"You have a lot of nerve, summoning me here," huffed Lucius Malfoy, his voice thick with disdain. "Do you realize what it would mean if the Dark Lord were to notice my absence?"
"Does he notice you anymore?" asked Harry. "I was under the impression that he doesn't exactly ask you around for tea these days."
Lucius glared at Harry from across a wooden table that the younger wizard had conjured – along with two chairs – before the Death Eater arrived. They sat under the moon in a field of tall weeds that was surrounded by trees on all sides. Harry had forgone his last dose of Polyjuice Potion and did not wear his usual disguise.
Malfoy looked as if he wanted to retort, but his eyes shifted to Kreacher, who stood a few feet away. Harry smiled. Lucius could not pretend to have regained Lord Voldemort's favor when the wandless, demoted Death Eater had needed to rely on a house-elf for transportation to the meeting.
"Things could easily change," said Lucius, lowering his voice into a cold and threatening tone. "If I were to bring you back to the Dark Lord, all of my past failures would surely be erased and I could retake my rightful place at my master's side. He would reward me above all others for such service – my family name would be restored; my wife would be safe. I would be given a wand."
Malfoy leered greedily at Harry, who stared back for several silent moments. Harry remembered Hermione's words of warning; she hadn't wanted him to meet Lucius alone.
"You're probably right," Harry admitted with a shrug. "You could get a lot for turning me in . . . but you won't do it."
"You presume too much, Potter." Lucius placed his hands upon the table and leaned across it, his narrowed eyes stopping just inches from Harry's own. "What would you say, I wonder, if I told you there were fifty Death Eaters in these woods tonight?"
The World I Leave Behind
Chapter Nine: The Ghost at the Confessional
Harry sighed.
"Do you have a point, Lucius? If not, then we should get started. We both know that you haven't told anyone you were coming to meet me, so drop the act."
Lucius fell back into his chair and folded his arms.
"Don't think I didn't consider it."
Harry ignored this.
"What's been going on at Hogwarts? What can you tell me?"
Lucius gave Harry one last contemptuous look before he answered.
"I take it you have heard about Gawain Robards, the head of the Auror office?"
Harry slumped back in his chair, grimaced, and nodded. The night air seemed to cool several degrees as he recalled the news that Bill had brought to the Burrow the day before: Robards – along with his wife and two daughters – had been killed in their family home. Worse, another Harry Potter imposter had committed the murder. As with the original 'Potter' attacks, the explosion had left nothing of the killer or his victims. When Ron was told, Hermione had to stop him from charging off to Hogwarts to face the Death Eaters in a fit of blind fury. Ginny's reaction was even worse. Harry had sat helplessly downstairs while Mr. and Mrs. Weasley tried to calm Ginny in her room. Every one of the muffled, angry screams that came down the steps had twisted into Harry like a dull knife.
"What's he playing at?" spat Harry. "Dressing up Death Eaters like me and sending them out to –"
"Death Eaters?" repeated Lucius, raising his eyebrows. "Why would the Dark Lord waste loyal Death Eaters on suicide missions when so many other willing – or perhaps I should say unwilling – volunteers are close at hand?"
Harry stared at Lucius, and then felt a brick drop into his stomach.
"Students . . ." Harry whispered. "Imperiused . . ."
Lucius said no more, but clasped his hands on the table and sat patiently as Harry absorbed the horrible truth. Harry could not tell if Malfoy was bothered by the use of underage witches and wizards as human bombs, but the Death Eater was clearly enjoying the effect his information had produced.
Harry absently rubbed his forehead as he began to feel sick. Had any of Voldemort's sacrifices been someone Harry had known?
"Who . . ."
"I do not know."
Harry took a deep breath and went on. "Why Robards? Why now?"
"After following Death Eater orders for months, I hear that the man lost his nerve. Too many Muggle killings for his weak stomach, I think. Robards could have been controlled of course, but the Dark Lord prefers his Ministry officials to be more loyal than the strength of an Imperius Curse. And when Robards became a liability, I believe that the Dark Lord used the execution as an opportunity to remind the wizarding world that to approach someone wearing the face of Harry Potter is to risk death."
Anger began to flare within Harry, but then he realized something.
"Wait . . . he knows that I haven't already told the Order I'm alive?"
"Well, he did see you escape the castle with the Mudblood, Granger. But yes, other than her, the Dark Lord believes you to be alone. If he did not, there would be no need for him to keep your continued existence a secret from the other Death Eaters, who still do not know it was Harry Potter they chased through the storm when you fled the castle."
"But how would he know that I haven't told . . ." mused Harry, and then something else clicked into place.
"The spy," he said, checking Lucius's face for confirmation. "He still has a spy reporting to him from within the Order."
"I would not know," said Lucius, who looked indifferent. "Such a matter is above my stature."
He gave a sigh of longing and seemed wistful for the days when he would have been privy to such high-level information. This further reminded Harry that he was not dealing with a friend, but a Death Eater. Despite the symbiotic relationship they had shared during Harry's year of imprisonment, Lucius had always been a cruel, ruthless opportunist who did whatever it took reach his goals. With a nearly uncontainable surge of hatred for the man, Harry remembered that it was Malfoy who had marred Ginny's first year at school by planting Tom Riddle's diary on her, an act that had nearly resulted in her death.
"Give me something I can use," Harry said with his fists clenched. "I know you, Lucius – you've always got your eyes open, looking for anything that can be turned to your advantage. You must have seen something . . ."
"Perhaps," said Lucius, with an exaggerated lack of interest. "Perhaps not. But you tell me something, Potter. I've been dying to know: how did you escape the Chamber of Secrets?"
Harry, his temper barely in check, simply stared at Malfoy, who stared back. Suddenly, Harry felt an unnerving tug at his mind. Recognizing the attempt at Legilimency, he quickly cast about for thoughts unrelated to the secret of his new powers. Lucius frowned as he sifted through a barrage of random images, and then gave an incredulous laugh.
"The Weasley girl?" He asked in a mocking tone. "Really Potter, with a world of witches willing to hike up their skirts for the 'Chosen One,' you settled for the dirt-poor daughter of a disgraced wizard? What, did Arthur Weasley trade her to you for more Muggle rubbish?"
Lucius closed his eyes in laughter, but upon returning his gaze to Harry, he abruptly fell silent. Harry burned with such rage that he felt he might explode. Angry heat radiated off him in visible waves, and the table shook as if it were about to be blown to bits. Lucius gaped at Harry as if he were seeing him for the first time.
"I could make you tell me what I want to know," Harry growled, "but I would rather keep you in one piece so that I can use you in the future. You gave Draco your word that you would help me; are you going to keep your promise or not?"
"I kept my word," shouted Lucius, who – at the mention of his late son's name – was no longer cowed. "I kept you fed and tended to your wounds; I kept you alive for an entire year –"
"Draco said to help me as long as I kept fighting; for you to pay off the life debt he owed me."
"What do you expect of me?" Lucius yelled, raising his voice even higher. "With you gone, they have me assisting the school caretaker! What can I tell you? That a Ravenclaw boy was whipped for landing a Fanged Frisbee on top of the greenhouse? That someone set off Dungbombs in the owlery?"
Lucius had leapt to his feet during the outburst, but Harry remained seated and stony faced.
"I thought it would come to this," he said. "Kreacher, could you get it now, please?"
"Yes, master Harry," croaked the old house-elf in his deep bullfrog voice. "Kreacher will bring it to you without delay." With a bow and a crack, he vanished.
Harry and Lucius continued to glare at one another, and after a few seconds, Malfoy fell back into his chair with a grunt and once again folded his arms.
With a second loud crack, Kreacher reappeared. He stood next to a large pine box, his head barely visible above the wild weeds.
Lucius paled as his eyes fell upon the casket.
"What is this?" he demanded in a whisper.
"Something to help you remember your promise."
Harry remained seated as Lucius hesitantly rose to his feet and slowly made his way to where the house-elf stood. Kreacher backed away and returned to Harry's side. When Lucius reached the coffin, he paused for several moments before carefully sliding off the lid.
With one glance inside he fell to his knees and gasped. Harry looked away. Despite the anger that he felt toward Lucius, it wasn't easy to watch a father discover the mutilated remains of his only child. Harry heard another quick intake of breath and knew that Lucius had found the broken body that lay beneath Draco's burial robes.
"What . . ." Lucius began before pausing to clear his throat. "What have you done to him?"
"He was in worse shape before Arthur Weasley found him," Harry said, mercilessly. It was important that Lucius understand exactly what Lord Voldemort had done. "Your master had somehow altered the body to look like me, and he hung it up in the middle of Diagon Alley for everyone to see. And, well, you can see what he did to it. Mr. Weasley tried his best to repair it, but the damage was done by powerful curses."
Harry paused to let the image of Draco's ruined body, strung up before a crowd of gawkers, sink in. After several silent minutes, he went on.
"I'm asking you to help me, so I'm giving you something in return. I brought Draco here so that you could give him a proper burial. He deserves that . . . not to be left to rest in secret under a mislabeled headstone."
Lucius did not immediately respond, but continued to stare into his son's casket as more quiet moments stretched on. When he finally spoke, his voice sounded hollow, defeated.
"More . . . more Death Eaters come to the school every week . . ."
"So I've heard," said Harry. Lucius did not acknowledge the interruption.
"They gather in stages; by the thirteenth, every Death Eater is supposed to be there."
"The thirteenth?" asked Harry, his curiosity piqued. "What happens then?"
"I don't know. Something big, I think. It is unusual for the Dark Lord to rally all of his supporters at once."
Harry's heart began to race as his mind spun into action. Was Voldemort ready to take his final step toward eternal life? Could his new scheme to achieve immortality, whatever it was, be planned for the thirteenth? It would fit, Harry reasoned, that Voldemort would want a full audience to witness him achieve ultimate power at last. If this was his plan, it left Harry with little more than a week to stop him . . . little more than a week to live.
"There is . . . one other thing," Lucius continued. "He is rounding up all of the Muggle-born children and bringing them back to Hogwarts."
"What?" asked Harry. "I thought only pure-bloods were allowed at school now – didn't he run the Muggle-borns out of the country, or else lock them all up?"
"I do not pretend to understand the Dark Lord's motives; I only know that the children began to arrive a few days ago. Groups of Snatchers were sent out to comb the country for those in hiding; some Death Eaters have even gone abroad to search."
Harry let the information sink in. He could not imagine what it meant, but it was troubling news since Lord Voldemort had as little regard for the lives of Muggle-borns as he had for Muggles.
"Is that everything?" Harry asked.
Lucius took a deep breath, closed his son's coffin, and labored to his feet.
"Yes . . . yes, that is all." He sighed. "I will inform you of any other developments."
"Use Kreacher," Harry suggested. "If you have anything for me, call for him and he'll come to you. Tell him what you know and he can pass it on to me." Harry turned toward the house-elf. "Is that okay, Kreacher?"
"Yes, master. Kreacher is honored to serve in any way he can."
"Thanks," said Harry. "Can you take Lucius someplace to leave the casket before you bring him back to Hogwarts?"
"Of course, master – whatever you wish."
Kreacher went to stand next to Malfoy, who – even though drained and docile – eyed the elf with disgust.
"I would like to leave Draco with his mother at our home, Malfoy Manor," Lucius said to Harry, refusing to address Kreacher. "She can see to him without anyone knowing."
Kreacher placed one hand upon the pine box and held his other out to Lucius.
"Just one more thing, Lucius," said Harry. "If something happens to me . . . I want you to continue passing information to Hermione Granger."
"Work with the Mudblood," sighed Lucius, looking as if nothing mattered anymore. "Why not."
"Thank you," Harry said. And with a nod to Kreacher, Lucius, the house-elf, and Draco's remains were gone.
* * * * * * *
Once again under the effect of Polyjuice Potion, Harry Apparated just outside the Burrow's protective enchantments with the faintest pop. The myriad charms and wards were nearly as strong as they had been before the Dementors brought them down, due to the tireless work Bill had put in during the two days since the attack.
Harry gave a sigh and smiled faintly. Although he hadn't been gone for long, returning to the Burrow always felt like coming home. He glimpsed a silhouette in a downstairs window and knew that Hermione had seen his arrival; she had told him that she would stay up until he was safely back.
Harry felt the faintest tingle as he walked through the Burrow's magical protections, which had been built to allow all of the house's occupants through. Harry had been pleased that Bill included him among those trusted to come and go, although it might not have mattered since – for reasons that remained a mystery – the original charms failed to keep Harry out before.
Harry quietly walked behind the house and found Hermione holding the back door open for him. She wore a relieved smile and wordlessly beckoned him to follow her to the kitchen table, where a steaming mug sat before a chair that had been pushed back.
"I just made hot chocolate," she whispered. "Would you like some?"
"Um, sure . . . thanks," said Harry, and he took a seat. He rubbed his eyes wearily, and then pulled out his wand – which he had hastily retrieved from Percy after having been caught without it against the Dementors – and laid it on the table. Hermione quickly joined him with a second mug.
"So," she said, leaning forward to whisper again. "What happened? I've been worried sick."
After a long, warming gulp from his cup, Harry recounted his entire meeting with Lucius. Hermione was alarmed to hear of the unprecedented gathering of Death Eaters that was set to take place in several days, and was just as perplexed as Harry by Voldemort's order to bring underage Muggle-born witches and wizards back to the school. But her greatest shock came when she heard that students – under Death Eater control – had committed the suicide attacks. Hermione gasped and covered her mouth with her hand, and Harry felt a fresh wave of nausea upon seeing her stricken face.
"Oh my God, Harry . . . w-what if one of the Imperiused attackers was someone we know? After You-Know-Who took control of Hogwarts, the Death Eaters rounded up every underage witch and wizard they could find and forced them back to school. Luna and Neville are there . . ."
"What?" said Harry, nearly knocking over his hot chocolate.
"Ron told me. The last time anyone saw Luna, she had gone to get some things from her house. Everyone had just fled the battle at Hogwarts; it was chaos. Neville wouldn't let Luna go alone, so he went with her . . . and they disappeared. Professor McGonagall is fairly certain that she saw them at Hogwarts while she was there, but she can't remember any other details; the Imperius curse that You-Know-Who put on her was too strong." Hermione took in a shaky breath. "They would have graduated by now, but, well . . . no one has left Hogwarts since the Death Eaters took over . . ."
Harry's blank gaze drifted to the table as he considered the terrifying possibilities of Hermione's news. Why hadn't he thought to ask about Neville and Luna before? Had he been so focused on his own troubles that he completely forgot his friends? A twinge of guilt mixed in with his fear as he saw them clearly in his mind.
Luna was so honest and unfiltered that one of her candid observations could easily rile a Death Eater, and Neville previously caused so much trouble for the Carrows while at Hogwarts that he had been forced to flee to the Room of Requirement . . .
"They'll be all right," Harry muttered, more to convince himself than Hermione. "Luna's smart and Neville's tough, and they've been in bad spots before."
Hermione nodded but said nothing; her watery eyes were fixed on the mug in her hands. The room remained silent for several minutes before Harry – casting about for a way to lessen the tightening in his chest – asked about Hermione's day. The tension eased as they settled into chitchat about the day's many mundane events. Harry even chuckled a little when he heard of a particularly clever prank that George had pulled on Seamus. Things were just starting to feel normal again when . . .
"Oh!"
Harry followed the startled sound to the doorway and felt as if he had been simultaneously stunned and confounded. Ginny stood there wearing nothing but a white, oversized tee shirt, with her long, disheveled hair draped over her shoulders. Although she revealed no more skin than she did when wearing her summer clothes, Harry's face heated up instantly and he felt conflicting impulses to both stare at her and look away. He barely had enough presence of mind to lay his arm on the table to cover his wand, which he could not be sure Ginny wouldn't recognize.
"Hi, Hermione . . . James," said Ginny. With an awkward glance at Harry, she folded her arms across her chest. "What are you two doing up so late?"
"I couldn't sleep," replied Hermione, which is what Harry had intended to say before he found his voice missing. "How about you?"
Ginny shrugged.
"I woke up thirsty and thought I'd have a drink of water."
There was an uneasy moment in which Harry kept his eyes glued to the table, but he looked up when he heard the soft patter of Ginny's bare feet as she crossed the room, collected a glass, and began to fill it at the sink. With her back turned to him, Harry could not stop himself from admiring her legs.
"Ouch!"
Hermione spilled some hot chocolate as she quickly lowered her mug to the table and then fanned her hands in the air. A heartbeat later, Harry released his mug as it burned him, and he looked down to find its contents boiling.
"Are you all right, Hermione?" asked Ginny. "Did you make it too hot?"
Harry looked into Hermione's face and was confused to find her trying – and failing – to hold back a smile as she returned his gaze.
"I'm . . . I'm all ri –"
But before she could say any more, a most un-Hermione-ish giggle broke through her words. She clasped a hand over her mouth and continued to look at Harry with eyes that had narrowed in apparent mirth. Ginny followed Hermione's stare and, upon seeing Harry, raised her eyebrows and quickly turned away.
"Well, good night," said Ginny, and she hurriedly took her glass from the room.
Hermione looked determinedly away from Harry as she placed her other hand over the first in an increasingly desperate effort to smother her laughter. When they finally heard Ginny climb the stairs and shut her bedroom door, Hermione let slip a snort between her fingers that caused her to blush in embarrassment.
"What?" Harry demanded in a whisper. The looks he had received made him feel extremely self-conscious. Annoying him further, it took Hermione a minute to suppress her giggles enough to speak.
"I'm s-sorry, but your . . . your f-face," she said with difficulty.
Harry turned toward the kitchen window and caught a glimpse of his reflection – his face was so flushed that he appeared to have very bad sunburn. If he didn't feel so humiliated, Harry might have found his complexion as amusing as Hermione.
"I take it you approve of Ginny's nightclothes?" teased Hermione as she wiped away tears of repressed laughter.
Harry felt his face burn even hotter as he crossed his arms and looked away, irritated.
"I suppose that I should avoid drinking anything near you when she's showing a bit of skin," Hermione chuckled. She pulled out her wand to clean the magically heated liquid from the table.
"It wasn't that," snapped Harry.
"Oh, come on, Harry – I didn't mean to laugh. Ginny is a very pretty girl and you're crazy about her; there's nothing wrong with –"
"It was the shirt," Harry protested. "Not the . . . not the other bits." This was largely untrue, but Harry's embarrassment would not allow him to agree with anything Hermione said while she looked so smug.
Hermione gave him a look of disbelief.
"The shirt got you so heated up that you boiled my hot chocolate?"
"No, it's just . . . that was my shirt. I mean, it used to be."
Against his will, Harry felt a swell of pride as he thought of Ginny covered in something that was once his; it was as if his claim to her were still there, although Harry knew he had no right to think so. He thought back to the pains he had received at seeing the many small touches between Dean and Ginny, and the monster inside Harry gave a vengeful roar.
"That huge shirt was yours?"
"Well, it was Dudley's first."
Hermione's smile slid away and Harry turned his attention to his mug, tentatively touching it to see if it had cooled. He could feel her eyes upon him and sensed the mood in the room shift from amusement to pity. Harry didn't know which he liked less.
"Harry . . ."
Hermione adopted the soft, pleading tone that she so often used in her attempts to persuade him to reveal his true identity to Ginny and Ron. Harry shifted uncomfortably in his seat.
"Didn't I tell you?" she pressed on. "Haven't I said it all along? Ginny still hasn't gotten over you, Harry. Don't you think –"
"I said that I would consider it, Hermione. I just . . . I haven't figured out the right time, or . . . or the right way."
"You're stalling, Harry. Why not tell her now?"
"Now?" said Harry, in a much louder voice than he had intended.
"We can go up to her room together; I can help you explain. I could wake up Ron, too. Since everyone else is asleep, now would be a good time."
Harry's determination to keep the truth hidden had weakened to such a degree that a part of him was suddenly ready to stand, climb the stairs, and knock on Ginny's door. He was so close to considering it that he felt a rush of adrenalin and it suddenly became hard to breathe.
Hermione seemed to sense that Harry was closer to giving in than ever before, because her eyes grew wide with excitement and she leaned forward to place both hands over one of his on the table.
"It would mean so much to them, Harry," she begged. "Especially after what happened yesterday."
She had said the wrong thing. The memory of Ginny's reaction to the new "Potter" killings sobered Harry instantly. It had deeply wounded him that he had – however remotely or inadvertently – been involved with something that caused Ginny so much anguish. If the mere mention of his name could still cause that kind of a reaction more than a year after his death, he could do much more harm by picking at the wound, especially when it seemed that – with Voldemort's plan about to be put into action – Harry was down to his last few days.
He let out a deep breath and pulled his hand out from under Hermione's.
"No . . . I don't think now is a good time."
"Harry –"
"No, I'm sorry, but that's my final word on it for tonight." Harry grabbed his wand from the table and stood. "We should both get a little sleep before everyone is up. Goodnight, Hermione."
Before Hermione could argue, Harry exited the kitchen.
* * * * * * *
Harry traded his early-morning training for a lie in, but still managed only a couple hours of sleep before he rose for breakfast. He had just begun to dream, and his waking pulled him from the beginnings of a favorite recurring vision of soft skin, flaming hair, and warm, sweet-smelling breath. He took his time getting dressed, clinging to the fading fragments of the dream despite the fact that they caused a pang of guilt somewhere in his stomach.
After taking the day's first hated dose of Polyjuice Potion, Harry left his tent and joined the others inside the house. He was late to breakfast and felt Hermione's piercing stare as he filled his plate. Harry wasn't ready to endure her continued efforts to persuade him, so he spent his meal chatting animatedly with Ron about Quidditch and did not give her a chance to speak to him alone.
Harry avoided Ginny, as well. When at one point their eyes met, he quickly looked away, embarrassed.
After eating, Harry helped George de-gnome the garden and then continued to find ways to stay out of Hermione's reach as the morning wore on. Just as he ran out of distractions and Hermione appeared to have him cornered, Fleur flooed over from Shell Cottage and caused Harry to momentarily forget that he was on the run. It wasn't the part-Veela's silvery blonde hair or radiant smile that distracted him, however; it was the bundle in her arms.
"Fleur . . . had a baby?" Harry whispered to Hermione, who had caught up with him at last.
"A girl," said Hermione with a smile, and she paused her pursuit to watch the child as Fleur stepped from the fireplace to receive hugs and greetings from a gathering of family and friends. "Her name is Victoire; she's about a year old."
"How am I just finding out about this?" Harry chuckled. He found it amazing that the worst year of his life had produced something so wonderful.
"Well, you hardly talk to anyone, do you?" said Hermione in a mildly scolding tone. "I only just found out myself; Ron is still catching me up on everything I missed."
Fleur turned her beaming face toward Hermione, who stepped forward to receive a one-armed hug.
"'Ermione!" shouted Fleur. "Eet is so wonderful to see you! I 'ave been meening to come visit ever since Bill told me you had returned, but eet is difficult to leave ze cottage with so many guests to tend to and Victoire to care for . . ."
"She's beautiful," said Hermione, who smiled brightly at the child.
"Would you like to hold 'er?" asked Fleur, who did not wait for an answer before extending Victoire toward Hermione. "I could use a moment to put zis away." Fleur glanced at a large bag that rested at her feet.
Hermione seemed a bit nervous, but pleased as she took the baby into her arms. As Fleur began to busy herself with her bag, Harry stepped forward to get a better look at Victoire. She was glorious. Already, it seemed apparent that she had inherited her mother's beauty. Her wide, searching eyes found Harry, and she gave him a little smile that won him over instantly.
"I do not believe we 'ave met," said Fleur, who extended her hand to Harry. He shook it.
"I'm James," he said. "It's great to meet you."
"Fleur!" said Bill, who had just made his way over to them. "I didn't think you were supposed to get here until later this afternoon." He did not wait for an answer before taking his wife in his arms and kissing her. Harry looked away as, for a moment, the two of them seemed to forget that others were present.
"Poppy and Minerva offered to take care of zings so I could come early," said Fleur after emerging for air. "You 'ave been here for days, and I could not wait a minute longer."
Bill beamed at her, placed another quick kiss upon her lips, then turned to Hermione and took his daughter.
"C'mere, squirt," he said, and Victoire squealed with delight as she was brought to her father's chest. Bill doted over her while Fleur watched them both with great affection, and the family portrait was complete.
An unexpected surge of emotion caught Harry by surprise as he continued to watch them, and at that moment, he considered Bill to be the luckiest man in the world. Harry's spirits dipped, however, as he thought of Teddy Lupin – Harry would die having never met his godson. And Harry's happy reprieve came to a complete end when he remembered another child – a boy that had never existed, but for whom Harry grieved nonetheless.
Mrs. Weasley stole her granddaughter away from Bill, and she and Mr. Weasley wore wide, proud smiles as they ushered Bill and Fleur into the kitchen. Their group had captured Harry's attention so completely that he failed to notice he had been left alone with Hermione.
"I know that you're trying to avoid me right now," she whispered beside him, "but I've got something that I know you'll want to hear."
Harry came back to his senses and eyed her suspiciously.
"After last night, I wondered if any more of your old things might still be here somewhere. I asked Ron about it just before breakfast, and as it turns out, they did save quite a few of your possessions, Harry – including the Invisibility Cloak."
Harry was instantly at full attention. He had often thought of the cloak and how it might aid him in the task that lay ahead, but had written the item off as being lost for good.
"Where –"
"In the attic. According to Ron, no one ever goes up there. It . . . seemed to be a bit of a sore point. He didn't want to talk about it much."
Harry thought for a moment.
"Thanks, Hermione. The cloak could come in really useful. I suppose that it shouldn't be too difficult for me to slip up there and take it while everyone is having lunch." Harry nodded to himself and then cast a sideways glance at Hermione.
"Is . . . that all?"
Hermione sighed and took his hand.
"I'm not going to lecture you anymore, Harry. All I ask is this: take today and really consider what I've said. I know that telling them your secret won't be easy, but you know that it's the right thing to do – and you always do the right thing in the end. Get away from everyone for a little while and just think it over – you can use the cloak. With so many people here and so much going on, you should be able to disappear for an hour or two. I won't bother you. And then, tonight, let's talk again in your tent. All right?"
Harry deflated. He had fortified himself against her usual frustrated attack, and her softer approach disarmed him. What's more, her suggestion made perfect sense, and he could not deny that had already put off making the decision for too long.
"Yeah," he relented. "All right. Thanks, Hermione."
She gave his hand a squeeze and then left him to his thoughts.
* * * * * * *
With everyone busy downstairs at lunchtime, it was easy for Harry to sneak up to the attic under the pretense of visiting the bathroom. Holding his breath against the stench of the ghoul that slumbered there, Harry quickly found his effects – which mostly consisted of the odd shirt or sock that had been lost in the laundry – took his Invisibility Cloak, and raced from the room.
Harry spent most of the day under his cloak. He put in the occasional appearance so as not to arouse suspicion, but would quickly return to the solitude that invisibility gave him. He spent hours wandering the far corners of the Weasleys' land, or else watched others in secret. The total anonymity allowed him a kind of heightened objectivity; he witnessed people go about their lives as if he were already gone, a ghost watching from the world beyond.
His heart warmed with a kind of pride as he observed his two best friends together. Harry rarely saw Ron and Hermione bicker anymore, who instead seemed to bring each other to life simply by sitting together, talking, or holding hands. Had he not cared for them so much, Harry could not have withstood his envy. He tortured himself over the impossible position he had put Hermione in, and for letting Ron – who was like a brother – believe him dead. But Harry knew, at least, that they would be okay because they had each other.
It was much harder for Harry to justify his actions while he watched Ginny. And now that he could finally gaze at her with impunity, he found it difficult to look at her for long. He often caught Ginny staring off at nothing, absorbed in her private thoughts, while others talked animatedly around her. She hid her disinterest well, however, somehow knowing to speak when the conversation called for it so as not to draw attention.
The only time that Ginny truly seemed present was when she was handed Victoire, whom Harry suddenly realized was her niece. 'Auntie Ginny' – Harry was simultaneously amazed and amused to think of her that way – laughed, cooed, and giggled as she played with the child. Dean joined them on the sofa and pulled funny faces, which Victoire responded to with enthusiastic sounds of approval. As the three of them laughed and played, Harry was reminded of the familial scene that had struck him so powerfully when Bill and Fleur held Victoire. He avoided Ginny from then on.
Whether hidden among a crowd or strolling alone by the trees, Harry thought in circles about his options. The problem was that he didn't trust the part of him that argued for telling Ginny and Ron the truth, because he could not be sure that he wasn't putting his own wishes ahead of what was best for them. And despite his many reservations, Harry desperately craved the comfort that Ginny and Ron could give him.
Before Harry knew it, night began to fall. He put in a quick appearance at dinner, then donned the cloak again and went back outside. As he walked, he let his last dose of Polyjuice Potion expire and enjoyed the extra freedom that came with being in his own skin.
Harry wandered aimlessly and his feet carried him to a place that he had thus far avoided: his grave. Before emptying it of Draco's casket the night before, Harry had not visited the spot since his first night back. Then, he had come to pay his respects to Fred, whose final resting place was next to his own. Harry had felt it important to see the place where Fred's body was buried, although he hadn't experienced the grief that would normally accompany such a visit. Using the Resurrection Stone, Harry had frequently talked to Fred for an entire year while imprisoned in the Chamber of Secrets, and knew him to be happy and at peace. Harry only wished that the Weasleys did not have to endure such a loss.
Thinking of Mr. Weasley, Mrs. Weasley, and especially George, Harry re-read the inscription on Fred's headstone:
Blessed is he who lives a joyous life, and blessed are those who share his joy.
With a heavy heart, Harry turned his eyes to the passage written on his own headstone:
Neither time nor parting can conquer love, nor halt the beating of a brave heart.
The words left his throat dry and his eyes wet, just as they had done when Harry first read them. He wondered who had chosen them.
It was much more difficult for him to look at his own grave. It meant everything to Harry that the Weasleys had intended to bury him at the Burrow as if he were one of them, a true member of the best and only real family he had ever known. But if all went according to plan, he would not be placed there when he finally met his end. Upon taking Voldemort's Killing Curse, Harry would leave his body in the care of the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters. Under such circumstances, the best he could hope for was an unmarked grave far away from family and friends.
Harry shuddered, and for the first time noticed a slight chill in the night air.
His morbid musings were interrupted by distant sounds of movement, and he spun around to spot someone exiting the back door of the Burrow. The soft yellow light that poured out of the house and onto the backyard framed the shadowed figure, which moved to a group of trees, stooped for a minute as if picking something up, and then continued walking. With a start, Harry realized it was Ginny. And then, with an even greater jolt, he noticed that she was walking directly toward him.
As she came near, Harry silently shifted behind his headstone, as if putting it between them afforded him extra protection. Ginny approached slowly, her solemn face fixed on the grave. She wore a light jacket and held a collection of wildflowers. Harry froze as she stopped mere inches in front of him and then knelt to lay her flowers before the headstone at his feet. She brushed her hands on her jeans and remained seated on the ground.
A minute stretched by in which Harry hardly dared to breathe. He clenched the opening of his cloak closed as it rippled in the night breeze, its ends fluttering around the sides of the headstone within Ginny's reach. She sat motionless under a sea of stars and a night sky painted purple by the full moon.
When her voice broke the silence, Harry's tightly wound nerves nearly made him cry out in alarm.
"Hello, Harry."
He felt a thrill of fear and longing at hearing his name leave her lips.
"I'm sorry that it's been so long since I last came by to chat; things have been, well . . ." Ginny gave a halfhearted chuckle and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. She took a deep breath.
"Happy late birthday."
Contrary to her words, Ginny suddenly appeared despondent. She cast her eyes aimlessly about the ground around her, wiped her cheek, and then spent several minutes plucking weeds from the base of the headstone. When she eventually spoke again, her voice held no emotion.
"Hermione came back. I don't know that I'll ever be able to fully forgive her for what she did to Ron by leaving, but, well . . . I suppose that I did miss her, and I know how much she meant to you. And in spite of everything going on in the world, I've never seen Ron so happy. They finally got together, can you believe it?"
"And Ron killed the snake!" Ginny's face came alive again, as if she only just remembered the exciting news. "All of the Horcruxes are finally gone, and as soon as Bill and the others come up with a plan, we'll finish Voldemort for good and . . . and you can rest in peace." Her enthusiasm melted away and she reached out a finger to trace the inscription on the stone.
"I . . . I saw mum crying last night. She was talking to dad in their room as I walked past, and the door was cracked open. She's worried about me. Well, she has been for a while now, but I guess things have been a bit harder lately." Ginny sighed.
"I just get so angry sometimes – at the Death Eaters, my family, myself . . . and once in a while . . . at you. It's just . . . at times I feel so alone and it can be very hard not to . . . not to hate you for leaving me behind. I know that you didn't want any of this, but still . . ."
When Ginny could not find the right words to go on, she leaned forward to rest her forehead against the gravestone. Harry listened to the soft rhythm of her breathing for several silent minutes, and then she sniffled.
"You know . . . after my very first kiss, with Michael . . . I cried myself to sleep that night because he wasn't you."
At the pain in her words, Harry had to place a hand upon the top of the headstone for support. This was wrong; he should not eavesdrop as Ginny revealed such private thoughts and feelings. And yet, she meant – in a way – for him to hear. And if he tried to move past her and she somehow sensed him . . .
More than any other consideration however, Harry's overpowering need to be near her kept him rooted to the spot.
Ginny sniffled again and gave a small laugh.
"I was already crazy about you when you saved me in the Chamber, and after that . . . well, I had seen it all so clearly in my head: you would suddenly realize that we were meant to be together, you'd sweep me off my feet, and we would live happily ever after. I know it's a bit sappy, but I was only eleven. You were so kind and brave, and you never talked down to me like my brothers. Of course, you hardly talked to me at all, but still – we just fit . . . you were just too big of a git to see it."
Ginny sat up straight and pushed her dangling hair out of her face.
"If I'm honest, though, I can't blame you. I didn't even like myself very much when I was around you. Afraid to speak, falling over when you so much as looked at me – those weren't my best moments. So I worked on just being myself, and I took Hermione's advice and dated other boys. I told myself that I was too young to know what I really wanted, anyway. And maybe I was, but my feelings didn't change."
"What were normal boys compared to 'The Boy Who Lived?' The boy who had saved my life, who I admired so much for how selfless he was; how deeply he cared for his friends; how he had become such an amazing person despite everything that had happened to him."
Harry did not feel that he deserved her praise, but he basked in it. Slowly, carefully – as if drawn to be as close to Ginny as possible – he quietly lowered himself behind the headstone to sit at her level.
"And then," Ginny continued, "after a while, my plan seemed to be working. I learned to calm down around you and we grew a bit closer. I convinced myself that it would only be a matter of time before you finally noticed me like I wanted you to . . . and then you went and fell for Cho Chang." Ginny said the name with a bitter resentment that seemed not to have lessened over time.
"I felt insignificant, invisible. I really tried to hate you for that, but . . . I was helpless and liked you as much as always. But I finally made a real effort to move on. Michael had only ever been temporary, but I was serious about Dean. He was nice and fun to be around, and we had a good bit in common . . . but he still wasn't you."
"And when you caught us kissing – God, I was mortified. Honestly, I could've taken Ron's badgering if you hadn't been there. I felt ashamed, as if I'd been caught cheating on you, and I was so very angry at myself for being stupid and feeling that way."
Ginny's voice had risen, and she paused to take a calming breath.
"It was never the same with Dean after that. I just kept picturing the look on your face when you found us . . ."
"Well, at least I learned something from my time with Michael and Dean: I truly did care about you. My feelings hadn't just been a schoolgirl crush; I spent years putting them to the test, trying to drive them away, and they only grew stronger. And when you finally kissed me . . ."
Ginny stilled at the memory, and a smile lit her face.
"God . . . you . . ."
Words again failed her, and she wiped at a single joyous tear. Ginny sat in silence for several minutes, her face glowing as she lost herself in the memory. Finally, she sighed and her smile became wistful.
"Why did we waste those weeks before Bill's wedding? What good came from our being apart?"
Ginny slumped forward to once again touch her forehead to the headstone, and Harry mirrored her movement against its other side.
"You know what I wish?" Ginny whispered. "That when Ron barged in on us kissing on your birthday, I'd slammed the door in his stupid face and kept at it. You left so soon after that . . . and I only saw you once more at Hogwarts before . . ."
Harry closed his eyes and remembered the swooping sensation he had experienced when Ginny crawled through the portrait hole into the Room of Requirement; how he had felt when – wearing the Invisibility Cloak – he passed by her on his way to meet Voldemort in the forbidden forest.
"I wonder what would have happened if I'd refused to break up with you? Could I have forced you to take me along? Would things have turned out differently? Would you still have . . ."
Harry placed a hand upon his side of the cold stone just as Ginny pulled away.
"I feel like I've spent most of my life waiting for you, Harry. Waiting for you to notice me; waiting for you to care; waiting for you to come back from doing whatever you needed to do. And I think . . . I think that I'm still waiting. I've been afraid to stop, as if I would lose the last little piece of you I have left." As she said this, Ginny raised a trembling hand to cover her heart.
"But you're never coming back . . . and I can't stay frozen forever."
Harry heard Ginny shift in her spot, clear her throat, and take a couple of shaky breaths in an apparent attempt to steady herself. Still, when she spoke, her voice cracked on his name.
"H-Harry, I came out her tonight to tell you that I'm . . . I'm moving on."
There was a pause and Harry felt a hole open in his chest; despite the circumstances, he felt strangely wounded by her words.
"I still don't feel ready, and I don't know how . . . but I have to, for mum and dad. I'm ashamed of what I've put them through this past year, especially after Fred, and with everything else they've got to worry about. I . . . well . . ."
Ginny reached inside her jacket pocket and pulled something out. Harry rose above the headstone, wiped at his watery eyes, and – with a shock – saw that she held his missing glasses. She placed them carefully upon the ground and then began to dig into the earth with her fingers. After she had shaped a small hole, Ginny retrieved the glasses. With a last, long look into their empty lenses, she put them into the hole and pushed the loose dirt back over them. As she worked, she gave several stuttering sobs.
When the ground was once again smooth and featureless, Ginny curled forward until her face pressed into her knees. Her head was obscured by her hair, which fanned out across the ground. Her back shuddered as she began to weep in earnest.
As he listened to her cry, Harry slid back to the ground in anguish with his back against the headstone. Each whimper stripped something away from him, and his suffering went on and on as Ginny let her bottled emotions bleed out.
Finally, far past the point that Harry thought he could endure, he heard her sobs slow and become quiet; heard her hiccupping breath steady. With his eyes clenched shut, Harry sat numbly in the silence until he heard Ginny rise to her feet. In his mind, he was pleading for her to go so that he could suffer alone, as she had been forced to. But before she walked away, Ginny spoke to him one last time, in a weak, deadened voice.
"I'll never forget you."
"I'll always love you."
"Goodbye, Harry."
* * * * * * *
Hours passed until dawn began to break over the horizon, and Harry had not moved an inch. His wooden face betrayed no emotion save for the tears he had not bothered to wipe.
She had loved him.
She loved him still.
Harry had grown up never knowing the word, and to hear it now, from her . . .
A part of him soared; the rest of him wished that he were already dead.
Harry had gotten what he wanted – not for himself, but for Ginny: she was moving on. She had resolved to leave him behind and forge a way forward. But Harry hadn't counted on the cost. She was something less than before; she was broken.
Ginny was the best part of his life and he had hurt her so many times, and for so long. As he lay crumpled against the headstone, Harry re-examined every choice he had made that harmed her. If he could go back and do things differently, certainly he would have asked her to be with him sooner. But he still would not have endangered Ginny by taking her with him to hunt Horcruxes, and he still would have had to die to destroy a part of Voldemort's soul. It seemed that Harry was always destined to break her heart.
Hermione had been right all along – and Harry's mother, as well. Both had told him Ginny was hurting, that she was in more pain than she was letting on. Worst of all, Harry had known deep down that there was truth to what they were saying, had known it since he first laid eyes upon Ginny when he returned to the Burrow. But he was too weak to help her, too afraid that he couldn't go through with his sacrifice if he got close to her again. Harry despised himself for being weak, for doing nothing for her. At that moment, he hated himself more than he hated Voldemort or anyone else.
As he watched the sunrise, Harry swore an oath.
None of his wishes, fears, or weaknesses mattered anymore; he was as good as dead, anyway. As his final act, he would do right by Ginny; he would give whatever he had left to ensure that she had the best possible chance at happiness. But what would that mean?
If he returned to her, could he lessen her pain with a better parting, one that could be done on their terms to set her on a healthier course to recovery? Or, now that Ginny had at long last committed to working past him, would she be better off left alone?
Harry was certain of one thing: after wavering in and out of her life as it suited him, he owed her a decision.
By breakfast, he would either tell Ginny everything . . . or leave forever.
Next:
Breakfast.
Coming soon, the tenth chapter in The World I Leave Behind, "Love, Lies, and Loss."