Harry Potter is Dead

Chapter 10 | What's Done is Done


If Ginny had been protective of the Resurrection Stone prior to her confession of its existence, presently it might as well have been in a Gringotts Vault. It was several days before Ginny would come out of her room again; and when she did, she spent her time wrapped in a down comforter and jumping away whenever anyone attempted to approach her. Terrified that someone was going to take Harry away from her, Ginny spent a week working herself into such a state of hysterical paranoia that - following a climactic outburst - Mrs. Weasley finally snapped herself and informed Ginny that the Order needed to speak with Harry and Dumbledore now. It was in the midst of the tearful meltdown which resulted that Ron and Hermione were called apon by a weary-eyed Mr. Weasley to attempt to pry the Stone from Ginny's cold, dead fingers by use of a slightly friendlier approach.

A few days after this, when Ginny had spent long enough hiding away in her room, allowing Harry to calm her down, Ron and Hermione paid a visit to her stuffy bedroom. The windows were shut tight, blocking out the warm June breeze, and the shades were drawn so that a dull sense of gloom fell over the messy living space. Ginny was there, indistinguishable in the semidarkness at first, as she had squeezed herself into a corner between her dresser and bed. She was hunched in a ball, nearly crushed in the impossibly small space, looking serenely up at them as though it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Ginny," Hermione said timidly. "Could you stand up a moment? Come out and talk to us?"

Ginny looked slightly puzzled, but obliged. Ron noticed how easily she was able to slide herself out of the confined space. She seemed like nothing more than an empty vessel; made of fragile bones and brittle skin, much less his little sister. When she got to her feet, Ginny did not speak, merely looking at them quizzically. She seemed so innocent like this, with her cloudy eyes wide and her head tilted ever so slightly to one side. But Ron had seen her break, and in quick succession over the past two weeks. He wondered how someone so childlike, so bloody holy, could loose her grip on reality at a moment's notice.

"It's about Harry again, isn't it?" Ginny said finally. Ron could not detect any emotion in her tone. She could have been asking about the weather; the results of a Quidditch match.

Hermione paused before answering. "Well . . . yes."

Ginny frowned and sat down on her bed. "Of course it is. Nobody ever comes up here to play with me any more. They just want Harry's ring."

Hermione's eyes widened; she was nervous. "I'm - I'm sorry, Ginny, it's just that Harry's ring is very important right now."

"More important than me?"

"Well - well no, you see - " Hermione threw Ron a look and he mentally cursed himself; he should be helping her, not standing idly around. But he was at just as much of a loss as Hermione; unsure of what to do, Ron acted on the first idea that came to him, which was to kneel down in front of Ginny, take her hand, and rack his brains for the most encouraging words in his vocabulary. Bracing himself, Ron took a deep, calming breath.

"Ginny," He said. "Harry's already talked to you about this, didn't he?"

She nodded silently.

"He's here now, too?"

Ginny swallowed. Her eyes flicked away from Ron for a split second before returning; he followed her gaze, though all he could see was her battered wardrobe. Ron turned back to Ginny, who put her head down.

"Then he's told you how badly we need to talk to him."

Again Ginny nodded slowly, staring at the floor. Her eyes fell into shadows; it was impossible to tell what Ginny was feeling.

"Look at me, Ginny."

She did not move. Gently Ron reached forward and tilted her chin up; Ginny did not resist, but when her eyes met his, they were very red.

"I don't want to loose him." she whispered.

She began to cry. Immediately Ron pulled himself up from his knees, sitting on the bed next to Ginny. He put an arm around her shoulders, and she sobbed into his chest.

After several minutes, he finally spoke. "We're only borrowing it, Ginny, I swear. You can stay here and talk to him with us if you want. Would you like that?"

Tears spilling over onto her cheeks, Ginny neither answered nor loosened her grip on the Resurrection Stone. She made to dip her head again, but Ron held her gaze.

"You have to understand, Ginny," He smiled a little sadly. "We miss him, too."

After a long moment, Ginny's fingers slackened, and then finally dropped the ring into Ron's hand. He did not pause to examine it, or turn it in his hands; placing it on the bedside table, Ron encased Ginny in his arms as her body began to shake. He held her until her tears subsided, and she sat up at last, sniffling. Ron rubbed her back in small circles, until Ginny pulled herself together.

Ron suddenly realized that Hermione's eyes were wet with tears as well. He looked at her quizzically and she hastily wiped them with her sleeve, blushing a blotchy red.

"Why are you - "

"Never you mind. Let's just get on with it."

Ron gave Hermione a sideways glance, but knew better than to pursue the matter further. Looking back at his sister, he picked up the ring and held it gingerly in his hand.

"Are you ready, Ginny?"

Ginny hesitated.

"I - I don't - " She looked confused, her teary eyes huge. Then she seemed to steel herself. "I'll go. You can talk to Harry alone."

"Are you sure?"

Ginny swallowed. "You have to give it right back. Promise?"

"Absolutely."

Ginny nodded. She opened her mouth as if to say something more, but closed it, wrinkling her brow. Then she stood up from the bed, took a deep breath, and left the room. Ginny gave them one final glance as she closed the door, and

Ron reached behind him and grasped the ring. He held it in his palm for a moment, string at the symbol scratched into the cracked, black stone.

"It's Dumbledore's ring." Hermione said.

Ron looked up at her, then back to the ring, studying it. "Is it?"

"He wore it nearly all of our sixth year." Hermione said. "I only just remembered."

"Yeah . . . yeah, I thought it looked sort of familiar."

They were silent again for a moment; still Ron let the ring lay flat in his palm. How many times over the past year had he wished for his best friend's return? The desire had burned in his stomach like fire, inextinguishable; leaving wounds that would never heal. Now Ron held the means to meet this need in the palm of his hands, and yet he waited still.

Hermione reached out and took his hand, enclosing it in hers, though it was so much smaller than his own. She gave it a comforting squeeze. "Are you ready?" she asked quietly.

Ron did not answer, but looked down at the ring in his hand. The Resurrection Stone. So Harry had been right. Ron looked back up at Hermione, and in that moment it occurred to Ron just how much she had suffered in the past year. When she smiled at him, Ron felt it expressed a terrible sort of sadness.

"I'm ready." And he turned the Resurrection Stone three times in his hand.

Hermione gave a great gasp.

Ron had known what was going to happen the moment he touched the stone; he had accepted the fact that the Resurrection Stone was in fact functional. Yet it did not seem real until this moment. For the past year, he had been living with a hole in his chest; a gap once filled by Harry, which was now cold and empty. The pain of it was crippling at first, and would never truly gone away, but Ron had become used to this wound. He kept on going. Somehow, perhaps because Ron was so used to this constant ache, the notion that Harry might be able to return seemed impossible. Even as he held the stone in his hand, Ron was not prepared for that which he knew would happen. Now the proof stood right in front of him, shifting his weight in front of the wardrobe.

Ron wanted to say something; anything, but nothing came to mind. No words could properly express how he felt at that moment.

"Hi, Ron, Hermione," Harry said. "How have you been holding up?"

Hermione suddenly burst into tears and leapt up. She ran at Harry, but to her horror, her outstretched hands slid light through Harry's translucent body. For a moment Hermione stood there, shocked, and then she lowered her eyes and stumbled back. Ron was immediately at her side; he pulled her into a tight embrace, rubbing her back as she struggled to breathe. Over Hermione's shoulder, Ron met Harry's gaze.

"Hey, mate."

There were a million things Ron could have said, and all of them certainly would have done a better job of showing his emotions than 'Hey, mate.' Yet for some reason, it seemed to be all that was needed. He knew Harry understood completely what Ron was feeling, because he could tell Harry himself felt exactly the same way. Those two simple words somehow conveyed all that had to be said.


"You'll want to Apparate a few hundred feet away, and use the tree cover to check for Death Eaters before you get to work. And Charlie, I'd rather you wore the heavier jacket, it's a bit better at deflecting spells . . . "

Mrs. Weasley bustled around the kitchen, making a large fuss over Charlie, Dean, Luna, and her husband, who all stood by the door holding small vials of bubbling, mud-like potion.

"We'll be fine, mum." said Charlie.

His mother, in response, began to readjust his collared shirt, her mouth a thin line. He rolled his eyes; she looked at him angrily.

"Oh, for goodness' sake, just be careful! Merlin knows what I would do if I lost any of you."

"Come on, don't get your knickers in a bunch. We've got enough Polyjuice to last us until next week."

"Well, you had better not take that long. The rest of the Order's coming at seven to plan with Dumbledore and Harry and I don't want any of you missing or worse!"

"Of course, mum, how rude it would be if they got themselves killed when they know perfectly well there are guests coming for dinner." George entered the room, grinning. He eyeballed each of them in turn, a comical impression of his mother at her worst; Luna giggled. "If I hear talk of any of you even thinking about - "

"George!" Mrs. Weasley cried, face red with anger. "This is a very serious matter and I will not have you - "

"All right, all right!" George said, holding up his arms in surrender. "I was only trying to keep them safe . . . "

Mrs. Weasley hit George on the arm as he left. "Now," Her eyes lingered on Dean, who stood silent and expressionless, and Luna saw a glint of worry in her kind eyes. "Are you all ready?"

Charlie, Dean, Luna, and Mr. Weasley all nodded.

"Bottoms up, then!" said Mr. Weasley, attempting to be cheerful, but none of them could quite mirror his enthusiasm. They gasped and grimaced as the potion hit their throats; then, slowly, their appearances began to bubble and distort. Soon four strangers stood in the kitchen of the Burrow.

"Here are your things, dears," Mrs. Weasley said, ducking into the living room for a moment and returning with a pile of neatly laundered Muggle clothes. There was a small commotion as they tried to find their matches; Mr. Weasley attempted to don both Luna's sundress and Dean's sweater-vest at the same time, and ended up getting stuck with one arm through the neck hole. While the rest of them attempted to pry the vest off of him, Luna suddenly noticed that Dean hung back, pulling on his socks as if on autopilot.

"Are you all right, Dean?" She lowered her voice, so that no one else can hear. "I know it's hard."

He let out a long breath. "Yeah . . . yeah, I'm fine."

"Maybe it'd be best if you stayed here; let Mr. Weasley and Charlie and I go looking."

"I'm the one that asked to go. You're not heading into danger without me, if I'm the one that caused it in the first place."

"We don't know what we might find."

"I don't care if there are Death Eaters, I'll do whatever -"

"That's not quite what I meant." Luna's voice became soft and comforting. "Even if we do find Seamus . . . that fire will have disfigured him quite a bit. I'm not sure it will be a very nice thing to see."

Dean looked down and swallowed. For a moment he was silent, but as Luna reached out to put an arm on his shoulder, he met her gaze. "I can do this." Dean said, his eyes shining defiantly, and Luna did not doubt him for an instant.

"Here's your vest, Dean, and your dress, Luna," Mr. Weasley said, handing them their clothes, having managed to free himself from their clutches. He now stood, sporting a wrinkled tweed suit and cowboy boots, holding out their clothes. "Made with an wonderfully fascinating Muggle device called a lom. Ron tells me - "

"Arthur - "

"Right you are, Molly, time to get going! Outside, everyone, if you will."

The five of them walked across the lawn, Mrs. Weasley stopping a few feet before the magical protection ended, while Dean, Luna, Charlie, and Mr. Weasley continued on until they reached a point at which they could Apparate. Though she could no longer see anything but an empty field and a nearby orchard in the direction of the Burrow, Luna waved at what she believed was Mrs. Weasley, and assumed that she waved back as well. Then Mr. Weasley held out his arm, and the four clutched each other tightly. With a loud crack, they were gone.

After a horrible moment of crushing darkness, the tight space Luna had been stuffed into suddenly expanded. Instinctively she took a deep, stabilizing breath and inhaled a lungful of ash. She bent over, coughing; Charlie thumped her on the back.

"Oh - thank you -" Luna rasped, eyes streaming; she wiped at them with her hands and slowly her surroundings came into focus.

The only color Luna could see was gray. For a moment she thought something might be wrong with her eyes, but as Luna looked, she realized that this was not true. Gray was indeed the only shade that colored the little forest clearing in which they stood; from the branches of the trees, dead and decaying, to the charred grass, and the mound of ash and blackened wood that Luna knew to be the remains of Mallory Millay's cottage.

Dean was staring at the ruins with his face blank of emotion, jaw clenched, eyes searching the pile of ash. Mr. Weasley put a hand on his shoulder, and Dean gave a little smile that seemed more like a grimace.

"Ready, then?" Mr. Weasley asked him. Dean swallowed. Then he nodded, and the four started towards the destroyed cottage.

The cottage was small, but difficult to search. Only about half of the building was still standing; the rest was nothing more than burnt rubble, spread about the clearing by wind in such a way that much of it was almost unrecognizable. It was easier for Luna in this way; to believe that she was not searching the remains of a once happy home, but merely a pile of unfamiliar ash and wood. But every now and again she would uncover something - a shattered picture frame, or a scrap of fabric - that brought memories and feelings rushing back in staggering waves.

Luna stepped back and took a moment to breathe. "What's done is done." she muttered, eyes closed.

"What'd you say?"

Luna opened her eyes and found Dean standing before her.

"What's done is done. My mum used to say it when I was little. " Luna said. "Whenever something bad happened, and I was sad," She smiled at him. "She'd tell me to close my eyes, count to three, and say that. 'What's done is done.' I don't know exactly why . . . but everything seemed a bit better once I'd said it."

Dean was silent. He gave her a look that was hard to place: confused, as if he were considering her; but Luna had seen the very same expression many times before. It belonged, always, to those who didn't quite understand her; and of them, there were many. They tried to sort her out, place her in a category, label her; so that she was at least a bit less befuddling to them. Luna herself had always been in the opinion that she was a relatively simple person to comprehend, and never particularly understood the stares; yet the looks like the one Dean gave her still persisted.

When he did not respond, Luna spoke again. "It's very hard, of course, seeing this place destroyed after we've lived here for a year. Some very terrible things happened here, and it carries a lot of bad memories." But she smiled suddenly, tilting her head. "But it won't do us any good to be sad about them, will it?"

Dean stood very still for a moment, looking at her. Then he started suddenly, as if awakening from a daydream. He nodded, brow furrowed, eyes on the ground.

"I should keep looking." And then he was gone.

She watched him go, and then glanced around. Mr. Weasley and Charlie were on the other side of the house, digging under a mound of rubble that had once been a grandfather clock. Dean had hurried off to the edge of the ruin, kicking ashes up so that they rose into the air and settled like a dusty film over his skin. Luna realized she should be helping as well; and so she climbed over mounds of charred debris, approaching the fireplace through which they had made their escape a few weeks prior.

The chimney had collapsed, bricks cooked black by the flames. They lay like wounded solders, dying amidst a battlefield of ash. Luna began to sift through them with her feet, searching for any sign of a body. The cottage was tiny, though; if they had not found Seamus by now, the body was very likely to have been taken by the Death Eaters, or else destroyed in the terrible fire. She could tell, even from afar, that Mr. Weasley and Charlie were arriving at the same conclusion; but none of them, not even she, had the heart to tell Dean it was time to go home.

Frowning, Luna kicked aside more bricks with her feet. They were gray by now, coated in a layer of thick ash, exactly the same shade as everything else nearby. Even the sky had filled with iron-colored, clouds, like a film of sadness over everything. Luna wished bitterly for color. Not for her problems to be solved, as others might have: not the end of the war, or Voldemort's demise; but color. Brightness. Hope.

A flash of brilliant gold. Luna blinked.

It had happened in an instant, by the brief light of the sun peeking out of the clouds, but Luna was absolutely sure of what she saw. The bright and golden something glinted when she bent down to pick it up. It was a Galleon, Luna concluded, as she rubbed away the ash. She turned it in her fingers, examining her find, but stopped when something strange caught her eye. Words were engraved around the rim, so small they were almost indiscernible. Luna's eyes widened as she stared at the coin, which she suddenly realized was her own.