Harry lay on his back, completely hidden by the tall grass undulating like ripples in a giant golden ocean. The dry reeds rustled and swished quietly in one of the many fields on the outskirts of the Burrow.

It had been the most miserable two weeks of his existence – which was saying a lot considering that he'd lived full time with the Dursleys for the majority of his life. Harry felt guilty and extremely conflicted admitting that fact to himself, especially when he was surrounded by people whom he loved. But it was the truth.

The Weasleys were such a happy, jovial family. Every one of them had large hearts, and they didn't make a secret of just how much they loved one another.

But that was exactly the problem.

For Harry, being around their constant delight in each other's presence was nothing short of taking sandpaper to a gunshot wound. Every smile around the dinner table; every bark of joyful laughter that rang throughout the house; every warm embrace between parent and child, and in this house there were many… All of these loving actions were a shattering reminder of just what Harry had lost in his life – not once, but twice.

Meals were the worst. Harry usually only appeared for dinner, disappearing for most of the day but not wanting to push it so far that the family thought he was missing and called in the Order for a search party. Sitting amongst the loving chaos of the dinner table, Harry usually heard too little, and would look down and be surprised to see that the rest of the family had finished their plates while he'd allowed the noises and voices to wash over him without taking a bite of food.

But on other days Harry heard too much, and would listen with a clenched jaw as the family murmured his name with more and more worry as the days went by.

"…Harry isn't eating…"

"…loosing so much weight…"

"…snaps at every little thing…"

"…out of it, like he's not even there…"

"What's wrong with him?"

"Harry dear, did you hear me?" Mrs. Weasley called down the table, and Harry slowly turned his head to look at her. Although they'd been living in the same house for weeks, he realized that he couldn't remember the last time he'd actually looked her in the eyes.

"I'm sorry… What?" Harry croaked, his voice hoarse from long days of not using it.

"Hermione is coming for a visit tomorrow. Won't that be nice?"

Harry nodded without smiling, then went back to staring down at his mountain of untouched food. He knew that Hermione's visit was no accident, and couldn't decide if he was infuriated with the family for worrying about him, or desperate for their help.

His roiling emotions from dinner continued into the evening and kept him awake. He tossed and turned, thinking too much… not enough… unable to answer the many unanswerable questions of his life. Why him? What had he done to deserve this constant abandonment and death? Was something wrong with him? After tossing and turning while the rest of the house fell silent in slumber, Harry suffered yet another long, sleepless night.

Sneaking out of the house the moment the sun started rising over the horizon, Harry brought The Art of War with him once more, hoping to ease his building anger and plummeting depression within its pages. But, yet again, opening the thin tome had been like taking a knife to the heart. The words within, which Snape had maintained would help him learn to strategize for the oncoming fight against Voldemort, had instead acted as grim reminders of all those he'd lost in his life.

"In the midst of chaos, there is also opportunity." Cedric tangled in the madness they had landed in after taking hold of the cup, courageously trying to protect both he and Harry even in the face of darkest evil. Guilty of nothing but being a worthy opponent. His only crime was being considered 'the spare'.

"Let your plans be dark and impenetrable as night, and when you move, fall like a thunderbolt."His Godfather being tortured repeatedly by Voldemort… Harry dragging his friends straight into the mouth of the viper, all unnecessarily risking their lives for a situation that could have easily been prevented… Sirius collapsing through the veil, dying needlessly because of Harry's feverish hero complex. He'd been led along that night like a puppet on a string, and was lucky that no one else had died because of his stupidity.

"Treat your men as you would your own beloved sons. And they will follow you into the deepest valley."James… His father, who had been brave and kind and loyal. He'd died as he'd lived, as a great and valiant protector. But still, Harry had only ever had a chance to know him through the memories of others instead of through any memories of his own.

"Supreme excellence consists of breaking the enemy's resistance without fighting." His mother Lily, who had refused to step aside, refused to allow her infant son to die even when there was nothing she could have done to prevent it. And still she had sacrificed herself. He would never know her laughter, would never see her smile proudly at some silly accomplishment of his, would never feel her comforting embrace in moments like these when he needed it most…

"Be extremely subtle even to the point of formlessness. Be extremely mysterious even to the point of soundlessness. Thereby you can be the director of the opponent's fate."Snape… the one he'd known as nothing more than a cruel and vindictive man who punished Harry for the mistakes of his father. But Harry had been wrong, so very wrong. The feeling of being a true family had been fleeting, but so very real. He'd lived it with Snape for a few precious days. It had not been something he barely remembered as an infant, or something he'd dreamed about happening when the circumstances were right. It had only taken days – hours, really – for Harry to look at Snape as something more than professor or guardian…

He snapped the book closed after that, not wanting to think about any of them. Most especially not wanting to think about the gut-wrenching wound that was Snape's abandonment.

So instead he clutched the book to his chest like a shield – or like a brace for his broken heart. He couldn't really tell the difference anymore…

Harry listened a few hours later as they repeatedly called his name, worry etched into their tone – first Ron, Hermione, and Ginny; then Mrs. Weasley and Remus; and Ginny again, but this time with the twins.

A small part of him felt guilty for the concern he could clearly hear in their voices, and wanted nothing more than to respond. But a larger part of him rose up, the one that had continually reached out to those around him only to be repeatedly beaten back into the shadows after suffering yet another devastating loss. That part of Harry knew that he would not be able to handle their worried expressions when they thought he wasn't watching, or their murmured conversations when they thought he wasn't around.

Not today… His wounds were still too raw.

It was in this borderline catatonic state that Ginny stumbled upon him later on that afternoon. Although she'd almost stepped on him during her search through the field, Harry didn't move, or even bother to look at her.

She stared down at him for a long moment before lowering herself cross-legged on the ground next to him. The silence lingered for lengthy minutes in which neither one of them spoke.

Picking a long blade of dry grass, she began tearing it apart in her hands. Finally she looked over and said, "Ron and Hermione are out here, too. We've been looking for you for hours."

"Why?" Harry murmured. Ginny didn't respond.

After another long silence she hesitantly asked, "Harry, are you alright?"

"No," he said flatly.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Harry swallowed back the tightness in his throat, but still he didn't look at her. "No…"

"Alright," she said with quiet tolerance, and she lifted her head so that they were watching the sky together. Her hand reached out and connected with his, and she laced their fingers together. That touch – however small and insignificant – kept Harry grounded when he worried that he may have floated away and disappeared forever. No matter how distant he felt from everyone else, Ginny's hand kept him tethered to the world.

It was in this same position that Ron and Hermione stumbled upon them, but how much later, Harry couldn't be sure. They were both glistening with sweat, hair sticking to their necks and cheeks, so it had likely been a while.

"What the bloody hell, Harry?!" Ron yelled down at him. "We've been looking for you for ages! Everyone is worried sick!"

"They don't have to be," Harry said tonelessly. "I always come back."

"Harry…" Hermione murmured as she sat down on the other side of him. "Ron says you've been like this since you got here. What's wrong? You can tell us."

"Nothing," he muttered, still looking only at the sky.

"I'll tell you what's wrong!" Ron cried, glaring down at Harry but addressing the girls. "Snape!" This got Harry's attention, and his gaze snapped dangerously to the taller boy. But Ron didn't seem to care, for he blundered on, "Harry hasn't been the same since he got back from staying with that greasy git! He—he's obviously done something to him!"

Harry was on his feet even before he'd even realized he was going to get up, but Hermione quickly intervened.

"Harry can't be Imperiused, remember?"

"Well then, I… I don't know… Something happened!"

"What are you implying, Ron?" Harry growled in a warning tone, his fists clenching dangerously at his side. Both girls got to their feet in uneasy silence, their eyes flicking back and forth between Harry and Ron.

But Ron wasn't backing down. Instead he only got louder as he shouted, "I don't know, Harry! He's muddling you up for You-Know-Who or something! But you haven't been the same since you came back! It's like he—like he got inside you or—"

Ginny and Hermione screamed as Harry launched himself at Ron and punched him hard across the face, making him double over and stumble backward a few paces. The shocked look on his features when he looked up melted instantly into absolute rage, and he tackled Harry with a yell.

The two of them rolled across the dusty ground, attacking the other anywhere they could reach, each landing multiple direct punches and kicks.

"Harry, Ron!" Ginny cried. "STOP IT!"

Hermione whipped out her wand, obviously ready to disregard the Decree for Underage Magic. "If you don't stop, I—I'll make you!" she cried shakily.

But suddenly an amplified, bloodcurdling scream rent the air, loud enough as if it had been over a muggle loudspeaker. All four froze in place and looked toward the Burrow. Ron had his hand in the air, ready to bring down across Harry's face, and Harry was clutching onto the collar of Ron's shirt. But their eyes were wide and everything was deathly silent as their gazes darted frantically around for the source of the scream. Another squeal of pain tore through the still summer air, and this time there was no denying…

"Was that Mum?!" Ron croaked.

"I... I think it was!" Harry murmured, his heart pounding.

Horrified looks on their faces, Ginny and Hermione bolted toward the house. Harry and Ron jumped to their feet and tore off after them, the fight forgotten in their moment of panic.

Reaching the orchard ahead of them, the girls disappeared from view. Harry's heart almost stopped as he doubled his speed. But as he and Ron reached the grove, they were suddenly yanked sideways behind the trees by two pairs of hands that clamped themselves tightly around their mouths.

It was a good thing, because the sight before them tore a strangled, "NO!" from Harry's throat. But the word was muffled by the fleshy hand, and thankfully Mrs. Weasley's fanatical attacker heard nothing.

Bellatrix Lestrange stood before the door to the Burrow, an evil smile filled with anticipation spreading across her lips. Suspended above her was the battered and bloody form of Mrs. Weasley, hanging at an awkward angle and rotating slowly as if on display.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are!" Bellatrix called in a disturbing sing-song voice. "Mummy's calling!"

With that pronouncement she sliced her wand through the air like a knife. Another horrifyingly amplified scream ripped through the air around them as Mrs. Weasley arched her back painfully, blood spraying across the grass.

Harry struggled against the hands holding him, but they shook him hard to get his attention.

"Harry! Harry, stop!" For the first time he realized that it was George that held onto him. The older boy was whispering frantically in his ear, and Harry could clearly feel him trembling as he watched his mother being tortured.

Harry calmed underneath his tight grip and, giving George a jerky nod, the twin released his hand from over his mouth.

"It's ME she wants!" He whispered urgently. "You have to let me go!"

"NO, Harry!" Fred muttered angrily, his hand still holding tightly onto Ron's mouth, not trusting his younger brother to keep quiet while their mother was tormented for sport. "You know we can't do that!" Ginny and Hermione crouched next to Fred and Ron, looking terrified but determined, and at Harry's words their worried gazes darted to him.

At that moment Mrs. Weasley emitted another pitiful, amplified shriek of pain, and Bellatrix called out impatiently, "Mummy is running out of time, children!"

"She's going to kill her!" Harry hissed.

"She'll kill all of us if she gets the chance," Ginny whispered in reply.

"We're not going to let you sacrifice yourself, Harry!" Hermione muttered desperately.

Ron shook free of his brother's hand, and with his eyes desperately on his mother he said, "We can't just stand here! Someone has to call Dad… or the Order… anyone!"

"We can't get to the floo, Ron! She's blocking the door!" Fred responded.

"Harry—" Ron's frantic, panicked gaze landed on him. "Harry, you can do a Patronus! Send a message!"

"I can't!" he said in dismay. "I don't—I don't know how!"

At that moment Bellatrix gave a screech of impatience, her eyes bulging as she stared menacingly around her, knowing they were there and hunting for them. Her sing-songy voice was gone as she angrily announced, "You have exactly ten seconds before Mummy dearest get the Avada Kedavra!" But she composed herself after her moment of rage, and called in a much calmer voice, "But if you hand over Harry Potter, I will spare her miserable blood-traitor life, and you can all go back to loving your muggle trash in peace."

Then the countdown began. "Ten…"

"Oh dear God…"

"Do something!"

"Nine…"

Harry knew what had to be done, and he didn't have much time to convince the others. "Listen. Listen to me!" he whispered urgently, trying to get their attention.

"Eight…"

"I have to go out there!" Harry muttered, his mind made up.

"No!"

"Seven…"

"Harry, you can't-!"

"I HAVE to!" Harry hissed.

"Six…"

He rushed on before they could say anything else. "LISTEN! We might not be Death Eaters, but we outnumber her six to one! When I show myself the rest of you can take her unexpectedly, all at once… Maybe it'll be enough to give us a chance."

The group only looked at him, their eyes wide and uncertain.

"Five…"

Harry's heart leapt into this throat. They only had a few moments left. It was now or never… "On my signal, throw everything you can think of at her. Anything to trip her up, even if it's stupid. All we need is a moment."

"Four…"

Harry had no time to consider what he was doing. He only knew that if they didn't do something, Mrs. Weasley was going to die right here in her front garden, and he couldn't allow that happen.

"The second she is distracted, grab your mum and get to the house. I don't know if we can go directly to Dumbledore, so we'll floo to the Ministry – to your dad. It'll have to be done quick… She won't stay down for long."

"THREE!" Bellatrix screamed, her voice intensifying.

"Oh Harry, I don't know if this is going to work," Hermione whispered in a terrified voice.

"It HAS to work! We don't have any other choice!"

"TWO!" Bellatrix screeched.

Ginny sat crouched with her wand in her hand and her jaw clenched, ready to jump into action. Ron stood beside her with an iron glint in his eye.

"We're behind you, Harry!" Fred murmured.

"We've got this!" George hissed, waving him forward.

"ONE! Time is up, you filthy muggle-lovers! She dies!" And just as Bellatrix raised her wand to cast the killing curse at the crumpled heap of Mrs. Weasley, who lay still and bleeding at her feet, Harry stepped out from behind the trees.