Ron would have broken down at the sight of her lifeless body, but there was no room left in his heart for sorrow. His soul, mind, and body brimmed with hatred; every piece of flesh, bone, and sinew ached with anger.

Whoever has done this must die.

Silent tears of anguish streamed down Ginny's face as she knelt beside her best friend. In all their years as comrades, Ginny had never seen Luna dislike anyone; the young woman had never harbored hatred. Luna had once been the physical manifestation of cheer.

More tears fell onto Luna's broken body as Ginny stumbled up and moved away. Ron took his sister's place beside his wife, his skin pale, his eyes hollow.

The stones beneath him were so cold – as cold as Luna's corpse. Moments before they had been stained with her blood, but now the only traces of crimson liquid lay drying in spots along her curls of hair. Ron's hand darted out and closed her wide blue eyes; now her face looked as peaceful as it had in life.

Ron reached for her hand, and as flesh met flesh, the memories returned unbidden.

Not six hours ago – that very morning – she had told him about the baby.

"Ronald," she had purred in that soft, dreamy voice of hers. "I've a little Weasley growing inside of me."

Ron had choked on his cup of breakfast tea. "B-but... how can you be sure?"

Her eyes met his, two pale pools of love. "I just know it. I can feel it in my soul."

Ron, reached awkwardly for her, utterly bewildered. She held his hands in her own and rested them against her abdomen. They didn't stay there long; a moment later, Ron was lifting her into his strong, capable embrace.

"Luna." He kissed her. "I love you."

She arched her back and leaned into him. "You know that I love you too, Ronald Weasley."

Now Ron was able to cry. The image of his beautiful, loving wife – so filled with joy at the prospect of being a mother – finally squeezed the last real emotion out of him. The hot, salty tears fell onto Luna's face.

For the second and last time, Ron put his hands on his wife's abdomen. Her words came back to him – I can feel it in my soul.

"It was going to be a boy," Ron murmured, his voice as bland and as dead as the woman before him.

Ginny bit her lip to keep a sob from escaping. Hermione was crying openly now as well; Harry looked as bad as Ron felt.

Ron's throat was closing up. It was getting hard to breathe. His stomach lurched with the nausea that came at this stage of shock. Then his voice, like dry leaves crunching beneath the feet of death, rose softly to the people around him whom he loved, both dead and alive.

"We would have named him Harry."