Chapter Two

Ancient Magic

"This is a friend, whose life,
dear to me as my own, I would preserve."

- (Orestes on Pylades, Iphigenia in Tauris by Euripides)

"Harry?"

"Ron, I'm here."

"Where?"

"I don't know. Where are you?"

"I'm not sure, where are you coming from? I can't see you."

"I can't see you either."

"What happened?"

"Voldemort's destroyed. It was you, Ron. You helped me destroy him. It was like what the prophecy said: I have something that Voldemort knows not. It was love, Ron. It was our bond so strong that Voldemort can't stand it. It was just like what my mother did to me."

"But the curse? He tried to kill me."

"I got in the way. I saved you."

"But I tried to save you, too. I took the curse. All I was thinking about was that you mattered more than me. And I tried to put up a protection spell at the last minute."

"Er—hang on. You took the curse?"

"Yeah, I felt it."

"So did I."

"Blimey, Harry! Do you think we're... dead?"

"I'm not sure. I might be. I felt something when the curse hit me. It was like... leaving my body and going off somewhere."

"Didn't feel anything like that. Just this pain on my face."

"You got something on your face too?"

"Yeah from my head to my neck. I think I'll be getting a scar like you."

"Wait a minute. Right side of the face?"

"Yeah, it bloody feels like hell."

"I feel that, too."

"Huh?"

"Okay, what is going on?"

"Are you saying you can feel the same things I'm feeling?" Swack!

"Ow! Harry, what did you do that—wait a minute, I did that!"

"Did you just hit yourself or did I?"

"Harry, this really weird. How could you be...unless I'm..."

"I think I'm dead, Ron."

"Don't say that. You're not. How can you talk to me if you're dead?"

"I don't know. Maybe this is what it's like. Maybe this is all a dream and we'll wake up, or maybe you'll wake up because if I'm dead... I can't."

"You will, Harry... don't...Merlin, I'm—"

"Don't cry; its okay."

"How'd you know? ...Somehow that sounds stupid."

"Yeah, I know but I can't understand it."

"You're not dead Harry."

"How would you know?"

"I can feel you. You feel too real."

"We're not sure. You feel real, too, but maybe this is just an illusion. I think I'm really dead. I don't feel like myself. It's like I'm somewhere else."

"Harry..."

"No, it's true. I don't feel like I used to... It's like I'm not what I used to be... If I am... you know... then... I hope you'll be happy."

"Harry, don't say that. I won't be happy unless you're there. Let's not talk about death alright, you're scaring me."

"Alright. I'll leave it at that. Merlin, that cut hurts."

"Right about that—Bleach!!"

"Bleach!!"

"What was that?"

"I think some healer made me drink something. I'm feeling a bit..."

"Sleepy..."

"Yeah...I think we need... sleep... Ron..."

"Alright... talk to you la—"

Ron woke up to find himself in the dark, his face still throbbing with pain. He was in bed somewhere, probably St. Mungo's. His mind drifted back to his conversation with Harry. Was he just dreaming that he talked to Harry? He didn't believe his best friend was dead, he felt so near him. It was like a bond to Harry he couldn't explain existed within him and he knew his best friend was still alive.

Ron ignored the pain and forced himself out of the bed. His legs felt wobbly and he remembered he had broken a leg, the same one he had broken in his third year. The healers must have fixed it. He could walk but he was still a little unsteady. After a few minutes, he felt sure enough to walk about his room. He could hear somebody breathing evenly in the next bed and he groped around looking for a way to put some light in the room. He found the edge of the curtains to the windows and pushed them aside to let the moonlight in. There were only two other beds in his room. One had Ginny in it, in the other lay Hermione, who was sleeping with a bandaged head.

He sighed with relief as he saw them. Ginny looked the worse for wear but he was sure she would be alright. He gave his sister a kiss on the forehead before proceeding to go to Hermione's bedside. A flash of light from the window caught his attention and he looked up to see fireworks going off in the distance. He watched if for a few moments wondering what was going on. Then he heard two voices from the hallway through the slightly open door.

"What a relief! It's finally over! We'll have peace at last!" a man was saying outside.

"Yes it is. People are celebrating out there. I reckon we deserved it, but I don't feel like celebrating, not when I see the wards full of the wounded and the morgues full of the dead. It's just sad, so sad."

The first man sighed. "Sad indeed. And this room's probably the saddest. That girl, that pretty brunette. She's been downright hysterical when she came in. Had to give her a calming potion and sleeping draughts every night. When she wakes up, she walks around like she's dead. Heard some rumors before that she was Harry Potter's girl. Poor thing and her other friend, the redhead, he hasn't woken up. Three days now. He'll survive, but he'll have that nasty scar on his face."

"I heard he took on You-Know-Who with Potter."

"Yeah, brave lad. But it won't be happy for him when he wakes up and hears. Heard he and Harry Potter were friends."

Ron felt something tighten his throat. What did they mean by "he won't be happy when he wakes up and hears?" Did something happen to Harry?

He was about to go out and demand what happened when the next words knocked him off his senses:

"Brave Harry Potter. He saved us all, it's sad he had to die with You-Know-Who..."

It couldn't be! Harry couldn't be dead! He couldn't believe that. He talked to him before he fell asleep!

Ron waited until the voices had receded and peered outside the deserted hallway. He slowly crept outside and looked for signs posted on the walls indicating each department of the hospital. He found what he needed and headed for the elevator doors and pushed the button for the basement. When he got to the floor he followed the empty corridor until he found what he was looking for.

Ron had been to the morgue only once—when Percy died a year before and he had to identify the body. Wizarding morgues housed the bodies that were preserved to be burned in the traditional wizarding funeral rites. The last time he had been here, there were no more than five corpses, but now there were so many covered caskets that the room seemed so small. Each one was labeled with a name. He passed many names, familiar names to him of old schoolmates, and members of the Order. He felt a twinge of sadness at each name but he felt relieved that they did not contain his best friend's.

Finally he noticed one casket that seemed to stand out from the rest. It was set at the back of the room with a cloth of Gryffindor colors placed over it. On closer inspection, he saw it bore the Hogwarts seal. Ron felt his heart constrict and he paused to deliberate whether to continue or turn back. But he had to know. Gathering all the courage he had, he pulled the cloth and saw the name:

Harry James E. Potter

Ron tried to turn away but he couldn't help but glance at the glass case that revealed the content of the casket: a familiar face, wearing his glasses and Hogwarts robes.

He felt sick; he had to get out of there. He ran out of the room and got into the elevator. He returned to his room without anybody noticing and collapsed into the edge of the nearest bed. It was Hermione's but he didn't wake her. He crawled under the covers beside her. He needed her next to him, even if she wasn't awake.

Harry was dead! Harry was dead! He was just dreaming when he spoke to him. But it was so real... so real... Even now he still felt real, as if he was nearby.

He sobbed on Hermione's pillow, cried until there were no more tears and sleep mercifully took him.

Harry opened his eyes to find his eyelids wet and Hermione sleeping softly next to him. He wondered how he ended up sleeping next to Hermione but he felt too tired to care. His whole body ached as if he had run too fast and his emotions felt raw.

"Harry..." Hermione murmured sadly in her sleep.

Harry sat up on bed. "I'm here."

"No... Harry. No!" She began to toss violently and Harry shook her until she wakened with tears in her eyes. When she saw him, she looked a bit relieved and hugged him tight.

"Hey, it's okay. I'm alright," he murmured as he patted her on the back. "We'll be fine."

"But Harry's..."

"I'm a bit sore, but I reckon I'll pull through. Talked to Ron last night I think. We had a strange conversation of me dying, but I think it was a dream... or something."

Hermione pulled away from his embrace and gave him a puzzled expression. "Ron?"

"Where is he anyway?"

"Where is who?" Hermione asked.

"Ron? Is he okay?"

"What do you mean, are you okay? The healers said you'll be fine but you'll have that scar."

Harry felt his face and found the scar on his right cheek. "Nothing new about that, after the one on my forehead." He ran his hands on his forehead and found it was no longer there. "Hey, it disappeared."

"What disappeared?"

"My scar. The one on my forehead."

"Ron, what are you... " her face sank and she began sobbing again.

"What is it?" Harry asked, suddenly worried for her.

"Ron, please don't..."

"Don't what? I'm not Ron."

Hermione was almost hysterical now. "Just stop it Ron, stop it!"

"What are you talking about?"

"Stop pretending you're Harry!"

"But I am Harry, what are you on about?"

"Shut up, Ron!"

"I have no idea what you're talking about. I'm not Ron!"

A healer had come running to their room. "What's going on? Ms. Granger are you al—" she stopped and glanced at him. "Oh, you're awake. I'll be informing your mother. She's been coming here everyday."

Harry stared at her. Did she just say she was informing his mother? "Um, I think there's a mistake. I don't have a mother. I mean, she's been dead for—"

"Ron, that's enough!"

"Ms. Granger, please," the healer interfered. She summoned a vial with a potion on it and forced her to drink it. Hermione quickly quieted down and a minute later she was fast asleep. The healer looked at him sadly. "She hasn't been herself since... I'm really sorry about... I supposed you've heard... I'm really sorry."

"Sorry about what?" Harry asked.

"You're..." and she burst out into tears. "It's really not my place." She ran off like she was frightened of him.

Harry watched her puzzled but he was feeling tired. He climbed back to his own bed and promptly fell asleep.

"Harry..."

'Yes, Ron?"

"What the—H-harry, where are you?"

"Lying on a bed I think. What's wrong? You're crying."

"(sniff) Are you a... ghost?"

"No. At least I don't think so. I got up a few minutes ago. Talked to Hermione or rather—she was rather shaken. She's a bit confused, she thinks I'm you. The healer gave her something to calm her down. What do you think is going on?"

"Harry... you're..."

"What?"

"You're dead, Harry."

"No, I'm not. I just told you I got up and talked to Hermione."

"But I saw you. I saw your... body... in the morgue..."

"WHAT!"

"I went down to the basement when I heard someone talking about you. I had to see, and you were..."

"But how could that be... I'm..."

"I don't know, but don't go, please. Keep talking to me."

"I'm not going anywhere, but I wish I could see you. Where are you anyway?"

"On a bed in a room in St. Mungo's. How about you?"

"Same thing."

"You don't... feel like you're in a... you know... casket?"

"No, just a bed I think."

"I'm getting up."

Ron opened his eyes and looked around the room. Early morning light was streaming in from the opened windows. It was the same room he had woken up in before. Hermione was still in the next bed and Ginny on the other side of his bed at the far end of the room next to the wall.

"Harry?"

"Here, Ron... That's weird. You just said my name but it feels like I said it myself."

"Where are you?"

"In a room in St. Mungo's. I'm looking at Hermione."

"So am I. Where are you?"

"Sitting in bed looking at Hermione."

Ron glanced around. There was nobody there except himself, Hermione and Ginny.

"Which bed?"

"The one in the middle."

Ron looked at the empty space of the bed beside him. He groped around at the empty space expecting to hit something.

"Did you just clutch at the air?"

"Yeah. I thought you might be sitting there beside me, invisible."

"I did the same thing."

"Alright, this is really freaking me out."

Ron got up and paced around the room, looking for a ghostly figure of Harry hovering around him. He found a door at the end of the room that led to a small bathroom. A mirror hung on the wall of the loo and he stopped without meaning to. He looked at himself in the mirror.

"Ron!" he heard himself say it though he wondered what made him do so.

"Ron, I can see you!"

"From where?"

"From the mirror."

Ron peered closely at the glass, looking for Harry in the background. There was nothing there and when he looked behind him there was nothing but empty space. He looked back at the mirror.

"Ron, I'm seeing you in the mirror, but I'm looking at myself!"

"What do you mean—Harry, where the bloody hell are you!"

"I'm telling you, I'm looking at myself in the mirror, but I'm seeing your face, not mine!"

Ron stared at the image of himself. He looked tired and haggard and the scar on his face was terrible, but otherwise he didn't look any different. He slowly moved his fingers to his face and traced the outline of his scar. He closed his eyes savoring his own touch and when he opened them again there was nothing different.

I think I'm going crazy. Ron thought to himself. He had seen Harry dead and he was pretending he was still talking to his best friend.

"Ron?"

There it was again. But he felt so real.

"Ron, can you hear me?"

"Yes, Harry. But you're dead. How can you talk to me, unless I'm getting deranged?"

Ron felt a sadness he couldn't explain and all at once regretted saying he was crazy, as if he offended himself with the thought. He felt as if he had lost something and tears began to pour down his cheeks.

"I'm dead, Ron. You're right, I'm dead."

"Harry..."

"But I think I'm somewhere else. I think I'm inside you. I'm in your body, Ron."

"What!"

"There you just said 'what!' and I said the same thing without meaning to."

"But how..."

"I don't know... maybe... maybe I entered your mind somehow because my body's dead, but later I'll... I'll go away..."

"Don't go, Harry! Stay with me!"

"I don't think I could go even if I wanted to. I don't know how. But are you sure you don't mind?"

"Mind? Harry don't be daft. I don't mind you inside me. It's a bit weird but it's bloody brilliant!"

"You think?"

"Yeah, just wicked, Harry. Like you're a part of me. How do you feel?"

"It's a little odd. A new body and everything." Ron felt his hands to touch his head and ruffle his own hair. "It's kind of unnerving, feeling my hair lie flat. And the view has certainly improved."

"Now you've finally know what it's like to be tall. And you don't have to wear glasses anymore."

"Yeah, but now I've got freckles. Guess you can't have everything."

"Oy, there's nothing wrong with my freckles. Just because you had great skin before—"

"I'm not complaining, mate. I can live with the freckles."

Ron laughed and he felt Harry laugh with him. There were footsteps behind and he turned to see his mother. Her eyes were puffy and she looked liked she hadn't slept for days. She enveloped him in a long hug before pulling him back to his bed.

"How are you feeling, Ron dear?" she asked when they sat comfortably on the edge of his bed.

"Okay, I suppose. Just a bit sore."

His mother sat in uncomfortable silence for a long time. Ron knew she was deliberating whether she should tell him about Harry.

"Harry, do you think we should—"

"Tell her? I don't know about that. Maybe we shouldn't. Not until we know more about this thing. I mean, we don't know maybe I'll go away eventually and it's no use—"

"Look, you're not going away. Not if I can help it."

"We're not sure about that. Maybe this is just a temporary thing before I go to the afterlife."

"You're not going to the afterlife without me, Harry. So don't talk about it."

"Ron, are you alright?"

His mother was peering at him closely with worry on her face. Ron realized his facial expression must have shown his conversation with Harry and he carefully rearranged it back to what he thought was normal.

"I'm fine," he said. They lapsed into silence again and Ron couldn't bear to see his mother looking distraught like that. "I know, about... about Harry."

His mother fell to sobbing. "I didn't know how to tell you. I'm so sorry, dear. So sorry." He hugged Ron and he hugged her back though he couldn't grieve with her.

"Let's not tell her yet, Ron. Let's not tell anyone yet. I mean, I don't want to get their hopes up."

"Alright, Harry. It's our secret for the moment."

"I loved him like a son, too," his mother said. "I wish I could have been a better mother to him. He was so young..."

"Thank you. I love you, too. And I couldn't find a better Mum. You were the best." Ron heard himself speak though he knew it was Harry talking.

"I wish I could have said it to him. Why didn't I ever say it when he was there? I loved him so much and now he'll never hear it."

"I'm hearing you now. I'm so happy, thank you so much Mrs.—"

"Mum!" Ron cut through Harry's words with his own before they gave themselves away. Molly looked at him with a puzzled expression, but she let it go and hugged him again.