Owl Post

It took exactly three more days before the letters began to arrive. Walking into the kitchen late on Sunday morning, Harry found a frowning Ginny already sitting at the table, staring at the pile of envelopes on top of the latest edition of the Daily Prophet. She jumped when she saw him, before pointing at them with her chin over her bowl of half-eaten porridge.  

"Looks like your grace period is officially over," she said dryly, and Harry sighed as he took in the hefty pile of mail, all addressed to Mr Harry Potter, The Burrow, Ottery St. Catchpole . 

He dropped into the chair opposite her and reached for a piece of toast before picking up the first envelope. It was lime green, with bright red handwriting that Harry didn't recognise, but the intense, disgustingly sweet smell that engulfed him the moment he broke the wax seal on the back was enough of a clue. Harry cursed, coughing and waving his hands in a desperate attempt to clear the air - and watched as a few glittering particles sailed down onto his breakfast, where they lay, green specks, on his freshly buttered toast.

Ginny, who had leaned as far away from the table as she possibly could with a surprised look on her face, gave him an amused half-smile. Her red hair shone in the morning light.

"Perfumed letters - am I supposed to be jealous now?" she said jokingly, and Harry's ears warmed a little. He huffed. 

They hadn't really talked much about their relationship, just held hands here and there or exchanged quick glances, but Ginny's sudden and open flirtation made his skin prickle and his heart skip a beat. It wasn't that they didn't still like each other - at least Harry knew for a fact that he still very much wanted to be with her - but with the weight of Fred's death hanging over them, the strange guilt he felt at the thought of him, and the proximity of not only her parents, but especially Ron had turned things a little awkward between them. It was moments like this, however, that made it seem as if their relationship had never changed. 

"I don't think that'll be necessary." he explained quickly, and despite the unpleasant smell in the air and the even more unpleasant letter between his fingers, a grin began to spread across his face. Ginny smiled too, and Harry noticed a few new freckles on her flushed cheeks.

"Blimey!" a sudden, loud voice came from behind them, and their moment passed as quickly as it had come. Ron and Hermione, both wrinkling their noses, descended down the last few steps into the kitchen, looking bewildered. "What's that awful smell?" Ron asked, pinching his nose with his fingers, as his eyes wandered around the room, trying to find the source. Harry just held up the garishly coloured envelope in greeting. 

"Rita Skeeter," he replied with a flat voice and watched as Hermione's bushy eyebrows immediately shot up.

"She wouldn't dare..." she sneered and hurried over to him. Ron followed, and with them both looking over his shoulder, Harry finally unfolded the letter. To his own grim confirmation, his hunch earlier had been correct - the words inside were scrawled in a familiar, strangely girlish hand, the ink a bright crimson. Silence hung over the kitchen as they all read, and Harry thought he could feel the heat rising to his head for a second time, albeit for a very different reason now. 

"That vile woman," Hermione spat once she'd finished skimming the letter and her face contorted with anger. "I really thought she'd leave you alone after the fine lesson I gave her - but it seems someone has to remind her!" She hissed furiously. Harry, who could still vividly remember the time in their fourth year when Hermione had trapped the unregistered Animagus that was Rita Skeeter, felt a sudden pity for the reporter in case she and Hermione ever crossed paths again - but it vanished the moment he returned to the envelope in his hands, its edges now slightly crumpled.

"That bitch." Ron remarked passionately, and Harry wholeheartedly agreed.

Ginny, who still couldn't quite follow their conversation, finally joined in, her eyes darting back and forth between the three of them. 

"What's going on? What does she write?" she asked anxiously, and Harry - who felt more like burning the page than sharing it with her - sighed and leaned over the table to hand it to her. With a deep frown between her eyebrows, she took it and began to read aloud: 

"Dear Harry,
I am delighted to inform you that you will be the new subject of my forthcoming biography, entitled 'Harry Potter - The Boy Who Lived, Loved and Lost', in which I intend to delve deeply into the many extraordinary contributions, scandalous liaisons and heartbreaking sacrifices you have made towards the protection and safety of our entire wizarding world.

As you and I have enjoyed a close friendship for many years now, I would be delighted if you would consider the possibility of an exclusive interview - for which you will be handsomely rewarded! As part of this agreement, I'm generously offering you 7% of the profit margin which you would receive once the first book is on shelves across the UK. Depending on the extent of our cooperation, this could be as early as late autumn…”

Ginny stopped reading halfway through and stared up at him in disbelief. "She's bloody mad!" she exclaimed, throwing the letter away as if it were dripping with acid. It sailed to the floor and stayed there.

Harry, who didn't know whether to laugh or cry, turned to look at Hermione, who appeared just as furious. "Can she really do that?" he asked, and she tilted her head slightly, her lips pursing as if in deep thought. Then she shrugged.

"I'm not sure, Harry..." she said slowly, before letting out a defeated sigh. "As far as I know, there are no laws against it - which doesn't make it any less wrong, if you ask me. But she's done it before, hasn't she?" she mused, cringing a little, and Harry nodded, miserably. He thought of the glossy copy of Rita Skeeter's The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore that was probably still upstairs, buried in the depths of Hermione's beaded handbag - and could already see the neon green version of his supposed life story before his inner eye, a photo of his own face blinking dimly at him from the front cover. His stomach sank, and suddenly he wasn't hungry anymore. 

Next to him, Hermione pulled a chair back with a little too much force and sat down in it. Harry watched as she grabbed a slice of toast and began to butter it - his own was still sitting spoiled on the table in front of him.

"I'll hex her for you if you like, Harry." she graciously offered, and both Ron and Ginny agreed. He waved her off. 

"It doesn't matter," he muttered instead, pushing his plate aside to reach for the rest of the mail - this time, however, he made sure to choose a plain white envelope, which looked much less suspicious and was most certainly not perfumed. 

Inside, Harry found several official-looking documents containing information about the change in his former status as 'Undesirable Number One', followed by another twenty or so letters containing interview requests from various wizarding newspapers, as well as a few heartfelt letters from strangers that felt oddly undeserved - and Harry was about to make up his mind about breakfast when a rapidly growing shadow outside the kitchen window caught his eye. 

"There's another owl!" he called out, but Hermione had noticed it too and was already on her feet again. She hurried across the room and opened the window just in time for an elegant looking tawny owl to glide in. They watched as it landed on the kitchen counter with a careful flapping of its wings, where it sat between Mrs Weasley's stacked pots and pans and a bowl of fruit, squawking softly. Hermione glanced from the owl to Harry and back again, and as if in response, the bird stuck out its leg in a silent request. Ron gave him a knowing look.  

"You're quite popular these days, mate," he sighed, and out of the corner of his eye Harry thought he could see Ginny's lips twitch again - but this time he didn't feel like smiling. Then Hermione's surprised voice rang out. 

"There's a letter for each of us!" she exclaimed, her fingers now trembling as she struggled to untie the mail from the owl's leg. Undeterred, the bird pecked curiously at her bushy hair, and when she finally managed to free herself, she looked a little more frazzled than usual. 

Harry, who had also taken a closer look, saw that she was right, and while Hermione was still trying to brush over her head in a quick attempt to fix what was left of her braid, his own attention had been instinctively drawn to the three thick envelopes in her hand, all of a rich midnight blue - a shade that reminded Harry distinctly of the robes he had seen on Kingsley Shacklebolt in the Daily Prophet photograph earlier in the week.

"The trials!" he blurted out before he even realised it, and then gasped, suddenly feeling as if someone had pulled the rug out from under him. Hermione's face lost all colour and she let go of her hair in an instant as her focus dropped back to the mail in her hands, turning them over to look at the sender.

"Department of Magical Law Enforcement," she confirmed under her breath, glancing quickly from Harry to Ron, who was staring at her with his mouth agape.

"Come on then, hand them over!" he called out eventually and his voice seemed to snap her out of her trance. With strangely stiff movements, Hermione rounded the kitchen table and returned to her seat, wide-eyed and pale, before handing each of the boys a single dark blue envelope. Ginny, who hadn't received one, leaned far over her breakfast to look at them.

To Harry's own surprise, the weight of the letter was heavier than he had expected, and up close he noticed the seal with the golden ‘ M’ in its centre. Next to it, slightly smaller, the letters D.M.L.E. had been stamped into the paper. With a shaky breath, he tore open the envelope - and was startled when a small piece of parchment fell into his lap. He picked it up and found it to be a handwritten note. Quickly, Harry's eyes scanned over the words:

Harry,

I've done my best to keep both the press and the Ministry off your back for a while. However, as I'm sure you've heard from Arthur, the first Death Eater trials begin on Monday morning, and even in my role as Minister I can no longer delay in calling you, Ron and Hermione as witnesses, as the information you have could be crucial to the outcome of many legal proceedings. 

I can't imagine what the three of you have been through, or may still be going through. You have my sincerest apologies. 

If you ever need anything, you know where to find me.

Kingsley

Harry took a deep breath and lowered the note. It seemed that his speculation about Kingsley having some sort of hand in the lack of contact from journalists and Ministry staff so far had been correct - and he was more than grateful for it after seeing the full extent of it scattered across the long kitchen table. With a silent vow to thank the new Minister of Magic the next time he’d see him, Harry set the note aside and turned towards the envelope again. 

In addition to the short handwritten letter, he counted three more pages - all of them looking much more official, and as he unfolded them Harry felt a strange pang of recognition as several very familiar names jumped out at him. With a furrowed brow, be began to read again: 

Ministry of Magic 

Department of Magical Law Enforcement 

Wizengamot Administration Services 

2nd June 1998 

Dear Mr Potter,

This letter serves as an official call for your attendance as a witness at the upcoming trial of Mr Draco Lucius Malfoy. Your testimony is considered crucial to the proceedings, given your unique insight into the events surrounding the fall of You-Know-Who and the subsequent efforts to bring his fellow Death Eaters to justice. Details of the trial are as follows:

Date: 7th June 

Time: 11am 

Location: Courtroom 10, Ministry of Magic, London. 

Your cooperation in this matter is of the utmost importance in the pursuit of justice. Failure to attend without reasonable excuse may result in legal consequences. Please acknowledge receipt of this letter by signing and returning the enclosed form or by sending an owl confirming your attendance. 

Your efforts to ensure the safety of the wizarding world are greatly appreciated.

Yours sincerely, 

Tiberius Ogden

Head of Magical Law Enforcement 

The next two pages were identical, except for the names, which listed both Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy as well. Still, Harry read each of them over twice, and when he finally looked up, his eyes met Hermione's, who was wearing the same twisted expression she'd had when she'd first raised the possibility of a summoning. 

Ron scowled. “Geez…” he muttered, staring at the letter in his hands, “out of all the Death Eaters there are, did they have to start with the Malfoys ?” he wondered, voice dripping with disgust and Ginny's face darkened, her fingers tightening around her spoon. She didn't have to say anything for Harry to know that she was probably thinking back to her own experiences with the pure-blood family in her first year at Hogwarts.

Silence hung heavy over the kitchen and Hermione began to tap her foot nervously. The fine line between her eyebrows deepened and she let out a slow, uneven breath, as if carefully weighing her next words. Harry watched her for a moment, suddenly wondering which memories the mention of the Malfoy name might stir up for her - and his eyes instinctively flew to the jagged scar on her forearm that hadn't quite healed yet. Hermione didn't seem to notice; she was already staring down at her letter again, her teeth worrying her bottom lip. When she finally opened her mouth to speak, however, her voice was a little quieter than usual. 

"What are we going to do?" she asked, and anxiously bit on the nail of her thumb, turning to look at Harry - but his own mind felt strangely empty at the moment.

"We can't just not go, can we?" he asked eventually, glancing over at Ron, then back to Hermione, as if to search their faces for answers he didn’t have. The latter merely shook her head, more strands of hair escaping from her unruly braid at the movement.

"It clearly states that we could face legal consequences ourselves if we don't go." She recited, eyes wide, while tapping the line in the letter with her finger. For a moment, Harry wondered if there was any way Kingsley could intervene in this matter - but then he remembered the note on the table in front of him. It seemed that if the Ministry was truly trying to restore order, then no one, not even Harry, could be above the law - and the irony was not lost on him that - if it were anyone else but himself - Harry would probably agree with that.

Ron let out a low, frustrated grunt, tossing his own letter onto the table where it landed near Ginny's bowl of porridge. She gingerly picked it up, but her frown deepened as she skimmed the page. Ron crossed his arms tightly over his chest. "Well, that's just rubbish, isn't it?" he grumbled. "What are they gonna do, lock us up? After we just saved the bloody world?" he added, and Hermione raised her brows at him.

" Harry saved the world," she said a little piqued, then returned to the parchment, studying it as if there might be some hidden message she hadn’t uncovered yet. Ron merely shrugged. 

"I like to think we helped a little bit ," he muttered, though his usual humour was missing, his voice flat. Harry offered him a distracted nod, but his own head suddenly seemed to be swimming with thoughts. He watched as the large bird that still sat perched on the kitchen counter inspected its own reflection in one of Mrs Weasley's polished copper pots - entirely unfazed by whatever nervous tension its arrival had brought upon them. After a moment it squawked softly and ruffled its feathers, then turned to look at Harry through dark eyes, expression almost expectant. Behind him, the Weasley family clock ticked away in a steady rhythm - and with each passing second, the blue envelope in his hands seemed to grow heavier and heavier. 

Harry tore his eyes away and lowered his head to read the letters for a third time now, then let his fingers wander over the familiar names written in dark ink - and his mouth turned dry as the faces of the Malfoys passed in front of his inner eye: Draco, pale and terrified, soot-streaked and trembling outside of the Room of Requirement. Narcissa, gaunt yet determined, willing to lie to Voldemort himself to protect her son. And then Lucius - merely a haunted, desperate shell of the man he once was, cowering terrified under the eyes of his supposed master. Harry sighed, willing his own mind to focus on something else, then brought his fingers up to rub them across his forehead - and both Ron and Hermione exchanged uneasy glances at the familiar gesture. 

“‘tis just a habit…” Harry muttered, quickly dropping his hand back into his lap. Hermione raised an eyebrow at him, but said nothing, 

Eventually, Ron slid down in his chair, crossing his long legs at the ankles in what seemed to be a resolute gesture. “Well… guess it was bound to happen sooner or later, wasn’t it? Better now than never, I suppose." he said, shrugging his shoulders. "They've always been slippery bastards, haven't they? The Malfoys, I mean." Ginny, who had begun to pick at her breakfast without much appetite, agreed with a low hum. Harry nodded too. 

"I guess so..." he mused, though he still couldn't make sense of the strange feeling of unease inside him, that sinking sensation of dread, frustration - and something else he couldn't quite put a name to. Fear, a small voice in the back of his head seemed to whisper - but that wasn’t right. Uncertainty , corrected another, and that seemed to hit the nail on the head.

Once again, the Malfoys' faces flashed behind his eyes and Harry tried with some effort to push them away, but it seemed as if the news of their impending trial had stirred something in him that refused to stay sealed away any longer. If he only concentrated hard enough, Harry swore he could still hear Narissa Malfoy's quiet whisper ghost over his ear - " Is Draco alive?" - and he remembered the moment she had turned to Voldemort and blatantly lied to his face. Across the table, Hermione took a long breath and the nervous tapping of her foot stopped, if only for a moment. When she began to speak, her voice was low, almost hesitant.

“Do you think they deserve it, though?" she asked, glancing tentatively at Harry as though she herself wasn’t sure what she believed, and Harry's gaze snapped back to her. The question - one he hadn't quite allowed himself to ask just yet - hung in the air for a while, heavy and unresolved. He winced, shifting uncomfortably in his chair as his grip tightened around the letters.

"I don't know," he eventually answered honestly, and Hermione nodded her head, slowly sucking in her lower lip. Confusion was written all over her face as if she herself couldn’t believe what she was about to say.

“Neither do I.” she mused, and for a moment she looked as though she wanted to say something else, but whatever it was, she held back. Ron stared at her, mouth open. 

“You’re kidding, right?” he asked in disbelief, then turned to Harry for confirmation. “Tell me she’s joking! We’re still talking about the Malfoys , right?!” he added, a little exaggerated. Hermione squirmed and her mouth twisted in an unhappy expression. 

“I’m not saying they weren’t complicit .” she quickly stated, this time a little firmer, and she wrung her hands nervously as she continued speaking. “They stood by while Voldemort murdered and tortured people, yes. But…,” her voice faltered, and she took another steadying breath, “I keep thinking about what Narcissa did for you, Harry. If it weren’t for her, we wouldn’t be sitting here right now.” She finished, then pursed her lips. Harry hummed to himself, noticing with some delay that Ginny had turned to him with a questioning look in her eyes - and it suddenly occurred to him that he had never told her, or anyone else apart from Ron and Hermione, what exactly had happened after he had entered the Forbidden Forest back in May. He grimaced and began to study the wood of the table intently. 

Ron continued to blink at Hermione, his own face hardening. "Yeah, well, maybe. But she didn't do it for Harry, did she? She was trying to save her son! It wasn't like she suddenly decided to change sides - she still chose Voldemort, didn't she?" he huffed, then crossed his arms over his chest again. "Not to mention her husband, who was practically his right-hand man at one point! Merlin, we even fought him at the Ministry! " he went on - and neither Harry nor Hermione could help but agree to this. 

"I know Ron," she said carefully, seeming to flinch at her own words. "It's just... you saw them in the battle, didn't you? They didn't even have wands when they went looking for Draco. They didn't care who won or lost - they just wanted to find him and get out of there as quickly as possible!". Ron cringed, then he let out a long groan and dropped his head onto the back of his chair. He nodded, albeit reluctantly. 

"Well, yeah..." he sighed, before adding a little more vehemently: "But he was a bloody bastard, wasn't he? Even before he became a Death Eater. All those years at Hogwarts? Do you remember when he hexed you, Hermione? Or the time he threw an Unforgivable at Harry when he found him in that bathroom in sixth year?" at this, he glanced at Harry in a silent demand for his support, but found him frowning instead - not at the memory of Malfoy's attempt at the Cruciatus Curse, but at his own ill-advised use of Sectumsempra, a spell he'd never heard of before and which had resulted in a wound far worse than he'd ever intended. The memory of that day still made his cheeks burn with shame. 

“He was scared, Ron. Voldemort threatened his parents.” Harry said begrudgingly, and the sudden truth of it hit him in a way it hadn’t before. How many of them had done things they regretted out of fear? Draco, sure, but others, too—people on both sides. People like Regulus Black, Snape, even Dumbledore. He sighed deeply, resting his head in his hands, and Hermione began tapping her foot again. Ron made a sound of frustration, but didn’t continue to argue. He dropped his arms, letting them rest heavily on the table. 

“Still doesn’t make them innocent, though.” he eventually grumbled.

“Doesn’t make them all Death Eaters either,” Hermione countered quietly. “This isn’t simple. None of it is. That’s why there is a trial in the first place, isn’t it?”

Harry nodded, though somewhat reluctantly. His head seemed to be spinning now, and a familiar pressure began to build behind his forehead that had nothing to do with Voldemort and everything to do with the prospect of having to testify before the Wizengamot again - and for the Malfoys , of all people. Suddenly it felt as if the last four weeks of their strange hiatus had never happened, and the weight of responsibility settled back on his shoulders like a heavy cloak. 

On the other side of the kitchen, the owl finally grew impatient. It ruffled its feathers and began to tap nervously on the counter - and Harry felt a sudden, bitter irony in the bird's presence, as if the reality of the last few months had swept in through the open kitchen window with it. He turned to look at Kingsley's note for a moment, then sighed deeply.

"I suppose we'll give our testimony," Harry said finally, but the certainty he was trying to project sounded hollow to his own ears. "We tell the truth - the way we see it. After that, it's out of our hands."

And when he glanced over at Ron and Hermione, they both nodded grimly.

*

The few days before the trial seemed to fly by. As the weather improved, they spent more and more time in the garden behind the Burrow, where the gnomes had long since returned to their home under the Weasley rose bushes, occasionally startling the roaming chickens that had made their way over in search of potential worms buried in the dirt. 

Harry didn't sleep well. Whenever he drifted off, he thought he saw the pointy faces of the Malfoys looming over him, shrouded in black smoke - and it was as if cold hands were desperately trying to get hold of him, sharp nails digging into his skin. He made no mention of these images to Ron or Hermione - in the past, the subject of his dreams had often been a cause of conflict, as they had provided a direct link to the mind of Voldemort, and although Harry knew it wasn't - couldn't be - like that, he didn't want to upset his friends any more than the arrival of the letters had already done. Of course, more had poured in since then, and there now seemed to be a fresh pile of mail waiting for him on top of the kitchen table, the windowsill or on the steps to the front door every morning. Once, a crisp white envelope addressed to Harry had even found its way into a hefty pot of oatmeal, where it had been plucked out by a bewildered looking Mrs Weasley. 

But it wasn't just all 'fan mail', as Ron liked to call it - over the course of the week, the elegant tawny owl appeared again and again, claiming its place on the counter, where it would extend its leg with a chattering of its beak, presenting more midnight-blue envelopes. Each time Harry's heart sank a little and he watched as the colour drained from Ron and Hermione's faces at the sight of the familiar names of Death Eaters.

While all this was going on, the wizarding press had begun to print headline after headline about the upcoming trials, ranging from wild speculation to premature verdicts, and Harry's name seemed to be mentioned in almost every article - whether there was any actual connection to him or not. Most of the reporters seemed to praise him for his role in the battle and eventual downfall of 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named' - apart from a wacky-looking wizard called Gregory Gobwelsh, who had written a story for Cauldron Confidential , one of Mrs Weasley's gossip rags, in which he had strongly suggested that Harry was actually a distant relative of Gellert Grindelvald himself, and as such was involved in an elaborate plan to take over the wizarding world as its new 'Black Heir', now that Voldemort was out of the way. Both Mrs Weasley and Hermione had reacted with outrage at the accusation, but Ron had laughed hysterically and continued to address Harry as such for the rest of the day. 

The entire situation made Harry uncomfortable - and he couldn't help but be reminded of that time at the end of his fourth year at Hogwarts when he had witnessed Voldemort's return to power, killing Cedric Diggory in the process. Harry had spent most of the following year trying to tell people what he had seen - only to have his name printed in every newspaper in magical Britain, calling him an impostor and a liar. Even now, years later, he couldn't help but distrust the media, and it had reached the point where he would throw away any letters from newspapers and journalists, unopened.  

His eyes had just passed over the headline “ The Vanished Victor: Potter's Mysterious Silence Since the Battle " when Ron - who continued to alternate between anger, derision and utter disbelief at their impending visit to the Ministry - dropped the latest edition of the Daily Prophet into his lap to ask the same question he had been asking for days, for the dozenth time.

"And we're really sure we want to do this?" he said, stunned. "I'm just saying, it's a chance to really get back at Malfoy! We could accuse his family of hiding illegal Dark Artefacts in their basement - and we probably wouldn't even be wrong!" he suggested, looking cheerfully over at Harry, who was lying on the grass next to him. Harry just shook his head.

"Or we could say they're in the dragon egg trade," Ron ventured, tapping his chin thoughtfully. "I bet Charlie could give us some advice on the details to make it convincing." Harry huffed mildly in response, then leaned back on his elbows.

"I reckon playing host to Voldemort and a whole bunch of Death Eaters should be enough, don't you think?" he retorted, mindlessly picking at some weeds. Ron hummed, then shrugged. He put the newspaper down to stretch his long legs before dropping into the grass next to Harry. Above them, sunlight filtered through the dense foliage of the trees, painting patterns on his freckled skin.

"I'm just saying..." Ron started, contemplating, then continued after a moment's hesitation, "It feels a bit weird, doesn't it?" he squinted at Harry, who gave him a slow nod. They had been going over the topic of the Malfoys at length over the past few days, and yet Harry couldn't help but feel a nervous ball forming in his stomach whenever the subject came up. He put it down to the prospect of returning to the Ministry - and thus leaving the sanctuary of the Burrow behind for the first time since the battle of Hogwarts - but deep down he knew there was probably more to it than that. 

In truth, Harry wasn't ready to stand before the Wizengamot quite yet - and especially not if it meant facing the Malfoys and all the complicated emotions that came with it. The prospect of having to recount everything that had happened over the past year - of having to dredge up all the pain and loss and, quite frankly, the panic that Harry, Ron and Hermione had experienced - felt fresh and raw and went against every single one of his instincts. 

"What do you think they'll get? If we put in a word for them, I mean?" Ron wondered aloud, pulling Harry out of his thoughts. 

"I don't know..." he admitted honestly, glancing over at the house where Ginny and Hermione could be seen through the open living room window. Ron, who had followed his gaze, sighed softly.

"It's shaken her up quite a bit," he commented, and Harry turned to look at him in surprise. He was still squinting against the light, his hand shielding his eyes as he watched the two girls talking quietly to each other, an unfamiliar serious expression on his face. Harry hummed then turned to watch Hermione and Ginny again. 

"I didn't notice," he eventually admitted, feeling a little sheepish. Ron huffed. 

"Because she didn't want you to," he replied, then shrugged. "She knew you'd feel guilty about it - and you shouldn't," he added with a meaningful look at Harry, whose mouth was already twisting with regret. Ron gave him a knowing grin. "It's not about you, mate, I promise. It's not even about the Malfoys, really. It's just a bit much right now, with her parents still missing and the trials coming up and us having to testify and stuff. She doesn't feel ready. Bloody hell, I don't feel ready," he mused in a grim voice, shaking his head more to himself than anyone else. Harry sighed and inspected a weed between his fingers. 

"Yeah." he simply agreed after a moment, then tossed it aside to look back at the window. "It's all..." he trailed off, searching for the right words.

"A bit much." Ron echoed, and then sat up again. Harry followed, and for a while they both remained silent, watching as Ginny and Hermione laughed softly. Eventually, Harry turned to muster Ron out of the corner of his eye, and he noticed the long, oddly smooth stretch of skin that started just below his left elbow, where the once angry red patch of splinched scar tissue had been, that had now faded to a silvery pink. New freckles were beginning to spread across it, and the tip of Ron's long nose appeared a little sunburnt. He looked different, changed - like a more grown-up, serious version of himself, and Harry instinctively wondered if the same was true of himself.

“Everything alright between you two?” he finally asked, a little hesitantly, and Ron turned to look at him.

"Oh, yeah!" he said in surprise, and a moment later a broad grin spread across his face. He laughed in disbelief. "We're brilliant, actually! Except for, like..." he gestured vaguely, then shrugged. "Well, everything around us, basically." 

Harry nodded in relief. "Good." he said, a little awkwardly, and they both hummed to themselves. Silence fell over them again, and they watched for a moment as the girls put aside the last of the laundry and disappeared from view. From somewhere in the house, Harry thought he heard Mrs Weasley's voice. Then it was Ron's turn to eye Harry. 

"So, um..." he began, and his ears were beginning to turn a little pink. He cleared his throat. "What about you and Ginny though? You seem a bit...well...eh." he finally stammered, and Harry's eyebrows shot up so high it must have looked comical. He hastily tried to shape his expression into something he hoped was a little more calm and collected. "It's just that... Hermione said some things..." Ron rambled on, then stopped mid-sentence, visibly cringing. Harry's own cheeks began to warm immediately.

"Oh. Um..." he tried and grimaced, then shifted uncomfortably. "I don't... we don't have to talk about it, you know. She's still your sister, so..." he stammered, and Ron looked instantly relieved. 

"Right! Yeah. Okay," he blurted out too quickly, then turned away hastily. Harry swallowed, his hands suddenly feeling a little clammy, and was grateful for the distraction when one of the gnomes poked its head out of a nearby bush to snigger at one of the hens. The bird rustled its feathers in surprise and disappeared behind the house with a shriek. Satisfied, the gnome flashed its sharp little teeth at them but when neither Harry or Ron reacted it sighed , then slipped back into the greenery seemingly disappointed. 

After several minutes of silence, Ron suddenly began to chuckle to himself, and a familiar look passed across his face. 

"How about we tell them that Malfoy just had the hots for old Voldy?" he proposed, and Harry smiled gratefully.