~~~~HP~~~~

Thursday, 31st July 1997

For the first time in his life, Harry actually woke up on the morning of his birthday feeling different, rather just knowing he was a year older. Perhaps it had to do with no longer having the Trace on him - not that it meant much to him without being able to actually do magic - or maybe because now he knew he was officially responsible for himself.

The day started out unlike any of the young wizard's other birthday too. With the exception of last year where'd been too sick to do much, this birthday immediately stood apart simply by the Happy Birthday greetings he'd received at breakfast from Snape - who also had stopped by his room at midnight for the same purpose - and, more shockingly, Dudley. After spending all of his birthdays ignored by his cousin, Harry hadn't even realized how much he missed by not having his own birthday acknowledged in his home growing up until that morning. It demonstrated what both boys could have had if only Aunt Petunia didn't grow up hating magic, and by extension her sister and her nephew, and that started the Gryffindor's downfall. Harry spent most of the morning completely unaware how quickly those turbulent thoughts turned toxic in his head as he added those to the fact he couldn't do magic and was now fully independent; more or less alone. By the time the three residents of Spinner's End arrived at the Burrow just after lunchtime, Harry was already wanting to go home, having no real desire to celebrate the day, but not daring to say a word about it to the people around him who did want to celebrate.

Arriving at the Burrow for the first time since the summer he went to the Quidditch World Cup gave Harry the relaxed aura of home at the same time as an unhealthy rise in his already elevated apprehension. The last time he'd been to the magical home he loved so much, he had no clue about Death Eaters - an unbelievable occurrence for as much as they had affected his life as a whole - he hadn't unofficially killed a member of their family, and back then almost all of the rest of them had not just risked their lives to rescue him from Malfoy Manor. And while he logically knew the Weasleys wouldn't hold any of that against him, just the thought of it all put the Gryffindor further into a negative frame of mind the second the topsy-turvy home came into sight, causing his stomach to tie itself in knots, this time having nothing to do with his medications.

Opposite of Harry, Dudley couldn't contain his excitement the second his feet landed in the field full of tall wispy grass, and spent the walk up to the home gaping - and incessantly asking Snape - about the level of magic required to hold the structure safely in place. His first time arriving at the Burrow, Harry had never questioned the spells or incantations needed, he accepted the magic at face value and relished in what his new world - which was now becoming his old world - could accomplish. When they finally made it to the house and were welcomed into the home, Dudley's blue eyes immediately widened to take in the magic all around him. This time, Harry couldn't hold back his smile at seeing his cousin so enamored by the life he previously dismissed.

"Happy Birthday, Harry!" Mrs Weasley greeted the group of three with her arms wide open to embrace the Gryffindor, causing him to feel guilty for his overall melancholic thoughts. The Weasley matriarch had on a quilted apron covered in soft white flour which transferred to Harry's red jumper with the warm hug, but he didn't care one bit, choosing to concentrate on the moment before him. "I cannot believe you're already seventeen! Where have the years gone?!"

Harry smiled at the same time his cheeks blanched, and gave a small humbled, "Thank you, Mrs Weasley," rather than explaining how quickly time must pass when they spent it constantly trying to stay alive from Voldemort. He didn't want to damper anyone else's mood for the day.

"Now, there's some tables set up out back where we'll be having dinner," she instructed, leading them into the home, "and all the kids are out there. It's going to be just us, Hermione, Remus and Tonks, and Minerva, so a very small group tonight."

Dudley gave a smirk at Snape, who did not react, much to the muggle's chagrin, outside of giving a small nod for the two boys to take off to meet their friends.

"How does all of this work?" Dudley whispered to him as they walked through the center of the bottom floor; through the small sitting room and the kitchen - where a series of dishes were working on mixing and stirring what was bound to be either dinner or a cake, or possibly both - on their way outside. "Don't you guys have to concentrate on the incantations or something? I always thought you'd have to physically be there for a spell to work."

Harry thought back to when he first saw the Burrow before his second year, remembering his own amazement at the dishes washing themselves, or a stack of yarn being knit into a scarf, and the broom sweeping across the floor without a person carefully navigating it through the maze of furniture crammed into the small space. Never did he question how it worked; the magic just did, and back then, he trusted the system would teach him everything he needed to know in order to go off onto his own someday. It took him back to the quandaries he had about domestic charms and spells when staying - or more accurately, imprisoned - at Malfoy Manor and before he could prevent it, the comfortable, messy kitchen of the Burrow dissolved around him, replaced by the pristine marble lavatory he and Draco shared for two months. He was now standing at the lavatory sink, holding a snowy white towel embedded with a heating charm, questioning why he hadn't learned half of the required spells or other nuisances needed to run a wizarding household.

"Are you alright, Harry?" Hermione's voice called out from almost directly in front of him. The cold and inner turmoil he'd been struggling with started to melt away when she reached out and wrapped him in a hug; more relaxed than her typical hugs, like she knew if she squeezed him too hard, he might break.

Somehow he'd managed to get through the backdoor and into the overgrown garden with almost no recollection of it and now stood in front of a set of tables directly outside the door with Dudley behind him. There were two tables set up, presumably one for the adults and the other for the children to the left and right of the door, respectively. Luckily, the adults were all still inside, leaving only five sets of eyes on him instead of double that.

"Yeah," Harry managed to reply, breathlessly, shaking his head clear, "I'll be alright."

He wanted to act like today was no different than any other day, but that idea only lasted a second before everyone around him rang in with a loud "Happy Birthday" as soon as he and Dudley took their seats at the table. Harry chose the open chair next to Ron - with Hermione taking the empty seat on the other side of him - leaving Dudley directly across the rectangular table next to Ginny. With everything going on at the end of last year, he'd hardly gotten the chance to see the youngest Weasley. She still had the scar across her face from the attack on this very home, where Charlie was kidnapped and later killed, but she was chatting away with Fred or George and appeared no less affected by the incident than this time last year, before it happened. At some point last year, after the Gryffindor witch awoke from the curse, they leaned on each other about their own recoveries. What happened after that? Obviously he knew Ginny went back to classes, desperate to catch up on her important O.W.L. year, and he went back to tutoring in Snape's quarters. Looking around the table at his friends, each subgroup laughing, or pretending to argue in the case of Fred and George, over things like the upcoming N.E.W.T.s, their latest pick up Quidditch game earlier in the day - leading to Ginny's declaration to play professionally after Hogwarts, which apparently Mrs Weasley vehemently disagreed with - and the latest scheme for sneaking the Weasley's products passed Filch into the school. For the first time, their lives weren't dictated by Voldemort or an impending war, and yet Harry felt more isolated than he had ever before. His fifth year had been one of his most difficult, in terms of isolation; no matter where he turned, he was either called a liar or constantly being reminded of Cedric's death. And while last year he would have thought he should have felt more alone - being literally isolated away and then held prisoner for weeks on end - somehow that wasn't the case. Now sitting back with his group of friends, people who had been with him through his brightest and darkest of times, he couldn't help feeling like a stranger dropped right down into the middle of their conversations; having no clue of their context and showing just how much he no longer belonged with them.

"Wait a minute," Dudley exclaimed with a hint of horror in his voice when the conversation turned to Ginny's upcoming Apparation Classes, yet another experience Harry had missed last year, "you can actually leave a body part behind?"

The whole table burst out laughing, and even Harry smirked. Dudley had been side-along apparated so many times he was surprised the other teen hadn't questioned what happened with his body parts during it.

"Oh, our dear muggle friend," George wrapped his arm, jokingly, around Dudley's shoulder, "it's not only possible, it's bloody expected to get splinched at least once during class."

"That is not true!" Hermione corrected them. "Plenty of people learn to apparate without getting splinched!"

"Our little Ronnie's just not one of them," Fred teased, causing the youngest brother's face to turn bright red and touch his left eyebrow.

"You splinched yourself?" Harry asked, amused by new information.

"It was just an eyebrow," the redhead mumbled, shooting daggers from his eyes at his twin brothers. "And I'm going to retake the bloody test this summer!"

"If you still don't pass," George continued to taunt, "You could always just take the flying car everywhere."

"Oh wait," Fred interjected, "you let that one loose in the Forbidden Forest!"

Another round of laughter rang throughout the table, and this time Dudley turned bright red. That had been the summer Harry practically starved while being locked away in his bedroom, and the young wizard had no doubt his cousin remembered it.

"What about your brooms?" Dudley asked when the laughter calmed down. "I mean, aren't witches supposed to fly on brooms?"

"Hey now!" Ginny spoke up, clearly offended, "and how do you think that would look to the muggles, seeing a bunch of people flying through the air? We'd be limited to traveling in the dark, or under disillusionment charms."

"Not to mention how uncomfortable that would be for long trips," Ron's painfully contorted face demonstrated exactly what he thought about the topic.

"I don't know," Harry skeptically joined in, "I'd prefer a broom to floo'ing every single time."

"That's because you always fall flat on your face," Ron joked, earning him a swat from Hermione, which Harry had to lean forward to avoid it coming from behind his back, causing the two of them to start bickering.

"Do you always have to…"

"Oh c'mon 'Mione, he knows it's just a joke…"

"I miss flying," Harry said quietly, hoping to avoid anyone overhearing him complain, but he failed and the entire table silenced.

The air around them became uncomfortably thick as the seven teenagers exchanged worried expressions between each other.

That was, everyone besides Fred and George who appeared to be having a conversation without a single word shared out loud. The identical redheads nodded back and forth towards each other, and every-so-often one of them would furrow his eyebrows or frown.

"Great idea," Fred announced, clapping his hands and standing; George followed suit directly after him, "let's go."

The rest of the table watched, until Ginny gained the sense to ask, "What are you two up to this time?"

"Well-" George began, and as they always do, Fred jumped right into the sentence.

"it's Harry's birthday-"

"And if he misses flying-"

"Then it's only fair that-"

"he should get to fly!" They finished together.

It took a second for the other guests at the table - and even longer for Harry - to catch on to what the twins were suggesting. Once they did though, the whole table instantly started talking over one another: about the logistics of where to fly and who was going to get to use which broom. All the while people stood up from the table ready to follow George to the small shed near the back of the garden where he was already pulling out their brooms and Quidditch gear.

"Woah, woah, woah," Harry stood as he loudly objected, "this is an awful idea! For one, I can't even use a broom-"

"You'll come with me, mate," Ron offered so logically, Harry questioned if this wasn't pre-planned somehow. "You can trust me, I'll be careful up there with you, otherwise we all know Snape won't hesitate to use me as a dueling dummy."

Ginny perked up at the suggestion, "That's perfect, I'll take Hermione."

"That leaves Dudley with me," Fred chimed in, clasping his hand on the muggle's shoulders. Leading them both away from the table, he called out back to Harry, "Don't worry, Harry, I won't do anything up there you wouldn't do."

Nothing about that statement made the raven-haired wizard feel any better about what was to come, but with Quidditch cancelled his fourth year for the Triwizard Tournament, then his own ban by Umbridge during his fifth year, and not being able to use magic starting last summer, it had been way too long since he'd flown, and inside he was itching to be back on a broom; even if it was riding with Ron. Putting his own hesitations aside, Harry took off after the group, pulling Hermione grudgingly behind him.

The second Harry's feet left the ground, the weight on his mind and chest lightened, giving him the most carefree feeling since he had been sitting in Healer Smithe's office last July after his many tests and his diagnosis. Ron's Cleansweep Eleven broomstick wasn't nearly as fast nor as smooth as his Firebolt, however neither of those qualities were required to lift his spirits on a day that, for any other seventeen year old wizard, should have been exciting and new. Knowing his friend as well as he did, Harry knew what Ron was capable of on a broom and therefore he could easily tell the other Gryffindor had kept his promise to fly with more caution than he normally would. Fred on the other hand - and even Ginny with Hermione - didn't appear to hold back at all and were set on giving the first muggle to their home the full flying experience. Based on the terrified sounds coming from the pair's direction, no one would be surprised if Dudley saw stars for the next several hours.

Once in the air, and after a few practice laps around the pond, the group took off into the adjoining orchard, where most of the Weasley family's flying and Quidditch games occurred. Most importantly, the more distance Harry got from the Burrow, the clearer his mind became. During all the Occlumency training with Snape last year, never did he question why flying over his forest was the strongest Occlumency image, but until that moment he seemed to forget exactly what flying had meant to him. It was more than an activity he naturally excelled at, it had quickly become a way for him to escape the demands of his life - even at the age of eleven - and somehow Voldemort's death hadn't made his life any easier, like he had naturally always assumed it would.

"How're you doing back there?" Ron called out to him from the front.

"Brilliant!"

And for once Harry didn't have to tell a lie, or say what he thought people expected from him. Up there - especially as a passenger on the broom, which he found he appreciated just as much as driving - he didn't have to think about a single thing outside of the wind blowing through his raven-black hair, where he would have no chance of taming it for the rest of the night, and watching the sun moving through the sky on its way towards the horizon.

The seven teenagers stayed out flying and throwing the Quidditch Quaffle for several hours, none of them caring if they missed dinner or the rest of the party. Dudley eventually adjusted to the feeling of flying - helped significantly by Fred slowing down to avoid being vomited on by his nauseated passenger - and even joined in on their modified Quidditch game midway through their flight. To Harry, the time literally appeared to melt away far too quickly, and before he knew it, Tonks arrived on a broom the Gryffindor recognized as Bill's old one, to round the teens up for dinner.

"Hey you lot!" The metamorphmagus called out while flying up to them, "did you all plan on coming back anytime soon? We can't exactly have a birthday party without the guest of honor, now can we?"

"Well," Harry began to respond, his face blanching from embarrassment, willing to do or say just about anything to move the spotlight from him, "if you guys were really that hungry, I wouldn't have minded you starting without me."

The collective snickering from the surrounding brooms hit Harry the wrong way, reminding him too much of his first days back in classes last year when he would be mocked for his lack of hair or the feeding tube. Usually, that kind of response meant the person - in this case him - said something cruel, like Crabbe or Goyle… or Draco. The thought of the blonde Slytherin Harry had been avoiding popping up into his mind caused his heartbeat to rise suddenly and his brain to get so fuzzy he nearly fell from his broom; the sudden change of position brought him out of his potential anxiety attack at the last moment.

"Hold it, Harry," Ron said, compensating for his friend's shifting of weight on the back of his broom, but from his position Harry couldn't see his friends' concerned faces, "We should start heading back, guys."

"Yeah," Tonks added, smugly, "before Snape ends up in a total fit over you being gone."

Once again Harry's face flushed. This time, though, he didn't feel the embarrassment he expected at such a bold statement, and instead he felt happy to have someone care enough to worry if he was alright. He also questioned if he needed the professor's permission to go flying. If so, odds were he would most likely hear about it when they got home as opposed to at the party. Snape generally didn't like to cause a scene in public and after living with the man, he wondered if the professor wasn't nearly as easy on the Slytherins as he appeared in classes - and choosing to take points only in private.

They were greeted by the stunning sight of the waning sun, splashing rays of deep orange over the garden of the Burrow when they arrived back. The two individual tables had been combined into one long rectangular picnic-type table, not too unlike those used in the Great Hall, sitting perpendicular to the house. In front of the table - making a T - were two new tables, one filled end to end with platters and bowls of almost every food imaginable, and the other with a beach ball sized cake shaped like a Golden Snitch. The tables were surrounded by flickering golden yellow lights and, in the middle of those, purple lanterns with the number 17 on the sides floated above the tables, reminding Harry of the balloons he'd always seen at Dudley's birthday parties. Purple and gold streamers were wrapped around the trees on either side making the area look more festive than Harry thought he deserved.

"Happy Birthday!" The collective group stood to cheer as the teens all landed, and Fred and George volunteered to put the brooms and equipment away; which consisted of a flick of their wands to vanish them back to the shed.

True to her word, Mrs Weasley had kept the get together as small as physically possible. In addition to Tonks, who went to stand next to Remus - something Harry was still getting used to - there was McGonagall, Mr and Mrs Weasley, and Snape, plus the seven teens; himself included. He knew there were concessions made on his behalf such as the absence of Bill and Fleur, Percy - who had recently reconciled with his family, however Harry was still angry with the middle Weasley son - Lavender, Draco, and Angelina Johnson - who Harry heard Fred officially started dating over last Easter year. And of course, if everyone could have their way, the Daily Prophet would be here pleading to get their next headline for the front pages of tomorrow's paper, surely to be something along the lines of: The Boy-Who-Lived-Twice enters adulthood surrounded by his pseudo-family. On second thought, "pseudo" seemed too educated of a word for Rita Skeeter and she'd probably call them his "fake family" instead and focus on his painful past. He certainly didn't need to read about it all to remember it, no one did lately. And that was the exact reason he and Snape rarely left Cokeworth for the Wizarding World, and the longer he stayed in the muggle community, the more the thought of possibly losing his magic wouldn't be the worst problem to have. Maybe then he could go to a muggle university and find a career where he could settle down and simply live; an act that most other seventeen year olds - his friends included - took for granted.

Snape must have picked up on his animosity as the guests started loading plates with piles of food, everything from roasted chicken to Shepard's Pie, because the professor came up beside him and wrapped one of his strong arms around Harry's still too bony shoulder.

"Do you want to go home?" The professor discreetly asked him.

"No," Harry lied. "Just lost in my thoughts."

Harry knew the other wizard didn't buy his answer, and was grateful when he wasn't called out on it.

"Why don't you go sit down," Snape instructed, "I'll go and get you a plate of food."

"Thank you, sir," the Gryffindor gratefully responded. When he chose the only two open spaces, for himself and Snape, near the end of the table, the young wizard inwardly groaned at the sight of Remus sitting across from one of them. He hadn't seen the last Marauder since he was brought into the Drawing Room by Greyback.

"Happy birthday, Harry," the other wizard said in his always kind voice.

"Thank you, Remus," Harry instinctively intertwined his hands on the top of the chipped wooden table for no other reason than to give him something to focus on. Unfortunately, it didn't really help. All he could think about was the sight of Remus's brown eyes sympathetically staring at him when he had been escorted by Greyback into the Drawing Room. With those same brown eyes burning into the top of his head, Harry found he had the sudden urge to apologize for being the reason everyone almost died that night, "Remus, I'm really sorry-"

"Do not apologize, Harry," Remus predictably interrupted, "For one, regardless of what you may think you need to be sorry over, none of it was your fault." Harry gave a small smile at the man across from him. He'd heard these words a countless number of times and yet knowing Remus didn't blame him filled in another part of the empty hole inside of him. Too bad the moment was short lived and crumbled when Remus continued, "If anyone is to blame, it's Draco Malfoy. He should be held responsible for his actions... Turning his back on the Order after everything we di-"

"That's enough," Snape's dark voice radiated around them. Even in the open air of the back garden, the vibrations of his contempt for the last Marauder could be sensed by each and every guest at the table. Harry, as well as almost everyone in attendance, knew how different Snape's perception of Draco was from the rest of the Order's. Like everything else from that awful experience, Snape and Harry hadn't talked about his own sentiment regarding Draco's betrayal, nor did the professor ask anything about their time together locked in the room or followed in the corridors.

"Of course," Remus politely backed off, "I'm sorry, Severus… and Harry, too. This isn't the time to air our grievances."

"Hardly," Snape answered, not at all acknowledging the apology he'd just received. The professor promptly ignored Remus as he sat down at the table and urged Harry to eat something from his small plate of food, explaining - even though Harry already knew - how he couldn't take his evening medications until the hour after he finished eating.

The food - along with help from the plentiful drinks Harry could not partake in due to his medications - helped to calm everyone down from the stressful start of the evening. With each round, the noise in the garden grew from a respectable dinner conversation to a boisterous, yet festive celebration. News of Lupin and Tonks' engagement rang across the tables, turning into complaints from Ginny and Mrs Weasley about Bill's upcoming nuptials in France; of which the matriarch had no hand in planning, blanketing her overall negativity on the event with more sorrow than Ginny's angry fire. While someone like Ron might take offense at having a little of the night's attention siphoned away from his birthday to the newly engaged couple, Harry found himself relieved. His mind was still halfway stuck at Malfoy Manor with Draco, and sadly, without Snape. As the night went on, long after the cake was cut, Fred and George brought out a new product they'd developed which acted like a birthday version of the Wizarding Christmas Crackers. Harry's personal favorite, a red and gold striped hat shaped as a birthday cake with small firecrackers bursting from the candles at random intervals, he wore while opening up his gifts. Snape didn't even attempt to hide his displeasure - much to the other guests' amusement - when these crackers were included in the large box of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes products the twins had given to him for his birthday. To mark the special occasion, he'd also received a new blanket from Mrs Weasley, - yellow this time, which he planned to he keep in his bedroom, allowing the red one to stay in the sitting room - complete with a well placed warming charm that he immediately wrapped around himself right there in front of everyone. Dudley gave him a new set of high quality pencils for his sketching along with another book, and Harry had to hide away his guilt over his latest trend of unfinished work; never quite being able to finish a picture since he'd woken up in the hospital wing. A big box from Ron and Ginny revealed an assortment of Honeyduke's candy, the part he missed most from having to skip almost a year's worth of Hogsmeade visits, and he was looking more forward to eating them then he should have been. He received a warm navy blue jumper from Hermione, and McGonagall gifted him a practice snitch having recharmed it to be used indoors. He received a leather covered journal from Remus and Tonks, with a message on the inside telling him to keep his head up and things would work out fine. Harry thanked the couple, wishing deep down that he could believe the optimism held within their message, and equally in disbelief that the man who should have been the closest to him - having been best friends with his father - had no clue about the challenges he faced daily in his life.

For reasons unknown, or at least unacknowledged, Harry saved Snape's gift for last. The box was heavier than he'd expect, given that it fit perfectly into the palm of his hand, and was wrapped in matte green - but not Slytherin green - paper with a black ribbon tightly bound around it. The young wizard took several seconds to admire the small package, thinking of Snape not only picking out whatever had been placed inside of it for him, but also taking the time to wrap it, even if he likely used magic. With the eyes of the group staring upon him, he slowly unwrapped the package revealing a plain, unmarked brown box. Furrowing his brows, his curiosity peaked, Harry slowly opened the lid on the box and held his breath as he pulled out a brand new watch, completely ignoring the "oohs" and "aahs" from the other guests.

"It's a long standing wizarding tradition to give a watch on a wizard's seventeenth birthday," Mrs Weasley explained, pride filling her voice, and Harry had no doubt in his mind that had he not received this from Snape, she would have presented him with one.

When Harry lifted his head, he met Snape's obsidian eyes and tried to say "thank you", but being left completely speechless, it only came out as a small whisper.

"Turn it over," Snape's strong baritone voice instructed him, "and press your thumb to the back."

With shaking hands - completely unsure why he was so nervous to begin with - Harry turned the watch so it's chrome back faced upwards. At first he was confused at the blank surface, having expected some kind of inscription, until he remembered he needed to press his thumb to it. Nothing could have prepared him for the surge of emotion flowing through his body when he lifted his thumb from the smooth back of the watch and words "Stay Strong," briefly appeared, followed immediately by "My Son."

No other spoken words were needed, Harry simply grasped the watch in his hand, walked up to Snape and gave him a hug, not at all caring about the people watching him. Most of these people had seen him prepared to die for the professor only two months ago, and if not, they had certainly heard the story at some point in the time that had passed.

"Just because today you are officially an adult," Snape quietly told him with so much conviction it left the Gryffindor no room to question his intent, "does not mean you are alone. You will always have a place to call home no matter where I am, understood?"

Harry swiftly nodded his head with a quick, "thank you, Severus," knowing those two words couldn't come close to expressing how much it had meant to him; how much he needed the reminder. For the first time since deciding to come back from the afterlife - or wherever he ended up with his parents - the crippling anxiety Harry had been carrying around with him didn't appear nearly as suffocating. For the first time, he could believe that maybe he would make it through after all.

When most everyone left for the night, after wishing Harry "Happy Birthday" another dozen or so times, the group of seventeen year olds sat around a fire lit in a stone basin talking and laughing like it could have been any other year. The fire was warm on Harry's face and combined with the new yellow blanket wrapped around his shoulders, he could almost convince himself he was no longer ill.

"What was on the watch?" Ron asked for the third time since Harry had gotten it.

"It's still none of your business," the raven-haired wizard sarcastically responded with a smirk. He'd eventually tell Ron, but still relishing in the love he felt from Snape, he didn't want Ron - or anyone - to ruin it.

Hermione shook her head, "Do you always have to be so tactless, Ronald? It's a family matter, let it rest."

The redhead pursed his lips together and nodded his head towards Harry, who had a very bad feeling about what was about to come from their friend's mouth, "Tactless, eh? How about this one for you? Where's your boyfriend tonight? And does he know you're staying at my place for the rest of the summer?"

Hermione's face fell and Harry awkwardly turned towards Dudley who looked equally shocked by the random question.

"Ron-" Harry started, ready to take the blame- not wanting to see his friends fight - knowing at least Lavender would have been there if it weren't for his health, but Hermione interrupted him before he got any further.

"No, Harry," she spat out while simultaneously jumping to her feet, "don't apologize for Ronald being such a… a… complete arse!"

None of them were surprised when the witch abruptly left the garden with a mumbled, "Happy Birthday, Harry," and took off inside, slamming the door behind her.

"What the bloody hell, Ron?" Harry angrily questioned. "What's all that about?!"

"I'm just tired of her constantly nagging me about things," the other wizard explained. "That shut her up though."

He was sure he looked like a fish out of water staring agape at his best friend's idiotic logic. Giving his own head a disappointed shake, Harry stood and said, "Sometimes you can be pretty daft, y'know? And a right git."

Without waiting for a response, he took off into the house in hopes of finding out what was going on. While Ron definitely lacked any sensitivity to the subject, Hermione's reaction told its own troubled story.

"Are you ready to go?" Snape questioned the moment he walked into the kitchen where Mr and Mrs Weasley were sitting with Snape and McGonagall having what most likely wasn't tea. The way the professor asked the question though, made it sound like he either wanted desperately to leave or had been caught completely off-guard and was actually talking about something he didn't want Harry to hear: if Harry had to take a guess, he would bet it was the latter.

"Erm… not really. I wanted to go to check on Hermione before we leave."

Mrs Weasley shuffled over to him in a rush, confirming his previous suspicion about the topic of the adults' conversation, "I believe she went on upstairs, dear. She's staying in Bill's old room… go on up."

The young Gryffindor looked between the center stairs and the four adults in the kitchen, worrying his bottom lip debating what to do. One glance over at Snape answered his conundrum for him; had he continued to stay, things would not have ended well.

Bill's old room was only one floor up and next to Ginny's, who must have heard him coming up the stairs because her door opened right as Harry reached the top.

"I thought you were Ron," she said to him, almost relieved, leaning casually against her door already dressed in a pair of floral pyjamas bottoms and a bright orange bed shirt. "She's pretty angry at him right now. Should make for a great summer if those are in a row. Why are guys so… clueless sometimes?"

"I dunno, but I'll see what I can to make life a bit easier for you," Harry looked back at the closed door behind him, "I can't make any promises, though."

He tentatively walked up to the door and knocked, not surprised at all when he got no response.

"'Mione? Is it alright if I come in?" He waited patiently for about half a minute when he heard a muffled "sure" from the other side.

Having never been in this bedroom at the Burrow, Harry opened the door carefully, unsure of what he'd find. The room reminded him of his own back at home, with just enough space for the bed off to the left and a wardrobe directly in front of him. The only difference really being Harry's room could fit his small desk beside his bed. Like Ginny, Hermione had already gotten dressed in her own set of blue pyjamas with small yellow stars across them, making Harry uncomfortable being in her room alone with her. Unsurprisingly, she was sitting on her bed - her eyes red from crying - surrounded by about a half dozen books; all opened, of course, and appeared to be in different subjects.

At his questioning expression, she uncharacteristically mumbled, "I thought I'd do some studying for my N.E.W.T.s."

"All the subjects at once?" He laughed, taking a seat on the edge of her bed, "What happened down there?"

"It's nothing you need to be concerned about," she waved off his worry over her.

"Now you sound like Severus." It made her giggle, and Harry found himself happy to have been able to raise her spirits, even just a little. "Why isn't Draco here?"

"Oh, Harry," she breathed, "you can't really think that would have been a smart idea."

He was taken aback by her blunt honesty, "Because of my immune system?"

"No," he could see her seriousness written across her face, "he's a bit… angry right now… and you heard Remus earlier. Draco's already scared he's going to get ostracized for what he did and being here… surrounded by the Order… it wouldn't go well for him."

"He said that?" Harry asked, surprised. Maybe Draco's letters still sitting in his desk weren't as put together as he originally thought. If he were honest, it was the reason he hadn't read them yet: being too afraid the other wizard was healing better than him from their ordeal. And if Draco - who was literally used as an ingredient for weeks - could put what happened behind him, why couldn't Harry?

"Not in so many words, of course," she reached out and took Harry's right hand, rubbing small circles over the scars still visible from Umbridge's blood quill. "You didn't read his letters, did you?"

"Is it that obvious?"

"Kind of," she laughed, softly, "but what really gave it away was the letters in there you were supposed to send to me."

"Oh," he sheepishly replied, "I didn't… I mean... they're still… wait, how do you know?"

When said like that, Harry realized he didn't sound any better than Ron had outside, but it was too late to take it back.

"He stopped by my house last Saturday and accused me of ignoring him and you of hating him." There was so much of that statement he wanted to question. How did Draco Malfoy end up in her muggle neighborhood? And why had the Slytherin written to him to send to her to begin with? Hadn't they already sorted through everything before they left school last month? Before he could ask any of those, Hermione continued, "I'm worried about you both, Harry. He's… I think he's…"

Harry wanted to help her find the word she was struggling to find, yet he knew she would take anything he said and try to apply it to him.

"He's depressed," she finished matter-of-factly, "and I think you are too."

"I am not," Harry immediately defended himself, "did he tell you what happened to him? If he did, then you know nothing like that happened to me, so I'm not…" he couldn't say the word. "... wait, why's he mad at me? Because I didn't forward his love letters?"

"He did tell me everything that happened," Hermione confirmed with a physical shudder, "and no, he was angry with me for you not reading his missives…"

She trailed off and Harry gave her time to continue, and when she didn't, he prompted angrily, "Then what does he have to be angry with me about? He wasn't the one who was drugged, kidnapped and-"

"Don't put me in the middle!" She yelled at him and it was only then he recognized he, too, had yelled his proclamation first. "This is exactly why I said it wouldn't be a good idea and I didn't want to talk about it. You're one of my best friends, Harry, do you think I don't see what's going to happen when we get back to school? I'm going to be torn between my best friends and the guy who risked everything to save my life? Don't put me in that position."

"I won't," Harry promised without even thinking twice about it, never wanting to intentionally do something like that to her. "And I don't even know if I'm going back to school."

"You should talk to him, Harry," she may have ignored his statement, but her eyes told him she didn't miss it, "I think you'll find you're more alike than you think you are."

The young wizard clenched his jaw and turned to face the window. If it weren't dark outside, he would be able to see Mr Weasley's garage where the patriarch kept his random assortment of muggle electronics he loved to tinker with to clear his head. What Harry wouldn't give to go back to the summer before fourth year, before Voldemort, before Sirius was killed, before the cancer diagnosis… but he wouldn't be willing to give up Snape, or his home, and - at least in this world - he wouldn't have any of that without all the bad that had happened.

He didn't know if he could actually speak to Draco, however he could admit reading whatever was in those letters he'd been avoiding would be a good enough place to start. Turning back to Hermione, he hated that somehow he'd managed to make the situation worse. In the end, there was really only two questions he needed to know from her about her relationship with Draco:

"Did he apologize to you?"

"Yes," she answered clearly and confidently.

"And you're ok with everything he had to tell you?"

That question made her pause before she said, "Yes."

"Ok," he conceded, "I'll do what I can to make it right."

By the time he and Snape made it back home, Harry was absolutely exhausted, but he could honestly say that for as melancholy as his seventeenth birthday started - and as dramatic as it ended - there was no other way he would want to spend the day; besides maybe being able to do magic. After wishing Snape goodnight, taking notice that the man hadn't gone to his own room, but instead to the sitting room, the young wizard laid in his bed wrapped up in his green, soft bedspread staring at the watch resting on the edge of desk right next to where his glasses were stored each night. Before falling asleep, he could have chosen to focus on the two upcoming weddings they talked about today, how angry Remus still looked about the Malfoy Manor situation, or the position he and Draco had inadvertently put Hermione in, yet he chose to push all of those intrusive thoughts aside to focus on the watch sitting directly in front of him. Every so often he reached out his hand more confidently than he did when he'd first received it, and rubbed his thumb across the back just to see the phrase, "Stay Strong, My Son" over and over again, allowing it to fill him with hope that this would forever be his home as he blissfully fell asleep.