In Daylight's Shadow

Chapter Six

The Burrow was fairly quiet for nearly a month after Harry's party. At least as quite as was possible for any house that held two or more Weasleys. While there were occasional pranks, and an odd spat or two between siblings, the hot August days generally passed in a dreamy peace. To escape the oppressive tranquility, Ron had started to take ambling walks in the orchards and woods that bordered his family's property. He would trudge across the fields, his skin damp with sweat, and think. Occasionally Ginny would join him, and the two siblings would chat about the various subjects that accompany the coming of age.

When Ron was alone, his favorite place to be was a small enclave nearly two miles from the Burrow itself; atop a small hilltop that overlooked the Otter River as it wound it way out of Ottery St. Catchpole. It was on that grassy knoll that Ron was sitting, his arms crossed across his knees, staring out into the water, when heard a soft rustling behind him, and turned to see Bill making his way up the hill.

His older brother whistled softly to himself as he crossed the last stretch of grass to his younger brother. Nodding to Ron, he sat down next to him in the grass.

"Nice day isn't it?" Bill said, gesturing out across the lush landscape.

"It is," Ron answered without turning to look at his brother. "I didn't know anybody other than Ginny knew about this spot."

"Are you joking?" Bill asked, obviously surprised. "I've been coming up here since I was fourteen. I took Sally Jennings up here after sixth year..." he paused, "but that doesn't really concern you."

Ron nodded to himself, his eyes trailing the winding path of the river.

"And of course I once fought a rabid hippogriff up here, and its enormous green pet hedgehog," Bill continued.

"Mmmm," muttered Ron.

"You're not listening to a word I'm saying, are you?"

"Mmmm," Ron murmured again.

Bill looked at his brother, then grinned, and dove on top of him. The two went rolling wildly down the hill, coming to a stop near a grove of small rushes that grew on the banks of the river. Ron shook his head to clear the grass out of his hair, and, brushing the dirt off of his jumper, looked at Bill.

"What the bloody hell was that for?" he asked loudly. "You could have bloody well killed me."

"Ah, but I didn't," Bill replied, busy clearing off his own garment. "It looked like your head need a quick jostling." He smiled.

Ron sighed, and smiled back. He knew his brother was right. He'd been walking around the Burrow for the last four weeks in a sort of trance, only showing any sign of energy when an owl came fluttering to the window. Several times he had even neglected his Quiddich training with Charlie. He knew his family members had noticed, and he was glad none of them had confronted him. He had wanted to be left alone. Now, though, in the soft green grass and glowing summer sun, he felt at unencumbered by the trappings of his life. Resting back against the smooth slope of the hill, he joined his hands behind his head, and looked into the clear sky.

"I reckon my head's had quite enough jostling for a while," he said presently, "without any help from you."

"Oh! The boy speaks," replied Bill good naturedly. He had always teased Ron gently when they talked, finding it a good way to engage his younger brother. "What has been bothering you lately?"

Ron rolled his head in a steady circle, listening to the pops it made as it crossed his clavicle. "Well," he began, "I just never thought things would get this complicated. I mean, you know someone forever, right? And then one day, almost out of the blue, you see something you've never seen before. Something beautiful. Then every time you see that person it's like that little part of them has grown even bigger, until it's all you see." He sighed, and pulled some grass out of the earth and let it flip away in the steady breeze. "And then it's all you can think about."

"I take it we are talking about Hermione?" Bill asked.

"Yeah," Ron said glumly. He clenched his fist, and smiled as he felt the sinew constrict along his forearm, wrapping about the solid bone. "I don't want to tell anyone because they'll think I'm daft," he said as he released the tension in his hand "And maybe their right. What would Hermione see in me? Sure, we're friends, but I'm not good looking, like Cedric. Or a hero, like Harry. I'm not even good at Quiddich like Viktor Bloody Krum!"

"Well, you may not be as good as Viktor at Quiddich," Bill said, laying a hand on his brother's shoulder, "but that doesn't mean there isn't anything for Hermione to see in you. You're a good boy Ron, and you're becoming a fine young man. You're brave, and kind, and smart. I'm really proud to have you as a brother." He let the compliment sink in before continuing. "What do you like about her?"

"The way she looks at the people when she thinks they aren't looking at her. The way she scrunches her nose when she's reading. The way she always tries to help me, even if I'm being a git. Her laugh. Her smile." He paused. "Everything Bill. Bloody everything."

"What are you going to do about it?" Bill probed.

"Well that's what I've been thinking about these past weeks. That's why I keep walking around like a blimmin' fool. Every time I think I've worked it out, I go backwards on it in my head and have to start all over again. I mean, I always want her to be my friend, but I want that part of us to be the start of something else."

Bill nodded slowly, and stared into the distance.

"You know, when I was in my seventh year I started having feelings like that for a girl I knew. Sarah McCoy. Every time I looked at her she seemed a bit prettier. Every time I thought of her I felt like I was a little better. But we were friends, and I didn't want to risk loosing that. Or, if I'm honest, I was too afraid of losing it all. So I didn't talk to her about it."

"What happened?" Ron asked, looking up.

"Just what you'd expect. Nothing," Bill said sadly, staring at his hands. "The last I heard she was working at a research outpost in Greece. If I could just go back though, Ron, and change things... I'd just tell her how I felt. Even if she said she never wanted to speak to me again, it would infinitely better than not knowing at all."

The two brothers sat in silence on the hill top, as the sun moved gracefully across the sky.

After a few minutes, Bill pushed himself of the ground and turned to his brother. "Well, Ginny and I were going to play a little Quiddich soon, fancy joining us?"

"Sure," said Ron "As long as we're not out to late. I wanted to get to bed early tonight."

"Why?" Bill asked.

"Shopping at Diagon Alley tomorrow!" he said, beaming at Bill. "It might be the right time to start changing my future."

Bill leaned in and gave his brother a quick hug, patting him vigorously on the back. Parting, the two set up over the hill together, walking slowly back towards the Burrow.

A few hours later a very dirty and a very tired Ron Weasley crawled into his bed after a long Quiddich practice. As he rolled over and closed his eyes, pulling his blanket in towards his chin, he thought about what Bill had said. I won't let that happen to me, he thought, as sleep slowly drifted across him, I won't be left wondering.

---

One hundred and twenty miles to the north east, in a small, dark bedroom in Surrey, Harry Potter was also lying in his bed, waiting for sleep to embrace him. Unfortunately, he was not having nearly as much luck as Ron. He had been staring into the darkness for nearly an hour, watching the shadows move across his ceiling. He'd had far too many nights like these this past month, he mused. He seemed to find peace in spurts; one night he would fall into his soft bed and slip instantly into a deep slumber, others would find him awake for hours on end, his mind racing wildly.

The month since his birthday party had passed in a blur. The Dursleys had been paying even less attention to him, and he had taken to only leaving his room to eat or use the loo. He spent most of his time sitting in his chair, his feet propped up on the desk in front of him, looking stoically out the window. Nearly once a day an owl would flutter across his vision, but none of the letters held a great deal of consequence to him. His prolonged isolation was starting to take its toll. The next day he was set to go to Diagon Alley to purchase his school supplies, and the event would mark the first time Harry had seen his friends in far too long.

Groaning to himself, Harry rolled out of bed and landed on the floor with a dull thud. Lying prostate on the ground, his hand moved to the clock that rested on his low bedside table, and pulling it in front of his face, he stared into the red glow. 1:48. He slowly replaced the clock on his nightstand, and made his way onto his feet. Swaying slightly, he walked to the small closet that adjoined his room, and opened the door. He pulled on the thin chord that dangled in the middle of the small enclave, and a bulb in the ceiling sprung into light. Harry blinked for a moment against the sudden bright, but soon felt his eyes adjust. Kneeling down, he pulled a battered brown trunk towards himself, and opened the lid.

The contents of the trunk where neatly packed, and smelled dusty and old. The smell reminded Harry of the halls at Hogwarts, a comforting aroma of a past that wasn't entirely forgotten. On top of the pile sat the gold coin Dumbledore had given Harry. He had used the device three times since Dumbledore had given it to him; twice to visit the assembly by himself, and once to meet Dumbledore. While his second conversation with his mentor hadn't been as revealing as the first, Harry had still learned more about the order to which he now belonged.

The twelve orders of The Watchers all traced their lineage to one of the founders. Harry's was known as The Malachi, named for the first of their clan; Malachian. He had been a druid, feared for his knowledge of magic and the strength of his convictions. Dumbledore had promised to teach him the skills of The Watchers over the coming year, and Harry was eager for their training to begin.

The times Harry had visited the Assembly alone, he had spent most of his time sitting on the slab in the middle of the domed room, looking across the ornate trappings and feeling the energy of the room seeping through him. He had always been adept at magic, but something about that place seemed to heighten his sense of it; like a series of tiny charges running the length of his body. There was a quiet mystery about the place, a sense of the past that flowed through the room. It seemed to Harry that each person who had been in there had left a small part of themselves, a signature on the fabric of its existence. He often wondered idly if the initiation ceremony somehow imprinted the outline of one's being onto the room, like a stamp. Though he felt at peace in the Assembly, every time he left he was again confronted with his own sense of confusion. He at once felt an allegiance to the ideal his forefathers had fought and died for, and anger that that duty prevented him from living a normal life. He felt the weight of the world on his shoulders, and he wasn't sure how long he could hold it.

Sighing angrily to himself, Harry picked the gold coin from the top of the pile, ran his fingers over the soft gold, and set it on the floor beside him. Next, he reached in and pulled out a battered yellow piece of parchment. He smiled as he felt the material in his hands, knowing his fathers own hands had once caressed it the same way.

Harry often wondered what his father would have been like at his age. He'd heard stories about him from Remus, Sirius and even Dumbledore, but the image of the man he had in his head was still fuzzy and blurred.

Dropping the map next to the discarded Hermkey, he reached into the trunk and extracted a leather bound book. Resting it in his lap, he opened up to the first page, and looked down at a picture of his parents waving back at him. They seemed very much alive. He traced their outlines with his finger, and the two figures seemed to wave even harder. Flipping through the worn pages, he stopped at the picture of his parent's wedding day. He saw Sirius in the background, his handsome face warm and kind. His parents stood in the foreground, smiling giddily and holding onto each other. It felt like all he had were shadows of his past, and nothing substantial.

He came presently to some of the newer pictures he had added to the album over the past years; glossy shots of himself gliding on his broom, or standing proudly with Ron and Hermione. As much as he loved his two best friends, he often felt he brought more chaos and carnage to their lives than happiness. They were his tie to the world, and seemed often like alternate parts of his personality. Hermione, rational and thoughtful, devising a plan down to the most meticulous of details before setting about any course of action. Ron, passionate and volatile, willing to do anything ands everything for those he loved. Yet every action they seemed to undertake together led to danger. Harry wondered absently how many more times they would have luck on their side. He didn't want to lose them.

He sighed and closed the album. Harry had endured this process almost once a week for the past month. Every time the images left him feeling alone and confused. He didn't want to see more people hurt, but he didn't think he could do it alone.

Harry reached again into the trunk and slid his Firebolt out. Removing the broom from its canvas case, he marveled at the smooth angular lines that gave the tool its shape. Reaching for the cleaning kit Hermione had bought him, Harry set about polishing the dark wood. He knew in a few hours Remus would be arriving to take him to Diagon Alley, where he had been allowed to stay for the last few days of the holiday. He was glad to be leaving the Dursley's. Each year he stayed at number four seemed a little worse than the one before.

Harry polished and cleaned the broom for nearly an hour, meticulously ridding his prized possession of the smallest flakes of dirt. Finally satisfied with its condition, he carefully rewrapped it, and put it gently back into the trunk. Walking to his desk, he gathered the various supplies he planned to take back to Hogwarts, and then put them into the trunk as well. Back in went the Marauder's Map and photo album. Sure that he had not forgotten anything, he locked the trunk tightly, and dragged the heavy case into the center of his room. Moving back into his closet, he started running his hands along the hanging cloaks, pushing them loosely along the rod. Realizing he had outgrown most of the garments, he made a mental note to shop for new clothes the next day at Diagon Alley. After all, he thought to himself, it's not as though I can't afford it.

Wanting to be ready to leave before Remus even arrived to collect him, Harry looked quickly about his room, making sure once again that he hadn't forgotten anything. He dropped to the floor and pried up a loose board. In a small cubby underneath the floor sat his wand. Reaching in tentatively, Harry wrapped his fingers around the soft wood and pulled it out. Feeling the weight of it as he ran his fingers across the smooth surface, he smiled to himself, and then slid the wand into his pocket.

He pulled off the grubby t-shirt he had been wearing and folded it, then put it neatly back into the closet. He chose a new black shirt, donned it, then grabbed his best robe and threw it over his shoulder. He looked once more at his watch. 6:45.

Well, he thought to himself as he set about cleaning the last remainders of his existence from his room, only two more hours till Remus arrives to take me to Diagon Alley. Only two more hours with the Dursleys for nearly a whole year. The thought made him clean even quicker.