Little by Little

On an uncharacteristically warm day in August, Harry sat alone by the Great Lake, enveloped within the shade cast by Hogwarts, now in its final stages of renovation since the end of the Second Wizarding War. It felt odd, Harry mused, to be at Hogwarts so late in the summer, when he was no longer officially a student, and to know how ill-prepared he was to leave this place soon, to live the kind of freedom he'd always dreamt of, yet was now afraid to face.

Throughout the summer, it hadn't been difficult for Harry to avoid thinking about the next stage of his life. If he wasn't busy literally reconstructing the walls of Hogwarts or re-instating protection wards, he was at the Ministry of Magic working with Kingsley Shacklebolt, the new Minister of Magic, and a team of Aurors to “round up” and convict the remaining supporters of Voldemort.

Even though the focus of his work at the Ministry was admittedly unpleasant (no one, not even the most experienced Aurors at the Ministry, were particularly pleased to recount the atrocities that had been committed by Death Eaters and other followers of Voldemort, or “Voldie's Little Helpers,” as some of the more veteran, and “eclectic,” Aurors liked to call them), it brought Harry (and the Aurors) relief to know that justice was being served.

It also helped that the majority of the Ministry's Aurors welcomed him openly, treated him as an equal, and respected his opinion while still managing to teach him all they could about the responsibilities and tasks of an Auror. Even though he was never sent out “into the field,” Harry felt that he was contributing something positive while learning useful skills in the process.

Looking out at the sparkling surface of the Great Lake, Harry remembered the day in July when Kingsley had visited him in his cubicle in the Auror Offices in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to offer Harry a full-time job as an Auror.

“You'll have to work your way up the ranks like everyone else, but you're already a valued part of the team here, Harry. A lot of them have been pestering me about when I was going to offer you the job… and I have a stack of memos to prove it.” As he laughed deeply, Kingsley's wide smile shone even in the dim light of the Ministry's Auror Office.

In a similar vein, many people, both inside and outside of the Ministry, had rallied behind Kingsley as the new Minister of Magic in the immediate aftermath of the War. They had seen him as a source of stability, compassion, reassurance, and hope.

With new measures to promote egalitarian relationships and opportunities for positive growth within and outside the Ministry's magical walls, and a full-scale re-organization underway, Kinglsey was proving to be the ray of light in the darkness many had expected of him.

“Best get Robbards to take care of that for you, eh?” Harry commented, referring to an elaborate prank he and some of the team had played on Auror Robbards earlier that month, a prank which involved hexing a brigade of Ministry memos to encircle, and jab at, the Auror at all times, particularly when using the loo.

“You see Harry, you fit right in here. But more than that, I'd be honored if you'd be part of this team. So what do you say?”

In all honesty, Harry had felt the offer coming for some time, not because he thought himself particularly skilled, but because he seemed to fit in so well here, and because he was so willing and open to learn the ways of an Auror; however, his decision on the offer had not changed since he first suspected its coming.

“I'm honored Minister-”

“Harry,” Kingsley bellowed, although not unkindly, “we've talked about you calling me Minister.”

“Sorry, Kingsley, I mean- sir… I'm honored that you and everyone else want me as part of the team.”

“I hear a `but' in the works,” Kingsley sighed.

“But… right now, I feel like I've had enough experience with dark magic to last me a lifetime… two lifetimes. Maybe someday, in a year… or a few years,” Harry paused, “If the offer is still valid.”

“Now, how did I know that would be your answer? Not that I blame you Harry, you've given enough of your life to the cause, more than many of the Aurors here.”

Kingsley continued, “But yes, the offer will be here if or when you decide to take it up.”

“Thank you, sir. And again, I'm honored that I was considered at all.”

“Bah! Some of the Aurors here have been considering you since you were born.”

Harry smiled and said, “For the infant Auror division?”

Kingsley's sincere laugh shook the room for a moment, startling an innocent memo flying overhead, a few small wisps of parchment landing gently on Harry's shoulder. Harry brushed them off.

“You come back when you're ready, Harry. Merlin, you can even skip basic training… as long as you stay in shape of course.” Kingsley said, playfully poking Harry in the stomach with the tip of his wand.

“And make” *poke* “sure” *poke* “you let me know if you need anything… anything at all.”

“Yes, sir.”

As Kingsley turned to walk away, two things rapidly crossed Harry's mind.

“Minister- I mean, Kingsley, sir! Do you mean anything?”

Kingsley turned in his spot to face Harry with a quizzical look on his face, a look that was uncommon for Kingsley, a man known to be so steadfastly sure and collected, even in the most difficult situations.

“Within reason of course, Mr. Potter.”

“Yes, of course! I just meant… Hermione, Hermione Granger- she's been working so hard to set up Dobby's Hands as a legitimate organization… they do such important-”

“Yes, yes, Mr. Potter, you forget that I know Hermione- I dare say she has been as invaluable to so many magic and Muggle folk as she has been to you. I'd be glad to help her, Hagrid, Winky, and Firenze reach their goals. I'll do what I can.”

Harry was happy to hear Kingsley's response to his request. Hermione, who, with Dobby's death, had been reminded of her dedication to S.P.E.W., worked so diligently over the summer with Hagrid, Firenze, and Winky to start Dobby's Hands, an organization focused on providing relief to people and creatures, magic and Muggle, affected by the War and other future turmoil, and promoting equality among witches, wizards, house elves, centaurs, and other magical creatures.

At the time of his conversation with Kingsley, Harry knew that Hermione was trying to make headway into the Ministry to gain support and to legitimize Dobby's Hands. He also knew that Hermione, Hagrid, Winky, and Firenze had plans to find a Muggle representative who could expand their efforts among Muggles as well.

They would be pleased to hear that the Minister not only appreciated their hard work, but was interested in helping them grow.

“Is there something else?” Kingsley asked kindly, sensing Harry was not done.

“So many of my friends fought bravely at Hogwarts, but many of them weren't able to take their N.E.W.T.S…. but they're brilliant at Defense. It would mean a lot to me if you considered them for jobs too, if they come looking- Neville Longbottom, Dean Thomas, Ron Weasley, just to name a few.”

“Ah, yes. You shouldn't worry, Harry. We know what so many students had to sacrifice this year- much more than their studies. We will give them all their fair shot.”

“Thank you, sir. That's all I ask.”

As he turned to walk away, Kingsley nodded with a small but genuine smile across his face and said, more to himself than anyone else, “Harry Potter, he's given everything he never really had much of in the first place, and still wants for nothing but the happiness of others.”

Emerging from this memory on Hogwarts' grounds, Harry smiled, glad that it hadn't taken long for Kingsley to start living up to his promises, as he had legitimized Dobby's Hands within the Ministry, and had accepted Dean Thomas for Auror basic training.

In addition to his Ministry duties and his time rebuilding Hogwarts, Harry had also spent some of his summer meeting in private locations in London with a few trusted members of the press so that he could honor the true events of the War.

Of course, Harry left out many of the details (whether they were too personal, too difficult to relive, or simply unnecessary to the story Harry felt the public should know), but gave credit where credit was due, and was honest about any and all of the events he could speak for.

Harry hadn't spoken too much of Snape, as he was still unable to come to terms with much of the truth of his professor's life. In fact, Harry hadn't spoken to anyone about Snape's memories, not the ones concerning his mother anyway, and he sometimes wondered if he would ever be comfortable enough to share what he'd seen through the pensieve the day he faced Voldemort for the last time.

Despite these factors, Harry had made absolutely certain, with the best of his ability, to clear the name Severus Snape, and give him the credit he deserved.

Unfortunately, Harry had also spent a significant amount his summer days at funerals, honoring those who had given their lives so that others may live, including Fred's, Colin's, Tonks' and Remus' funerals. Harry had attended them all and spoken at some… but he didn't like to think about those days.

While Monday through Saturday were days reserved for the Ministry, funerals, Hogwarts, and the press, Sundays were reserved for classes.

Sunday was the day, every week, when he, Ron, and Hermione would meet with Professor McGonagall in a makeshift Transfiguration classroom, or with Professor Spout in the new greenhouses reconstructed (nearly entirely by Neville and Professor Sprout) not far from Hagrid's hut, or with Professor Slughorn in his makeshift Potions lab, or with Professor Flitwick, who had scheduled today's lesson by the Lake.

It's more like Flitwick's and Hermione's class, Harry thought, chuckling to himself, knowing how much “guidance” he and Ron needed in Charms.

These meetings were designated with the purpose of completing the work that was typical for a seventh year student. Of course, it wasn't the same Hogwarts' education he would have received if he could have completed his seventh year as a normal student, but McGonagall and Hermione insisted that even now, after all that had happened, it was important to take and pass the N.E.W.T.S., “For the future,” Hermione always said, whenever Ron or Harry would argue against the Sunday lessons.

As much as he and Ron (mostly Ron) complained about these Sunday “meetings,” Harry found a sense of comfort in them, knowing that Sundays, which were usually days of rest for the witches and wizards rebuilding Hogwarts, would serve to distract Harry from his thoughts. Not only that, but it felt nice to learn as he had in his earlier years as a student, beside his two best friends, and to realize that he'd grown to become rather like equals to the Professors who had taught him for so long. During his eventful weekdays, Harry found himself longing for the normalcy and dependability of Sundays.

Harry was pulled from these reflections as he heard someone approaching from the direction of the castle. “Harry, you're early.” It was Hermione, basket in hand, dressed casually for the day's outdoor Charms lesson.

“I had some free time,” Harry admitted, which was true, given the fact that the physical renovations of Hogsmeade and Hogwarts were nearly complete.

Witches, wizards, and other magical creatures from all over the world journeyed to Hogwarts to give their support in any way they could. By the end of June, there was no longer room inside the castle for people to stay, so many ventured outdoors, in tents, in order to stay and help rebuild. Harry often wondered why so many chose to stay from day to day, when they could simply apparate home each night.

Apparently, the same thought had crossed Ron's mind on a day earlier in the summer, prompting him to ask a former Durmstrang student the very question Harry had asked himself on numerous occasions. The boy responded, “Ve understand the tragedy of var, and how all must come together to rebuild. Ve vont to show our thanks… this is how.”

Harry was awed and overwhelmed not only by the willingness of these relative strangers to rebuild a place they barely knew, but by the amazing strength each individual contributed to the rehabilitation of those who had experienced loss during the War. The community of support served to lift people's spirits, and to propel the renovation of Hogwarts.

Harry (unsurprisingly), found himself as the face of this community of support, as people frequently sought him out to express their gratitude, relief, sadness, anger, and hope, sometimes in the form of a large meeting in the Great Hall, and sometimes in the form of a silent handshake.

Harry, as always, felt discomforted by the attention, and used any available opportunity to explain to others that their gratitude was misplaced. Harry took any chance he could to remind others that he was only a piece of the War effort, and that thanks should be given to those who gave their lived to protect others. In some small way, he felt that this helped sustain the memory of those who had died.

Harry also felt uncomfortable being the face of Hogwarts' community of support because he knew that Hermione was truly responsible for its' success. Throughout the summer, she headed the organization of daily support groups, the finding of ways for any and every being to contribute, and the planning of events (like Quidditch tournaments, and biweekly gatherings or organizational meetings in the Great Hall) to motivate others and build morale.

Not only that, but she worked closely with the Ministry's Muggle Liaison Office and the newly formed Dobby's Hands to help support magical and Muggle communities all around the United Kingdom, linking families affected by the War to the services and resources they needed to rebuild their own lives.

Of course, Hermione had the help and support of others, but Harry knew she was the driving force behind it all. In this way, Harry knew that, like himself, Hermione was forgetting to take care of herself. As if to reaffirm this knowledge, Harry noticed the evident exhaustion in her eyes as she stood next to him by the Lake.

“I brought some iced pumpkin juice from the kitchens since it's so hot today.”

“Thanks, Hermione. Have you seen Ron around?”

“No… I feel like I haven't seen him once since last Sunday actually.” Harry noticed a sadness in her voice that he realized had been present for quite some time, particularly when Ron was the subject of conversation. “I don't feel like I've seen you since last Sunday either.”

Harry nodded. As much as he appreciated all the distractions the process of rebuilding had given him, he missed his best friends. He also knew that much of Hermione's sadness was the result of a relationship with Ron that had seemed so promising in May, but hadn't yet had the chance to develop.

Harry was empathetic to Hermione's sadness because his relationship with Ginny continued to be intermittent, riddled by periods of growth and decay, so that it hadn't been able to bloom.

While Harry and Ginny had been elated to see each other upon his return to Hogwarts just before the start of the Final Battle, the days following were riddled with awkward silences and a discomfort that Harry could only liken to a conversation between strangers.

In the days immediately following the battle, Harry and Ginny had made it a point to spend time alone together for comfort, to talk about everything that had transpired, and to dream about what might be next for them. It was during these conversations when Harry realized that Ginny, by no fault of her own, was in the dark when it came to the details of Harry's life. While Harry had once relished in this fact, it now made him a bit… uneasy.

Not so long ago, Ginny's distance from many of the significant events (many of them painful) and people (many of them less than pleasant) in Harry's life had allowed Harry to feel he could be “just Harry”- to escape from the turmoil which seemed inextricably linked to him. Now, after all he had been through during the War, Harry realized that those painful experiences had made him who he is, had become important parts of “just Harry.” Harry felt that escaping from those experiences and influences was not only wrong, but disrespectful to the people, now gone, who had been a part of those experiences.

Harry tried to be open and honest with Ginny about his life, but he often found his words blocked by feelings of discomfort and anxiety- again, not by any fault of Ginny's - as if he were sharing intimate details of his life with someone he hardly knew, or with someone whom it was difficult to relate to.

Plus, while the cloud of ash and dust had finally seemed to settle around Hogwarts, Harry was still plagued by a cloud of remorse and something like denial, like some part of him was fighting to believe that the people he cared for were still in danger.

In any case, Harry was not ready to talk about some of the more- challenging- aspects of what had occurred during the battle at Hogwarts, especially not with Ginny.

Sensing his thoughts, Hermione asked, “How's Ginny?”

“Honestly, I wouldn't really know. Now that the castle's almost done she's been spending more and more time at the Burrow.”

Ginny had been a frequent presence at Hogwarts during the immediate aftermath of the War, but after deciding that she would not return to school for her final year, her focus had shifted from helping to rebuild Hogwarts to helping to strengthen her true home- the Burrow.

“Do you think you'll go there soon? To be with her, and help Mr. and Mrs. Weasley?”

Harry shrugged, “I don't know. I haven't thought about it much.”

Hermione nodded, seeming to know that Harry had been avoiding thinking about his future, much the same way she tried not to consider her own, even if she didn't let it on. There was a silence then, as Harry and Hermione looked out over the Lake.

Harry felt very unsure about living at the Burrow. He knew that moving to the Burrow would be the easy thing to do, as the Weasleys were his family, and it would certainly give his relationship with Ginny a real chance. At the same time, Harry feared that moving to the Burrow would be just another distraction from starting his “real life” and facing the emotions he'd been busy burying since the beginning of the War… well, Harry mused, for as long as I can remember.

Harry then thought of Hermione, who, despite her outward show of perseverance and optimism, he was truly worried about, who he'd been worried about for much of the summer, who still hadn't gone to Australia to restore her parents' memories.

“Hermione,” Harry started quietly, tentatively, “when are you going to bring back your parents?”

Hermione looked to the ground then, hiding the tears that were beginning to well in her eyes, the way they did whenever someone asked her about her parents. She wondered what Harry must think of her, having parents, but choosing to keep them away.

“You must think I'm a horrible person.”

“Of course I don't,” Harry said immediately, but gently, “I guess I'm just… I don't know. Won't you feel better to be home with them?” Harry couldn't bring himself to admit to Hermione that he was worried about her, for fear of adding another pressure in her life.

Hermione didn't want to admit that her avoidance to restore her parents memories and bring them home did not stem from a fear that they would be angry with her (which they would be, but only for a very short time, being understanding parents), but from the fact that she knew that she would have to explain and thus relive everything that had occurred during the War, that she would have to face how she felt about what transpired during the past year, and most frighteningly, she would have to decide what to do next.

In spite of these fears, Hermione knew that her time to avoid “starting” her life again was running out.

“I'll go with you, if you want. If you're afraid they won't understand why you did what you did.”

Hermione smiled sadly, remembering a time not long ago when she'd said similar words to Harry, when she told Harry she would face Voldemort by his side. Hermione wished it were as simple as being afraid that her parents would misunderstand why she altered their memories, but it assured her to know that Harry did not understand her true fears.

He has his own fears to face, she thought, knowing that Harry's time to begin his next chapter was rapidly approaching.

“Thanks, Harry,” Hermione responded as gently as she could, afraid that what she was about say next would not sit well with her best friend. “Ron and I talked about going together, back in May, and I think it might be best if we stick to that plan. Maybe… maybe then he and I will have a chance.”

Harry nodded, understanding why Hermione wanted some time alone with Ron and her parents, but the thought that his best friends, in some way, neither wanted nor needed him made his chest tighten in a sort of sickening loneliness.

“What about all your work here? And Dobby's Hands?”

“Harry, you know that there are so many other people out there working tirelessly to rebuild, and that some things… some things can only be mended to a certain point- when time has to take over.”

Harry nodded, thinking to himself that there were some things that even time couldn't mend.

“As for Dobby's hands, that was always meant to be run by Hagrid, Winky, and Firenze, and someone who has much more experience with navigating the Ministry and that type of organization. Being right out of school, I would be doing the organization a disservice to be their leader right now. It also wouldn't be best to have a witch or a wizard as the leader of the organization… Plus, now Hagrid, Winky, and Firenze have Kingsley's support… thanks to you.”

Hermione smiled, trying to ease some of the tension she could sense brewing between them.

“I need to undo what I did to my parents, and I need to give Ron and I a fair chance…”

“Well, then I guess I will go to the Burrow and spend time with Ginny,” Harry responded, more harshly than he'd intended.

As if Hermione cares if I'm at the Burrow with Ginny, without her and Ron, Harry thought flatly.

As she feared, Hermione had struck an unpleasant cord with Harry, but decided not to make an issue of it.

“That might be best. You can help the Weasleys, and you can figure things out with Ginny.”

“It seems like we kind of have things figured out then,” Harry ventured with an empty smile, looking Hermione in the eyes, and knowing none of it was true.

“As much as we're ready to figure things out,” Hermione responded, believing none of it.

***

I hope you like the first chapter! I'll admit it's a little dry, but I need to set things up. More exciting chapters to come. Please let me know what you think in the comments :)

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August was truly coming to a close the night before Hermione and Ron planned to leave for Australia, and Harry for the Burrow. Compared to June, July, and much of August, Hogwarts had now become eerily quiet, which made it much easier for Harry to leave, now that there was very little left to prevent him from reflecting on everything he could have done differently and thinking about what he would do next.

Well, at least I passed my N.E.W.T.'s, Harry thought dryly as he walked into the Gryffindor common room to meet Ron before heading down to the Great Hall. for dinner, knowing that passing his final Hogwarts' exams in no way offered any guidance for his future.

The War had changed Ron, as it had changed everyone, in some ways for the better and in some ways for worse. The loss of Fred had left a mark on Ron that would never quite heal, a mark that had, for months, scared Ron away from joy and laughter; however, the War efforts had uncovered Ron's often hidden determination and hard work, both of which were usually reserved for only the most necessary of moments, and had prompted him to put all he could into helping Hogwarts, and more significantly, his family.

He'd even mustered up the strength to run Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes for George. While George had, unfathomably to many, continued to be a source of merriment, pranks, and laughter throughout the summer at Hogwarts, he could not yet bear to set foot in the shop.

Harry remembered the day, during lunch in the Great Hall, when Ron resolved to re-open the shop for business.

“People need to laugh now more than ever. It's what Fr- it's what Fred would have wanted,” Ron said, his voice small but sure.

Harry remembered that George had looked up from his plate then, to give Ron a nod that communicated more sadness yet more gratitude than any words could.

Harry admired Ron for this determination, and hoped not only that it was here to stay, but that it spread to other aspects of Ron's life, most notably his and Hermione's budding relationship.

Harry's supper with Ron in the Great Hall felt both oddly unfamiliar and familiar; unfamiliar because the long house tables were smattered with only with a few people here and there. Familiar were the delicious mince pies and pumpkin juice… not to mention Ron's ever-so-proper table manners.

“Feels strange, eh?” Ron commented, his mouth stuffed with food, another bite not far away. It was as if he was trying to make up for the meals he'd missed in the Great Hall the previous year- all in a few bites. Looking at the delicious and fragrant spread laid out on the long table, Harry couldn't blame him.

Harry nodded. “We'll be back though.”

“Sure will…” Ron looked distant for a moment, as if he were seeing something only he could see, but seemed to shake himself back to the moment and continued merrily, “You think I could hire one of the House Elves as a personal cook?”

Harry snorted. “If you can get Hermione to go for that.”

Ron shook his had, rolling his eyes. “She just doesn't appreciate good food.”

Harry smirked, knowing Ron was only joking.

After Harry ate dinner with Ron in the nearly empty Great Hall, he felt that he owed it to Hogwarts to take a tour of its spacious halls, high towers, moving stairways, and shadowy nooks. In his head, Harry knew it wasn't a true goodbye, but in his heart he felt as though each step he took was a door closing on a particular memory, experience, or thought. Harry knew that the things he'd done and seen and felt during his years at Hogwarts would in some way always be a part of him, but he also knew that it was time to begin a new chapter in his life, outside the walls of the first place he'd ever called home.

Not feeling quite adventurous or social enough to tour the grounds that night, Harry thought it might be a good idea to get a bird's eye view of the grassy slopes of Hogwarts' landscapes.

As Harry ascended the steps of the Astronomy Tower, he chose not to think about the night Dumbledore died. Instead, he reminded himself of his first year at Hogwarts, when he and Hermione had sent little yet fiery Norbert (later known as Roberta) off with Charlie, and the subsequent trouble they'd both gotten into. Back then, the situation had seemed so dangerous and life-altering; Harry now chuckled at the memory.

“Harry, is that you?” Harry was suddenly startled out of his memory at the sound of a familiar voice echoing from the Astronomy Tower's main balcony.

“Hermione?” Harry asked, even though he had instantly recognized her voice. Looking up toward the open balcony from his low position in the room, he spotted Hermione.

“I'm up here, on the balcony.”

“I know, I see you.”

And if Harry had to admit it, the sight of her up on the balcony was breathtaking- like seeing his patronus or the ceiling of the Great Hall for the first time- her outline framed against a star-filled yet moonless backdrop. Harry thought to himself that she looked quite like she was floating there, up in the night sky, surrounded by starlight.

Harry joined her on the balcony, and the two friends stood in an awed silence, taking in the beautiful scenery around them.

After some time like this, Hermione broke the silence. “Were you laughing about Norbert?”

Harry smiled and nodded.

“It seemed so rebellious back then. It was one of the first times in my life I'd ever broken the rules.”

“Oh, if only you knew back then how many more rules you would break,” Harry chuckled teasingly.

Hermione laughed and said, “I don't think I would have made it to my second year if I knew that then.”

“Well, you wouldn't have broken so many rules if it wasn't for me,” Harry joked.

Hermione knew that even though Harry's tone of voice was joking, deep down, he truly meant what he said.

“You say that Harry, but it's not true. Why do you think I was sorted into Gryffindor, not Ravenclaw? Because I knew in my heart that some rules do more harm than good, and that sometimes you have to break the rules in order to protect the people you care about… or at least I grew to learn those things.”

“And I thought you were sorted into Gryffindor to keep the slackers from flunking out,” Harry teased.

Hermione tried her best to glare at him then, resisting her know-it-all urge to tell Harry that you can't flunk out of Hogwarts, trying and failing to hide her smile.

Again, they were silent for some time, listening to the sounds of the evening; the distant hoot of an owl, the menacing creaks of the wind and trees in the Forbidden Forest, a flutter of dark wings on the surface of the Great Lake.

“It's funny,” Hermione began, her voice nearly a whisper, “after the War I told myself I would be happy to never see a tent again, but once the castle got too crowded and people set up tents on the grounds, I've been coming up here almost every night just to look at them all.”

Harry nodded quietly, sensing Hermione had more to say.

“The first night I came up here, I found Luna. She told me this was one of her favorite spots because it was a prime lookout for large-scale wackspurt migration patterns. I told her it was a lovely view, and she told me I could have it, as I seemed to need it more than she did.”

Harry chuckled, not surprised at Hermione's recounting of what Luna said. He felt a sudden surge of joy run through him as he realized that Luna would not be far away from the Burrow in the coming months.

Hermione continued, “It was- beautiful, the view, watching lanterns and campfires flicker, and listening to the voices and laughter and music rise up through the night. Even George, always setting off one explosion or another… but what I really loved was knowing that all these people were here to help... I think that is the most beautiful thing of all.”

Although Harry hadn't been with Hermione on those nights, he thought that must have been something to see, and wished that she had asked him to join her.

“None of it would have been possible without you, you know,” Harry said sincerely.

Hermione smiled sheepishly, but made no response.

The thought that Ron and Hermione would be leaving for Australia and he for the Burrow the following morning both frightened and saddened Harry, but listening to Hermione's recollections of her nightly visits to the Astronomy Tower somehow calmed him and gave him a renewed sense of hope, even though he hadn't shared the experiences with her.

If all those people gathered to help, there has to be good things to come, Harry thought.

Later that night, visions of stars and flickering lanterns filled his mind as Harry drifted to sleep in his four-poster bed in his room in Gryffindor Tower, for perhaps the last time.

In the moment right before consciousness left him, Harry felt no fear in his heart for the first time in a very, very long time.

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Harry was coming on two weeks living with Ginny and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley when he trekked up the lopsided stairs of the Burrow one late afternoon.

The September sun was setting, casting warm orange streams of light at random intervals along his journey, through the crooked, mis-matched windows, each separated ray like the blast conjured by a particularly well-performed spell.

As he reached one of the many lopsided landings along the dusty stairway, Harry heard a voice, emanating from a room further down the hall. Harry moved toward the source of the voice, his footsteps unintentionally quiet.

Peering around a wooden doorframe, he was met with the sight of Ginny and Teddy curled up in a carpeted spot on the floor.

Since Harry's arrival at the Burrow, Teddy had been a frequent and welcome visitor. When Teddy first began visiting two weeks ago, Harry felt that he was making good on the promise he'd made to Remus the night he used the Resurrection Stone.

While he was glad to keep the promise, Harry found personal joy in spending time with and taking care of Teddy.

Harry vowed to himself that there was no way he was going to allow Teddy to have a childhood even a minutia like his own had been.

Today, Teddy's hair rivaled the shade of Weasley-red, and his nose was dotted with freckles. While this was not Teddy's true appearance, Harry was not surprised at his current physical facade; Teddy had a tendency to mime the appearance of companions, especially if he was feeling uncomfortable, or if he did not know the person well.

It was not the first time Harry had seen Teddy Lupin look more like Teddy Weasley.

Ginny and Teddy made for a picturesque pair, bathed in the glow of the evening sun, Ginny's tone of voice slightly louder than Teddy's casual hums and sighs as she related a tale to the distracted baby.

Since Harry managed to stay hidden within the shadows of the hall, Ginny and Teddy did not realize his presence, so he listened.

Harry soon realized that he was the focus of Ginny's story; his first year at Hogwarts- the beginning. No matter how many times during his life he had overheard conversations he was not intended to hear, and even though Ginny was not talking about him in a negative way, hearing someone talk about him as if he were not there still elicited an unpleasant response inside of Harry; feelings of detachment and emptiness.

Plus, Harry hated being the center of attention, even if it was just a story.

Harry gazed momentarily, eyes unfocused, out of the window behind Ginny, and noticed that the sun was hardly even a sliver on the horizon. He rubbed his eyes, adjusting to the rapidly fading light.

Ginny continued her story of Harry's first year at Hogwarts. “…and after Ron was knocked off his horse, Harry moved to win the game of chess. They were very scared and tired, but Harry knew what he had to do. He went into the next room, but what he didn't know was that Voldemort was waiting for him.”

But the potions and the riddle, Harry thought.

Harry did not have the heart to correct Ginny, to remind her of the crucial role Hermione played in the story.

Harry then remembered that Ginny may have no knowledge of Hermione's full part in capturing the Sorcerer's Stone before Voldemort could.

Harry figured that the inaccuracies of Ginny's story hardly mattered during those moments of Teddy's early life- he could not fully understand, not yet- and besides, Teddy seemed to have somehow drifted off to sleep without Ginny's notice.

Forgetting the purpose of his initial journey up the stairs of the Burrow, Harry turned from his position just outside of the room and walked back down the stairs, the continuation of Ginny's story dissipating into a dull murmur.

***

This chapter contains a lot of symbolism and foreshadowing, so if you think you might be reading too much into something… you're probably not!

I hope you enjoyed! Please feel free to comment :)

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While Harry and Ginny had started the month of September with open minds and open hearts, they both realized rather quickly that the strange distance that had grown between them during was there to stay, a distance that was characterized by too many awkward moments, hidden thoughts, and empty embraces.

Before the War, Harry relished the time he'd spent with Ginny as an escape from the difficulties in his life, especially the parts of his life he felt he had no control over, the parts of his life he felt he had never chosen.

During those moments with Ginny, Harry felt like he could just be himself- just Harry- but things were different now.

The War helped Harry realize that the challenges and tragedies he'd faced, however horrible, had made him a better person, and had contributed to who “just Harry” had become.

Harry knew that his past- the good and the plethora of bad- was inextricably linked to him, and he was starting to learn that the darkness in his past planted the seeds of so many good things.

Even more, Harry was starting to understand that the darkness of his past helped him become who he was today… and most of all, he was beginning to learn that he was okay with that.

Harry knew that part of the problem between Ginny and himself was that he couldn't be the person he'd been during his sixth year at Hogwarts.

He didn't want to be the person he used to be because that meant avoiding, escaping, and denying, and he knew that avoiding, escaping, and denying under these circumstances meant forgetting.

Harry didn't want to forget.

In any case, Harry, feeling that he owed Ginny more time, did avoid analyzing and discussing the distance and awkwardness that had grown between them for as long as possible.

Ginny however, (not one to be afraid of facing this type of emotionally-leaden obstacle head-on) could no longer bear the awkward niceties, as much as she truly cared for Harry and appreciated his kindness.

On a day in late September, when afternoon breezes had transformed from warm to crisp and the nights from comfortable to cool, Harry was startled when Ginny halted mid-flight, a Quaffle the color of faded rust under one arm, on one of their daily Quidditch practice sessions.

Harry was frightened not because he nearly careened into her on his own broomstick, but because he feared how Ginny would react to the conversation he rather suddenly realized was imminent. In all honesty, he was afraid Ginny would be angry with him.

Although Harry knew why Ginny had abruptly halted her course back to the Burrow, he was still surprised when she said, very calmly and a bit matter-of-fact, “Harry, this isn't working, is it?”

“I know you're too polite to bring it up, but I also know that you feel it- or don't feel it any more, too.”

Harry sighed, looking down and wishing that his relationship with Ginny could be as smooth as the polished wood of his broomstick's handle. “I'm so sorry Ginny… I really don't know what happened with us.”

“I do… or I think I do.”

Harry looked up at Ginny then. Even though he no longer felt the same way he once had when he looked at her, Harry still thought Ginny was pretty, especially now, her red hair shining in the light of the afternoon sun, her eyes bright and clear even during a conversation like this.

“I'm not who I was before the War, and neither are you. The people who we are now don't think, or feel, or want the same things as the people we used to be.”

Harry nodded, showing Ginny that he agreed. Ginny had made it clear that it was her dream to become a professional Quidditch player (preferably for the Holyhead Harpies), which meant at least a year of grueling daily practices, weeks of tryouts, and hopefully, a whole lot of luck.

Harry respected and admired Ginny's goals, but he wasn't sure if her goals of excitement, risk, and spotlight coincided in any way with his own hopes for the future… even if he had yet to nail down any goals beyond the hope of one day having a family of his own.

But Harry knew- and now he knew that Ginny knew too- that it was so much more than future goals.

“Maybe we could have made it work if we had changed together like George and Angelina, but… we didn't change together, Harry.”

Again, Harry nodded in agreement. Harry and Ginny had been through so much, but they had been through so much apart. It had been a refuge once… for both of them. But now it just felt wrong.

Listening to Ginny's concise, almost practiced words helped Harry realize that Ginny had also likely been consumed by thoughts of the growing distance between them. Somehow, it made him feel better to know that he wasn't alone in his feelings.

“Isn't this sort of like we are giving up though? What if we try to talk to each other more about what we both went through, and how we feel now? Maybe that would help-” Harry started.

Ginny shook her head.

“First of all, it's not giving up if there's nothing left to give up in the first place. I wish it were as simple as talking it through or working it out, but it's almost like we both have amnesia, and we are trying to fix something we don't remember anything about… and I guess, the more time we spend together, the less we remember- and we only grow apart more.”

Ginny smiled sadly.

“I'm sorry Ginny-”

“No, Harry. There is nothing to be sorry about. It's good that we tried, don't get me wrong, but it's even better that we figured this out now, before we make promises that neither of us really want to keep.”

Harry nodded. “You know I'll always love you though, right?”

Since the end of the War, Harry had made a point to start telling the people he cared about that he loved them more often; he'd told Ron, Mrs. Weasley, and now Ginny.

Ginny smiled and blushed. Harry was instantly reminded of a much younger Ginny, in her pajamas in the Weasleys' kitchen, unable to make a sound in Harry's presence.

“I know, and I'll always love you too. And it's not like we're never going to see each other. I mean, you live with me, so… now I guess I just don't have to worry as much when I fly faster than you, or when I use “unbecoming” manners at the dinner table,” Ginny mocked.

Harry laughed, thinking of Mrs. Weasley's dinnertime reprimands, of which she had no shortage for all of her children, and how they never failed to be ignored… or joked about.

“Like you worry about those things-”

“Last one home has degnoming duty!” Ginny interrupted, speeding off with full force toward the Burrow.

Harry only smirked and shook his head. He would always admire Ginny's humor, open-mindedness, and fiery spirit, and he found comfort in knowing that she would never stop caring for him, but Harry felt lighter knowing that their attempts at rebuilding a romantic relationship were over.

As Harry turned toward the direction of the Burrow and spotted the zig-zagged bricks of the house's smokey chimney in the distance, he gulped nervously, suddenly realizing that Mrs. Weasley would eventually become privy to this new development.

Harry was looking forward to that as much as he was looking forward to facing another blast-ended skrewt.

***

In this chapter, I tried my best to represent Ginny and Ginny and Harry's relationship as best as I could. I hope it came through.

I hope you like it! Please feel free to leave a comment!

Next chapter: Ron and Hermione return, Luna! pays a visit, Harry solves a problem or two with some help.

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Harry couldn't decide if it was very late or very, very early. To help him decide, he looked at the clock, a Mr. Weasley-Muggle masterpiece that lived its' life part-time as a toaster, on the Burrow's kitchen counter, and saw that it was two in the morning.

Very, very early, Harry decided.

Harry busied his mind with memories of the previous few weeks to keep his mind off of just how early it was.

Harry remembered the day a few weeks ago, when he and Ginny, high above the ground, had discussed the end of their romantic relationship. He also remembered a few days later, when Ron and Hermione had returned from Australia.

The day his two best friends returned was one of joy and relief. While Ron and Hermione were away, Harry had experienced what he could only describe as separation anxiety, even though they'd sent him letters every week.

Harry had worried every day in September about Ron and Hermione's safety. Even with the company of Ginny and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, Harry had felt quite strange and a bit empty, as if he was forgetting something, but couldn't exactly remember what.

He'd often found himself thinking that if he had a Remembrall, it would be red all day, every day.

If Harry was being honest with himself, he would also admit that he'd felt a bit jealous, that his friends would go so far away for so long without him, especially during such an important time in all of their lives.

All of these negative feelings were forgotten however, the day Ron and Hermione returned.

While Harry had hoped that Ron and Hermione would leave the worst parts of the bickering and argumentative aspects of their relationship behind them, during the days in early October when Hermione stayed at the Burrow, Harry, Ginny, and the rest of the Weasleys became acutely aware that Hermione and Ron's trip to Australia had only seemed to change Hermione's skin from pale to tan and Ron's from white to sunburnt… not their relationship.

Harry sometimes found himself put in the middle of their bickering.

Harry did his best to ease the tension by joking, listening to Ron's complaints, by distracting Hermione on short walks through the fields surrounding the Burrow, or- in times of desperation- asking Hermione to look up bits of information Harry didn't really need; however, these peace-keeping attempts did not seem to have much effect.

While it was always clear what they were arguing about- Ron being inconsiderate, Hermione being pushy, Hermione being “mental,” as Ron still occasionally thought to put it- Harry couldn't figure out the true reason why they were arguing.

Before, Harry thought the root of the arguing was their hidden feelings for each other…. but now, Harry had no clue.

I'm not sure I want to know, Harry thought, sitting in the dark in the Weasleys' kitchen, trying to rid the uncomfortable topic from his thoughts.

At least they are getting along most of the time, Harry thought, concluding that maybe their bickering and misunderstandings were just going to always be a part of their relationship.

Harry returned his focus to Mr. Weasley's “Muggle” clock in the kitchen.

Too early to be up, Harry thought to himself with a grimace.

It wasn't uncommon for Harry to be up at this time of morning, as he was not a stranger to nightmares, racing thoughts and memories, and anxiety, especially since the conclusion of the War.

Sometimes, these things prevented sleep from coming, and sometimes these things were an aversion to sleep- a prompt to make Harry think that staying awake would keep the pain away.

In any case, he often spent hours sitting at the Weasleys' kitchen table in the quiet bluish light of early morning, nibbling on a bite of toast, looking in his photo album, reading a book, or diverting his mind with other, more palatable thoughts and memories.

On some mornings, he wasn't alone.

On occasion, Ron, Ginny, Mr. Weasley, or Mrs. Weasley would join him at the table, complaining of similar problems; a nightmare, feelings of restlessness, heartache. By late in September, Harry had thought it odd how never more than one Weasley (and oddly, never Hermione) joined him for an early morning chat.

Harry's suspicion had led him to ask Hermione if she thought that the Weasleys had conspired to alternate “nightly Harry duty.”

She hadn't taken it kindly, to say the least.

“Honestly, Harry, you're worse than Ron sometimes. They have their own nightly battles to face just as much as you.”

Her comment had been like a slap to the face, but a needed one. Harry wondered how he could have been so self-occupied.

On some of these early mornings (Harry later learned it was when the moon was waxing crescent, waning crescent, or full), Harry was joined by Luna, who, by foot (literally, as she was more often barefoot than not) traveled the short distance from her rook chess piece of a home on a hill down to the Burrow.

Harry remembered the first night Luna had joined him in his wakefulness.

That early morning had been the first time after the War, and hopefully the last, Harry had convinced himself that he and the Weasleys were surely in the midst of an attack by a wayward Deatheater, one of the unfortunate many who continued to linger and roam about the countryside, claiming to do Voldemort's work, believing he will one day return.

Hearing strange noises coming from outside, Harry had stealthily crept out of the Weasleys' kitchen into the moonlight, in the direction of faintly rustling bushes.

Seeing what Harry originally thought was a strangely glowing orb (he later realized the orb was only Luna's platinum blond head), he readied his wand to perform a disarming spell; however, the “Ex-” of Harry's “Expelliarmus!” was interrupted by a dreamy voice emanating from amongst Mrs. Weasley's vegetable garden.

“Hello, Harry. Enjoying the moonlight?”

“Luna?” Harry questioned unbelievingly.

Finally letting his guard and wand arm down, Harry saw that Luna was happily crouched next to a large tomato plant and a few green pumpkins.

Her platinum hair was swept to the side of her face in a messy plait, and she was clad in midnight blue pajamas. Harry also noticed that Luna was barefoot, the moist earth rising up between her pale toes.

“I thought about telling you yesterday that I was going to come by…. so that you wouldn't hex me, but then I remembered that you would pick a disarming spell before a harmful one… before figuring out who was rustling in the garden, that is.”

Even after knowing Luna for so long, she still found ways to startle, confuse, and awe all of her friends, including Harry.

Rather than ask Luna exactly what she was doing, Harry ventured his best guess. “Looking for garden gnomes?”

“Well yes, sort of. At this time of year, and with this type of garden gnome, when the moon is waxing crescent, waning crescent, or full- like tonight- rings of silver-colored sediment become visible around their burrows.”

Luna beckoned Harry closer to a small, empty spot next to her, between her right foot and the green pumpkins.

As Harry crouched down, he glimpsed a worn look in Luna's typically reflective, doe-like eyes, and guessed that she might not be awake at this hour just to look at gnome rings.

“See?” Luna whispered as she carefully parted a wall of greenish-brown tomato plant leaves.

And Harry saw. Dozens and dozens of glowing silver rings of all sizes, some large and some very small, some overlapping each other and some more distant from their spot in the Weasleys' garden. When Harry shifted his weight, the rings seemed to glisten in the moonlight.

“It's pretty isn't it?” Luna said pointedly.

“Yeah,” Harry agreed quietly.

“Does the sediment have magical properties? Like gnome saliva?”

Luna shook her head, no.

“That's odd,” Harry mused aloud, thinking back to some of the fairytales he'd heard in school before he went to Hogwarts. Things that glowed in the moonlight were usually magical or ominous, and Harry knew there was nothing ominous about garden gnomes. “Why not?”

“My mom always liked to say… sometimes the beauty or wonder of something is magic enough.”

Harry nodded silently in agreement, thinking back to the night on the Astronomy Tower's balcony, when Hermione had told him about the tents.

Luna and Harry sat for a time among tomatoes, eggplants, green pumpkins, and silver gnome rings, using the time not only to catch up on what the other had been up to, but also using the moment to enjoy the peaceful sounds of pre-dawn.

As the blue moonlight eventually transformed to a yellow-orange glow that morning, Harry told Luna she could stop by any night, but that she should start coming by during the day, too.

Luna seemed very pleased with the invitation, and made good on it a number of times in the following weeks, whether it was for lunch, dinner, a playdate with Teddy, or just to say hello.

Harry was glad to have the extra company, and he was even more glad to see the tiredness leave Luna's eyes a little more with each visit to the Burrow.

Harry wasn't the only one in the house glad to have the extra company, as all of the Weasleys' spirits seemed lifted with each of Luna's visits. Luna had a way of reminding people of the importance and magic of everyday moments.

“Luna, you know, I thought you were a real nutter when we first met,” Ron blurted out one night at dinner, admittedly after a butterbeer or two, to which Mrs. Weasley, Ginny, Hermione, and even Mr. Weasley exclaimed in unison, “Ronald!”

“Would you let me finish!?” Ron retorted.

Harry snorted, thinking that Ron would undoubtedly make things worse, given the chance to finish his thought.

Teddy laughed in his highchair nearby.

“Oi,” Ron glared, not too seriously, at Harry and Teddy.

“It's all right Ron,” Luna interjected calmly, nibbling on a piece of bread, “I don't mind people thinking that.”

“Well I did think that, at first… but, what I was about to say before I was so rudely interrupted, was that I'm really glad that we became friends… all of us.”

Harry remembered the colorful mural on Luna's bedroom ceiling. Friends, it said.

That evening, any feeble tiredness or fear that remained visible in Luna's eyes vanished for good.

Luna became a less frequent early morning visitor after that, and then she and her father left on a long-awaited month-long expedition to Sweden to look for the Crumple-Horned Snorkack.

In late October, around the same time Luna and her dad left on their expedition, Hermione returned home to her parents. While the Weasleys agreed that it was good for Hermione to return home, and that Ron and Hermione would be fine after some time apart, Harry feared that the separation would only prolong the negativity and misunderstandings that somehow alwayd existed between them in one way or another.

Soon after Hermione's departure, Ron began working full days at George's shop again, and Ginny's training with a rookie Quidditch team (whose captain supposedly had connections with the Holyhead Harpies) was in full swing.

With a recent promotion at work and plenty of grief to keep at bay, Mr. Weasley was also rarely at home, spending much of his time at the Ministry, or tinkering with more toaster clocks in his workshop.

With everyone so busy, Harry began to feel a bit strange living at the Burrow, his days spent having tea with Mrs. Weasley, degnoming the garden (it was really becoming an issue), watching Teddy while Andromeda worked at St. Mungo's, and flying around by himself over fields and ponds near the Burrow.

Throughout his time at Hogwarts, Harry often thought how much he would enjoy being alone more often, with plenty of time to just be, but now that he was so often alone and not doing much in the way of productivity, he rather missed the company and felt he lacked a sense of purpose.

Harry had attempted to work with Ron at George's shop for a brief time, but found it extremely difficult to work when he was consistently bombarded by customers with questions about the War, his current relationship status, his plans for the future, and requests for pictures and autographs.

Ron, never one to feel uncomfortable in the spotlight, helped Harry immensely in these situations by deflecting people's attention, and assured Harry that the commotion would eventually die down.

George assured Harry that it was all great for business.

While Harry knew that Ron (and George too, in fact) were probably right, Harry did not want to spend his days in such a way, and decided that working in the shop was not for him.

Now, Harry faced the ever-present problem of having no idea what to do with himself. Even though he had Kingsley's job offer waiting for him, Harry wasn't ready to take it. He honestly wasn't sure if he'd ever want to take it.

Hermione had offered him a place to stay in her parents' home, but Harry felt he could not impose on Hermione and her family, after they had been separated for so long.

Hermione understood his refusal to live with her; however, this did nothing to stem her frequent letters, floos, and general attempts to get him to stop by for a visit.

Harry knew the Weasleys wanted him to stay at the Burrow, but he felt as though he was in some way a drain on Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's resources.

Plus, Harry had to admit that he was becoming exasperated by Ron, who in his rare free time seemed hyper-focused on how he was totally confused by Hermione's behavior, and lost on what to do.

While pondering this wide variety of thoughts at the Weasleys' kitchen table at two in the morning, Harry heard a series of creaks emanating from the floor above. Even now, after the War, Harry could not stop himself from viscerally gripping the handle of his wand in alarm, preparing for any potential threat.

When Harry heard the creaks slowly move toward the direction of the stairs, his self-control took over and he relaxed slightly, realizing that someone in the house must also be awake.

Harry knew he hadn't woken Ron, as Ron could sleep through a horde of screeching mandrakes, but Harry wondered if it was Mr. Weasley who'd awoken at such an unusual hour.

Please don't let it be Mr. Weasley, Harry thought rather guiltily.

It wasn't as if Harry's relationship with Mr. Weasley had changed drastically since the War, and it certainly wasn't as if Harry thought any less of the man he'd come to know as a father. Instead, Harry's previous “relationship” status with Ginny had somehow activated a side of Mr. Weasley that Harry could only liken to the man's relationship with anything Muggle-related: obsessive.

Mr. Weasley had basically become enthralled over the notion that his only daughter was in a romantic relationship with the one man in the universe whom he felt truly deserved her.

Encouraged by his own belief, Mr. Weasley had let his imagination run a bit wild, even going so far as to discuss wedding plans and future grandchildren with Harry.

Of course, these conversations made Harry extremely uncomfortable. More painfully, these conversations also prompted Harry to feel extremely guilty, knowing that his relationship with Ginny was, at this point, truly one of close friendship.

Harry, Ginny, and even Ron were initially shocked that Mr. Weasley was acting in such a way, as the three had expected the behavior from his significant other. In any case, Harry, remaining shocked, had no idea how to handle this side of Mr. Weasley.

In contrast, Ginny and Ron (who at this point also knew that Ginny and Harry's relationship was decidedly one of friendship) had come to find Mr. Weasley's behavior more amusing than anything else. Harry quite suspected that they enjoyed watching Harry become blatantly uncomfortable and embarrassed whenever Mr. Weasley and Harry were in the same room. Mr. Weasley seemed none the wiser.

Harry's discomfort only worsened whenever Ginny and Ron would play along with Mr. Weasley's notions; Ron would often start listing ridiculous wedding themes (everything from a Tri-Wizard Tournament theme where guests would compete for the seats closest to the bride and groom, to a Quidditch theme where everyone would dress like their favorite Quidditch player, at which point Ginny would chime in with, “I call Krum!”

Harry found it odd that Mr. Weasley did not find this comment suspicious in the least.

Ginny would often pretend to decide names for their future children (an opportunity which she would also use to make Mr. Weasley tear up with joy with names like Arthur Ronald Potter and James Sirius Potter).

Again, Harry found it all very discomforting.

With this discomfort in mind, Harry was relieved to find that it was Mrs. Weasley, not Mr. Weasley, joining him in the kitchen so early in the morning, even if she was rather disheveled looking.

“Harry dear, put on some tea, would you?”

“How did you know it was me?” Harry asked from the dark, rising from his seat to put the kettle on.

“A mother always knows.”

Mrs. Weasley sat at the kitchen table and lit a candle to brighten the room while Harry tended to the tea.

With the room now lit with more than the blue glow from the moon, Harry saw, out of the corner of his eye, that Mrs. Weasley was wringing her hands nervously, anxiously looking at the family clock. Harry peered at the clock, and noticed that Fred's hand was still stuck on `mortal peril'.

Shaking his head, Harry wondered how no one else had noticed it, and made a note to himself to ask Hermione for help to switch Fred's hand to the `home' position.

“I've had some trouble sleeping since the War, like most people I'm sure, but I've this awful dream that every hand on the clock suddenly points to “mortal peril'…”

Harry let Mrs. Weasley continue, not really knowing how to comfort her.

“Then I hear V-Voldemort and Bellatrix… and the hands all point to `dead.'”

Harry listened, quietly setting mugs on the table and fixing tea the way he knew Mrs. Weasley preferred.

“And I wake up and I know it's a silly dream… so silly- and I think `the War is over, everyone is safe.' But… but then I remember- Fred,” Mrs. Weasley sniffled loudly then, and Harry saw tears stream down her face.

Feeling uncomfortable with this open display of sadness, he looked down at his tea, but cautiously placed his hand on top of her trembling one.

Harry didn't know what else to do to make Mrs. Weasley feel better (he suspected that he really couldn't do much), but he silently handed her a napkin from a pile in the center of the table, still unable to look her in the eyes.

“Thank you dear,” Mrs. Weasley said as she dabbed at her face and proceeded to blow her nose.

“”Look at me, I'm a mess. I'm sorry you have to see this Harry.”

“It's okay, Mrs. Weasley. I wish- I wish there was something I could do.”

“I know, it's quite all right. Besides, it's gotten a little easier, especially with everyone not far away and keeping busy.”

Harry was glad to hear it. He knew Mrs. Weasley put up a good front, but he'd been too afraid to ask her how she'd truly been feeling lately.

Mrs. Weasley sniffled again, and gently patted the back of Harry's hand. Harry looked up cautiously, afraid she may be crying again, but saw that she had a small smile on her face.

A short time passed in silence, as Harry and Molly sipped tea in candlelight.

“Now Harry,”Molly began, her voice no longer sad, “seeing that we're both up and Arthur's asleep, I think we need to have a little chat.”

Harry gulped audibly, fearing that he had misread Mrs. Weasley's acceptance of the end of his and Ginny's relationship.

“Harry, you know that you always have a home here, no matter what, and that Arthur and I think of you as a son. But we wouldn't be good parents if we didn't start helping you think about your future.”

“Now before you say anything, I know that you and Ginny are no longer- involved- and while I would've loved to see you both happy together, I understand that not every relationship works the way you expect it. Why, before Arthur there was a man…” Seeing Harry's flush, Molly spared him.

“Well, that's no matter,” Mrs. Weasley laughed, “Arthur on the other hand- I'm really so apologetic for his behavior- he's having such a hard time letting his youngest child and only daughter go. In Arthur's mind she was safe and sheltered with you, and without you he thinks she's out in the wide world on her own.”

“I know Mrs. Weasley, I-“

“No need to apologize Harry, truly, a lot of this is Arthur's grief, the good man… but you'll see. He'll be all right eventually… I'll bring him to his senses.”

Mrs. Weasley smirked playfully then, and gave Harry a quick wink.

“But about you, Harry. I know it's been challenging living here the last couple of weeks-”

“Mrs. Weasley, I love living here-“

“Oh hush, I didn't mean it like that. I only meant that I can tell that you'd like to start thinking of more permanent places, or maybe where you'd be more useful?”

“Yeah, I… I've thought about maybe getting my own flat. I have money saved and it might be good to have a place of my own.”

“Quite right. That would be nice… but won't you be lonely, having a big flat all to yourself after living at school for so long, and then here, where there's always people around.”

Harry imagined himself alone, in an empty flat, not knowing what to do with himself, or how to spend his days. The thought reminded him of how he used to live at the Dursley's. Harry shuddered.

“Have you given any thought to living with Andromeda? I know that she would love to go back to her job at St. Mungo's full-time, especially with all the new cases from the War… it helps to keep her busy from thinking about… Well, it sounds like she has a promotion on the way… and Merlin knows she could use help with Teddy… and you're his Godfather, after all. That might be nice.”

Mrs. Weasley sipped her tea again then, letting Harry mull it over.

After listening to Mrs. Weasley's suggestion, he immediately knew that Mrs. Weasley and Andromeda's plan was some time in the making. Harry was not annoyed by this, however.

Instead, he felt warmed at the thought that Mrs. Weasley and Andromeda cared about him enough to help him decide what to do next with his life.

“Mrs. Weasley, I really like spending time with Teddy, but I don't know anything about taking care of kids,” Harry said very seriously, concerned that he would be an ill-choice for a caretaker.

Mrs. Weasley's smile spread across her face to the corners of her eyes as she chuckled, “Oh, Harry, no one really knows anything about childcare! Heaven knows how all my children turned out okay- well, there was that one time with Percy, but never you mind that! I know you'll be wonderful. Plus, Andromeda and I won't be far, and I'm sure Ron and Hermione could give you a hand when you need it.”

“More importantly,” Mrs. Weasley continued sincerely, “I think Andromeda would really like the company. She and Teddy are quite alone- it would be a welcomed change.”

Harry nodded. He would much rather spend his time doing something to help someone he cared about than spend it on himself, aimlessly trying to figure out what to do with his spare time. Plus, the promise he'd made to Remus the night he faced Voldemort for the final time was always present in the forefront of his mind.

Harry envisioned himself spending his days with Teddy, playing and teaching. He could help give Teddy the childhood he'd never gotten himself.

“Well, as long as they have the space, and they want me there. I think I'd really like that.”

After finishing their tea, he and Mrs. Weasley tiredly ambled back up the stairs to their respective rooms.

As Harry reached the door to the room he shared with Ron, he whispered, “Thanks Mrs. Weasley, I- I really appreciate it.”

“Oh, Harry, think nothing of it. What are mothers for?”

As Harry pulled the sheets up over him in his small twin-sized bed, feeling a renewed sense of purpose and anticipation, he had only positive feelings about things to come.

***

This was a long chapter, but I hope you found it interesting! I couldn't find a good way to break it up. I also hope that I was able to write Luna well. She is one of my favorites. The story really starts to get going in the next few chapters - a lot less retrospective stuff as well. Please feel free to leave a comment!

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