Disclaimer: Er, yeah, forgot one of these before. But Harry Potter and all things related do not belong to me, and I really don't want to get sued. Thank you?

Author's Notes: I'd like to take a moment to thank all of my (four) reviewers. And also, to ask everyone that reads this to please review. I do so love reviews. They make my world a little brighter... But anyway. Thanks for reading, please don't hurt me (though, flames are okay), and enjoy this chapter. Mandi, the last sentence is only there because I love you so much. :D On with the story now.

o.o.o.o

Party of One

In the days following their arrival at 12 Grimmauld Place, Ron and Ginny learned very little more about Harry's demise; apparently, the newspaper had for once released all the information, and done so accurately. They did, however, get to see Harry's body, small comfort that it was.

It was several hours after they'd first arrived, and the four youngest Weasleys were sitting at the foot of the steps, staring at the kitchen door. They were waiting for it to open, as it hadn't since their parents had entered the room. Except once, when Tonks had shown up, late because she had to give her report on the Auror mission to her superior at the Ministry. They'd all been upstairs, looking for Ginny -- she was crying on the bed in Harry and Ron's room -- and wouldn't have noticed at all, except Tonks somehow set off the portrait of Mrs. Black. The Order members had swarmed from the kitchen en masse, and all but attacked the painting, which had subsided into quiet with remarkable speed. But after that, they'd retreated to the kitchen, taking with them a sniffling Tonks on Charlie's arm, and had yet to come out again.

'What time is it now?' asked Ron at length, sitting on the bottom step with his feet propped on the wall and his arms resting over his knees.

The Twins were on the floor, Fred sitting with his back to the wall and legs running parallel with the last step, George lying next to him with his legs in the air up against the wall. His ankles were crossed, as were Fred's, and in any other circumstances, the picture they made would have been humourous. George checked Fred's watch, ignoring his own. 'Half-nine, three minutes.'

Ron sighed and nodded dismally. 'One minute since I last asked.'

On the step above Ron, sitting cross-legged, Ginny sighed as well. Her voice was strained and sad as she spoke. 'Five and a half hours since we got here. Almost five since Tonks did. Two and a quarter since we heard Lupin scream. And eighteen since Harry... I think I'm going to shut up.'

'Your times are off,' murmured George absently.

'What are they doing in there?' demanded Fred crossly. 'And why aren't George and I allowed in, too?' They'd asked, of course, when Tonks had first shown up. It was Dumbledore who refused them, even though Mrs. Weasley had looked about to.

'Forget that,' Ron said, dropping his forehead to his folded arms wearily. 'I just want to know when they're coming out.'

'Yeah,' agreed Ginny in a rather listless tone. 'Knowing that would be nice.'

'Mmhm.' Fred titled his head back and closed his eyes, pasting a dreamy expression on his face. 'I want dinner. Food. A -- what is it, George?' He looked down at his twin, who was frantically slapping at Fred's leg.

In answer to his question, George pointed at the kitchen door. From behind it could be heard the noises of chairs scraping and people talking. But what the noises were was unimportant to the four teens, all that mattered was that there were noises -- the Silencing Charm, which hadn't even been strong enough to hold in the terrifying scream of their former professor, had been lifted. They scrambled to their feet, Ginny leaning over the banister to see better, and Ron stepping down from the stair. All their eyes were trained on the door.

A few moments later, it opened, and Professor Dumbledore emerged. Behind him came the rest of the Order. Some of them faltered when they saw Ron, but others, like Severus Snape, just kept on walking toward the door without so much as a pause. Dumbledore, Molly, Arthur, Bill, Charlie, Tonks, Remus and Mundungus Fletcher just stopped altogether.

'Well?' demanded George, ignoring the witches and wizards with bowed heads streaming past him to the front door, where they could leave the building and then apparate away.

'Well, what?' returned Bill, looking like he'd just been dragged out of an Egyptian tomb. There was even still sand on his boots.

Ron scowled at them, crossing his arms angrily. 'We've been sitting here for hours, while you lot did Merlin knows what in there. What's going on? And where's... where's Harry?'

'Young Harry's body,' began Dumbledore, still looking as grave, as old, as he had when they'd first seen him that day, 'is being kept in a specially charmed section of the house, until such time as we can organise his funeral. His relatives will, of course, need to be contacted, and --'

'Forget his relatives! They don't give a damn about him and we all know it,' Ginny interrupted, levering herself over the banister and landing in a small heap next to Ron. She stood up. 'We want to see him.'

Molly frowned. 'I don't think that's a good idea, Albus,' she cautioned, glancing at her children sternly.

'Have youseen him?' asked Ron accusingly.

'Well... yes,' Arthur admitted.

'Well, he's my friend, and I want to see him.' As Ron said this, Ginny crossed her arms defiantly, and the Twins nodded sharply.

'Let us see him,' began Fred evenly, 'or we'll have to find a way to see him on our own. But one way or another, we will see him.'

George smirked his agreement. 'Yeah. Even if you foil anything we try, we'll still see him at the funeral, unless you try to stop us from going. So what's the point? There's no way you're keeping us away from him. Why not save yourselves a lot of trouble and let us now?'

Molly didn't seem to know quite how to respond to that. Ron could see the tears forming in her eyes, but frankly, he didn't really care. He was in no mood to give in just because she felt like being a girl about things. And really, was it even such a big thing to ask? He wanted to see his friend's body, and he should be allowed. It was only fair, wasn't it? He had a right -- hell, he just plain deserved for them to let him see.

Why weren't they letting him? It wasn't like he was going to burst out crying, like his mother apparently had. And where was this "specially charmed section," anyway? Surely, it couldn't be the kitchen. That would be just... wrong.

Neither Dumbledore nor Arthur nor any of the others seemed to have an answer for the Twins, either. They all glanced uncomfortably at Molly, except Dumbledore, who inspected his fingernails serenely. Gulping several times out of sadness, Molly looked down and wouldn't meet anyone's eyes.

'This isn't about us being too young, is it?' snapped Ginny after several minutes of the silence. 'Because if it is, that's a load of crap. If Harry's old enough to die, we're bloody old enough to see his body. Let us see him, dammit!'

Ginny's swearing seemed to act as a jolt to Molly, for she brought her head up abruptly and narrowed her eyes at her daughter. 'Don't use that kind of language with me, young lady!'

'Then let us see him,' retorted Ginny firmly.

'I would suggest,' Dumbledore broke in softly, still looking at his fingernail, 'that you allow the young people what they want, Molly.' Her shriek of protest was still only half-formed when he continued. 'I can see no harm in their viewing the corpse.'

'Dammit, it's Harry! Don't talk about him like that!'

'He's dead, Fred,' Bill said quietly.

'That doesn't mean you can talk about him like... like he's just some body!' Ron cried vehemently.

Remus shook his head sadly, a huge sorrow visible in his eyes. 'That is all he is now, Ron. Just a body; a dead... a lifeless body. You can't bring him back and you can't change that.'

'Shut up!' Ginny screamed, tears in her eyes. 'How could Harry just die, anyway? He wouldn't let himself just die! I won't believe you until you prove it to me!'

Dumbledore let them see his body.

They'd placed him in the cellar, off the kitchen, where they said they'd put up special preservation charms, to hold his body in a sort of limbo until the funeral. It was Harry, sure enough, and he was definitely dead. He was dressed in what he had been when the Aurors found him, nothing but a pair of pajama bottoms that looked like they'd belonged to an elephant in a former life. They hadn't got a casket yet, for which Ron was absurdly grateful.

It wasn't a pretty sight, even though he only appeared to be sleeping, and most of them regretted it afterwards. But not Ginny. For some reason, she couldn't bring herself to believe he was gone, and seeing his body only solidified this. The Twins went solemn-faced and strangely normal for a long while, and Ron, well, it just made him miserable.

After that they were all very quiet, especially in the presence of adults, and the two youngest spent a great deal of time sitting blankly in front of unfinished essays and papers that needed writing before school started, trying to make the words in the text books read as anything other than 'Harry's dead!' And if half the time, Ginny was mumbling and sobbing to herself that he couldn't be, and the other half acting very unusual and uncharacteristically vicious, they all passed it off as the affects of grief.

As more time passed after Harry's death, there was a steady increase in the oddness of Ginny's behaviour. It went unnoticed at first, but two days before Harry's funeral, it reached a point where they could no longer ignore it.

Every night, about an hour after she was sent to bed, Ginny would leave her room to venture down and visit Harry. Because Ron (the only one to notice from the beginning) did not realise immediately that she was seeing Harry, he was not alarmed; Ginny often got up in the middle of the night. Since the few times that she'd been caught out of bed, she hadn't been able to remember them, it had been concluded that she was sleepwalking.

Half-midnight the first night at Grimmauld Place, Ron was sitting on his bed in the room he'd shared with Harry. His pajamas, a little too short in the arms and legs to begin with, were rumpled and bunched, baring several inches of skin in the vicinity of his ankles and wrists.

Back against the wall, knees drawn up to his chest, staring brokenly at the empty bed across from him, Ron was trying desperately not to cry. His bloodshot eyes and suddenly damp cheeks were proof of his failure, when he recalled the last time he'd seen his best friend; trailing dejectedly after his Muggle relatives, still reeling from the death of his godfather.

There was a noise out in the hall and Ron turned his head fractionally to peer out the crack left by the partially open door. He barely caught a glimpse of the back of Ginny's head and nightgown as she slipped down the hall. He sighed.

He'd had such plans for Harry and Ginny this year... But Harry was dead now.

Ron was thrown back into misery.

Ron had been sorry when Sirius died, more so because of the effect it seemed to have on his friend, and also on Professor Lupin. But any grief he'd felt over that paled in comparison to the horrible emptiness and loneliness that came with Harry's death. He was so selfishly absorbed in his sorrow that until now he hadn't even been able to think of how it had hit everyone else.

But the entire wizarding world was mourning with him. The Boy-Who-Lived was dead, and there was no hiding the fact. Ron figured that You-Know-Who and his Death Eaters must be dancing jigs.

o.o.o.o

As it happened, however, Lord Voldemort was fuming, and his Death Eaters were suffering for it.

'Get up, Nott,' he hissed harshly, lifting his want from where it had been administering the Cruciatus. The Death Eater rose shakily and staggered back to his place in line.

Lord Voldemort surveyed his assembled followers through narrowed eyes. One, away on the far side of the circle from where he was standing, drew his attention. The red orbs settled on the man, who was quickly motioned forward.

Severus Snape came immediately, Occlumency and his mask hiding his unwillingness. He knelt at the Dark Lord's feet. He waited for Voldemort to speak. And waited.

And waited.

Finally, after what seemed like forever to the Death Eaters and Snape especially, he hissed his displeasure.

'What do you know of Potter? Is the boy really dead, or is this just another plot of the old fool's?' he demanded.

There was another silence, this one shorter and more expectant. 'He's dead, my lord,' Snape whispered at length. He cleared his throat when the words came out scratchy.

'You're sure of this?' Lord Voldemort pressed. Snape nodded.

'I've seen his body.'

Now this, this was proof of exactly the thing they'd all been hoping to help their master achieve for the past couple of years. But to their surprise, this angered the Dark Lord immensely. 'Which one of you is responsible for this?'

No one replied.

'Fools,' he spat, stalking around the silent circle.

Suddenly he stopped, a pensive expression crossing his face. 'Yes... of course...' Just as suddenly, it was covered by a stony mask of disinterest.

'Leave me,' snapped the Dark Lord. 'I have things to think over.'

o.o.o.o

Hermione, pale and tearstained and completely not herself, showed up on the second day of their return to Grimmauld Place. Though she repeatedly insisted that she was fine, it was obvious that she was not, but most of them were familiar enough with the pain of loss that they said nothing. Ron spent almost every waking moment with her, apparently afraid to let her out of his sight, and be damned if most of the adults didn't sympathise. For her part, the young Muggleborn witch seemed to appreciate the attention.

It was understood by the elder Weasleys that Hermione was to stay until just after the funeral and public memorial service, but no-one seemed to have mentioned that to her. Indeed, after witnessing the way she and Ron clung to each other's presence since Harry's death, they were loath to have to tear them apart.

'Can't she stay longer, Headmaster?' Molly asked plaintively. Unsurprising to those that knew her well, she was the strongest advocate for keeping the young people, those most affected by Harry's death, together.

The old man sighed. 'I'm afraid that's out of the question.'

'But why?'

Another sigh. 'I... I'm... not entirely sure,' was the weary, whispered reply. The room got eerily quiet with these words, such an odd, open display of uncertainty from the seemingly omniscient Headmaster.

Molly, increasingly worried frown marring her features whenever she thought of it, stopped pressing the subject. She seemed to stop pressing a lot of subjects. She also seemed to be unable to hold a conversation with either of her youngest children without bursting into tears.

No-one in the Order was taking Harry's death well, particularly those that knew of the prophecy -- which at that point was a considerably greater number than it had been just a week before. Some seemed to think it meant that the end was coming, and had given up all hope. Others seemed to think the prophecy itself was a fluke, or that it had been referring to the first time Harry had defeated Voldemort. Everyone had their own opinions, and they clung to them like drowning men.

o.o.o.o

Despite being caught out of bed several times, Ginny continued to sneak in and spend ever longer periods of time staring at Harry's body. This was when she acted the least like normal Ginny, but no-one noticed that until Hermione found her, the fourth day of the other girl's visit.

People hadn't really been paying much attention to Ginny lately, so it didn't really surprise Hermione to find her with Harry's body. She gently closed the door behind her and took a step closer to the younger girl.

'Ginny?' she asked in a whisper, somehow not willing to raise her voice higher than that, here in this room. There was no answer. Hermione frowned at the back of Ginny's head. 'Ginny?' she repeated, moving around to the other side of Harry's coffin.

She stopped, looking over the foot of the open casket at the young Weasley. There was something odd here...

'Ginny?'

Slowly, and quite reluctantly, Ginny's eyes turned away from staring at Harry's face. Hermione almost backed up a step in surprise -- her eyes were red rimmed, and... red tinged. She didn't look completely awake, either.

'Are... Ginny, are you all right?' Hermione queried tremulously. She felt a bit bad for having neglected her closest female friend like this, but she'd been so shocked by Harry's death, she just hadn't thought of anything or one else.

Ginny nodded, turned around stiffly and left the room. Hermione watched her go.

When she followed her out, she almost ran into Ron coming into the kitchen. Ron looked hungry, but that was usual, particularly since Harry's death. He was consoling himself with two things; food and Hermione.

He said her name with surprise, his arms automatically going out to keep her from falling. The gesture turned into a hug when he saw the perplexed, concerned expression on her face. 'Is... Is it... Him?' he asked, unable to either ask her what was wrong or say Harry's name. He hadn't said it for the better part of a week -- it was just too... real, to not remind him that Harry, his Harry, his best mate, was dead.

'No,' replied Hermione slowly, thoughtfully. 'Actually, it's Ginny.'

'Ginny?' exclaimed Ron, startled. He backed away so that he'd be able to see her face better. 'What's wrong with Ginny?'

Immediately, he winced. He didn't take back the question, however.

'I'm not sure. But I just saw her, down with... Harry.' Hermione bit her lip when she finished speaking, and Ron couldn't help but notice that she looked less distressed than she had since she'd gotten there. Having something to think about, other than... that... was good for her mind.

'With Harry? But, she was sleepwalking again--'

'Ginny sleepwalks?' Hermione interrupted, unduly rattled.

Ron nodded, moving them toward the table. There were chairs there, and, of course, a plate of biscuits. 'Yeah. Well, she used to before she went to Hogwarts, and Mum said she'd stopped, but since... you know... it's come back. She's been doing it every night, at around the same time. I didn't think anything of it, because, honestly, it's Ginny,' Ron knew he was babbling, but he couldn't help himself. He'd almost mentioned what he'd been trying to deny for days. He had to direct his thoughts away from it before he could stop moving his mouth.

'She didn't look like she was sleepwalking.'

'No?' Ron picked up a biscuit and stuffed it in his mouth to prevent him possibly saying anything else. It was a good one, possibly his mum's best; she'd been cooking like mad. Harry would have loved these biscuits, he loved everything that -- no, no, mustn't think like that. Think about Ginny. Not Harry.

'She looked... I don't know, Ron. It disturbed me,' mumbled Hermione, refusing to meet his curious gaze. His heart, now more hers than ever, with the loss of his other best friend, nearly broke the rest of the way at her worried expression.

'What?'

'Her eyes, they weren't... hers.' Hermione sighed. 'I don't know.' That was the second time in two minutes Hermione'd said she didn't know, and it made Ron's chest hurt in a funny sort of all-is-not-right-in-the-world way. Hermione Granger always, always knew. It was like Dumbledore not having an answer to everything, for her to not know.

Ron placed a hand gently, awkwardly against her cheek and smiled what he hoped was a reassuring smile. 'I'm sure it's nothing, Hermione. If it makes you feel better, though, we can mention it to Professor Dumbledore tomorrow.' Hermione just looked at him gratefully, her eyes shining. Ron cleared his throat, dropping his hand quickly. 'In the meantime, though, I think you should sleep. I should too, of course.'

Hermione smiled. 'Yes,' she said thickly, embracing him suddenly. 'You're very good, Ronald Weasley.'

Ron blinked at her, flabbergasted. Blushing, she stood and left the room hurriedly, presumably going to bed as Ron had suggested.

Though he knew he should, Ron himself didn't return to his room that night until very, very late. He sat and stared stonily at the door down to the room they were keeping Harry, occasionally crying silently, contemplating the unfairness of life and how much he hated, hated, hated death.

o.o.o.o

Hundreds of miles away, Harry Potter stirred.