The First Day

Harry lay on his back, staring at the canopy over his bed. The service was going to be at ten that morning. He hadn't slept all night, thinking about it. Hermione had wanted to talk about it, but Harry rebuffed her efforts and had run into the dormitory and crawled into his bed, pulling the curtains closed around it. The universal "do not disturb" sign at Hogwarts.

The service was going to be at ten. Then people would start to leave. To go home. Harry was going to the Burrow with the Weasleys. He honestly wanted to go elsewhere, just so he wouldn't have to face the accusing stares of the others. That it was his fault Fred was gone. He should have been able to do something to prevent it. But as it was, Harry didn't have anywhere else to go. He wondered if the Dursleys had been taken back to their house. He needed to go back and collect the things he'd left there. Yes, think about that... Think about that, so you don't have to think about anything else. Who was it that had responsibility for them? Elphias Doge? No, Dedalus Diggle. Harry wondered if he would be at the service. He could ask Diggle not to bring them back to Surrey until... When? Today was Tuesday. If they could stay away until Thursday. He could leave the Burrow after everyone else was asleep, and go collect his things. Yeah, that's what I'll do.

'Harry?' Hermione's voice floated through the curtains. 'Harry, it's almost time...'

'Harry, mate, you need to get dressed.' Ron's voice joined Hermione's.

Harry reached out with one hand, and yanked the curtains back. He rolled off the bed and stood up. He'd been dressed for hours. Before any of the others had awakened. He just didn't want to go down until he had to. Saying nothing to either of his friends, he strode to the door. Let's get this over with, shall we? Harry made it all the way to the bottom of the staircase that led to Gryffindor Tower, before he stopped. The sounds of people gathered on the sweeping lawn by the Black Lake made him freeze. His stomach churned.

He didn't notice Ron or Hermione on either side of him. 'We'll help you,' she whispered. Harry mutely nodded. Hermione's arm slipped around his waist, while Ron's arm wound around his shoulders.

'Come on, mate, just one step,' Ron muttered. 'Good. One more.'

Little by little they encouraged Harry to a row of seats in the back. Harry dropped into a chair and dumbly gazed around the assemblage. He could see Andromeda Tonks, a carrycot at her feet, and a blanket-wrapped bundle in her arms. Harry's stomach heaved and he bent forward, gasping. He gagged, as if he was about to throw up, but nothing came up. Teddy, he thought miserably. He saw the glitter of the sunshine on the myriad shades of red a few rows forward. Harry squeezed his eyes shut. He could hardly bear to face Ron right now, much less Molly or Arthur. Ginny. He'd seen Ginny between George and Charlie, her hair tamed into a severe plait.

Taking several deep breaths, Harry opened his eyes. The same bloody wizard who had done Dumbledore's funeral was speaking. They were several feet away from Dumbledore's tomb. Harry was vaguely pleased to note that the repairs he had done on the tomb last night were seamless. The Elder Wand was back in its rightful location.

Harry's eyes raked the people around him. Diggle... Where is he? There he was. Three rows in front of Andromeda. Harry could hear soft sniffles around him, and he realized the names of the dead were being read. He heard Hermione give a shuddering sigh as the name "Remus John Lupin" reached his ears. When the wizard read "Nymphadora Juliet Lupin", a baby's wail pierced the haze enveloping Harry. His head jerked up, and he saw Andromeda gently pat Teddy's back. Teddy's head was visible, and Harry saw the turquoise tuft of hair fade into the sandy brown of his father's. He felt a hand wrap around his and looked down. Hermione was squeezing his hand so hard; Harry thought she might be grinding the bones of his hand together.

Harry was only half-listening when the wizard said, 'Severus Tobias Snape.' A hushed gasp rippled over the crowd. Harry swallowed hard against the lump in this throat. Harry wanted to stand up and shout out in defense of Snape, but the wizard had moved on.

'Frederick Gideon Weasley.' Ron's body jerked and Harry could feel it trembling with the effort to not cry. Harry reached a hand over and laid it on Ron's knee. Ron reached down and gripped Harry's hand harder than Hermione was doing. Harry could hear Ron's raspy breathing in his ear, and realized Ron's head had dropped to his shoulder.

Harry could feel the raw pain radiating from the audience. He wondered if they would ever be whole again.

The ceremony wound down, and Harry looked at Ron and Hermione. They were both pale and drawn-looking. 'I need to talk to someone for a moment,' he mumbled, and cornered Dedalus Diggle. 'Have you taken the Dursleys back to their house?' he said without preamble.

'I... Ah... No.'

Harry felt his head nod once. 'Can you wait until Thursday?'

Diggle seemed a bit surprised, but agreed. 'I can wait.'

'Thank you.' Harry strode back into the castle, looking neither right, not left. He hadn't been able to deal with his own grief, so the idea of shouldering someone else's was repugnant to him right now. It was eleven now. Molly had said they would go home after lunch. The idea of food made Harry's stomach lurch again. He hadn't eaten much since he had woken up yesterday. Mostly he drank a lot of pumpkin juice or butterbeer.

Harry slipped up the stairs to his dormitory and began to collect his things. It wasn't much. A few clothes, his moleskin pouch, the Marauder's Map, his wand.

He sat on the foot of his bed and waited.

*****

Charlie climbed up to the top of the Astronomy Tower. He had volunteered to help repair and rebuild the school. The rest of the family had gone home that afternoon, and Charlie was left alone. The memorial that morning had been difficult, but not nearly as hard as the funerals were going to be. Molly and Arthur had decided Fred's would be Friday. Just three more days. Remus and Tonks' would be Saturday.

Charlie repressed a sigh. Too many damn funerals.

He got to the top of the tower and settled with his back against the wall. Charlie opened his sketchbook to a blank page and took a stick of charcoal from the small canvas pouch that held his pencils. He drew without really seeing what blossomed on the paper until he realized he had drawn the graceful curve of Tonks' naked back. Biting his lip, Charlie shaded the small of her back, the cloak draping in folds about her hips. He felt ashamed that he was drawing her like this, but it had been one of the last times he'd seen his best friend before going to Romania.

The charcoal swooped in lines over one side of her shoulder. She'd worn her hair long that night. Charlie gently shaded the contours of her face with the side of his smallest finger, remembering. The first time had been over almost before it started. His mouth curled into a small smile. He'd been mortified. But he could remember her sitting up, the cloak she'd spread over the both of them, slithering down to her hips. She turned her head to look back at him, smiling. -We can try it again in a bit, she told him. Charlie's breath hitched in his chest, and he pulled his knees into his chest, and rested his head on them. He took in a few deep breaths until it didn't hurt so badly to breathe.

Charlie picked up the sketchbook again and turned the page over. He hadn't known Remus well, but everyone from Bill down to Ginny had nothing but admirable things to say about him. Charlie had thought it odd that Tonks, who was so vivacious, the air around her nearly vibrated, would marry a man who was more than ten years her senior and, who carried a perpetual air of solemnity and grief etched permanently on his face. At Bill's wedding, Remus had seemed upset and nervous about something. At the time, Charlie thought it might be regret for marrying Tonks, but when he saw Tonks a few months later, it was quite obvious just what had made Remus so upset. Tonks was obviously pregnant. Charlie couldn't blame the man for not jumping about with joy. It wasn't exactly the best time to have a baby. Charlie couldn't have imagined doing something like that in that sort of environment. Her father was on the run, and nobody had seen Remus in three months.

Charlie's hand guided the charcoal over the paper in sweeping lines. Tonks, with her hair subdued into its natural soft brown, falling in waves to her shoulders, her hands curved over the swell of her child.

It was the last time he'd seen her alive.

Charlie's eyes closed and a single tear slid down his face and dripped of his chin to land on the paper with a soft plop that echoed around the tower.

Later, as he lay in bed, Charlie realized he hadn't thought of Fred after the memorial service had concluded. Curling up on his side, Charlie knew it was far easier to mourn Tonks and he wasn't yet able to face Fred's death.

*****

Hermione sat in the camp bed set up at the foot of Ginny's bed. She couldn't sleep. She sighed and rested her forehead on her drawn-up knees. She didn't know what do to right now. There had been times over the last several years where she felt like an outsider, but never more than she did now. Molly rebuffed offers for help, and cooked an enormous dinner that nobody ate. She practically tucked them all into bed, like they were babies. Hermione knew why Molly continually bustled about the house. It kept her busy, so she didn't have to dwell on the fact she would bury one of her children in a few days. I should do that, she thought. Keep myself busy. Hermione started making lists in her head - things to see to about bringing her parents home.

She wrapped her arms around her knees tighter. She desperately wanted to go up to the attic with Ron, but she didn't want to bother him. The service had hit Ron like a blow to the solar plexus, and he'd been undeniably hurt when Harry bolted back up to the dormitory after it was over. She'd seen the flash of it in his eyes, before they shuttered again.

The landing outside Ginny's door creaked and Hermione wondered who else was up. It could be Harry. She knew he hadn't slept last night. Blue smudges marred the skin under his eyes. It could be George. George, who had kept muttering that Fred was just playing a prank on them - he was going to wake up, until Fred's body grew as cold as the stone floor underneath him. He'd fallen silent, and as far as Hermione knew, hadn't said another word. George hadn't been sleeping much. It was written all over the planes of his face and in his sunken, bloodshot eyes. It could even be Ron, or Molly, or Arthur. She didn't want to get up and check. He didn't want to see someone else with haunted eyes that gazed past her. Hermione managed to swallow past the lump in her throat and she slid down in the camp bed, pulling the blanket up to her shoulders.

The house was eerily silent. She shivered and pulled the blanket over her head.

*****

Harry stood in the middle of the back garden and glared suspiciously at the gate. He knew they were out there. The reporters. They had been camped outside the front garden gate earlier that day. If anyone left the garden, they had been summarily swamped by reporters and photographers. Bill had barged into his old room, and grabbed Harry by the arm, hauling him downstairs. Harry had been afraid that Bill was going to make him talk to the reporters so they would leave, but instead he had asked him to help put wards up to keep the reporters out. With a grim smile, Harry nodded and the two of them proceeded to set up a boundary along the property line of the Burrow. It encompassed the front garden, the back garden, and the paddock. Down to a bend of the River Otter that ran along the boundary of the paddock. It would only allow members of the family through, and anyone they granted permission.

He turned and walked down to the end of the paddock, and climbed over a stone wall, feeling a slight tingle over his skin as he passed through the wards. He Disapparated to the end of Privet Drive.

He walked down the dark, quiet street to number four. It had stood empty for nine months. It had an unkempt air about it, the windows dark and dirty. Petunia'll have a stroke, Harry thought, at the idea of his aunt coming home to find the house in such sad shape. What would she have expected? A maid to come in once a week? Harry snorted. Probably. He drew his wand from his pocket and jabbed it at the door. It unlocked with a soft click and Harry walked up to it and let himself in.

He ignored the cupboard under the stairs and went swiftly up the stairs to the smallest bedroom. He put his hand on the doorknob and opened the door. His trunk still stood at the foot of the bed, and Harry Banished all his belongings that he'd left behind last July into the trunk. Everything. Old school uniforms, textbooks, anything he hadn't thrown away last summer. He closed the trunk and bewitched it so it only weighed a fraction of what it normally would, and took one last look around the room. The wardrobe door creaked open, and Harry's eyes widened as a small, childish drawing of Hedwig came into view. 'Hedwig,' he whispered. His legs folded underneath him, and he huddled on the floor, unashamedly weeping for his owl. He hauled himself to his feet, shaking, and tenderly took the drawing off the door, and tucked it inside the trunk before carrying it downstairs and out of the house.

He locked the door and walked to the end of the street. He never looked back at number four, Privet Drive.