Ginny had told them the Sunday before that she wasn't going. That she was going to spend the day with her kids, Teddy, and Andromeda. They wouldn't be anywhere near Hogwarts or the memorial.

The rest of the family viewed this as the excuse they needed to get out of the May 2nd circus. Bill thought it was a grand time to visit his in-laws. Ron's parents and Percy wanted to visit Fred's grave. Charlie was happy being nowhere near Britain. Audrey thought Ginny had the right idea in staying home and talking it over with her children. George and Angelina scoffed and said they were all mad to give May 2nd the time of day: they were going to play with their kids and have a stiff drink. Screw the past. Screw politics. Screw the Battle of Hogwarts.

Ron and Hermione discussed it. Sat on the couch until 3 am, her head resting on his shoulder. They did talk about if they should go to the memorial, but not that much. They didn't want to go, after all. It was an easy agreement. But they knew sabotaging the Ministry would start the day after, so they did talk of that. They talked about the war. How could they not? The anniversary was still the anniversary.

Once the words started flowing so did the memories, choking their throats and tasting of crusted metal.

Hermione stiffened under Ron's touch, murmuring about the burning, multiplying gold and of Bellatrix Lestrange's knife digging into her skin. He stumbled over the locket tightening around his neck. Of the static-filled names over the radio.

They didn't mention Hagrid sobbing as he carried Harry's body. They didn't mention Fred. Nor did they dwell on the aftermath: as the deaths sunk in and they became familiar with panic attacks. After the battle, Ron had slept with his wand for a week. Hermione for a month. Harry had slept with his for longer, as at the end of the summer the Boy Who Lived had nearly hexed off his best friend's head when awoken from a nightmare.

They didn't mention how they'd spent every other May 2nd anniversary: drinking with Harry (and Ginny, in later years), maybe followed by a tipsy visit to Hogwarts.

They fell asleep entangled on the cushions, breathing heavy and tear tracks on their cheeks. So May 2nd opened with a murmur.

They took off work on the anniversary. Everyone knew they were bound to, it wasn't a surprise. Lisa and Dmitri had been happy enough to step up.

Hermione hummed as she flipped pancakes. Ron ignored the unopened 'Daily Prophet' and said the day had no right to be this sunny and warm. She hummed some more, smiling as Rose took up the song with a tone-deaf yet enthusiastic voice. He found it harder to smile, though it was impossible not to laugh as his little girl click-clacked fork and spoon against her plate. Hugo soon took up the song as well, though his was more of a gurgle (Ron expertly wiped smudged bananas from his chin, knowing full well more would appear in moments).

"What're you singing?" Ron asked, placing maple syrup and jam on the table.

"Hmm, nothing." Hermione tipped the pancakes onto a serving plate. "A melody."

"A RAINBOW song!" Rose cheered before falling back into the verses she made up on the spot. "Rainbow rainbow in da sky, flying high flyin' bright. Oo-oh, rain-BOW!"

Hermione was biting her lip to keep from laughing. Ron picked up his daughter and swung her around. "A rainbow song, eh? Does someone like rainbows?"

"Ye'h! ME!" Rose cheered as she flew in a circle. "YEEE!"

After May 2nd, after the not-memorial, time tripped over itself.

Ron would turn around and another week had passed, each the same: new cases, new hysteria to be quashed, new bureaucracy nonsense, and a map of Britain without any epiphanies. Then there was the Ministry. The idiotic Ministry which couldn't leave well enough alone.

The clocks were broken, he thought. The people too. They kept saying things like, 'Time heals everything'. 'Keep Calm and Carry On'. It was like a mantra had gripped the nation and only he hadn't gotten the memo.

May passed to Summer, with the sun appearing in shimmering irony. London was awash with gold light as the streets were flooded with crowds, and Ron had never felt more alone. Week after week, and they sabotaged the Ministry's attempts to declare all Sweeney victims dead. He smirked at that, at least. For if Hermione and he were good at anything, it was creating chaos.

Still, the Ministry wasn't getting the message. It nearly didn't matter how many officials the couple distracted, traumatised, or outright obliviated: the murmurs kept billowing.

George and Angelina joined the escapades too, and with them came an armament. Every Wizengamot meeting held to discuss the Sweenies were promptly evacuated due to dungbombs and Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder. They'd vanished no less than a dozen documents from Shacklebolt's desk itself, and Ron was fairly certain his scarily brilliant wife had twice confunded the Minister into vetoing.

"Ya know," Ron said as the disillusioned pair leaned against the hallway wall, keeping out of the way of the schreeching officials hurdling past them, "forget about felonies. This is definitely treason."

Hermione activated a flock of Fanged Frisbees with a flick of her wand. The shrieks escalated. "It's not like we've never been here before. You dismantled the cameras?"

"Of course, dear."

"That'll stop today's vote, at any rate." She frowned. "Can't they get a hint?"

"They're too stubborn by half." Ron shook his head, flinging another dungbomb towards the Wizengamot. "They're never declaring Harry dead!"

"You know he isn't immortal, yes?"

"If anybody would be, it'd be him."

"You are terrifying," Ron said, and blimey if it didn't turn him on. He stared at his wife, elbows on her desk, enraptured with the tale. "Go on then. You blackmailed how many reporters?"

Hermione flicked her wand, neatly stacking a pile of papers. "I did nothing of the sort."

"Alright," he grinned, "how many reporters did you definitely not blackmail, as you'd do nothing of the sort?"

She considered this, brow clenching in thought. "I believe…a straight dozen, perhaps."

He sat back with a laugh. "It did the trick! Today's 'Prophet' and 'Witch Weekly' are things of beauty. But you stole my idea, you minx. Trying to confuse Britain into inaction?"

"If anyone was behind this," she said pointedly, "they might have used your idea as a springboard. After all, there's nothing like shouts of infidelity and of Goblin Wars to get people distracted from a few little cases."

Ron snorted. "You've announced you're pregnant."

"I didn't."

"With octuplets!" He was beyond amused. "I've been getting notes of congratulation all day. The press conference this afternoon? I got more questions about how many nurseries we'll have than about Harry!"

Hermione smiled primly, pleased with herself.

He stopped in his tracks. "For the record, you aren't actually pregnant?"

"I'm not."

"With 1, or 2, or 10—"

"Not pregnant." Hermione looked at him knowingly. "You can stop panicking now."

Ron gave a genuine smile. "Brilliant. Not that I don't adore Rose splattering Crookshanks with finger paint, or Hugo screaming all night," he said happily. "By the way, it was a nice touch having the 'leak' of confidential files about ol' Lockhart. Couldn't have happened to a better bloke."

"I did have a moral hesitation about that," she admitted. "But his crimes truly were heinous, regardless if he can remember them or not."

"Eh, you upped security at Mungo's. It's fine." Ron had even fewer issues with this. Maybe this was because the man had once tried to obliviate Harry and himself. Git. "Anyway, it's doing the trick. The Sweenies are becoming old news!"

"This could backfire," Hermione warned.

"We'll make sure it won't. The victims aren't being declared dead." Ron gave a last grin. "Over my dead body, eh?"

She swatted him with a file, groaning at the words.

But Wizarding Britain just wasn't getting the hint. June was turning into July, there were still few leads, and the newspapers were still talking about it. Most infuriatingly, the Ministry was still trying to go ahead with declaring deaths: in essence, to 'clear the air'. Ron upped the ante.

"OI!" Ron roared over the crowd stuffed into his living room. He gave a grin as silence swept the place. People were everywhere, alcohol and food was in the remaining space, and the kids were making a quick trip to their grandparents. The Weasleys had been pleasantly surprised that their call had been responded to like this. Their old dorm mates and some of the DA had been expected, but all of this? Crammed in like sardines, he swore. "Thanks for coming, everyone. You've heard about why Hermione and I invited you. It's because you lot are of the same mind as us. You see the damn distinction between someone who's 'missing' and who's 'dead'! We're gonna make the Ministry see the same."

"HEAR HEAR!" Seamus roared, hoisting his pint of Firewhisky.

"The Ministry is out of order!" Padma Patil hollered from atop a chair, the normally petite and calm woman a stormy red. "I see the irony of you two calling this meeting, and believe me I want to talk about the MLE's incompetence. But the Ministry is even worse! The Ministry is only supposed to pronounce someone dead without evidence AFTER they've been missing seven years! Why speed that up? Politics and public opinion."

This gained other hollers of agreement. Ron shrugged away the insult, because she was right. She was also furious over Parvati's disappearance, which he completely understood.

"Yes," Hermione said over the noise, "the Sweeney's victims might be dead. But for many of them, we have no evidence to back that up! We don't want to give people false hope, but I'm sick and tired of thrusting hope away! Our best chance now is to delay. Delay the votes, delay the pronouncements of death. All while Ron, I, and the rest of the MLE search for the victims."

"OI!" A voice came from the back. It took Ron a moment to place, and when he did he wondered who the hell had invited Zacharias Smith. "Alright, so you lot have your knickers in a twist about Potter and some other victims. Which is fine," he backtracked as glares were sent his way, "but look, who cares? So what if they're declared dead? If they're really dead, that's not gonna change anything. If they pop up alive later, you can reverse all that."

An uncertain silence fell upon the crowd.

"It matters," Ron said with steel in his tone, "because once someone's declared dead—like you said, who cares? They stop being mentioned. Suddenly, they can become a cold case. You know what happens to cold cases? WE STOP LOOKING! WHICH IS NEVER GONNA HAPPEN!"

This was met with an even more thick silence. Though looks of determination were scattered throughout the crowd.

"Screw Smith." Katie had on a particularly tight grin. "I think the Ministry's Atrium is in need of a good old-fashioned, blood-thirsty Quidditch match, don't you?"

"Cheers," Oliver toasted her from across the way.

"Mixed with Quodpot?" Seamus said hopefully, to resounding cheers.

"And what if Venemous Tentaculas were filling the Wizengamot?" Neville mused.

"I was never that fond of Level Five on the Ministry," Luna spoke up whimsically, squeezing her husband's hand. "I think it'd look much better in a warmer climate."

"LET'S FILL DIAGON WITH CORNISH PIXIES!" George hollered, having been 'quietly' writing notes with his wife.

"AND PICKETING HOUSE-ELVES!" Angelina happily shouted.

"AND TONNES OF NIFFLERS!" Ernie MacMillan cheered. He stopped at the looks and stood up straighter. "What? Aren't we aiming for chaos?"

George shrugged. "AND NIFFLERS!" He amended.

As the rest planned, Ron and Hermione exchanged a pleased glance.

It was thoroughly July. It was nearly past July. It was past Neville's birthday, at any rate, and was the birthday of someone who need not be mentioned. Ron didn't think about how he'd been avoiding the Burrow. He tried not to think about his sister. He thought, after this, he should really pop in for a visit. To make sure she wasn't going nuts, wasn't drinking…yeah, that was a good idea.

Ron turned his attention back to where his attention should have been. Which was on the furious Minister of Magic seated behind his desk. The Head Auror was actually a bit surprised his mind had wondered when he was this close to being throttled.

Kingsley Shacklebolt stared at him, a vein in his forehead bulging.

Ron resisted fidgeting in his seat. He sort-of kind-of thought he was about to be murdered. "Minister?"

"To begin with," the older man said, "I want to extend my thanks to you again. We are extremely grateful that you solved the Ripper and the Sweeney sprees, albeit with tragic ends. Secondly: Weasley, what the Bloody Hell do you think you're doing?"

Ron gave a look of ignorance. "Minister?"

"The Wizengamot hasn't had an uninterrupted session in over a month!" He exclaimed. "My office stinks of dungbombs, files aplenty have vanished, and the Ministry's 5th floor is in Australia! AUSTRALIA! HOW COULD THAT EVEN HAPPEN?"

Yep, he was absolutely about to be murdered. "Minister…"

"NOT TO MENTION," Shacklebolt bellowed, nearly levitating from his seat in fury, "Diagon Alley is made of cheese, hordes of House-Elves are on strike, nifflers have invaded Gringotts, our confidential files are being leaked, reporters are having a field day, and I WAS HIT WITH A BLUDGER IN THE MIDDLE OF THE ATRIUM!"

Ron held back a grin. From reports about the Quidditch match, Shacklebolt hadn't missed a beat: the man had blown up the bludger, caught the golden snitch, and had yelled at the playing teams to get the hell out of the Ministry. "Minister."

"It's you and your wife," Shacklebolt growled. "Oh, I know what this is about. You don't want the Sweeney victims to be declared dead. What I don't get? Why you decided to grind everything else to a halt!"

"Alright," Ron said at last, "these are harsh charges. I'm innocent and Hermione's innocent. I'm also nowhere near talented enough to do this. I'm sort of a buffoon."

Shacklebolt stared in disbelief. "Like hell you are. You and Granger-Weasley are two of the most influential people in Great Britain. You have friends in every part of the country, each more crazy than the last. You're telling me you couldn't have done this?"

"Yup." Ron grinned. "Incompetent to the last. But if you have any evidence, I'd love to hear it."

Shacklebolt sat there, gaze aghast.

"Seriously Minister," Ron laughed, "Hermione and I are horrible at committing crimes. We break into Gringotts, we get detoured by a dragon. We illegally brew polyjuice potion, we find out we had no reason to do it. Blimey, we spent our foray as 'Undesirables' starving across the countryside! Well," he admitted, "only Harry was Undesirable #1. We were just tagalongs. Stupid us, eh? Following an incompetent 'criminal' and hiding in the weeds. That's some blind loyalty, right there."

Shacklebolt's anger retreated. He looked at him with something more resembling understanding. "Maybe I do see why you're doing this. Here's the actual question: what will it take for you to stop?"

"I'm not doing it."

"I could still chuck you in Azkaban."

"Without evidence? Hey, by all means."

Shacklebolt leaned forward. "Fine! Say you aren't doing this. But you aren't happy about the Sweenies. What can I do to pacify the two of you?"

Ron was taken aback. He hadn't expected this. Oh, he knew they'd be found out. But that the Minister wanted to bargain was a surprise. "You can't. Declarations of death pass through the Wizengamot rather than the Minister of Magic. You could hold up the process, and the MLE will hold it up. But you can't promise Harry's legal status will remain unchanged."

Shacklebolt expression tightened before he sighed, fists unclenching. "Ron, I don't want to believe this either. But how will this end? We might find his body, yes. But it will eventually get to a point where—"

"We find Harry or we find his corpse." Ron shrugged. "I'll also take finding Lestrange and filling him to the gills with Veritaserum. Take your pick." Shacklebolt was back to looking ready to murder him. "Alright, alright, things have gone a bit far. I'm sure if you announced you're against these declarations of death, the perpetrators would dial it back. Maybe they'll even return the Ministry's 5th floor from Melbourne."

The Minister closed his eyes. "No more breaking into my office!" He gave a final bark. "Evidence or no, so help me I'll fire the both of you for treason."

"By 'fire' you mean—"

"Fiendfyre, Weasley! NO BREAKING INTO MY OFFICE!"

As much as Ron was apprehensive about Shacklebolt declaring him Undesirable #1, the Patronus from Ginny put him even more on guard. Because he, that is, hadn't exactly been talking to his sister. Every time he saw her he felt the truth bursting from him. And it was July 31st, so that was a whole other barrel of trouble. Yeah, he'd meant to visit her today, but he'd sort of thought he'd chicken out. But then she'd sent a Patronus, and damn it if he wasn't a Gryffindor to his core. He couldn't ignore crying women, not when it was his sister so obviously keeping back a sob.

The Patronus was vague and sad and had asked for his help. So he apparated to Regent Park and hopped up her steps. He was just gearing himself up (to not say anything about immortality, phoenixes, government conspiracies, birthdays, or hopefully the big Harry-sized-hole) when Ginny opened the door and pulled him in.

"Hi. Thanks. I'm fine, the kids are fine and at dad's, everything's fine. I know it's his birthday, shut up. I don't wanna talk about it. I need your help with something." She said in a hurry, about-facing so he only just caught a glance of her face before he had to hurry to catch up. He followed his sister up the stairs. When she marched purposefully into her bedroom he hesitated.

Ginny glanced back over her shoulder as he lingered by the entrance. She didn't seem to be crying. "I'm not hiding some horrible secret, I only need a hand. Stop cluttering the doorway."

Ron followed her into the room. She was digging through her bureau, back now to him. He took a moment to glance around. The bedroom was painted in similar shades of sunset yellow as the rest of the house. He wasn't sure he'd been in here before, but the room matched the rest of the house and was perfectly familiar to him.

The strangest thing about the space was that it wasn't scattered with discarded toys or paint splatters. The Potters had a parenting philosophy that not only would 'kids be kids', but that seeing their mistakes would let lessons be learned. Though most wizarding parents magically scrubbed their children's 'artwork' from the walls, the mini-Potters were to go at it with water and soap. If this failed to rub them out, the masterpieces were left. Survival of the fittest.

Harry had shrugged and said a bit of cleaning never hurt anyone ("Only a bit!" he'd always emphasised with a harsh frown, which every Weasley fully knew was code for 'Dursley-trauma-best-left-unmentioned'). Ginny swore it was to teach her kids perseverance. Ron figured they'd just thought paint covered walls were adorable. The Potters were odd like that.

He continued looking around as Ginny shovelled through the mess that was her bureau (she was dreadful at finding whatever-it-was). Wardrobe, another lamp, open closet…hold up. He peered at the last. About half the clothes inside the closet were dresses or trench coats, the others were masculine jackets and formal wear. Out of this, what had caught his eye was a familiar dark green coat. He'd seen Harry wear it countless times.

Ron had forgotten the ruddy coat. Except that he apparently hadn't, as the sight of it made Merlin knew however many memories swarm. Not full memories, little things. Snippets. Impressions. Like an unsettlingly clear déja vu.

He hadn't considered the everyday, tiny ways Harry's disappearance would affect Ginny. He'd worried about the big stuff. If she was grieving, if she was happy, if she could cope with being a single mum. He'd never wondered if she'd kept their bedroom the same. If she'd packed his clothes in boxes or left them as they were.

"Urgh, finally." Ginny twisted around, sweeping her hair back. A thick cord was curled around her fingers. "Sorry 'bout that. I let a bunch of clothes pile on top of it and…why're you standing there? Sit down. There's a perfectly good chair. And bed. It's nice and soft. Bouncy, too, or so the kids say."

He sat down too heavily on the blanket. "What's up?"

Ginny sat down beside him. She was fumbling with whatever was in her hands. The cord or robe was looped every which way around her hands. "After Teddy's birthday I thought, oh god, I've dropped the ball on meaningful presents. He got plenty of toys and things, but I thought I ought to give him something he'd appreciate. I don't want it to be depressing and I'd rather it be something useful he could have fun with. But I couldn't think of anything! I put it off for ages, until this morning when it came to me. The perfect sort-of-gift." Her voice grew quieter. "Teddy's starting Hogwarts soon enough, too soon for my liking. This should also come in handy for that."

Ron's eyebrows creased. "If you're buying a present why'd you call me? Or, if you've gone mad enough to think I'd be a help shopping, why're we in your bedroom?"

Rather than answering she held up a hand and let the cord unravel. It was only then he noticed the strings were attached to a mokeskin pouch. Thick realisation washed over him. The pouch was as familiar as ever. Just like the dark green coat.

"He didn't have it with him," Ron exhaled.

Ginny stared at the pouch with a soft smile. "Harry didn't want to bother with this on top of the formal wear. He tossed it on the bureau before we left. With it being his birthday I remembered this and thought, isn't it beyond time to look through?" She hesitated. "I know I'm being stupid. It's like, symbolic and…shut up."

Ron likewise kept his gaze on the pouch. "You aren't being stupid. Merlin, I get it. That's what this is about, then? You want to give Teddy the Invisibility Cloak. Or wait, no, the Marauder's Map?"

She nodded mutely.

He wished his head would clear. It felt foggy, filled with guilt and anxiety. Mostly guilt, and mostly because of his sister's stricken expression. "It's in there?"

Ginny hesitated further, her hand clenching around the pouch. "I don't know. Maybe. Probably."

Ron gripped onto this clarification. This was why she'd called him. "You've never looked through it." She didn't answer. "It's like ripping off a plaster. Spill the contents out. Or, better yet, I'll summon the Map."

"NO!" Ginny yelped before catching herself. "Sorry, I didn't mean to snap. But I've been putting this off for too long. It's not…it's not healthy. I should know what's in here. If it was only me it'd be one thing." She pressed on, expression screwed up in determination. "But I can't wallow in the past, not with the kids. Change is a good thing. I need to think of it like, like spring cleaning. Some tidying up."

Ron had felt plenty of sympathy for his sister since the Halloween Gala. Right now, sitting in this room, all of it hit him with a fury he hadn't expected.

"Ripping off the plaster, like you said." Ginny nodded to herself. "I'll sort through the pouch. Find the Map for Teddy, see what else is there, and that'll be it. I shouldn't have bothered you with this silliness. Don't know what I was thinking, sorry."

"Hey, it's okay. It's fine," Ron said quickly, relieved to have something to reply to. "I want to be here. I know I can be an insensitive prat, but you can always call me. Plus, I get it. You're sorting through Harry's things. It's hard. You've also picked an awful day to do it, jeez Gin. Melodramatic much?"

Ginny gave him a watery though real smile, nudging his shoulder. "You aren't always an insensitive prat."

"What a compliment." Ron chuckled and gestured at the mokeskin pouch. "Go on then, open it up. Think I still have a bet with George that Harry kept that barmy Valentine of yours. Think it's in there?"

Ginny blinked, but then couldn't help but giggle (wiping a few tears away). "The ancient singing one? The twins sent him that."

He became genuinely distracted by this. "So you're saying Fred or George…or both…"

"It's not that! They were teasing Harry. And me, as it turned out." She rolled her eyes, though her amusement grew. "They thought it'd be a laugh."

Ron couldn't tell if Ginny was lying. As she looked happier than she had a few minutes before, he didn't care. "I don't see it. They were more about exploding toilets and whatnot. Something as subtle as a Valentine card? Nah."

"Harry didn't keep it." Ginny said simply, her smile lingering. "I'll bet this thing's stuffed with mum's jumpers."

"Also that wonky Sneakoscope, I regret ever giving it to him. He swore up and down it was a 'lucky charm' in Auror training. Got right irritating." Ron snickered. "Come on then, don't keep us in suspense."

Still giggling, it was only with a small hesitance that Ginny pulled apart the opening. Laying the mokeskin pouch on the bed, she tipped it over so the items could roll out. There was a small avalanche. Quickly pulling it back, she prevented the objects from piling into an even larger mess. There were plenty of loose coins, broken quills, and old Quidditch magazines. Ron could picture Harry chucking scraps of parchment in the pouch, having a faint plan to properly toss them away later.

Ginny was having a harder time. She was gingerly holding a stuffed toy owl, not daring to blink. Though he'd never seen the thing before, it was making her well up with tears. He cast his gaze back at the pile, frantic to distract her.

"Err, that! The tie!" Ron gestured wildly at a mad looking tie that had a kaleidoscope of colours winding around it. "Hah, what was he thinking?"

In spotting the tie, Ginny burst into outright sobs. Desperately trying to console her, her brother could just make out something about Teddy and a cherished father's day gift. Yet, seeing as how she'd begun hiccoughing, he was less than sure he'd heard correctly.

Trying to distract her, Ron did a murmured Accio and 'miraculously' uncovered the Marauder's Map from between two old editions of the Daily Prophet. This worked…for all of a minute. Before she put it aside, wiped her eyes, and dug back in to the stack of items with a new frenzy.

He took up the parchment. The Map had aged well, all things considered. They'd been less than gentle with it back at Hogwarts, so that it was still holding together was remarkable. Sure, it was all creased edges and amber parchment, but that wasn't the point. His hand moved to his wand.

"Oh."

The soft noise made Ron look up from the Marauder's Map. When he saw what his sister was holding, the parchment fell back to the bed. He forgot all about activating it.

"I thought it was lost." Ginny murmured, carefully unfolding the Invisibility Cloak. She held it like an uncertain mother would hold her newborn. "Like his wand. He always had it on him so I, I thought…"

"Harry left the pouch here." Ron gingerly pointed out. "I'm not shocked he left the Cloak." Though, he'd also assumed it was long gone. The MLE even had a special alert out for its description, in the unlikely event a raid revealed it.

She remained silent, weaving the cloth around her fingers.

"It wouldn't have made a difference." He spoke only a shade louder than a whisper. "I get what you're thinking, but you're wrong. You saw the 'memory', Harry fought. It didn't help. Having his Cloak wouldn't have changed anything."

"He might have gotten away," Ginny said hollowly. She continued wrapping and unwrapping the Cloak around her hands. "If he went for the Cloak rather than a knife?"

"There wasn't any time. Plus, he didn't know about the metamorphmagus." Ron felt a strong pull to make her believe this. "You're thinking about it all wrong. Finding this is a good thing! It's like how you're searching for the Marauder's Map for Teddy. You shouldn't feel guilty or the like. Over this or anything else."

She didn't answer.

Ron went on, voice still low. "The kidnappers would have sold or destroyed it, just like what must've happened to his wand. Ginny, listen! You know the family history behind this Cloak. The stuff about it being passed down from father to son? Harry would be thrilled, absolutely thrilled his kids could get it."

Ginny sniffled, giving the barest of nods. "He'd have loved it."

"Exactly!" Ron said with relief, putting aside his discomfort in hearing Harry referred to in the past tense. "So why don't we clear up this mess—"

"Oh god." An hysteric look crossed Ginny's face. She stared at the Cloak in utter horror. "What am I doing? I'm, I'm divvying out his things! The papers were right, I'm a monster!"

"What? That's not what you're—hey, calm down. What're you upset about?"

"I'm worrying over who to give this to!" She cried out, gesturing with the cloth. Revulsion and hysterics battled it out in her voice. "The Map's perfect for Teddy, but then who would get the Cloak? Jamie's the oldest so it seems right, but then I was considering what to give to Al and Lily! The Firebolt…the golden snitch…as though his life's been reduced to heirlooms. Heirlooms and fucking TABLOIDS!"

Ginny's shrill tone careened into a tense silence. Another pause weighed down the room.

"Something not so, I don't know, personal, would almost be easier." Ginny's anger deflated like a punctured balloon. "Old photographs or notes, maybe. Or really go the 'heirloom' route? Dig up the Elder Wand, find the Resurrection Stone…" her voice trailed off. Ron couldn't find any words.

"I've considered it before." Ginny spoke up again, though was now barely audible. "Searching for the Stone, that is. Don't look so worried, it's not that I want to talk with him. I know the legend. I don't want to make him…make him miserable. Also, with the kids? I can't get enchanted, which I would. I know I would. I can't leave them."

A now familiar silence covered them.

"But I need to see Harry." Ginny closed her eyes, taking a thick inhale. "Just see him. That's not too much to ask, is it? This sounds horrible, but not having a body is almost the worst thing. It really is because I, I can't bury an empty casket. That's not enough. It's nowhere near enough. So even seeing a, a shadow of his gh-ghost?" She took another deep breath, as though she couldn't get enough air. "I'd do anything for that. Closure, I guess. Not, not the need to know what happened to him, because I don't care anymore. I just want to see his stupid hair, his stupid hands…his stupid face…that utterly stupid grin he always did before…before…"

Ron would blame his next actions on how his sobbing sister was clutching the Invisibility Cloak to her. She had it curled around her fingers, in enough folds that the main drape wasn't transparent. Yet the way it ringed her arms made it so much of her torso was invisible. As though the cloth she was huddling like a lifeline was making her vanish inch by inch—

"HARRY'S ALIVE!" Ron blurted out. It was only in hearing the words he knew what he'd said. Ginny froze. He frantically backtracked. "I think he's alive. I'm pretty damn sure about it, actually. Hermione's been helping me with research, though don't tell her about this because she'll be furious I told you. She can be right scary at times and, err, please say something? You're sort of worrying me. Gin? Ginny?"

She stared at him. The Cloak fell from her grip.

"I'm sorry." Ron rubbed the back of his neck, off-kilter. At least his guilt was lessening, which relieved a weight he hadn't known he'd been dragging. "I didn't mean to tell you like this, not today. It's still a theory, yeah? But I'm pretty sure I know what happened. The horrible part is a lot of people have definitely been killed. But I'm almost certain Harry's out there."

Ginny didn't say a word. Her face didn't so much as twitch.

Ron was rather perturbed at her non-reaction. To make up for this, he dove ahead without much thought. "Okay, look. We've found evidence that there's a phoenix being held captive, and has been since around last Halloween. I'm positive Rodolphus Lestrange's also behind this, which is brilliant! Because it doesn't matter if his experimental potion killed the 'phoenix', it'd be reborn! So someone's alive. Which means Harry's alive, because of course he'd transform into a phoenix!" He finished with a triumphant, albeit bittersweet grin. "So he technically died, sure. But he was reborn from literal, honest-to-Merlin ashes!"

There was a silence, prickly and low.

"Get out of my house." Ginny's lips barely moved.

It was Ron's turn to freeze. He sent his sister a bewildered look. "What're you on about? I tell you your husband's alive and you—"

"Get out," Ginny repeated, voice now deadly. Her fingers again curled around the Cloak, making white though partly invisible fists.

Ron took a deep breath, telling himself he shouldn't be impatient. She had every right to be confused. "I'm sorry for blurting this out. But now you know! I'm not sure yet where they're keeping him, but—"

"GET OUT!" Ginny roared, leaping from the bed. This action made an avalanche of items cascade to the floor, but neither of them cared. "How dare you!"

"It's a shock," Ron hedged, beginning to regret speaking up. He leaned away as she tossed the Cloak aside to grab her wand. "I'm sorry! But I'm not leading you on or something. It's not like I'm mentioning this to your kids—"

"PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!" Ginny shouted, catching him in the spell before he could dive away. She leaned close to him, whisper raging and furious. "My husband's dead. Harry's gone. It took me long enough to admit it! If you claim anything else to my children, I will end you. Do something like this again and you won't be welcome in my home."

Ginny pulled back, glaring at him in hot anger. She began to walk from the room, then paused. Slumping against the doorway she twisted back to her frozen brother.

"A phoenix?" A broken laugh escaped her throat. "It's the 'Boy Who Lived' nonsense again. I'm not sure whether you're delusional or a bastard."

She turned away again, swishing and flicking the wand over her shoulder. "Finite incantateum."

The door was slammed behind her.

Ron remained slumped a few minutes longer, staring at the discarded Invisibility Cloak.

Hermione was waiting for him when he got home. She'd put an actual chair in the actual entranceway, and was sitting cross-legged on it. She tapped her fingers on a folder.

Ron closed the front door. He wondered if it'd been a mistake severely delaying his return (what were a few walks, a few drinks, a shot for his friend's birthday, and a few 'accidentally' missed floos), or if he should have stayed away even longer. Either way, his wife was pissed off. "Hi Hermione…eh, gorgeous? Love of my life?"

"You talked to Ginny." It wasn't a question.

Ron eyed her hands, noting she didn't have her wand. "I guess she talked to you."

"On the contrary." Hermione opened the folder with an eery calm. "Do you understand how powerful your sister is?"

"Err?" He emphasised.

"Do you realise," she stated with an edge to her voice, "that she's 'Lady Potter'. The aggrieved wife of the 'Wizarding Saviour', the favourite child and frequent scapegoat of the media? That the Ministry will follow her bidding WITHOUT QUESTION?"

His stomach dropped. "Oh shit."

"Ginny held a press conference. For the Ministry, for the press, for everyone who came running." Hermione gritted out before standing and jabbing the paper at him. "Do you know how long it took the Wizengamot to schedule an emergency meeting after Ginny started crying? It took them exactly as long as it took her to shout at them FOR DRAGGING HER HUSBAND'S MEMORY THROUGH POLITICS. THAT IT WAS HIS BLASTED BIRTHDAY AND THEY SHOULD STOP PRETENDING!"

"Uh?" If mum didn't kill Ginny, he would.

Hermione flung the papers at him, which he vaguely saw were transcripts. "When she flooed me before," she steamed, "she was furious. I told you not to tell her! I said she'd take it the wrong way!"

"Oh no," Ron protested, "you said we shouldn't give Ginny false hope. You know when I realised that was nonsense? When she was sobbing over Harry's things! Alright, fine, so she didn't believe me. Fine, she did a press conference. Fine, the Wizengamot's getting off its arse—"

"They're declaring the later victims dead."

Ron stopped in his tracks. "Say again?"

Hermione's breath was pitched. "You know what I said. It isn't settled yet, but it's going through legal channels. We have evidence it's Lestrange. Rodolphus Lestrange, who does not leave survivors. Ever. He barely leaves bodies. Ron," she met his gaze with glinting eyes, "if you have any proof to the contrary, now is the time to say it."

"Proof?" He gave a disbelieving laugh. "Immortal creatures exist. It's a thing. How's that for proof?"

"Hard proof! Concrete proof!" She cried out, pleading. "Specific proof that Harry or ANY of the others are alive! Tell me there's been movement on transforming the body parts back to humans."

Ron clenched his hands. "I'm trying everything I can—" she opened her mouth, "No! Alright? No, we haven't been able to transfigure anything back. Blimey, don't you think I'd have been shouting that from the rooftops? That I would've gotten one of those phoenix heads and—and—"

He drifted off, having landed on The Thing neither of them discussed. She flinched at the image. Maybe he did as well.

"I can't prove it," Ron said instead, anger still rushing through him. "But what's Ginny playing at? What was she thinking!"

Hermione seemed to droop. "You told a widow her husband's alive. I doubt she was thinking."

"Not a widow. What about the other victims' families, huh? Ginny can just wave her wand and get them all declared dead? I only just got Shacklebolt partly on our side!"

"Kingsley?" But she shook her head, not caring. "Whatever it is, it doesn't matter, not with Ginny being against us. The vast majority of the families are on the record asking for closure. They want funerals—"

"THERE WON'T BE FUNERALS! MERLIN!"

Hermione stared at his furious stance. Then glanced at the papers scattered around the floor. He'd never seen her look more defeated, and damn anyone who made her feel like that!

"We'll stop them." Because that's what they did. He took her pale hands in his. "We'll end this."

"Short of finding Lestrange—"

"We'll convince Ginny and she'll backtrack! We'll, we'll blackmail Shacklebolt! We'll do whatever it takes!"

"Ron, it's over."

"There was a barber and his wife,
and she was beautiful.
A foolish barber and his wife.
She was his reason and his life,
and she was beautiful,
and she was virtuous,
and he was—Naive."

—Sweeney Todd, Sweeney Todd