The Pensieve

Back to the Burrow, Again

The title is meant as an homage to Owl Post, Again, just in case you were wondering.

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Harry stood at the gates of the Burrow taking in the house, leaning on the steady wooden structure of the last fence post for support. The gate was latched; he was surprised not to see a black shroud veiling the house from the rising pink and orange sunset. The chickens pecked across the yard like always, the earth smelt of the nearby garden, even the old ring posts were just visible in the distance from where they'd played so many pick up games of Quidditch. One could never guess Fred Weasley's death now haunted them all.

His hand dug into the wood (he would find splinters in there later) as he rested against the frame. Just like he'd always leaned on this red-haired family since the day he'd met Ron, without even realizing it. They would not accept him back again, he was sure, but he had nowhere else to go. The school term had ended with the Battle of Hogwarts, exams had been canceled, and Ron and Hermione had departed the day before him to sort out their families. Harry had stood in front of The Three Broomsticks with no clue what to do next. He'd simply twisted on the spot wishing he had a place to call home, and the crack had left him standing here.

'He's as good as,' the words echoed to him now through the empty air as he imagined Molly Weasley seeing him again, knowing it was his fault Fred had been there that night. She'd never looked twice at him after Bill had received cursed scars from being in the presence of Greyback; she'd defended and nurtured Harry still all throughout the summer of George's maimed ear, but this was not a scar he could brush aside and keep trekking on after.

Neither Ron nor Ginny would turn him away, this he knew. They would hide him under their bed if he asked and sneak him meals like the stray he was until he figured out what to do. He should turn away now, go to Diagon Alley and set up there in a spare room, or even return to Grimmauld Place. The thought of that house, the argument from that very kitchen though, words echoing in his head now he still begged to be true as his own godfather had squabbled with Mrs. Weasley about her mollycoddling of Harry. Sirius was long gone; Harry had his own godson he needed to look after now, and nobody to turn to to teach him how the ways of that world could even look like.

The ghost of his mother flickered before his eyes once more, always just out of sight, in the corner of his eye. He'd never really see her again like he had with the Resurrection Stone, color in her face, but her final words egged him on as his hands trembled, white knuckled and refused to release this sanctuary and turn away. 'You've been so brave.' He'd done as Dumbledore asked, he'd done everything he could to make things right. He'd gotten his peaceful moment alone, now he wanted her, the woman as good as his mother.

'She should not have to,' he chided himself, still looking up the dusty driveway. She had her own child to mourn.

The flickering red color really was there though. He looked up properly at the door to see it was not just open in his imagination, Molly Weasley was galloping up the driveway with a bright smile just for him. "Harry! Oh silly me, is the latch stuck again?" She was there, flicking it aside with her wand. With the help of the magical aid, it opened without a groan or creak. "I've got breakfast started, come in, oh you look dead on your feet."

She tucked his arm through hers and patted it as she gushed how glad she was to see him again so soon. Her eyes were red rimmed, her hair a teased mess from how often she must have run her fingers through it, she was still in the same robes from days before as if she had not slept a wink, but she pulled him past that gate without missing a step.

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This particular one won a judges pick, I'm so fond of it!