The First Day

Ginny rubbed the back of her hand under her nose, attempting to stifle an explosive sneeze tickling the back of her throat. The dust lay in a thick layer all over the furniture and floors of the flat over the joke shop. It had been weeks since anyone had been there, and George flatly refused to set foot in the flat. She opened a bureau drawer and pulled out a handful of haphazardly folded t-shirts, setting them in a bag next to her feet. Percy stood at the wardrobe, folding the dragon hide jackets. Ginny looked back into the drawer, her hand resting on a pile of blue wool. She pulled out a jumper and held it up. It had a large yellow G knitted on the front. She remembered Molly knitting this one, along with its brother adorned with an F the year before she'd started school. She peered into the drawer and withdrew the matching jumper. She laid them in the bag and opened another drawer. Percy walked over with a few traveling cloaks and tucked them into the bag. 'I think that's everything,' he told her.

'Yeah,' she agreed, then sneezed several times in quick succession. She pulled out her wand, and with a sly look at Percy, who promptly turned his back to her, murmured a quick Scouring spell, and the dust vanished. 'There, that's done.'

Percy turned around. 'What's done?' he asked innocently, winking at her. He bent to pick up the bag and held out a hand to Ginny. 'Let's go. Mum's still a bit tetchy about us being gone longer than we said we would.'

'Thanks for helping me do this,' Ginny said, as she put her hand into Percy's outstretched one.

'Not a problem, Gin,' he replied, before turning, and Apparating them both back to the Burrow.

They reappeared in the lane by the gate to the back garden. The reporters camped outside immediately swarmed them, and Ginny recognized the square, mannish face of Rita Skeeter in the crowd, and began coughing from the purple smoke emitted by the cameras. 'Bloody vultures,' she muttered venomously, shoving the gate open.

'There's no story here,' Percy firmly told the reporters. Ginny looked up at the house, to the window of Bill's old bedroom. The curtains twitched, and she knew Harry had seen the swarm of reporters that accosted them. Percy spat an annoyed epithet at the photographer with Rita Skeeter and followed Ginny through the gate.

They went into the house and up to Percy's old room, where George sat on the bed, with his back against the wall. Percy dropped the bag on the floor at the foot of the bed. 'That's the lot, then.'

George glanced up. 'Thanks, Perce,' he said softly.

'Not at all, George.'

'George?' Ginny asked. 'Do you want anything else? From your room?'

He shook his head. 'No, thank you. Charlie got it all last week.' He turned his head to look out the window. Since his explosion after Fred's funeral, he hadn't spoken to anyone much. He hadn't even glanced inside his old bedroom. And he had refused to go to the shop with them to collect their clothing. When they had come home three weeks ago, George had gone straight past the door to his room, and went to Percy's. He hadn't even mentioned reopening the shop. Ginny walked into the room, and sat on the bed next to George.

She didn't recognize this creature next to her. It wasn't the playful, mischievous boy she'd grown up with. This person was just as much a stranger to her as the other wraithlike-boy in the house. The one hiding in Bill's room, to be exact. She turned her attention away from Harry, and leaned against George. 'You don't have to babysit me, Gin,' George told her.

'I'm not.'

'Thanks for going to the shop.'

Ginny shrugged. 'I dusted a bit.'

George didn't laugh or smile, but a puff of air through his nose was the closest thing he did anymore. 'Underage magic, huh?'

Ginny leaned closer to George. 'Percy made a joke...' she confessed.

George's mouth twitched. 'Did he?'

'About not seeing me do underage magic.'

'That's almost a comedic routine for Percy,' George said. He nudged Ginny gently. 'Go on. I'll be all right.'

'Mum will have a fit if you don't come down for dinner tonight,' Ginny warned as she slid off the bed.

George nodded, and turned his gaze back to the window. 'I'll try,' he murmured. 'Can't promise...'

Ginny sighed and padded down the stairs and went outside. She threw open the door to the broom shed so hard, it nearly tore off its hinges. She reached inside, and wrapped her fingers around the first broom handle she touched, not caring whose it was. She mounted the broom, and kicked off, aiming for the paddock, flying low to the ground, her sandaled toes skimming just above the grass. Seeing a stand of trees marking the north end of the paddock, she tilted the broom, and steered through a gap parallel to the ground. It was a move she had been doing since the age of eight. 'Nice move,' a gravelly voice said.

Ginny stopped suddenly, and pitched forward off the broom, tumbling to the ground, landing on a shoulder. 'Ow,' she breathed. She slowly sat up, rubbing the offended joint, and shoved her loose hair from her face. A broad-shouldered woman came into view, sitting on the stone wall that separated the paddock from the back garden. Ginny whipped her wand from the pocket of her trousers, and aimed it suspiciously at the woman lounging nonchalantly on the wall. 'Who're you?'

'Gwenog Jones. We met at Slughorn's Christmas party, oh, a year and a half ago, I guess. That hair of yours is quite unforgettable.'

Ginny self-consciously ran a hand through the bright auburn strands. 'Right. I remember. How'd you get in here?'

'I knew Bill and Charlie at school. I came to offer my condolences.' Gwenog spoke in gruff, brusque tones. 'I've heard about you from Oliver Wood. And if your twin brothers had been girls, I'd have tried to recruit them for my team.' She had an unsentimental air about her that reminded Ginny of some of the more hard-core Quidditch players she knew. 'I saw you flying on my way into the house. Looks good. Landing could use some work.'

Ginny twitched irritably. 'You startled me.' She shoved the wand back into her pocket, and bent to pick up the fallen broom. She noticed the nameplate on the handle. Fred Weasley. Swallowing hard, she ran a fingertip over it. She wondered if George would mind that she'd borrowed Fred's broom.

'What year will you be in at school in September?' Gwenog continued blithely.

'Seventh,' Ginny replied shortly.

'Playing on your House team?'

'I'd planned on it,' Ginny said warily.

'Think you might be your team's Captain?'

'Dunno. Maybe.'

'Wood's told me you can play Chaser and Seeker equally well.'

'Oh, well... I wouldn't go that far...' Ginny demurred. 'I'm a better Chaser by far.'

'Hmm.' Gwenog squinted at Ginny, giving her a slow look from her head to her toes. Ginny returned her look with a narrow-eyed look of her own. 'I'll have to come see you play, then. Got a Chaser retiring next summer, and Wood says you've got more talent in your little finger than most of the Chasers playing professionally in Britain.'

'Let me walk you back to the house,' Ginny muttered, starting to walk back to the Burrow.

'Ever thought about playing professionally?' Gwenog asked, falling into step next to Ginny.

'Not really,' Ginny answered.

'You ought to. You're a very good flier. And I don't say that to just anybody.'

'Thanks.'

'What about that boyfriend of yours?'

Ginny felt something akin to anger vibrate through her hands. 'He's not my boyfriend,' she corrected coldly.

'My mistake. Do you know if he's wanting to play? I know of quite a few teams who would pay almost anything to have Harry Potter on their team. Wood also tells me he's an unbelievable Seeker.'

'He is,' Ginny said quietly. 'But you'll have to ask him. And good luck with that, because he's not talking to anybody.' She opened the back door, and gestured for Gwenog to precede her.

*****

Hermione rolled over, punching her pillow. She wasn't sleeping well lately. Not since they had come home. She was still so tired. She had slept in Ron's bed with him in Gryffindor Tower that first night, but in her own the next. And when they had come back to the Burrow, she had gone into Ginny's room with her, despite the fact there was an available bedroom, but seeing as it was Fred and George's room, nobody wanted to stay in there.

Shacklebolt had come round for dinner two days ago, and Hermione had cornered him afterward. She told him everything about her parents - what she had done to them, the Memory charms she had used, where she had sent them. Then she had swallowed her pride and asked for help. He promised to help her, to send her to Australia to find her parents. It was going to take time to set up, given the shambles the Ministry was in, but he had promised it would be soon.

Hermione knew she was going to have to tell her parents everything. She owed them that. She wasn't so sure they would forgive her for it, though.

Sighing, Hermione threw the blanket off and slid off the camp bed, and tiptoed to the door. She glanced at Ginny, who was feigning sleep with an intensity that rivaled anything Harry could produce. Hermione decided to leave it alone, and slipped out the door, and stole up the stairs to the fifth floor, wincing every time the stairs creaked under her foot. She held her breath going up the stairs from the fourth to fifth floors, praying she didn't wake Molly or Arthur. She'd have to explain what she was doing on the landing, considering the bathroom was two floors below.

Hermione twisted the doorknob slowly, and peered around the door. Ron was lying on his side, facing away from the door. The occasional snort issued from his partially open mouth, making Hermione's mouth twitch with a slight smile. She closed the door, and walked to Ron's bed, lifting the edge of the sheet with one hand, and climbed in behind him, draping an arm over his waist. Ron turned over and pulled her closer, nuzzling the side of her neck. His eyes flew open and he gasped, 'Bloody hell, you're not a dream!'

'No, I'm not.' Hermione snuggled closer.

'What are you doing in here? Mum'll have a litter of Kneazles if she finds you here!'

'I'll go back down to Ginny's room before your mum wakes up. And I don't sleep well without you anymore,' she confessed.

'I don't either.'

'You seemed to be doing all right when I came in,' Hermione pointed out.

'Yeah, but I tossed and turned for three hours.' Ron's head turned on the pillow. Hermione's eyes were wide with unhappiness. 'What's wrong?' he asked.

'What if I can't reverse the charm?'

'You will,' Ron assured her. 'And if you can't, they're not going to let you go in alone.'

'I don't trust anybody from the Ministry right now. Any Ministry.'

'What about Kingsley? And Percy?'

Hermione waved a hand in the air. 'They don't count.'

'Oh, okay,' Ron mumbled, clearly falling asleep again. 'Go to sleep, Hermione,' he added.

Hermione dropped a soft kiss over Ron's cheek. She burst into a spate of giggles. 'If I told Lavender and Parvati that you and I have been sharing a bed for most of the past nine months and not a thing happened, they'd never believe me.'

Ron stiffened and his eyes opened again. 'Girls... Talk about that sort of thing?' he asked weakly.

'Of course we do,' she replied crisply. 'G'night, Ron,' she added. In a few minutes, sleep claimed her. Ron lay awake far longer, wondering just how much Lavender had told Parvati and Hermione in their dormitory at night.

*****

Harry opened his eyes and looked around. He didn't know where he was, but it didn't look like King's Cross. It didn't look like anything. He felt something brush against the back of his head and whipped around. 'Mum?' he whispered. 'Is that you?'

Nobody answered.

He turned in a slow circle, searching through the fog for somebody else. 'Dad? Remus? Sirius?'

'Potter...' The silkily oily voice sent shivers up Harry's spine.

Harry froze on the spot, before he looked over his shoulder. 'Sn - Professor Snape.'

Snape merely stood there, looking at Harry with his flat, black eyes. Expressionless. Harry's eyes dropped to the floor. When he looked up, Colin Creevey had joined Snape. Harry shook his head. The sound of a leaf skittering across concrete made him look behind him. 'Cedric,' Harry breathed. One by one, the others appeared. Bertha Jorkins. An elderly man Harry remembered from the graveyard his fourth year. Bathilda Bagshot. Remus and Tonks. The girl Ginny had been comforting as he walked into the Forest. Mad-Eye. Ted Tonks. Sirius. James. Lily.

Harry gasped, and spun around. He smacked into someone. It was Fred.

None of them spoke. They took a few steps toward him. Harry shuddered as something brushed the top of his head. He looked up and saw Hedwig light on Sirius' shoulder. His hand grazed over something, and Harry jerked his hand away, as if he'd been burnt. He looked down, and saw the bat-like ears of Dobby. Dobby looked up at him with his large tennis ball eyes.

Harry started backing away, but the people on the other side of the circle began to press in around him. More and more people had joined them. People Harry didn't recognize, but whispers of their names drifted around him. People who had died fighting Voldemort. Harry couldn't breathe. He twisted, trying to find a way out, and came face-to-face with Dumbledore.

Harry felt like he was suffocating.

'Get off me!' he shouted, choking...

'I can't breathe!'

'Harry...' Molly stood next to the bed, shaking Harry.

'NO!' Harry shouted. 'Let go of me!'

'Harry! Wake up!' Molly shook him harder.

Ginny pushed through her parents with her wand. 'Aguamenti,' she snapped. Cold water flowed from her wand and splashed over Harry's face and head. Harry's eyes snapped open and Ginny inhaled sharply. His pupils had dilated, driving all trace of the dark green iris away. He shrank away from Molly's soothing hand, urging him out of the wet bed and all but fell to the floor. He stumbled to the door, but skidded to a stop when he saw Ron, Hermione, and George clustered on the landing.

'Oh, God,' he moaned, and crumpled to the floor in a damp heap.

Ron crouched next to Harry and gingerly prodded him. 'I think he's just fainted,' he pronounced.

'No wonder,' Molly sniffed. 'Hasn't eaten enough to keep a pixie alive in weeks.'

Hermione waved her wand over Harry, drying the water from his hair and t-shirt. Arthur was doing the same to the bed. Molly jabbed her wand at the bedding, and it neatly tucked and draped itself over the now-dry bed. She added a light Warming charm and stepped back. Arthur slid his hands under Harry's arms and hoisted him up. 'Ron, take his feet, will you?' he asked. Ron bent to grasp Harry's feet and helped his father lay Harry back into the bed. Molly drew the sheet and blanket over Harry and tucked them around his body, pausing to tenderly brush the hair from his face.

Ginny spent a few minutes examining Harry's face in the dim glow of the lamp. His eyes were shadowed, and the bones of his face jutted in sharp relief to the hollows of his cheeks. He had barely left the room when any of them could see him. This was the first time any of them had been able to get a good look at him for longer than the few minutes of the occasional meal since the funerals. 'Gin, come on.' Arthur tugged her hand. 'Let's leave him be.' She followed Molly out of the room, and filed down the stairs with Ron and Hermione.

Ron dropped tiredly into a chair. 'What was that about?' At Hermione's contemptuous snort, he straightened up indignantly. 'I know what it was about,' he explained stiffly. 'I know he's feeling guilty about it all, I just wonder what he was dreaming about...'

'It's not the first one,' Ginny said suddenly. 'He's usually had one every night.'

'How do you know?' Molly asked, standing at the stove, preparing porridge.

'He usually wakes up before he starts screaming,' Ginny stated. 'There's usually a lot of thrashing and incoherent mumbling and moaning before the screaming, and he'll wake up.' When Molly looked at her skeptically, Ginny huffed, 'I am in the room next door to his. Not like the walls are so thick you can't hear through them.'

'She's right,' George said faintly. 'I can hear him, too.'

'I'll talk to him, Molly,' Arthur told her. 'When I get home from work.'

Ron and Hermione exchanged a skeptical look. They knew if Harry wanted to be left alone, he could avoid people for days if he wanted.

*****

Harry sat up and looked around the bed. He rubbed his forehead and tried to remember what his dream had been about. Since Riddle had died his dreams were, well, normal dreams, not visions, or whatever they were, from Riddle. Sometimes he could remember them, and sometimes they were as elusive as the mist that draped the valley in the early mornings.

Harry shoved the blankets aside, noting the bed had been neatly made. He wondered when that had happened. The bed had been rather in a shambles when he'd finally gone to sleep sometime after two that morning. He opened the door and slipped up the stairs to the bathroom, relieved to find it was available. He took a sketchy shower, and dressed quickly, not bothering to dry himself. His shirt and jeans clung unpleasantly to his skin while he brushed his teeth. Harry stopped in Bill's bedroom, and grabbed his trainers. Molly had tried to clean them, but they still bore signs of the hardships of the past year. He made his way down the stairs and out the front door, avoiding the kitchen with its homey sounds of cutlery clinking gently on plates. The scent of sugar, porridge, and milk assaulted his nostrils, making his stomach churn. He still hadn't managed more than some dry toast since that morning after the battle. Not that he hadn't tried. A few times a week, he attempted to join the family for a meal, but the food stuck in his throat. It tasted like cardboard, and trying to choke down more than a bite or two took all the energy he had. He moved the food around his plate for a decent amount of time, then excused himself, often darting up to Bill's room, or going out the front door, and around the side of the house, and back to the bend of the River Otter. There was a clump of willows where he could sit for hours, virtually undetected. It was where he headed now.

He dropped to the ground under the drooping branches of the willows and leaned against the trunk. Closing his eyes, he tried to remember his dream. All he could remember was a feeling of suffocation, followed by a feeling of affection he normally associated with his parents. He thought he'd felt his mother run her hand over his hair, but he wasn't sure. For all he knew, it was only part of the dream.