An hour later found a cleaned up and more settled Harry and Hermione standing near rows of chairs in a building not far from the Burrow. It wasn't a chapel but, with it connected to the Weasley family cemetery, it was obvious what its intended purpose was. His first thought upon arriving was that apparently Arthur and Molly's . . . proliferation . . . was not an aberration for their family; there were a lot of Weasleys, and they all seemed to have come together to see one of their own off to the next great adventure, along with what appeared to be all of the Order of the Phoenix, a few of the professors, some Ministry officials, and various and sundry other friends of the family. Harry also noticed that, despite the volume of red hair in attendance, there were very few as young as the Weasley children he knew. Sure, there were some that looked to be in their late teens, but he only noticed 3 or 4 that were their age or younger out of the, if he had to guess, 90 to 100 people that were there. And he was finding it impossible to keep track of which ones were of what relation to the Weasleys of the Burrow, despite a man who had introduced himself as Arthur's first cousin twice removed Archibald trying to introduce him and Hermione to all of them. All in all, Harry found it quite disorienting.
Despite that, he would gladly have allowed the disorientation to continue if he didn't have to deal with the people who had just approached him, or at least the person in the lead. Right in front of him was Rufus Scrimgeour, the Minister of Magic, flanked on one side by a man that Harry wasn't familiar with and on the other by someone he should have expected to be there but whose presence still caused him a shock; Amos Diggory. Harry hadn't spoken to Amos since the morning after Cedric had died almost two years ago, and the intervening years seemed to have taken their toll on the man. He appeared to have lost at least 2 stone, his ruddiness had morphed into a pallor, and he had shaved off his beard.
"Mister Potter," began Scrimgeour neutrally, no doubt remembering the disaster that was their conversation over Christmas break, "it's wonderful to see you again." He extended his hand and Harry, knowing that he would have to play a little bit of politics in order to get the Ministry's help with his missions, took the Minister's hand and shook it firmly.
"And you, Minister," Harry responded. "Thank you for making the time today to come here and honor my friend Ron."
Harry's positive response seemed to delight Scrimgeour, who moved his second hand to also envelope the one of Harry's he already had a grip on. "A tragedy, indeed, to lose one so young. It's the least the Ministry can do to come out and pay homage. Harry," Rufus continued before Harry could respond, "I believe you are familiar with Amos Diggory," he said, indicating the brown-haired man to his left. Harry extricated his hand from the Minister's and took Diggory's, trying to get a read on the man from his responses. He received a nod but nothing more, and he determined to try and speak to Amos more later as Scrimgeour kept talking. "And this gentleman to my right is Gawain Robards, the Head Auror," he finished, and Harry moved his attention to the middle-aged blonde man in dark robes. His handshake was firm and straightforward, and Harry noticed that his eyes never stopped moving, trying to take in everything and everyone around him.
"Good morning, Mr. Potter," Robards said, still not keeping eye contact with Harry, "it's very nice to meet you finally. I've heard through the grapevine that you perhaps have interest in joining the Auror Office. Any truth to that rumor?"
Harry took his hand back and thought about how he should respond. "That's correct sir, it was one of the careers that I mentioned last year during our meetings with Professor McGonagall. Actually, to be honest it was the only job we spoke of. However, to be honest, I'm not entirely sure that I've a firm grasp on what the position really entails." This was a half-truth, but he figured it would do to get a foot in the door. "Perhaps at some point in the near future I might be able to come by the Ministry and speak with you more about it. Minister, as the former Head Auror yourself perhaps you would have additional insight that I may be able to leverage in deciding if a career in the Aurors is right for me."
Scrimgeour raised an eyebrow at the comment, daring not believe his reversal of fortune just yet. "I may indeed, Harry. Always willing to help out the next generation however I can."
Harry just nodded. "And perhaps, just perhaps, we might discuss a few other topics of mutual concern as well." Harry knew his hint had been taken as a wide smile crossed Scrimgeour's face.
"I believe that can be arranged, Harry. Now, if you'll excuse us, we have to make a few more pleasantries before the services begin." With that, the three Ministry officials departed and Harry quickly made his way back to Hermione's side, who had been conversing with Fred and George while Harry was speaking with them.
Harry and Hermione had discussed how best to proceed with the Ministry and what might be required. She knew that he wasn't happy to have to play the game but they both knew that, because of (or perhaps despite) Harry's comments of a few nights ago, they were going to need all the help they could get. Harry hated being used, and he had rejected Scrimgeour's overtures at Christmas because that was how it felt he would have been treated had he agreed to those requests then. Now, however, there was mutual gain to be had from aligning with the Minister, and maybe Harry could get a few concessions out of him in exchange for providing some good press. He wasn't particularly pleased with this course, but if it put him on a road that got rid of Voldemort and the Death Eaters, and kept Hermione safe, healthy, and happy then he would swallow his indignation and do what needed doing.
"How did it go?" Hermione asked simply when he walked up to the three of them. Her arm unconsciously weaved its way into his. The younger teens didn't notice, but the twins certainly did if their raised eyebrows were any indication. Neither Harry nor Hermione noticed their reaction, however, as they were looking at each other.
"About how we expected," he replied. "I planted the seed; we'll just have to see if anything roots."
The brilliant young witch nodded in response. "I suppose that's a start. Fred and George were just telling me about something interesting," she commented, changing the subject much to Harry's pleasure. "Gents?"
Shaking his head slightly, Fred took the lead in the conversation. "Hermione has been telling us about your little speech in the Great Hall last Saturday, about how you're basically taking on the mantle of Merlin reborn in order to save us all from the evil that currently plagues our great nation."
"That's a bit melodramatic, isn't it?" Harry said.
"I'm sorry, and what exactly was accepting the title of 'the tip of the spear' before strutting out of the Great Hall to complete silence?" Hermione answered him with a smirk.
"Touché," Harry told her, his eyebrows narrowing in mock anger. "I'm never going to live that down, am I?"
"Not in this lifetime," she said, squeezing his arm comfortingly.
"Anyway," George interjected, "we think we might have something to help that whole 'kick Death Eater arse' thing along. So you know we've been getting a lot of business from the Ministry for some of the things we've been making; the shield hats and whatnot?" At Harry's nod, he continued. "Well, Dad mentioned to us around Christmas that the Department of Magical Transportation has been getting a lot of requests for Portkeys so that people can try to run away if the Death Eaters come calling. Apparently, there are spells to bring up wards against Apparition and the bad guys can bribe someone to block the Floo at a specific place but protecting against Portkeys requires ward stones and so they aren't able to be defeated by the Death Eaters when they attack a house unless they want to pump magic into them for a few hours so the stones charge. I guess the Ministry has been having a real bear of a time with mishaps with the Portkeys they've been issuing; people just appearing wherever they asked the Portkey to be directed to because people don't really understand their limitations."
Fred picked up the thread. "It seems the root problem is that there are really only two ways of activating a Portkey; either it's set to go off at a specific time or it activates a few seconds after someone touches it. Well, since Death Eaters don't Floo ahead and make an appointment to burn down your house the former really doesn't do a whole lot of good when they show up, and the latter, well, what if your family is spread all over the house? You can't grab it and go into your kids' room; the blasted thing will go off and leave your kids behind."
"So," George followed on, "we thought we would look into other ways to activate one. Maybe a passphrase, or touching it with your wand, or maybe even doing something to it like dousing it in water or some such. But we needed a bunch of them to mess with. And thus, we went to the Portkey Office and did all the paperwork and interviews necessary to be licensed to make Portkeys so we could start experimenting."
"Aren't Portkeys really highly regulated?" Harry asked. "I mean, I remember Fudge giving Dumbledore a talking to when he made one for me after we broke into the Ministry. They don't just let anyone make them or even submit for one, do they?"
Hermione answered his questions before the twins could. "That's all essentially correct, Harry. Very few people outside of the Portkey Office are trained or authorized to make them, and anyone who comes in requesting one has to fill out a permit form and pay a 15 galleon processing fee. I have no idea how much the license to make them is."
"A little under 300 galleons each," Fred responded. "Between brooms, Floos, and Apparition, most people don't bother except for big events or when transporting a bunch of people who can't Apparate somewhere that doesn't have a Floo. Too much hassle. It's just the current climate that has the requests pouring in."
"And you two passed the background check?" Harry asked, surprised that such well-known mischief makers as the Weasley twins would be given that kind of power.
"Surprised the hell out of us too," George said with a chuckle. "I guess sometimes it really is about who you know. Dad being such a well-respected Ministry worker combined with the work we've done for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement seems to have given us some credit with the Ministry."
"So let me get this straight," Harry stated. "The Ministry of Magic has given you two hooligans, amongst the greatest pranksters the magical world have ever known, tacit permission to –"
"Yep," George said proudly. "Fred and I are now duly authorized by the Ministry to make Portkeys. Purely for testing purposes, of course."
"Of course," Harry said, not believing a word of it. "So who have you shipped off to where so far?"
"Harry, now what would make you think we would use our newfound powers for evil?" Fred said, looking highly affronted. A look, both Harry and Hermione knew, was purely for show.
"Because I've known you for six years," Harry replied without missing a beat.
"We'll have you know that Lee ending up in Aunt Muriel's bathtub one morning was purely an accident," George said with almost a straight face, but his twinkling eyes gave him away.
"But he promised never to hit on Verity again afterwards, didn't he?" Fred said, and both twins nodded.
"Anyway," Hermione said, bringing them back on topic, "they said they've made a bit of progress in adding the additional activation methods. Right?"
"Oh, yeah, right," George said, momentarily forgetting why this line of conversation had started to begin with. "With some help from the girls," he began, tilting his head to Alicia and Angelina who had taken seats already, "we think we've managed to find the part in the Arithmancy of the Portus spell that controls how it's activated. The problem is that the spell itself is wicked complicated and we never took Arithmancy, and the girls both scraped by with A's on their NEWTs. We were hoping that Hermione could take a look at it for us and see if, between all of us, we can figure out how to tweak that part of the spell to allow additional trigger conditions."
"Just that you've gotten that far is amazing," Hermione commented. "I wonder why no one has thought to work on this before."
"Two reasons," Harry said, turning to his best friend. "One is that Fred and George are two of the most out-of-the-box thinkers that there's ever been. I mean, who else would have thought of the shield hats?" The twins both puffed out their chests at the praise. "Second, you know as well as I do that most wizards are lazy conformist sheep who just enjoy that magic exists and works and don't take the time to analyze it and see if it can be improved on." All three of the others nodded their head in agreement at Harry's blunt and, unfortunately, highly accurate assessment of wizardkind as a whole. "I'm guessing your work thus far is at the shop?" Harry asked the twins, receiving affirmative responses. "Well, we're excused from classes for the entire day. We can pop by before heading back to Hogwarts and take a look if you want, and of course if Hermione wants."
Seeing the excited gleam in Hermione's eyes he knew that she was eager to begin yet another academic venture. Unlike many of her others, though, Harry was eager for this one as well. If she and the twins could get this working it would represent perhaps one of the most important advancements in the fight against Voldemort and the Death Eaters that had arisen. Just the idea that a family would no longer be trapped when attacked might make the average witch or wizard more willing to stand up and make their voice heard. At least, Harry could hope that.
Any further conversation was put on hold as Arthur approached the small group. "Boys, Hermione, we're about to get started. Harry, there will be a few quick words by the officiant and then it'll be all yours." Harry just nodded as he and Hermione walked over and took their seats, Harry sitting in between Hermione and Ginny. As an old man with sparse white hair stood at the front of the assemblage, Harry took both girls' hands and squeezed them tightly. Both girls responded with squeezes of their own as the man began to speak.
What was said was completely lost on Harry, so engrossed was he in providing support to the two women with him and preparing himself for what he was about to say, and he was oblivious to the world outside of his little bubble until he heard, "And now, I'd like to invite Ronald's best friend Harry Potter to come up and say a few words." At that, Harry released the girls and stood, smoothing his robes nervously as he approached a podium that sat next to the open coffin that held Ron's mortal remains. When he made it to the front, he looked down and saw his best friend's still body lying in state. It wasn't the first dead person Harry had seen, but it still hit him hard and he had to take a few deep breaths to keep from falling apart right there and then. Steeling his resolve, he turned from the coffin to the people looking at him as he pulled a few pieces of parchment from an inside pocket of his outer robes. Taking one more deep breath, he began to read. They weren't the words of a eulogy; they were the words of his heart, words to and for his departed best friend. The building had been enhanced magically to magnify the voice at the podium, so even though he was speaking at a conversational volume the entire group heard him.
"Dear Ron," Harry began tentatively. Looking over at Hermione, he saw her smile at him encouragingly, and that more than anything else helped to settle his nerves as he continued. "I write this knowing that my words will never reach your ears or eyes, but nonetheless something inside of me believes that you will hear and see every word regardless. I need to start out this letter with a number of apologies to you. The first is that this is probably the longest letter I've ever written you. To me, that is only slightly surpassed by the pain of knowing that it is also the last letter I'll ever write to you. But neither of those is worse than my sorrow that I am now forced to put on paper all of the things that I should have told you in person when you were still here, when they could have buoyed or bolstered you during hard times. I'm sorry that in my negligence toward our brotherhood and cowardice in the face of my own emotions that this ink on this parchment is the way that you have to learn everything I have to tell you. I only hope that my speaking all of this now, when our friends and family will hear it and know that these words come from my heart, will help to pay penance for my transgression. Oh, and if you haven't been able to tell by now, Hermione helped me write parts of this. That's why there are fancy words you've probably never heard me use." This got a small chuckle out of the crowd, and bolstered Harry as he kept reading. And as he read, the congregation in front of him faded into the background as he focused on his words and their true intended audience of one.
"It seems to me that services like this are more for those of us that remain than the ones that we are saying goodbye to. It is our chance to find solace in our unity, to find clarity to continue moving forward in this life while also wishing our loved one the best on their trip to, as a great man once explained it to me, the next great adventure. And, indeed, your passing has done exactly that for me; given me clarity.
"Our world is at war, and it was that war that claimed your life, as it has claimed so many others. However, none of them until yours, not even Sirius's, shook me as they should have, shook us as they should have. I allowed myself to believe, as I'm sure many others have, that this was not my war, or at least not yet my war. I naively believed that since the battles raged in places I could not see that they did not affect me, that they could not hurt me. I keep hearing you ask, only half-jokingly, 'Anyone we know died?' like you would do when one of us would pick up a copy of the Prophet. It occurs to me now that it never should have been funny, that I should have burned every one of those names into my brain as a reminder of the cataclysm that was raging outside of my own range of vision. My blindness was an ignorant notion, the thought process of a child, and I was disabused of it in one of the most brutal ways I can imagine; watching a man I call brother pass from this world.
"I don't think I can ever express to you how important you deciding to sit in that carriage on the Express with me was to my life. I was eleven, alone, and without friends or family to speak of. I had spent ten years believing I wasn't worth anything, and had still not grasped onto the concept that an entirely new world was about to be opened up to me. But you came in and asked me if you could sit, and only freaked out a little bit when you figured out who I was. You accepted me from the start, showing me a level of camaraderie that I had never before experienced. Over time, that camaraderie became friendship. And then that friendship became brotherhood. I'm not sure exactly when each transition happened, but I am grateful for each one. Because through them came acceptance and love that I had never had before in my life. I only hope that you feel like I have done enough to repay them in kind.
"Through the last 6 years things have happened to us that I don't think anyone could have ever anticipated; there has been so much crazy stuff that sometimes I have a hard time believing it myself. We faced a troll, a giant 3-headed dog, killer plants, a giant chess set, a crazy teacher who wanted to erase our memories, a murderer who turned out not to be a murderer, a murderer everyone thought was dead but was really your pet rat, another crazy teacher who turned out to not be that teacher but was still crazy, a bigoted government official who liked to torture children, and sociopathic terrorists together. And each time you were there beside me, backing me up not because you had to, not even because it was the right thing to do, but because you were my friend and my brother and you wouldn't let me go into danger by myself. You and the twins even drove a car to Surrey to get me when I was trapped at my relatives' house, tempting what might have been the greatest danger of all; Mum's wrath." Again there were a few short laughs amongst the Weasleys and their friends. Molly looked at Harry and smiled, though the tears had not stopped falling down her cheeks.
"Unlike the unbelievability of our 6 years together, in your death I have found all of the things that I guess one would typically expect to find. I found sadness, like the one you described to me when we all had first encountered a Dementor on the train at the beginning of Third Year. You said that it had felt like you would never be cheerful again, and indeed that was how I too felt when the terrible truth first hit; like your death was my own personal Dementor that would follow me for the rest of my days, clouding everything from that horrible moment forward, trying to suck out my very soul. It was, and is, a sadness that no spell can cast away, that logically I know will fade like a scar in time but right now feels like an anchor around my neck.
"My heart broke five days ago. Not the joking heartbreak that you would talk about when the Cannons would finish last in the league again, but a physical ache worse than any broken bone, Bludger hit, or even a Basilisk bite. It sits in the middle of my chest every moment of every day, tearing at my insides like a cancer. Hermione described it to me like being a glass that falls to the ground, and while a Reparo might bring all of the pieces back together, there's just something about it that isn't quite right. Somehow, something important has been lost; like the whole is no longer equal to the sum of its parts. That's how I feel with you gone; whole physically but spiritually incomplete.
"I can't begin to describe to you how angry I've been. I don't mean angry like you got at Crookshanks when you thought that he'd eaten Scabbers. I don't mean angry like you were at me when you thought I'd put my name in the Goblet. Maybe it'll make you happy, I'm not sure, to know that I was so angry that I, much now to my chagrin, yelled at Professor Dumbledore, at least as bad as I did when Sirius died. I was so angry that, and I know this one will make you happy, I launched McClaggen into a wall. And then a bookshelf fell on him. And I didn't even touch him or take out my wand.
"But more than any external anger, I've been furious with myself. That I didn't throw away those Cakes when I should have. That I took you to Slughorn instead of Madam Pomfrey. That the Bezoar didn't work. That I didn't think to call for Fawkes, who had saved me when I was poisoned. I'm angry with myself that my 'saving-people thing,' as Hermione calls it, wasn't enough to save you." Harry had been doing alright so far, but at this point he had to take a moment to wipe the tears off his face and take a few breaths before he kept reading.
"Nothing will ever make it fully better. Nothing will ever make it right. You're gone, and the world is emptier for it. What you might have done, who you might have been, have faded from this reality like footprints in the sand. But from your loss I take new resolve, drive, and purpose. I wasn't strong enough, smart enough, or capable enough to stop what happened to you, but I will do everything I can to keep it from happening to anyone else. All of those deaths that I let pass by me I will now honor in my heart the best way that I know how. I will fight against the madman and his sycophants who caused this conflict, who caused you and so many others to be taken from this world before your time. I will be who I need to be, do what I need to do, to make sure that your death means something.
"All of that is the result of you being gone. But what I never said, what I should have said while you were still here, was all of the things you mean to me, that now seem to be too little, too late. I should have told you how much you buoyed up my spirits when I was melancholy. I should have told you how much you not believing me about the Goblet hurt, or how relived I was when you realized I was telling the truth. I should have made sure you knew how much I appreciated your friendship, your acceptance, and the intrinsic brotherhood that you offered. You certainly didn't have to, but you did so as if it was the most natural thing in the world, like Harry Potter and Ron Weasley being brothers in everything but blood was somehow a forgone conclusion, stitched upon the Tapestry of Fate.
"I should have thanked you more for the things you taught me about the wizarding world. For showing me how to play wizard's chess. For telling me to watch out for the dirt flavored and worse Bertie Botts. For helping me learn about Quidditch. For starting me collecting Chocolate Frog cards and explaining wizard portraits. For explaining what the hell garden gnomes are and why it's okay to chuck them. For helping to teach me how to use the Floo.
"But what I should have done, more than anything else, was to tell you how much I love you. You are my friend, my confidante, my compatriot, and my brother. You are my family, Ron, and more than anything else in the world I wish you were here right now for me to tell this to you in person. But we've been robbed of you; a life cut short by a war that should never have happened. And so this will have to do for now, until that day, hopefully many years in the future, when I join you in the next great adventure and I can tell you all of this to your face. But until then all I can ask is to say hi to my Mum and my Dad and Sirius for me and save me a seat at the chess board. Goodbye for now, Ron. I love you. Your brother, Harry." Harry folded up the parchments his letter was written on, turned toward the casket, and placed the letter underneath Ron's hands before leaning in and touching his own forehead to Ron's. As he did so, he heard a sound he hadn't expected; a single set of hands clapping slowly. Lifting his head up, he turned toward the sound.
And focused his gaze on the end of the center aisle, right into the madness-filled grey eyes of Bellatrix Lestrange.