"You gave me a fright! You said you wouldn't arrive till the morning." Molly almost shouted while shaking her head in disbelief.
"Horace proved more persuadable than I thought." Admitted Dumbledore with a grin. Molly shook her head with an amused look on her face.
"Although we have much to discuss, Harry, I'll leave you here." Dumbledore took his leave, opening the door again and waving goodbye to Molly. It was suddenly very silent without him and he fell victim to Molly's gaze. She dragged him into the full light of the dining area and frowned at his appearance. Harry felt himself shrink under her judgmental stare, he knew he looked bad, and Molly wouldn't be afraid to tell him so.
"Oh, you poor child! Are you hungry, dear?" She cooed like he was a baby, Harry flushed red. The very thought of food made his stomach do backflips.
"No, but I wouldn't mind a glass of water." Molly furrowed her brows but obliged pulling her wand from her pocket and summoning a glass from the cupboard. Harry was always amazed at this casual display of magic. She waddled over to the sink and filled the glass up manually, however. She placed it down on the table clearly intending for him to sit down. Harry sat, sipping at his water.
"I'll knock something up anyway." Molly seemed too keen to feed him, so she moved over to a pot resting on the stove. She rapped on the lip of the pot with her wand and something inside began to bubble immediately, the scent of onions filling the room. Harry held a hand over his mouth, his sudden movement caused his elbow to hit the cup and it tumbled to the floor. A puddle of water and broken glass lay on the floor. Harry instinctively reached down to pick up the pieces, the Dursley's always making him do so. One of the glass shards was sharp though and as he reached for it, it sliced open his hand. Crimson welled out. Instead of wincing or reacting like any normal person he just stared at it.
"Oh no!" exclaimed Molly, vanishing the glass and water with her wand. Harry barely heard her. A drop of blood fell onto the floor.
"Episkey!" Cast Molly and as suddenly as his wound was there, it was gone without a trace. Molly patted him gently on the shoulder and gave him a kind look. Meanwhile, he stared at her dumbfounded, still lost somewhere in his own mind. Molly returned to the soup she was making.
Harry curled up then outstretched his hand, he was disappointed it was gone. It was a strange feeling; odd feelings were becoming normal recently.
"Soon enough Mr. Weasley will be home, and the others will wake." Chatted Molly, placing a bowl down in front of Harry just in time for the pot to float over and pour the contents out. It smelt good, but he just felt so sick. Maybe he just wanted to starve. No, that wasn't it, he just wasn't hungry.
Molly sat across from him, staring at the bowl expectantly. Harry sighed, dipped the spoon into the liquid and drank. It tasted flavorless, but Harry knew it wasn't. Molly's eyes darted up to the clock and a smirk appeared on her face.
"He's coming!" She announced, the chair went screeching across the wooden floor as she stood. She ran to the door before it even knocked.
"Arthur? Is that you?" She questioned. Harry heard the sigh from the other side of the door.
"Yes, but that's what a Death Eater would say." Said Mr. Weasley's very weary voice. Molly rolled her eyes. Mr. Weasley forced her to ask embarrassing questions before allowing himself in. Mr. Weasley had less hair than before and appeared a tad thinner. He brightened when he saw Harry. He then sniffed the air and groaned.
"Something smells good – Onion soup!" Mr. Weasley sat down beside Harry as Molly chuckled and served him. Harry considered offering Mr. Weasley his soup, but Molly would kill him. Between mouthfuls of soup Mr. Weasley prattled on about his job and Muggle items to his wife and Harry, but Harry couldn't really understand.
As the soup got cold, he felt drowsy, he knew he wouldn't sleep but he could try. Molly seemed to notice his tired state, so she raised her hand to silence her husband.
"It's time for bed." She said sternly to Harry, like he'd argue. He simply stood up, ignoring the furrowed brows directed at his leftover meal. Couldn't a kid just not be hungry?
"I've got Fred and George's room prepared for you." Harry yawned, nodding along as he headed out of the room and onto the second floor. When he entered the room, he was startled to find not just his own stuff, but plenty of things scattered about. It appeared the room had been used for storage beforehand. Harry wandered over to Hedwig, she must've been hunting because she wasn't in her cage.
He took off his shoes, his oversized T-shirt and the pants that only just held themselves up. He stared at his too pale skin and the ribs peeking through, he couldn't stand to look any longer. He threw himself onto the bed, finding it surprisingly comfortable. Somehow, someway, he drifted off.