Harry Potter is Dead
Chapter 9 | Harry
"Ginny, how - how do you know this?" Mr. Weasley stammered incredulously, his eyes wide.
She swallowed and seemed to steel herself. When she spoke, it was as if the answer took great strain to give.
"Harry . . . Harry told me."
A Few Hours Before
To say that Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy had never quite gotten along was a spectacular understatement of massive proportions. In life they had been sworn enemies, natural opposites, clashing whenever they crossed paths. And yet, however much Harry disliked Malfoy and the choices he made, Harry had never been in the belief that Malfoy's death had been entirely deserved.
Harry had not spoken to Malfoy since their last encounter within the Room of Requirement, and had not been present at his death. He had only found out about the nature of Malfoy's demise as he was questioning the other dead fighters shortly after the Battle's end. Harry admitted that when he had first heard, his heart had momentarily swelled with a sort of vengeful happiness that he now felt ashamed to remember. Killed by his own master . . . struck down by Voldemort without even knowing what had hit him, or what he had done to deserve it. At first Harry believed that Malfoy had received his comeuppance. However, the more Harry dwelled on Malfoy's death, the more sickening it seemed.
In death, there is no longer any reason to remain tied up in the affairs of the living. Harry's case, of course, because of the Resurrection Stone, was the exception, but to any other member of the dead, there is nothing more to do than to simply exist. There is nothing the dead can do to effect the lives of those who remain on Earth, and so death brings about a quiet peace. It breaks feuds, erases grudges, and fades scars. There is no reason to fight; a dead man's battles are already over.
Harry had spent the past year turning these thoughts over in his head. Owning to the fact that Malfoy had been killed by him, Harry assumed that in death Malfoy no longer harbored any kind feelings for the dark wizard he had once served. It was more than likely that Malfoy no longer cared about the war or its outcome. Harry wondered if he should seek out Malfoy and perhaps . . . make amends. He was present as well in this quiet, peaceful place after all; Harry had seen him from afar on a few instances, but never approached. The opportunity for forgiveness had always been there, and yet, quite uncharacteristically, Harry had never acted.
Harry had been contemplating this task for a year. Soon, he resolved, it was going to be done; he kept telling himself. Ironically enough, however, though Harry had previously spent hours searching the endless streets of this quiet paradise looking for Malfoy, Harry found him when he was least expecting it.
Harry had gone for a walk and ended up seated on a park bench, absently watching small children chase each other around a small playground. He was not in the best mood. Ginny would be awake soon, and that meant she would summon him and the day would be spent by her side. A day lost. Just like the one before it.
As Harry observed the children climbing about on the slides and swings, one of them leapt up from the sandbox and ran towards the bench next to Harry, its occupant blocked by the trunk of a tree.
"Draco, Draco look what I've found, isn't it pretty?" The little girl was no more than four or five, her platinum pigtails bouncing as she hopped up and down, waving a plastic tiara in her tiny fist.
Harry straightened a little in his seat. As the occupant of the other bench leaned forward to examine the girl's crown, he slid into Harry's view: Draco Malfoy sat there, not ten feet away. There was a happy light in his gray eyes that had never been there in life; Harry wondered if he had ever seen Malfoy smile so sincerely before.
"That's beautiful, Sylvie. Where did you get it?" He twirled the silver plastic in his fingers, examining the fake fuchsia gems like a mock jeweler.
"I dug it up in the sandbox, we're playing looking-for-dinosaurs, but I found a crown!"
"You must be a really good paleontologist, then."
"What's that?"
"That's what you call the people who look for dinosaur bones. Paleontologists."
"Pally-on-toller-gist."
Malfoy laughed. "That's it, Sylvie."
"Pally-on-toller-gist! I'm a pally-on-toller-gist!"
"And now," Malfoy placed the tiara on Sylvie's head, tucking her wispy blonde hair neatly behind her ears. "You're a princess."
Sylvie giggled, gave Malfoy a hug, and then ran off again towards the sandbox at top speed, calling to the other children, "Look! I'm a pally-on-toller-gist! A princess pally-on-toller-gist!"
Malfoy watched Sylvie dash away with the ghost of a smile on his face. He leaned back in his seat, glanced around the happy little park, and quite suddenly realized that Harry was there.
"Potter." He said, surprised.
"Malfoy," Harry responded. Of all the thought that had gone into initiating this moment, Harry had not spent a second planning what he was going to say. How the hell are you supposed to start a conversation with someone you hated for seven years?
Though Malfoy's grin had vanished the moment he spotted Harry, his lips were pressed firmly together in what Harry guessed was a sort of hesitant smile. He at least took it as a good sign that Malfoy did not simply get up and leave.
There was a pointed silence.
"That was, ah, my older sister." Malfoy said, to fill the space.
Harry blinked. "Older?"
"She died when I was three."
"Oh . . . I'm sorry."
Malfoy shook his head. "Nah, I hardly knew her . . . It's nice to have been able to meet her."
There was another bloated pause in which children laughed and birds sang, but the two men remained quiet.
"Er, Malfoy," Harry offered, "I was actually looking for you."
Malfoy frowned, confused. "You were?"
"Yeah. I wanted to talk to you." Harry took a deep breath and began. "We - hated - each other back at Hogwarts. But . . . well, now that we're both dead . . . none of that really matters any more. I . . . don't want to hold a grudge."
The crease deepened into a frown. "I tried to hand you over to him. To get you killed."
"Well, it happened anyway, in case you hadn't noticed."
The lines around Malfoy's mouth tightened in a sort of grim smile. "To both of us."
The words, Well, you picked the wrong side, then, didn't you? popped into Harry's head, but he suppressed them quickly.
"I don't support him any more." Malfoy was saying. His voice shook with the effort it took to use his real name: "Voldemort."
"I'm not surprised." Harry said.
"My whole family, too. They're spying on him. Planning to betray him."
"I know." Harry said, and when Malfoy furrowed his brow, Harry elaborated, "I've been . . . looking after some people in the Order of the Phoenix. I saw your father arrive at the Burrow."
"The what?"
"Ron Weasley's house."
"Ah."
Yet again the conversation dwindled to nothingness. Annoyed at beating around the bush, Harry stood up.
"Look. I'm not asking you to be my best mate or anything. I just don't want to hate you any more."
Harry held his breath while the words sank in. Malfoy leaned forward, pondering the offer. Then, after the lengthiest silence yet, Malfoy got to his feet as well.
"All right, Potter." he said. "No hard feelings." Malfoy faced the playground. "Sylvie! It's time to go!"
Sylvie's head popped up from behind a tree. "Five more minutes?"
"Five minutes, but when I say it's time to go, you have to be a good girl and come right away, all right?"
"Okay!" Sylvie shouted. She was already reaching for the lowest branch of the tree; within minutes she was ten feet off the ground, climbing with ease.
Malfoy turned back to Harry. "Don't expect me to send you holiday cards or anything."
Harry gave a small, awkward smile. "No."
Malfoy put his hands in his pockets. "Well . . . goodbye, Potter."
Harry nodded goodbye and then started on his way. But before he could turn the corner, a shout made him stop.
"Potter!"
Harry looked around. Malfoy was closing the gap between them.
"You said you saw my dad, you know what he knows. But my mother," Malfoy said, "I've been watching her."
Harry blinked. "What?"
"She's figured it out." Malfoy continued. "I don't know what good it'll do, seeing as you're dead as well, but I guess the ruddy Chosen One should know as well."
Blood was thundering through Harry's brain. "Well then tell me, Malfoy!"
"Voldemort's trying to brew a potion, one that he's invented himself. If he creates a Horcrux, puts it in the cauldron, and then adds the other ingredients. . . " Malfoy suddenly looked sick. "In order for the potion to work, he's got to trade in the lives of others in exchange for his. It requires the souls of a thousand people . . . and then the souls of a thousand more dead. If he drinks it . . . that's it. He'll be immortal."
He could not believe what he had just heard. "You're sure?"
"I'm sure."
"Malfoy," Harry said. "Thank you."
Adrenaline pumped through Harry's veins; was it possible to feel so terrified, so alive, when one was dead? He turned the corner so fast that he skidded on the paved road, running as fast as he could towards his parents' cottage. Dumbledore had been there when he left, having tea with Lily. Praying that Dumbledore had not yet headed home, Harry burst through the kitchen door, too out of breath to explain himself right away.
Lily shrieked and jumped out of her seat, then breathed a sigh of relief and gave an embarrassed smile, immediately recognizing Harry. Dumbledore paused with one arm halfway through the sleeve of his cloak.
"Harry," He said genially, without any regard whatsoever to Harry's disheveled appearance and dramatic entrance, "How pleasant to see you."
"Voldemort," Harry gasped. "I know his plan."
There was a thud of feet on stairs, and James appeared in the doorway. "Lily - I heard a shout - is - ?"
"It's just Harry, James." she said, taking her husband's hand. She turned her large eyes back to Harry. "What do you mean, you know his plan? How?"
"Malfoy, Draco Malfoy told me - "
"Malfoy?" James said incredulously. "Are you kidding me? You're going to trust that little son of a - "
"James!" Lily said, flashing him a warning look.
"Please, Harry. Continue." said Dumbledore quietly. His cloak had returned to the coatrack and, just as if he was sitting at the Headmaster's desk at Hogwarts, Dumbledore had pulled up a chair at the kitchen table, peering at Harry over the tips of his fingers.
And so Harry told them everything, in a great rush of words; how he had found Malfoy, how they had made amends, and how Draco's mother had gathered the information they needed to figure out the rest of Voldemort's plan.
When he finished, Lily let out a long breath. "Two thousand people." she shook her head. "Living and dead. It's awful."
"We can't let this happen." James said.
"We don't know how to get in, though." Harry said. The rush of chemicals that had powered his sprint to his parents' house was starting to fade; now more questions set in, taking the place of those that had just been answered, like a hydra's head. "Hogwarts is near impenetrable . . . "
"Incomplete as our knowledge still is," Dumbledore said "It is still imperative that our living comrades within the Order of the Phoenix are informed as well."
Harry swallowed.
Dumbledore looked directly into his eyes. "Harry." He said. "I have been patient with you this past year. I understand that you harbor great feelings of affection for Ginny, just as I understand that her deteriorating mental health must be a subject of great personal anguish for you. However." Dumbledore inclined his head. A knot formed in Harry's throat. "I digress that the relaying of this information ranks of significantly higher importance than Miss Weasley's predicament. "
The knot that had formed in Harry's throat prevented him from speaking. His eyes were downcast, unable to hold Dumbledore's piercing gaze.
"You know what needs to be done."
Harry swallowed once more and nodded. "I'll make sure they know." He said, looking back up at Dumbledore. His voice sounded oddly soft as he said it.
For an instant the room swam before Harry's eyes. Dumbledore's piercing gaze was reduced to nothing more than a pair of bright blue pinpricks, and then they were gone; replaced by the familiar interior of Ginny's bedroom.
"Hello, Harry!" Ginny said happily from behind him. Harry turned and found her standing by the windowsill, a small, ceramic pot in one hand, the Resurrection Stone clasped in another. The ring flashed in and out of sight; her fingers never seemed to stop, twisting it this way and that, spinning it around, sliding it on and off. Harry swallowed.
Ginny held the potted plant out to him. "Look, Harry, look what I have." She held out the pot, and now Harry saw that the pot was not in fact empty. A fluorescent bug sat at the bottom, the likes of which Harry had never seen before. Ginny scooped it carefully out of the pot and held it close to her nose for inspection. "Mummy and Luna brought him from the garden. Isn't he pretty?"
Harry could not force himself to smile. "Ginny?"
"Mm?" Ginny answered distractedly, still examining the bug with great interest.
Harry moved closer to her. "We need to talk."
She looked up. In her hand, the bug crawled back into its ceramic container, and Ginny placed the pot back on the windowsill. Now both hands closed around the stone.
"I've just found out some new information." Harry continued. "Something very important. About Voldemort, and how to stop him."
Harry could see in her eyes that she understood what was about to happen. Raising his arms so that they hovered but an inch above her shoulders, unable to touch but as close as they could get, Harry went on. "I need to let the Order know about this. And the only way that's going to be possible is if - "
"No, Harry." Ginny said. She took a step back, and the tips of Harry's fingers slipped through her shoulder blades.
"Ginny, can't you - "
"No - no, I - "
A flush was creeping up Ginny's neck, spreading across her cheeks, staining her face an angry red. Her mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out; immobilized by anguish, she stared at Harry with eyes that held no warmth. Never had she appeared so inhuman. Harry, who knew her the best, who could calm her when she was angry, whom she listened to just a bit better than her family members, felt the tiniest spark of fear.
Harry closed the gap between them in one step. He did not allow himself to plan ahead; Harry feared that if he did so, he would stop himself before the deed was done.
"Ginny." he said. "Listen to me. I know it's hard for you; it's hard for me as well. But I need you to do this for me. Please."
"They'll - they'll know, they'll ask me and I'll have to tell them - tell them you - " As quickly as Ginny found her voice, she lost it again. Her words dissolved into mere gasps and splutters, but still her eyes remained quite dry: instead, Ginny let out a long, pained wail.
"Look at yourself!" Harry suddenly burst, and her cry stuck in her throat. She looked up at him, so many emotions shimmering in her wide, brown eyes: fear, hurt, anger, pain.
"Do you want to stop Voldemort?"
Unable to find words, Ginny nodded, bemused.
"You'd rather let him kill more innocent people just so you can chat with me in private whenever you feel like it?" Harry felt as if he had consumed a gallon of firewhisky; he had not realized how much he had been aching to say these words until they tumbled out of his mouth. "I love you! I love you so much I can hardly think straight! And you know I love more than anything that we are able to talk to each other. But I'm gone, Ginny. I'm gone. And as much as I love coming to see you," Harry almost could not finish, "We're cheating death."
"But - but I can't - " Words failed Ginny. She looked as if she had just lost everything; her eyes were wide as saucers, their usual light accompanied by complete and utter devastation. Harry could not stand it. He jammed his hands in his pockets.
"I'm not asking you to say goodbye tonight, all right?"
Harry watched the great weight lift from her shoulders. "Harry - " she began, gratefully, happily, but Harry was not done.
"No, you hear me out, Ginny. At some point we're getting rid of that thing for good," Ginny's fingers unfurled, and she stared at the cracked ring, sitting there so innocently in her palm. "But not yet. Right now I'm going to give you the message, and you're going to tell the rest of the Order what we know. And then after that, you're going to share that ring with everyone else, so that they'll be able to talk to Dumbledore and me. All right?"
Ginny looked up at him.
"All right?"
She swallowed, breaking eye contact. Her gaze travelled downwards, wild red hair obscuring her face, so that Harry could not tell if she was staring at the floor or the Resurrection Stone. Then, after a moment that seemed like an eternity:
"I'll do it," Ginny's voice was barely a whisper. "I'll do it."
The stunned silence shattered like a sheet of glass.
"S-sorry - Ginny, Harry - told you?" Hermione said shortly, but the disbelief in her tone was mingled with doubt. Her face expressed a mix of surprise and pity. "Ginny, Harry's - he's - "
Harry stood behind Ginny, an arm hovering just above her shoulder in the most comforting gesture he could offer her. "You can do it," He reassured her. "You've done great, Ginny, it's all right, you can tell them." but she rocked nervously on the balls of her feet. The words refused to come to her lips. Gently, Harry prodded her on. "Tell them about the stone, Ginny."
"He's dead," Ginny said hoarsely, as if she was still attempting to convince herself. "I know."
Hermione was floundering, still trying to make sense of the situation, to find a logical solution. "Mrs. Weasley," She whispered, so low that Harry almost could not hear, "I think she's not - I don't believe she's aware -"
Though she could not find the words to finish it, Hermione's message was clear: Ginny had finally cracked completely, somehow become even madder than she had been before; it was the only possible explanation Hermione could find. The occupants of the kitchen began to shift again, moving past shock; now they were pondering the best possible way to avoid what they believed would be an inevitable temper tantrum.
"Why - why don't we discuss this upstairs, Ginny, dear, see, there we go, right this way . . . " Mrs. Weasley's transparent smile did nothing to mask her true emotions; her arm once again grasped her daughter firmly and steered her up the stairs. Ginny, resilient ( Harry glowed with pride ), resisted with all her might.
"Mum - no, Harry said - "
"We can have a cup of tea and talk it all over, hm? Won't that be nice? Arthur, why don't you make Ginny here some nice chamomile - "
"No, mum - no!"
"Don't be - ridiculous - dear - " Mrs. Weasley grunted in between shoves.
"Ginny," Harry said urgently. "Ginny, they won't believe you unless they have proof. You have to show them the stone."
Her expression was terrible; she looked as if she was breaking. "But I can't, Harry, I can't -"
"Please, Ginny, they need to know."
"I can't tell them! They'll take you, they'll have you all t-to themselves and I'll be all alone again - and - and - " The tears finally burst forth, and Ginny stopped fighting, sobbing uncontrollably in her mother's arms.
"What is it, pumpkin?" Mrs. Weasley said, bemused, abandoning her attempts to muscle Ginny upstairs and folding her daughter into a tight embrace. "What - who were you - ?"
"Ginny, look at me." Harry said. Her bloodshot eyes found his. "You can do this."
Ginny merely stared at him, as if gathering her strength. For a moment that lasted eternity, they stood there, Harry begging her silently. Then:
"I found this, the night Harry - Harry died."
And she thrust it out in front of her for all to see; there, glittering in her palm, was the ancient ring on which Ginny relied so much.
Hermione rose from her chair slowly, as if in a dream. Harry knew she had never seen the ring before, but nevertheless he could tell that her intelligent mind was arriving at the correct conclusion. Harry could see the cogs turning in her brain as she approached Ginny, her eyes running the length of the ring's jagged crack.
"Ginny." Hermione said slowly. "Is this - "
"The Resurrection Stone." Ginny's whisper caught in her throat, and the tears came in great, racking sobs. Ginny's fist tightened around the ring as she withdrew it from sight, hugging it close to her body.
Ron got to his feet as well. "Wait," He said. "So that's - and she's been . . . it was real, this whole bloody time?"
Hermione looked as if she could not quite believe it. "It appears so."
"Blimey," was all Ron could manage. He sank back into his chair, thinking hard, as his frown evinced.
"The conversations with herself, that was . . . I don't believe it . . ." she trailed off, lost in thought. "Oh, it all makes sense!"
"You know, it would be boundlessly useful to the rest of us unenlightened here if one of you could please explain what the fuck is going on. Or, you know, don't mind us at all. Take your time. Perhaps we'll just sit here and grow ourselves some lovely beards while we're waiting." George said.
Harry was incredibly surprised that Ron managed to suppress his clear urge to throttle his brother.
"George!" Mrs. Weasley began. "How dare you use - "
"Molly, please, there are more pressing matters!" Mr. Weasley interrupted. He turned to Ron and Hermione. "As George so crudely put it, " - he flashed a glare at his son - "You two have some explaining to do."
"Well . . . it's called the Resurrection Stone." Hermione began nervously. "It was mentioned in this children's story, The Tale of the Three Brothers. Dumbledore left it to me in his will when he died; it's a story about - well, you've all read it before, haven't you? When you were small?" They nodded, and she continued, "Well, the story says that the Stone, along with two other magical objects, were conjured up by the figure of Death. Hence their name, when united: The Deathly Hallows. And according to the story, the Stone had the ability to bring back the dead."
"But that's - " Percy began.
"Impossible, we know." Hermione answered. "In the story, at least, they're sort of like ghosts in a way; not fully alive. Anyway, Ron and I both thought that the Hollows were just a few fictitious magical objects. Harry . . . Harry had his ideas about them. But we didn't believe him." Hermione looked at Ginny, whose sobs had subsided into silent tears. She clenched her jaw. "We were wrong, I guess." Now she approached Ginny apprehensively. "Ginny," Hermione said gently. Every eye in the kitchen was fixed on the two young women; now Ginny's quiet gasps were the only sound. "Have you been talking to Harry?"
At first Ginny seemed afraid to answer. Enveloped by her mother's arms, she snuggled deeper, as if she was safe within them. Then, her eyes streaming, and looking as if she would rather do anything than divulge this great, terrible secret, Ginny gave one slow, deliberate nod.
I worked crazy hard trying to get this all out before I leave on holiday tomorrow, so consider this a little gift for all you wonderful readers. As always, thank you so much for reading and reviewing. Love you all!
