Author's Note: Just to clarify before it starts, this chapter is intended to be disconnected/less than completely rational in respect to characters and events. However, there's also intended to be a great deal of truth in it, which I think I've managed. Heh. Don't forget to review and let me know what you think. (And no, I do not, in fact, have a beta. Poor me.)

o.o.o.o

Word At Last

'Mum!' screamed Ron, dropping the newspaper he'd just taken from the delivery owl. 'Mum! Dad!' Ginny, who'd been reading the news article over Ron's shoulder, backed away from him with a horrified expression on her face.

'That's not possible. It's a bunch of lies,' she murmured, her hand over her mouth. 'It has to be.'

Ron wasn't listening, as he dashed through the living room into the kitchen, frantically searching for one of his parents. 'Dad! Fred, George!

'Anyone!'

Molly and Arthur were at the Ministry, however, as Ron remembered when he saw his twin brothers rushing down the stairs looking worried. His parents had gone in quite early that morning in response to an urgent but brief summons from Cornelius Fudge, of all people.

'What's wrong, Ron? What is it?' George demanded instantly, staring at his little brother.

'Harry! It's Harry!' was the nearly hysterical reply.

Fred gave George a "twins only" sort of look. 'What about Harry, though?'

Ginny had followed Ron, carrying the Daily Prophet he'd dropped. Without a word, she passed it to them and they leaned over to read it together.

'Shit,' they said in unison, obviously appalled, the paper dropping to the floor before finishing the article. It had yet to be read all the way through, by any of them, but that hardly mattered, really.

Nearly in tears, Ginny nodded mutely. Hesitantly, Ron walked over and put an arm around her shoulders. They both knew it was as much for him as her; his eyes were still too wide, the pupils dilated unnaturally, and his face too pale, the freckles standing out starkly against the whiteness.

He tried to give the others a weak smile, having calmed slightly in order to comfort his sister. 'A bunch of lies, remember?'

Ginny glanced around at the three boys, meeting each of their eyes in turn, and asked quietly, 'But -- Merlin! -- what if... it isn't?'

'How can it be?' Fred asked, trying to be logical. His voice wavered just slightly in the middle, however. Nobody answered at first. 'Harry couldn't be... How could it be?'

Finally, Ron said what they were all thinking, pushing Ginny to tears. 'Easily. Very, very easily. Too easily.'

Two loud pops close by broke the anxious silence. The four teenagers whipped around to face the cause of the sounds. It was their parents, looking harassed and grief-stricken.

'Get your things,' Molly instructed curtly. Arthur, searching their faces, sighed sadly.

'They know already,' he whispered to his wife. Ron heard him, though.

'NO!'

Looking close to tears herself, his mother enveloped Ron in a crushing hug. He did not resist, staring past Molly into Ginny's equally upset eyes. 'No, no, no...' he repeated softly, protesting that which he couldn't change but wanted to anyway.

'Is it really true then, Dad?' the Twins were questioning Arthur in undertones. 'Is it like it says in the Prophet?' He nodded slowly, resignedly.

'Yes.'

Ginny shook her head firmly, characteristically obstinate. 'But Dumbledore promised! It can't be true, I won't believe it!'

Releasing Ron, who had mumbled something in agreement, Molly looked up sternly. 'Believe it or not, Ginny, it's true and we're just going to have to... have to move on.' She sniffed. 'Right. Your things, go and fetch them. The Order's holding an emergency meeting and we're to stay there till... till Albus comes up with something better.' She pointed toward the stairs. Ginny went with a petulant and troubled frown, the tear tracks on her face still visible. George, Fred, and Ron trailed close behind.

In a scarce few minutes all six of them were ready for an unplanned trip to Number 12 Grimmauld Place. Not surprising, given how much they'd all practiced for just such an incident. They'd never expected, though, for it to be under quite so drastic of conditions.

A few words muttered by Arthur over an old tea pot created the Portkey to whisk them away. And a single farewell glance was all that was needed to read that day's disturbing headline in the Daily Prophet. Then the Weasley family vanished from the Burrow.

o.o.o.o

BODY OF BOY-WHO-LIVED FOUND:
DECLARED DEAD BY ST. MUNGO'S MEDI-WIZARDS!

At precisely 6:58 AM on this, his sixteenth birthday, after almost three hours of extensive testing by the most brilliant living minds in medicine, the Boy-Who-Lived was confirmed to be dead.

This morning, a squad of Aurors broke into Number 4 Privet Drive, the home of Harry Potter's relatives and at which he was staying, with orders to arrest him under charges of underage magic (the same charges which he had to attend a hearing for just last year) and use of outlawed spells.

This last came as quite a surprise to this reporter, who wasn't even aware that the spells Mr. Potter had been accused of existed. Apparently, neither were most Ministry officials -- certain out-of-date spell detectors got quite a dusting when they went off at 3:00 AM, to the shock of the on-duty attendant. 'I know each beep and buzz and whir of those little beauties as if by my own heart,' claims Sally Fitzimmons, night witch at the Improper Use of Magic Office for nearly eight years, in connection to the delicate magical instruments used in the detection of inappropriate magic. She goes on, 'And just as usual when I heard them things going off in the next room (I was in the hall for a cuppa, see) I thought, sure I know what that is, but then this other noise, foreign-like, comes out with the others. And Emily (that's Emily Lowenburg, she's the witch in the next room) who was standing with me says to me I'd best be getting back in and checking them. And I does, and they're all nice and quiet and normal, except this one way in the back corner, where I don't even go unless I can help it, which is rattling and clicking and carrying on something awful. I had to check the label just to tell what it was for, dirty old thing!'

But the Aurors seemed to know what was going on well enough. They started in the bedroom known to be inhabited by Mr. Potter, but found it empty of boy or wand -- which they had been instructed to confiscate on sight -- and almost all else. According to the one Auror this reporter could get to comment, it was at this point that they began to suspect something was seriously amiss. It was not until they'd reached the small kitchen, which they searched last -- everywhere else was empty, as his relatives the Dursley family were on vacation -- that the squad stumbled upon the unbelievable truth.

Harry Potter, miraculous survivor of the dreaded Killing Curse by the hand of He Who Must Not Be Named himself, was lying next to the empty table, the only upset chair tumbled over near his feet; he didn't appear to be breathing. He was transported with all haste to St. Mungo's, where expert healers were called, in an attempt to revive the famous boy. Unfortunately, not even the best were good enough -- or early enough, in this case -- to save the young hero.

Whereabouts of his wand, which is said by some to be a brother to that of You-Know-Who, are unknown. The Auror this reporter spoke with, Armandeus Fiddleburr, insists that it was not on the premises at all, and they've yet to locate it. Now, thinks this reporter, how does a smart young lad known for getting himself out of deadly scraps at wand-point, go about losing his wand while completely alone in a house with no visible amount of protection whatsoever? Could this be foul play we're smelling?

The official cause of death, suspected by this reporter to be the very curse Mr. Potter escaped as an infant, has not yet been released by the Ministry. Some are saying that not even the Minister for Magic himself knows for sure what it was that killed the lad. Could such a thing really be allowed to occur, this reporter wonders?

Note: At the request of Albus Dumbledore, the body of Harry Potter shall be turned over to the family of Harry's school friends Ronald and Ginevra Weasley for safekeeping until the funeral, which, he has informed this reporter, will be a private gathering, though he does promise that a public memorial will also be held at a later time. The dates for both have not yet been released. Look for them in the Daily Prophet at every opportunity -- trust the Prophet for the fastest, the best coverage of all the news-making events which matter to you.

Article by Daily Prophet staff writer Theodore Throumann.

o.o.o.o

Mad-eye Moody was waiting for them when the Weasleys arrived at the Order Headquarters, as was Albus Dumbledore. They both looked somber, Dumbledore more so than Ron and Ginny had ever seen him. The dull murmur of voices could be heard coming into the hall from the kitchen.

'Arthur, Molly,' Moody said, nodding in greeting. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley only nodded in return. Together, the adults all started for the kitchen door.

The teens noticed their exclusion, and Ron exchanged a glance of anger with the Twins. They were going to protest, but Ginny hushed them. From up ahead came the lowered voice of Dumbledore, laden heavily with sorrow.

'... we've put him in here for now, yes. As you know, the funeral...'

Then the door closed behind them, leaving the hall as close to silent as it was before. Ron had gone very, very pale once more.

'Did you hear that?' he croaked more than said. 'They've got his... body... here. Harry...'

Ginny and the Twins couldn't think of anything to say to that, but they were spared answering by a muffled wail which had just come from the kitchen. The door may have been closed, but they all heard the words quite clearly, and easily identified the person uttering them as their mother.

'Harry! Harry, poor, dear boy! Why, those awful Muggles -- I ought to -- oh! Harry... you were... as good as mine! And now you've...'

From there it just dissolved into sobs.

The Twins and Ginny stared at the door in horror. Ron looked as if he were going to be ill, and his legs had given out, leaving him kneeling on the floor. 'They've put him in the kitchen?' he moaned, as if the very idea gave him the shakes -- and indeed, it seemed to. Fred and George, having no answer, could only shake their heads in grieved bewilderment.

Moving a step away from them all, Ginny raised her hands to cover her mouth. 'I... I can't stay down here!' she cried, her eyes welling up. She ran for the stairs, taking them several at a time.

A few seconds later, when they registered what she'd done, her brothers hastened after her, abandoning the luggage in the front hall of 12 Grimmauld Place for their parents to take care of later.