Finally!
The Price of War (Part 2) – "When I was a boy my grandfather died, and he was a sculptor. He was also a very kind man who had a lot of love to give the world, and he helped clean up the slum in our town; and he made toys for us and he did a million things in his lifetime; he was always busy with his hands. And when he died, I suddenly realized I wasn't crying for him at all, but for all the things he did. I cried because he would never do them again, he would never carve another piece of wood or help us raise doves and pigeons in the backyard or play the violin the way he did, or tell us jokes the way he did. He was part of us and when he died, all the actions stopped dead and there was no one to do them just the way he did…Often I think what wonderful carvings never came to birth because he died. How many jokes are missing from the world, and how many homing pigeons untouched by his hands. He shaped the world. He did things to the world. The world was bankrupted of ten million fine actions the night he passed on." – Granger, Fahrenheit 451, Ray Bradbury
25 December, 1998, 6:18PM
The stairs creaked beneath his feet as he thundered down, just the way they always had.
It was strange, he'd decided, how some things never changed. Strange how life went on when it seemed like it should have crashed to a halt; strange how quickly people adjusted to that continuous flow.
He saw Mum coming up toward him as he passed the fourth landing, impatiently tapping her wand on the pages of a cookbook. A stack of laundry floated up behind her.
She looked up when she heard his footsteps. "Oh, Ron, dear – have you seen Hermione?"
Ron shook his head. "I was just going to look for her. Why?"
"Oh, nothing – people will be arriving soon, and I just wanted to see if she was ready."
"She wasn't in her room," Ron shrugged, squeezing past the swaying laundry. "She's probably downstairs."
He went on past the third and second landings, peering around corners and calling her name as he went. He jumped the last few steps at the bottom and poked his head into the kitchen, but she wasn't there, either.
He found her at last in the living room, which was an explosion of color and light. Fred and George had spent the better part of the day decorating it by hand, in honor of the work Ginny had done in past years. Hermione was standing before the far wall, her hands in her pockets. He felt a smile tug on his lips, bittersweet and fleeting.
He walked up to her, quietly, and slid his arms around her waist. "I was wondering where you'd gotten to," he whispered as she glanced back in surprise.
"Sorry," she said quietly, turning to kiss his cheek. "I just…"
"I know," Ron murmured.
The wall they faced had been dedicated to Harry and Ginny. The entire side of the room had been cleared of the usual clutter characteristic of the Burrow and covered instead with pictures and letters, newspaper clippings and cards. Hedwig's and Arnold's cages had been set up in the corner, beside Harry's Firebolt.
The idea had been Percy's; he had suggested it the night after Ron had confessed to his brothers that he'd been having recurring nightmares in which he couldn't recall, for the life of him, what Harry looked like. It was a terrible but real fear – already the fine details of Sirius' and Dumbledore's and Hagrid's faces had started to fade. The last thing he wanted was for Harry – or Ginny – to become a victim of his memory.
Hermione had been staring at the newest addition to the memorabilia; two Chocolate Frog cards tacked up beside an old photograph. She slipped one hand out of her pocket to brush her fingers over the glossy surface of the cards.
Harry James Potter
1980-1998
Recognized throughout the world as the definitive champion of the Light, Harry Potter is widely proclaimed to have been the most powerful wizard in the world. In addition to his legendary battle with Lord Voldemort in 1998, he was also renowned for his brilliant talent as a Quidditch Seeker at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Ginny Weasley
1981-1998
A sixth-year Hogwarts student popular for her formidable skill as a Quidditch Chaser and notorious for her Bat-Bogey Hex, Ginny Weasley played a vital role in the destruction of the Horcruxes and in the Battle for Hogwarts. She sacrificed her life in the Final Triumph so that Lord Voldemort could be destroyed once and for all.
They had begun circulating less than a month after the funeral. Ron carried one of each in his pocket.
"I wish they were here," Hermione whispered, smiling sadly at Ginny's beaming face.
"So do I," Ron murmured into her hair. He turned his face away and breathed in Hermione's scent, hoping it would ward away the tightness in his chest.
She shifted, turning so that she was facing him, and laid her head on his chest. "I still can't believe…" she said softly. "Just last year we were all here…and they were so happy…"
He had sworn not to cry. Not now, when everyone was supposed to be happy. It was a time for remembrance, not sorrow. "They still are," he said gruffly, trying to keep his voice from breaking. "They're probably having a grand old time wherever they are, and Harry's with his mum and dad and Sirius and Hagrid, finally. And they're still together, waiting for us, so it's all right." He took a deep breath, taking in her scent again. "Everything's all right."
"And they'd laugh at us for crying," Hermione said, sniffling as she wiped her eyes.
"They'd laugh at us anyway," Ron said, rolling his eyes, and was rewarded with a smile from her. He found her hand and squeezed it tightly. "Come on. Everybody'll be here soon, and Mum's going to make a fuss if we're not ready."
He glanced back one last time at Harry's face grinning at him from all the pictures on the wall. Just so I'll never forget you, mate…
––––––
Ron sighed as he flopped down on the couch, having just finished moving all the living room furniture off to the side with his brothers. Everyone had agreed that the kitchen was too small to accommodate the sixteen people who were going to be present for Christmas dinner, so Mum had decided to move the dinner tables into the living room. Of course, this meant that all the other tables and chairs and couches had to be pushed against the walls.
There was one small table in the corner that had been set up with hors d'oeurves and drinks; Mum was still in the kitchen banging away with her pots and pans for the main courses. Tonks was with her, attempting to help put the final touches on the dishes. From what Ron could hear of Mum's strained voice ("No, not there, those are the spoons – oh, watch the plate! No, the pot's behind – sweet Merlin, your sleeve's on fire!") the arrangement wasn't working out so well.
Shaking his head, Ron pulled out his wand and Summoned a glass of butterbeer from the corner table. He watched it maneuvering itself around various heads, then caught it deftly as it soared toward his head.
Hermione, who had been talking politely with Fleur and Gabrielle, had noticed the flying butterbeer and quickly excused herself to approach him.
"I thought you didn't like eggnog?" she asked teasingly as she sat down beside him.
He shrugged and drained his glass. "I don't," he said, grinning at her. "Fred and George charmed the last two bottles on the table; they're actually butterbeer."
Hermione rolled her eyes and muttered something that sounded quite like "imbeciles," under her breath. Ron put his arm around her waist, pulling her close, and kissed the top of her head.
They sat like that for a while, content to listen to the bits of conversations that drifted around them as they waited for the stragglers to arrive.
Bill and Kingsley had joined Fleur and Gabrielle beside the enormous tree Charlie had set up; Kingsley, his face full of awe, had his hand on Fleur's burgeoning stomach ("Four months now, eh?") while Bill was laughing at a remark Gabrielle had made. Fred and George were sitting by the fire discussing Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes' new updates to Sturgis, who had expressed interest in running a chain store.
Percy and Mad-Eye were flitting in and out of the kitchen, talking animatedly about the new reforms the Ministry had planned. Mad-Eye was particularly enthusiastic in his threats to discipline Tonks and Kingsley if they didn't put satisfactory work into their new jobs as Chief Aurors. Charlie, meanwhile, was standing beside the hat stand, introducing Dad to his girlfriend, who had arrived just a few minutes ago. Her name, Ron had gathered, was Emma, and she had worked with Charlie for several years as a dragon keeper. She looked cheerful enough, but Ron reckoned he would eat dung before crossing her.
Just as he'd been about to Summon another glass of butterbeer, a large silver wolf suddenly burst through the door and stopped before Kingsley. He tapped it with his wand and then announced, "Remus will be here in a minute. Says he's sorry he's late."
"Well, I'm starved," Fred declared, standing up with George and Sturgis. "What's taking him so long?"
"I suppose the meeting just ran late," Kingsley shrugged. "You know how Minerva is. Hasn't ever taken anything lightly, especially not something that has to do with Hogwarts."
At that moment there was a sharp rap at the door and Ron saw a face peering in from the window.
"Lupin!" He and Hermione both stood up as Lupin swept in through the back door, bringing in a flurry of snow with him. There was a round of cheers and greetings as Ron took his coat and Hermione offered him a glass of butterbeer from the corner table. Lupin gladly accepted the butterbeer and took a sip before he was introduced to Emma. Fred, George, Charlie, and Bill were called into the kitchen to help transport the food; the others mingled outside, commenting on the weather.
"Remus," Mad-Eye said, nodding as he stumped out of the kitchen with his flask in hand. "Glad you could make it. Snape?"
Lupin shook his head. "Sent him a message a couple days ago, but there was never any reply."
Mad-Eye shrugged and jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "Your girl's been making a mess in there."
Hermione nudged Ron in the ribs as Remus blushed.
"Careful now, piping hot plates coming through!" Fred called as he marched into the living room, levitating several dishes piled high with steaming, mouth-watering foods before him. Ron and Hermione stood back as Fred, George, Charlie, and Bill arranged the plates on the tables under Mum's direction. Once Mum declared that everything looked reasonable, everyone sat down and began chattering again. Ron took a seat with Hermione on one side and Lupin on the other.
"So, Remus," Charlie said from across the table, "The staff say anything interesting at the meeting?"
Lupin shook his head as he spooned some peas and carrots onto his plate. "The usual things about security and rowdy students and such. Though Minerva did say they seem much tamer this year," he added, winking at Ron and Hermione.
"I heard a lot of them stayed for the holidays," Sturgis said.
Lupin nodded. "It's the older ones, mostly; they chose to help out with decorating the castle."
Ron and Hermione glanced at each other somberly; without Hagrid, it must have taken quite some effort to get the giant Christmas trees into the Great Hall.
"Did they say anything about Neville?" Hermione asked.
Lupin grinned. "They did, as a matter of fact – Professor Sprout is getting on in years, of course, so Minerva thought it best that he help out as an assistant in the greenhouses."
"That's great!" Ron said. "How's he doing?"
"Excellent – you know how he loves Herbology," Lupin said, laughing. "Gets along great with the younger students, apparently. He says he usually ends up telling stories more than teaching, though."
Ron grinned. "Neville telling stories. I never. Was he at the meeting? Did you ask him about the Marauder's Map?"
"Yes – he told me to thank you for giving it to him."
"Harry would've wanted it to stay in Hogwarts," Ron shrugged.
Lupin grinned. "I'm sure you'll pass it on to your children next, eh?"
Ron and Hermione looked at each other, both of them a bit startled at the idea. Lupin and Charlie laughed.
"So how's that Auror training going, by the way?" Mad-Eye asked from farther down the table.
Ron poked at his mashed potatoes, afraid to look him in the eye. "Er…pretty well, I – I think…"
"Yeah?" Mad-Eye said, squinting at him. "Tonks!" he called, making Tonks jump and choke on a slice of ham.
"Yes, Mad-Eye?" Tonks asked weakly as Sturgis pounded her on the back.
"Weasley looking all right in the training? Not slacking?"
Tonks and Kingsley looked at each other, and then at Ron. He attempted to shrink into his seat. "Oh, not bad," Tonks said, winking at him. "Has a bit of trouble in Stealth and Tracking – "
" – Like some others among us," Lupin said out of the corner of his mouth.
" – but I reckon he'll be top notch in a year or so."
Mad-Eye grinned wickedly. "Well, you know where to find me if he starts getting lazy," he said.
Ron groaned as the others laughed.
"I'm sure you'll do fine, dear," Mum said soothingly as she passed on a plate of pork chops. "It's only your first year, after all."
"Speaking of the Ministry, how're you doing there, Remus?" Dad asked curiously.
Lupin took a swig of pumpkin juice before answering. "Rather well, actually. Newt Scamander's an interesting fellow."
"Isn't he the one Luna was talking about?" Ron asked Hermione. "Some sort of researcher?"
"Head of the Beast Division in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, Ron," Hermione said, shaking her head. "You should know that by now."
"Anyway, he's been very understanding about the whole werewolf situation," Lupin went on. "We've been working on expanding the Werewolf Registry, and he said he's actually considered reclassifying werewolves into the Being Division."
"That's excellent," Bill said with a grin. "And if you ever need any help, Remus, I'll be around."
"By the way, did you hear about the new Being policy?" Sturgis said.
"I know Hermione wrote a column earlier this week about that," Charlie remarked, nodding at Hermione.
Hermione smiled, looking extremely pleased. Ron knew for a fact that she'd been especially proud of that particular article, and had spent what felt like hours discussing it with him.
"It was in Tuesday's paper," she said – a bit smugly, in his opinion – as she set down her fork. He was surprised she hadn't whipped out her notes. "Scrimgeour agreed to redefine 'Being' and they've finally accepted centaurs and giants as full members of the category, but any other races have to petition to be included. Like Remus said, they're still considering werewolves, but most of the other fine details have already been put in place."
"I'm surprised it hasn't been done sooner," Sturgis said with a frown.
"Well, you know Scrimgeour wants to go at his own pace," Kingsley said, snorting.
The conversation progressed to lighter subjects as dinner rolled on, including Lupin and Tonks' wedding and Charlie and Emma's engagement. Fred and George kept things lively by introducing new merchandise in the wrong places and the wrong times, and occasionally telling stories about befuddled customers who had found their way to the shop. During the funnier moments, Ron would sometimes catch himself looking around the table, wondering where Harry had gone; or he would bite off a teasing remark he'd been about to make about Ginny. No one else had mentioned them yet, and he wasn't sure he wanted to be the first to do so.
And so the clock ticked on; dishes were scraped clean and magically enhanced burps were compared (Emma was declared the winner, much to Charlie's delight) and several Celestina Warbeck songs were butchered by Fred, George, Charlie, and Bill.
Ron set his fork down after fourth helpings and adamantly refused his mother's insistence to have some more. When she fared no better in trying to persuade the others to eat, she eventually stood up and began to clear the table. While Charlie and Tonks helped her shuttle the dishes back to the kitchen, Ron, Bill, and Percy shifted the tables out of the way and assembled the various chairs and couches around the fire.
Fred and George were sent upstairs to get blankets, and soon everyone was cozily tucked under a quilt or a comforter or two. Ron found himself sitting in the saggy corner of the old, worn couch, fairly sinking into its depths. But it was comfortable nonetheless and Hermione was right beside him, so he forwent the complaints and wrapped a blanket tighter around himself and his bloated stomach.
Mum arrived from the kitchen at last, levitating trays of coffee and tea and firewhiskey. She sat down next to Dad and began distributing the drinks.
"So…any last minute presents?" Charlie asked eagerly, rubbing his hands together.
"None for you," Bill retorted, adopting a disdainful expression.
"Well, maybe one more," Emma said, and kissed him lightly on the lips.
"All right," Fred said, throwing his hands up in mock despair as Charlie turned a faint shade of red. "Why's it Charlie that gets all the action around here?"
"Honestly," George huffed, crossing his arms. "Where's Alicia when you need her?"
"And Angelina's off in some exotic country with her family, of course," Fred said mournfully.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "So we're stuck with you."
"We wouldn't put it that way," Fred said indignantly.
George stood up and gave a flourishing bow. "'Course not. You have the privilege of having our presence grace your holidays."
Charlie pretended to gag and everyone laughed.
"Well, I think it's nice, having everyone home," Mum said, bestowing Percy with a sweet smile.
Not everyone, Ron thought, and immediately chastised himself. Can't think like that.
"Yeah, it means more presents," Fred grinned.
"Oh!" Mum said, shaking her head as she set the tray down on the table before her. "I almost forgot, Ron – your friends sent some things this afternoon…" She drew her wand and flicked it in the direction of the front door; several packages promptly whizzed toward her and landed neatly on the table.
"The envelope there is from Oliver Wood, I think," Mum said as Hermione shifted so that Ron could sit up. He reached for the small white envelope that sat atop a brown parcel and inspected it. Ron's name was printed neatly on the front in orange ink.
"Why would Oliver send you something," Fred started, looking bemused.
"And not us?" George finished with a hurt look. "That ratty little scoundrel."
Ron shook his head as he opened the envelope and withdrew a festive Christmas card with Quaffles and Snitches whizzing around the front. He opened it to find words scrawled on the top and another, smaller envelope inside. He read aloud, "Harry told me they're your favorite team. This is the least I could do. Merry Christmas."
He glanced quizzically at his brothers, but they seemed just as nonplussed as he did. Shrugging, he opened the smaller envelope and took out a stack of thin black cards with orange borders, each of which sported the words "1999-2000 Season Tickets" in glittering silver letters, the Chudley Cannons' logo in the center, and Oliver's name signed at the bottom.
Ron stared at the cards for a moment, blankly turning them over in his hands several times as the words sunk in.
"Season tickets," he said into the silence.
Fred and George suddenly let out a whoop as they leapt up and danced around the circle of chairs. "Go Oliver!"
"Season tickets!" Ron repeated, turning excitedly to Hermione and waving the cards in her face. "Season tickets for the Cannons! Look how many there are – there's got to be one for each of us, at least – this is excellent!"
"Crazy kid," Charlie murmured, accepting his card and looking at it wonderingly. "Oliver Wood, you brilliant nutter!"
"So long as it doesn't interfere with training," Mad-Eye said lazily, leaning back and putting his arms behind his head. He gave Ron a wolfish grin.
"Oh, stop it, Mad-Eye," Tonks said, waving a hand dismissively. "You don't get season tickets every year."
"This one's pretty heavy," George observed, hefting the second package. "From…Dean Thomas?"
"Dean?" Hermione asked curiously. "What would Dean…?"
"To Ron, Hermione, and the Order of the Phoenix," George read off the card before he handed it to Ron. "This was the best I could do. Merry Christmas."
Ron met Hermione's eyes and shrugged. They didn't even talk to Dean regularly; they'd had maybe two or three conversations since June when they'd met by chance in Diagon Alley. Ron hadn't the faintest idea what Dean would want to send them.
He tore off several layers of magically-cushioned wrapping and gaped at what he saw underneath.
"Oh my God," Hermione breathed, putting a hand to her mouth.
"What is it?" Fred demanded, half-standing from his chair; the others all crowded around to see what was so shocking.
In his lap, Ron held a portrait of Harry.
It was silent in the room as they stared at the perfect likeness that Dean had drawn. Harry was apparently asleep; his head was drooping to one side and his glasses were slipping down his nose.
"That's brilliant," Percy whispered. "Dean Thomas drew this?"
"Now I remember," Sturgis said, retreating back to his chair. "Dean Thomas. He's one of the main artists for Obscurus Books and WhizzHard Books in Diagon Alley, isn't he?"
"Yeah," Ron said, nodding. "He'd always been amazing at drawing things."
Hermione brushed her hand over the painting, her fingers trembling as they traced the almost-life-size outline of Harry's face. Ron looked at her to see that tears were slipping down her cheeks.
"There's another one," Percy said suddenly, pointing. Ron lifted Harry's portrait up to reveal another framed drawing – this one of Ginny.
There was a small sob from Mum, and Dad wrapped her arms around her. Bill rocked back on his heels and turned his face away. Ron felt his chest tighten as he stared at his sister's serene face; she, too, seemed to have fallen asleep.
"That's beautiful," Hermione said softly, her voice wavering.
"We should put them up," George said.
"Yeah," Fred agreed, taking Harry's portrait from Ron as George carried Ginny's toward the wall.
"Permanent sticking charm?" George asked Mum over his shoulder.
"As long as they don't start wailing and howling whenever someone knocks," Tonks said jokingly. Beside her, Lupin's eyes had a glazed quality to them.
Fred and George shifted a few things around and soon had Harry and Ginny's portraits up in the center of the wall. They returned to their chairs and everyone admired Dean's handiwork for another moment or two.
Conversation was eventually struck up again by Fred and George, who made a snarky comment about Dean's choice of clothes for Harry – Ron had to admit, they were a rather odd shade of red – which prompted a scolding from Mum. Ron grinned to himself and leaned back further into the couch.
Hermione set her empty cup of tea on the table before them and yawned. She stuck her tongue out at him when he smirked ("Tired already?") and closed her eyes.
He didn't contribute much to the ensuing debate over whether Celestina Warbeck or the Weird Sisters were better; it was much more amusing to see Mum trying to have a civilized argument with Fred and George. Tonks surreptitiously switched the station on the wireless while Mum was maintaining that Celestina had a clearer voice and greater range, so that soft Christmas carols were playing in the background.
He discovered that Hermione had already dozed off beside him, her head on his shoulder. His arm had fallen asleep beneath her weight, but he didn't mind. He put his cheek lightly against her hair and sighed contentedly.
He was beginning to feel drowsy himself as the heat of the fire and warm laughter surrounded him, and he kept himself moderately awake by sipping at the glass of firewhiskey he held in his hand. As Fred and George raucously declared victory on the debate, Ron suddenly noticed that Harry had finally awoken in his portrait and was beaming at the gathering before him. Ron caught his eye and grinned back.
Raising his glass of firewhiskey, he nodded to Harry and said quietly,
"Merry Christmas, mate."
This was more of a tying-up-loose-ends chapter, so we have no idea why it turned out so long. :P
Up Next: Celebrations abound as the first anniversary of the Second War's end draws near, and the last of Lord Voldemort's followers faces fading away alone. But then a visitor comes, to say all the things that have been left unsaid. (Epilogue!)
Thanks for the reviews, again, and we hope you'll keep them coming. We want to say the epilogue will be up by next Sunday, but we all know that's not going to happen. So just hang in there, folks, we're almost done!
