Voldemort was laughing with amusement - and there was Wormtail! Beady eyes and twitchy demeanor, his teeth uneven and bucked as they'd been as Scabbers, his hands held up by his chest like paws, the nails dirty and overgrown, one finger missing.... and he was simpering, fearful, cowering, looking at something with a sort of terrified mixture of pity and horror... and Voldemort was laughing... louder and closer and closer until it felt like it was in the very room and with a start --

Harry sat up in bed in Ron's room in the Burrow. He was gasping for air again, just like the other night, and he felt sweat tickling his forehead, neck, and spine, his scar bristling with pain. His hand clapped to his forehead as he clutched it, sure it might break open and split at his very skull if he let it go.

Ron slept on in his bed, but upstairs in the attic, Harry could hear the ghoul moaning loudly and clanging against the pipes. Ron said the ghoul did that frequently. It was a sad, haunting sound, but the Weasleys all seemed quite used to it's melancholy tone. The whole house groaned and creaked, and Harry reckoned he knew why Ron was a heavy sleeper. Growing up in a place like the Burrow meant one had to be if one wished to sleep at all.

It was oddly comforting, Harry thought, like having a house that would sing you to sleep as a mother does a baby.

Sometimes, when Harry was feeling as melancholy as the ghoul in Ron's attic sounded, he closed his eyes and imagined his mother singing him, Harry, to sleep. Surely she would have done, when he was little, if she was alive... yeah? He wondered what her voice sounded like when she was not panicked as she had been in all the visions he had had of her. He wondered what songs she would have sung to him.

He couldn't sleep now, though, even with the house singing, because every time he closed his eyes the twitchy face of Peter Pettigrew swam in his mind and the sound of Voldemort's laughter. He pushed himself up on the mattress and rolled out of bed. There was a light rain pattering on the roof and he didn't dare climb out the window like he'd done the night before, though he would hav liked to - it had been so calming out there. Instead he decided to make a cup of tea.

He hoped Mrs. Weasley wouldn't mind as he snuck down the stairs quietly, carefully trying to remember the trick steps Ron had warned him about. Most of them creaked and he went very slow, terrified he might wake the other sleeping Weasleys or Hermione up, though he reckoned he might not have minded much if Hermione came downstairs, too. She would probably be very understanding and able to give him some advice for getting to sleep, though she would probably worry a great deal about what was going on that he was hearing Voldemort in his sleep. 

Harry knew he ought to write to Sirius again, but he hadn't heard back still about his scar and he didn't want to flood his godfather with owls.

The Weasley kitchen was dark, lit only by moonlight and a small everlasting fire in the hearth that had been turned down low, blocking off the access to the floo network for the night and casting an orange glow in the room. Harry could see all the herbs and roots hanging from the ceiling, the rows of cooking pans and ladles over the stove. Mrs. Weasley had a large bouquet of wild flowers in a vase on the sink, a tea towel folded over the wash board. There was a quiet hoo-ing and Harry saw Errol asleep on a perch by the back door, his feathers ruffling. Harry took the kettle carefully from the hearth and filled it with water, setting it back on and turning up the fire just a tiny bit with a poke of his wand. 

He was staring at the clock with the spoons that hung up on the wall and seeing all the spoons turned to HOME except for one spoon that had turned hard past HOME into an empty area beyond it that was unlabelled. Harry wandered over to the clock and looked carefully at it. The one spoon had a picture of a person who looked an awful lot like Ron or Percy, but a bit stockier, someone Harry had never met before. He squinted and saw a tiny little engraving read BILIUS. Harry recognized the name of Ron's uncle, who had seen the grim before he died, according to Ron's account in Divination nearly a year ago.

The back door suddenly opened and Harry spun about on the ball of his foot, drawing his wand instinctively, half expecting a Death Eater in one of those horrible masks like he'd seen at the World Cup, or else Peter Pettigrew...

But it wasn't either, it was Charlie Weasley, his freckles standing out extra in the moonlight, as though his skin glowed and his freckles didn't or something. Harry lowered his wand quickly as Charlie froze, turning 'round from the closed door and seeing Harry there. "Sorry," Harry said flatly. 

Charlie stared at Harry for a long moment, then his eyes darted to the clock and back to Harry. "You're looking at mum's clock," he said.

"Waiting for tea to boil," Harry explained. He pointed to the kettle in the hearth.

Charlie glanced at the kettle and said, "Oh that'll take forever," and he waved his wand and a second later the kettle sputtered. He conjured a couple tea cups and the water poured itself into the two cups. "Mind if I join you?"

"Not at all," Harry said. He hadn't known Charlie very long, but in the short time he had he knew that inviting himself to having a cup of tea with Harry was not characteristic of Charlie and that, if he was doing so, then there must be some reason for it. Harry glanced again at the clock, then went over and sat at the table, as Charlie sank down onto a chair and pulled off a hat he'd had on his head - a gorse colored button top flat cap. Charlie added milk and sugar and took up his tea cup and sipped it quickly, staring at Harry over the brim as Harry sat down opposite and put sugar into his tea.

"Milk?" Charlie asked.

"Not a drop," Harry answered and took a sip to test the sugar was properly done.

Charlie stared at the Weasley clock a moment, then, "Surprised she hasn't got a spoon on there for you yet. She will have before long, the way she talks about you."

"Oh but I don't live here," Harry said, though he wished he could. At least until Sirius got back and he could go live at his godfather's house.

"That won't stop her," Charlie said. "She's more protective over us kids than a Hungarian Horntail is over her eggs. The Horntail will go positively starkers if she thinks something's endangering her eggs, you know. When they're in the wild, mind, they build their nests high in the crags of rocky mountains where they're far less likely to have to defend their eggs. Their scales are extra hard to protect against the harsher air in high elevations like that and they prefer rocky habitats over some of the more luxurious ones they can be offered. The Horntail back at Fortescue's is ---"

"Fortescue's?" Harry cut in excitedly, "The ice cream parlor?"

Charlie stared at Harry for a long moment, then shook his head, "No, the - the dragon training academy where I go to uni."

Harry flushed. "Oh. Dragons and ice cream. Those are two things don't really go together." He couldn't picture the gentle man at the parlor in Diagon Alley anywhere near a dragon, now that he thought about it, and realized they must be two different Fortescues. "I mean, where would they even keep a dragon at in Diagon Alley," he chuckled.

"Gringott's," Charlie said. 

"No, I was just joking - I meant at the parlor," Harry said, then, added, furthering the joke, "I mean the dragon would eat all of the ice cream, probably."

"But Dragons don't care for ice cram," Charlie said.

Harry wondered if he'd ever tried giving an ice cream to a dragon. He considered asking but it didn't seem like Charlie Weasley knew exactly what to do with jokes. He wasn't pestered by them like Percy seemed to be, but he certainly didn't seem to entirely comprehend them, either. Harry marveled at the differences between the Weasley children - Bill with his badass demeanor, Charlie's wide-eyed literalness, Percy's sharp intelligence, the twins unending laughter, Ron's unconditional acceptance, and Ginny's strong boldness... Every one of them was a wholly different personality type. How had they all come from under one roof, with one set of parents? They were so diverse, yet there were similarities that ran through them all. Like Harry thought he could hear Ron's kindness and Ginny's strength in Charlie, and maybe see where Percy's sharp edges might mirror the literalness of Charlie...

It occurred to Harry that maybe all siblings were sort of little mirrors of each other and he wondered what he might've been like if he'd ever had a sibling of his own. What would his brother or sister have been like, if he'd had one? Would they have both been facets of James and Lily Potter, too, like the Weasleys were of Molly and Arthur? Harry felt the funniest sort of ache inside of himself, like he was missing someone that had never even existed.

Charlie focused on his tea.

Harry's eyes went back to that clock, to the spoons.

Charlie followed Harry's gaze. 

"Uncle Bil was really cool," Charlie said suddenly. "You would have liked him."

Harry looked to Charlie.

"I think he knew your dad," Charlie added. "He knew Sirius Black at least." There was a long pause. "Tonks says he's innocent, Sirius Black."

Harry stared at Charlie a long moment, then, "Yeah, I know he is." It felt good to say that outloud to someone who wasn't Ron and Hermione. They'd all been really careful not to say too much about Sirius Black, even when he came up, because Dumbledore hadn't told them what they were allowed to tell of the story to others and what they weren't and it was like walking on eggshells. All Harry wanted to do was scream that Sirius Black was innocent whenever Mr.s Wealsey made a remark about him staying safe because of Black still being At Large. But something about the way Charlie said it told Harry that it would be alright to acknowledge Sirius's innocence to him. Charlie seemed too honest a person to try to lie to, if that even made sense.

Charlie nodded, then, "Uncle Bil was my favorite. Bill always says our uncles Gideon and Fabian were the best but I always loved Uncle Bilius most. He lived with us, I suppose that's why, I was closest to him." Charlie shrugged. "He used to read my dragon book with me all the time, though, up in the attic room. He was friends with the ghoul."

"Friends with - with the ghoul?" Harry asked. 

Charlie nodded.

"I didn't know one could be friends with a ghoul," Harry said. Then again, Harry thought, he didn't know of any other ghouls. He'd always thought they were just fairy stories until he'd met Ron and heard about the one in their attic. He'd once thought magic and wizards and fairies and werewolves and dragons and the lot was all fairy stories too, though, so Harry was fairly open to learning new things about this world he'd been suddenly brought into.

"Usually not," Charlie said, "But Bil always said him and the ghoul missed a mutual friend and I reckon I don't know what he meant by that, but Uncle Bil lost a lot of friends in the war mum said, so I suppose it's something to do with that."

"Oh," Harry said. "That's sad."

"Yeah," Charlie said.

"Ron said he saw the grim... before he died?" 

"Loads of people said he was mad," Charlie admitted. "Uncle Bil used to even say he was sometimes. He drank a lot..." Charlie paused, remembering. "They said he was seeing things, that the grin wasn't real. I don't know. Uncle Bil didn't seem mad to me. But what would I know? I was only maybe nine or ten. But everyone made fun of him for being so scared of the Grim."

Harry remembered how scared he'd been the year before, when he thought he was seeing the grim everywhere. His grim had turned out to be Sirius, of course, but for awhile, he'd felt like he was going mad. Harry felt bad for Uncle Bilius, and he shifted in his seat.

"He was in hospital when he died,  because he insisted he'd seen it again, and mum and dad were worried about his mind, you know, and they brought him to Mungo's and he'd been there just a day or so when just... died... and with no reason for it, they never did figure out what happened, only that he died." Charlie stared at the cup of tea in his palms intently for a long time. He looked up at Harry. "People don't just die, though." He shrugged. "Bill tried looking into it more but a lot of the old medical records were destroyed by werewolves rights activities a few years ago." Charlie sipped his tea. Then, "Sorry, that was a rather sad way to start off the morning."

"S'alright," Harry murmured.

"What're you doing up anyway?" Charlie asked.

"Couldn't sleep," Harry shrugged. "The ghoul was moaning. You were outside?"

"A friend popped by real quick to say goodbye," Charlie explained. "I'm heading back to Romania later and she's got loads of work to do, so all our plans for today were sort of cancelled on account of what happened at the World Cup." He looked profoundly sad about this, and spun his cup in his palms as he spoke. "She's an auror so... like Dad said yesterday, there's a whole mess for the Ministry to clear up. I reckon Dad and Bill will be off soon, too."

Harry sighed, feeling a bit guilty since part of the mess had been his fault for dropping his wand at the World Cup. At least the Dark Mark had been partly his fault. What kind of wizard doesn't even notice when he hasn't got his wand with him as he's running for his life? Harry felt dumb.

Charlie sighed heavily.

There was a creak on the stairs and they both looked up to see Mrs. Weasley come into the kitchen carrying a large basket of laundry. She looked at the hearth and at the two boys at the table in surprise, putting the basket down on the table and looking between them questioningly.

Right behind her came trotting the eldest Weasley sibling, Bill, who caught sight of Charlie and Harry and grinned, "Yo-Ho! What are you lot doing up so early?"

"Tonks came 'round to say bye," Charlie answered, "And Harry couldn't sleep."

Bill looked interested in this. "Oh? Tonks did?"

"Yeah," Charlie said.

"You ought to have invited her for breakfast!" Mrs. Weasley lamented. She looked at the window over the sink as though expecting to see someone outside just waiting for the invitation to breakfast. 

"She had to get to work," Charlie answered.

"She could have had time to have a quick nip!"

Charlie flushed and shook his head, "She had to go mum."

"She's probably got a stack as tall as she is waiting for her," Bill commented. "Not that it's hard, seeing what a munchkin she is." He grinned evilly.

Charlie rolled his eyes, "She'd hex you for that."

Bill grinned.

"She still has to eat! However busy she is," Mrs. Weasley debated, "And it would have been the proper thing to do! You could have had a nice chat and done some catching up..." her eyes looked wistful.

"Yeah, Charlie," Bill teased, "Mum wants you to make it official with your girlfriend."

"She's not my girlfriend," Charile said, glaring at Bill. "You know she's not my girlfriend, don't be an - an - Assstralian Ashwinder!" Charlie caught himself. He'd been about to say ass but Mrs. Weasley had given him The Look and he'd twisted the word quickly.

"What kind of dragon is that?" Bill snorted, "An Asstralian Ashwinder?"

"William!"

Bill grinned. "Sorry mum, Charlie said it first, I was just asking a question about this newly discovered Ozzy Bum dragon!"

Harry couldn't help himself but laugh at this, staring down at his tea because he couldn't bear to see it if Mrs. Weasley glared at him for it.

Mrs. Weasley shook her head in high disapproval, "At this rate, I'll never have grandchildren!" she sighed and plucked the laundry basket up, bracing it against her hip again, not seeing how pink about the face Charlie had gone as Bill laughed at him, and she turned to Harry, "Good morning Harry, dear, are you ready to go to Hogwarts today?"

Harry nodded, "Yes, very much ready," he said.

She clucked at Bill who was still laughing, then turned and gently patted the top of Harry's head. "Let me just get this wash started and I'll get you boys some breakfast - you're all looking a bit peaky and could do with some energy, I reckon! Merlin knows you've all got big days today!" and she bustled out of the kitchen.

Harry looked at Charlie, who was still flushed. "Alright, Charlie?" he asked.

Charlie shook his head.

Bill grinned, waving his wand and producing his own cup of tea as he sat down at the table. He elbowed Charlie playfully. "Mothers. Honestly. Am I right?"

"Shut up, Bill."