Chapter One:

Impossible

It was over. Everything had ended. The war, the terror. Her life. Not in a literal sense, of course, but it might as well have been. People she'd loved had been ripped from her, with alarming celerity, she might add, one going right after the other. It started with her older brother, Charlie Weasley. Throughout the war, Voldemort had been trying to rack up as many weapons as he possibly could, and figured dragons, being big, fire-breathing beasts, could drive fear into the hearts of wizards and muggles alike. Charlie didn't like that idea. Not one bit. He knew how dangerous it could get if the dragons were roaming around without the proper supervision, so he pinned the dragons in stronger cages and gave them extra security (his strongest, most fearless men) that he thought was impenetrable.

Only it wasn't.

Charlie had gone to check on his dragons one night, to see how they were faring, and when he got there he noticed that things were a little too quiet. He couldn't hear the roars and steaming snorts of the dragons, and he couldn't hear the small talk being exchanged by his men. So, naturally, he went to investigate, and when he entered the clearing in the woods where they were kept, he noticed two things: the reason he hadn't heard the roaring and snorting of the dragons was because there were no dragons. All of the cages were completely empty. Also, he noticed bodies littering the ground, the bodies of his men, and some of his closest friends. Not all of his men were dead though, or how would people know exactly how Charlie had died? No, one of his men had escaped Voldemorts killing rampage and watched, trembling, from behind a tree as Charlie Weasley surveyed the scene with many emotions flickering through his eyes, and across the sharp, jagged features of his face: anger, loneliness, sadness. Charlie sank to his knees in the soft, damp soil beneath him and fisted his hands in his hair, letting out a strangled cry. By doing this, he'd made himself vulnerable, which was a good enough signal for Voldemort to appear before him. Charlie looked up at the Dark Lord as he approached him ever so slowly, his cheeks stained with brazen tears, and he looked Voldemort square in the eye. If he was afraid, he hid it well.

"I've won, my boy. I've won," spoke Voldemort in the softest, yet raspiest voice.

"Have you?" Charlie countered in a calm tone.

"Yes, I have."

"No," stated Charlie, the sound of defiance in his voice, "I don't believe you have." Voldemorts eyes narrowed to almost nothing. Charlie glared back, unflinching, and continued. "Harry Potter is still very much alive and as long as he remains that way, you haven't won a damned thing. You think that because Harry is merely a boy compared to you, that he is nothing, that his life and existence has no meaning, and that he, an incompetent child, could not possibly stop you, the all-powerful Dark Lord. Answer this for me, then, will you?" Charlie's voice dropped to a whisper. "Why are you trying so hard to kill him?" Voldemort's lips, nothing more than lines that appeared to be carved into his face, tightened. Charlie could see the anger flashing in his eyes like lightening bolts and he didn't have much time to ponder over the great risk he had just taken in speaking those words, for Voldemort raised his wand and cried, "Avada Kedavra!" Charlie didn't stand a chance, and the curse was hurtled at him full force, slamming straight into his chest. The light immediately left his eyes and he fell face-first into the soil, the story of his life ending almost as quickly as it began. Voldemort didn't bother giving the place a final glance before he Disapparated into thin air, leaving Charlie, among others, dead, and a single man cowering behind a tree.

The man, Ginny Weasley soon learned, was a friend of Charlie's named Daegus Strange. The Aurors, upon finding Charlie and the other men, found Daegus in a stupor and took him in for interrogation. He recapitulated everything he had seen and heard, and swore to testify if it ever came down to that. They released him hours later, thanking him for the information, and Daegus found his way to the Burrow to pay his respects to the family.

Ginny watched him as he stood alone in the corner of the room at Charlie's layout, his face hollow and void of any emotion. She felt sorry for the bloke; he'd had to witness what happened to her poor brother. Earlier, when she'd tried to console him, her brothers, Fred and George, interrupted her and asked him why he hadn't even tried to save Charlie. Daegus's face paled, and Ginny pushed the two away, glaring at them.

Even after she'd walked away from Daegus, she still kept a watchful eye on him to make sure that her brothers didn't dump their rude questions and accusations all over him.

Ginny glanced around the room full of people, wondering why some of them were even there; none of the deceased here tonight probably knew them. She shook her head and averted her gaze to the three caskets lined up at the very front of the room. She made her way towards them, grabbing a handful of tissues as she went.

She stopped in front of Charlie's casket first, which was closed. All of the caskets were closed out of respect of the deceased. They hadn't died of natural cause, and it was appropriate to keep the lids down. Ginny took a flower from the arrangement next to Charlie's coffin and set it atop the lid. She sniffed and gave the engraved gold plaque with his name on it a light kiss before moving on to the next casket which held her fathers, Arthur Weasley's, remains. He also had a golden plaque with his name engraved on it, and as she read it her eyes brimmed with tears. She'd lost her father, someone she had always looked up to and someone she had always respected greatly. He'd died defending the doors of the Department of Mysteries, his pride in his job getting the best of him. Though he did not work for the Department of Mysteries, there was no one else to defend it from the Death Eaters, who were certain that the prophecy was not lost. She dabbed the tissue under her eyes and kissed her fathers plaque as well before stepping in front of the third and final casket.

Ginny could only stand there, staring at yet another name engraved on a golden plaque. It was still so hard to believe, and so unreal that part of her mind chose not to believe that he was truly dead.

He couldn't be. Not after everything else he'd been through.

Ginny ran her fingers across the engraved letters that spelled out the name 'Harry Potter', and she choked back the urge to cry. He had meant so much to her, and had been a big part of her life ever since the first time she had met him. He'd had such a huge impact on her, and there was nothing slow about the way she fell in love with him. Tears escaped now, but she didn't bother wiping them away. What was the use?

"Oh, Harry," she whispered. "Why did you have to take my heart with you?" Her fingers lingered on the letters of his name as she stared at the shiny, mahogany box that Harry was resting in. She wanted to see him, just one last time. She didn't care what he looked like, just as long as she got to see his flawless face one more time.

Ginny glanced over her shoulder to make sure that no one was watching her, and she took the corner of he lid closest to her and lifted it only slightly. She peered inside and gasped, the corner slipping from her fingers. The lid fell with a 'thump' and she took a step back from the casket. A couple of people were staring at her as she stared blankly at the coffin, and Ron and Hermione, who had been standing close by, were at her side in a flash.

"Ginny, are you all right?" Hermione asked her voice full of concern. Ron's brow was furrowed as he stared at his sister. Ginny shook her head 'no' to answer Hermione's question, and she pointed to the third casket.

"That…that's not Harry in there," she said, her voice shaking. Ron and Hermione exchanged glances.

"'Course it was. Who else would it be?" Ron said, looking at his sister as if she were mental.

"I don't know, Ron, but it's not Harry. Last time I checked, Harry had black hair, not blonde. Take a look for yourself if you don't believe me." Ron stared at her for a moment, the thought that his sister just might be crazy crossing his mind. Finally, he glanced around the room, then wandered over to the casket with Harry's name on it and lifted the corner, just as Ginny had; only Ron lifted it slightly higher to get a better look inside. Hermione and Ginny watched as Ron shook his head, closing the lid back as he did so. He walked swiftly back over to the two and paced in front of them, hands resting loosely on his hips.

"Unbelievable," he muttered to himself, watching the ground as he paced.

"What?" Hermione asked impatiently. Ron merely shook his head.

"It's not him. It's not Harry." Hermione let out a breath she hadn't known she'd bee holding, and blinked back the sudden urge to burst into tears.

"Oh, thank heavens," she said faintly.

"See!" Ginny hissed. "I told you!" Ron only shot her a look.

"What's odd," Ron said, stopping in front of them, "is that Malfoy is in there in place of Harry." Hermione gasped and put her hand over her mouth.

"No," she whispered.

"Oh, yes," said Ron. "Don't get me wring. I don't mind that he's taken Harry's place, but what I want to know is…if Malfoy is in there," he pointed to the third coffin, "then where's Harry? No one, and I mean no one, could make a mistake that huge." Ginny, who had been thinking that exact same thing, stared blankly at the wall.

"Oh my god," she whispered to herself, after a moment of silence between the three. "Don't you guys see?" Ron looked over at her, confused.

"Er…see what, Gin?" Ginny looked at him incredulously.

"All this – Malfoy being in the casket instead of Harry – means that he's alive." She paused to let her words sink in. "Harry's alive…"