Harry stared out through the rain-splattered window to what had been perfectly welcoming countryside twelve hours ago. Now, all Harry saw was the unbroken sheets of summer rain, turning the fields of lush grass into a dirty brown mess.

Ron sighed next to him. His friend had also turned to looking wistfully out of the window, because Ginny was holding them prisoner in the kitchen so they could ‘help her write a letter to Hermione’.

“And you can tell your dad we all thought his car was very... impressive,” said Ginny.

“How has this letter filled an entire roll of parchment?” Ron groaned. “You saw her literally five days ago.”

“Here, let me have a look,” Harry smirked.

“Ah!” said Ginny. Harry got up. “Nuh-uh!”

Harry tried to dart around the table but found himself glued to the spot. “You’ve got to be kidding me...”

He was staring up at a high stone ceiling, his wand falling from his hand to clatter on the floor below.

Burn.

“Unggg-aaaahh!” Harry gasped as he fell to his knees. His scar was burning again. Small hands laid him carefully on the ground and he found himself looking up into Ginny’s big brown eyes.

“Harry?” she asked softly. “Are you okay?”

“Mum?!” Ron called.

“Yes, I’m on the floor because I wanted to see what it smelled of,” said Harry.

Ginny ignored him. “Your scar’s all red...”

“What’s wrong, R- oh my goodness, Harry are you alright?” Mrs Weasley said, pulling her wand out and passing it methodically over him.

“Why do people keep asking me that?” said Harry.

“Because you’re sniffing the carpet,” Ginny smiled tightly.

“It’s like roses down here,” said Harry.

“I don’t see anything wrong with you,” Mrs Weasley muttered. “Harry, can you tell me what happened?”

“I... I was back down under the third floor corridor,” Harry frowned.

“Oh you poor thing,” Mrs Weasley crooned. “I’ll be right back.”

She verily flew out of the room. Harry let his head drop to the floor with a thud.

“Wasn’t really planning on going anywhere,” Harry muttered. Now that everything was slowing down he could feel a bit of a headache coming on.

“Sure you’re alright, mate?” Ron asked.

“Probably better than I look,” said Harry.

“When don’t you?” Ron grinned.

“Ha bloody ha,” Harry said. He turned to look at Ginny, but she was frowning at a blank bit of wall.

“But Harry, what did you see?” Ron asked.

“I saw-” said Harry.

“Us getting frozen in mid-air,” said Ginny. “I froze you, and you had an attack. Last time, we were talking about the body and you got a headache.”

Harry gaped up at her. “How...?”

“It’s only logical,” Ginny said, looking down at him with a half-exasperated, half-amused expression.

‘The bond,’ Harry thought. How ironic for such a thing to slip his mind. She knew how he’d reacted to these little prompts, and she was putting two and two together. “So what’s happening to me?”

“I don’t know,” said Ginny, wringing her hands. “I...”

“I’ve spoken to Professor Dumbledore,” Mrs Weasley said, rushing in and helping Harry carefully to his feet. “Madam Pomfrey will be here to see you tomorrow morning.”

“Mum...” Harry protested.

“Harry, you went through a lot down there,” said Mrs Weasley.

“But she already fixed me,” said Harry, pointing at his chest.

Mrs Weasley shuddered. “No more buts, Harry, Madam Pomfrey is going to see to you and that’s final.”

Shrugging helplessly, Harry apologised and trudged up to his room. If he was going to spend the foreseeable future being poked and prodded and having his sanity questioned, he might as well get some homework done.

Perhaps he had been too dazzled, by magic and by Hogwarts and by the happiness he’d found with the Weasleys. Regardless of why, he hadn’t noticed or had even ignored the fact that he had simply glided through the most shocking events he could imagine. And maybe he was paying for that now.

Harry thought back to that night in the forest. When he closed his eyes, he could still see the silvery blood dripping from what must have been Quirrell’s mouth. Even now that memory elicited a shiver.

A faint moan reminded him with a jolt that they shared the house with a ghoul in the attic.

And the situation with Voldemort seemed patently ridiculous. Why was it that even when Dumbledore had left the castle, nobody was standing guard? They’d seen someone feeding on unicorns in the Forbidden Forest. They knew that someone had managed to break into Gringotts and get away. Why the lack of concern? Were they expecting...

A headache Harry hadn’t even realised was building gripped him around the temples and tore at his skull. Grimacing, Harry buried his head in his pillow, but no matter what he did the pain only grew worse. Taking a deep breath, Harry focused on the pain, imagining it leaving him. After all, magic was about intent. The pain eased, and Harry let out the breath with a sigh.

Hedwig landed gently on his chest, staring down at him with lamp-like, amber eyes. A soft call and a cocked head expressed her concern. Reaching out, Harry stroked her thick, soft plumage with the back of a finger.

“Is it always going to be like that, Hedwig?” Harry asked. “Will he ever go away?”

She called again. ‘I’ll be here,’ Harry imagined she was saying.

“I know, Hedwig,” Harry said. “You’re a great friend.”

As he drifted off, the weight on his chest never once shifted.

“Urk...” Harry complained, blinking wearily. Hedwig was gone, but the sunlight was back, tearing into his head mercilessly. He dressed slowly, clumsily, and staggered downstairs.

“Morning, Harry,” Fred and George grinned.

“Up bright and early, I see,” George added.

“Eat up, Harry,” said Mrs Weasley, putting two sausages and a fried egg on his plate. “Madam Pomfrey will be here in an hour or so.”

“Harry, your shirt’s on backwards,” George muttered.

Harry murmured his thanks, withdrawing his arms from the sleeves and rotating the shirt.

Ron snorted as he slid into a chair opposite Harry. “Mate, your shirt’s on backwards.”

Harry glared at the twins, but in his bleary-eyed state he probably just looked stoned.

George shrugged at him, smirking. Looking down the front of his shirt, he found that the label was in fact in front of him. After repeating the procedure, Harry felt so twisted up that he couldn’t get comfortable on his seat. The twins just sniggered to themselves and went on with their breakfast.

“Hey losers,” Ginny grinned, hugging Fred and George in turn.

“Morning, midget,” they said back.

“Up early,” Fred noted.

“Yep,” she said, dropping into the seat next to Harry’s and kissing his cheek briefly. His skin felt pleasantly warm where her lips had touched him, and he couldn’t suppress his grin.

“Aren’t they cute?” Fred said.

“Like two little angels,” George added.

“Aren’t they just?” Mrs Weasley sighed, coming back in levitating a large omelette. Harry felt his cheeks burn as he thought about what the two little angels had been doing not so long ago.

Ginny bounced up out of her seat to give her mother a big hug. “Morning, Mum.”

“Good morning, dear,” Mrs Weasley smiled, returning the hug before lowering the omelette to the table.

For his part, Ron hadn’t stopped eating since he sat down. His redheaded friend could strike an uncanny resemblance to a Hoover sometimes.

It was half an hour after he finished eating that they heard the voice in the living room.

“Molly? Arthur?”

Within minutes a middle-aged Poppy Pomfrey was standing before him, Mrs Weasley just a step behind. She was wearing the same medical uniform she always did, and was carrying a large bag with a strange symbol on the side. The design consisted of a wand and a bone with a funny pattern behind them, embossed in the leather.

“Good morning, Mr. Potter,” she said.

“Morning, Madam Pomfrey,” he grinned back. He couldn’t help it. He realised now that Madam Pomfrey had been, or was now again, a very beautiful woman, and she seemed rather uncomfortable with having her youth returned to her.

“How are you feeling, Mr. Weasley?” she said.

“Gud, funks, Mud-”

“Ronald, don’t speak with your mouth full like that,” Mrs Weasley said wearily.

“I assume the rest of you have been fine since the... incident?” Madam Pomfrey asked.

“Yes, Madam Pomfrey,” they chorused.

“Excellent,” she smiled. “Well then, Mr. Potter, is there anywhere in particular you would prefer to go?”

Harry shrugged, looking to Mrs Weasley for help.

“Why don’t you take Madam Pomfrey up to your room, Harry?” said Mrs Weasley.

Ginny squeezed his hand. He hadn’t even realised that he was anxious. Needing to see a doctor was a sign of weakness and failure – even with all that the Dursleys had inflicted upon him, he couldn’t remember ever going to the doctor’s.

“How have you been, Potter?” Madam Pomfrey said.

“Fine,” Harry muttered. “Err, how are you, Madam Pomfrey?”

She smiled wanly, “Far better physically than mentally.” He wondered whether she was talking about herself or him.

When they reached his room, Harry offered her the desk chair, choosing the edge of the bed for himself.

“Thank you,” Madam Pomfrey said, pulling the seat closer to him. “You have a nice room here — unusually tidy for a young boy.”

Harry shrugged. The truth was, seeing as how he always had to clear up after himself outside of Hogwarts, and didn’t have much space in the cupboard under the stairs at Privet Drive, he’d become used to keeping things orderly. And there was the fact that he didn’t have many treasured possessions to put around the room. His Nimbus took pride of place, sitting on a makeshift bracket above the bed.

The school nurse sighed heavily. “Mr. Potter, I know this is awkward for you. You barely know me, though you’ve arguably given me one of the most lavish gifts known to wizardkind.”

Harry blushed, refraining from examining the side-effects of the healing ritual.

“Honestly, I would have recommended you all be visited by a psychotherapy specialist,” she went on. “You’ve all been through a lot, Mr. Potter, and while I am a qualified healer, I am not qualified in the mind arts. However, Professor Dumbledore thinks it best that you talk to someone familiar.”

“What about everyone else, Madam Pomfrey?” Harry asked.

“Arrangements will be made for them to be seen later,” Madam Pomfrey assured him. A small, but genuine smile crossed her face. Harry didn’t think he’d seen her really smile before. “You seem to have settled in comfortably with the Weasleys.”

“This is probably my second favourite place in the world,” said Harry.

“The first being Hogwarts, I presume?” Madam Pomfrey asked.

“Of course,” Harry grinned.

For a while, they just talked, and Harry felt himself relaxing. He hadn’t been aware that he was quite so tense and anxious in the first place. Madam Pomfrey was a little austere compared to Laetitia; Harry didn’t get quite the same impression when he spoke with Madam Pomfrey as when he talked to Laetitia, of speaking to a friend. He did enjoy the conversation though. Perhaps it was the whole restored youth thing making her uncomfortable. Or maybe it was that she spent so long in her professional manner with students at Hogwarts that she couldn’t speak to him informally. Regardless, Harry knew that he could trust her. After all, nobody had found out about Ron’s hand besides Malfoy, and that wasn’t her fault, was it?

“And you have a Quidditch pitch here?” she asked.

“Oh yes, it’s hidden through those trees,” said Harry. “We can’t fly too high, or the Muggles might see.”

“Good,” Madam Pomfrey said. “Less chance of you breaking your necks.”

Harry rolled his eyes. “I’ve never fallen off my broom.”

“No, but I did hear about you jumping,” Madam Pomfrey reminded him.

“I won the game,” he shrugged.

“Do you truly not value your life, Potter?” the nurse sighed.

“I... yes, of course I do,” Harry frowned.

“Then why do you risk it so frequently?” she pressed.

“I don’t really think about it like that,” Harry said. “I mean, in that Quidditch game I was just... caught up in the moment, I guess. I forgot how high up I was. But all the other things...”

He thought of the troll on Halloween, the encounter in the Forbidden Forest, helping Hagrid with Norbert and pursuing Voldemort down the trapdoor.

“I don’t throw my life away,” he said firmly.

“Then why did you go down that trapdoor?” Madam Pomfrey asked.

“Madam Pomfrey, you didn’t see him drinking that unicorn’s blood,” Harry said. “He knew how to get past every single obstacle, and when we tried to tell Professor McGonagall...”

There was a troll banging on the inside of his skull.

“Potter?”

“It hurts,” he groaned. “Whenever I think about it.”

She withdrew something from her bag.

Danger.

The nurse seemed to struggle with herself for a while before replacing it and pulling something else out.

The urgent warning in his mind faded away, and Harry was incredibly grateful. On top of his headache he felt like he was going to pass out.

“Drink this, Potter.”

It was a vial of some purple liquid. Harry drained it, coughing at the acid-like irritation to the back of his throat and the sourness of its taste. Almost instantly, his head began to clear.

“A headache relief potion,” she said, giving the inside of her bag an angry, confused look.

“Are you okay, Madam Pomfrey?” said Harry.

The nurse looked back at him, appearing slightly lost. “I was going to give you the wrong potion for a moment, Potter. I do apologise.”

“The wrong potion?” Harry asked.

“Yes...” she muttered. “So strange, I’m not even sure why I brought it with me... Anyway, how are you feeling, Potter?”

“Better, thank you,” said Harry.

“Good,” Madam Pomfrey smiled.

“Why do I keep getting these headaches whenever I think about what happened?” Harry asked.

“My professional opinion?” the nurse asked. It was subtle, but as his awareness restored itself, his Seeker’s eye picked it up — Madam Pomfrey twitched. It seemed like every facial muscle, and some of the others too, just gave a little jerk. “It’s probably some form of post-traumatic stress disorder.”

“Oh,” Harry frowned, deciding to file away these little anomalies for later. “What does that mean, Madam Pomfrey?”

“It means that you will experience longer-term consequences of going through a traumatic event, like your encounter with Professor Quirrell,” she said.

“You mean Vol-” Harry began.

“Please, Mr. Potter, I implore you not to say his name,” she said. She took a moment to gather herself, and Harry wondered, not for the first time, why people were so afraid of a name. “You might relive it through nightmares and flashbacks, have trouble sleeping and concentrating, and you might feel irrationally guilty... lonely... or irritable. There can be symptoms like depression, headaches and anxiety, too. But it differs greatly from person to person.”

“How long will that last?” Harry asked, thinking of the nightmares he’d had about the night his parents were murdered.

“It could be weeks, months or years, I’m afraid, Potter,” Madam Pomfrey sighed. “I am sorry. There are obviously things that we can do to help, but there’s no spell to make problems like this go away.”

“Because it’s to do with my mind?” Harry frowned.

“Potter, you’re not mad,” Pomfrey smiled wanly. “Your mind is not in some way wrong. It has simply suffered through something that it wasn’t prepared for. I am glad that your friends have not shown symptoms already, but it is entirely possible that they could display symptoms weeks, months, or even years from now.”

Harry put his head in his hands. Had he condemned the people he cared about most to a psychiatric ward?

“Potter, this isn’t your fault,” Madam Pomfrey said. “From what you’ve told me, your motivations were honourable and sound. Whatever effects the experience has had on you and your friends, you will get through it together. And I shall be here to help you. Always.”

“Thank you, Madam Pomfrey,” Harry sighed.

“I can probably help for a slightly longer always too, considering this...” she said, looking herself over despairingly.

“You look great, Madam Pomfrey,” Harry grinned.

“Thank you, Mr. Potter,” she said wryly. “It is good to know that an eighty-year-old woman can still elicit compliments from young boys.”

Harry gaped.

“I forget that you were raised a Muggle,” Madam Pomfrey laughed. “Wizards and witches have longer lifespans depending on their own power. Professor Dumbledore, for instance, is soon to turn one hundred-eleven years old, and he still moves with the ease of youth, if he has lost some of its appearance.”

Speech continued to evade him, and Madam Pomfrey continued to laugh. It was funny, but Harry didn’t think he’d ever seen her laugh before. His spirits were raised just to hear it.

“You must have taken at least thirty years off me, Mr. Potter,” she said, gently snorting out the last of her mirth. “And the brightest, most experienced healers at St. Mungo’s are completely clueless as to how.”

“You’re welcome,” Harry said, his brain clicking back into gear.

Madam Pomfrey sighed again, and Harry had the curious feeling that she wasn’t the least bit grateful for her restored youth.

“Now,” she said, “as to how I can help you with this, the best medicine I can offer is to talk about it. There are potions that will ease your mind, and I am requesting use of a Pensieve so that we can go back and look at it directly, but the only way to return you to the way you were is for you to fully come to terms with what happened. And you cannot do that without talking it through.”

“Sorry,” Harry said, “a Pensieve?”

“A device that allows you to access a memory,” Madam Pomfrey explained. “You don’t really relive it. You become a spectator, watching the events unfold. It is as if you are experiencing it first-hand, but cannot affect it.”

“So, a bit like watching a movie?” Harry asked.

Madam Pomfrey frowned. “I believe it would be equivalent to being inside of a movie, yes.”

“Wow...” Harry muttered. They sat for a moment in silence, listening to the distant noises of Ron and Ginny feeding the chickens. “So, when you say I should talk it through...”

“From the beginning, Harry, whenever you think that might be,” Madam Pomfrey said. “Time is no issue here. I will do all that I can to help you.”

Harry let out a long breath. The beginning seemed like such an abstract concept. Where did this begin? Did it begin with Voldemort feeding on the unicorn? No... no, events were well underway by then. The break-in at Gringotts then? That was a beginning, to be sure, but truly this began with Voldemort’s motivation for stealing the stone in the first place.

“It guess it began with a scream, and a bright green flash of light.”

“Won’t you stay for lunch, Poppy?” Mrs Weasley asked.

“Oh, I shouldn’t,” she said. “I don’t know anyone who’d turn down your cooking, Molly, but I need to report in at St. Mungo’s soon.”

“If you’re sure,” Mrs Weasley said. “There is plenty to go around.”

“I am I’m afraid,” the nurse sighed. “Perhaps next time?”

“Oh yes,” Mrs Weasley agreed. “When will that be, then?”

“I was thinking of making this a weekly appointment,” said Madam Pomfrey. “It’s better if we do it regularly.”

“That sounds great,” Mrs Weasley said. “What do you think, Harry?”

“Yeah, I’d... I’d like that,” said Harry. The nurse gave him a brief, but warm, smile.

Harry felt absolutely drained. It felt as though he’d poured his soul out over the last three hours — he’d started with the vision he kept getting of his mother’s death, but while he’d been planning to jump from there to getting his Hogwarts letter, he’d ended up trawling through his childhood with the Dursleys. They were a curse on him. He’d thought he could simply escape their memory, but they kept cropping up like a weed. And he’d talked about what seemed like every beating, scolding, insult and Harry Hunting episode he could remember.

Madam Pomfrey was a good listener, and he wasn’t sure whether that gladdened or annoyed him. No matter how much he wanted to, he just couldn’t stop himself from puking up all his experiences in a horrific, neverending stream, and she was so understanding and compassionate... He wanted her to despise him - wanted her to think less of him for what he had been. Why? Was he some kind of degenerate? Was he so used to the Dursleys’ treatment of him that he actually believed he deserved it...?

Harry’s face fell, even as Madam Pomfrey stepped into the fireplace, and he ran back up to the bathroom to spill what was left of his breakfast into the toilet. Flushing it away and cleaning himself up, he stared at his reflection in the mirror.

Worthless freak!

Your parents got what was coming to them.

Get in your cupboard!

You should thank me for those marks.

Freeloading freak like you should be kicked out on the streets.

Harry smacked his head against the wall.

“I am not worthless!” he hissed at his reflection. Harry stared back at him, haunted and angry. “I’m more than they could ever have imagined, and that’s why they did all that to me. They were scared. And they were right to be.”

It was funny, but when he saw Harry saying those things, he believed them. He wasn’t the freak under the stairs. But he wasn’t the Boy Who Lived either. Tracing the lightning bolt on his forehead, he smiled at himself. It didn’t define him, but it was no different to the Dursleys. A relic of his past. The scar might still affect him because the bastard who’d made it was still chasing after him, but why should he let the memory of the Dursleys control him, too?

It was an exhilarating thought, freedom. To see what he was, and what he could become, was an awe-inspiring thing. And all trepidation and anxiety over these therapy sessions evaporated. He would relive every moment of those ten years if he had to.

“Harry?” Mrs Weasley said. “Are you okay in there?”

“Yeah, cheers, Mum,” Harry grinned. “I’m great.”

“And Harry has the quaffle! He dodges idiot number one and idiot number two, and now it’s just him versus the Keeper! Go on, Ron! Harry puts it away! Clean and through the right hoop and he’s through!”

They were playing a basic pick-up game on the hidden pitch, using only an old, beaten quaffle. Ron was Keeping, and they were playing mini knockout tournaments.

Ginny was commentating.

“And Fred snatches the quaffle from George’s slow, useless hand to... Oh, now you’re just showing off.”

Fred looped around Ron, dodged George and looped back on himself before slaloming in and out of the goal hoops.

“Right, Harry vs Fred!”

Ron tossed the quaffle out, settling back in with grim determination. He was a better Keeper than Harry had expected. While Harry almost never scored against Oliver in practice, Ron had saved about half of the shots Harry had sent his way. Wood was a well practised and experienced fifth year though, so Ron was probably going places.

Leaning close to his borrowed broomstick, he caught it even as Fred took a useless swipe at the tail end of his broom. A Fallon Flip brought him under Fred to zoom towards the goalposts.

Ron was staring at him from atop the Nimbus, gliding regularly from side to side. Harry went for the trick shot, but Ron didn’t bite, and they were only seconds apart. Harry careened off to the side, aiming for the right hoop and releasing the quaffle at full pelt through the left hoop, Ron’s fingers just grazing it as the redhead realised his mistake.

The old broomsticks that he and the twins were using were decrepit old things, chosen to level the playing field. Harry doubted he was pulling more than thirty miles an hour out of his, but even that little was enough to tickle him. He landed softly next to Ginny.

“Your turn,” he grinned. Her jaw dropped.

“Harry, I...”

“Wait, you want Ginny to fly?” Fred said.

“You’ve seen her fly at Hogwarts,” Harry pointed out.

“Yeah, and she’s pretty decent,” said George.

“But if Mum sees her more than two feet off the ground,” said Fred.

“She’ll blame us,” George finished.

“Pff,” said Ginny, grabbing the broom. “You’re just scared because you know your little sister’s about to make you look even more stupid than usual.”

“Yeah, yeah, keep it coming, short stuff,” Fred goaded.

Ginny shot up towards him, and Ron threw the quaffle high in the air.

Twenty minutes later, Harry had decided that the only acceptable alternative to flying himself was to watch Ginny. It wasn’t just that she was beautiful. Aside from her gorgeous red hair flowing out behind her it was difficult to appreciate her looks while she was in the air, dodging and diving, twisting and turning. It wasn’t just the grace of her movements either, which were surprisingly elegant on the knackered broomstick. No, it was the pure joy leaking through their bond that allowed him to vicariously enjoy her flight in a way that nobody else could hope to.

“And another one to me!” Ginny said. “Here, Ron, I’ll Keep.”

“Thanks, Ginny,” Ron grinned.

Ginny, it turned out, wasn’t the best Keeper. She never failed to catch the quaffle when she caught it, but unless the shot was from long range that tended to be where she struggled. Harry supposed it was a difficult skill to practice on your own.

The sun was high in the sky by the time Percy came by to tell them they needed to go back to the house. When he saw Ginny in the air, he froze.

“Mother won’t be pleased, Ginny,” he called.

“Percy,” Harry sighed, “are you seriously going to snitch on your own sister? She’s clearly not hurt.”

“She shouldn’t be flying,” Percy said obstinately. He glared at the twins.

“Hey, hey, we tried to stop her,” they said.

“You’re all dicks,” Ginny fumed. She came at Harry like she’d been fired out of a cannon, sliding sideways at the last second, discarding the broom and jumping on him. He could hear her muffled sniffling as she buried her face in his shoulder and embraced him so tightly he wondered if she was trying to hide inside him.

“Hey... hey...” he muttered, rubbing her back in what he hoped was a comforting manner. He felt her high emotions slowly calm, but continued to hold her.

‘I hate them, Harry.’

‘No you don’t.’

‘No, I don’t,’ she agreed, pulling away slightly. There were tears glistening in her big brown eyes, and he could feel a damp patch on his shirt. ‘I wish I did though.’

“Come on, let’s go,” said Harry, grabbing his Nimbus as he led them back to the house. Before long, Ginny had released her death grip on him and withdrew to only holding his hand. She held it tightly, to be sure, but it was only his hand, and nothing relevant to his breathing.

‘Thanks, Harry,’ she sent.

‘Ehh, what else was I gonna do?’ Harry shrugged.

The happy smile she sent his way made things flutter inside of him.

They stopped off at the little stone outhouse to store the broomsticks (apart from the Nimbus, of course), and filed in through the kitchen door.

“Good, you’re back,” Mrs Weasley said, levitating a bowl of something Harry couldn’t see, but was clearly stirring itself.

“Mother, Ginny was flying,” said Percy.

The bowl floated over to the dinner table.

“Ginny, what have I told you about...”

“Mum, I gave her the broom and told her to play,” said Harry.

“Don’t interrupt me, Harry,” Mum said. “Ginny, what do I always tell you about flying?”

“It’s dangerous, and you don’t want me getting hurt,” Ginny sulked. “Mum, I’m a good flier, I don’t get hurt.”

“And how would you suddenly become a good flier, hmm?” Mum asked expectantly. If Harry didn’t know better...

“I’ve practised loads at Hogwarts with Harry!” Ginny said quickly.

“AND THE TWO OF YOU LET HER?” Mum fumed, turning on the twins. Her glaring was quickly increasing in intensity; it was incredible how such a kindly woman could be so terrifying in her anger.

“How did I know we’d end up getting it for this?” George muttered.

“We always do, bro,” Fred said sadly.

“Don’t give me that,” Mum said. “Come on, what do you all have to say for yourselves? She’s your little sister, for gods’ sakes!”

“She’s mine, too,” Harry said. “I want her to be happy.”

Ginny gave his hand a little squeeze. ‘Harry...’

“I know, dear,” Mum said. “That’s why I’m not angry with you. I never told you not to let her fly, did I? These two, on the other hand... And where were you in all this, Ron?”

“Sorry, Mum,” Ron muttered.

“I’ll be having words with the three of you later,” Mum said, vexed. “Be off with you. Ginny, come with me.” She levitated the bowl after them as she returned to the cooker.

They trooped together into the living room in a silence that lasted for about thirty seconds before the twins turned on Percy.

“Mother...” Fred mocked.

“Ginny was flying, Mother...”

“Don’t you know I’m a prefect, Mother...”

“I’m so terribly important, Mother...”

“Pack it in, you two,” Percy snarled. “What is your problem, anyway?”

“What’s our problem?” Fred asked incredulously.

“What’s your problem?”

“You changed, Perce.”

“I remember when you were fun,” George said accusingly.

“What, was your prefectship more valuable than your brothers?” Fred sneered.

“I...” Percy gaped. “I was never like you two.”

“What’re you on about?” Ron butted in. “You used to hang out with them all the time!”

Harry was feeling more and more like he should be somewhere else, but he couldn’t figure out how to get away subtly. Behind him was the door to Mum and Ginny’s private conversation, and everywhere else was blocked off by his brothers.

“And why do you think that was?” Percy fumed. “Bill and Charlie were always playing Quidditch or running down to the village to try to impress this or that girl that had caught their eye. But I never endorsed half of the things you two did.”

“Doesn’t mean you weren’t there laughing at the end,” Fred ground out.

“You turned your back on us, Perce.”

“You never would’ve gone running to Mum...”

“...before they stuck that little badge on your chest.”

“That’s preposterous,” Percy said. “I always tried to be the voice of reason with you two. Remember that incident with Aunt Muriel?”

“We wanted her to react like that!” Fred yelled.

“We hated her, Perce.”

“We all did.”

“I didn’t,” Percy sniffed. “She was family, regardless of your feelings, and it was wrong of you to treat her that way.”

“She didn’t care how she talked about us,” Ron muttered.

“So you use your mouth and talk to her about it,” Percy argued. “You don’t put a dungbomb under her chair.”

“She never would’ve listened,” Fred scowled.

“She hates all Weasleys,” George added.

“Do you even notice the way she treats Dad?” said Fred.

“You’d think Mum sold herself into slavery, the way Muriel goes on...”

“Is this about me or her?” Percy said. “I tolerate your behaviour towards me, but I will not allow you to disrespect mother or the school.”

“Don’t you see?”

“You weren’t like this before!”

“I remember a Percy who...”

“Oh shut up all of you,” Harry said.

They all froze, turning to stare at him.

“Your bickering is giving me a headache, you’re worse than Ron and Hermione!” said Harry, giving Ron a look. His mate turned bright red, the tips of his ears purpling. “Percy, you’re overbearing. None of the other prefects are nearly as weird as you about stuff, but they’re no worse at their job. Fred, George, I don’t know what Percy used to be like, and I don’t know who Muriel is, let alone how she treats you, but you can be complete pricks, especially to Percy.”

They continued to stare at him.

“Right,” Harry said, scratching at the back of his neck. “I’m... going to my room.”

He felt their eyes on him all the way up the stairs. There wasn’t even a whisper by the time he was in his room, and he shut the door on whatever outburst might follow. Climbing up on his bed, he replaced his broom carefully on the bracket. When he turned, he noticed that Hedwig’s cage was still empty. She must have caught Hermione at a bad time.

As he went to the wardrobe to pull out his Transfiguration summer assignment, he found Harry looking back at him out of the mirror. And suddenly, he began to snigger.

“Hey Harry.”

“Bwargh!” Harry cried, spinning around to face Ginny, who’d just materialised behind him.

“Didn’t scare you, did I?” she smirked.

“Whaaat?” Harry said. “Me?”

“The idiots three downstairs are sulking,” Ginny probed, walking closer with an eyebrow raised in curiosity. “You wouldn’t happen to know anything about that, would you?”

“I might have given them a stern talking-to...” Harry shrugged.

Ginny snorted. “Me and Mum could hear you.”

“Ah.”

“Don’t worry, she won’t bite your head off,” Ginny laughed.

“I’m sure,” Harry said. “How was your lecture?”

“Not bad,” said Ginny. “I... I get the impression she already knew I’d been sneaking out to fly before.”

“Not quite as stealthy as you thought, huh?” Harry sniggered.

“Shut up!” Ginny grinned. “There must have been wards involved.”

“Obviously,” said Harry. “So what did she say?”

“I’ve... got permission to fly from now on,” she said.

“That’s great!” Harry enthused. “You should try out for the team, we could use a reserve Chaser, Wood was saying how he hated the lack of reserves this year...”

“Reserve?” Ginny sniffed. “You don’t think I could do better?”

“Ginny, those three have been flying together for two years,” said Harry. “Besides, you don’t have a broom.”

“Yeah, yeah, details,” Ginny grinned. “Hey, are you going to be looking over more stuff about your family this evening?”

“Yeah,” Harry smiled absently. “We’ve looked through the records for the past couple of generations. All the people I saw in the Mirror...”

Ginny rushed to him and hugged him tightly.

“Hey, Ginny...” Harry said. “Thanks.”

Ginny giggled. “I’m probably enjoying this as much as you are, Harry.”

“I meant...” Harry began, only to find her finger on his lips.

“I know.” She gave him a brief kiss, and pulled back grinning. “Come on, last one to the river’s a rotten egg!”

She teleported to the door.

“Hey!”

There was a strange tension in the air when Harry sat down for dinner. Percy and the twins hadn’t exchanged a single word since the argument that afternoon, and they were most definitely not looking at each other now. Ginny raised her knife and pretended to struggle bringing it back down, sawing it back and forth in the air. Her father snorted aloud, but the parties in question were so intent on ignoring each other that they never even noticed.

“What has you young ladies all worked up?” Mr. Weasley sighed.

Fred smirked slightly.

“It doesn't matter, Father,” said Percy.

“Oh?” Mr. Weasley smiled, looking more amused by the second. “And what of the two of you? Do you also think it unimportant?”

George looked up. “Yeah, it's fine, Dad.”

“We'll just put our feminine charms to work on it,” Fred snorted. Percy shot him a baleful look.

“And people wonder where they get it from,” Mrs Weasley said.

“Everyone knows you're a terrible influence, Molly,” Mr. Weasley grinned. “Why, I remember that one Christmas...”

“But we need to get to the bottom of this,” their mother said, her cheeks slightly pink. “Now, I know some things were said earlier today. Heavens above, I'd be surprised if the Muggles didn't hear down in the village...”

Percy blushed, but the twins only smirked and sniggered.

“So you heard their little dispute?” Mr. Weasley said.

“Oh, I caught the tail end of it,” Mrs Weasley said. “I'm sure Harry could give us a better account.”

Harry flushed. “Sorry, I only said what I thought needed to be said.”

“Oh, I know,” Mrs Weasley smiled. “Talk us through it, dear. I, for one, am famished.”

With that, she turned her attention to her plate. Ginny nudged his shoulder.

'Go on, Harry,' she grinned. 'Make it good.'

“Well, Percy had snitched on Ginny for flying...” Harry began.

“I wasn't snitching,” Percy protested.

“Fine, you were filing a formal complaint report with Mother, Perce,” Fred said.

“You guys going to let me finish?” Harry grinned.

“They probably want to kiss and make up in private,” Ginny said airily, earning three glares. Ron sprayed his mouthful of potato all over his plate. Or nearly did, because Mr. Weasley froze the appetising mix in mid-air for them all to see.

“Evanesco,” Mr. Weasley muttered, making it vanish instantaneously.

“Cheers, Ron,” Ginny muttered. The tips of his ears burned red.

“So pretty much everyone gets told off,” Harry continued with a sigh, wondering what else could happen during this story. “And these three turn on each other the moment we get into the living room. The twins start in with their prefect routine.”

“We do not have routines,” Fred said indignantly.

George nodded his agreement. “We are highly spontaneous.”

“Whatever makes you happy, boys,” Mr. Weasley said. “You were saying, Harry?”

“Well, they're biting his head off as usual,” Harry pressed, getting an eye-roll from one of them. “And Percy finally bites back. He says something like 'what's your problem?' and then Fred and George started making it all personal and I was just trying to get out of there ,I swear I didn't mean to make things worse.”

“Tell the story, Harry,” Mrs Weasley said, “we aren't angry with you.”

“Well, these three probably aren't happy with you,” Mr. Weasley amended. “Still, I'm sure that they'll be fine until next month.”

“Daddy!” Ginny giggled.

Percy buried his head in his hands.

“So, uh, the twins are going on about how Percy used to be more like them and turned his back on them for his badge,” Harry said, trying to finish as soon as he could. “Percy's saying how he never really changed, and I guess he was implying that it's the twins' fault for not growing up a bit. Then they started talking about an Aunt Muriel?”

“Ah,” Mr. Weasley said.

“Boys, we talked about this,” Mrs Weasley sighed.

“As I tried to explain...” Percy began.

“Not now, Percy,” Mr. Weasley said. Percy backed down without complaint.

“Err...” Harry murmured, noticing that nobody else was saying anything. “Well, I might've gotten a bit impatient then.”

Ginny snickered next to him, and he flicked her arm for vengeance.

“So I, err, gave them my honest opinion,” Harry shrugged. “I said that Percy was overbearing, and the twins were bullying him.”

“It's a level headed young man we've brought into the fold,” said Mr. Weasley.

Harry blushed and thanked him.

“Boys, I hope you were paying attention to your brother,” Mrs Weasley said sternly. Harry got an indescribably warm feeling in his chest at her words, and Ginny nudged his foot, grinning up at him. “Percy, you're a wonderful, admirable young man.”

“But your commitment to your work should never make you lose sight of the rest of who you are,” Mr. Weasley said. “When that happens... It's a bad road to walk, son.”

“I understand, father,” Percy said.

“No, you don't,” Mr. Weasley frowned. “And I hope you never do.”

“Fred, George...” Mrs Weasley sighed. “I don't even know what to say to you boys. You don't listen to a word I say anyway.”

“That's not true, Mum...” George winced.

“Then why do we always end up here?” Mrs Weasley shouted. “You cannot spend the rest of your lives causing trouble until someone else steps in! You're going to be grown men soon...”

She choked up a little, and Ginny put a comforting hand on her arm.

“You'll be grown men soon enough,” she continued, “and I won't be there to scold you.”

Harry stared around the table, before remembering to feel ill at ease and returning to his food.

'Pretty intense, huh?' Ginny said.

'Mmhmm,' Harry replied. 'How often does this happen, then?'

'Ohh, once in a blue moon...' Ginny sent. 'I wonder how this'll turn out.'

The rest of the meal passed in near-complete silence. Harry and Percy both finished early, but neither were willing to be the first to stand. So, Harry found himself playing with the gravy left on his plate until Mr. Weasley took pity on them.

“Good thing tomorrow's Sunday,” Mr. Weasley smiled. “Fine day, Sunday. No work on Sundays.”

“Usually,” Mrs Weasley said drily.

“Usually,” Mr. Weasley agreed. He stood, taking his plates into the kitchen, and after a beat, Percy, Harry and Ginny followed.

Harry was half-asleep by the time he staggered into his room, but that changed in a single, skipped heartbeat. Hedwig was back. But she wasn't alone.

“Mr. Harry Potter, sir! Such an honour it is.”