Harry Potter A Donation

This is a rewrite of something I wrote almost two years ago!

I don't own anything.

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Guilt.

Tucked in somewhere between the feeling of complete and utter euphoria that he's done it, that he's defeated the darkest wizard of all time, Harry Potter can't help but feel guilt – not for the fact that he's survived and so many others have perished (that's repressed for now, because he doesn't think he could handle the fact that _Fred_ is dead) but for the fact that he hasn't really ever thanked the Weasleys for their taking care of him.

And so the happiness doesn't seem right to feel, for the Boy Who lived, because he _wouldn't_ have lived without a set of people, and these two people he owes more than almost anyone in the world. Thinking about it, Harry realises that he would never have made it without Mr and Mrs Weasley; they've been there for him every step of the way, helping and supporting him until the very end—and they were willing to give their lives to protect him. Since he met them at the age of twelve, he thinks that they've acted as though he's _their_ son as well, and guilt begins to wrack him, because what has he done to show his gratitude? All he's done is run off whenever he wants to, ignore their advice, and basically never show them how he considers them to be his family.

Only one thing comes to mind as to what could be even the beginning of showing this gratitude: money. It isn't anything compared to the love and kindness Molly and Arthur Weasley have shown him, but if he can do anything to show them that he appreciates everything they've done—a physical act, not just saying how much he appreciates it—then he'll do anything, give them whatever they want and need.

And so this is how Harry Potter finds himself walking down Diagon Alley three days after Voldemort's defeat, trying to avoid eye contact with the many hundreds of people down there, because he doesn't feel he can take more congratulations; whenever people congratulate him, there's a part of him that wants to scream _none of this was me! It was all Dumbledore and Snape and every other person who helped me!_ But, of course, he can't, and so it's simpler to move as hastily as possible towards Gringotts, the memory of the dragon making him smile as he mounts the steps.

"Mr Potter, if you would like to come this way," one of the goblins says to him as soon as his key has been verified, his tone indifferent to the identity of the man standing before him, "and Floriana will take you to your vault. Don't worry, the carts have been repaired since your last visit."

"Thank you," Harry replies, and follows the female goblin to the corridor which leads them towards the track on which their transport awaits.

The ride is relatively short – much shorter than the one to the Lestrange vault – and he's thankful for this, having begun to understand how much Hagrid despised the journey on their first visit together. Floriana waits by the door as Harry unlocks his vault himself, removing a bag from his pocket and murmuring an expansion charm spell, as well as lighting the end of his wand simultaneously.

Inside the vault, he finds his breath taken away from him as he marvels at the stacks of sickles, piles of galleons and mountains of knuts that await him; it's almost as though it's his first visit again, back when he was eleven years old. And yet the comparison with the Weasley vault is almost too much for him to bear; he can recall with vivid detail the way that Mrs Weasley scrounged around on the floor for every last coin, when his only issue is deciding which pile of coins to attack first.

Gritting his teeth, Harry leans over and begins stuffing in galleon after galleon, thankful at last for one of the many, previously believed to be pointless, spells Hermione has made him learn over the years.

~x~

Three hours later, Harry arrives at the Burrow, bag in hand, and he begins the walk up towards where the original building stood; in its place is a framework, a tent set up next door to it where he presumes the Weasley parents are staying, having declined all offers to stay in Hogwarts because of the memories of Fred, and that's his first stop.

Inside, Mrs Weasley is sitting at the table, her eyes distant and unseeing until she realises there's a visitor – and the visitor's identity. "Harry!" she says with a smile, standing up to give him a hug. "Ginny is just…she's in the garden with Percy, sorting some flowers out for…for the funeral. If you want, you can go through and see her?"

Harry shakes his head, setting the bag on the table with a soft thunk, the clinking of the coins inside making it obvious as to the bag's contents. "I actually came to see you and Mr Weasley," he says with a smile. "Can I sit down?" he continues, and the immediate answer is yes.

Within another minute or two, Mr Weasley is sitting alongside Molly, both of them curious as to why Harry has arrived with a bag full of money. "Now, I really, _really_ hope you don't take this the wrong way, as we all know I'm pretty bad with my words, but—I want you to have this," Harry begins, unsure how to say how he feels. "It's nothing compared to what you've given me over the years—the housing, food, company, love and everything else you've ever done for me—but it's the only way that I can begin to give you something back for the burden I was on you." He pushes the bag towards the two Weasleys sitting before him, yet neither of them move to take the bag.

With an astonished look, Molly turns to look at Arthur before back at Harry. "Harry, my dear, you have never been a burden on us," she says firmly, honesty ringing out in every syllable. "It has been a pleasure to look after you, to be able to help you when you needed it. You are part of the family, and you have been since Ron brought you with him from your house, when they used the car. You have always been a Weasley in our mind, and we—it has been a delight to have you in our lives."

Harry smiles again, yet shakes his head. "I've been a pain in the backside, causing you to move around, to have to live in Grimmauld Place, to…to…because of me, things happened that wouldn't have otherwise, and I'm sorry. But at least use this to rebuild the house, to try and get something back that you had before. Please; it's nothing much, and it doesn't reflect how much I respect, admire and love you, but it's the only thing I can think of."

Slowly, he pushes the bag towards Arthur and tips it slightly, to reveal the mounds of golden coins inside of it. "Harry, we _can't_!" Arthur insists, yet Harry, once again, shakes his head.

"Yes you can, and you will," he informs them both, his voice as firm as Molly's before. "If you don't…well…I am quite willing to have to use my new status to force you both to take it!" he threatens, and the three of them laugh. "More than that, if you don't take it, I'll resort to dark magic myself and put it in your bank account and refuse to let you remove it."

The tears in Molly's eyes aren't just because of Fred; she stands up once again to give Harry a hug, and whispers in his ear, "thank you, Harry. I can't thank you enough—for everything."

There's an awkward silence, and Harry doesn't know how to fill it, so he finds himself saying, "I'm really sorry, but I have to go help Professor McGonagall; she's still jabbering about the damage to her classroom, so I said I'd sort it out with Hermione's help. Can I come by for dinner later?"

And so with his conscience slightly settled, Harry leaves one home for another, and can't help but smile to himself: if they were shocked then, he can't wait to see what their faces are like when they see the first monthly instalment of gold into their bank account!

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Harry Potter, Friendship, Hurt-Comfort