Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related names, settings, and references are the intellectual property of J.K. Rowling. No copyright infringement is intended, and no profit is being made from this story.
The cars sped along the street in downtown London, their various occupants heading home from work, going to work, going out for dinner, speeding home to a lover, or simply out for a drive. They lived in a world they understood and accepted; a world where magic was unheard of except in games or storybooks; a world where Harry Potter did not fit in.
Harry stood on a tall hotel building, staring down at the street. He walked across the roof, unnoticed by the caretaker fiddling with a satellite dish; invisibility cloaks worked flawlessly against most wizards and a Muggle - a non-magical person - certainly would be oblivious. Still, even had the Muggle seen him, he would never be recognized. In the wizarding world, he was famous: the Boy Who Lived, a living testament to the limitations of Lord Voldemort, the most powerful dark wizard this time period had ever seen. His circular glasses and the lightning bolt scar on this forehead were a dead giveaway to his identity. Close friends might also rank his untidy mop of black hair and bright green eyes as identifying factors as well, but the wizarding community in general focused on the scar.
Here in London, however, Harry was unknown. Standing here, invisible as he was, the world would never see him, which suited his needs just fine. He focused on the near-suicidal action he was about to take. If he succeeded, he would add another feat to his arsenal to defeat Voldemort. If not, well... he chose not to consider that. He looked down at the traffic, and steeled himself, focusing on a particularly bright red SUV. Then with a loud *pop* that caused the caretaker to drop the satellite dish in surprise, Harry vanished.
Harry reformed on the SUV, and immediately picked another vehicle, a blue pickup. He vanished again, before the momentum of the SUV could pitch him off, appearing on the truck. He then picked another dozen vehicles, briefly Apparating to each one, and leaving just as quickly, before the vehicle pitched him end over end into the traffic and certain death. He finally appeared at the front door to the hotel whose roof he had started from, looking pleased with himself: Aside from a sprained ankle, he had succeeded admirably; With a thought, he Apparated to his home, walking up to his room with a slight limp.
The community of downtown London had interesting rumors circulating about youth throwing objects at vehicles, as several drivers complained to their local police officers about loud thumps against their vehicle roofs while driving home that evening. The police issued warnings to the hotels in the area, whose balconies overlooked the street. The hotels passed these warnings to their customers, who passed them to their children, who denied anything. All in all, the whole incident was forgotten in a week.
***
Number Twelve Grimmauld Place was a dark and foreboding house, with snake-heads adorning almost everything from doorknobs to banister posts, and an assortment of items whose use was almost certainly illegal. It had a spacious interior, but the walls and decorations were such that even a warm sunny day failed to penetrate the house except for two of the bedrooms. It was one of these bedrooms that Harry called his, and he spent the morning brooding in bed, only finally coming downstairs at 11:00 to satiate his complaining stomach.
Harry appreciated days like this, when the house was empty. Earlier in the year, the house would have bustled with members of the Order of the Phoenix, an unofficial group of witches and wizards who were bent on the downfall of Lord Voldemort, the self-styled Dark Lord, and his followers, who called themselves Death Eaters. Harry had a strained relation with the Order in his youth, whose members were all friends or allies of some level. He first heard of the Order in his fifth year at Hogwarts school of Witchcraft and Wizardry, when he was fifteen. That was five long and hard years ago. At seventeen, he completed his schooling, and then turned his attention to his future, as much as he could; a prophecy that foretold his defeat of Voldemort - or his death at Voldemort's hands - kept him from several promising choices.
He had wanted to become an Auror, a law-enforcement wizard, in his fifth year, but a healthy distrust for the Ministry of Magic, which he would be working for as an Auror, kept him from that career. The need to keep himself from becoming a more visible target to Death Eaters kept him from professional Quidditch, a very popular wizarding sport. In the end, Harry had thrown in with several other financial ventures, advised by his friends and former teachers. Harry's late parents were wealthy, and had left him a substantial amount of money when they died at Voldemort's hands. His now deceased godfather, Sirius Black, had had no small amount of wealth as well; his will had left everything to Harry. Two of his friends, the twins Fred and George Weasley, had benefited from Harry's financial support early in their start of their joke shop, Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, and had paid Harry back with interest. Now, Harry had purchased a 30% stake in their business, in exchange for supplying the finances to expand their business to different outlets.
Harry had also purchased a portion of a wizarding tabloid, "The Quibbler," to help the owners, the Lovegood family, through a financially troubling time. The magazine recovered well, and Harry was seeing profits from there as well. Harry's major income, however, came at the expense of the Malfoy family, an old and powerful wizarding family, whose support of Voldemort had caused the suspension of their shares in several companies, including a controlling share in the major newspaper, the Daily Prophet. Harry, being a hero several times over in the eyes of the wizarding population of Britain, had been given the first opportunity to buy the liquidated assets, and acquired the Malfoy investments for a fraction of their true value. Now, at twenty years of age, Harry Potter was wealthier than all but a handful of wizards in the world, and no longer needed to work.
This left Harry with a tremendous amount of free time, and he devoted this to continued training: curses and counter-curses, healing arts, martial arts; anything that helped him become a little deadlier in battle, Harry studied. Most of the Order members each had a daytime job, and so were truly only available in an emergency situation, or off-hours. Harry, however, was free to pursue Death Eaters full-time, along with two others: Remus Lupin, a friend of his parents, who quickly became a friend and mentor to Harry; and Alastor Moody, a grizzly old retired Auror with a magical eye and a quick wand. Harry often worked with them on operations designed to capture Death Eaters one at a time, or to thwart planned attacks on wizards or Muggles.
The Order had never succeeded in defeating Voldemort himself, but had curtailed the efforts of his Death Eaters to some extent. Over the last five years, Harry had quickly become the symbol of resistance to Voldemort, and had been seen publicly holding his own in duels against several Death Eaters. The Ministry of Magic did not know about the Order, of course, and certainly did not sanction Harry's involvement in affairs that were best left to Ministry Aurors. However, Harry's successes were such that few Aurors cared to pursue an investigation against his activities, and Harry, along with Remus and Alastor, had been credited with the defeat of Death Eaters often enough that the public felt safe carrying on with some semblance of daily life: stores were still open, and people still went to work; hope and paranoia battled continuously on the streets these days. There were several fatalities, as the battles progressed; Harry and the Order could only protect those closest to them. The Creevey and Finch-Fletchley families, not being close to Harry or part of the Order, were completely killed off by Death eater attacks for their Muggle relations; several other families had suffered as well. The Prophet only reported well of Harry, though: they had better sales for it, and since Harry was a major shareholder now, they didn't dare speak ill of him.
Today, however, there would be no battles to fight: there was a get-together at the Burrow, the home of the Weasley family. Harry had seen his friends and their families off and on throughout the last two weeks, but today would be the first time in months that he had seen them all in the same place - it would be a bright day amidst the dark months that passed, and the dark months to come. He wolfed down his breakfast, which consisted of two scrambled eggs with two slices of toast, and took a quick shower. Dressed in jeans and a dark green T-shirt, runners, and his unkempt hair, Harry grabbed his wand, and Apparated to the Burrow.
***
The Weasley family made up in love what they lacked in money - that's what Harry loved most about them. The entire family was raised on strong values and morals, and they stood by Harry throughout his battles - and were scarred horribly because of it. Except for one brother, the entire Weasley family was in the Order of the Phoenix, and they were widely considered friends of Harry. This placed the entire family at risk: Not only from Death Eaters, but also from a paranoid and increasingly despotic Ministry, who viewed any suspected Order activity as near-criminal. Having escaped death so far in the war, the Weasley family stood nine strong.
Of these nine, Harry kept contact with only two on a regular basis: Arthur Weasley, the patriarch of the family, and a staple member of the Order; and Ron Weasley, the youngest son, and Harry's oldest and best friend.
Ron was the only true source of normality in Harry's life: a fun-loving fiery-haired young man with a strong sense of loyalty and a competitive spirit, Ron always kept Harry laughing, or at the very least smiling. Even through the constant warfare and political maneuvering, Ron had managed to continue his dream of playing Professional Quidditch. Being endorsed by Harry Potter had its perks: Ron was immediately drafted to the Chudley Cannons, his favorite team as a child, and, to his merit, the Cannons did rise in the standings, though they had yet to win a championship. Ron used his public position to push his political opinions into the press; this, combined with Harry's social status and economic power, helped to keep public opinion on the side of the Order, and prevent any duplicitous action from the Ministry. The downside to this arrangement, however, was an increased distance between Ron and Harry due to the traveling nature of professional sports teams, and though publicity helped to protect Ron somewhat, it also prevented him from acting directly in support of the Order much of the time. Harry missed his time with Ron, and even missed the squabbles that Ron would have with their other best friend, Hermione.
Hermione was the self-admitted soft spot in Harry's armor; the two remained close after an event in their first year in school together in which Harry had saved her life. She had repaid the favor by the end of the year, and the two continued to rely on each other throughout their school careers, as Voldemort and his Death Eaters began to attack Harry more and more directly. Harry's worst memory was the failed rescue attempt in the Department of Mysteries, deep within the Ministry, where Harry had recklessly led his friends into an ambush. His hasty escape plan had worked well in the beginning, but Harry, with no previous combat experience, with a group of only six students against twelve of the most experienced Death Eaters, was quickly overcome. Hermione had been grievously injured in the fight, and even after five years, Harry still held himself responsible for that near-fatal incident.
Luck had been on their side, however, as the Order had come to their rescue, and Hermione had been quickly nursed back to full health, with only the lightest of scars to mark the deadly curse that struck her. The Order had paid a heavy price for their interference, however: Sirius Black, Harry's godfather, had been killed in the battle, and Harry's reckless pursuit of his murderer had resulted in a high-risk duel between Dumbledore and Voldemort to save Harry's life. Harry had walked away alive that day, but the aftermath of that battle had changed him completely. A prophecy given before his birth was revealed to him by Dumbledore, which foretold that Harry would have power to defeat Voldemort, and that one must kill the other. It had taken the entire summer break between school years for Harry to come to terms with it, and several sacrifices over the last five years, including deception; to this day, he had told no one the prophecy.
Hermione found her way back to Hogwarts as professor of Arithmancy, replacing the retired Professor Vector. She was likely the youngest ever professor at Hogwarts, by Harry's reckoning, but she was also probably the best student ever at Hogwarts as well - her repertoire in spells was only matched by the venerable Dumbledore. She still had a large head of shaggy brown hair, and spent most days in Hogwarts with simple grey robes that students found held far more than they ever should, enlargement charms notwithstanding. She, too, helped Harry along with Order business, and often went with him during excursions into Muggle areas, since Harry and Hermione both grew up as Muggles and had no issues mixing in. They worked well together, but Harry still tensed up a bit when she was with him in dangerous situations; Hermione's prowess with spells notwithstanding, Harry felt responsible for her safety - after a lifetime of confrontations with Voldemort, Harry saw it much more as his fight than anyone else's.
With these two in mind, Harry appeared at the Burrow with the tell-tale *pop* of Apparition, well outside the protective wards. His invisibility cloak was wrapped around him, and the only reaction the townsfolk in the area had was to accuse one of their own of flatulence. It was amusing, Harry thought, that instantaneous travel from one place to another was compared to a fart by the Muggles; he wondered what they'd think of the quiet war that was being waged behind their backs, the storm troopers and assassins of a tyrant against a rag-tag motley crew that stood against them; and both against a corrupt Ministry that used the war to pass trade and policy decrees that, in a time of peace, would never pass unchallenged. Several times Harry had read the news, and wondered if the most dangerous enemy was truly Voldemort.
The Muggles that Harry passed while invisible, however, carried on life with their own problems, oblivious to the young wizard's passing. It was the same across the world: Muggles and wizards held separate communities, with powerful wards erected to keep Muggles and their technology ignorant. Those that did discover the hidden world around them were quickly made to forget any incident, and those who were too persistent often disappeared. Harry had listened to years of Ministry propaganda warning wizards to not reveal themselves to Muggles, needing to preserve the peace, the economy, their privacy, and to protect the Muggles from forces that they could not comprehend. Dumbledore preached a different tune about the deception, however; a line of reasoning that Harry agreed with: Fear kept the wizards from revealing themselves; fear, and a lack of understanding of Muggle progress, and their far superior numbers.
That fear also made Harry think about Hermione, and the other witches and wizards who were Muggle-born - born to two completely non-magical parents. The subtle fear that kept the wizards separate from the Muggles also distanced them from the Muggle-born amongst them, knowing that they, perhaps, could harness the unknown abilities of the Muggles for their own purposes. This led to an ostracism of sorts that, at best, ensured that a known Muggle-born, such as Hermione, was openly stared at; at worst, it resulted in the genocidal views of the Death Eaters, who wished to rid the wizarding world of all those not of pure blood descent.
Dumbledore had strong influence in the wizarding community, and his protection and endorsement of the Muggle-born was a strong hand in their favor. The war with Voldemort, however, was eroding Dumbledore's social resources as more and more of his allies and connections were injured or killed in attacks. The general populace, out of fear of retaliation from Voldemort, had again begun to openly shun Muggle-born, in the hopes of lessening their chances of being a target. Harry's growing political sway helped to mitigate damages, but the persecution of Muggle-born could only be slowed, not stopped.
The townsfolk moved on, and Harry began the lengthy walk through the Burrow's wards. He could feel the anti-Apparition ward around him, as well as a sensor that was currently trying to identify him; he knew that it would succeed within a few seconds more. Right on cue, the wards seemed to pull away from him, almost as if they were alive, and recognized one of their own. The Burrow was quiet, though - far too quiet for a get-together that Harry was sure he was late for. The windows were open, the door swaying in the light wind, but there were no Weasleys to be seen or heard. Immediately, his hand went for a small mirror he kept in his pocket- a communication device for Order members- wanting to contact Remus or Arthur, who would certainly have their mirrors with them. However, his mirror was already calling his name by the time he took it out. The face in the mirror told him much of what had happened already, and gave him reason to kill. Looking at him though the mirror -Arthur's mirror- was the bloodied and stained face of Hermione. Before either could say a word to each other, Hermione ducked away as a spell exploded near her, and the connection faded out. Harry tore back through the wards at break-neck speed, digging for his wand. He rapped the mirror hard, sending an alarm through it to Remus and Alastor, who could then warn the Order. He then held the mirror high, silently activating a homing spell with his wand, and Apparated away, guided by the mirrors' need to find each other.
***
The townsfolk of Ottery St. Catchpole always told stories of weird happenings around that abandoned field. Today, a scared man, quickly drinking himself into a stupor, told how the wind itself had shouted the name 'Harry" over and over, and when he looked, the wild grass in the field parted as if something was charging him directly. The man had been so scared; he ran all the way back to town, never once looking back. The other townsfolk muttered about this, and the cursed land that was outside this town, and the children were delighted to hear yet another 'cool' ghost-story.
***
His mind was racing as he appeared on the rooftop of Flourish and Blotts. He was being foolish to not collect his equipment from home. He was endangering his own life more than necessary, and had no protections on other then his wand and his skill at Apparition. He was also going into an unknown situation - while he immediately took this to be a Death Eater attack, he had no Dark Detector to confirm or refute it, and there were more dark wizards in London than the Death Eaters. The mirror's spell would allow Apparition to the other mirror up to the closest safe-spot. Depending on the situation, that could mean appearing right beside the other person, or three blocks away. Harry pulled his cloak tight around him, so as not to bump anything, and listened carefully for the sounds of combat. The mirror lightly tugged him in one direction, and he followed as quickly as stealth would allow. Soon, he recognized the buildings around him - Diagon Alley. The mirror pointed towards a building, and slightly up. The scarred face of Hermione was burned into his mind, and his rage battered down any attempts at a logical plan of action. Hermione had to be on the upper level of the bookstore in the mirror, and he had to be there quickly. With a *pop* he was on top of the building, mirror pulling him slightly to the right; he jabbed his wand towards the roof right below his feet, and screamed, "Reducto!" The roof and supports below it exploded downwards into the book store, and Harry landed on the floor in a low squat, immediately glancing around for enemies and the injured Hermione. He felt the traces of an anti-Apparition jinx, but was sure he could override it - the casting was not the quality he was used to dealing with.
Hermione was a few feet to his right, large books and debris floating around her protectively. She bore several spell burns and numerous cuts and scrapes - this had been a long fight. She now looked frantically through the rubble beside her, searching for a new assailant. Harry remained motionless and focused on her enemies - and nearly fell over.
Aurors; no less than four Ministry Aurors stood below, wands trained upwards at Hermione. More were out of play on the ground, too. The Aurors, too, looked baffled by the sudden explosion through the roof, but no apparent enemy or ally. This translated into a reprieve from combat, one that Harry decided to make the most of.
Harry focused his magic through his want, aiming carefully at a large tome close to the main floor window of the shop. While all the Aurors looked up, Harry quietly but forcefully banished the book towards the window. The shattering outwards, and the Aurors predictably exploded into motion, thinking that someone invisible was escaping; Hermione, too, relaxed a little, believing the same. She brought her wand to bear against the Aurors, and they were immediately pummeled by the floating books and debris, while Hermione dived for cover behind a bookshelf as the Aurors returned fire.
Harry edged around into the nook where Hermione was crouching, and quickly surrounded her in his cloak, and kissing her hard on the cheek. Harry felt her tense predictably for close combat, but the kiss seemed to throw her off long enough for her to focus on him, and she quickly began to understand Harry's presence and intentions. Harry waited for her to relax into him, and then Apparated the both of them away.
***
The Aurors were astounded that their quarry could escape; Hermione Granger was well-known for her skill, but breaking an Anti-Apparition jinx was a time-consuming process - not even she could have done it in the middle of combat. Their astonishment then changed to confusion as grizzly old Alastor Moody walked through the front door of the shop. A retired and respected Auror, his presence caused the four Aurors to flock to him like children to a favorite teacher. The arrival of two more Aurors, Shacklebolt and Tonks, lifted their spirits further. None of them saw Remus sneak up behind them. None of them registered what happened as all four newcomers raised their wands at each of the four Aurors, and shouted *Obliviate!*
***
Harry quickly returned to Hermione with a Pepperup Potion from his supplies, as well as a shot of Firewhiskey, and placed both in front of her on the kitchen table. "Potion first, then the Firewhiskey. It'll help, trust me."
He watched as Hermione slowly drained the potion, and the alcohol, and some color returned to her face. She looked up at him then, as if he'd just appeared out of nowhere, and seemed to take notice of where she was. Harry smiled; now that she was out of shock, he could concentrate on finding the rest of them. "Where are the others?" He asked, as he ran his wand along her cuts and scrapes, erasing them in a pale white light.
"They're..." Hermione sounded as though she was unsure, as if she were reminding herself what happened. "They'll all be at St. Mungo's. No one is missing that I know of, they all took Mr. Weasley to St. Mungo's." She was now slowly shaking her head back and forth, almost as if forbidding herself to continue what she was saying. Tears were forming in her eyes, and Harry quickly understood exactly what Hermione did not want to say:
Arthur Weasley was, or would soon be, dead.
Harry dropped his gear, and instead went back to Hermione. "Hermione, I need you to contact Dumbledore, and tell him to meet us at St. Mungo's, and that it's an emergency. I'll go there now. You can use the fireplace to floo to St. Mungo's after you're done. Take your time first and tend to what's left of your wounds - there's a blood-restoring potion in the cabinet that you should take. You're safe here, and I'll bring everyone back here as quickly as I can." With that, Harry Apparated out, appearing in the front lobby of St. Mungo's.
The Weasley family was mostly present. Ron, Molly, and Ginny were there, as were the twins, Fred and George. The only family missing were the three eldest brothers: Bill and Charlie, who were out of the country; and Percy, who was not on good terms with the family. The family was all outside the room, and the room was quiet; by the look of hopelessness in Ron's eye, and the waves of tears that came from Molly and Ginny, Harry assumed his guess was correct, and he was too late to help, or to say goodbye. He pushed the door open anyways, needing to see the signs of what happened. What he saw was a nightmare.
Arthur Weasley lay on the bed, eyes staring at the ceiling. His body was burned and scarred heavily, and his left arm and shoulder were missing. His legs were blasted almost to the bone, with open muscle hanging limp and bleeding. His right hand was closed in a permanent vice grip around his wand. Worse still was his chest, pierced several times with iron rebar; the green rods almost propping his still form off the bed he was in. Arthur Weasley, the proud father of the most wonderful family that Harry had ever known, was dead, mangled beyond any hope of magical assistance.
Harry closed his eyes, and fought his tears back behind a wall of anger and hatred. Someone had done this, and they would most certainly die for it. He looked again at Arthur's hand grasping his wand, almost in defiance of his fate. He died fighting, Harry knew. It was an Auror trait, and definitely and Order trait, to never let go of your wand, even through injury. Arthur Weasley died fighting someone or something, he died -
Protecting Hermione, Harry realized. Hermione was damaged less, and the damage looked like shrapnel from what must have been an explosion, and perhaps some minor spell burns; Hermione had looked like she suffered damage from something similar, but much less devastating. Harry took out his wand, and tapped Arthur's wand, intoning "Prior Incantato." Immediately, a misty pink form of a Shield Charm appeared and formed around a shadowy figure, indicating that the last spell Arthur used was a Shield Charm on someone else. Harry grimaced at that: It meant that this damage was done all at once, in a large explosion, and Arthur chose to protect Hermione, taking the full blast for it. It made sense, but he would need to speak to Hermione to confirm it.
Gathering his remaining willpower, Harry walked out of the room, and went towards the Weasley family. He embraced Molly, who collapsed against him, wailing her husband's name. He gathered the family to him, and did his best to offer comfort. "Come back to headquarters when you're ready," he said, "We should all stay together."
The arrival of Dumbledore caused a minor distraction, which Harry used to take his leave. He quickly hugged Ginny and Ron, nodded to Dumbledore, and then Apparated back to his place. He had several scenarios going through his mind, and desperately needed to talk to Hermione about it. Arthur had been ready to fight, so there was some warning. He had to know who; he needed a direction for his anger.
He found Hermione sitting on the couch in front of the fireplace, curled up in a ball. Tears flowed freely down her face, and she rocked back and forth slowly. Harry pushed the questions he had to the back of his mind, his anger nearly completely replaced by concern. Gently, he sat down beside her, and gathered her into his arms, rocking her gently as she had done. Hermione almost immediately began to convulse with grief, great wracking sobs that caused Harry to tighten his grip to hold her. There was nothing else to do: He stayed with her, offering comfort; nearly an hour later, she began to calm somewhat, but he held her there, tight and secure, not daring to let her go. They stayed there until the Weasley's began to appear from the fireplace.
***
They spent the evening mostly in silence; Harry had let Hermione use his bathroom to clean up, and had ordered his insane house elf, Kreacher, to repair and wash Hermione's clothes, and lay them out for her in his room. He also provided several more potions to clear the damage. By the time Hermione emerged from his room, there was no evidence that she had ever been attacked.
The Weasley's hadn't noticed Hermione's condition, with their grief consuming them and Harry shielding Hermione from view, they didn't really see her until she had cleaned up. This suited Harry just fine; he wanted Hermione to calm down, and if the Weasley's thought she knew something about their father and what happened, she'd have been mauled by the entire family. As it was, Dumbledore had them more or less under control in the kitchen, and that left Harry time to prepare.
There was a telltale *pop* of someone Apparating in, and Harry saw the cloaked form of Severus Snape, and the pink hair of Tonks. Others soon followed, and the entire Order seemed to gather in his front hall. Most of them went towards the kitchen except for Remus, who stopped to greet Harry first; and Snape, who placed a large wooden case down in front of Harry.
"Your potions, Potter," he said in a cold voice. "Try not to waste them all in one go."
Harry looked at the case's contents, and then summoned Kreacher to get him a scroll and quill. "I'll need another medical batch," Harry replied, not looking at him. "Perhaps one or two extra Blood Restoring Potions as well; they've been used today. Tell me what costs need covering."
Snape curled his lip, but nodded and accepted the scroll and quill from Kreacher when he returned, and quickly began to tally up costs. Harry turned his attention to unloading the potions from Snape's case, having Kreacher take them to his store room. He still disliked Snape, and Snape disliked him; however, they had agreed that if the costs were met, Snape would brew potions for Harry, to help in the effort against Voldemort. Snape still served as Potions Master at Hogwarts, and as a double agent for Dumbledore in Voldemort's ranks. He was extremely useful, and Harry had quickly reached more neutral ground with Snape once they no longer saw each other every day for school classes. It was even more tolerable now, as Snape had yet to complain about the extensive list of potions that Harry asked of him; apparently Snape respected his customers. Snape finished with the scroll and placed it on the nearest table with the quill, and walked quietly into the next room. Harry took a cursory glance at the total cost on the scroll: Twelve hundred Galleons. He smiled at that price, knowing that St. Mungo's would kill to get such a discounted price for the quantity and quality of potions Harry just ordered.
More popping: Harry looked up to see the ashen faces of Bill and Charlie, and pointed towards the other room. They nodded, and went off to be with their family. Harry turned and walked into the kitchen to see the Order members, but was stopped by Hermione coming from the Weasley's room. She said nothing, just walked over to Harry and hugged him.
"You look much better," Harry said. "How are Ron and the rest doing?"
She shook her head. "It'll be awhile, Harry." She then detached herself and looked at him with a slight smile. "Thank you for helping me with my injuries. I don't know if I could have stood answering questions tonight."
"Don't worry about it. But please stay tonight. I'd like to talk with you about it tomorrow, after you've gotten some rest. Pick a room you like upstairs."
Hermione smiled and nodded, and started up the steps. Harry decided he'd been apart from the Weasley's far too long, and walked back to the fireplace room with Kreacher in tow, hoping that company, food and drinks would be a small distraction from the pain.
***
"It's kind of you to offer, Harry dear, but I think I'd prefer to be at home right now," Molly said as she got her family ready to leave. The Weasley's had decided not to stay at Grimmauld Place, but would retreat to the Burrow to mourn and plan the funeral service. Harry could hardly blame them: there was a constant flow of Order members in and out of the house now, and that would only serve to keep tensions high. Ron gave Harry a quick hug as he turned to go, and soon all the Weasley's had either Apparated or Flooed through the fireplace, and were gone. Harry turned and went to find Dumbledore, whom he suspected was still in the house somewhere.
"Harry," Dumbledore said, turning from his mirror. "I had hoped that we would be spared a loss such as this. I hope that Molly's family recovers. How are you doing?"
"Better than most, it would seem," Harry replied. "I'm sure that they will recover; they're far too strong for this to break them."
Dumbledore smiled, but it was tinged with sadness. Harry decided to finish quickly, and get to bed. He had seen and heard enough for today, and was sure that nightmares awaited him tonight.
"Hermione knows something about this, sir," he said, "But I'm going to let her rest before probing at all. I'll let you know what information I can find out."
"That will be fine, Harry. Try to get some rest. I know that you will need time to heal, as well. We may also need you, Alastor, and Remus to further investigate this travesty."
Taking that as a cue to leave, Harry said his goodnights and left Dumbledore, heading to his room upstairs. He stopped to Beckon Kreacher, and asked him to not come upstairs for the night, as he and Hermione needed to rest without interruption. Kreacher simply nodded, and walked off. Harry smiled ruefully: Kreacher was the old Black house elf, and was indirectly responsible for the death of Sirius Black, Harry's godfather, five years ago. Kreacher had fallen into Harry's possession with the rest of the Black estate, and had been none too pleased with it. Trying to mitigate the activities of Kreacher, as well as pacify Hermione's call for the better treatment of house elves, Harry had laid out a few ground rules for Kreacher to follow:
First and foremost, Kreacher was never to speak on his own, except to answer a direct question by a person currently in the house. Secondly, Kreacher was not to leave the house for any reason, unless ordered directly by Harry, in which case a password had to be said. There were several other rules that Harry had given for Kreacher, but those two prevented any further occurrences of betrayal, and silenced Kreacher's incessant complaining about the 'fall of the great Black household'. In return, Harry had improved Kreacher's wardrobe as much as rules of house elf slavery had allowed, and did his best to be kind and polite to Kreacher. Given the meticulous upkeep of the house, and the return of items hoarded away over the years, Kreacher seemed to accept and appreciate the working conditions. Maybe one day, Harry would be comfortable to remove the talking ban; perhaps in a few more years, when the death of Sirius no longer haunted his dreams.
Harry walked quietly into his room, and closed the door. He quickly dropped out of his clothes and all but collapsed into bed; he was rewarded with a muffled scream and movement under him. Startled beyond all belief, he jumped back, and cursed his stupidity for leaving his wand in his pants' pocket. He thrust both hands out in front of him, and shouted "Wingardium Leviosa!" hoping he could put enough force behind it to make it work without a wand. The spell sent his bed covers and a very scared Hermione tumbling off the other side of the bed.
"Shit," he said to himself, as he walked over to where Hermione was. She had curled up into a ball on the floor, and was beginning to cry. Harry mentally kicked himself for his impulsive stupidity: Hermione would now be reliving the attack earlier today. Way to go, moron. How are you going to make her comfortable now?
Taking a moment to slip into his pajamas, Harry knelt and collected Hermione into his arms, and placed her back on the bed. She attempted to leave several times stammering apologies in between sobs, but Harry held her firm and kept whispering to her "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have done that. Don't go anywhere. I'm sorry." When she calmed down, Harry laid down beside her, facing the ceiling. "How come you came to my room?" he asked. "All you'll get here is me screaming with a nightmare; especially tonight."
Hermione looked up at him from the pillow, "I just didn't want to be alone tonight. Not in this place. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said that."
"It's okay," he said, pulling her a bit closer. "You just make yourself comfortable, and I'll promise not to squish you. However, I am not relinquishing my bed, no matter what chivalry dictates, so you'll have to be comfortable with one side."
Hermione just smiled, and closed her eyes, her crying spent; she soon drifted off to sleep.
Harry, however, did not. The grief from today had finally caught up with him, and his wall of anger was gone with Hermione so nearby. He could not help but think of all the times Arthur had been there to help him, both as a child and as an adult; now he was gone.
Harry could not help but think of Sirius.
Two father figures lost. No, two fathers.
Three fathers.
Harry choked back his crying as much as he could; he didn't want to wake Hermione. But she heard; she must have. Soon, it was Harry being embraced and reassured, and the two wept in each other's arms, each comforted by the other's presence; soon, they both drifted off to sleep.
Dreamlessly.