A/N: The absolutely amazing Areyousatisfied has been following this story for years (I am so sorry), and has been leaving incredibly helpful comments the entire time. In her last review she mentioned that mokeskin pouches can only be opened freely after its owner's death and, because of this, she was scared I'd killed off Harry.

…Areyousatisfied? You're a genius and have too much confidence in me. Honestly, I just forgot that was a thing. I'll now have the characters address that. Thank you for pointing it out!

This is also an extremely angst-ridden chapter. In my defence, it was originally far worse. I'd first drafted Harry being missing for two years. Then I saw how obnoxiously long this story was getting and scrapped So Much. This is the much tamer version of the story, with negligibly fewer mental breakdowns!

To the reviewers I'm driving insane with my slow plot: THANK YOU FOR STICKING AROUND AND I SOLEMNLY SWEAR RON WILL FIND HARRY OR HARRY'S BODY NEXT CHAPTER!

"Come on you stupid thing." Ron grumbled as he clicked the Deluminator. He'd already been doing this for five minutes, with nothing to show for it but an appreciation that, the faster he clicked, the more the surrounding room and swirling lamps resembled a muggle strobe light. "Why won't it work? What's the point of doing nothing!"

He stopped clicking, allowing the light to fall into the Deluminator and for the room to fall into darkness (only broken by the sun shimmering through the window).

Ron peered down at it. He'd never properly figured out all of what the Deluminator could do. "Alright you useless thing, help me out. I'm searching for Harry Potter. Doubt he's saying my name at the moment, but I know he wants to see me. Can't this go the other way? I want to find Harry! Harry James Potter. I know you can find him, I know you can lead me to him, so do it! WORK! Just a little ball of light, s'all I need. Give it to me! What're you waiting for? He's missing me, he's missing all of us, and we're missing him. HELP ME FIND HIM!"

Ron was breathing heavily at the end, glaring at the uncooperative device.

"Is the problem that I didn't leave him?" he seethed at it. "You're right, I didn't! But you're supposed to guide the way! Last time, I could hear their conversations through you. But now there's nothing! So Harry isn't talking, who cares. You should still work! He was taken from us and we need him back. WHY AREN'T YOU BLOODY WELL WORKING?"

Ginny was sitting in front of him, gaze turned out the window. Ron had been shocked when his sister had shown up at his office. Not that they hadn't been speaking…but they hadn't been speaking.

It'd been a thing. Even their large and ungainly family had taken notice of the frosty silence. They'd figured the awkwardness concerned the Harry-shaped hole, and they weren't wrong. Ron had tried to broach the subject once or twice, but he could be a coward at times. Especially when facing down his sister's icy glare.

So when she'd shown up at the Ministry today he'd assumed either something was terribly, extremely wrong, or that she was about to murder him.

Ginny had sat quietly in a chair and stared into the distance. Ron had awkwardly taken a seat beside her as the silence stretched out between them. He felt that, if he reached out, he could almost warble the tense chords.

"It's happening," Ginny spoke at last, wrenching things harshly into place. "Harry's funeral."

Ron breathed out. "Yeah."

"Are you going?"

"No."

She didn't seem surprised. Nor hurt. "Hermione?"

'You'd have to ask her,' was his immediate reaction. He answered truthfully. "She's angry it's going forward, but she'll be there. She wants to support all of you."

"You don't?"

"Not like this." A bloody travesty, was what it was. They were burying an empty coffin, with no evidence, and calling it a day! "I blame myself for loads of stuff. Top of that list? I handled the 'reveal' of the Sweenies all wrong. At the time I believed the victims were gone and I led everyone to think that. I was stupid and forgot immortal animals exist." He gave a blunt laugh. "Hate me, disbelieve me, it's all good! But there was always a chance there'd be survivors, and I blanked. Now? I think there's a chance in hell Harry's out there, and the Ministry's burying him. Along with all the others."

He stopped himself from ranting. "I'm sorry. I'm insanely sorry, but I'm not going to the funeral. If you want a shoulder to cry on or someone to listen to, I'm here. But I'm not going to that."

Ginny pierced her lips but nodded. "Do you know about mokeskin pouches?"

Ron blinked at the non-sequitur. "Ah, no. Obviously not."

"Mokeskin pouches," she said, "can only be opened by their owner, or after the owner's death."

Oh. "Oh."

"That's why I lost it when we opened Harry's pouch," she sighed. "It wasn't because of the items, not really. That was what finally convinced me he was dead."

…okay, all of that was really bad. But Ron's mind immediately went to the loopholes: maybe the 'opening spell' had worn off? Or, well, Harry had definitely dead, hadn't he? The question was if he'd stayed dead. As for whether or not that counted, Ron had no clue.

Ginny seemed to know what was going on in his head. She looked down, hair falling in front of her face. "You truly, honest-to-Merlin think he's alive?"

"Yeah."

"That he was transformed into a phoenix?"

"Yep." Ron shook his head. "Before you ask, I don't have proof. If I did we wouldn't be in this mess. I know a phoenix's been held captive since sometime after Halloween, that's it. The phoenix has also absolutely died, so any mokeskin pouch of 'his' wouldn't be working."

Ginny stayed silent before nodding, pushing her hair back behind her ear. "That isn't enough," she said in an even softer tone, "not for my kids. If it was just me? I, I don't know. But for them I need more."

Ron didn't have the heart to argue. He reached out and took her hand instead, not minding when she winced. He tried and tried and tried to find the right words. "It seems like the end," he said at last, "but it doesn't have to be. A funeral's just that, a thing. Maybe it's closure, maybe it's saying goodbye. Or maybe it's a mistake. Whatever it is, there can be something after it." He took a breath. "Maybe the 'after' will be you and your kids moving on. All I know is, we'll be right there with you."

The silence came back. Ron was suspecting he'd made another mistake, when Ginny gave a sob and threw her arms around him.

"You're a good big brother," she muttered into his shirt as she hugged him. "You're stupid, and kind of brilliant, and you drive me absolutely batty…but I love you so, so much. Thank you."

He returned the hug as his throat clenched. "Love you too, baby sis."

She gave a wet kind of giggle. "I'm only a year younger."

"Still counts." Ron pulled them into a tighter hug. It was over all too soon and Ginny was sniffing, reaching into her pocket.

"Just, ignoring that I sobbed on you? I want Lestrange's head." She pulled out a small package and put it on Ron's desk, not meeting his eyes. "Everything else aside, I want that monster dead. You won't stop until you get Lestrange, and the only way I can think to help is to give you this. Use it well, alright?"

With a soft flutter of her fingers over the package, Ginny stood and headed to the door. Her brother thought about shouting for her to stop, but what was there to say? He turned to what she'd left behind. As the door shut he pulled at the wrapping, unveiling what was within.

Ron took a surprised breath. Unfolding the Invisibility Cloak, his hands disappeared within the water-like fabric.

Time was still broken, the nation was still halted, and Ron felt the days spin by him once more. Hermione had started crying again (quietly in the bathroom, a ghost neither of them addressed). Rose picked at all but her favourite foods. The small family wasn't exactly going to the Burrow these days, though Ron got the impression that each Weasley was suffering from the same symptoms: rubbed-red eyes, pale to the bone, and with suspicious losses of appetite.

Even George barely laughed these days. Though when they had their Quasi-Government-Conspiracy-Theory Meetings, he and Angelina did their best to lighten the mood. Except, how can you 'lighten' phoenix heads, insanity, and hypothetical magical theory (Sweet Merlin, Ron hadn't signed up for this).

So the days passed. So August passed. An event occurred—unspeakable and unbreakable. As the cooler breeze swept in and the Weasley kids perked up for Hogwarts letters, the Head Auror faced something he'd prayed he wouldn't have to.

Ron walked down the sunny neighbourhood without a whistle in his step. His cloak swirled around his boots. He passed by a Farmer's Market, thicket roofs, and a disguised statue amidst the ordinary houses. He wondered why the Potters had never settled here. Too many memories, he supposed. Or…

He came to a stop, staring ahead at the crowd of mingling people. Huh. Maybe this was why the Potters had never moved to Godric's Hollow.

Ron turned away, hiding his face and himself behind the statue (it magically shifted to a young couple and their baby, and he tried to ignore how young they looked). It had been hard enough to come here, he hadn't given thought to how there'd surely be a crowd. He hadn't been able to think about much. His mind kept colliding with the big, monolithic thing, before going mercifully blank.

His family hadn't advertised the gravesite, but it wasn't difficult for the public to connect the dots. He didn't consider going into the cemetery with the crowd, or leaving to sneak back when it was empty. Because when would it be empty? The tabloids were still eating this up. He wasn't leaving. But he didn't want to face pitying faces or snapping cameras.

His hand, on its own, drew his wand and cast a sweeping repelling charm. His hand continued this as he walked down the main street of Godric's Hollow, making the witches and wizards around him suddenly recall that they'd left the kettle on, or that they had an appointment at Madam Malkin's. He paid no notice to the pops of apparation as the area surrounding the cemetery cleared.

Ron kept the spell going as he moved down the street—to the graveyard's entrance, through the kissing gate, and down the gravel path. His gaze flickered from headstone to headstone. He hadn't gone to the ceremony and, though he knew the empty casket had been placed by Harry's parents, he'd never been to their graves either.

'My own bloody fault.' Ron grimaced at a stab of guilt, his steps crunching the gravel. 'Harry went every Halloween, I could've gone with him once. Gone to a pub or something afterwards. I could've helped bring him out of the mood he was surely in.'

'Or,' a snide voice reminded him, 'you could have gone with Harry and Hermione that first Christmas. You could have been stronger and stayed. Instead of running away, leaving your friends to die!'

"Shut up," Ron mumbled to himself. "Like I need to remember that."

'Letting Hermione cry at the funeral alone! Leaving your mum, your sister—'

"Shut up!" Ron snapped without thinking, getting an odd look from a nearby wizard. He enhanced the repelling charm and, soon after, there was another Pop!

It was a weary Head Auror that traced around the cemetery, emptying it of passersby as he went. Enough time and false leads elapsed that, when he finally spotted the new marble headstone, the cemetery was empty of all except him.

The ground was freshly overturned, an empty casket lying six feet below. So many colourful and blossoming flowers had been left that the headstone could barely poke through the flora. Ron wondered how it'd taken him so long to find the distinctive gravesite. He nudged away a pair of orchids and a bouquet of sunflowers to see the black, delicate writing on the stone:

Harry James Potter

31st July, 1980 - 31st October, 2007

'He greeted death as an old friend, and went with him gladly, and, equals, they departed this life.'

Ron twitched. Ginny had decided on the phrase, he thought. Or maybe it'd been Hermione, it looked like a verbatim (unwieldy) quote. It had been one of the two, certainly. He wasn't going to ask, because he didn't trust himself not to scream at whoever had been behind it.

'Harry would have hated it,' Ron knew with certainty. The whole thing was a farce and this was a final slap in the face.

"What the hell were they thinking?" He sat back on his knees and stared at the flowers. "I should have stepped in."

What would he have put instead? The answer came to him in a heartbeat.

"'Loving father, husband, brother, and friend.' Easy. How difficult would that have been!" With a swirl of rage Ron glared at the offending headstone. "Mental, thinking Harry cared about anything else. None of this 'happy with death' rubbish. He wasn't equal to death! He didn't laugh at death! He wasn't bloody well friends with it! HE DIDN'T WANT TO DIE!"

Ron's breath caught in his throat. He gasped at the pressure that had been building behind his eyes, ducking his head and blinking furiously.

"You didn't want to die. You weren't even thirty!" his voice was a harsh whisper. "You had kids, you had a wife, you had us. We were all supposed to grow old. How dare you leave! Just, just out with a whimper."

Ron stared away at the bright sky. It was too blue, too warm, and he could feel the sun on his face. His fingers curled into the dirt. This was wrong, wrong, wrong. "I'll find you."

Now that? That felt right. "I'll find you," he breathed again, hands unclasping from the ground. His cheeks were wet and he didn't care. "The story doesn't bloody well end here."

The headstone quote had gotten to Ron. As had Ginny's crying statement. As had the Invisibility Cloak that he'd stuffed into his pocket. And he was just sad and just depressed enough to think that his next action might not be a superbly stupid one.

Ron went looking for the Resurrection Stone. He hadn't thought about the thing in years. This was no surprise, since the Elder Wand had been what'd sparked his interest. After Fred had died he'd wondered about the Stone. But with George's colossal self-implosion, he figured he couldn't also afford to go nuts.

But like, Ron was the chill one. If anyone wasn't going to be enchanted into death, it'd be him. Right?

'Right', Ron told himself as he plodded into the Forbidden Forest (having snuck onto Hogwarts' grounds with far too much ease). He sidestepped a trip-worthy log. 'It'll be fine.'

Besides, it was kind of his duty now. He was one of only four people who knew approximately where the Stone was. Or one of two, if Ginny and Hermione didn't know. It was only a fluke that Harry had told Ron in the first place.

The whole, 'accidentally-revealing-the-Resurrection-Stone's-location' had happened right after the Second War. Bill had pulled Ron aside after another week's funerals had come to an end. Warning him not to floo drunk, his older brother handed over a refilling bottle of Firewhisky.

Ron had immediately grabbed a confused Harry and apparated them both to #12 Grimmauld Place. In the kitchen, after only a swish of alcohol, he was close to gagging. Harry was more reckless; his first sip was more of a chug. The poor bloke had near spewed. Ron had laughed so much he hadn't noticed himself taking another drink. It had all spiralled down from there.

He couldn't recall how they'd ended up on the roof. A few bottles in and it was a wonder neither had fallen off the tiles. He'd wanted to chuck himself off a few times, just to stop the embarrassment from the drunken confessions. Compared to those messes, Harry's drunken explanation about his scar horcrux had been pretty tame. He'd mumbled about the Pensieve revelations, his numb walk through the castle, and his decision to go to the forest and his death. He'd also explained the Resurrection Stone had been in the golden snitch and that it'd brought back his loved ones.

Ron tried not to remember Harry's expression when he'd murmured about meeting his ghostly parents. But he couldn't, not really, so he'd never forgotten what part of the Forbidden Forest the Stone had been dropped in.

Ron had never held much stock in the Resurrection Stone. A magical object that couldn't actually bring back souls, but would drive the living insane in the process? No thanks. Though the Deathly Hallow had one huge benefit, which was why he was out here searching through a whole forest full of dirt. Lots of dirt.

He needed proof of life. Or of death. Luckily, the Resurrection Stone could give him just that. It only 'brings back' dead people? Brilliant! He wasn't one of those nutters who thought Harry was immortal. So there was always a chance he really was dead. Whether he was in denial or not, he knew he needed to find the Resurrection Stone. But first, he had to search through So. Much. Dirt.

"I hate plants so much," Ron groaned as he shook off yet another strand of ivy. And thorns, he couldn't forget the thorns. "Harry Potter, always dragging me into this forest! If I find an acromantula, I swear I'm RESURRECTING AND KILLING Y—WHOA!"

He tripped down a small slope, cursing all the way.

"Accio ring!"

"Accio Resurrection Stone!"

"Accio horcrux?"

"Accio Deathly Hallow that isn't a Cloak!"

"Accio Resurrection Stone!"

"Come on, Accio Resurrection Stone!"

"Accio stone! …ow ow ow, damn it, FINITE INCANTATEM!"

Ron was almost certain he'd spotted a unicorn through the thicket. It was radiantly white, nearly translucent, and almost reminded him of a Patronus.

Or no, wait, was that a centaur? He paused in approaching the creature, trying to recall old Care of Magical Creatures classes as he squinted into the distance.

Anyways, which one was more dangerous?

Ron thought for another moment, then turned around and quickly walked down another path.

"Point me!" Ron's wand spun on his hand before stopping, pointing directly at a tree. "Yeah, I'm sure that's due north. Good job? Now, point me to the Resurrection Stone! Point me!"

His wand didn't budge.

"Never mind, not a good job. Bad wand, bad."

"Large clearing past the muddy thicket," Ron muttered to himself, stumbling over another log. "Large clearing past the muddy thicket. Damn it Potter, why are your directions so rubbish? I know you were drunk, but for Merlin's sa-aaAARGH!"

He tripped down another thicket. His cursing was loud enough to set nearby birds aflight.

Spitting out the cobweb he'd walked right into, there was moment of frantic panic as Ron scrambled to get rid of the Schrodinger spiders. Shivering at the last, he figured he'd gotten off as much as he could, and continued on with the search.

When Ron even tried the deluminator (he didn't know why), he knew it was hopeless. He was scratched, banged up, too close to giant spiders for his liking, and knew the Stone had been buried years ago. It was hopeless. He was done, absolutely done. He didn't know what had possessed him.

At least he wasn't lost, which was something. So he made his way back through clearings and brambles, the twilight growing heavy on his shoulders. He'd long since minimised his cloak to his pocket, letting his plain shirt and trousers take the Forbidden Forest's beating.

The trees gave way to the wide, open meadows before Hogwarts. He swayed at the edge of the forest. Swiping his sweaty fringe back, he thought of where to go. Hermione would ask why he'd called in sick to the Ministry. The Burrow was filled with unpleasant things he didn't want to think about, and Ginny's place was even worst. He could drop by Seamus', maybe. Have a pint. Or he could be responsible and visit Neville—he was close by, even.

But seeing any of his friends would open up concerned questions: about the funeral, about denial, about everyone being convinced Ron was losing it. He didn't want to be alone, though. He wanted…well, he wanted to visit his best friend. He wanted Harry to roll his eyes at Ron's rants about being covered in dirt and invisible spiders.

He kept leaning against the tree, neck and head against the bark. Hogwarts shone bright in the distance, casting crystalline shadows onto the Black Lake. He remembered all the years they'd spent running around these meadows. Being chased by monsters, breaking curfew for night Quidditch, and visiting Hagrid for clues and for moments of clarity in the chaos…

Oh. Right.

Ron straightened and turned, striding towards a small hut by the Forbidden Forest.

"Now yeh stop 'pologising," Hagrid tutted, putting a huge tray of rock cakes on the table (by the tea kettle on top of a dainty coaster). "I'm always happy fer visitors, never yeh mind the hour! Besides, yeh lot used ter trample in later 'n this."

Ron couldn't argue. He had sunk in deeply into an armchair (very deeply, considering Fang had draped himself over him). The fireplace burned nearby and Hagrid's house smelt of hay and chocolate. He felt warmer than he had in ages, inside and out. "Only when there was a dragon involved."

Hagrid sat down across from him with a SPLOOSH. "I remember more 'n that. Seems that every time there was a tusslin', one o' yeh three would wind up here!"

He, again, couldn't argue with this. Hagrid's tea had been a great balm for teenage heartbreak, bullying squabbles, or post-adventure disbelief. Hagrid's rock cakes? Not as much. Ron scratched Fang between his ears. "You're great company. But, seriously, if this isn't a good time—"

"It's fine," Hagrid said as Ron took up a heaping mug. "As a matter o' fact, I've bin wanting ter talk ter yeh. Meant ter do it at the, ah," he hesitated, "the yeh-know-what."

The funeral. "I wasn't there."

Hagrid sighed. "Wouldn'ta mattered. Was bawling too much ter talk properly, anyway. Just wanted ter offer me condolences."

"Err, thanks."

"Blimey, it was a crowd." Hagrid nodded sadly. "Seems like everyone wanted ter pay their respects. Eh, don't take that the wrong way. I saw Hermione—she explained it all."

Ron gave a jump, spilling tea down his front. Fang gave a yelp and bounded off him.

"That you don't believe all this." Hagrid continued. "Can't say I blame yeh, what with no evidence an' all. There's no telling if Harry's still out there."

He calmed down. Hermione must not have said everything, just about why he hadn't been at the funeral.

"Hagrid?" Ron stared down into the tea, grip tightening around the mug. "Do you think he's alive?"

Hagrid set down his bitten rock cake. Scrutinising the other man, his small black eyes seemed to warm. "D'yeh think so?"

He swallowed thickly. "I want to believe it."

Hagrid picked the rock cake back up, chewing it for a few moments before answering. "I thought Harry was dead once before. Was ruddy well convinced of it, 'cause he took a killing curse! I'll never forget his face afore it happened. I was strung up an' yelling at Harry not ter do it. An' he just looked at me, calm as can be. He didn't look scared or angry or nothin'. He seemed more sorry I'd have ter see it."

Ron looked up to his old friend.

"Yeh know what happened then." Hagrid gestured around the room like this summed it up. "Harry keeled over after the spell. Suppose You Know Who did too, but I wasn't looking at that. Nah, didn't much care. I reckoned I was about ter check out meself! They made me pick up Harry. It was better than what they would've done. When I got him up he was slumped over, still as can be. Light, cold, an' I was in such a state I didn't notice a pulse."

Hagrid remained silent for a long pause.

"The next day, after everything?" his voice was slow and contemplative. "Harry found me an' kept apologising. He was in a right state, starved an' like he hadn't slept in years. He was in a tizzy abou' faking his death. Can yeh imagine? I set 'im straight, I did. Hugged 'im an' kept 'im trapped 'til I found yer mum. Figured she'd put some proper food in 'im."

"With all o' this? I wanted ter be at the funeral fer yeh lot. But I thought Harry was gone once before. I know what everyone's saying. But until I can check fer a pulse, I'm not writing 'im off. Codswallop, I say. He's a thumpin' good wizard, after all."

Ron couldn't help but smile. So many doubts had crept in over the past few weeks. "Not that good of a wizard. He's a bit of an idiot, I reckon."

"Eh, maybe. But he's as resourceful as they come. Probably barmy ter hope, but stranger things have happened." Hagrid returned Ron's grin. "Still, what's this abou' then? You wouldn't come by yerself just to talk about Harry now, would you. Yeh've bin avoiding Hogwarts like summat since May—Neville's bin worrying abou' yeh both. Did yeh visit 'im today?"

Ron looked down, not answering.

"Didn't think so," Hagrid said knowingly, patting the man's arm. "I'm not trying ter make you guilty. I'm wonderin' why I get the treat!"

Ron fiddled with his cup. "I didn't mean to see anyone. I was searching for something in the Forbidden Forest." There was a pause, a question mark. But this was Hagrid and he deserved an answer. "I was looking for a ring. It was lost in the Forest years ago and it meant a hell of a lot. Summoning spells don't work on it and I knew I wouldn't find it, but I needed to try."

"A ring, yeh say?" Hagrid stroked his beard. "Where an' when abouts did yeh lose it?"

There was no reason to lie. "Harry dropped it in the early morning of May 3rd, 1997. He dropped it in the area where the Death Eaters were holding you, actually."

It was Hagrid's turn to jump in surprise, shaking the floor (and Fang with it—the yelping dog hurried under the table, poking his nose out from under the cloth).

"It's a magical ring," Ron elaborated. "It's hard to explain. It doesn't matter anyway, I'm sure it's buried in the dirt somewhere. It's beyond reach."

Hagrid returned to stroking his beard, the surprise abetting. "There's the ol' Lost Box. Yeh might take a look."

"The what now?"

"The Lost Box." Ron stared blankly. Hagrid chuckled. "The Lost-an'-Found Box! Blimey, no wonder it keeps growing bigger, if no students know abou' it."

"Hold on, you're saying Hogwarts has a…"

"Lost Box, absolutely." Hagrid stood and made his way over to the cupboards. Fang sniffled and he tossed him a dog treat (which was rushed back under the table). "The House Elves keep one fer the castle. Big as anything, a proper sea o' clothes an' everything yeh wouldn't want. As Gamekeeper I keep bits-and-bobs I find 'round the grounds. Never do search through it. Ah, here we are!" He took hold of a large box in the back of the shelf and shuffled back over. "Scoot the mugs then, there yeh go."

Ron sprung up, moving everything off the table and eyeing the box in amazement. It landed with a large THUMP as Hagrid placed it on the table. "What stuff do you have in there?"

"All sorts," was the answer as Hagrid pried the box open. Ron peered over the side and looked down…and down…and down.

"Oh," Ron's heart fell with it. "It's expandable. Hagrid, I don't think this ring is summonable."

"Just yeh wait." Hagrid took up his wand and swished it over the top. "Accio Accessories Box!" He caught a smaller box that zoomed out and squinted at it speculatively. "Nah, we won't want that." He dropped it back inside (it kept falling, there was no Plop!) and swished his wand again: "Accio Jewellery Box!" Another box flew out. This time, it flew into Ron's surprised hands. Hagrid looked on, pleased. "There yeh go! These boxes know who're searching fer 'em. Stops students from taking what don't belong to 'em. It must have summat fer yeh."

Ron gaped at the dark green wood, featherlight in his hands. "Just like that?"

"Just like that. Well," Hagrid admitted, "yeh do have ter search through the items."

Ron drew in a deep breath as he fell back into the seat. He opened the box: which was again expandable. "Oh."

Hagrid took up the tea kettle. "Yeh'll have ter search. I'll make another cuppa."

"Yeah." Ron stared down into the void filled with gold, silver, precious gems, and costume knock-offs. "Yeah, thanks mate."

Ron waved good bye and gave Fang a last pet with his right hand. His left hand was clenched tightly, as did his smile. Striding out into the Hogwarts grounds, he turned automatically back into the Forbidden Forest. The castle shimmered in the distance, as though it was filled with fairy lights.

His left hand remained clasped in a tight fist.

All too soon he had gotten there. It wasn't that he was hiding behind the trees, per se. But it was twilight, was dark, and if no one could see him from the castle or Hagrid's home if he skirted around the trees? Well, then they couldn't see him.

"Holy Merlin," Ron breathed, leaning back against the bark of a trunk. He brought his hand to his face and opened his fingers: the stone had been budged against his palm, leaving a red mark when it came away. The Resurrection Stone didn't look impressive. It was grubby, like a literal rock glued onto some metal. That it was one of the most powerful magical objects in existence was kind of blowing his mind.

Calling Hermione was out of the question—she'd stop him from using it. Calling Ginny was never going to happen, because what if Harry did appear? She would get enchanted with the past. Which Ron wouldn't do, because he was the chill one. It'd be alright.

He twirled the Resurrection Stone uncertainly. He was a calm guy, he didn't get wrapped up in angst. But…he had become pretty obsessed with Harry's disappearance. He could handle seeing his ghost, surely?

Ron hesitated some more. Maybe he should build up to it. Maybe the 'ghosts' weren't even that realistic. He needed a test, that was it. Call on someone before Harry. Someone he knew was dead and had properly grieved. There was an obvious choice. But with everything that had happened, he wasn't sure he wanted to do that. Least not while sober. But…screw it. He wasn't a reckless, bull-headed Gryffindor for nothing! Besides, he wouldn't be enchanted. It was fine. He was fine.

Ron took a breath, turning the Resurrection Stone thrice. His eyes remained shut as he murmured a name.

There was silence for a few beats. A minute. Then two—

"BOO!" Came a loud voice, echoed by Ron's shriek as he tripped over backwards and flung open his eyes. "How cute. The big, brave Head Auror, scared by little ole me. I'm touched."

"Son of a bi—"

"Tsk tsk." Fred Weasley waggled a finger as Ron remained spreadeagle on the ground, staring up at the translucent figure. "Can't have mum hearing that, can we Ron?"

Ron gave a low exhale, trying to control his rapid heartbeat. "You're a git," was the only thing he gasped out.

"And you're going mad," his maybe-brother retorted, floating/crouching down so that he was next to Ron (who remained on the forest's floor, too stunned to consider moving). The descriptions had been true, Fred didn't look quite like a ghost. Though it was undeniably him, all brash limbs and vibrating energy. "Don't let me stop you! All the best people are barmy."

"Fred."

"Yeah?"

"Fred."

"We've established that." Fred smirked, the rustling trees showing through his toothy grin. "Course, you think I'm a magical delusion. S'all good."

Ron stared at him.

"Let's get the touchy-feely stuff outta the way." Fred's smile dimmed. He looked at Ron like he never had in his life: softer, with hungry longing, with the sting taken out of his jibes. "I'm caught up with everything, I'm even more in the know than you. Can you check in on dad on my next birthday? Mum mourns loudly but dad's quiet."

He continued to stare.

Fred leaned back in mid-air, a rare seriousness over his features. "Georgie's through the worst. Best let sleeping dragons sleep, hmm? It'd bring back stuff if I told him I love him—and he knows it anyway, it's fine. Same with the others. Though it's not the same for you."

"I," Ron swallowed, "I know you love me."

Fred scoffed, shaking his head. "Yeah right. You're forever a rubbish liar."

He opened his mouth before closing it.

"Anyway," Fred continued, "you didn't call me for me. S'all right! I get it. You wanna get to the main affair."

"Fred…" Ron hesitated.

"I get it!" Fred rolled his eyes, amusement creeping back in. "I was a git in life. Harry wasn't. He's your favourite brother, after all."

"That's, that's not…"

"It's absolutely how it is. Which, I repeat, is cool. You want to chat with me and check if Harry's dead." Though Fred was raising an eyebrow. "Still, are you really gonna pass on the big question?"

"Huh?"

Fred gave an overly dramatic sigh, flailing his arms. "Here you are, chatting to a Legendary Prankster who knows the answers to life and death! Meaning of the universe and all that. But you, brilliant brother of mine, didn't even think to ask if there's paradise. Or reincarnation, or anything. Don't even deny that you blanked on it. Don't tell your wife or she'll never forgive you—your wife!" he remembered with delight. "Hermione! I saw that coming a mile away. Tell me, is she bushy all over?"

"Fred," Ron cut in, this time testily.

"Alright, alright. Don't get your knickers in a twist." Fred waved this off. "Back to you being indifferent about the questions of the universe. You're so preoccupied with Harry's possible demise, you aren't going to ask about life after death? Damn. Don't you think that'd make a difference?"

"What?"

Fred swayed down even farther, meeting Ron's bewildered gaze straight on. "What if I tell you Harry's dead and there's nothing you can do about it? If I tell you he's in eternal paradise, you'll be able to sleep easy. Or hey, maybe the afterlife is whatever you think it will be. You want to be reborn as a dodo bird? There you go." Fred shrugged. "You're fond of this theory. If I tell you I wished to create complete chaos in 'heaven', you'd gladly believe me."

Fred shifted, coming forward. His grin faded to sympathy. "There's only one question you care about, and that has a straight-forward answer. Here it is: Harry's gone. I'm genuinely sorry, but he's with me. He was dead before you even knew he was missing. The metamorphmagus bitch already told you that much. The potion finally did Harry in." He let out a low breath. "He wasn't a phoenix, Ronnie. He was a snidget. Then they vanished his body, like the Sweenies did to all the victims after him. There was no reason behind it, no method. They just wanted to kill people."

Ron watched him hollowly, not moving an inch.

"Still, the weirdest thing?" Fred didn't wait for an answer. "Harry's content. Happy, even, because he was at peace with death and had a pretty cool vision of the afterlife. He went onto the 'next great adventure'. A new chapter, an unfurling story! Poetic, ain't it? So he's gone. But there's no need to be sad about it or call Harry up and interrupt his new existence."

This was the first time Fred looked nervous. "Not that I'm pissed off to be here. Mite grateful, even. I've been watching you lot…ooo, sounds wonky like that. I'm happy about what happened: George and our shop, the gaggle of marriages and kids, and all of you changing the world? Merlin, Ron. It's damn impressive."

There was a long pause this time. One which came to an end when Fred looked at him, smirk in place but eyes glinting. "Heh, you aren't 'ickle Ronnikins' anymore. I'm—Ron, I'm so proud you're my brother. I wish I could have been alive long enough to realise that. This is weird, but I'm glad for the chance to say it. Don't feel bad about calling me, okay?"

Tears ran down Ron's cheeks. His hands had long since sunk into the mud.

"I was never a good big brother." Fred cringed at the words. "I wasn't interested in it. I never bothered to think about consequences, so I didn't realise I was hurting you. Those pranks? I only ever wanted to have fun. I was stupid but I never meant it maliciously. Even the spider, the acid pop, or the Unbreakable Vow…damn it. That sounds so bad said aloud." He shook his head. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry."

"Dying isn't the end." Fred snuck a grin back on. "An eternal 'whatever-you-want-it-to-be'. How great is that? It's like life's only the prologue. A bit boring and messy, but you find out who you are and what you want. Your heart's greatest desire. Remember how obsessed Harry became with the Mirror of Erised? You were enchanted too, don't deny it. Well, death's that! One big mirror to step through. You'll get it all: family, friends, fulfillment. The feasts aren't bad, either. Nothing on mum's cooking, but hey, she'll be here soon enough."

Ron had stopped crying. He stared at Fred, searching.

"Which is the beauty of it. Everyone dies! It's nothing to be afraid of," Fred was saying. "Even better, close groups tend to have similar desires. Believe you me, I can't wait 'til this place is overflowing with Weasleys. Playing pick-up Quidditch, not having a care in the world. Ronnie, remember the blizzards when we were kids? How we'd nick Bill's wand and enchant our snowmen? Or the Summers where Gin dragged us to the wildflowers by the pond; we pretended to hate it but kept making excuses to go back. That can all be here. The Burrow, the pond, Hermione…George, Bill, Ginny, Harry…London, Hogwarts, all our homes? All your desires, wrapped in a big bow. Your kids too, eventually. I'm already here, Harry's here, and everyone else will come knocking."

Ron grimaced, hands curling around the Resurrection Stone. His tears were drying. "I can see what you're doing."

Fred scoffed. "I'm showing you death's not some beast. I'm doing you a favour."

"You aren't my brother."

"Ron—"

"You don't want me checking if Harry's alive!" Ron's voice rose.

"To save you from heartbreak!"

"Christ, you barely sound like him." Ron tried to shake away the faint temptation that had crept into his chest. "Is that how you play this? You tell me what I want to hear, while convincing me to kill myself? Bit of a stretch, don't you think?"

"Ron!" Fred gritted out. "I never said anything like that, don't be barmy."

"Yeah, sure," he scoffed, wiping the mud off his hands and fidgeting with the Stone. "I've heard the stories. The Peverell brother being coaxed into suicide by his dead fiancée? Harry's relatives—who'd sacrificed themselves for him—talking him into walking to his death? Then all of your crap about respecting me, hah! You think I'm an idiot. Well, thanks 'Fred', but I have too much to live for. And frankly? You're too nice to be my brother."

"RON I—"

Three twists. The ghost vanished.

The moment it did Ron doubled up in a heave, sobbing and trying to catch his breath. He wasn't sure how long it took (minutes, hours, eons) but when he at last straightened it was to glare at the Resurrection Stone.

"Harry Potter," he breathed, giving it three spins. "Harry Potter. Harry James Potter. Show me Harry Potter!"

Ron watched the space before him, not daring to close his eyes. There was only silence. Not a wisp of a ghost.

"HARRY POTTER!" Ron shouted, spinning the Resurrection Stone in harsh but precise movements. "Show me my real brother! WHERE'S HARRY POTTER!"

Again, not a blink.

Again, not a thing appeared.

Sitting in the mud, Resurrection Stone toppling from frozen fingers, Ron stared. He didn't notice the unfurling beam threatening to burst his mouth right open.

It was only after (when his tears had been wiped off, enthusiasm fading, twilight darkening) that the true implications hit him. That hadn't been Fred. The Stone had known things only Ron knew. The whole point was to trap or to talk the bearer to their death.

The Stone couldn't be trusted. There was a good chance that if he shoved the thing in Ginny's hands a facsimile of Harry would appear. If that happened, it would break her. At the end, he didn't know for certain if the Resurrection Stone really detected deaths. It was enough for his hope. But it wasn't enough to risk Hermione's sanity or his sister's life.

Anyway, calling up Harry was besides the point. He already knew the man was alive! What he didn't know was where he was. Maybe a ghost could help with that. 'Fred' had known all about the situation, so would others?

"Nope," Ron banished the twinkly eyed ghost. A headache was pounding after only a few minutes of talking to him, "never again. Even homicidal Fred was better than Dumbledore's riddles!"

"Nope nope nope!" Ron even more rapidly swished the Stone 'off', glaring as the smirking ghost vanished. "Like I wanted to know that. Jesus Sirius, what the hell?"

By now, Ron had gotten the clue that none of the 'souls' were going to be helpful. He was even more convinced that Death was toying with him, because blimey. You'd have thought one of the spirits would have helped him find Boy Wonder. He was tempted to call up Harry's parents, though after Sirius' graphic tale of threesomes…

Nope! Besides, it obviously wasn't the real people. If it HAD been them, and they HAD known where Harry was, the first thing out of their mouths would have been his location.

So calling up allies wouldn't help. What if he came at it from another direction?

There was no hesitation this time: he took the Stone, spun it three times, and watched as another spirit materialised. "Yo."

"My my," Bellatrix Lestrange licked her lips, eyeing him like a piranha does a neck, "I spot a Weasel."

Ron was questioning a lot of his life choices. He wondered why some neo-Death Eaters saw Lestrange as a sex symbol: she looked even more deranged than he'd remembered. "Lestrange. As hideous as ever."

She showed too many teeth. "Head Auror too! What big shoes you've filled. Or no, you don't deserve it. You're just slutting it up with your mudblood."

He kept a mantra in his head—'Stay calm, stay calm, stay calm'. "A walking, racist cliché, you are."

"Then ickle baby Pottie!" Lestrange said in delight, bending forward so her grin was all he could see. "You're all kinds of hung up on him. Tell me: were you with him too, or was it just in your head?" She rested her hands on her chin, leaning her head to the side. "Tell me all."

"Screw you."

"Oh," she turned with a ghastly smile, matted hair hanging over her features, "you wish. The little Auror, chasing his own tail."

"Do you remember how you died?" Ron said instead. Her smile flew away. "My mum offed you. Know how your 'lord' died? Harry Potter." He forced himself to laugh in her hardening face. "It's about my turn, don't you think? I can't wait to take out Rodolphus Lestrange."

Bellatrix gave a brittle laugh. "So you can save Pottie?"

"Yeah."

"Weasel Weasel Weasel," she shook her head. "That's not Rodolphus' way. He STEALS people, hides them away in deep dark corners. He pulls their intestines from their guts and strangles them with their innards. He doesn't leave prisoners. After all, do you know why I married him?"

"Where the hell is he!"

"I married him," Bellatrix murmured, "because he was a breath of fresh air. He has no delusions about people, he knows they're only pathetic little experiments." She stepped closer, her lips near his shaking chin. "I was always the blunt one. Rodolphus' an art-ist! He'd attach a second head to a squib. He'd replace all the blood in a muggle with the foul mud it was meant to be! He knows how to make screams a symphony. The Dark Lord highly prized him."

Ron barely resisted taking a revolted step away.

"Let me tell you about Pottie's corpse." She gave a twisted, delighted smile that didn't reach her transparent eyes. "It's mutilated beyond recognition. Bloated by acid. Combusted from the inside. Rodolphus had quite a lot of fun with him."

He took a slow breath. "Sure he did. Right after Harry turned into a phoenix. I bet 'Rodolphus' didn't see that coming."

Humour had gone from Bellatrix's expression. Only chilled fury was left. "You know nothing, Weasel."

"I know exactly what your husband's been—"

"Ro-dol-phus," the word swung off her lips syllable by syllable, "never leaves bodies. He killed Potter last year. He avenged our Lord, and is reigniting the dark! Hide, Weasel. Hide even though you will be found." Her eyes gleamed. "Though, you aren't annoying enough to be a target. Rodolphus craves to add to your mudblood's scar."

Ron saw red. His hand was all knuckles around his wand. "No one's gonna touch her!"

"Oh," Bellatrix swaggered forward, "but I already have. She still shrieks more nights than not, terrified at even the thought of me."

He slowly breathed out. "Where's Rodolphus?"

"Not saying."

"Tell me!"

Bellatrix laughed.

"I'd have thought you'd want me to find him," Ron gritted out. "He's a traitor, isn't he? Because he survived! Voldemort died and he scurried into hiding. He isn't true like you, huh."

"DO NOT SAY HIS NAME!" Anger once again swelled her face as she swept even closer. "Blood traitor, how dare you take his name in vain?"

"You were willing to go to Azkaban," Ron hissed. "You died for your damn boss! Or no, were the rumours true? Were you sleeping with Riddle? That why your husband betrayed you?"

"You dare!" Bellatrix screeched, so close he nearly winced from the cold of her face and could almost feel the not-there spittle. "Rodolphus is the most loyal. He's inciting fear in the hearts of all, scraping the hope away from this world!"

Ron forced out a grin. "He's gone solo. Funny how you didn't deny cheating on him. He's trying to outdo Volde—"

"HE HAS STAYED TRUE!" Came another shriek as she wound around him, transparent fingers failing to grip his head. "Rodolphus took our Lord's ideals and set them on a stage. He is intertwining the glory of our Houses with the Dark Lord!"

He snorted. "Your House? You're long and forgotten, good riddance. Sure, Lestrange might be trying for his own legacy. But for you?"

Her hooded eyes were narrowed and deadly. Each word was parched out. "He has built a TEMPLE to me! He doesn't care about individual glory, he is doing this for us. For the Dark Lord, for me, for my family's legacy!"

This was weird phrasing. Ron struggled to read between the lines (while trying to ignore who exactly was standing before him). He also felt nauseous that she and Voldemort had maybe actually been a thing.

She steamed at him, dark ringlets falling in front of her face. "Rodolphus shall murder you slowly, just like he did to Potter. He will sever your body bit by bit, relishing every scream and every splurt of blood from your lips. You will fall!"

"…go back a sec. He built a temple to you? To the Blacks?"

"Rodolphus knew the prestige of our matrimony," Bellatrix hissed, floating around him. "The House of Lestrange was old but meek. The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black gave him honour, it gave him our Lord's ear, and it gave him my love! He will be true to this legacy through his dying breath. Everything he does, HE DOES FOR US! FOR ME!"

Ron straightened, fury fleeing from his now pleasant expression. "Brilliant. Thanks Bella, can I call you Bella? You've been a huge help. I hope you're burning in hell for torturing my wife. Ta."

He spun the Resurrection Stone, making Lestrange's confused face disappear. Thoughts ablaze with possibilities, he gave a happy hum as he waltzed towards Hogwarts' gates and away from the vanished ghosts.

"I just did something stupid."

"Colour me shocked." Hermione sent him a look. Then she saw what was in his hand—she jumped back, panic marking her face.

Ron held up his hands, clenching the guilty one. "I went looking for the Resurrection Stone. Hagrid had it and now I have it! Calm down, will you? I only called up a few people."

She held onto the table for dear life. "You 'called up' someone!"

He lowered his arms, dropping the Stone into his pocket. "Multiple someones. They tried to talk me into offing myself, chatted about unspeakable things, or just screamed at me. I wouldn't suggest it."

Hermione stepped towards him, now solely worried. "Who—"

"It's not actually the spirits." Ron rolled his eyes, nearly believing it. "It's like the legend says. Death's trying to get everyone. Talk them into their graves? Or talk to them in riddles, that's what Dumbledore did."

"You, you should sit down. I'll get some tea."

"Nope, we have to get back to the Ministry."

Hermione gripped his shoulder. "You are sitting down."

"I'm not traumatised, I'm fine." Ron beseeched. He'd deal with the psychological junk later. "Because here's the important part: I called up Bellatrix Lestrange."

She froze.

"She knew about me and all about what her husband's been up to." He held Hermione's hand, squeezing her fingers. "Between yelling insults and taunts, she might've let something slip."

Hermione opened and closed her mouth, at a loss. "You just said the spirits weren't real."

"But they might be a little bit of the person. Think marianette dolls, yeah? At the very least, they knew too much about me and the current situation." Ron knew he was making this up as he went along, but if he squinted it was a lead. "It's something."

"Unless 'Death' is trying to trick us?" She looked like she couldn't believe she'd uttered this.

"Don't take me so literally!" Ron nearly laughed. "Lestrange didn't even say a location. She was going on about how her husband was building a 'temple' to House Black. That's interesting, don't you think?"

She still seemed hesitant, though intrigued. "Let me get some tea."

"The Ministry," Ron corrected, pulling her to the door. Then he paused at a thought. "No, scratch that. I'm talking to Andy."

"What?"

"Andromeda Tonks. Last living Black who genuinely likes us and who knew Bellatrix." He let go of her hand. "Let Orla and Euan know about this, maybe they can find some reference to Blacks on the map. Oh, I also called up Harry but he wasn't dead. Bye love, don't worry!"

"RON—" he apparated, hearing Hermione's virulent curses behind him.

There was a thought too, a small idea. Of doing some grave robbing and snatching the Elder Wand. Because couldn't it help? Didn't the legend say it was all-powerful? Wouldn't he have completed the set?

But Ron knew fate was a bitch. Screw the Deathly Hallows. Screw his teenage self who'd craved the wand (screw him for a lot of things). There was no way he was poking around a dead body; because he wasn't superstitious, but he wasn't testing his luck like that.

Oh, and screw being Master of Death. It was a stupid title and got people's throats cut. No bloody thanks.