Disclaimer: I own nothing; it all belongs to J.K.Rowling. I’m just borrowing the characters to play with for a while. This is for pleasure only, no profit is being made, and no copyright infringement is intended.

Chapter Eleven

Funeral for a Friend

The week that followed that horrible outing in the beautiful island village was one of the longest, most painful experiences of Harry’s life. The battle weary group returned to the Bungalow, stunned and forlorn. Plans were immediately put into place for a return to Grimmauld Place on the following day. Cordelia helped them to heal their physical wounds, but she could do nothing for the broken hearts and spirits that were truly plaguing them.

The first night was the worst. Harry didn’t see Mrs. Weasley, but could hear her cries from behind her closed bedroom door. Mr. Weasley checked on everyone to make certain they were all right, but his eyes were vacant and dulled in grief. His hair seemed to have suddenly become grayer than it had been that morning, and he moved like an old man.

The twins had reappeared to help with the clean-up. They’d spent the afternoon in a Muggle club that was hosting a wet T-shirt contest. Harry could see the overwhelming guilt on both of their faces as they realized what had happened. He knew from experience that they were beating themselves up, thinking that they could have somehow stopped it had they been there. Harry was all too well aware that it didn’t work that way.

He did his best to cheer them up and relieve some of their guilt, despite the fact that he was feeling it as well. The Death Eaters obviously had been informed he was there; he was the one they had come after, and Charlie had just got caught in the crossfire. Seeing the twins so completely torn apart and…lost was one of the most difficult things for Harry to process. It made the situation so much more real and devastating to see the effect it was having on them. He hated feeling so helpless.

He didn’t see much of either Ron or Bill; both had secluded themselves away as soon as they reached the house. After her initial breakdown, Ginny hadn’t cried again, but she’d barely spoken a word, either. Harry was at a loss for how to comfort her. He held her hand and kept his arm around her, because she seemed to need the physical contact. He remembered how much it had comforted him the first time she ran her fingers through his hair and hoped he was at least helping her a little. Early in the evening, after Ginny had finally fallen asleep on Harry’s shoulder, he gently laid her on the couch and covered her with a light blanket.

He walked through the silent house – it had an eerie stillness radiating throughout it – and joined Cordelia in the kitchen. She was in the midst of preparing a huge amount of food, and Harry pitched in to help with the cooking. He really didn’t see the point; he knew he didn’t feel at all like eating. Charlie hadn’t been his real brother, but they’d got close over the summer, and he felt like a part of their family. They’d all treated him that way. If he was feeling as miserable as he did, he could only imagine what they were all going through. Cordelia insisted that the food would be needed, however.

“There are two kinds of people, dearie,” she said, in that mellow, seductive voice. “People who stop eating when they are upset, and people who eat constantly when they are upset. Besides, it gives us something to do to make us feel useful.”

Harry didn’t know if Cordelia was serious or not; he was never very good with reading people’s emotions or knowing proper etiquette. The Dursleys hadn’t been much for sympathy. Still, if what she said were true, he reckoned most of the Weasleys would probably fall into the latter category. Ron certainly would, anyway, and probably the twins, as well.

The trip back to Grimmauld Place the next day was a sad and virtually silent journey. They bid their farewells to Abe and Cordelia before the portkey sped them back to the Ancient and Noble House of Black. Mrs. Weasley looked devastated; dark circles rimmed her teary eyes, and she had to be physically supported by Mr. Weasley and Bill. Harry kept Ginny tucked under his arm and tried to will his support into her heart.

The Weasleys had done so much for him. They’d supported him and carried him through his grieving process when Sirius had died, and he wished he could find a way to repay that kindness. He just didn’t know what to do. He could barely even look at Mrs. Weasley, never mind speak to her. Every time he looked over at her heartbroken face, his chest tightened up, and he had to blink the moisture from his eyes. He had to be strong for them; he couldn’t show them any weakness.

The next few days were spent preparing for the memorial service. Harry learned that the wizard custom for death required the family to cast a spell on the body, returning it to ash, much like a Muggle cremation. The ashes would then be scattered in a place of significance to the witch or wizard, in order to return the magic to the earth. It was believed important that this was done immediately upon death. Mr. Weasley and Bill had already taken Charlie’s ashes to Romania, where they had been scattered on the reserve with the dragons he loved so much.

Often, a memorial service was held at a later date, so friends and family could honor the deceased. Since the Burrow was gone and Grimmauld Place was unplottable, Charlie’s service would take place on the grounds at Hogwarts.

Hermione had volunteered to send out the announcements and invitations, so she’d spent her days in the study, carefully hand-writing each one in her neat script. No one was certain what to do about Percy. Ron and the twins angrily insisted that he didn’t belong; he’d already turned his back on his family. Harry could see both Bill and Ginny wavering over it.

It was Mr. Weasley’s quiet, understated voice that made the decision. “Percy is still your brother, and he always will be, no matter what his choices are. He deserves to be informed of the service.”

No one had the heart to argue with him, so an invitation was sent. Muggle attacks had been widespread and vicious in recent days, and the Ministry had been informed of the attack on the Muggle island. There was no way Percy couldn’t have know about Charlie’s death, but he’d made no attempt to contact his family.

The twins remained eerily calm and quiet, until Harry had thought to ask them what Charlie would have done differently if he had been with them. Both brothers eventually acknowledged that Charlie would have been the first one in that Muggle club that day, and he’d have been very disappointed in them if they had done otherwise. Harry was quite pleased with himself for thinking of it, as he saw how much it seemed to help. Fred and George had been so supportive of him after Sirius’ death, always joking with him and trying to make him smile. It made him feel useful to be able to return even a little bit of that to them. He knew the twins were recovering when occasional loud explosions could be heard coming from their room. Harry saw Mr. Weasley’s small smile the first time that he’d heard the bang.

Ron was still surly and quick to ignite. Harry could see the strain in the lines around Hermione’s mouth and eyes, so he suspected she wasn’t having much luck getting through to Ron. Harry tried to goad him into chess games or Quidditch debates by making disparaging remarks about the Cannons, but Ron wouldn’t take the bait. One afternoon, he entered the bedroom he shared with Ron and walked right into the middle of a blazing row between Ron and Hermione.

“How can you say that, Ron? It isn’t even close to the truth, you must see that.” Hermione’s voice was pleading and desperate, but he wasn’t certain what they were on about now.

“I don’t have to see anything,” Ron shouted. His ears were bright red, and he clenched his fists as he yelled, as if trying to control himself.

“Ron, please. Let’s look at this logically-”

“Logically? That’s always the answer with you, isn’t it, Hermione?” Ron asked, curling his lip. “How logical is it for a Disarming Spell to kill someone? Logic doesn’t always fit real life, Hermione,” he said, before shoving Harry’s shoulder roughly as he stormed out the door.

Hermione burst into tears and buried her face in her hands. Harry’s eyes were wide, still not certain what had happened between them.

“He’s being so difficult,” Hermione said, sniffling and trying to catch her breath. Harry walked into the center of the room and awkwardly put his arms around her. He patted her back, causing her to stumble into him.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, realizing too late that he should have been gentler.

“It’s all right,” she said, laughing a little. “You’ve still got to work on this comforting thing, Harry.”

He grinned sheepishly and ducked his head. “I know.”

“I’m really worried about Ron. For a while, on the island he seemed to be pulling himself together, but since Charlie’s death…he’s so angry.”

“I’ve seen it, too. I remember after Sirius died…I just wanted to hit something, anything. I nearly broke my knuckles on a tree out back at the Dursley's, but it didn’t help, and that just made me angrier. I couldn’t figure out-” Harry stopped talking, suddenly realizing what he was saying. He shifted his feet uncomfortably.

“Tell me, Harry,” Hermione said, gently rubbing his upper arm.

“He’s angry at Charlie for dying, and he’s angry at himself, because he knows that doesn’t make any sense,” Harry whispered, staring at his feet intently.

“But that’s ridiculous! Charlie didn’t want to die. How can I help him when he won’t even listen to me?” Hermione said in frustration.

Harry jerked back slightly, and Hermione seemed to realize what she’d said. “I’m sorry, Harry. Of course, you can relate to how he’s feeling. I just hate not knowing what to do.”

Harry shrugged. “Keep asking him to play chess…show him you’ll be there when he’s ready. You could always make him some cookies; Ron’s always a sucker for food.”

Hermione slapped his arm but grinned suddenly. “Harry, you can still surprise me sometimes,” she said, rising on tiptoes to kiss his cheek before sprinting from the room. Harry knitted his brow and stared after her for several minutes.

Mrs. Weasley emerged from her room that evening still looking wan and tired, with the saddest expression in her dull brown eyes. Those eyes had always seemed so alive and full of fire and warmth for everyone; Harry hated to see her like this. He’d always felt pangs of loss whenever anyone mentioned his parents. Staring at Mrs. Weasley now made him wonder what would be worse, losing a parent or losing a child. He imagined one would always expect a child to be the one left behind, not the other way around. He’d managed to give Mrs. Weasley a few brief nods and small smiles of sympathy, but still hadn’t found any words of comfort to offer. Ginny tried, and he knew she was becoming very worried about her mum.

“She’s so listless, like she just doesn’t care about anything anymore,” Ginny complained to Harry one day as they were sitting in the drawing room. Ginny was lying on the couch with her head resting in Harry’s lap. He gently stroked tendrils of hair from her face as they talked about Mrs. Weasley.

“I know. She feels so sad and empty, and she can’t muster any feelings about anything right now. It goes away, eventually,” he said.

Ginny put a hand on Harry’s arm. “I forget that you know more about this than anyone. Maybe you could talk to her after the service, Harry. I think you might be able to help.”

“Me? I don’t know what to say. You know I’m rubbish at giving comfort.”

“No, you’re not; you’re just awkward, but you actually do really help,” Ginny said, giving him a slight smile. “Hermione told me you helped her with Ron. I saw her in the kitchen, covered in flour. I think she was cooking something for him.”

Harry didn’t hear what she had said about Hermione; his mind was still stuck on the thought of talking to Mrs. Weasley about Charlie. He looked at her in concern; he was afraid he’d only make it worse. “I don’t know, Ginny.”

“Just think about it, then. She really has a soft spot in her heart for you,” Ginny said, snuggling more closely into Harry’s lap. “You might be the one who is able to reach her.” She paused thoughtfully. “I’m dreading this service.”

“Why?”

“Everyone will be so sad, and they’ll all want to talk about Charlie and their memories of him. There will be speeches, and…it’s just too much,” Ginny replied, her eyes filling up with unshed tears.

“If you feel like it gets to be too much, give me a signal, and we’ll escape for a while,” Harry said, trying to think of something to help her. “We can go for a walk, or sneak over to the Quidditch pitch for a flight.”

She giggled slightly. “A signal? What, like putting my finger to the side of my nose?”

“I don’t know. Can you wiggle your ears?” he asked, playfully pulling on her earlobe.

“No, but I can curl my tongue.”

“What?”

She stuck out her tongue and, instead of rolling it, folded it neatly in half and kept it that way. “Bet you can’t do that,” she said, after pulling her tongue back inside her mouth.

Harry was strangely turned on, and he cleared his throat before shifting his position. “Okay, let’s stick with the finger on the side of the nose,” he croaked.

“Do you have your wand in your pocket, Harry?” she asked, moving her head on his lap to get comfortable.

He nearly groaned, and he couldn’t tell if she was joking or not. He felt panicky; he was trapped there, because her head was still resting on his lap. He tried to think of something else. Snape. Hagrid’s Flobberworms. Moaning Myrtle.

The sound of her laughter brought him back to the present. He noticed the mischievous twinkle in her eye. She knows exactly what she’s doing, and she’s having me on.

“My wand always responds to you, Gin. You should know that,” he said, smiling. He watched as Ginny turned a brilliant shade of red. He quirked his eyebrow at her in challenge.

Ginny raised her chin defiantly. “Quite right, and it had better not respond to anyone else.”

Harry thought he’d let her tease him all day if she’d keep smiling like that. He felt so proud of the fact that he was the one to make her smile in the midst of all this.

The day of the service dawned gray and rainy. Thick storm clouds filled the air, and a damp drizzle fell steadily. It was exactly the kind of weather Harry would’ve pictured for a funeral. The weather outside fit the mood inside Grimmauld Place perfectly – somber and oppressive. Everyone was tense, as if waiting to see who would explode first.

Harry put on his best black robes. They were his ordinary school robes, but he didn’t think that mattered. He was relieved to see Ron dressed the same way. The majority of the guests and attendees of the service would be travelling on the Hogwarts Express. Professor Dumbledore had arranged a portkey for the family and Order members staying at Grimmauld Place.

As he finished adjusting his tie, Harry crossed the hall and knocked on the door to Ginny’s room. She opened it right away and looked up at him sadly. She, too, wore her Hogwarts robes. She had her hair pulled back, and her face appeared unnaturally pale. She seemed very small and unsure of herself, and he was reminded of a little girl on platform nine and three-quarters, so many years ago. He reached out and pulled her into an embrace.

“All right, Gin?” he whispered.

“I’m all right,” she said, taking a deep breath as if reassuring herself of her answer. “Where’s Ron?”

“I’m here,” Ron replied, emerging from his room.

“Are we ready, then?” Hermione asked, entering the hallway behind Ginny.

The four friends headed downstairs and joined the others in the entrance hall.

“The portkey is going to bring us to the train station in Hogsmeade. We’ll have time to walk up to Hogwarts and get settled before the Express arrives,” Bill told them.

“How come it takes so much longer for the train to get there when we’re going to school?” Ron asked.

Bill shrugged. “I suppose they plan the speed according to when they want you there. The Express arrives right in time for the feast on September 1, but the ride home is always much quicker.”

Harry hadn’t considered this before, but, now that Bill mentioned it, he realized it was true. Both Ron and Bill’s voices sounded strange. They were conversing normally, but it was as if all the emotion had been drained out of both of them. Bill looked tired – defeated, almost. Jacqueline stood next to him, holding his hand. Harry could see the twins sitting by the door. They looked better and were dressed in sophisticated black dress robes, but their eyes were dull and lifeless. Ginny’s hand remained in his, and she rested her head on his shoulder. He could feel how tense her body was, and could understand her unease. He didn’t really want to attend this service, either.

The only other one he’d ever attended had been for Hestia Jones, and that had been held at Grimmauld Place. Unless he’d gone to one for his parents, but no one had ever mentioned it. There hadn’t been one for Sirius, and he’d still been in the hospital wing during the one for Jonathan. Then, for the Dursleys—he stopped that train of thought there. He felt a shudder run down his spine. There had been entirely too much death in his lifetime. Ginny squeezed his hand tighter in silent comfort. He shook himself out of his morose thoughts; Ginny was the one who needed to be comforted today.

When Mr. and Mrs. Weasley joined them, they all put their hand to an old bottle, and Harry felt the tug behind his navel. His body jerked, and his shoulder jostled with Ginny’s before they arrived on the platform in Hogsmeade. The elder Weasleys led the way up the street towards the gate at Hogwarts. Mrs. Weasley looked terrible. She was pale and drawn; her face held a dazed, zombie-like expression. Mr. Weasley didn’t look much better. They both appeared so much more frail and older than he’d ever thought of them before, and it made his heart clench.

Professor McGonagall met them at the gate and led them onto the grounds. A large tent had been erected by the lake, with many chairs surrounding a podium. The guests began arriving shortly after them, and Harry recognized many of the faces. He noticed a lot of the Order members discreetly surrounding the perimeter and was surprised by some of the new, yet familiar faces. Many of the DA members who’d left Hogwarts were now standing among the ranks of the Order, including Alicia Spinnet, Katie Bell, and Cho Chang.

Harry did a double-take when he saw Cho and made a mental note to ask Remus about it. When had she joined the Order? Cho nodded to Harry from where she stood across the seating area, but Harry turned away. He didn’t have the energy to deal with Cho right now, and Ginny didn’t need that, either.

There were many Weasley relatives there that Harry didn’t know, so he stood with Hermione while a stream of red-headed people made their condolences to Ron and Ginny. Neville and Luna came to stand with them. Both Neville and Luna had heard about the attack on Privet Drive and asked Harry how he was faring. Because people were beginning to take their seats, Harry and Hermione gave them a brief overview and told them they’d fill in the details later when they went back to school. He didn’t think Luna was listening to him, anyway. Her gaze was focused on the lake as if waiting for the giant squid to appear.

Katie walked over to George and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. He smiled and made room for her to sit with Fred and him. Professor Dumbledore welcomed everyone and made a short speech about Charlie and his time at Hogwarts. Then, Bill got up and spoke for the family. He’d seemed comfortable walking up to the podium, but his voice shook slightly when he started to speak.

“I’d like to thank you all for coming,” he began, clearing his throat several times before continuing. “There is really no way for me to describe to all of you the essence of Charlie in the few minutes I have here. I think each of us who knew him, knew him differently. To me, he was a tag-along brother who was always annoyingly better at sports than I was. To his friends, he was a laid-back bloke with a strange love of dragons and a cheerful laugh. To my parents, he was the easy one, the slightly mischievous kid who paved the way for his twin brothers. Merlin knows, after the twins came along, all of Charlie’s pranks looked harmless in comparison. To my sister, Charlie was the brother who she found easiest to wrap around her little finger. The one who would never tell when she stole the rest of our brooms from the shed to practice flying. To all of us, he was a loyal supporter who stood by us and our choices, no matter where those choices led us. He died in battle, defending the family he so adored. If we can take any lesson from Charlie’s death, it was his heroic last dive, to save his family and friends, that there are things worth fighting and dying-.” Bill said, choking on his words. He shook his head and walked away from the podium.

Mrs. Weasley was openly weeping, her sharp, mournful cries piercing the stillness of the damp summer morning. Harry could feel Ginny’s body shuddering against his shoulder. He wrapped his arm tightly around her and buried his face in her hair, letting it dry a few tears of his own that had escaped. His mind filled with images of Charlie driving the boat, building sand-dragons on the beach, and singing silly songs in a Muggle bar. Harry felt such a sharp pang of loss that it physically hurt.

He couldn’t help but be reminded of the Dursleys. He wondered who spoke for them at their funeral and what was said. Uncle Vernon had plenty of business associates, and Aunt Petunia belonged to many ladies’ clubs, but who really knew them well enough to speak? Aunt Marge, he supposed, but she might have been too grief-stricken. He was Aunt Petunia’s only family, and he had been informed he wasn’t welcome. The tightening in his chest constricted even more so that breathing became difficult.

So lost was he in his own thoughts that he hadn’t even paid attention to the rest of the service. He was brought crashing back to the present when people began rising from their seats to walk around and express their condolences to the family. Ginny leaned over to Harry and whispered, “Can we take a walk?”

He nodded and led her towards the path around the lake. He hadn’t been back here since last year ,when he used to go running. Ginny didn’t say anything at first; she just walked slowly with her eyes set straight ahead. He could see the tracks of her tears, but her eyes were now dry, although still very sad.

He wished he knew the right words to say, but he was afraid anything he did say would make her feel worse. Taking a deep breath, he asked, “All right, Ginny?”

“I’m all right. Better than I thought I would be, actually. How are you doing?” she asked.

Harry smiled. It was so like Ginny to be worrying about him at her own brother’s memorial. “This is about you and your family, not me.”

“You lost a brother, too, Harry. You’re a part of this family; Charlie certainly thought so. This must bring up some painful memories for you.”

Harry took her in his arms and held her close to his chest. Touching his forehead to hers, he said, “I love you, Ginny, and I love your family as my own. I don’t really know what I feel right now; I’m kind of numb, but I do know I want to help you through this. You’ve always been there for me; please let me help you and give you whatever you need.”

She reached up and kissed his cheek. “You always do. You’ve come a long way, Harry.”

They turned and began walking towards the service, hand in hand. “Harry, I need to use the loo to wash my face. I’ll be right out,” Ginny said. He watched her as she ran up the castle steps and disappeared inside. He turned when he felt a tentative touch on his sleeve.

“Hullo, Harry,” Cho said, lowering her eyelashes demurely.

“Cho,” he said, nodding. “How are you?”

“I’m…well…as good as can be expected,” she replied, glancing towards the tent, where most of the guests were still clustered.

“I didn’t know you were close to any of the Weasleys.”

Cho shrugged and brushed her hair back off her shoulder. “I’ve worked with both Fred and George several times for the Order. How are you, Harry? I know you’ve always been close with the family.” She still hadn’t let go of his sleeve, and she tightened her grip when she asked this question.

“I’m okay. I’m more worried about Ginny,” he said, trying to disengage himself from her grip. Cho wasn’t taking the hint, and she refused to let go.

“Oh. So…you two are still together, then?” she asked, looking deeply into his eyes. “I was thinking that maybe you and I could-”

“Yes.” Ginny’s angry voice sounded behind them. Harry whirled to see her eyes blazing. Cho still had a vice-grip on his arm. “We are still together, and very happy. Thank you so much for keeping him company while I was gone, Cho.”

Cho’s eyes narrowed. “I was just catching up with an old friend.”

“I can see that,” Ginny said, staring at Cho’s hand until she was forced to let go of Harry’s arm. “You’ll excuse me if I don’t feel like getting into a catfight over my boyfriend at my brother’s memorial service. Excuse us, Cho”

Ginny grabbed Harry’s hand and stormed toward the tent to join the rest of Ginny’s brothers, who were huddled in a group with Hermione, Jacqueline, and Katie Bell.

“Ginny,” Harry said, afraid she was angry with him. He really didn’t want to upset her today.

“I know it’s not your fault, Harry. I’m just not in the mood to play nice,” she growled.

“There you are,” Bill said. “Everything all right?”

“Yes,” Ginny said, taking a deep breath and pulling herself together. “We just needed to get away for a few minutes. How’s Mum doing?”

Before Bill could answer, the voice of another brother sounded – a brother no one had heard from for several months. “She doesn’t look like she’s handling it well at all. How could she?”

They all turned towards Percy, who was standing stiffly with his jaw set in anger. A tall woman with a pinched-looking face and a long nose, which she used to look down on them all, was standing with him. Harry supposed this was Percy’s fiancée, Priscilla Fudge.

“Percy,” Ginny gasped.

Percy’s eyes raked over all of them, coming to rest finally on Harry. He continued to glare as he said, “This shouldn’t have happened. Charlie should never have been in that position.”

“Not now, Percy,” Bill said, his shoulders tensing.

“Not now. When, then? At the next funeral? Can’t you see that the longer you remain close to him, it will always end this way? I warned Mother and Father about this over a year ago, but they wouldn’t listen. I prayed it wouldn’t take a death to make them see reason, but even afterwards, after one of our family did die, he’s still here. If you supposedly love this family so much, how can you let it be ripped apart like this?” he demanded, glaring at Harry.

Harry had raised his head in defiance; he knew Percy was grieving, too, and he wasn’t going to argue with him, not here, not now. Still, his words struck a painful chord within him. It was true; the Weasleys would never have been on that island if it weren’t for their desire to protect him.

“That’s enough, Percy,” said Mr. Weasley, who had walked up behind them.

Percy turned and faced his father, but the anger and the arrogance did not fade from his face. “Hello, Father.”

“Hello, son. This is a day to honor Charlie’s memory, and we won’t do that by fighting amongst ourselves.”

“I wasn’t fighting with my family, I was arguing with him,” Percy said, jerking his thumb towards Harry.

“Harry is part of our family, Percy,” Ron said, taking a step closer to Harry.

Harry didn’t want this; he didn’t want to cause a row within the Weasley family, especially not on this day. He tried to take a step backwards, to pull away quietly, but neither Ron nor Ginny would let him move.

“We’re all family, Percy. Please come over and say hello to your mother,” Mr. Weasley said, sighing. “It would really mean a lot to her.”

Slipping an arm around Priscilla’s waist, Percy nodded and followed his father to the circle of people surrounding Mrs. Weasley.

“Git,” Fred said, kicking the ground with force.

“You’re more of a brother to us than he is, mate,” Ron said, still glaring towards Percy.

Harry felt sick. No matter how much he wanted Ron’s words about being a brother to be true, he didn’t want it to be at the cost of losing another brother from Ron’s family. They’d done so much for him, sacrificed so much already.

“Don’t let him get to you, Harry,” Ginny said quietly. “You have no control over how he feels, nor how the rest of us feel. Our choices are clear, and they are our own. Why do you have such a hard time understanding that the love you feel for us is the same love we feel for you?”

Harry gave her a weak smile but looked away. Ginny sighed but took his hand. “I’m tired, and I want to go home,” she said.

Harry put his arm around her, glad to have something that he could help her do. “Come on; we’ll see about getting the portkey back.”

The next few days at Grimmauld Place were strange. After the service, it was as if life picked back up normally, and everyone else went about his or her business. It was just the Weasley family who seemed to be lost in a kind of time warp, going through the motions of ordinary living, but unable to shake the feeling that everything was wrong. The twins returned to their joke shop, Bill went back to work on the books, even Mr. Weasley returned to the Ministry. Ron continued to drift, but Mrs. Weasley was the worst of all. She didn’t seem to care much about anything happening around headquarters. She rarely even entered the kitchen anymore, and, for the first time Harry could ever remember since knowing her, she wasn’t aware of what everyone else was eating.

After a week of this, Harry decided he needed to take Ginny’s advice and at least try to talk to her. His stomach knotted at the thought, but he didn’t know why. He could see the worry in Ginny’s eyes, and he wanted to help. Both Ginny and Mrs. Weasley had pulled him through the loss of Sirius; he needed to find some way to help them through this. Ginny hadn’t asked much of him besides some extra time and physical contact, which he was happy to provide. The only thing she had outright asked of him was to try and talk to her Mum, so he was determined to try.

He knocked on the door to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley’s bedroom. Mrs. Weasley spent most of her time there. He felt awkward about it, but pushed those misgivings away. His heart pounded and a gigantic knot twisted in his stomach. What if Percy’s words at the service had made her finally see that he was a danger to her family? Harry didn’t think he’d survive seeing rejection in her eyes.

“Who’s there?” Mrs. Weasley called. Her voice sounded soft and listless, as if she didn’t really care who was knocking.

“It’s Harry, Mrs. Weasley,” he said, holding his breath.

She was silent for a moment, but he could hear her moving around behind the door. After a moment, she said, “Come in, dear.”

He entered the room to find her sitting on the couch in her sitting area. She was knitting a jumper, although it looked as if she hadn’t been paying close attention, for the stitches were loose and unaligned. She was still wearing her dressing gown, even though it was well into the afternoon.

“Hi,” he said, shutting the door behind him and gingerly inching his way across the floor. He felt awkward and unsure, now that he was actually here. What had made him think he could ever possibly say anything to help her feel better? This was a stupid idea.

“What can I do for you, dear?” she asked. Her eyes looked red-rimmed and tired.

“Nothing. I, er…I just wanted to see how you were doing.”

“I’ll be fine. Are you ready to go back to school?” she asked.

He knew she was trying to change the subject and put the focus back on him. It was a tactic he used all the time. “Yeah, Remus got all my stuff in Diagon Alley. Mrs. Weasley…er…I mean…um…when Sirius died, I didn’t want to come out of my room, either. I wanted everyone to go away and leave me alone.” Harry swallowed nervously, but he noticed she was listening to him intently. “I…er, I felt like I was still there, but all my insides were gone. It wasn’t until I came back here…back with all of you, that…er…well, things got better. You all helped me so much, more than you’ll ever know. I’d like to help you now, if you’ll let me.” He whispered the last words, slightly afraid she was going to yell at him for intruding.

“Thank you, Harry, but I’ll be fine,” Mrs. Weasley said. The tone of her voice still sounded hollow.

“I know it feels like you just don’t care anymore, like you’ve had enough…but it really does get better. You start to remember some of the nice things…um…instead of just what makes you feel sad.”

Mrs. Weasley smiled a little; her eyes seemed to be focused on something far away. “You’re right about that. I remember,” she whispered.

Harry looked at her curiously, uncertain about what she was referring. She smiled at him sadly and rested her hand on his own.

“Charlie isn’t the first loss I’ve suffered in this bloody war with You-Know-Who. My oldest brother, Gideon, was one of the early casualties in the first war. I remember how it broke my mother’s heart; she didn’t recover from it for a long time. Near the end, I lost a second brother. My family was hardened by all the loss at that point, but it was still devastating. I remember some of those feelings you’re talking about.”

Harry took a deep breath and forced himself to continue. “When I was little, when things got really ba…um…when things…when I was ‘not fine’,” he said with an ironic smile, finally settling on the words. He saw Mrs. Weasley smile genuinely for the first time in a long time. “I’d always wondered what things would have been like if …if it hadn’t happened the way it did. During the day, you can make yourself numb, but everything always comes back at night. Sometimes, though…sometimes in the morning it all seemed better. I always wondered if they’d visited me when I was sleeping.”

Harry’s voice had drifted until it was nearly inaudible by the end. He’d never admitted that to anyone. He could see big tears rolling down Mrs. Weasleys cheeks, but he tried not to panic. She gently swiped at them, but didn’t seem too upset, so he continued.

“I asked Sir Nicholas – you know, the Gryffindor ghost – I asked him about how someone could come back as a ghost after Sirius died. He said that Sirius wouldn’t…that he didn’t have a problem leaving this world. I struggled with that for a long time, but…er…now, that kind of makes me feel better, knowing that he didn’t come back because he was happy. I like to think that he’s with my parents now – and that they’re busy playing pranks and driving everyone else batty.” Harry chuckled a bit at this, but felt a few stray tears making silent tracks down his own face. Mrs. Weasley casually swiped at Harry’s tears as she had her own.

“I don’t think Charlie will come back as a ghost, either, Mrs. Weasley,” he said quietly. His throat felt very raw. “Charlie was one of the most easy-going, cheerful people I’ve ever met. I don’t think he would have been afraid to move on. Dumbledore once told me it’s the next great adventure, and I think Charlie always liked an adventure.”

Mrs. Weasley was openly crying now. Harry was afraid he’d really messed this up. He knew he was rubbish with giving comfort. How had he let Ginny talk him into this? He was ready to bolt from the room and go look for help, when Mrs. Weasley wrapped her arms around him, trapping him there. He patted her back awkwardly, afraid to say anything else.

“Harry…my dear, sweet, Harry.” She pulled back and looked him straight in the eye. “Thank you.”

Harry wasn’t certain what she was thanking him for, but she didn’t sound angry, and he thought that was good. Mrs. Weasley sniffed and wiped again at her eyes.

“I’m hungry, Harry. What do you say we go down to the kitchen and make some pudding?”

Harry grinned. “I don’t know, Mrs. Weasley. It’s nearly dinnertime.”

Mrs. Weasley smiled and fondly ruffled his hair. “Let’s have pudding for dinner tonight,” she whispered, winking at him. “What do you say?”

“Will you make a treacle tart? No one makes them like you do.”

She put her knuckles around his nose and pulled. “Why, you little charmer. Harry, I never would have suspected that you would know exactly what strings to pull so I couldn’t resist. One treacle tart coming up,” she said, laughing. The two linked arms and headed downstairs.

When they entered the kitchen, Mr. Weasley was sitting at the table with Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and Professor Dumbledore. Both he and Mrs. Weasley stopped short, taking in the surprised look on the faces of the others. Harry glanced warily at Mrs. Weasley. Her eyes were still red and puffy, and he imagined it was obvious he’d been crying, as well. He’d assumed the kitchen would be empty.

Ginny perked up in her chair, casting a small, relieved smile Harry’s way. He nodded at her, but couldn’t help the apprehension he felt with the others in the room.

“Albus,” Mrs. Weasley said, surprised. She also seemed stunned by the crowd in the kitchen. “I didn’t realize you were going to be here tonight.”

“How are you, Molly?” he asked pleasantly. His glasses slipped slightly down his nose, and he gazed piercingly at Harry over them.

Mrs. Weasley gave Harry a small smile. “I’m better tonight, thank you.”

“I am most delighted to hear it,” Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling. “I have several pieces of news I thought it better to deliver in person.” He looked pointedly at Harry.

Harry sighed. What now? “Whatever it is, you can say it in front of them; they’re family,” he said, returning Mrs. Weasley’s smile.

“Very well. I have some news that I think will be of great interest to you. The Ministry has finally finished with its investigation of the battle that occurred at Malfoy Manor.”

The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees, and Harry felt his pulse rate quicken with the memory of that place. He pulled out a chair and dropped down into it, grasping the edge of the table. Ginny placed her hand on his back, calming him.

“The remains of Peter Pettigrew have been clearly identified and confirmed. Fudge has no choice but to clear Sirius posthumously of all charges,” Professor Dumbledore said, his eyes losing some of their sparkle.

Harry blinked like an owl, barely even breathing. It was amazing to him that, even after a whole year, even after everything he had said upstairs to Mrs. Weasley, the loss of Sirius still had the power to hurt so much, as if it had just happened yesterday. “Thank you,” he whispered, not completely trusting his voice.

“I wish it could have been done a long time ago, Harry. I wish there were some way to make it right, but this is the best I can do,” Dumbledore said sadly.

Harry nodded.

“Cornelius Fudge has given up his bid to take over your training. However, he will have a Ministry observer at Hogwarts to keep him apprised of your progress,” Dumbledore said, already holding up his hand to calm Harry’s rising fury. “I had to concede on this point, Harry. We will let the observer witness only what we feel is acceptable. Fudge still has made no promise that he will not take the contents of the prophecy to the Daily Prophet, but he has not done so yet. We need to ensure that whatever he is told, it is safe for public knowledge. The existence of the ancient texts, and what we may find in them, has to remain our secret.”

Harry ran a hand through his already messy hair. He was already so frustrated, and the thought of the prophecy appearing in the paper filled him with dread. Ginny tightened her hand on his shoulder in support.

“How is the research on the texts coming along, Professor?” Hermione asked.

With a flick of his hand, Dumbledore cast a Silencing Charm on the kitchen and gave Hermione a nod. “I believe Emmeline has narrowed it down to a particular volume. She is still deciphering some of the wording, but I believe we way be on to something. You are all aware that Voldemort used a variety of methods in his quest for immortality. I believe we may have discovered a way around what he has done.”

Harry’s head snapped up, eyes wide and heart racing.

“Albus,” Mr. Weasley said. “Why haven’t you mentioned this to the Order?”

Dumbledore sighed heavily. “Unfortunately, Arthur, my sources indicate that Voldemort is aware that we may have this text in our possession.”

Mrs. Weasley, who had quietly been moving about the kitchen while making the treacle tart, spun around to face them. “What? How?”

“I do not know. Harry, I do not want you to worry over this. We’ve placed the texts in a secure location. They are quite well hidden and protected, as you will be in a few days, when you return to Hogwarts.”

The anger that Harry had controlled for so long bubbled beneath the surface as he struggled to control it. Maybe it was thinking about Sirius, maybe it was all the stress over the past few weeks over Charlie’s loss, maybe it was just the feeling that, once again, he was being kept in the dark, but his anger burst forth from him before he could stop it. “I’ve heard that before.”

“I understand your anger, but you have to trust me when I say that these books are well hidden,” Dumbledore said, sighing.

“You’ll forgive me if I don’t have a lot of faith in the Fidelius Charm,” Harry said without missing a beat. His statement was met with complete silence in the kitchen. Even Dumbledore looked away from his heated gaze. He saw flickers of pain cross all their faces, and his anger evaporated. These weren’t the people he was angry with; it was Voldemort. It was always Voldemort.

He put his hands over his face and rubbed his tired eyes under his glasses. Ginny leaned into him, and he wrapped an arm around her. Noticing some letters on the table, he grasped onto the change in subject and asked, “Are those our Hogwarts letters?”

Dumbledore handed one to each of the four students. “I held on to them while you were away, since we did not want to send an owl to the island.”

Hermione’s shriek pierced the room, as she held a shiny badge with the initials HG in her hand. “I got Head Girl.” She was the only one who seemed surprised by the news.

“Of course you did, it has your initials right on it. Hermione Granger – Head Girl, like I always said, same thing. I wonder who got Head Boy?” Ron said, pulling his prefect badge from his envelope.

Ginny gasped, as a badge fell out of her envelope, as well. “Oh, Ginny,” her mother shouted in delight, pleasure written all over her face. “You made prefect.”

Ginny’s eyes caught Professor Dumbledore’s. “But I wasn’t a prefect last-” Ginny cut herself off, as she realized what happened. One of her roommates, Emily, had been the prefect. Emily was Muggleborn, and her family had been caught in one of the attacks during the summer. Emily had been killed. Ginny pulled another letter from her envelope and took a deep breath. She was quiet as she read her results.

Harry remembered everyone telling him Ginny wasn’t doing well on her OWLs because he’d been unconscious during most of them. He was nearly as anxious as she was for the results; he didn’t want to be the cause of her doing poorly.

“Well?” he asked, when she remained silent.

“Nine,” she said simply. “Not as bad as I thought, although the overall grades are mostly Acceptables.”

Loud cheers erupted in the room, and, although everyone was still slightly subdued, it still made quite a racket. These were Weasleys, after all.

Harry was the last to open his letter. Stunned didn’t even begin to describe how he felt when the shiny Head Boy badge fell out. He left it sitting on the table while he stared at it stupidly.

“Harry! Is that what I think it is?” Hermione finally shouted.

“Ha! I told you on the train at the end of term that I thought you’d get it,” Ron exclaimed.

Harry looked at Professor Dumbledore in confusion. “But I wasn’t even a prefect.”

“There is no rule that says Head Boy has to have been a prefect. With the creation of your DA, you have done more to unite the four houses than any other student in the history of Hogwarts. The Sorting Hat has stressed for the past two years how important this is. This year, it is more critical than ever…you deserve this, Harry. It is rightfully earned, and I have no reservations that it is deserved.”

“Way to go, mate,” Ron said, clapping him on the back. “Now, if any of the Slytherins give you a hard time, you can just take a load of points.” Realizing what he’d just said, Ron glanced warily at Professor Dumbledore, who pretended he hadn’t heard.

“Oh, Harry, congratulations,” Hermione said, kissing him on the cheek.

Ginny plopped in his lap and kissed him right on the lips. He panicked, because her parents and the headmaster were in the room. They were all beaming at him, however.

“This year is going to be amazing,” Ginny said. “I think I’m ready to return to school.”

A/N: Thanks, as always, to my wonderful beta, Mistral, for all her effort and guidance. It is much appreciated.