Getting Harry Back

Chapter 10
Belonging

Wie lieblich sind deine Wohnungen (How lovely are Thy Dwelling-Places)
Herr Zebaoth! (O Lord of the Sabbath!)
Meine Seele verlanget und sehnet sich (My Soul longeth, yeah fainteth)
Nach den Vorhofen des Herrn; (For the Courts of the Lord;)
Mein Leib und Seele freuen sich (My Life and Soul rejoiceth)
In dem lebendigen Gott. (In the living God.)
Wohl denen, (Blest are they,)
die in deinem Hause wohnen. (who dwell within Thy house.)
Die loben dich immerdar (They praise You evermore.)
Wie lieblich, wie lieblich, (How lovely, how lovely,)
Sind deine Wohnungen. (Are Thy Dwelling-Places.)

Psalm 84: 2-3, 5
Johannes Brahms, Ein Deutches Requiem (A German Requiem)
Movement IV
(Perhaps the most beautiful choral expression of home and the longing for home)

Molly Weasley hadn't slept well. Disturbing dreams finally woke her in the night. Moonlight – colorless, damp and chill – came through the single window and around the small bedroom, which was mostly filled by a hand-me-down double bed. Molly scowled, not at the bed, bedroom or moonlight, and certainly not at her quilt-enmeshed, snoring husband next to her, but at her own thoughts. Over and over, she kept seeing Harry's face and hearing his voice when he had asked to call her, "Mum," and afterwards. She was as horrified, as outraged as when she had seen him beaten. Needing a mum and getting beaten – in her mind these two were firmly linked.

"He didn't ask me, he was begging, begging me to be his mum."

At this she felt tears and screams, overwhelming sadness and fury explode throughout her body.

"No child should ever have to beg for a mum. Ever! That is so wrong, so absolutely and utterly wrong -- just as wrong as being beaten."

She was furious with herself, too, because she hadn't seen it, because she hadn't been the one to offer, because by not thinking or noticing she had made Harry beg, beg for what he so desperately needed, for what he so completely deserved, for what her heart and Arthur's had been crying to give him ever since Lily and James were murdered. She wasn't sure she would ever forgive herself.

Again, she felt Harry's hugging afterwards and heard his whispering, "I love you, Mum."

"Clinging like a terrified baby," she thought, "afraid I'd go away or disappear."

She hadn't felt that terrified child-clinging since… "not since Ginny was possessed by You-Know-Who, and before that not since it all came out about what happened to Ron." She shuddered and felt another inner explosion of tears and screams and a protectiveness she knew was her most powerful magic, that and her mum-loving.

It took every ounce of strength she possessed to lie beside her husband and not to go leaping out of bed to check on Harry, then to stay beside him until he woke up and she was sure, absolutely sure that he was all right, that he felt truly and securely loved.

Oh, the times she and Arthur had sat up with their children. She knew he was as fiercely protective as she. Molly was positive that if she and Arthur had been able to talk about Harry last night that he'd be up, too, fuming and fussing and just as ready to leap out of bed. He had so often stormed his frustration at not being able to bring Harry into their family, always ending with, "Where he belongs!"

That love and protectiveness, she thought fondly, was perhaps what she most loved about Arthur. She suspected that was also what he most loved about her.

Thoughts of Arthur, however, were swept away by memories of Harry's begging, Harry's clinging. With these memories came more-than-a-decision, there came a resolve, a commitment, a self-binding oath:

"Never again will Harry beg for someone to love him or to be his family. Never."

She turned and gave her peacefully-sleeping husband a shove: "Arthur! Wake up!"

A much-disheveled, balding redhead abruptly and blearily emerged from the bedclothes, shouting: "Wha? Wha?"

"We need to talk, Arthur," Molly Weasley said, exuding unstoppable determination. "We need to talk now."

* * * * * * * * * *

Thump!

Harry's eyes opened and for a moment he couldn't think where he was. Then: "Ron's room and the party!" And then: "My portraits!" Harry reached for his glasses, put them on, and saw his mum and his dad and Sirius looking down, smiling. Harry felt a big glow.

"Sorry, mate."

Harry turned and, across the small, cluttery bedroom, almost within touching distance, he saw Ron in the last stages of getting dressed.

"Dropped one of my trainers." He gave Harry a sheepish grin. "Dead clumsy in the morning, you know. You were sleeping so peaceful, I was trying to be quiet to give you a bit of a lie-in."

Harry smiled. It felt good to wake up to Ron, especially here at the Burrow. It felt right, it felt family, it felt home.

"S'okay," he replied.

"Be on my way then. Take your time." Ron finished tying his laces, got up and headed for the door.

Harry returned to his portraits and saw Mrs. Weasley's picture. "No," he thought, remembering the night before, "she's not Mrs. Weasley to me, now. She's my mum, too." He felt another big glow.

Then it struck him: "How would Ron feel? He already has a whole bunch of others who take up his mum's time. And now me?"

Harry paled. He felt as scared as when he asked Mrs. Weasley -- "No," he told himself firmly, "Mum" -- whether it was okay to call her, "Mum". He didn't want to make Ron mad or to take anything away from him. After all Ron had done for him….

He looked over as Ron was closing the door. "Uh, Ron?"

Ron poked his head back into the room. "Yeah, mate?"

"I… I need to talk with you; it's kind of important…?"

Instantly, Harry saw Ron's worry-look, a look he knew well. Just as instantly, Ron saw that Harry was pale, that something was bothering him, a look Ron knew well and knew it was often connected with God-awfulness. His worry-look grew and he moved quickly, kneeling by his best friend's bedside, full of questions:

"Harry? Your scar hurting again? You-Know-Who back in your head?"

Even in his fear, Harry saw that Ron's protectiveness hadn't lost its edge. Part of him appreciated it, but most of him got even more worried that maybe he'd done something that his best friend wouldn't like or that he, Harry, might even have hurt him. Harry sagged as he had trouble finding words.

Ron moved beyond worry to near-hysteria. "Harry? Should I get Mum and Dad?"

That made it worse. But even if he didn't know what to say, he had to say something.

"No, Ron, it's not that, it's not Volde--" Ron winced. "Uh, You-Know-Who. Nothing like that at all."

Ron put his hand on Harry's shoulder. "Harry, what's wrong?" Ron was still touching more. Which was great, Harry felt he needed it. But now it just made him feel even more worried and guilty.

"Nothing's wrong, or I hope nothing's wrong. I've just got to talk to you." He tried a smile, but it didn't come off very well.

Ron looked puzzled, but at least not quite so worried.

"Ron? Uh, last night, after everyone was gone? Well, I had a talk with your mum, and, uh--"

Ron blushed and rapid-fired into explaining: "I'm sorry, Harry, I know you wanted to tell Mum and Dad, but with the party and all I didn't think we'd have time, and I knew they'd feel hurt if they didn't know before we told everybody, so--"

"No, Ron, that's okay," Harry interrupted. "Really, it's fine. That's not what I want to talk about."

"Oh." He looked at Harry more puzzled than ever. "Then what?"

"Well you see, we did talk about that prophesy and everything. And she talked about how she was going to try to kill Voldemort, she and your dad, not just me, and… and…."

Harry gulped.

"She said she felt like I was her son?"

Ron was still puzzled, and worry began to creep back in. "Yeah, we knew that. Harry, what's bothering you? Honest, you can tell me, mate, really you can."

"When she said that out loud, well...." Harry held his breath a moment, then blurted in a small voice: "I asked if it'd be okay to call her, ‘Mum?'"

Harry stopped and looked carefully and fearfully at Ron.

Ron dropped the worry, but kept the puzzled. "Yeah? And?"

Harry said, still in a small, too-high voice: "She said, yes, she'd like that?"

Harry stopped again and looked again, even more carefully and much more fearfully.

Ron's puzzled look didn't change. Finally he said, "Yeah?"

Harry didn't know what more to say, but at least Ron hadn't reacted badly to it. Yet. He took a deep breath. "I thought it might… well… bother you?"

"Bother me?" Ron went from puzzled to blank. "Why?"

Words, frightened words flooded out: "Oh, Ron, I don't want you to think I was taking your mum away from you or pushing in on your family or something. I don't want to make you mad. Or to hurt you."

Ron looked down for a couple moments to take this in. Then his blank went to surprised, and he looked back at Harry, who cringed.

"You thought I'd be…. Jealous?"

Cringe-look still in place, Harry nodded silently, searching his best friend for any sign of disapproval.

Ron went from surprised to sad and happy. He reached over and ruffled Harry's permanently-ruffled hair. "Harry. You already are family. That's just putting the right words on what everyone knows." He smiled, all teeth and freckles. "And wants."

Harry couldn't help it; he grabbed Ron into a hug.

Ron was a little surprised, but just fine with giving out another hug. "If that's what Harry wants, that's what Harry gets. After all," Ron thought smiling to himself, "he's my best friend. And," he paused a bit, "I guess sort of my brother, too." So he hugged back.

"Hey, mate," he said as Harry relaxed, "you really need to get onto this family thing a little better."

Harry was angry with himself for being such an idiot. "I've wanted one so much, all my life, more than anything. I don't know about families. I've never had one that I can remember."

Ron pulled his friend away a bit, hands on his shoulders, to look him in the eye:

"You do now."

Above Harry's bed, all his folks in the wizard portraits smiled and nodded.

* * * * * * * * * *

When Ron left, Harry had a talk, his first real talk ever with his birth mum and dad, and with Sirius, too. Harry felt such a heart-freeing relief to finally share. He told them all about the party and having a mum and maybe even having a family again. Harry worried that his birth mum might be jealous, like he'd worried about Ron, but she was so happy that all those worries disappeared.

Harry wanted to ask them so many questions, and they wanted to know all about his life since they died. But his parents were firm: Harry had a family downstairs and he needed to go there first. His portrait family would be up here, later and always.

Harry nodded, hating to leave but knowing that they were right. And he wanted to see and talk with and…. He felt kind of embarrassed, but he wanted to touch his new mum, now that he had a mum he could really touch.

"Touching," he thought. "The past two weeks, ever since I started with Ron and Hermione, it's like I'm…." Harry couldn't quite believe the word, but the wound was clear: "starving."

He thought some more, then shrugged and gave it up. "Hope I get over it." But part of him hoped he didn't get over it too soon.

Harry came down the old wooden stairs feeling like he was four years old and he was finally going to get his first real Christmas ever. He found his new mum alone in a kitchen filled with food smells. Amidst self-stirring pots and self-frying pans, she looked up, smiled and said, "Hello, son. If you get to call me, ‘Mum', I get to call you, ‘son'."

Harry realized: "She's not just my mum. I'm… her son."

"Oh, Mum," he said as he ran over and got the first at ease mum-hug he ever remembered, though he'd watched so many in his baby-Harry picture. Now he didn't have to work hard to imagine, to almost-feel. He could just hug and get hugged.

His stomach announced, loudly, that it was way past breakfast. Harry sat down at the big kitchen table while his mum served him eggs and beans and tomatoes and sausages and toast and marmalade and cereal and juice and milk and tea and always ready with more.

After Harry was stuffed, his mum sat down beside him with some serious in her face: "Harry, can we talk?"

Abruptly worried, Harry nodded.

"Oh, Harry." She squeezed his arm. "It's no worry, just something I want to talk about."

Harry relaxed, but not quite to easy.

"I was talking with Arthur. Oh," she smiled, "and if you like, you can call him, ‘Dad'. Mind, you don't have to, but to be frank, he'd like that, he'd really like that a lot. That's how he thinks of you, you know, as his son."

Harry was pleased with himself. He controlled the tears, though his eyes grew three sizes and it was a while before he remembered to breathe. "A dad!" he thought, "I have a real mum and a real dad!" When that lump backed down, he said earnestly, even reverently, "I'd like that a lot, too."

She smiled and brought Harry into another hug. Harry was filled with the magical feeling: "My mum and my dad and I'm their son." At last he, Harry, belonged, he belonged to his mum and his dad and they belonged to him, that first most-powerful-of-all magics -- being loved and belonging.

"Harry," she continued after their hug, "we don't want to push you, but Arthur-- no, your dad and I were thinking that you haven't had many people who made you feel wanted." Her face filled with sadness. "That was very, very wrong," she said firmly, "that was an evil lie, Harry. Because you are the best son imaginable." She paused and smiled. "I'm an expert, you know, because now I have seven best sons imaginable. And, of course, the best daughter imaginable."

Harry smiled back and nodded. He liked all her sons, too. "Well," he thought, "maybe not Percy as the best imaginable. But if that's what Mum thinks, I'll try." Part of him wondered, "If they're my mum and my dad, are Ron and all them my brothers? And Ginny my sister?" But he set it aside: "I'll figure it out later."

He saw that his mum was still having trouble saying something. "Mum, you can tell me anything. I can take it. Honest."

She sighed and smiled. "I know you can, Harry. You have so many strengths and so much courage. Your dad and I are very proud of you."

"My mum and dad are proud of me?" he thought. Again, this was so new. It was like getting hugged with words -- to be loved and to have someone proud of him. Except once with Dumbledore, no one had ever told him that they were proud of him. And he had fifteen years of people, when they bothered to notice him at all, telling him that he was a freak, that he was worthless and a burden. He looked at her, his face showing his surprise, unsure if he'd heard right.

"Yes, Harry." She smiled. "We're proud of you, not just because of what you've done, but most of all because of the fine young man you've become."

With his mum's words, Harry could feel another place in his heart fill up, a place he didn't even know was empty. And not just fill up. Something that had shattered now came together. Through his mum and dad's pride in him, he could feel himself not only fill up but grow up in a way that felt solid and whole, real and true.

Mum nodded, then continued, "It's not hard, you see, what I'm trying to say, because it's what we want to do. But we so don't want to pressure you."

Harry shook his head in confusion. "What, Mum?"

"Well, your dad and I decided – and we've talked to all our other children and they absolutely agree with us -- that even if you might feel, well, a little awkward, you need to know how much someone-- no, how much we, not just love you, but want you. We really do, you know."

She gave Harry another heart-warming smile.

"So. We all decided you need to know that…." She paused. "We want to adopt you."

For Harry, the world suddenly had room for only one enormous, incredible feeling: "A family. I have a real family. My own family!"

She rushed on, "Only if that's what you'd like, of course. Now you certainly don't have to decide right away, and I know that you probably think we're just being silly because here you are, sixteen, and in another year you'll be legally grown--"

Mum was stopped by a five-foot two-inch whirlwind of hugs and joys. It took quite a while for words to get out. But long before they came, she knew that her new son, Harry, had said, "Yes."

If Harry had been able to hear through all the racket he was making, he would have noticed, coming from right outside the kitchen window, eight redheaded cheers.

* * * * * * * * * *

"In our wizarding world, it is a most ancient and respected custom," Professor Dumbledore read to the Weasley family, all gathered and standing in the Burrow's living room, "that upon the birth or adoption of a new family member, the entire family, each and every member, are to come together in their home for a fortnight, this to welcome and bond. This Bonding Fortnight must take absolute precedence over all occupations, schooling and other obligations, for it is universally acknowledged among us that the greatest magic of all is the Magic of Love. Love and the Source of Love, from these flow all Good Magic. Just as Hate and Indifference, and rejecting the Source of Love, from these come all the Dark Arts."

Harry was surprised. He'd thought he was so full of the many more-than-wonderful things that had happened in less than two days since his birthday party, that he couldn't possibly take in any more. Instead, though, he found himself soaking in the words, just as he was soaking in his family. His, Harry's, family. He was always-always soaking that in: he had a family, his own family; and they had him, their own Harry.

"The Bonding Fortnight," the Headmaster continued, "is made in the firm belief that within the family lies the very best start for a young Witch or Wizard on their pathway towards Love. For that pathway is never traveled alone."

Dumbledore looked directly at Harry, his eyes sparkling. Harry never remembered seeing him so happy. "Maybe," he thought, "it's just me, my being so happy. But I don't think so; I think he's happier, too."

The wound glowed.

Fawkes, Dumbledore's phoenix who had come with the Headmaster and who was perched on a tall chairback, sang a single liquid note.

"Like he's agreeing with me," Harry thought, and again, the wound glowed.

The Headmaster smiled, then continued. "During this fortnight several rules must be strictly observed."

"First, short of life-threatening emergency, no family member may leave the home."

"Second, the new member must always be under the eyes of his new family."

"Third, during that second day, the new member will be HandBonded to the mother; the third day, to the father. The new member…." Dumbledore stopped, smiling to himself. "Harry, will then have a half-day's HandBonding, in the morning and the afternoon, to all other family members, one at a time, returning in the evening to a bond with either his father or his mother."

Harry was looking forward to this, except maybe the half-day with Percy. Since Voldemort's exposure, things had come back together with Percy and his family. At least with his mother and sort of with his father, though Harry was much less sure about his siblings. Harry knew that his birthday party was the first time that Percy had been at the Burrow. With Harry's Bonding Fortnight, Percy would be staying the whole two weeks. Harry, however, could sense small distances and not-so-small tensions. "Getting Percy fully into our family," – Harry really liked the sound of "our family" – "that means so much to Mum, I will make it work, I will absolutely make it work, no matter what." He chuckled. "No matter Percy."

"Fourth," the Headmaster read on, "at least one elder, preferably a grandparent, shall reside during the full two weeks within the home, this to provide a connection not only with the future, but also with the past. Following the HandBonding day with his father, Harry will also have a HandBonding day with the elder."

Dumbledore looked up. "With me." The Headmaster beamed. "I must say that I am most honored to be invited to perform this duty." Again he looked at Harry and smiled. "It is truly one of the greatest pleasures of my long life."

Fawkes tipped back his scarlet head, spread his golden tail, and sang another soul-warming note.

Dumbledore loved him; Harry knew that. And Harry had to admit that, when he wasn't angry with him or awed by him, he loved Dumbledore, too. In a special way that he didn't fully understand. He checked the wound, which glowed "True" and "Not Yet". Harry nodded to himself and returned to listening.

"Fifth and finally," the Headmaster went back to reading, "during the first week the family will be left entirely alone. During the second week, however, individuals and small groups are encouraged to visit. For the Love of Family is best supported by the Love of Friends."

"That," Dumbledore said as he rolled the parchment, "concludes my dreary preface. Now let us proceed to the FirstBonding. And then afterwards to Molly's most excellent feast."

His mum and dad had told Harry what to do, so Harry kneeled down on the floor. The whole Weasley family -- "my family," Harry smiled -- started putting hands on him. Just before Dumbledore, the elder and last hand-layer, placed his hand on top, something came to Harry from the wound.

"Wait!" The family startled. Harry realized this could be misunderstood. "Please?"

He looked up, "Mum? Dad?" Again he felt scared, he didn't want to do anything wrong or to hurt anyone's feelings, but this felt so right.

"Yes, Harry?" his mum replied.

"Would it be okay if, maybe… I got one of the portraits of my first mum and dad, and held that, too?" Harry swallowed. "I'd like them to be part of this? And I think they would?" Harry looked at his mum and dad, aching for their approval.

"Of course." His mum smiled and looked at his dad, who also smiled and nodded. "Harry, you know that Dad and I knew your birth parents well. We're quite sure that's what they would want." Her eyes glistened. "So do we." Weasley heads nodded. "We're not taking you away from them, that was never in our minds. We're joining with them."

Harry smiled all around. "Then I guess I'll just pop up to Ron's room--"

"Our room, mate," Ron interrupted. Then softer: "Brother."

Harry was pleased with himself. He mastered a major lump with only a few almost-tears. "Finally," he thought, "I'm getting this family thing."

He looked at Ron and smiled: "Our room. Brother."

Then he disappeared upstairs.

Harry had already talked over his adoption with his portrait parents and Sirius, and he was so pleased that they were so pleased. He burst into the room. "Mum! Dad! Sirius! I want you to be part of my FirstBonding and everyone said, ‘Yes!'" Mums, Dads and Siriuses smiled and laughed.

So as Harry knelt on the floor, all his family's hands on him, he held tightly to his heart the small portrait of Sirius and his first mum and dad.

"You are now bonded as family," Dumbledore intoned. "May the Source of Love and All Good Magic strengthen your bonds throughout a Long and Happy Life Together."

From Harry's wound came a surge of… well, the only way Harry could ever describe it was Pure Magic. It joined Harry and the portrait and all his family and Dumbledore. For a moment it glowed brightly, alive with power. Then it joined the family to the home, the Burrow, blazing through the walls and floors and everything in it. Another glowing pause, following which it joined the yard and trees and gardens. At this point it held in a kind of halo, surrounding and suffusing.

From that halo emerged a great multi-colored globe, rising and expanding though still connected by an increasingly small thread. As it reached just above the treetops, a golden surge came from the north, and from all around came many strands of sweet music. The golden light and the musics joined the halo and flowed back into the Burrow and into Harry and all his family.

As they watched through the open windows, the globe burst into streamers shooting every which way and disappearing beyond all horizons. The halo then slowly merged itself into the Burrow, not going away but going more inside and leaving an aura, a patina of many-colored sparkles.

With that, Fawkes raised his head, closed his eyes and added his song to the magic.

"Is this what's supposed to happen?" Harry wondered. The looks on his new family answered his question. No, this was unexpected. Not bad, not bad at all, but most unexpected.

Gradually hands left Harry and faces turned toward Dumbledore, who was deep in thought. He looked up and smiled. "One of my greatest delights," he chuckled, "the infinity of Magic. It yields to and grows with learning and hard work, and yet it always exceeds and surprises." He nodded as if enjoying a fine joke. "No matter how good our plans, Magic always has one better. Especially Ancient Magic." He looked at the new family. "I have long thought that Magic doesn't serve us so much as we serve Magic."

He looked down at Harry appraisingly. Harry sensed that if Dumbledore didn't know about the wound, he suspected it. The Headmaster then looked up again.

"We shall speak of this later. Right now the most glorious magic of Molly's cooking has more urgent power. But if you will permit, I would like to share a part of what this means."

Dumbledore smiled. "This was more than a FirstBonding, which is within a family. This was also another, equally ancient rite between families: a BloodBinding." Dumbledore turned thoughtful. "More Ancient Magic."

He looked down. "Harry. This is now your home. You have here, in the Burrow, as strong a protection as at the Dursleys, actually stronger. Not only is your mother's blood here, so, too, is your father's blood and Sirius's blood; they also died to save you."

He smiled again. "You need never return to the Dursleys."

Harry closed his eyes and drew what felt like the first free breath of his young life. He'd put thoughts of summers and Dursleys out of his mind, but of course nothing could put that all-the-way out of his heart. Now, as when he got his mum, his dad and his family, he was filled with one deeply-felt thought: "I have a home, my own home. I belong here, and nobody's going to take me away from my home or my family ever again."

He opened his eyes, stood and looked at his mum, his dad, at Ron and his siblings, at his home, just taking in the magic. Then he smiled:

"I can stay, I can really stay here with you."

The Weasleys, Harry's Weasleys, gathered round Harry, their Harry, who could now stay and for whom one nightmare, one long past-horrible nightmare was finally over.

Ron's stomach didn't growl, it roared. Heads turned, Ron blushed, Dumbledore chuckled again: "Well said, Ron, well said. Everyone! Please! On to the feast!"

Goin' home, goin' home, I'm a goin' home;
Quiet-like, some still day, I'm jes' goin' home.
It's not far, jes' close by,
Through an open door;
Work all done, care laid by,
Goin' to fear no more.

Goin' home, goin' home, I'm a goin' home;
Quiet-like, some still day, I'm jes' goin' home.

Lyrics set to:
Anton Dvorak, Symphony 9, "From the New World,"
2nd Movement, Andante, first theme