"A final Horcrux . . . greater than all the rest . . . "
Harry did not think he had ever seen Dumbledore look as worried as the old man did now. Dumbledore always seemed to have a plan, or an answer - and if not, was capable of concocting one on the spot. But now he merely frowned and cast his eyes downward. The seriousness of the news Harry had just delivered seemed to press down on his shoulders like a physical weight; he looked more frail and fragile than he had in a long time.
"I have never heard of magic as black as this." Dumbledore finally said.
Lily looked at Dumbledore, her eyes wide with fear, and James gave her a one-armed squeeze. Harry surveyed the inside of his parents' house without really taking in any details of the cottage's quaint kitchen; a moment later, his eyes turned back to the rather defeated-looking Dumbledore.
"Then what do we do?" Harry asked.
Dumbledore shook his head. "We must not give up." He said cryptically. "We must be very grateful that Lucius has had this change of heart, otherwise, the living would most likely have found out too late. Now at least there is a chance for action."
"But what action?" James said.
Harry felt rather irrationally angry; Dumbledore was supposed to know what to do, he always did - and yet there he sat, without any more of a clue what to do than Harry did. James' question hung heavily in the air, unanswered.
"I'm going to go for a walk." Harry huffed.
"Harry . . . " Lily began, but his hand was already on the doorknob; he hesitated for a fraction of a second at the sound of his mother's voice, and Dumbledore seized his chance.
"Harry, even if there is not clear what we must do, if we are to formulate a plan it is imperative that we are able to communicate with the living members of the Order of the Phoenix. You know what that means, Harry." Dumbledore surveyed Harry over the tips of his spectacles. Harry paused. He did indeed know what Dumbledore wanted him to do; he had known that it was necessary for a long time, really, but he had also been long avoiding it. It would hurt him to do it, and it would certainly hurt Ginny, but it had to be done. Harry gave a long sigh.
"Yeah, I know."
"Be gentle, Harry." Lily said.
Harry nodded but did not speak, and then he opened the door and was gone.
He needed to walk, he needed to think . . . about what they were to do, about how they were to defeat Voldemort . . . Harry turned the corner of a quiet suburban street . . . to think about Ginny, about how much he loved her . . . about death . . .
Harry Potter is Dead
Chapter 6 | The Crying Gates
Harry remembered dying very well. He recalled the moments before very vividly: The sight of an arm raising a wand, just before he closed his eyes; the sounds of the forest and the shifting weight of the dead behind him; and the fear, the overwhelming, terrible fear. Of death, of the dying, of the unknown: What would happen when he was gone? What would become of his friends, the brave souls preparing once more to fight valiantly against his greatest enemy? At least now their job would be easier. Voldemort would be mortal. They would have a chance.
Ginny. He thought of Ginny suddenly as he drew his last breath, how wonderful and how brave she was, her smile, her laugh -
"Avada Kedavra!"
And then everything was gone.
The space around Harry was swirling and pearlescent, perpetually twisting like a diamond fog. There were no walls or ceilings as far as Harry could see ( he could see ) and the ground beneath his feet ( he had feet, and could use them to feel ) seemed to blend seamlessly into the shiny steam.
He did not know where he was, or how much time has passed since he had entered the forest clearing. He was dead, Harry knew that much, but what was this place? Something told him that the answer was not going to come to him if he just stood there, and so Harry began to walk. Where, he had no idea.
But sure enough, a golden something materialized in the distance after hardly a minute. As Harry approached the fog revealed more and more: The thing which he had seen was a spectacular golden gate, unattached to any wall that Harry could see. People milled about in front of the gates: Some, in billowing white robes, stood stalwart in front of them, while others chatted nonchalantly with one another; however, the majority of the crowd was a mess of tears and misery. Wails began to float over to Harry, distorted by the fog.
As he approached, he noticed other shapes on either side of him moving through the swirls, all towards the same target: The golden gates. They were huge, towering two stories upwards. It was an entrance to something, Harry deduced, but he could see nothing but blank fog through the glittering bars. Carved into them in elaborate script were the curving words The Crying Gates.
The yells intensified as some in the crowd caught sight of Harry. He recognized those that cried out - the familiar faces of Order members and Hogwarts students, all of them killed not a few hours before.
"No - Harry! Not Harry!"
"Have we lost? Please, say we haven't lost!"
"Harry!"
The last scream was more horrible than all the rest. Harry turned to see Colin Creevey, his pale face stained with tears. Harry felt a huge rush of pity; Colin, who had once been so bright, so happy, now looked at him with his features twisted in pain.
"Harry," Colin's voice was a feeble squeak. "You didn't - you didn't let him get you, did you?" He said.
"Colin . . . "
"But you're the Chosen One! You can't be dead! We can't have lost!" His face was screwed up in anger, not at Harry, but at the unfairness of it all; Harry reached out to comfort him.
"Colin, I had to. You wouldn't - you wouldn't understand . . ." Harry trailed off, but what did it matter, this secrecy? He was dead now. "I had to die. If Voldemort didn't kill me, he couldn't be killed. Now everyone back there will have a chance. They're still fighting," Harry added, as Colin's teary face looked up at him in wonder.
"They're still going?" Colin said, amazed. He had not even thought of a scenario in which their side could win - or even just keep fighting - if Harry Potter was dead. Then another thought struck him, and he spoke urgently: "Dennis, Harry, Dennis - did you see him? Is he okay?"
"He must've stayed out of the castle with the rest of the students," Harry answered. "I didn't see him fighting."
Colin nodded. "Yeah . . . yeah, I was afraid he'd follow me back . . ." He trailed off, lost in dark thoughts. At last he spoke. "I think I'm going to stay out here for a while. Wait and see if Dennis . . . " Colin swallowed. He gave Harry a weak smile. "I'm sorry, Harry." He said. Sorry you're dead. Sorry you'll never hold Ginny again. Sorry that this moment was all you were allowed to live for.
Harry barely managed to return the smile. Physically he felt perfect - better than he had ever been. But even if he was dead, and the dead were supposed to be happy ( right? ), terrible thoughts clouded Harry's head.
"Colin," Harry called out. The boy had turned to leave. Harry gestured vaguely at his surroundings. ". . . What is this place?"
Colin looked around, taking in the crowds of weeping dead, the glimmering golden gates, the men and women in white robes standing guard in front of them. "It looks like heaven, maybe." He shrugged. "Or at least, just outside it." But Colin had no more than guesses; he had only been there for two hours longer than Harry. Come to think of it, Harry had no idea how much time had passed. A minute? A day? Were the living even fighting anymore, back at Hogwarts, a world away?
"Harry."
Harry knew who it was the moment he had heard the voice, perfectly calm, and yet incredibly sad. He felt a hand on his shoulder.
"Sirius . . . " His godfather pulled him into a tight hug. Harry grinned. All of his thoughts of Ginny, of lost battles, and of Voldemort left his mind for a single moment. "Sirius, where are we?" he asked.
Sirius released Harry and thought for a second. "Don't really know what it's called." He said. "Dumbledore has a few funny names for it. Never quite sums it up, though. Barking mad, he is." He grinned; it was true Dumbledore was a bit mad, but only a bit, and in a good way.
Sirius put an arm around Harry's shoulders and guided him though the miserable crowd. "You shouldn't have to worry about waiting here for a while. They'll let you right in." He said.
Harry did not question Sirius. They steered around knots of crying dead, heading toward the huge golden gates. They approached a man in white robes, who guarded the gates.
"Can he - " The man nodded immediately, not even bothering to let Sirius finish, his grin huge as he looked over Harry. Other guards craned their necks to get a look at him, each with a smile that rivaled the first's.
"Not every day someone like that comes in," one said to the other.
"Harry Potter!' said another. "A real hero!"
There was a loud creak, and the golden gates swung open. Harry blinked. While there had been nothing beyond them just a moment before, there now stood hundreds of houses of all different shapes, sizes, and time periods. One was a sprawling Victorian mansion, and next door, a humble cloth tent. Couples walked by on cobbled streets holding hands, children played tag in rolling green grass, and music played in the distance.
Sirius grinned at Harry's expression. "Come on," he said, taking the lead. They passed beautiful, happy sights wherever they went; people smiled at Harry as he passed, and small children waved as enthusiastically as if they had known him for years.
They walked for ten minutes, turned a corner, and then he saw it. Harry recognized it only because he had visited it not half a year ago, Christmas Eve, for the first time in sixteen years.
His parent's house in Godric's Hollow stood not only quite undamaged but excellently maintained; in addition to the fact that there was no longer a large hole blasted in one corner of the top floor, the hedges were neatly trimmed on either side of the well-oiled gate, and no ivy obscured the lighted windows. Smoke puffed from the stout little chimney, completing the cheery cottage effect.
As they stood there, there was a movement behind the curtains of one window, and a worried face framed with dark red hair peeked out for an instant. Harry's mother's eyes widened, and then an instant later, she was flying out the door. Lily leapt at Harry with such force that he stumbled backwards, her arms tight around him, head buried in his shoulder. She was crying.
Harry had never felt something like this. The closest he had come had been the occasional hug from Mrs. Weasley, but they didn't even compare to the hug his mother - his real, tangible mother - gave him. The way Ginny had once held him was just as wonderful, but not quite the same. He wanted to stay here forever, eternally, in Lily's arms, where he was warm and safe from harm.
James followed right behind his wife and did not hesitate to put his arms around both of them. They stood like that for a long, blissful moment, aware of nothing but each other until at last they broke apart.
Lily looked at him and suddenly burst into watery laughter. "It's been s-sixteen years," She spluttered, "Since I've been able to do that."
James put an arm around his wife. He was struggling not to cry; words seemed to fail to describe his feelings, because James opened and closed his mouth several times, and then hugged Harry again.
It was only when James had finally let him go once more that Harry remembered that they were not alone. Sirius watched a few feet away, beaming, and by him stood Dumbledore, eyes twinkling sadly.
Dumbledore's expression confused Harry. But old wizard must have seen, because a second later he was smiling, the sadness and worry and frown gone from his eyes. "Lily, James, no doubt you will want to be with Harry," he said. "And I promise that a time will come for you to spend time together very soon, but I am afraid that I must remove him from your presence for just a few more moments. I do apologize very sincerely. But it is of the utmost importance that I speak with him privately."
Lily opened her mouth just a second before speaking. "All right," She said after a moment's hesitation. It was clear that now that she had her son back, she was not ready to give him up again just yet, even if it was only for a few minutes. But her respect for Dumbledore eventually won the brief mental battle, and Lily's grip on Harry's hand loosened.
Dumbledore looked sincerely sorry to take Harry away from Harry's mother and father. Although he did not want to, Harry released his hand from his mother's firm grasp. With a fleeting look over his shoulder, Harry followed Dumbledore down the street.
Dumbledore smiled at Harry, not just a polite, courteous smile, but one that revealed that he seemed unable to contain his happiness. "First I must commend and congratulate you, Harry, for your heroic actions tonight. I surmise that perhaps only a handful of other men scattered throughout the ages could have shown half the resourcefulness and bravery as you have in these past few years. Particularly within the past hour."
Harry did not know what to say. He looked at Dumbledore, who continued in a tired voice. "You have walked willingly to your death, at the hands of Lord Voldemort, and as such, the part of his soul that once resided in you is no more."
There was a long pause in which Dumbledore stared at his feet, lost in deep thought. The smile was gone; Harry knew better than to interrupt.
"I must confess, Harry," He finally began, slowly, "That everything did not go as I planned. Had the events of tonight unfolded as I had intended them to . . ." Dumbledore gave a long sigh. "You and I would not be conversing right now."
It took Harry a very long time to process what Dumbledore had just said.
"You mean - you mean I'd not have died?"
Dumbledore closed his eyes. He nodded.
Harry swallowed and stared straight ahead, attempting not to look at Dumbledore. By what strange loophole would have he been able to take a Killing Curse for the second time in his life, and still survive? Had something gone wrong? Was something supposed to happen the instant Voldemort uttered the fatal words, something that had somehow failed? Even worse - was it Harry's own fault that he had not lived? Had he accidentally ruined everything?
Of all the questions spinning in his head, only one made it to Harry's lips: "How?"
"It was my belief," Dumbledore began, "That when Lord Voldemort attempted to kill you, the Horcrux he unintentionally placed within you would be destroyed. You yourself would be able to return, free of him at last, to the world of the living. From there you might attempt to end this suffering once and for all."
Dumbledore turned his face from Harry, ashamed. "I was wrong, Harry. I was so immeasurably foolish . . . I knew there was a chance, however miniscule, that this might occur, but I . . . I continued in the hope that it would not. I have gambled with your life, Harry," Dumbledore's voice broke; he looked as if he might cry. "And I am can not possibly express how terrible, contemptible, and abhorrent my mistake was. I do not ask for you to forgive me. I do not deserve it."
There was a long silence as they walked, and Harry's head swam. He had been meant to live. He could have gone back . . . lived once more, to defeat Voldemort truly and completely . . . seen Ginny again . . .
"I don't blame you." Harry said. His voice sounded rather loud in the peaceful quiet of this beautiful place. "I already thought I was going to die . . . I had already, you know, accepted it . . ." He trailed off. Harry was staring at the ground, but he forced himself to make eye contact with Dumbledore. "Anything to take down Voldemort, right? Loads of people died tonight . . . and I died for the same thing they did. To stop him, once and for all."
It was not as bad as it might have been; if Harry had believed that he would, indeed, return to life, then perhaps he would be angry with Dumbledore. But all Harry felt now was an extreme tiredness; he wanted to lie down in a soft bed and just mull over the night's events until he fell asleep. His deed was done; there was no more fighting or running or killing to do. Voldemort was one Horcrux away from being mortal. Harry was satisfied.
Dumbledore's eyes shone with tears. "Thank you, Harry." He said. "You are a great man. Greater than I ever was."
"That's not true." Harry protested.
Now the bright blue orbs were twinkling not with tears, but with mirth. Dumbledore chuckled. "How modest of you, Harry . . . a common trait among those of us who have accomplished uncommonly extraordinary feats." He said. They stopped walking, and Dumbledore turned to face him. Eyes directly on him, Dumbledore spoke his next sentence as if it was solid, unquestionable fact.
"You are a hero, Harry."
Harry did not return to his parent's house. He wanted terribly to spend as much time as possible with them, to get to know them, finally, for the first time in sixteen years; but there was another pressing matter to attend to, one that could not wait.
Harry did not know how he could do what he did, only that it was possible. One moment he had been standing in the cobbled street by a happy little park, shortly after Dumbledore had departed. Then he was standing on the grounds of Hogwarts, quite invisible to the fighters who dashed past him, shooting spells over their shoulders as they ran. Harry only knew that he had wanted to see Ginny. And here he was.
The world around him was filled with shouts and bangs; terrible, dying screams pierced the smoky air, making the hair on the back of Harry's neck stand on end. The world seemed to be several times brighter, louder, and faster than Harry remembered it being when he was living. Faceless fighters ran past, yelling hoarsely, all around him, words indistinguishable. They moved at double speed, their images burning colors into Harry's brain: Everything confused Harry; he could not understand what they were saying, the world was spinning, everything was so incomprehensible -
Harry found himself on the ground. The pounding feet of the fighters ran straight through him, their eyes blind to his presence. As he sat there the world began to slow down, bit by bit. The colors that had seemed neon before were returning to something more natural. Harry found he could understand words, still slightly distorted, that floated back to him from the fighters as they passed him by. Shakily, Harry got himself to his feet. His need to locate Ginny burned hot in his stomach.
It took Harry only a moment to find Ginny amidst the chaos and confusion, even with his temporary incapacitation, because she was making such a commotion. Ron and Charlie were both pulling her as hard as they could down the slope of the lawn, trying desperately to get her to run, but she was beyond reason. Ginny was fighting them both tooth and nail. She tried with all her might to get back to the courtyard, where Harry realized with a shock that his own body hung as if by an invisible noose, fifty feet above the ground. The body jerked and struggled, screaming ignominiously for mercy, but Harry knew it was a trick; he was already dead . . .
"NO! HARRY! HARRY!" Ginny screamed, so terribly that Harry could not bear it. He reached out to touch her, to calm her, but his arm passed straight through her flailing limbs. Her eyes were wild, unseeing - Harry had never seen her loose control like this.
A brick dropped suddenly into his stomach as he followed the fighters running towards the forest. The truth became clear instantaneously: they were fleeing. Voldemort was winning. He turned his head for the first time from Ginny's convulsing body to the collapsing, burning silhouette of Hogwarts. Voldemort's forces stood together in front of the castle, a sheer wall of darkness. And leading them all stood Voldemort himself, laughing manically in his victory. Bellatrix Lestrange danced around him, cackling as madly as her master, sending bangs and fireworks whizzing into the air. She paused her celebration only to cast an occasional Killing Curse at one of her fleeing opponents, yelling gleefully as each spell met its mark.
They'll have another chance, Harry attempted to convince himself. They can take him down. It's just the snake. They can do this. We can do this. It was all Harry could do not to run straight at Voldemort and cast a dozen Killing Curses at his heart - he had to remind himself that he was no longer alive and that his rage would make no difference.
Harry started to feel dizzy. As Ron, Hermione, and Ginny moved further away from his stationary self, he realized, the feeling grew worse. Perhaps that was how this worked. That he could not roam the world as he pleased; rather, Harry was bound to the people that he had been close to in life. He did not mind; he would have spent eternity watching over them . . .
The Weasleys and Hermione had managed to stay together as the forces retreated through the Forbidden Forest. Harry quickly closed the gap between them, watching Ginny struggle. She kicked and clawed until finally, when they were well into the safety of the tree cover, she broke free. Harry instinctually stood in her path, but she sprinted straight through him, a mess of tears and hysteria.
No, Ginny! Panic built in Harry's stomach. He'll kill you, don't go back! But she did not make it more than a few more steps before she tripped on a tree branch and dropped, hard, to the earthy forest floor. Shocked and weeping, Ginny stayed where she was, unable or unwilling to get up.
It happened in an instant; Harry had only seen because he had knelt to the ground next to Ginny's broken form. Her face had fallen just inches from a dully glittering object. She did not know what it was, but Harry did; he had only a second to recognize it, but that was all he needed. There was no reason, really, why she did it - but without even thinking about it, her fingers closed around the ring an instant before she was yanked upright.
Charlie had had enough. In one swift, powerful motion, he pulled Ginny up from the ground and hoisted her over his shoulder in a fireman's lift. Ginny did not struggle any more. She was staring at her hands, turning the ring she had found over so as to get a better look. Just as they disappeared though the thickness of the trees, Harry still unable to process what had just happened, Ginny's wide eyes met his for a fraction of a second before she disappeared behind a deadened tree.
It was so painful to watch Ginny waste away. She refused to leave her room; she did not eat, did not speak, and cried endlessly. Harry could not remember the last time he had seen Ginny cry, let alone as hard as she was now. The Resurrection Stone lay forgotten on a bedside table in her grief until, at last, Ginny absently turned the Stone three times in her hand.
Harry was very close to her when it happened - he had not left her side since the Weasleys returned to the Burrow. She was lying on her bed, eyes flickering with tiredness; she had not eaten that day. He was kneeling at her bedside, one hand stroking her face, though she could feel nothing. And then, quite suddenly, Ginny's eyes found Harry's.
She did not realize what had happened at first. She closed her eyes and smiled, the tiny warm sensation she felt on her cheek nothing but a wonderful hallucination, so she thought.
"I'm dreaming." she murmured. "You're dead."
"You've gotten one right," Harry said carefully. "I am dead."
Her eyes fluttered open.
"You figured it out." Harry smiled sadly down at her, eyes on the ring resting in her palm. "It's called the Resurrection Stone . . . you turn it over three times in your hand, and you can see the people you love who've . . . who aren't here anymore." Harry had been about to say 'people you love who've died,' but Ginny's expression as he neared the word 'died' was so terrible that he changed tracks.
"You came back." Ginny stated slowly. She began to sit up at a snail's pace, eyes never leaving Harry's.
"Well, not - not really - "
Ginny tried to throw her arms around him, but she moved much too quickly; her limbs slid right through Harry's insubstantial form. Ginny looked as if she was about to cry.
"I can't come back, Ginny. You know that." Harry said. "But if you ever need to talk to someone, I'm here. I'm always here, even if you can't see me."
"I can talk to you? Whenever I want?" She said slowly. Happiness began to dawn on Ginny's features like a long-awaited sunrise. It spread light across her features, bathing her in a golden glow. Harry had not seen her smile since his birthday, nearly a year ago, when they were in this very room, her face just as close as it was now . . . they had been about to kiss . . . Harry had to stop himself. He could not truly touch her; it was better not to waste away thinking about this dream of his.
But as Harry's eyes feasted on Ginny's elated expression, a little crease appeared between her eyes. "And . . . and Fred, too? Remus? Tonks?"
Harry nodded.
"Why aren't they here now?" Her eyes searched the room, quite empty but for them, and Harry's instinctually followed them.
"I think," Harry began, but he had no real answer, "Maybe you've just been - been missing me a lot, maybe you can only see - " Harry stopped, his eyes on the door. Ginny could not see what he did, and she looked at him questioningly, a spark of shock igniting behind her eyes. What did he sense that she did not? Was it an intruder? Voldemort, back for revenge?
It was Fred.
Harry had not seen him in the area he supposed was some sort of heaven. He had been so occupied, with seeing his parents and talking with Dumbledore and watching over Ginny, that Harry had not looked for Fred. He supposed now that he had probably only been a few floors below the entire time; Ginny had not left her bedroom since she returned, and consequently, neither did Harry.
Harry stood up, and opened his mouth to speak to Fred - but he realized Ginny had risen, too. She had turned the Stone three times again. "Fred?" She whispered.
Harry suddenly felt as if he was intruding. Quietly, Harry stepped aside and for the first time since he had visited the world of the living, he faded away.
The interior of Ginny's bedroom changed smoothly into the whitish fog of the utopian, suburban neighborhood. Harry began to walk, not really paying attention to where he was going, lost in his thoughts. What would he have said to Fred if Harry had not wanted to give Ginny time alone with her brother? Harry had not planned anything - he had just opened his mouth and probably would have said whatever sorrowful, apologetic words would have spilled out.
He walked for a long while, hands in his pockets, until the happy meadow where Harry had found himself faded quite suddenly into Ginny's room. She had pulled him back. Fred had gone; Ginny was hastily trying to wipe away her tears. Harry sat quickly on the bed next to her and put an arm around her as best he could. If Harry pressed too hard, he passed right through her. So they sat there, Harry awkwardly holding her to the best of his abilities, Ginny weeping freely.
The next year was torture for Harry. He understood why Ginny simply could not bear to let him return to the land of the dead; he as well found it difficult to leave her when she had just lost so many people that were close to her, himself included. And so he stayed with her for days at a time; he would have been at her side constantly anyway, visible or not. But the day after Ginny had first used the Resurrection Stone was Harry's funeral. The service was held in the Weasley's back garden, attended by several Order members that were close to the family and those who had died. Ginny was not leaving her room if she could help it, and on this instance, she refused point-blank to attend the funeral. He did not push her.
It was possibly the most bizarre and terrible things Harry had ever experienced. He had already accepted his death; he did not feel sad for himself, but for his living company. Mrs. Weasley was near hysterics, nearly having given up trying to keep quiet. Mr. Weasley had his arm around her, struggling not to let tears loose himself. Percy sat with his arms tightly folded, looking as if he could not believe any of this could have happened; Bill was comforting Fleur in hushed whispers; George's face was down, hidden in dark shadow. There was no space between Ron and Hermione. They had pulled their chairs together and were clutching each other so tightly that when Hermione sobbed, Ron shook as well.
The words of the speakers who eulogized each of the dead floated in and out of Harry's ears; he did not take in any of the information, spending the time surveying the crowd closely. Several of the dead were standing in the back rows, or else by loved ones. Harry looked at them, and they smiled grimly. There was no reason for him to remain in the back: The living could not see him; Harry walked past the teary friends on the mismatched folding chairs and approached the row in which the bodies lay.
His own body was the only one that had been recovered, and such the only coffin of the dozen or so that was open - Fred's, Lupin's, and Tonks' names were among the names carved into the wood.
It was immensely strange to be looking down at his own dead body. The Weasleys had dressed it up to the neck in an effort to hide his gruesome wounds; they were only subtly noticeable in the way that his arms and legs bent at odd angles in some places; Voldemort had left his face untouched. Mrs. Weasley had evidently attempted to comb his hair, but just as they always were in life, the black strands were wild and untamed. His glasses were on, and his eyes closed; Harry's body looked quite peaceful in death.
He pulled his eyes away from his own face as the last speaker finished and the congregation stood. They milled about each other in relative quiet, the only sounds comforting whispers and despairing sobs. Harry hovered close to Ron and Hermione for a long while, wondering if they knew he was here. They stayed out in the garden for a bit, milling about the coffins, only returning to the Burrow when they had been alone for quite some time.
And so Harry found himself alone on the lawn. The scene was so tranquil; strong winds that he could not feel sent waves through the unkempt grass, the leaves of the nearby orchard trees swaying wildly. Here and there a gnome stumbled from one hole to another, blown here and there by the wind. Harry did not know how long he simply watched the place; that was one of the things about dying . . . one no longer notices nor minds the passage of time . . .
Ginny was looking out at him from her bedroom window. Harry's eyes found hers suddenly, as if he had known she was there all along. She was crying . . .
Immersed in memories, Harry had not realized where his feet had been carrying him. He found himself in an empty field, the houses far behind him. The tall grass blowing in the breeze could have been a part of the Weasley's lawn; Harry could have only just left Ginny sobbing in the window.
But now he had procrastinated enough. If anything these reminiscences had further convinced him that this task needed to be done.
After a long, heavy breath, Harry felt a familiar tug and realized that Ginny was calling him. The gentle breeze and smell of grass vanished, replaced with stale, heavy air. Harry opened his eyes and surveyed the scratched wood floors of Ginny's room before his eyes fell on the girl herself.
She was sitting on the rug, beaming up at him with a toothy smile. Her hands carefully replaced the Resurrection Stone back in its spot next to her, and returned to tearing systematically at a spare bit of parchment. The bits fluttered to the floor like yellowing tufts of cotton fluff. Some shreds were caught in her gnarled hair.
"I'm making snow." Ginny said happily.
Harry sat cross-legged on the floor, smiling as best he could, but he was not convinced it entirely hid his true emotions.
"Good job." He offered feebly.
She was silent, her attention directed at the parchment. Harry tried again, shifting uncomfortably.
"Ginny . . . I want to talk to you about something. It's important."
She could sense the seriousness in his tone. This time Ginny looked up at him, and her big, beautiful brown eyes were somehow more comprehending than they had been in a long time. It was almost as if those eyes were clear and unclouded madness, and Harry had his old girlfriend back for the first time in a long while.
This did not help.
"What d'you want?" Ginny asked curiously.
"I . . . " Harry took a breath. "I don't think you should be using . . . that . . . any more." He jerked his head at the Resurrection Stone.
Ginny's eyes followed Harry's very quickly, lingered on the cracked ring, and then very slowly rotated back to Harry. They were huge.
"What?" she asked, barely a whisper.
Harry swallowed. "I know you miss me, and Fred, and everyone else, and we miss you too. But - the Stone doesn't bring us back, not really. I think you know that."
Ginny did not speak. He had expected her to become weepy or anguished, but this cold, blank shock was somehow worse than any tantrum Ginny could throw.
"Please, Ginny." Harry had planned this out so thoroughly, but he had forgotten all of it. As he struggled to find the right words, Ginny finally spoke, in a terrible, quiet whisper.
"You don't want to talk to me?" She breathed.
"No, no, Ginny, I love spending time with you!" Harry amended hastily. "But even if you can't see me . . . you know I'd still be here, don't you?"
"You don't miss me." She sounded like a child about to cry. Harry ached to take her hand, to promise that he would never leave, but both of these things were unfortunately impossible.
"Ginny, I do miss you, I love you. And I know you don't like to hear it, but you . . ." Harry braced himself. "You're sick, Ginny. Dumbledore says it would be best if you . . . moved on, and I - I agree."
"I'm not sick! I'm not! And don't look at me like that," Ginny added hotly, as Harry opened his mouth to speak again, with a rather pitying look at Ginny. Now she looked angry as well as teary; the old rebellious fire was back in her eyes, but it did not make Harry smile as it once had.
"Ginny, I want you to stop using the Stone. I'm sorry, but it's the only way you can get better. You just . . . you have to start living again." Harry said.
"You think I'm mad." Her tone was low and dangerous. Harry at once attempted to rectify his mistake, but the damage was already done.
"Of course not - "
"Don't lie! Everyone thinks so, they all think I've lost it, but I haven't! I haven't, Harry!" She seemed somewhere between hysteria and anger.
Harry did not know what to do. Part of him ached to take her hand, to promise that he would never leave, but both of these things were unfortunately impossible. He knew though, however much it pained him, he was going to have to stop lying to Ginny sooner or later.
"Ginny. Ginny, look at me." Her brown eyes, expressing pain and anger and madness, but were blessedly dry, flitted up from the floor they had been studying intently. "You're not mad," - he hated the lying - "but staying in your room with me all the time can not be good for you."
"I'm not going out there."
"And why not?"
"Because we can be alone together here."
"What about Ron and Hermione, George, Percy, your Mum and Dad? You hardly ever see them. You never see anyone."
"I have you."
Harry sighed. How could he put this, without setting her off? He knew she had always listened to him better than anyone even in her madness, and somehow seemed more like herself when she was around him, but something told Harry that it might take months of arguing if Ginny was to see his point instead of just getting angry.
"Why won't you share me, then?" Was the best he could come up with.
"You're mine." Ginny said. "They can't know, they'll take you away from me."
"Just Ron and Hermione, then Ginny. Just tell them about the stone."
"No."
Harry was reminded forcibly of a small child refusing to share her favorite toy. He hated it.
"Ginny, if the Order could have a conversation with Dumbledore, we'd come up with something in five minutes on how to defeat Voldemort - "
"He'd have a plan if he could just talk to them? Dumbledore doesn't know anything more than they do! Nobody knows what to do! We're finished!"
"Don't say that!"
"I'll say whatever I want!" She screamed.
"Ginny - "
"Don't you dare start on me! You think this is easy? You think any of us are having the time of our lives here?"
"I'm still fighting this war as well - "
"YOU'RE DEAD!" Ginny bellowed. "AND I'M STILL HERE! STILL FIGHTING! STILL WAITING FOR YOU-KNOW-WHO TO STOP LAUGHING IN MY FACE AND JUST END IT ALREADY - "
The door burst open with a bang and Ron stood there, closely followed by Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, George, Percy, and Hermione, all wearing similar expressions of shock and concern. Their searching eyes saw right through Harry and fell apon Ginny, who appeared madder than ever, her face red and her hair wild. There was a moment of tense stillness in which the only noise was the sound of Ginny's heavy breathing, who made no attempt to explain herself to the rest of her family.
Ginny fixed her gaze directly on Harry.
"I'm not sick." She said, and she passed straight through Harry, collapsed onto her bed, and finally burst into tears.
