Square One

Daylight streaming in through the window woke Harry rather early the next day. He rubbed his eyes drowsily with one hand and fumbled for his glasses with the other. Jamming his glasses onto his face, he turned on his side and forced his eyes to open and focus.

Harry's bedroom - which had once been Bill's and then Percy's and then Bill's again - was much the same as it had been the last time Harry had inhabited it. If it wasn't for this newfound weakness in his limbs and the sometimes overwhelming fatigue, Harry could almost believe that the last few days had just been a very vivid dream. He wasn't completely convinced that it was a good thing that the room hadn't changed much.

With a concentrated effort, Harry managed to climb out of bed and get dressed. He headed for the stairs, but hesitated at the first step. It seemed such a long way to the bottom, and he was already exhausted. Sighing, he dropped down to sit on the top step, hoping he'd have the energy to work his way downstairs soon. He leaned his head against the wall and let his eyes slip closed.

Sometime later, the feel of a hand tenderly brushing his hair back from his face roused him from a doze he hadn't realized he'd fallen into. Blinking groggily, he lifted his head.

"Nicolae." The man hadn't changed a bit, at least as far as Harry could see. No lines or signs of age had crept onto his honey-brown face. His jet-black hair still fell past his shoulders in a riot of natural waves and curls. And his eyes, such a dark blue that they almost seemed black at times, still gave Harry the impression that the man could see clear into his soul. All the same features that had intimidated Harry in the past, made him feel certain that one day Ginny would realise that she could have the prince instead of the toad.

"Hello, Harry," Nicolae said, the corners of his lips turning up slightly. "Welcome back."

"Thanks."

Nicolae shifted slightly and tried to help Harry to his feet, but Harry feebly pushed him away.

"I'm not helpless," Harry snapped.

"No one said that you are," Nicolae replied. "But it will take time for you to get your strength back, Harry. Until you do, you need to know when to accept help, even if you won't ask for it." Nicolae gave him another half-smile.

Harry knew that Nicolae was right. After a moment, he nodded - just barely - and Nicolae tried again to help Harry to his feet. Harry's right knee chose that moment to buckle, and for one heart-stopping moment, Harry was certain they were both going to topple down the stairs. Nicolae saved them, though. He threw his weight backward, and they fell awkwardly onto the landing rather than down the stairs; Harry ended up half on top of Nicolae with the other man's arm wrapped a little too tightly around his neck and his elbow jammed into Nicolae's stomach.

They managed to untangle themselves, and Harry scooted over to rest with his back against the wall and rubbed at his throat.

"Are you all right, Harry?"

Harry nodded. "You?"

"I've been better," Nicolae replied, easing himself down next to Harry. Harry noticed, for the first time, that Nicolae had one hand pressed to the back of his head.

"I'm sorry."

Nicolae sighed theatrically. "You've been back less than a week, and already you're back to apologising for things that aren't your fault."

Harry looked up to see Nicolae grinning at him, and he couldn't help grinning back.

"Now, let's try that again. Preferably without falling over."

Nicolae managed to get Harry down the stairs and seated at the breakfast table, where Molly immediately descended upon him, obviously torn between hugging him breathless and stuffing him full of sausages and toast. Nicolae insinuated himself between Harry and Molly long enough to check Harry for injuries he might have sustained in their fall. Molly then turned her attentions on him, trying to get him to stay for breakfast.

"Thank you, Molly," he said, "but Brian and I have plans for today. We really need to get going." He helped her get breakfast on the table, and then hugged her warmly. "Thank you for letting Brian stay last night."

"You know we love to have him here, dear," Molly assured him.

"We'll drop by this afternoon before we head home," he said, kissing his mother-in-law on the cheek. "Harry, remember what I said. And Molly, try to keep him away from the stairs." He gave Harry's shoulder a friendly squeeze, and then headed out the back door to collect his son, who was playing in the back garden under Uncle Ron's watchful eye.

Harry spent a quiet morning with Arthur, Molly, Ron, and Lauren. Mostly his day consisted of lying on the sofa listening to the others talk about Lauren while she played at their feet. After lunch, Ron took his daughter home, which seemed to be Molly's cue to straighten up the house and see to the laundry while Arthur puttered about in the garden. At loose ends and not sure what to do about it, Harry prowled the bookshelves in the front room until he found a book he thought might interest him. He hadn't read more than five pages before he fell asleep, the paperback drooping from his hand to cover his face.

For the second time that day, Harry awoke to Nicolae touching him. Harry found that rather disconcerting. This time, he also had his wand out, casting diagnostic spells.

"I didn't mean to wake you," he said when he finished.

"It's fine."

"As long as you're awake, you may as well drink this," he said, indicated a vial of some sort of potion.

Harry sat up and took the vial, sniffing it cautiously. It was only a nutritive potion, which was one of the better tasting concoctions Harry had been forced to drink. He downed it and returned the empty vial to Nicolae.

Awkward silence reigned for a moment.

"Well," Nicolae said at last. "I'll see you tomorrow."

For the first time, Harry noticed how tired the other man looked. It wasn't visible in his face, but his body language spoke of exhaustion. Harry imagined the man had more than enough on his plate without playing nursemaid to him.

"Nicolae," he called. The other man turned to look at him. "I just...thanks."

A small, tired smile flitted across Nicolae's face. "You're welcome, Harry."

Alone again, Harry sank back onto the sofa, still tired, but not wanting to give in to sleep again. As he lay there staring at the ceiling, Brian bounded into the room and half hugged him, half pounced on him.

"Bye, Uncle Harry! See you tomorrow."

Harry chuckled. "Good bye, Brian." The words were barely out of his mouth before the boy disappeared out the door. Harry was certain that Brian was completely unfamiliar with concepts like 'walk' and 'slow'. Still smiling slightly, he forced himself upright and headed off in search of Molly.

He found her in the kitchen, putting together the evening meal. Harry hadn't realised that he'd slept so long, but he wasn't too surprised. Ignoring his fatigue and Molly's insistence that she didn't need any help, Harry pitched in, setting the table as he'd done so many times in the past. It felt good to be doing something useful.

A short time later, Arthur came in from the garden, chatting with George and Charlie who had both just arrived home from the shop. The three of them cleaned up and joined Molly and Harry at the table.

"Good to see you up and around, Harry," Charlie said before digging in to his roast and potatoes.

In between huge bites of his meal, George talked about work. Business in the shop was rather slow, he said, with school being in session, but owl orders had kept them busy most of the day. "Running low on some of our big sellers, now. It's going to take us half a day tomorrow just to make up new stock."

"Tomorrow is Sunday, George," Molly told him.

"Well, yes, Sunday tends to follow Saturday," George replied lightly, shoving his mouth full of potato.

Charlie slapped him on the back of the head. "Don't smart off to your mother." He gave Molly his most charming grin. "We haven't forgotten about dinner, Mum. We're going to work around it."

Molly seemed satisfied with that.

Talk turned to Arthur's work in the garden, and then to the grandchildren, and then on to Quidditch. The Chudley Cannons, to Harry's great surprise, seemed in good shape to win the league cup for the first time in over a century.

The small talk continued through dinner, and then afterward in the front parlour. Charlie headed off to visit someone named Samantha, who George referred to as Charlie's girlfriend of the week, but the rest of them enjoyed one another's quiet companionship. None of them, Harry realised, talked much about Ginny or Nicolae. Neither did they talk about Harry's strange illness, nor his recent awakening, nor his current weakened state. Bill and Fred weren't mentioned, either. The shadows hanging over the Weasley family were more than enough to cause an emotional eclipse; it was little wonder that they clung to any spot of sunshine they could find - sunshine that seemed most easily found in the innocence of the youngest members of their clan.

Suddenly weary, Harry excused himself, torn between gratitude and annoyance when George automatically came along to help him up the stairs. Once they were in Harry's room, George sank down to the floor, resting the back of his head against the mattress.

"So," George said. "How was your first day back in the real world?"

"It was all right," Harry said as he changed into pyjamas. "Peaceful, really. Not anything like what I'm used to."

"Peaceful is good, I suppose. Myself, I can't stand too much quiet. I need something to focus on to keep me from going mad. I've always been that way. Fred, too. It's why we were always getting ourselves into trouble."

"I'm sorry," Harry said, moving to sit on the edge of the bed. "About Fred."

"Thanks," George said, his voice barely above a whisper. "It's still hard, you know? To accept that he's gone. But you know what's even harder? The fact that no one talks about him. You say 'Fred' or 'Bill' around here, and everyone looks at you like you've gone and grown another head."

Harry thought back to the months following Sirius's death. He hadn't wanted to talk about him, then. But later, he'd wanted to. Needed to.

"George," he called softly. When George turned and looked up at him, his eyes bright with unshed tears, Harry felt something in him shift and tear open a little. He swallowed thickly, and then said, "If you ever want...if you need to talk about them, I'll listen."

George lowered his head quickly, but not before Harry saw a tear slip free and begin to slide down his freckled cheek. He buried his face in the spot where Harry's leg and the mattress met, and Harry hesitantly stroked his hair in what he hoped was a comforting fashion. Soon George began to shake with silent sobs, and, at a loss for what else to do, Harry slid to the floor to hold him as he mourned.

Sometime later, George finally quieted. He pulled away from Harry, seemingly embarrassed, and wiped the tears from his face. Harry had to wipe away more than a few tears of his own.

"Thanks, Harry." George's voice was little more than a hoarse whisper. He helped Harry up from the floor, made sure he was safely in bed, doused the lights, and slipped out with a whispered 'good night.'

Tired as he was, Harry had a hard time finding sleep, and when he did, his dreams were full of images that may have been lost memories of the war or may have been only his own imaginings. He hoped they were the latter, but feared that they were not.