Harry rounded the corner and dashed into the kitchen. "I'm late!" he told both Hermione and Ron.

Hermione was cooking a dish of eggs over the stove, but Ron was pouring coffee into three cups.

Every since they had left that blasted tent, Hermione had announced that she was not doing all the cooking in the townhouse. Harry had replied that Kreacher could do it, and she had fixed him with such a baleful look, he had immediately muttered that they could take turns. They had planned to take turns cooking breakfast and let Kreacher deal with supper. Hermione had objected until Kreacher nearly despaired at not making "Master" any meals, and then she agreed to switch off breakfasts with the boys. Ron had served blacked lumps of food his first day, so burnt no one knew what they were eating, including Ron, and Harry had tried his hand at porridge that was so undercooked they could taste the raw meal with every bite. Ron and Harry had hoped Hermione would accept that as proof that they could not cook, but she kept at them, insisting they learn to make toast at least.

After a while, it became apparent that Ron could manage hot tea and coffee without too much effort and keep it hot without burning it. Harry learned to brown toast and stir porridge at the same time. Hermione decided that breakfast would be better made as a collaborative effort rather than breakfasts of tea, then toast served two days out of three. And their arrangement work . . . except on the days Harry had to go in early.

"I'm really late," he grabbed a cup of coffee from Ron's hand.

"I called you twice," Hermione salted the eggs carefully. "I am not coming in to pull you out of bed, Harry. Ask Ron."

"Get an alarm clock," Ron told Harry before he could say anything.

"Can I have some eggs?" Harry asked as he dumped lots of sugar into his coffee.

"Yes, after you serve me the toast," Hermione looked at the toasting rack which stood bare since Harry had not been down earlier to make toast.

Ron quickly ducked into the pantry for jam, not wanting to get in the middle of any fight.

"Please?" Harry gave her his most winning smile. "Just a little food for me?"

In the corner, Kreacher rocked back and forth on his feet in agony that the master of the house should be refused food. Had Hermione not spoken to Kreacher six times about not helping Harry out all the time, the little house elf would have already had something fixed.

But Hermione did not have a heart of stone for she grabbed a piece of bread and spooned a good amount of eggs onto it. She placed it in a napkin and handed it to Harry, warning, "Tomorrow . . ."

"Tomorrow, I'll cook it all," Harry assured her though he was sure he wouldn't. "You're the best. I'll tell McGonagall that you deserve extra marks in your training."

She smiled at him, and he hurried towards the front door.

Most days Harry would have strolled to the corner to catch the bus and take the tube to work like a normal person, enjoying the early morning bustle of London. After the isolation in Little Whinging growing up and the confinement of Hogwarts, Harry found the freedom of the big city comforting. He could walk for blocks and have people pass right by him without a second look. He could blend into crowds, go see a matinee play, enjoy a street juggler on a corner of Piccadilly, and not one person would recognize him.

But this morning, he forgot all that and Apparated to the special entrance for the Death Eater jury.

He got the courtroom just as Mrs. Longbottom was walking to the jury box.

"Mr. Potter," she snapped out as she passed.

Harry stopped, wondering what he had done to anger the elderly woman.

"Psst!" someone hissed behind him.

Harry whirled to see Neville peeking around a corner.

"Harry," Neville motioned him over.

Harry hurried. "Neville, what's wrong? What are you doing hiding?"

"Got to have a word with you," Neville whispered.

"Trial's about to start," Harry said softly. "I can't be late. And why are we whispering?"

"I want to ask you a big favor," Neville replied, glancing uneasily towards the door where his grandmother had just disappeared.

"How big?" Harry asked doubtfully.

"I want to come live with you," Neville whispered.

"What!" Harry exclaimed.

"Shh!" Neville cautioned.

"You want to live with me?" Harry repeated incredulously. "At Grimmauld Place?"

"Yeah," Neville nodded.

"Is your grandmother making you leave?" Harry felt nothing but confusion.

"No, she's upset I want to leave. But honestly, Harry, I can't live there with her forever. She gets worried if I stay out past nine, even on weekends. And she won't stop talking about me to visitors, about the final battle and how I was though I barely did anything. And she keeps trying to get me to visit my - my parents and talk to them, and I'm overwhelmed with studying Herbology. What do you say? I won't take up much room, and I'm neat, and the townhouse has four bedrooms."

"Yeah," Harry said doubtfully.

"I won't be a bother," Neville promised. "I won't ever be home that much, and I can cook a little."

"You can?" Harry asked quickly.

"Nothing fancy," Neville shrugged. "Just potatoes and scones and breakfast meat and bread -"

"You're in," Harry said. "I mean, I'll have to ask Ron and Hermione, but there's no reason I can see why you can't have the last bedroom. There are just some old trunks in it - we can move those to the attics."

"It will just be for a few months," Neville promised. "And Gran will think I'm being taken care of, what with Hermione there. Gran doesn't want me to move, but she'll get used to the idea after a while."

"Oh, great," Harry sighed.

"Just don't talk to her for a bit," Neville advised. "I'll get my stuff together and be ready to move tomorrow."

Harry was halfway to the courtroom before he realized that he had not asked Ron nor Hermione.

------

A miserable eight sentences later with the pleas for mercy ringing in Harry's ears, he sat down to lunch in the small room. It was uncomfortable eating with Kingsley and Mrs. Longbottom and Mrs. Tonks as Mundungus and Mr. Diggory went to eat with other friends in the Ministry. Harry wished they would talk, but he could never think of anything to say that didn't sound too flippant, "Don't you think that last woman cried too much considering she was only getting seven months in Azkaban?" or too serious "Was it right to send that man's son to Azkaban considering he was only fifteen and in France when the final fight occurred?"

So Harry stayed quiet, trying not to make a sound while he chewed his food. He brought a book sometimes and read it while he ate, trying to look nonchalant while hating that he had to spend a whole hour trapped in the room with the real adults. He didn't dare wander off because sometimes Mr. Weasley came back to discuss upcoming cases. Harry felt it was wrong to be biased against defendants they had not yet met, but he never said a word while Mr. Weasley described the crimes of the accused Death Eaters.

"How many more defendants, Shacklebolt?" Mrs. Longbottom asked, her voice sharp.

"I thought only fifty or so," Kingsley sighed. "But they rounded up sixty more over the last week, a fourth of which actually have the Mark. It will be hard to decide who was active in this war and who got the Mark over seventeen years ago and since let off being a Death Eater. All with the Mark are over thirty-five, so it's anyone's guess."

Harry felt his spirits sink a little. Hauled into court for something you did seventeen years ago? Surely some of the people didn't realize how evil Voldemort truly was, and now those people would be punished severely for the crimes of their youth?

"Good," Mrs. Longbottom nodded her approval over her lunch. "We should show everyone that justice will be served to those who follow evil. Time makes no difference - being a Death Eater now or years ago is a punishable offence."

"Is there any evidence of their involvement?" Harry spoke up, careful to look just at Kingsley. "Any proof?"

"They have the Mark," Mrs. Longbottom snapped. "What other proof do you need?"

"No, I just meant -" Harry began.

"Justice must be served," Mrs. Tonks stated. "These monsters killed my daughter and my son-in-law. They would have murdered my grandbaby if they had the chance. They deserve death."

"And my Frank and my Alice," Mrs. Longbottom said in a tight voice, the words almost hissing through her teeth in her anger. "Not even killed - but left to a fate worst than death for themselves and their child."

Harry gazed down at his sandwich miserably. His chest hurt when he thought about everyone they had lost. Sirius, Lupin, Tonks, Fred, Moody, Snape - they stretched into a line that never seemed to end, watching him with accusing eyes for not acting sooner, fighting better, finishing off Voldemort earlier.

"We're here to serve justice," Kingsley announced. "Our dead deserve justice."

Harry stood up. "I'm sorry, excuse me," he stared down at the carpet. "I have to go to the - you know."

He left without another word, leaving his lunch on the table.

The loo was empty, no one in the stalls. He put his hands on the sink and looked into the mirror, trying to breathe calmly. These moments came upon him suddenly. He would be hit with sorrow that filled his body with a deep ache, and then he would feel his eyes smart. He feared he would start crying in front of people, but so far he had managed to get himself away before that happened.

Oddly enough, when he got alone, he never cried. Instead he felt so angry, he could hardly stand to stay in his own body. He would feel rage churn inside him, and he wanted to break things like that stupid mirror and drive the broken glass into wrists. He hated them all so much, the people who had hurt him. The monsters who hurt his friends, killed people he loved, wanted him dead. He hated them all, but he didn't want to make anymore pain. He deserved pain, of course he did. It was his fault, and now more people were hurting. And if he could just bang his head against the stone wall until the pain went away -

"Hello, Harry Potter," a dreamy voice sounded behind him.

Harry let go of the sink and whirled to see Luna Lovegood standing by the door. "Luna?" he choked out.

"Don't break the mirror," she told him, tilting her head to the side. "You can cry if you need to, and if you want to scream, I can put a muffler spell on you, so you can hear your scream, but no one else can. After all, what's the use of screaming if you can't hear it? But don't break the mirror. It will make an awful mess, and there's nothing to bandage with in here, and you might get blood all over your clothes, and it doesn't wash out easily."

Harry leaned against the wall and sank down. "How did you know I was thinking that?"

"You are very easy to understand," Luna walked over to the mirror and ran a hand over her long blond hair. "You are hurting because war hurts people. If it didn't hurt anyone, it wouldn't be war. It would be like a picnic where everyone gathers together, but no one dies, unless there are bees and someone is allergic and gets stung."

"I think I'm losing my mind," Harry grasped the back of his neck with his hands, pulling his arms tight against him. "Everything's all right, and then I'm mad with anger. And not like when I was fifteen and I was yelling at everyone. This hurts so bad I can't even say anything."

"Pain is outside words," Luna took a paper towel from the dispenser and ran it under the water. "Pain is like screaming - words are not right, and they make no sense with pain or screaming."

"Does it ever get any better?" Harry raised his aching eyes up to her.

"Do you want it to get better?" she tiled her head at him again.

"Yes," he choked out.

"Then it will," she decided. "And you will be sad it doesn't hurt as bad, but then that will change as well. Our bodies and minds are designed to remember the good times and minimize the bad times. Did it hurt when you broke your arm and then Madame Pomphrey had to set it?"

"Yeah," Harry wasn't sure where she was going.

"Ginny told me about it," Luna continued. "It hurt a lot, but did you stop flying or playing Quidditch?"

"No, of course not."

"Because the pleasure overrode the pain," Luna smiled gently. "And eventually you will remember only good things about those that passed on, and you can think about them without hurting."

He looked up at her, and he felt the pressure ease up off his chest.

"You are so kind, Harry Potter," Luna said as if it were the first time she noticed. "I would like to kiss you now, but that would cause Ginny pain. So I will give you this," she offered him the wet napkin, "and you can let the water cool your eyes."

"Thanks," he muttered gruffly.

"And I must be off," Luna announced. "This is the men's room, after all. And I only have the afternoon to look for a place to live."

"You don't have anywhere to live?" Harry straightened.

"No, my father is dead," she sighed. "He did not live after what happened to him. But you must not blame yourself for that because my father was weak not to help you. But the house is gone, and I will see if anyone wants me to stay with them and be a housemaid."

"Come live with us," Harry blurted out.

"What?" Luna gave a short laugh.

"Yeah, we got room," Harry said. "Come stay with us, even just for a week or two."

Luna smiled, her entire face brightening. "The woman on the street said it looked like rain today, but I won't feel it at all . . ."

She turned and left the room, her feet barely seeming to touch the floor.

Harry went to the mirror and took another look at himself. He looked fine - his eyes were too red, and though his cheeks were pale, no one would notice anything out of the ordinary. He trudged towards the courtroom, trying not to think of the hours of trials ahead of him.

------

"I'm home," Harry timidly shut his head in the library. Hermione and Ron were seated on the loveseat, looking at a book together. Hermione seemed to be reading while Ron was playing with the ends of her hairs and whispering in her ear. She looked away from the book to smile indulgently at Ron, and she seemed about to kiss him when Harry stepped into the library.

"Welcome back," Hermione said, pulled her hair out of Ron's fingers and giving him a playful push.

"Yeah, you have a good day?" Ron asked, unable to take his eyes and hands off Hermione.

"Well, that remains to be seen," Harry gave a nervous laugh. "You know how we're always saying this house feels so big and empty and we wish people would come visit?"

"I've never said that," Hermione said.

"Yeah, don't we like our privacy here?" Ron leaned back against the loveseat.

"We do, we do," Harry admitted. ‘But three people in a house with four bedrooms? A little selfish, right?"

"Harry, what are you talking about?" Hermione demanded.

"I was going to work this morning and Neville stopped to ask if he could live here for a while."

"Neville?" Ron raised an eyebrow. "Doesn't he live with his grandmother?"

"He's ready to move out," Harry tried another smile.

"I don't know?" Ron looked at Hermione. "What do you thing? Neville's not that much trouble."

"He says he cooks," Harry put in.

"All right," Hermione nodded. "He probably needs a home."

"Thanks," Harry pretended to head for the door and then turned around at the last moment. "Oh, I almost forgot. Right after lunch, I ran into Luna Lovegood. It turns out she doesn't have a place to live . . . so, you know . . ."

"Harry," Hermione fixed him with a stare, "what did you do?"

"I couldn't just leave her standing there," Harry protested. "Not after what happened to her and her father. And she probably won't stay a week . . ."

"You asked her and Neville without asking us?" Hermione's eyes were wide.

"Neville asked me, and it is my house . . ." Harry trailed off, feeling like a prat.

"It was my family's tent that we stayed in for months," Ron pointed out.

"And you both ate the food I made for months," Hermione added.

Knowing he had lost that round, Harry tried a different tactic. "I can't say no, not when people need help. You both knew my weakness for ‘heroics' when you moved in - don't blame me for it now."

"Where will everyone sleep?" Hermione asked.

Harry glanced around the library, but she gave him such a ferocious look that he didn't dare such changing the room into a bedroom.

"Two people can share. Hermione, you and Luna . . . No? Well, Ron and - all right, me and Neville?"

"Don't you think after the torture he endured at Hogwarts he needs his own space?" Hermione asked.

"Fine, I'll room with Luna," Harry suggested.

"And you think my sister will like that?" Ron demanded.

"How about this?" Harry's raised his voice a notch. "You two move into my room which is the biggest, Luna takes the green bedroom, Neville takes the blue, and I sleep in the smallest room at the back?"

"Ron and I are not sharing a room," Hermione decided.

"Why not?" Ron questioned.

"Ronald!" Hermione scolded.

"Well, we already -"

"Ronald Weasley if you say another word, I will hex into next week," Hermione held up a finger.

"Really, Hermione," Harry urged, "no one has time to pretend that you and Ron haven't snogged in every room of this place, including my room."

"Ron said he wouldn't tell you," Hermione smacked Ron on the arm.

"What are hitting me for?" Ron protested. "He's the one that wants us in the same room."

"I know," she turned to look at Harry. "It's not exactly respectable, and Ron, I swear if I turn to look at you and you're giving Harry that stupid grinning look, I will hit you again."

Ron quickly wiped the smirk off his face.

"But I suppose having another girl in the house would be nice," Hermione finally admitted. "It sounds better than saying I live with two boys."

"Men," Ron corrected.

"That's even worse!"

"So you agree?" Harry asked. "Good, ‘cause I told Luna to wait with her stuff on the street. I'll bring her in now. Oh, and Neville will arrive tomorrow morning, so we need to move everything tonight."

Ron groaned and laid his head on the back of the loveseat. Hermione shook her head at him, as if suggesting all of it was his fault.

------

Neville arrived at seven the next morning. Ron, complaining that his back hurt from trying to move all the furniture, was sitting at the table, and Hermione was hovering over Luna to make sure that she didn't burn the breakfast.

"Watch it, Luna," Hermione cautioned. "Not so much butter."

"I'm all sore," Ron griped, grabbing a cup of tea.

"I told you to just use magic," Harry said weakly. "What made you think you could lift a whole bed by yourself?"

"I thought we could lift it together," Ron growled, sloshing his tea.

"Morning," Neville stepped into the kitchen.

"Oh, Neville," Hermione rushed over to hug him, "welcome to our home. We're so happy you're here. Harry told us, and I only wish we could have been together all last year - Luna, the eggs are burning!"

"Look at all the black smoke!" Luna gazed in wonder at the burning food.

Two minutes later, Harry decided to make his exit from a smoke-filled kitchen where Hermione scolded Luna, Neville tried to drag in three huge trunks, and Kreacher begged Master to let him have the kitchen again so Master might have a proper breakfast.

------

"Finally Friday," Harry muttered as he sat down in the jury box beside Mrs. Tonks.

Mrs. Longbottom looked very severe and refused to speak to him, but Harry didn't know what to say to her either. He just wanted to make it through the day, and then he had the whole weekend to sort out his townhouse.

"We have some very important defendants today," Mr. Weasley announced with satisfaction. "You have no idea how long I've wanted to put them on the stand. Let the trail begin." He banged on the stand with his gavel. "Bring forth the entire family."

Harry started, sitting up in his chair. A whole family?

And then he froze as he watched Lucius, Narcissa, and Draco Malfoy step into the prisoner's box.