A/N: Hi everyone! I'm so sorry this is late. I've been incredibly sick for the past three weeks or so, and I've had crippling election anxiety on top of that, so this chapter needed a couple extra days. Thank you so much for being patient! I hope you enjoy this chapter! And if you live in the US, PLEASE GO VOTE IF YOU HAVEN'T ALREADY, please please please please. Please. And please take care of yourselves, today and in the days ahead. This is a terrifying time to be alive. Please keep drinking water and eating regularly and sleeping as much as you can and remembering to disconnect when it gets overwhelming, and if you live in an area where political violence is expected, please keep yourself as safe as possible. I hope this chapter offers you a bit of escapism, and I'll work on getting Chapter 278 out as soon as possible to offer a bit of escapism in that sense too. Thank you for being here, and I hope you enjoy the chapter!

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GEORGE:

Ginny, in true Ginny fashion, was the first to say what we were all thinking.

"I wish we could go back in time," she said shamelessly as she watched Fred and Archie bicker over the arrangement of indoor-safe fireworks. "The New Year's party here a year ago was so fun. I miss... well, I was going to try to narrow it down, but I can't. I miss everything and everyone."

Henry nodded. "Fair. I was just thinking this morning about how much I miss Quidditch practice. A year ago, I was bitter about having Quidditch practice on New Year's Eve, but I reckon I'd do just about anything for even a semblance of normalcy and routine right about now."

"You're welcome to come with me to school. There's nothing normal about it, but there is a routine there," Ginny offered, only half-kidding.

"You could pull a Barty Crouch Jr. and polyjuice yourself as me for the rest of the school year," Archie said. He frowned. "Aw wait, no, you'd have to kiss my girlfriend, and I don't think either of us want that. Never mind."

Henry snorted. "Thanks for the offer anyway. I did say just about anything. I'm very happy not to be in school anymore, and I'd rather keep kissing my boyfriend."

I leaned over then and obliged him, laughing when Ginny tossed a handful of popcorn at us.

Before I could throw it back at her, there was a bit of an uproar in the kitchen. I scrambled to my feet in a panic, but before I could draw my wand, I heard the familiar voice of Bill begging Mum not to cry.

"Ah, great, another couple in this house," Ginny groused.

"Hear, hear," Archie agreed with a rueful grin her direction, which she returned.

Archie and Ginny had become hilariously close friends in the time we'd spent at the Burrow over the course of the holiday, sharing many a secret joke and knowing look. It made sense, seeing as the rest of us loved Archie more every time we interacted with him, but Ginny and Archie were on another level, truly. They matched each other's wit and morbid sense of humor, and whenever they disappeared for a couple of minutes, they both returned looking happier than they had when they left, so I pretended not to notice Archie's flask nor the fact that our firewhisky stash was depleting.

"Well, one half of this couple is going to go greet the honeymoon victims," I said, pushing myself to my feet. "Anyone want anything from the kitchen?"

"Something strong to drink?" Ginny asked hopefully.

"Butterbeer it is," I replied. "Anyone else?"

Henry sniffed the air. "Is that cherry pie?"

"Sure is," Fred confirmed after he sniffed for himself. "On second thought, you can arrange the fireworks, Graye, I'm going to go get a slice while it's hot."

"Me too," Henry said, following my lead and getting to his feet. "You two have fun with the fireworks."

"Oh, we will," Archie replied casually, and I pretended not to notice the wink he sent Ginny's direction.

With that, I headed into the kitchen, hoping Lucy had told the truth about Ron going back to his friends. When I saw only Bill and Fleur, I shot Bill a questioning look. He answered my look with a subtle nod, which I was decently sure translated to "Yes, don't worry, Ron's okay." Just the same, the second Mum and Dad left the room with Fleur, I needed a better answer than that.

"So you sent him back?" I asked in a low voice.

"He wanted to go back," Bill replied in an even lower voice. "He wanted to go back all along, but when he couldn't find his way back right away, he ended up at our place. After escaping a few Snatchers, that is."

"Did he mention anything about what they're doing?" Henry asked.

Fred crossed his arms on the table, brow furrowing. "Or why he left?"

"No, and no." Bill sighed. "No, he was very tight-lipped about it. He only answered a couple of our questions, about the full moons and about how they were staying fed and protected. We did most of the talking when he was there, filling him in on what was going on in the greater wizarding world. They haven't been up-to-date on anything since their little Ministry break-in."

I chuckled. "Ah, so the rumors are true, they did do that. How? Polyjuice?"

"Yeah, Ron didn't say why they did it, but he was willing to tell me how they did it," Bill said with a grin. "Polyjuice, yes. Apparently they scouted for weeks just to figure out how to pull it off. Oh, and they crossed paths with Dad."

"Wicked." I leaned back in my chair, rocking it onto its back legs. "Well, I'm glad he's alright."

"How did you hear he was with us anyway? He didn't say anything about talking to you," Bill said.

With a quick glance over my shoulder just to make sure no one was lurking, I reached into my magically-enlarged pocket and pulled out Lucy's orb.

"Morse code, back and forth," I explained. "I don't know if Ron knows she has this. I don't know if Harry and Hermione are aware of it, for that matter, but this is how we knew about the full moons. That's usually the only time she reaches out, but, well, when she wasn't at Shell Cottage for Christmas, we assumed Ron was, hence why you stayed away."

"Mum and Dad don't know, then?" Bill asked.

Fred shook his head. "No. Ginny knows we've been in touch with Lucy, but she doesn't know how. We haven't told Mum and Dad anything about this."

Bill studied the orb. "That's neat. How on earth did she manage that?"

"Cedric did, actually," Henry piped up. "He enchanted those for Christmas one year. I realize now that he most likely intended it as a subtle way of communicating with her around the time of the full moon, but at the time I just thought it was cool."

"Right, you were his roommate, weren't you?" Bill asked.

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HENRY:

I nodded, ignoring the fractures in my heart growing slightly larger as I did so. We were roommates. Friends. Best friends.

Nothing more. We didn't have enough time for anything more.

That was okay, though. I had George.

I slipped my hand into his under the table.

"They were best friends, actually," George said.

And then something about the loss of my best friend opened a vortex inside of me, and I disappeared. The transition was more seamless than usual. The only way I could tell time had passed at all was that Bill and Fred disappeared, as did George's slice of cherry pie.

"Sorry," I said, a knee-jerk reaction.

George squeezed my hand once more before letting it go. "It's alright. I'm sorry if I — "

"No, it's not your fault." I shook my head. "Did anyone notice?"

"No, I suggested checking on the ghoul as soon as I noticed, so Bill and Fred went to do that. Then I proceeded to eat my cherry pie one-handed and just wait it out. Are you alright?"

I nodded. "Yeah. Sorry."

"You don't need to apologize," George said, reaching for a fork and shoving it into my hand. "Come on, eat, while it's still warm."

I obliged him, taking comfort in the steady drumming of his fingers against my shoulder and the restless bounce of his legs beneath the table. I got the sense that the nonstop movement of the Weasley twins would annoy just about anybody else — and it did annoy me on occasion — but more than anything, especially in the moments after I'd just touched ground again, so to speak, the rhythmic taps were oddly soothing. Whenever the world stopped for me, it didn't for George, and as soon as I was back, I could catch back up to speed if I just followed the relentless stream of energy. I fell back into step with him easily.

"It's been a while since that's happened," George commented.

I nodded. "It didn't happen at all when I was on the run with Archie. I think I'm just finally starting to feel safe enough again to — check out, I guess. I don't know, it's all a bit odd. The first time it ever happened was right after my mum — " Died. I couldn't bring myself to say it. "It's just odd how it started in one of the moments of my life where I felt least safe, but now it happens whenever I do feel safe."

"The mind is a curious thing," George said. "Anyway, it's alright, nobody other than me noticed. It would be alright even if someone else did notice. They wouldn't think any less of you for it. I understand that you get embarrassed about it, though, so I'm happy to report you have no reason to be embarrassed right now. It's just me."

"Thanks, George," I whispered as I tucked into the cherry pie properly.

The food helped ground me more, and by the time my slice of pie was gone, I felt almost like myself again. There was a persistent light-headed sensation that followed me like a shadow, but nothing I couldn't handle.

I was Henry Furls. I had loved and loved, and lost and lost. I had loved again, and not yet lost. I had survived being ground into dust by the heavy heel of grief, time and time again, I had built myself back up from dust into a semblance of a sandcastle. I was admittedly fragile. At any moment, a wave could wash me away, force a blank slate over me, but every time that happened, I got better and better at building myself back.

Every time that happened, I got closer and closer to who I wanted to be.

There would always be scars. I would never be who I had been before. All that I had suffered and all that I had yet to suffer would forever shape whatever castles I built, whether they were of sand or stone. But I was still there. I was still building, I was still growing, I was still reaching for the sky and I still had hope I'd reach it one day. That had to count for something.

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GEORGE:

Once Henry was feeling up to returning to the living room, he did so, and I made my way up to join my brothers in their endeavor to check on the ghoul.

"I changed my mind, I do have the appetite after all," I declared as I walked into the room. When I saw the ghoul, though, I froze. "Er... maybe not."

"No, no, take a look, the real Ron is going to look worse for wear once we get our hands on him," Fred commented.

Bill sighed. "Look, I'm not going to lie and say I was thrilled to see him, but they're just kids — "

"They're all the same age, and Harry and Hermione and Lucy seem to be managing without a little vacation," Fred grit out.

"Ron got splinched," Bill said. "I'm not making excuses for him, but I'm not going to act like any one of us would be doing any better in his shoes. They're in even more of a nightmare situation than we are, because they all, for reasons they're unable or unwilling to explain, feel like the weight of the world is on their metaphorical shoulders, and one of Ron's actual shoulders got a bit fucked up. I know it's killing us not being able to help with whatever their task is, but trust me when I say their task is killing them even more. Ron — he — he wanted to go back the whole time. Not being able to go back was torturous for him."

"That's a good sign, though, yeah? That they're impossible to find?" I dared to ask.

"I'd say so," Bill confirmed with a nod. "They're diligent when it comes to using their wards. Ron rattled off everything they were using, and it was rather impressive."

"Those girls did their research, then," Fred remarked fondly. Bill opened his mouth to reply, but Fred beat him to it, shaking his head. "I know it was Lucy and Hermione. Harry and Ron are just along for the ride. They never would have gotten anywhere without the girls."

"I just hope they're okay," I murmured.

"We'd know if they weren't," Bill said.

Fred sighed. "I'm still waiting for that particular phrase to be comforting."

"Sorry." Bill echoed Fred's sigh. "It's not exactly comforting to me either, but it's the best we have. Anyway, how have you lot been doing?"

"Having Henry and Archie back helps keep life around the shop more interesting," I said.

"I find it hard to believe that life with you two could ever be boring," Bill replied with a teasing grin.

"Ah, but what's the point of being entertainers with no one to entertain?" Fred remarked.

"Entertainers is a strong word," a voice said from behind us. Archie walked in then, squinting at the ghoul. "It's impressive, but the Ministry workers are as stupid as trolls if they fell for that."

"We were in fact counting on the Ministry workers being as stupid as trolls, so we succeeded. What brings you up here, Graye?" Fred asked.

Archie pointed at me. "Your boyfriend started talking to — " He pointed at the three of us. " — your sister about Quidditch, and your parents were talking to — " He pointed at Bill. " — your wife about her family's holiday traditions, so I decided to take my leave. Family holiday traditions are a bit of a sore spot for me, so..." He indicated that he was done talking by taking a long swig from his flask.

Fred extended his fist as a fake microphone to Archie. "Well, in that case, Mr. Graye, how would you rate your experience living at the famous joke shop Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes the past couple weeks?"

"I've started dreaming of Mario Kart, with how much we've been playing," Archie said into Fred's fist. "I want it on the record that that's not a complaint."

Without a word, my eyes found Fred's, and we held eye contact for a long moment.

I glanced back at Archie. "Really?"

"Yes, why would I ever complain about Mario Kart?" Archie retorted.

"No, not that." Fred dropped his fist. "The dreams. What are they like?"

"I'll consult my dream journal and get back to you," Archie replied quizzically. "What is this about?"

"I'm curious as well," Bill piped up. "Last night I had a dream that I was at one of Charlie's school Quidditch matches, but the other team was dragons. Is that of interest to you?"

"That's hilarious, actually, but no," I said.

Bill frowned. "Damn. No one's impressed with my imagination. Fleur didn't care about my dream either."

"Before Lucy left, we were working on a Mario Kart Daydream Charm," Fred explained. "We thought maybe dreaming about Mario Kart would be the key to getting that idea off the ground. None of us managed it, though, and..."

I sighed. "That's a conversation for another time, though. It doesn't really feel right trying to do this without her."

"I reckon she'd want you to do it whether she's helping you or not," Archie said. "Imagine the look on her face if she comes back from saving the world and you handed her a miracle in a box. A Mario Kart Daydream Charm sounds like one hell of a welcome-home gift, if you ask me."

"George is right," Fred relented. "As much as I love the idea of a welcome-home gift, I think she'd rather be involved. We can head downstairs. Once Lucy's back, though, we're breaking into your head, Archie."

"If you decide you want a Dragon Quidditch Match Daydream Charm — " Bill started, trying again.

The rest of us laughed, then made our way downstairs.

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HENRY:

I was deep in conversation with Ginny about professional Quidditch when George and Fred reappeared with Bill and Archie. George flopped onto the sofa next to me and looped his ankle around mine.

"I reckon arguing with a wall would be more productive than arguing with Ginny about the Holyhead Harpies," he commented. "Legend has it yellow and green confetti rained from the heavens when she was born."

"I believe it," I said, holding my hands up in surrender.

Bill chuckled. "Honestly, that's close to true. The only reason I was excited to have a sister instead of another brother — "

Ginny swatted his arm, rather hard based on the way Bill looked both wounded and impressed.

"Ow! Anyway, it was because I finally had hope of having a Holyhead Harpy in the family. Her indoctrination started when I managed to sneak a Holyhead Harpies jersey into her crib after she was born. I convinced Mum to make Ginny's first Weasley Christmas jumper a green and yellow one, and she's been a fan ever since."

"And I expect you to be my biggest fan when I graduate from fan status to player status," Ginny said as she pointed a finger at Bill.

"Behind me, of course," Fred piped up.

"Right, and you'll be behind me," George said.

"And you'll all be behind me," I asserted.

Ginny cocked an eyebrow. "Where's your loyalty, Mr. Hufflepuff? You're a Magpie."

"My loyalty is to you lot first and foremost." I grinned. "Except for when we're competing on the Pitch, of course. Then I won't have any mercy on you."

"I'll be the one holding the bat, Furls," Ginny said. "You'll be at my mercy, not the other way around."

"Just avoid his face, please, that's my one request," George cut in.

Ginny considered this for a moment. "Would you consider his ears a part of his face? You two could match."

Everyone laughed at that except for Fleur and Mrs. Weasley, who both made faces of equal parts disgust and concern.

"How did you all get into sports?" Fleur asked. "Something I have always admired about most members of your family and most of your friends is your commitment to Quidditch. Where did it all start for you? How did you all decide your favorite teams?"

"Well, I'm afraid I didn't give Ginny much of a choice when it came to rooting for a professional Quidditch team," Bill said with a grin. "I was a Harpies fan because my babysitters were Harpies fans, and I inherited a lot of hand-me-downs."

Those of us who had been there on Christmas exchanged a look.

"You mean to tell me I could have been wearing Harry's dad's jumpers all this time?" Ginny asked. "If they were handed down through the family from you to me."

"Well... yeah, actually, I can't believe I never thought about it like that," Bill replied, nodding. "Yeah. He never had any younger brothers or sisters of his own, so most of James Potter's childhood hand-me-downs ended up in our hands. Anything that didn't fit his friends."

A brief silence fell over the group, because what was there to say to that, really?

Fred broke the silence though, as he always did. Breaking silence was his specialty.

"Anyway, that's why those two are Harpies fans," he said, pointing at Bill and Ginny. "Charlie and Ron are Chudley Cannons fans. Don't ask me why, I have no idea, but they are. Percy claims not to care much about Quidditch and he's never sworn allegiance to any professional team, but when I tell you the most unhinged I've ever seen him was at a Quidditch match..."

We all laughed at that.

Encouraged, Fred grinned and continued. "I'm afraid I didn't have much of an allegiance to any particular Quidditch team until Henry joined the Montrose Magpies."

"Awwww, then you started rooting for us?" I asked in an overly-sweet tone, knowing the answer to my question already but wanting to wheedle a confession out of him only after I'd laid it on thick. "That's so sweet of you, Fred, truly — "

Fred reached over George to swat my arm. "No, you twat, then I started rooting for whatever team you happened to be playing. I had to keep life interesting somehow, seeing as Archie and Georgie both decided they were suddenly Magpies fans. At least one person deserved to celebrate every Magpies loss, else the mood around the flat would have been simply too dismal. Unfortunately, you didn't lose very often — "

"Oi," George cut in, coming to my rescue as always, even when it wasn't strictly necessary because the banter was so light-hearted and fun it didn't bother me. "I think you meant 'fortunately.'"

"No, because I enjoy being right above all else," Fred replied. "Anyway, that's my relationship with professional sports. I enjoyed playing Quidditch in school, playing Beater was fun, but I was never all that passionate about it. I never wanted to make a career out of it or anything, it was just something fun to do and we were good at it. Lucy and Ginny are better, though, they've far surpassed our accomplishments on the Quidditch Pitch. How about you, George? What are your thoughts on Quidditch?"

He shrugged. "Well, we all grew up flying. It seemed only natural that the two of us fill the two empty Gryffindor Beater positions. I never wanted to make a career out of it either, but it was fun, it was a good hobby and a good source of friends. I was never one for Gobstones Club, personally."

"Oh, Gobstones," I said with a fond sigh. "Now that takes me back. I'll get back to that later. Ginny, how about you?"

She cast a furtive look at her mother. "What's the statute of limitations on childhood naughtiness?"

"If you're about to talk about how you used to steal your brothers' brooms when you thought everyone else was asleep and fly around outside, I already know about that," Mrs. Weasley said without looking up from her knitting. "I would just watch you from the window and work on whatever sewing project I had at the time."

"And we know you used to sneak out with Lucy in the middle of the night to fly around too, so no need to hide that anymore either," Fred piped up.

"Great," Ginny said with a huff. "Anyone else have any other secrets about me they'd like to share with the class?" Archie opened his mouth, but Ginny silenced him with a look. "Statute of limitations isn't up on that one yet. Anyway, as everyone apparently already knows, I've always wanted to play as much Quidditch as humanly possible. The thought of being on the Holyhead Harpies has always appealed to me. Who can blame me, growing up with six older brothers? The thought of being surrounded by six women instead was a glorious one. It still is, no offense, boys. Anyway, Quidditch was my way of... no, it was my way out, for lack of a better way of phrasing it. As long as I had Quidditch, I wouldn't be trapped in everyone else's shadow forever. After all, I'm the only Weasley child who could be a Holyhead Harpy," she finished, grinning.

"That is very admirable," Fleur said. She smiled. "Gabrielle has grown increasingly interested in Quidditch, but I am afraid I do not know enough to properly encourage her. I am trying to learn, though. Being around you has been very educational." Fleur turned to me. "How about you, Henry? How did you come into your love of Quidditch? Do you have any older family members who encouraged it?"

"Oh!" I blinked, forgetting I had technically been one of the people Fleur asked with her initial question. "Well, my father has worked in the Department of Magical Games and Sports my whole life, so I've always been a fan of Quidditch. He often had to attend matches for work, and I always enjoyed tagging along with him. I played Chaser growing up, in Little League, but when the Hufflepuff Keeper position opened the same time as the Hufflepuff Seeker position, Cedric convinced me to give it a shot. And, well, here I am now. I never consciously planned on turning Quidditch into a career, but I'm glad life worked out that way. With a bit of an asterisk attached, of course, I think I would have fared better as a Chudley Cannon, comparatively."

"That's highly debatable," Fred replied with a snort. "At least you won with the Magpies."

"I'm sure the Chudley Cannons players have a lot of fun, though," Mrs. Weasley said, and all of her children who happened to be present erupted with protests. In response, she merely smiled a smug little smile that suggested she played the "As long as everyone has fun" card often enough to know it would warrant such a reaction.

It was so motherly my chest ached. Molly Weasley wasn't a perfect mother. I knew that, with the glimpse into the Weasley family dynamics afforded to me by my proximity to George and my subsequent standing invitation to Weasley family events. She wasn't perfect, but who was? She was warm, and she was kind, and she was well-intentioned, and that was all that she needed to be, as far as I was concerned.

She would never be my mum, and that was okay. There was no replacing Eilidh Furls.

I reckoned most children thought they had the best mother, but I was convinced I really, truly, sincerely did have the best. Her patience seemed infinite, and her love seemed even more so. She had many loves, her family first and foremost and music chief among the non-human loves, a love she transferred to me. She loved both widely and deeply. She always chased after love, no matter what stood in her way. My dad, really, was her biggest obstacle in life, but she surpassed that obstacle with relative ease and just kept on loving.

My dad hadn't always been the kind-hearted and warm advocate for Muggles and Muggle-borns that I had known and loved since I was a child. He had never been a blood supremacist, necessarily, but he hadn't exactly fought for the Order in the first wizarding war either. He'd been one of those passive pure-bloods that preferred not to interact with Muggles as much as he could help it. He thought Muggle rights were none of his business and he didn't see the point of associating with anyone outside of his little wizarding bubble of friends and family and co-workers.

Enter Eilidh Wilson, a charming disaster of a woman who managed to turn the head of a man who, by his own admission, had a heart of stone before she started chipping away at it. Much like how I'd more or less fallen at Cedric's feet in King's Cross Station, Mum had been rushing down the road, just trying to make it home after a long night of music, when she'd stumbled and fallen into a puddle in such spectacular fashion my dad stopped dead in his tracks. According to Mum, he laughed out loud at her (though Dad always swore he only chuckled a bit to himself). Whether he guffawed or giggled, though, Mum, exhausted, promptly burst into tears, so pitiful it managed to move even the stone-hearted stoic wizard who was running late for work. He felt so bad he helped her gather the contents of her purse, which had gone flying everywhere. The sight of her sheet music in the puddle, soaking wet, only made her tears intensify, so Dad gathered it with particular care and offered to walk her back to her flat. She accepted the offer gratefully, and she was so starry-eyed by his chivalry and so devastated by his hasty departure as soon as they'd reached the flat that she didn't even notice that he'd cast a Drying Charm on her sheet music to save it before he hurried off to work.

After that, Dad found himself changing his route to and from work to pass by her place, on the off-chance she needed another rescue from a puddle. Mum, who always chased what she loved wholeheartedly, made sure to make his detour worthwhile, often rushing in and out of her flat on one errand or another whenever Dad walked past, always conveniently heading in his same direction. Their so-called chance meetings grew more intentional as Mum continued chipping away at his heart of stone, and before Dad knew it, he was rather enamored with the clumsy yet charismatic musician whose lilting Scottish Gaelic siren call lured him into his first Muggle pub one cold December night. I came along a few years later, then Gretch a few years after me.

Mum loved us both fiercely. If she could have taken all of the good in the world and shoved it all into a gift box we could open, she would have. She did the best she could, within her own human limitations. She never let the fact that she was a Muggle stop her from making our childhood as magical as possible. For one, she passed along her love of music, which I thought was as close to magic as Muggles could ever come. Music was magic, and I always thought of magic as music. I played piano, but Gretch found herself more drawn to guitar, as soon as her little fingers were long and strong enough to play the chords. Mum filled our days with fun too, always thinking of new crafts to try and new parks to visit and new games to play and new songs to sing. Mum encouraged our magical loves as well, finding a Quidditch Little League for me and a magical greenhouse for Gretch run by a kind elderly witch who was more than happy to take Gretch under her wing and give her a safe place to explore her love of Herbology.

If she had any faults, which I was loath to recognize and even more loath to admit, it was that she could lose herself in the pursuit of love, pouring so much of her love into everything and everyone that she didn't keep enough for herself. There were days that her smiles were dimmed by the exhaustion in her eyes, there were nights where I'd find her staring sorrowfully into our lamps, lit by my dad's magic yellow flames, when she thought no one was looking. Mum never let us think any less of Muggles for not having magic, but I had always worried that she didn't extend that same grace to herself. When Cedric died, one would have thought her own son died, the way she shouldered the burden. My grief might as well have been hers too. As I got older, I found myself pulling away just a bit. Not because I loved or appreciated her less, but because I loved and appreciated her more, and I couldn't bring myself to show her the depths of my increasingly-complicated life. She knew enough. It was impossible to hide it all from her. She knew that there was a war, another one, and that Cedric had been its first victim. I know she worried that I would be next.

I guess it wasn't all that surprising that she never considered the possibility that she would be next.

In the end, it was, in a way, her love that was her doom. Dad loved her so much he was willing to run to Tesco late at night just to make her smile. She was just too damn charming, too full of light and life and love, the people who loved her simply couldn't hold themselves back from doing whatever was necessary to make her as happy as possible. In the end, it was a painless way to go, about as fearless as it could be. It was the Killing Curse. Dad said she could have been sleeping. According to him, she faced death with her eyes closed, and a small smile on her face.

Dad never wanted us using spells around Mum, for fear of making her feel inferior or excluded or otherwise sad. He lit the lamps only to save on electricity, and he used magic only when she wasn't around, as far as I was aware. She loved to watch me fly, and she asked Gretch a lot of questions about her Herbology habit, but that wasn't the same as having magic, or using magic, or interacting with magic in a meaningful way, or being magic. She'd seen magic, passively, but it was never really a huge part of her life. Mum had never really experienced magic.

Sometimes, late at night, I wondered if she was smiling because she knew she was about to have her first true experience with magic.

I hoped not. I hoped she was smiling for another reason. I hoped she was conjuring something like a patronus memory in her mind, one last happy image to carry with her into whatever adventure was before her. I wasn't sure I'd ever know, one way or the other, but I hoped her last moments were as blissful as possible.

Mum deserved that much. She deserved far better than the ending she got, of course, but she, at the very least, deserved a happy ending, even if it arrived too soon. And, well, she was smiling, for whatever reason. That had to count for something, I supposed.

When I became aware of my surroundings again, no one had noticed that I'd blinked out of the present. I couldn't gauge just how much time had passed, but I was somewhat relieved that I hadn't dampened anyone else's holiday spirits. The mood of the room was still light and happy, lighter and happier than it had been on Christmas.

There was something energizing about the promise of a new year. Maybe 1998 would be the year the tides turned in our favor.

The hope was enough.

🩵💛❤️💜🩷

GEORGE:

As the clock moved ever closer to midnight, the mood in the Burrow steadily improved. The approach of a new year, a fresh start, and all of the hope that entailed propelled us forward with more vigor than we'd had since, honestly, Bill and Fleur's wedding. The mood was distinctly more festive than Christmas. On Christmas, we'd all been weighed down by the past, trapped in the snow, thinking about everyone who should have been there celebrating with us but wasn't, worrying about how they were faring out in the cold wild world, but the promise of a new beginning, on the calendar if nothing else, made us want to race toward a future where we could all be together again. The clouds had parted to reveal the stars, and the twinkling lights seemed to assure us everything would be okay after all, if we were only brave enough to face the future with our heads held high.

We all cheered when the clock struck twelve, our cries not triumphant nor particularly exuberant, but they were hopeful, and maybe even a little bit relieved. 1997, for better or for worse, was behind us. 1998 and all of its mysteries awaited us, but maybe, just this once, there would be pleasant surprises in store. Maybe by next year, we would all be together again, welcoming 1999 with a Burrow full to the brim with loved ones.

Maybe it was too good to be true. Just for a moment, though, I let myself pretend that it wasn't.

In time, we realized we were all rather tired, after the year we'd had, so we started to make our way toward the door to leave. On the way there, though, I spotted Ginny's Beater bat, propped up against the kitchen door.

I pulled her aside and gestured with my chin toward the bat. "So what's that about?"

"I can't use magic outside of school," she muttered darkly. "Obviously I wouldn't hesitate to use my wand if necessary, but Mum and Dad said they only want me to use magic to save my own life, not theirs, if something happens. They don't want me to get in trouble, so we compromised with the bat. It's not much, but... it's better than nothing, and I'm more skilled with that than I would be with, say, a kitchen knife."

"I hate that you have to think like that," I said. "I'm sorry."

"That's just the way the world is. Being sorry about it won't make it any better, so don't bother. It's not your job to protect me." Ginny sighed. "Sorry. That was mean. I just don't want you to feel guilty for something that's not your responsibility and not within your control in the first place."

"Do you miss it?" I asked.

Ginny didn't need to ask a clarifying question to know I was talking about Quidditch. She reached up and pinched my nose and mouth shut, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Do you miss breathing?"

I swatted her hands away, chuckling. "Alright, alright, point taken. It was a stupid question. I was just trying to make conversation — "

I was interrupted by a loud laugh from Dad.

"Against dragons, you say?" he asked, still laughing.

"Yes! Finally, someone's properly amused!" Bill replied.

The world around me tunneled as I stared at Ginny's Beater bat.

Henry placed a hand on my shoulder. "You about ready to head out?"

A Quidditch Daydream Charm. For Ginny, and for Henry, and for all of us who loved Quidditch, and for all of us who wanted to learn about it, like Fleur —

"Freddie?" I called, crossing the room in a hurry and snatching up the bat. Feeling its familiar weight, the memories of swinging it through the air coming back to me in a flood.

"Yeah, Georgie?" he called back as he approached.

I tossed him the bat and watched with satisfaction as he caught it easily and twirled it.

"Quidditch Daydream Charm. No dragons. Just... a Quidditch Daydream Charm. Interactive, like the Mario Kart one, but easier, because so many of us have so much experience, either playing or watching or both — "

"Yes," Fred interrupted. He nodded, twirling the bat again. "YES!"

The room fell silent.

"'Yes' what, dears?" Mum inquired.

"A Quidditch Daydream Charm, no dragons, sorry Bill, but completely interactive and completely safe obviously, it'd be a great way for people to learn about Quidditch or practice Quidditch without having to even get out of bed," Fred rattled off, yanking a scrap of parchment from his pocket and catching the quill I tossed him without even looking up. "It wouldn't compare to actually playing Quidditch, not really, there would still be limitations, of course, but — "

"It would still be our most ambitious Daydream Charm to date, but it would give us an opportunity to experiment with our theories about using dreams in place of memories because I certainly dream about Quidditch a lot — "

"Me too," Fred replied.

"Me three," Ginny asserted. "I want to help."

"I dream about Quidditch a lot too, school and professional practices and matches alike, if my dreams would be at all helpful," Henry said. He snorted. "I'd rather enjoy a Magpies practice modified to not have McLeod in it, now that I think about it. I'd love to help however I can."

Archie stepped closer. "I don't know much about Quidditch, but if this would help get you one step closer to the Mario Kart Daydream Charm, I'd love to help too."

Bill and Fleur and Mum and Dad offered their assistance too, and we set to work. No one did end up going home that night. No one even went to bed. Everyone worked together to help the creative juices flow as efficiently as possible, once Fred and I explained the mechanisms of the original Daydream Charms and the modifications we thought would be necessary for a truly interactive Daydream Charm. Everyone took turns tossing out suggestions and fetching us more ink and parchment and keeping us fueled with food and coffee. The candles burned ever lower, but that did nothing to curb the fiery passion of invention that had descended upon the Burrow in the first hours of the new year.

We didn't finish the blueprints that night, but not for lack of effort. Once the sun rose, Bill and Fleur went home, and Mum and Dad went to bed, and Henry crashed in my bed upstairs, mentioning a headache but saying he just wanted to sleep it off when I offered to take him back to the joke shop for a magical remedy. The four of us who remained relocated to the living room and resisted the urge to fall asleep, strong though the pull was.

We were motivated by an even-stronger desire to finish it before Ginny had to go back to school, so she could take a working Daydream Charm with her. She could use all of the escapism she could get, we figured, and she was never really one for reading, despite Archie's best efforts to try to convince her to borrow some of his Muggle books to read at school when she needed a break from the oppressive weight of reality. Mum and Dad loved having us all at the Burrow for an extended visit. I got the sense, too, that Mum enjoyed seeing Fred and I use our talents for a so-called "noble cause" for once.

Though Mum had warmed to the idea of the joke shop in time, and she approved most highly of our Defense line, we'd always known she wanted more from us. More of what, we were never sure. More prestige, more ambition, a higher purpose, something more dignified, perhaps all of the above. Whatever it was, she didn't find it in us, though she did find it in Percy, if no one else. I suspected that was the reason she clung more tightly to the idea of Percy than the rest of us did. It wasn't that Percy was the most successful of the lot of us, Mum wasn't that shallow, but Percy had always cared the most about what other people thought of him, of his family, and he always tried the hardest to please others. Once upon a time, Mum's approval had meant the world to him. Clearly it didn't mean much anymore, but even when he'd visited a Christmas prior, he couldn't bring himself to be cruel to Mum. He still cared, so much, maybe too much, certainly far more than he was willing to admit.

But where was Percy when Ginny needed him? Buried deep in the government making her life hell, making life hell for all of us. Mum included. Arguably, Mum especially.

Ginny was the first to fall asleep, which was just as well, really. It was for her, after all. Archie was first to reach for a blanket to cover her, and the three of us inched away from her and set up a silencing spell so she could continue sleeping as soundly as possible.

I wasn't sure when exactly I fell asleep, I wasn't conscious of it, but when I next opened my eyes, Henry had returned, and he was curled up on the sofa with a cup of tea, watching me with a warm twinkle of amusement in his brown eyes.

"Good morning," he whispered.

I pushed myself up, suddenly aware of the blanket that had been draped across my shoulders. I caught it just before it hit the ground, then glanced to Henry with my eyebrows raised.

"Impressed?" I asked.

Henry humored me with a small smile and nod.

I curled up on the sofa beside him and tossed the blanket over our legs, casting a quick silencing spell as I did so.

I took in the sight of Henry's face, the sleepiness still clinging to the corners of his eyes. "Are you feeling better?"

"Yeah, thanks," he said, nodding and taking a sip from his cup of tea. A little bit of a blush rose to his cheeks when I looked from his face to the cup then back up at him questioningly. "Your mum made it for me. Wouldn't let me lift a finger to do it for myself. I'm afraid I'm going to have to come over here every morning for a cup of tea, because this is the best one I've ever had."

"Mum would love that," I replied. "She loves you."

He smiled, wider this time, but I watched as the smile faded and he disappeared from behind his eyes. I reached out to rest a hand on his knee, so I'd be there whenever he returned, and let my mind wander a bit while I waited.

Mum wasn't perfect, but she cared so much, maybe too much, certainly far more than she was able to express. It was evident in the way she always watched the Weasley clock to make sure we were okay. It was evident in her high expectations of us, in her hopes that we'd make good lives and livelihoods for ourselves. It was evident even in the way she appraised all of our friends with a critical eye, never wanting us to settle for anything less than the best.

Her approval of Henry meant the world to me. After a lifetime of sharing with Fred, Henry was the first person who felt like maybe he could be mine. He was his own person first and foremost, of course, and he was our friend, obviously, he was friends with Fred too, but he was my friend first. He was mine before he was Fred's. I was close with him first, I always sought him out when Fred didn't, and, for his part, Henry did his fair share of seeking me out too. I'd realized with a thunderclap that we fancied each other, and he'd been mine, well and truly, ever since, and I rather enjoyed being his. I had never been particularly worried that Mum would throw a fit over me having a boyfriend rather than a girlfriend, and I had never once worried that she wouldn't think he was good enough for me. He was good for me, so good for me, that much was undeniable. No, I was worried that Mum wouldn't think I was good enough for him. After the disaster that was the first time I brought him to a family dinner, when she'd tried rather valiantly to partner me up with Lucy, Mum had been exceptionally warm to Henry, most likely realizing (several months before I did) just how much he cared about me and how much I cared about him. It was Mum who hounded me to make sure I was taking proper care of Henry after his mum died, and it was Mum who shed the most tears over the fact that he was on the run for so long, and it was Mum who held him the longest of everyone other than his dad and me when he returned. Her approval of him, of us, felt like approval of me, which was something I'd found rather hard to come by over the course of my life.

I thought it was rather natural for children to want their mother's approval. I tried to convince myself that I was somehow unique, somehow supernaturally indifferent to my mother's approval since I knew I had her love. I tried to make that enough, I tried to find approval in other places, but it wasn't enough. The first time I ever really felt Mum's approval was when Lucy came along. She was skeptical at first, worried we'd be poor influences on an otherwise sweet and innocent girl, but as Lucy slowly assimilated into our family and Mum could really see how much we reciprocally loved and appreciated and encouraged and strengthened each other, her skepticism gave way to approval. Not that she'd ever admit she had once been wrong — Prewett pride ran even deeper than Weasley wit — but her change of heart was undeniable. Henry, on the other hand? She approved of Henry and me, me and Henry, from the get-go.

"Sorry," Henry said, pulling me from my thoughts. "How long was I — "

"Not long," I assured him, squeezing his leg. "It's alright."

"I was thinking about how much my mum would have loved you," Henry whispered.

"You really think so?" I couldn't stop myself from asking.

Henry nodded. "Absolutely."

I waited for him to explain. I felt alight with something in between curiosity and excitement, wanting to know so desperately. So desperately I wanted to beg him to explain, but, well, he was talking about his mum. It was a sensitive topic. I didn't want to push, I didn't want him to slip away again. So I just rested my head against his shoulder and wondered.

🩵💛❤️💜🩷

HENRY:

The days after New Year's passed in a whirlwind of invention. We all did everything we could to help the twins in their brazen quest to finish the Quidditch Daydream Charm before Ginny had to return to school. My personal role was making sure everyone got the sleep they needed, which was easier said than done. The twins would barely even look up from their work long enough to register that I was there, even George.

Around eleven o'clock on the night before she had to go back, a prototype was complete. Fred volunteered himself first, just to make sure it was safe, but I was able to convince everyone to let me give it a go first.

I missed Quidditch. I missed it so much. It had been my primary source of structure and routine after Cedric had died, and after Mum had died. It was horrible, not having it in the aftermath of being on the run, when part of me had died.

The second the Daydream Charm was activated, though, I was back. Daydream Charms were an unusual experience in the sense that sight and hearing were the only senses that were affected. There was no breeze, no warmth from the sunlight, no wood between my thighs or in my hands, but that was okay. The broom beneath me wasn't real. Nothing was. There was no fear of falling. There was only weightlessness, there was only flying.

I immediately tried to will myself forward, and the broom obeyed. I tried to reach out an arm, but nothing appeared. That was okay, though, because there was a game happening around me. None of the players had distinguishable features beyond their plain black jerseys, but I was able to keep up with the action, as a Chaser, whipping back and forth across the Pitch as I chased the Quaffle. Realizing I should try floating to the other positions, too, I started chasing Bludgers, and in doing so, I gained a newfound appreciation for just how different of a game Beaters played. I hovered as a Keeper and a Seeker for a bit, just absorbing the action happening all around me.

The gameplay itself was far from realistic, following a predictable pattern of Team #1 scores, Team #2 scores, Team #1 misses, Team #2 misses, repeat, but there was a surprising variety of Chaser formations, and the Bludgers were, as far as I could tell, the most true-to-life part of the experience. Go figure, with two Beaters spearheading the project, but it was certainly impressive. More important than any of that, though, it was fun, and I assured everyone of that as soon as I emerged from the daydream.

Ginny returned to school with a Daydream Charm in her bag, right next to a little Christmas gift and letter she offered to give to Gretch for me. Once she was off, the four of us returned to the joke shop.

We couldn't really bring ourselves to take down the holiday decorations. I think we were all still holding out for a Christmas miracle, even as the Christmas spirit dimmed and the reality of the new year, a bleak January disappointing in its monotony. The hope of the new year soon dimmed back to excruciating nothingness as everything returned to... "normal" was far from the appropriate word, but it was the best we could manage.

The cycles of the moon were unaffected by the new year, so, when the 12th of January rolled around, we all found ourselves anxiously awaiting word from Lucy.

When the orb screeched around dinner time, George lunged forward to shut it up. I'd gotten better at Morse code in the past couple weeks, so I was able to follow along with the conversation easily.

Hi, Lucy's blue taps said. I'm okay. Not hurt or anything.

Happy to hear it, George replied. How are you doing, moon aside?

I think Hermione's warming up to Ron again, Lucy said, and I wished for not the first time that I could see or hear her so I had a better understanding of her tone. It was still a bit touchy when we last talked. Did I tell you that she damn near knocked him out? With her fists, no magic at all.

Fred tossed his head back and laughed before tapping out a response. I just laughed out loud. Did she really? Sweet little prefect Granger?

Oh yeah. She just started whaling on him once she processed he was back. It was the middle of the night, Harry and Ron woke us up, and thankfully I had the presence of mind to grab her wand before she did. Merlin. It's honestly rather funny in hindsight, but I'm sure there was a moment there where Ron wished he'd just stayed at the mercy of the Snatchers. Oh, while I'm here, do any of you know anyone with a doe patronus perchance?

You?  George guessed, smirking to himself as he did so.

You sound like your brother, Lucy replied. He thought it was mine at first too. Anyway, is that a no?

When Archie and I both shook our heads, George tapped out a reply.

No, sorry, Cub. I'm guessing we aren't allowed to know any context?

Best not. Sorry. How are you lot doing?

Fred reached forward, grinning like he'd been waiting the whole conversation for a chance to talk about the Quidditch Daydream Charm, and he did with much enthusiasm as we all watched his feverish taps against the glass. Lucy was impressed and a little jealous and asked a few very-intelligent follow-up questions before confessing she was falling asleep with an apology. Once both Fred and George assured her she had no reason to apologize, goodbyes and good lucks were exchanged, then the orb went still.

There was always a moment after she said goodbye that we all just continued staring at the orb, waiting. For what, Merlin only knew. No matter how long we spent talking to Lucy, it never felt like enough. We always waited for more. We always wanted more.

In time though, we dispersed one by one. Fred got up to pore over the Quidditch Daydream Charms, looking for anything he could tweak to make it better, more realistic, and Archie disappeared to the den to play Mario Kart. I declined his invitation when he asked if I wanted to join him, opting instead to hang out in the kitchen with George as he started dinner. I offered to help, but he responded with a distracted grin and said all I had to do was sit at the table and look cute, and I wasn't about to argue with that.

When a somewhat-awkward silence stretched between us, I summoned his Walkman into the kitchen and let it play softly. I drummed my fingers against the table as if piano keys were there, and George watched with fond amusement whenever he looked away from the pots and pans he was juggling on the stove. Full moons meant steak and potatoes, just so we had something positive to anticipate rather than succumbing to the helplessness and anxiety of the distance separating us from Lucy, so soon enough, the aromas attracted Fred and Archie, both of whom were all too eager to discuss the various successes and trials they'd experienced in the hour or so since we'd seen each other. Their chatter helped fill the bubble of silence that seemed to surround me, no matter who was around me.

I wanted to reach out, to talk, to speak and be heard and properly dissect every feeling I'd ever had in my life and shoved away. I'd spent my whole life before going on the run trying to find my place in the world, and I didn't really care how I had to change myself to find it. I was adaptable. I was born to be adaptable. But I wondered, in the silence, in the stillness, in the wake of the couple of months where I was the most raw form of myself, what really lay beneath the surface of the me everyone thought they knew. I didn't know how to return to "normal." I wasn't sure if I even wanted to return to "normal," because that didn't feel like me anymore.

On the run, I'd only been able to rely on myself, and on Archie.

It was impossible to wear a mask around Archie, and, in the absence of anything better to do, we talked. We talked about ourselves, our hopes and dreams, our secrets and fears. The night of what should have been Cedric's twentieth birthday, I realized with a pang sharp as a knife that Archie knew me better than Cedric had. And that was no fault of Cedric's, nor was it really a fault of mine. Cedric had never gotten the chance to know me as well as Archie did. There hadn't been enough time.

I hadn't known how much time I had with Archie, either, and in the interest of being known, really known, before I died, I more or less poured my soul out to him, a little at a time. And he reciprocated, telling me details about himself that he said not even Cam knew. We'd grown closer to each other than we'd ever been to anyone else, there at the end of the world, and then... the world didn't end. We went home. We had to try to assimilate back into the life we'd once known, fill the same shoes we'd left behind for the months we had been on the run. Archie seemed to be doing well, finding that he could resume his role with relative ease. He was more adaptable than I was. I had once been clay, but I'd turned into sand. No matter how many times I built myself up, no matter how many times I tried to fit the mold of who I'd once been, of who everyone was expecting me to be, I crumbled back into nothingness.

At the end of my rope, I only had myself. I wanted to reach out, reach for George. I wanted him to know me the way Archie had gotten to know me. The way Cedric had never gotten to know me.

But the sands of myself merely trickled from my hands, slipping between the cracks of my fingers no matter how tightly I tried to hold onto myself. I lost myself, over and over again, the slate went blank, the tide swept away the sandcastle of me time and time again. I didn't slip away from myself once when I was on the run.

I hated the thought that I was most myself when death was breathing down my neck.

That night, after dinner, when the flat was still the the full moon was high in the sky and I was safe and sound in bed with George, I wrapped myself around him, both arms and both legs, and squeezed for all I was worth.

I was sand. He was fire.

George was more solid than I was. He felt more real than I did.

At the very least, he made more of an impact on the world than I did.

He chuckled, running his fingers through my hair. "Not that I'm complaining, but is there a reason you're trying to crush me like I'm one of those Muggle soda cans?"

"I miss you," I said.

"I'm right here," George replied, but something in his tone suggested that he understood me perfectly well.

Something in his tone suggested he felt the same way.

He wrapped his arms around me and squeezed me back.

"I know," I whispered, closing my eyes, holding him tighter, letting him hold me tighter too, all the while wishing it could be enough.